#( its easier to cope with a friend who understands whos going through the same thing )

[generalllimaginesss]

"If the entire human population was in front of me, I'd still choose you” with Jack.

I can only imagine what it would be like to have fans attack you if you were publicly dating him. I feel like Jack is so conscious of this. And he’s just soft boyfriend Jack trying to block out the unnecessary noise.

Maybe they just went public and she’s getting a lot of hate and it’s making her insecure. And Jack reminds her that it’s just them against the world and the only people whose opinions matter are their family and friends who love her.

Warnings: self depreciation, insecurities, self image issues, etc. Please don't read if you're not in a good headspace!!!

This is probably my favorite thing that I’ve written. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

plus size! reader x Jack Hughes

••

You knew that dating somebody in the limelight would have its challenges. Hell, dating an average person was hard. But nothing could have prepared you for the magnitude of hate that hit as soon as Jack went public with your relationship.

It wasn't like the relationship was new. The two of you had been dating for almost a year before he decided to post you on his Instagram. You let Jack set the pace since he was used to the attention. He could let things go in one ear and out the other a lot easier than you could. He was almost conditioned to be able to do that. You, on the other hand, took everything very personally. Every comment about your weight, about what you wore, about how Jack looked miserable with you, they all hit you like a ton of bricks.

You didn't understand why all of these people were coming at you saying so many horrible things, but Jack tried his best to ease your mind and remind you that at the end of the day it was you and him.

He did a really good job at this normally, but he was away on a roadie for a few days and things began to get really bad. This started when you saw a fan account for Jack post something about how Jack downgraded from Sienna to you and all of the comments agreeing.

It was like a rabbit hole...once you clicked on that post it led you to many others. They all made you feel like shit, but when people started commenting on your body, saying that they "didn't know Jack dated plus size girls," it hurt. Your body was yours. It wasn't like you could just zip it off and find a new one, but if you could you would, just to shut the comments up.

You spent the 3 days Jack was gone in a really dark depression. No laundry was done, you hadn't showered, and you barely could make yourself get out of bed to brush your teeth. Dishes piled in the sink, but you couldn't make yourself do them. You knew the signs of your depression, but you welcomed them in a way, almost like a coping mechanism. Not allowing people to see you was the only way the haters couldn't get new material. Was it a healthy way to cope? Obviously not, but it was what worked in the moment.

As soon as Jack walked through the front door, returning from the games, he could tell something wasn't right. You always kept up with the chores when he was away, normally making the house spotless before he got back. So when he saw the state of the kitchen and eventually the rest of the house, he knew something was off.

When he walked into the bedroom and saw that you were pretty much in the same spot he left you in he immediately dropped his bags and climbed into the bed with you, forcing you to look at him.

He gently shifted your body to face him, cupping your cheek gently with his hand.

"Baby, what happened," He made note of the streaks that stained your face, probably from countless hours of crying. He wanted to make them disappear immediately. You were his happy-go-lucky, carefree girl. You danced around the house all the time, singing whatever song was playing. This side of you was uncharted territory that he wanted to take away so bad.

"I just need you to hold me," You began to hyperventilate, worried that if he didn't hold you that he would leave you. Even though that would never in a million years cross his mind. But he did as you asked, and whether it was for 5 minutes or 30 minutes, he didn't know. He held you until you pulled away.

"Can we talk about it?" Jack asked, pulling the hair that crusted on your cheek from the tears out of your face. He treated you like you were fragile, and you hated that he felt that way.

"It's just the comments, Jack. I'm already insecure sometimes and these people come at me in so many horrible ways," You began to explain, loose tears streaming down your face, but you were composed otherwise.

"They compare me to Sienna, and God, I know I'm not as pretty as her. They tell me I'm fat and that they didn't know you dated "fat" girls. It's just insane. Do they not realize that I actually am a real person with real emotions? Do they know that I've believed, at some point in time, the things they are saying? I've worked so hard to get to this place where I'm at, to love who I am, and within the span of 3 days they just tear it all down," You let the words just flow from your mouth, whatever thought that comes to mind is voiced to Jack.

"Baby, they don't care. They don't care because they're jealous," He tries to soothe you, but it almost made you mad. Not at Jack, but at the whole situation.

"What the fuck are they jealous of? My thighs that I cover with leggings and pants so that I won't have to go through the pain of them chafing? Are they jealous of the fucking stretch marks that go up my stomach, so I refuse to wear regular bikini bottoms? I mean what the fuck, do they want my anxiety and depression? I will gladly give them that..." The tears were beginning to pick up, but Jack continued to rub your back, waiting to get the chance to speak again.

"I know you could have any girl you wanted. It makes me sick when I see some blonde walk past that looks like she stepped out of a magazine because I know that's what you deserve. You don't deserve this. You're Jack fucking Hughes," You looked at him, your lip quivering. You were going to say something else, but Jack put his finger on your lips, gently stopping you from continuing.

"You gotta stop that. I can't let you keep putting yourself down like this, not when I love you with my whole fucking heart," He began.

"First off, I had that. I had whatever you consider a girl walking out of a magazine is. Look how that turned out. It didn't, did it? You don't look like Sienna, and I'm so fucking glad because I don't want her kind of beautiful. I want your kind. I want to see all of the things on your body that show me that you lived. I don't want some manufactured cookie-cutter girlfriend. I want somebody that nobody else has," He pulled you in for a hug, continuing to talk while placing kisses ever so gently on your cheek and neck, looking out the window at the busyness that was the outside world. All he could think about was how you didn't see what he saw. Why couldn't you see it?

"Baby, I want you to realize something. If the entire human population was in front of me, I'd still choose you. Without a second thought, with no regrets. Every. Single. Time. You have such a special relationship with my brothers and that means the absolute world to me. They love you so much. My parents tell me I should marry you anytime that you come up in the conversation. The entire team has commented on how much happier I am with you. And if I'm being completely honest, at the end of the day I don't give a damn what anybody else has to say because it's me and you until the end. Do you understand me?" He broke the hug, cupping your face with both hands and wiping at the tears with his thumbs.

"I love you," You whisper, your voice long gone by now.

Jack pulls your forehead toward his lips, kissing it for a few seconds before letting your head go.

"I love you, too. More than you, or anybody else, will ever know. Now, I think we could go for some cleaning karaoke, yeah? I'll wash the dishes if you'll dry them," He poked at your side, trying, and succeeding, in forcing a grin on your face.

"Only if we can get a shower together afterwards," You bargained, taking in the beautiful boy.

"Deal," He says and drags you off to the kitchen, connecting his phone the the speaker and blaring Dierks Bentley's new song "Beer at My Funeral," occasionally twirling you in a circle.

The water may or may not have gotten everywhere since Jack decided it was a good idea to spray you with the hose that connected to the sink, but he enjoyed every second that he got chased by you around the island.

Once the dishes were put up and the shower washed away the remaining bit of your depression, Jack couldn't help but to just admire you. He promised himself then that he would remind you so often of how beautiful you were so that would be the only words ringing through your head, taking up any space that the hate may have. Because it was true. You were the most beautiful and precious thing that had ever walked into his life, and he'd be damned if anyone made you feel otherwise.

*

*

*

*

[seresinsbabe]

Just Pretend

Pairing: Rooster x fem!reader

Synopsis: After getting home from a really bad mission, Bradley can't cope with the loss and ends up taking it out on you. Inspired by the song Just Pretend by Bad Omens

Warnings: Character death, mild verbal abuse, mentions of insomnia and not eating, angst, very mild fluff at the end.

Just Pretend

THIS BLOG AND ITS FICS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

« « « « « « « « « « « « « » » » » » » » » » » » »

I’m not afraid of the war you’ve come to wage against my sins

I’m not okay, but I can try my best to just pretend

Rooster had fucked up. God he knew he’d fucked up. You’d always been so patient, so understanding. He had trauma, growing up without a father, losing his mother at a young age and all the things he’d seen as a pilot. He had almost convinced himself that he was too hard for anyone to ever actually love him. 

Then you came along. 

With your sweet smile, your comforting voice. It was like you knew how to handle each and everyone of his mood swings. When he woke up in a cold sweat from a particularly nasty dream it was you who comforted him. Pulling him down into your arms, holding him while you softly sang. On days when he was angry at the world it was you who always knew how to make him smile. 

So will you wait me out?

Or will you drown me out?

This time was different, though. 

Bradley hadn’t just had a bad dream or a bad day. 

He’d had a particularly bad mission. 

Going into the full details of it wasn’t something he’d done or could really do with you. And you’d always understood that. In fact you were okay with not knowing. Seeing the way some of the shit he’d seen affected him, you were more than okay with not knowing. He always ended up telling you, at some point. Even if he spared you the worst of the details.

Nothing had gone as bad as this one had.

It was a risky mission to begin with. When he’d briefed on the mission he was told it was more than likely someone wasn’t going to be returning. Rooster knew it was bound to happen to him eventually. He was bound to lose a wingman in this career at some point.

Maybe it would have been easier if was someone he didn’t know. A pilot that he’d never crossed paths with. One that he hadn’t spent more than a handful of nights at the Hard Deck sharing a pitcher or two of beer around the pool table.

It sounded awful to think about it like that, but it was true. Bradley couldn’t help but think that if it wasn’t Bob that died he wouldn’t be as upset.

That he wouldn’t have pulled away from you. Or said those awful words when all you’d been trying to do was be there for him. To love him in a way that only you could.

I can wait for you at the bottom.

I can stay away if you want me to.

I can wait for years if I gotta.

Heaven knows I ain’t getting over you.

It was hard enough dealing with the fact that he hadn’t been able to save one of his closest friends. Now that he had to do it knowing your spot in bed was empty. Untouched because he couldn’t bear to sleep in the bed without you. Fuck, he could barely sleep as it was. Every time he closed his he was met with the image of Bob’s lifeless body being carted off on a stretcher. Or, just as bad, the image of your tear filled eyes as you left without saying a fucking word. 

No screaming. No ‘fuck you’. No ‘I hate you’. Not a single. Fucking. Word. Just pain in those pretty eyes.

I know the pain that you hide behind the smile on your face.

And not a day goes by that I don’t think I feel the same.

“You don’t fucking understand!” You felt your lip quiver. Never in the entirety of your relationship had Rooster ever talked to you like this. “Just stop trying to act like you know what the fuck I’m going through. You’ve never lost anyone. You can’t come close to fucking understanding.” 

He had only told you bits and pieces of what happened, enough for you to know that Bob was dead and that Rooster felt like it was his fault. 

From the beginning of your relationship he’d warned you that he had been through a lot. But that had never deterred you, because he’d never let things spill over like this. Rooster had always been good at not letting outside forces affect his relationship with you. He’d always caught himself before it got to this point.

Hearing the anger in his voice as he raised it at you for the first time ever stung. You hadn’t even been trying to understand, you were just trying to comfort him like you always had.

“Roos…I-I’m no-” he cut you off.

“Just stop. Okay. I can’t take being around you right now. A hug and a kiss isn’t going to fucking fix this, alright Y/N. You’re not a fucking therapist. You’re just a fucking secretary.” A bitter taste filled your mouth as you listened to his words. Whoever the man that stood before you was – it wasn’t the man you’d fallen in love with. It wasn’t the man who’d proposed to you just weeks before the mission.

No more words were spoken as you packed a bag. You looked at him with teary eyes one last time, hoping he would say something, anything. Nothing ever came and you left for your sisters.

So will you wait me out?

Or will you drown me out?

It was finally the day of the funeral. Rooster showed up in his full service dress. His eyes were dark and sunken in from lack of sleep and bloodshot from the tears he’d cried alone.

The second you arrived he could feel it. Like a change in the fucking wind he knew you were here. Of course you were here. Bob was just as much your friend as he was Roosters.

You looked worse for the wear, but no matter what you’d always be beautiful in Brad’s eyes. As if you could sense him looking at you, and you probably could, you met his gaze. Even from this distance he could see the pain in your eyes. It killed him to know he was partially to blame for the pain. 

Something he’d promised both himself and you that he would never do. 

Brad knew he had to apologize to you. He’d been thinking about it since the door clicked shut. So many times he’d typed out a message just to erase the whole thing. He could never think of the right thing to say and eventually he realized it would have to be in person. An apology over a fucking text message wasn’t going to cut it. Not when he’d hurt you so bad.

I can wait for you at the bottom.

I can stay away if you want me to.

I can wait for years if I gotta.

Heaven knows I ain’t getting over you.

You so badly wanted to talk to him. You needed Rooster in a way you’d never needed anyone before. Since you’d shown up at your sister’s she’d done nothing but dog on him. So much that at some point you just told her to shut up and walk away.

She was convinced he was finally showing his true colors, but you felt like you knew better.

When you got ready for the funeral that day you couldn’t stop hoping that he would talk to you. Of course there was alway the worry that your sister was right. That even if he did talk to you it was going to be much of what it had been when you’d left that night. 

Brad looked like shit. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping. That he’d been crying and hell possibly not even eating. He tended to lose his appetite when he was stressed like this. It made your heart clench, knowing that he was suffering. You didn’t want that, you wanted to fix it.

We’ll try again

When we’re not so different

We will make amends

Till then I’ll just pretend

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Your throat constricted and you watched Bradley’s Adam's apple bob. In a split second he was pulling you into his arms. You felt the choked out sobs before you heard them and your arms wrapped tightly around him. 

“I’m so sorry, honey,” he finally got out. Rooster pulled away, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks and wipe away the tears that had started spilling from your own eyes. “I-I should have never said that shit to you.” The pain in his voice was loud. “I just- I couldn’t handle it and you were in the crossfire but fuck-” he choked out another sob and it was all you could do to fall against his chest.

This was the man you had fallen in love with. 

You pulled back to look up at him, wiping a stray tear away with the soft pad of your thumb. Brad never let himself be vulnerable with anyone but you. He always put on a front, even today it took you pulling him into an empty room at Phoenix’s house for him to have this breakdown.

“You were hurting,” it wasn’t really an excuse but it was the reasoning behind why he’d said what he said. You were sure if your sister heard you right now she’d roll her eyes and call you an idiot. “Doesn’t mean I’m not hurt by what you said, I just wish I’d been able to help before it got to that point.” Bradley nodded dejectedly, sure that you were going to tell him it was over between the two of you.

Sighing softly you pulled him to sit down on the bed. “I love you, Roos, but if that’s going to happen again I don’t know that I can come back.” It was painful to tell him that and you could see that it was just as painful for him to hear it. Even if you knew it was mostly untrue.

Bradley’s eyes went wide at the idea of losing you completely. “It won’t happen again baby, I promise.” He sounded desperate, pulling your hands into his large ones. “I-I called a therapist.” You blinked as you processed the words. It had been something you’d brought up in passing before, but he always insisted he wasn’t that far gone to actually need it. “Baby please don’t leave. I can’t lose you, too.” He was crying again.

This time you climbed in his lap, cupping his face in your hands and kissing away the tears. “I’m not leaving baby,” you promised and you knew it was true. Even when you left you knew you were going to come back to him. “I love you way too much.”

Rooster finally started to calm down and his hands came up to lay over yours. It was then that he felt the engagement ring still on your finger. “You didn’t take it off?”

You shook your head, smiling weakly at him. “Somehow I just knew if I took it off I’d be putting it right back on.” You gave him a weak smile and he returned it. “You’re worth it Bradley Bradshaw.”

He pulled your face down and connected your lips. A sigh of relief pushing through as you kissed. 

“Good, because heaven knows I ain’t getting over you.”

Weigh down on me

Stay till morning

Way down, would you say I’m worthy?

[passing-the-cis-test]

Introduction!

Hi everyone! I'd like go make a few well known points on this blog, such as its purpose, what it includes/will eventually, rules, and a little bit about myself.

Origins/About the Admin

The admin uses he/him pronouns and will use the online alias of Red.

This account was born from a conversation between a good friend of mine and I. I, a trans boy, have had to do so much digging and so much research, discreet things that transphobic parents won't approve of, and dove through so many loopholes that made my journey through gender dsyphoria and discovering my identity so much easier but so much harder at the same time.

I thought that if I used all that I had gathered and put it all on one platform, specifically focusing on that one thing alone, it would give other people out there what I didn't have. A bit of ease through what is already such a tough journey.

JUST TO CLARIFY!!:

This blog is safe for all umbrellas of queer or straight origin.

This blog is safe for everyone.

This blog is NOT trying to "convert" people. The "transgender agenda" that transphobes seem to stamp all of us with is nothing more than wanting to be ourselves and feel comfortable as who we are.

If you are uncomfortable with this? Please, feel free to leave. I never asked for transphobes here and I certainly don't want them to stay.

This blog WILL be providing tips and tricks for all the handsome young boys and demiboys, beautiful little ladies and demiladies, gorgeous genderfluids, incredible enbies, and all of you wonderful somewhere-in-betweens!

Just what are these tips and tricks?

Tips and tricks will include how to pass as what society deems feminine or masculine.

I do not judge if you know you are a boy and want to be feminine, I do not judge if you know you are a girl and want to be masculine.

This is not meant to enforce society's ideals of the gender separated stereotypes, but rather showing you what those are and helping you present when in an unsafe space or an unaccepting space.

But what about asks and messages?

Please do not be afraid to shoot me a message through my inbox! Anonymous messages are completely acceptable and I am fully willing to answer any questions I can.

Don't be afraid to ask overly specific questions either! It could be an advice box if you need it :)

No transphobic or homophobic asks will be tolerated. You will be blocked, reported, and never seen on my blog again. This goes for transphobic jokes, memes, news articles, claims, scientific reports, etc.

THIS IS NOT A VENTING BOX!! I'm sorry in advance to my loves who are struggling with their lives right now but in order to help you if you submit an ask in the ask box, I must answer publicly. If you need to vent, don't be afraid to send me a message. :) I am here for you all and will listen to you all.

The admin of this blog does cope with ADHD (attention deficient hyperactive disorder ie. brain zoomies zoomz and cannot focus well, gets off task easily) and autism (ie. help me with social cues please I do not understand neurotypical people) so if you could use any of these codes at the beginning of a message I would greatly appreciate it!

(vent) - you would like to vent [ this is a rather general one ]

(help) - you would like advice with something included in your message

(word vomit) - you would like to rant about something in a negative way, like you had a bad day and need to get it off your chest

(rant) - you would like to talk to someone about something good or positive that may have happened :) THESE CAN BE SUBMITTED VIA ASKS IF YOU'D LIKE TO! this kind of ask will be included under the tag #trans positivity and will be made public to spread some hope and joy :)

What will this blog include other than just advice?

This blog will include all sorts of things, pertaining specifically to transgender people, regardless of transition status 🙏❤

This is a source of information, an outlet, and a friend to go to if you need a little boost.

Remember that I love you all, and you are all good people. No matter what others may say to you.

(P.S. please don't be afraid to repost screenshots on pinterest or other websites, I want this to reach as many people as it can 🙏🙏 this blog is only meant to help)

[diivineray]

27. is your muse more confident or shy when it comes to approaching someone they like? xerxes break or one i don't know well: leona kingscholar? ( or again your choice <3 )

romance & relationship headcanons || ACCEPTING

Oh he's confident, but he isn't going to admit outright. Break keeps people at arm's length. it's not just because of the things he's done, where he feels unworthy of love. unworthy to be treated kindly or nicely. Its why he goes out of his way to stop people from being nice to him. Why he teases Gil so much, why he pushes everyone away when they try and take care of him. Why does everyone have to yell at him to get him to understand that they love and care about him despite how much he tries to push.

It always reminds me of the way I was when I first started reading this series, I felt the same way. And i would always be surprised when my friends would just bonk me on the head and remind me that I'm not alone and I don't have to do everything on my own. That I can lean on them. It takes a lot to build that kind of trust, and break is someone who trusts himself not others. To reach that point you really have to break ( hehe) down through some severe walls. This is the man behind the smile. behind his confidence. He's damaged and he doesn't think he's a good fit for anyone.

Leona is very much the same way. He knows he's beautiful, he knows he's powerful, he knows he's intelligent. he is a whole ass package, but because of how he' was raised, how he was made to feel like none of that matter because he'll never be King. He'll never wear a crown. and for Leona, he didn't care about having a crown; all he wanted was some acknowledgment. he wanted someone to see and show he was just as important as his brother, as his nephew. So for leona yeah sure he's confident, but he will also shy away when things become less physical and more emotional. he doesn't want anyone to see through him. he keeps himself safe and hidden behind walls. he wants to be someone's number one. someone who sees him and only him. who loves him unconditionally. when he feels safe enough with you, he'll show you those softer sides of himself. he's not always a flat-out asshole but its how he's coped in life. pretending not to care, or just not caring at all. it was easier because all caring ever got him was pain, rejection and hate. you stop trying when you feel like nothing you do matters.

[jmflowers]

For the weird questions to writer thingy 4-6-7-13-15-25-37 pleaseeeeee. And do you actually think writers are that weird?

4. What is a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

I’ve answered this once already, but I love those words that don’t really have a synonym. Like, there may be another word that means sort of the same thing, but it doesn’t convey the same way – the colloquialism is wrong or there just isn’t a way to translate it. Visceral is one of those words for me, since it takes so much description to express as much as it does on its own. Hygge is another really great one, though there are more version of it in other languages. I also love the word syntax because it’s one of the only words I remember and still use from grade ten English class.

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

That what I believe about my own writing abilities is untrue. I’m terrified that one day someone will lift the veil and prove to me that I’m not any good at this. To imagine all the time and effort and energy I’ve put in to reach a point where I can be satisfied with what I accomplish just being for naught is devastating. I think I’d completely lose my sense of self if anyone were able to shake me that drastically.

I’m also terrified, with all things, that one day my health will fail me (again) and I’ll no longer be able to do what defines who I understand myself to be. I think I could eventually cope with never walking again, or being able to talk, or eating solid food, or whatever could befall me, but not being able to tell stories in some way would destroy me. I think, for me, words are the backbone of how I translate my love to others and I’m not sure how I would fill that gap.

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

I’ve answered this once already. But, to add to the previous thoughts, I’ve got a lot of really amazing people in my life that I cherish greatly. However, the deepest, most important connections have been forged (at least partially) through writing. The girl I used to pass stories to in drama class when I was seventeen is still someone I go camping with every year and cry with when life is too fucking hard to comprehend. I spent my thirtieth birthday on a mountain with a friend who used to keep me company on Skype while I was writing my way through depression when I was nineteen – and she’ll still proofread anything I send her way, no questions asked. The first person I talk to every morning, arguably the most important person in my day, has let me sort through ideas with her for nearly a year.

I like that writing allows me to reach people I may never know, may never speak with. I love that what I create can impact someone else’s life in some miniscule way. But I’m truly, truly honoured that this piece of myself, when I choose to share it, can strengthen the bonds I have with people I love. Because words are how I translate my love to others.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you to write about? What is easy?

I struggle a lot with conveying the challenges of mental health. There’s a really fine line between what feels honest and what feels inauthentic and it’s so easy to tip from one to the other. For someone who has experienced the weird conglomerate of highs and lows, I think there’s a lot more believability factor. But for someone who hasn’t, I think it starts to seem “overdramatic” really quickly. And I’m saying this as someone who used to only exclusively write dark moments, especially while I was in the thick of it myself. Now that I’m older, I worry about discrediting or even fuelling someone else’s experience. It’s easier, at least for me, to write a refuge from that.

Which is, to say, I think what's easy for me to write about is comfort and love. I can’t give every person a place where they can have safety and find redemption, but I can do that for characters and it almost feels like the same thing.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

No, no, and no. I grew up with not a lot of money, so we didn’t own most books that we had access to. If we did own them, they were treasured. I was taught very early on not to write in or damage anything that would need to be returned to the library or the person we’d borrowed from or even just passed along to the next person in the hand-me-down chain. It’s broken my heart every time I’ve lent a book from my collection to someone and they’ve either not treated it well or never returned it. I do not forget those things. I had a copy of Christina’s Ghost by Betty Ren Wright (Apple Paperbacks print) when I was a child that I loved so much, I lent it to a friend to read and she left it outside in the rain and destroyed it. I’ve never been able to replace that book and it haunts me even more than that ghost haunted Christina.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

I like this question, so I’m going to do a few characters from a few different pieces or fandoms I’ve written for and from the current Hygge Universe.

In Extraordinary Measures, the doctor’s daughters are both named after flowers because the woman he loved was a florist and in his grief, he imagined that they would combine his love of science and her love of nature to name their children. If she hadn’t died and he hadn’t been able to create a new layer of reality, they would’ve had different names. Also, the drunk driver that killed the woman he loved is the same drunk driver that later killed Arizona in that layer of reality and then Teddy in the next layer of reality – because that person needed to have the fate of killing someone while intoxicated behind the wheel in order to reach the next step in their own journey and eventually find redemption. He went to jail, served his time, and helped others on their course to recovery.

In Epithet, Charity wakes up in the car in that suburban neighbourhood because Vanessa’s gone there to catch a glimpse of Johnny, who is living with Tracey in a witness protection situation while Vanessa is undercover. In original drafts of the story, Charity and Vanessa actually went there first before going to Vanessa’s agency, and meeting Johnny is why Charity decided to help with taking down her people. But Vanessa wouldn’t risk her son like that. I’d really like to finish that piece in particular because I have it all mapped out, but I’m not sure if the course of action will allow me to explain which of Charity’s kids exist or where they are. Charity's least favourite food is peanut butter.

In Hygge Universe, Maya and Carina settle on a donor who looks a bit more like Maya; each of the kids have one distinct feature from him that allow for a slight physical connection to Maya, though Maya and Carina never expected that would be the case. Carina buys Beatrice her first vibrator and Maya is the only one embarrassed by the experience – she never finds out that Carina did the same for Andrea. Carina’s knee hurts as she gets older because she once fell while out with the kids and never got it looked at because she was too busy trying to convince them that she was okay. Carina is called Mama instead of Mamma because Maya was worried she’d never be able to find her Mother’s Day cards in English with the correct spelling, but the kids usually just get her Italian cards anyways once they’re older and figure out where to find some. Beatrice ends up fluent in Italian; Andrea can understand it but doesn’t speak or write it very well.

In Visceral, Carina is on the shower floor because the guest bathroom doesn’t have a bathtub either. It’s one of only a few things that she dislikes about the apartment, another being that stupid closet tucked into the corner of the sitting room.

In general Station 19 fanfiction, Carina hates soy milk.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

Depends on which of my words they’re looking at. I am a different writer in different aspects of my life, different mediums, and with different characters. They’d probably just think I was committed to the process. And a big, big fan of women.

You think historians will ever figure out that people are gay?

And no, I don't think writers are weird. I think, like most sectors of creative people, that our brains function in a slightly different way than other human beans.

writer asks

[dusk-dawn-longposts]

autism according to Lacanian psychoanalysis, which i'd say is incomplete so i added stuff (see comment above #/tags):

I'm diagnosed with Level 2 autism. My best friend at one point in my life was paranoid schizophrenic, and I've only experienced psychosis under intense prolonged masking (months of masking at a time).

I also don't suppress social ambiguity very well in language. When I say something to someone else, i register its ambiguity as i say it, that's why i add many caveats when i feel comfortable with someone, or I stop talking and feel kinda distractible. I don't feel "invested" in verbally eliminating ambiguity, unless i know the other person just doesn't like it, no matter how many times I've gotten pushback from other ppl regarding my caveats.

I think the reason why ppl see autistic ppl as quasi‐psychotic is bc many of us cope with neuro‐typological differences (being surrounded by undersupportive allistic/non‐autistic ppl) by going catatonic, either hyperkinetically—agitation, overload—or akinetically—shutdown. But i assume non-autistic ppl would also shutdown if forced to appear autistic.

Another reason for the "psychotic" label is that the autistic children who require more support also need that support (and their support needs are recognized more clearly by non‐autistic ppl) more acutely bc they have co‐occuring intellectual disability, which isn't the same thing as autism.

Allism (which shouldn't be forgotten as a category just bc it's "normative"/majority), autism, neuroticism, psychosis, perversion, are probably "separate" spectrums that overlap depending on neurology and personality. I'm assuming that there's just a bigger gap between a "very autistic" (Level 2) and a normatively allistic person due to how institutions have only been built for the latter, while only asylums and restraints have been built for autistic ppl who aren't at Level 1 (adjacent to allistic ppl). That might actually have to do with how Level 1 has been mainstreamed and accommodated, but also might have to do with them being less autistic and thus easier for restrictive institutions to make room for Level 1, however limited, and if course even more limited by discrimination based on race, gender, etc...

That catatonic stuff doesn't happen to me very often when I'm around ppl who understand me. And if i go beyond autistic catatonia & into more schizophreniform psychosis, it's brief, it goes away easily (eases off into catatonia) as soon as i stop masking, and that level of psychosis actually makes it *easier* (emotionally) for me to mask bc I'm too psychotic to really process the distress consciously. So psychosis for me is kind of... against my autistic traits. Maybe some autistic ppl are also schizophrenic & would therefore have a different relationship with psychosis—one where their psychosis amplifies rather than negates their autistic processing.

If i force myself to appear or speak less autistically/more allistically, it can only be accomplished through cognitive shutdown or a kind of negative, simple psychosis if I try to persist through a shutdown.

Allism/non‐autism, as a mask, is psychoticizing to me. I'm assuming that non‐autistic ppl would also be psychoticized if they were forced to appear autistically.

I don't foreclose "the name of the father". I have the same limits of "other" (I need help understanding non‐autistic others, the same way, well reverse way, that allistic ppl need help understanding ppl like me as a Big Other).

Lacan could just be labeling the ALLISTIC sense of big/general other/non‐self as "Big" bc he's not autistic and is essentializing the allistic general sense of otherness as the natural mode for our whole species when that's just not true. Allistic bias.

I relate more to the big "m/Other" of Ettinger (transsubjective "presentifiers", instead of the classical Big Other), but i can kind of code‐switch to approximate the allistic relationship to "Big Other" if im around enough friendly allistic ppl. Just like non‐autistic ppl have learned to understand my "m/Other" presentification of ambiguity when they care to get to know me. I've also met autistic ppl who seem very comfortable with a stereotypically masculine sense of autonomy, so they seem to have that "f/Ather"/Other master signifier just fine, so this whole m/Other thing could just be due to my personality type (psychological) rather than my neuro-type.

It's just a different relationship to otherness. Autistic otherness i guess.

I had to learn to put this stuff into words due to being online, but a lot of this can be communicated through riffing with other ppl.

Maybe for autistic ppl, any non‐autistic otherness has to be synthetic but our understanding of a Big Other is just an autistic other. And allistic ppl's "Big Other" is also limited to an allistic other, and their synthetic other is autistic. It's not that one neurotype, allism, has full access to something "Bigger" than autistic ppl have access to.

I'm diagnosed with "Level 2" which isn't "high functioning", and I'm hyperverbal when i feel comfortable and was selectively mute in elementary school.

I've talked to nonspeaking autistic adults through text, and met Level 3'ers (profound autism) and Level 1'ers (slight autism, closer to allistic ppl) too.

We process language similarly. Selective mutism ("poverty of speech" sometimes) when we don't think anyone around us will accept our speech, and we can usually tell when non‐autistic/allistic ppl will "micro‐reject" our un‐masked communication, even if we don't know our own neuro‐type (or theirs). Just like non‐autistic ppl can tell when someone is neurodiverse even if they don't even know, in language, what that means for the autistic person they're communicating with, autistic ppl can tell when we've encountered a linguistic or body‐language barrier bc of neurotype difference.

[bruised-ribbing]

[hamliet]

Dabi’s Missing Heart

So I’ve been seeing two main responses to Dabi’s character as portrayed in BNHA 292, both of which I feel touch on a very surface understanding of his character and role in the story despite seeming like opposite takes.  

Take #1: 

Dabi is an unfeeling monster created to show the redeemability of Shigaraki and Enji in contrast with his true eeeevil villainy! He will never be redeemed! 

Take #2: 

Dabi is a sweet softy who did nothing wrong! He will never be redeemed because of this chapter which is so out-of-character! 

Note how they both have the same endpoint. I’m not actually gonna address the redemption question much because I can’t fathom what this panel foreshadows if not Touya’s salvation (alive): 

I’m not looking to debate this either; I’m just putting it here because I know it’ll come up if I don’t.

Instead, I wanna address Dabi’s character. He’s my favorite, and I’ve been asked a few different times whether I enjoy him as a villain or as an uwu poor baby, and my answer is always both. 

Dabi is a villain. This chapter’s rampage is, in my opinion, not remotely out of character for him. But neither is it the summation of his character, and he surely is not meant to make Enji look good by comparison. 

So, who is Dabi? 

Dabi is kind of a flaming jerk, and that’s why I like him. He’s an abuse victim who gets to be angry and crass and sharp. He pushes people away because he doesn’t want to open up to them and get burned (heh). He’s just like Shouto in that, except with a dose of murder. 

Believe it or not, this is a very realistic response to abuse, and very common too. It’s good to see that representation. If the writing was indeed just “he’s bad get rid of him,” well, that would of course be a terrible representation. But seeing a mean victim get redeemed? Now that’s some good sh*t I’m here for. 

If you want a sweethearted, misunderstood soft victim, there is one in MHA, and that’s Shigaraki. Dabi is not these things, but that does not mean he’s not a victim or that he’s somehow an unfeeling monster.

You see, Shigaraki is a heart character. Dabi’s the mind. (Heart and mind characters are a literary pattern that is utilized in literature across the globe; it’s not an eastern/western cultural thing. It has its roots in alchemy.) The problem is that you can’t have a heart without a mind nor a mind without a heart. If you lack one, you’re missing half the picture, and you won’t accomplish anything. 

We see this with Shigaraki in his quest to look for ideals, something to believe in, purpose to justify/enable acting on his feelings/emotions. 

Dabi, in contrast, has conviction and ideals, but eschews any kind of personal connection and care. 

So, both Shigaraki and Dabi struggle to unite heart and mind--but they need to do precisely this. 

It’s not a coincidence that Shigaraki expressly envisions both Dabi and Himiko when musing on what his purpose is. 

Yet Shigaraki is able to unite more easily with Himiko as opposed to Dabi because Himiko is also a heart character. She claims to be motivated by extreme empathy that warps around to become a lack thereof (wanting to be who she loves).

Shigaraki’s motivations are basically revenge for hero society not saving him--which encompasses both a deep internal and external (societal) need for empathy and a need for better ideals. Shigaraki needs Himiko and Dabi. They’re a trio, and all of them need each other to grow. But Himiko, being similarly driven expressly by emotions, is easier for Shigaraki to understand and work with. 

The irony is that Dabi is actually a very, very emotional character as well. But what he does (as is typical for a mind character) is repress them, compartmentalize, dissociate. He constantly pushes people away, yet admits privately, to himself, that he’s primarily (and paradoxically) motivated by family. This is emotional, yet Dabi claims he “overthought” and, according to other translations, “snapped” can be actually be read as “went crazy” as a result over overthinking (note: both are mind allusions). 

Dabi repressing who he is--Todoroki Touya--is symbolic of him repressing his emotional side, because again, family and emotions are tied together for his character. Now his identity is acknowledged, and Dabi claims to be losing his mind (again), claims that he can’t feel, and yet is completely consumed by emotions. Like, does anyone think he’s being methodical and calculating this chapter? 

It’s not just negative emotions (rage, hate) that drive Dabi in response to his family. His seeking belonging and emotional connection is present even in a chapter where he tries to murder two members of his family and laughs off the risk to the life of another. 

See, Dabi first asked Shouto to validate his pain:

But like, given the circumstances, of course Shouto doesn’t really respond well. How Shouto responds is this: 

Shouto’s words are triggering. And keep in mind I am not blaming Shouto: he’s in shock and he’s a kid. I’m merely trying to explain how it likely comes across to Dabi. 

You’re crazy. Your feelings don’t matter. You don’t really care about Natsuo! You’re a villain and that’s ALL you are. Not a brother or abuse survivor. Just a villain. 

So, uh, yeah, Dabi then retreats back to being unable to feel, dissociating as has always been his coping mechanism. But that’s not all: Dabi’s been repressing for so long that of course he’s gonna go a little insane in response to the dismissal of everything he’s trying to point out. Why wouldn’t he? His family dismissed his pain back then and now again, and so, without that heart, without those emotions, principle is all Dabi has. This has been present since long before Stain’s ideology came into his life: 

Now, he answers this question of existence through Stain’s ideology.  Purpose is all he has, and to him, Shouto and Best Jeanist are dismissing that too. Why are they dismissing it? Best Jeanist dismisses him for an ideal: the overall good of hero society. Shouto has a mixture of this ideal and also like, genuine shock and pain. 

Back to Dabi. Dabi’s summation of himself and his purpose is incorrect and harmful to himself and others. I’m not excusing him or justifying, just explaining. It’s a tragic reflection of what Endeavor raised both Touya and Shouto to be (and thereby ironic that BJ uses an ideal to dismiss him): 

Instead of being raised to be the symbol of hero society--as Endeavor intended--he exists to destroy it. The root is the same: Dabi assumes he exists for hero society, as a tool. He dehumanizes himself, hence why his quirk physically harms him (which also fits his almost religious zeal for Stain’s ideology). But it is not all Dabi is. He’s not a tool, he’s a person, but to acknowledge he’s a person involves acknowledging his heart/emotional desires, and that gets to my next point.

Dabi’s not a reliable narrator about himself. At all. I’ve written about Dabi and dissociation before. So let’s look at Dabi’s devotion to his ideals, the ideals he puts above people and claims he only cares about... because there are moments where Dabi goes against those ideals. 

For one example, Dabi’s gone against those ideals when he’s allowed his personal need for revenge (an emotional/heart motivation) to overcome his longterm plan. Like, he was fully about to get himself killed here, even though that would likely mean no one would know the corruption of the Todoroki family and hero society, just for the chance to prove to his father that he hurt him. 

In addition, I’ve talked before about how Dabi’s the only character in the entire damn manga to comment that maybe using child soldiers is not okay. While it’s not explicitly stated, it’s reasonable to conclude that Dabi considers the abuse of children in hero training a sin of hero society that ought to be purged (hence, part of his ideals). 

That said, I have also pointed out that Dabi has gone after children in the past when it benefits his mission (Bakugou would like a word). So let’s look at four examples of Dabi and his principles concerning kids--since, after all, he claims to be motivated by heroes who hurt kids. 

Firstly, Dabi’s “save the cat” when he spared Aoyama. 

Why did he spare Aoyama? We can only speculate, but it seems quite likely there are two reasons: 1) hurting Aoyama would not add anything to his overall goal of downing hero society, and 2) a terrified, cowering kid might just have been a teeny bit familiar to Dabi. Here, his ideals--destroying hero society--either take a backseat to a reflection of his personal pain (and)/or his ideal of not abusing kids directly contradicted his ideal of bringing down hero society. But the important part is that in this instance, Dabi chose mercy and the goal of bringing down hero society was jeopardized as a result. 

So then why did he attack Tokoyami, Nejire, and Shouto this arc? Well, Dabi does things he knows are wrong for the sake of accomplishing his overall purpose. He does things he knows hurt himself for this purpose. This isn’t new. If he can’t be acknowledged, can’t exist as a person with emotions, then he at least will ensure he still has a purpose.  

In addition, let’s look at what sets Dabi off in all of these instances. (Again, this isn’t me saying “well actually Dabi’s justified.” He’s not. I’m just pointing to what’s in the text to explain the machinations beyond “bad guy do bad.”)

Dabi tries to reason with Tokoyami, pointing out that Twice was doing essentially what Tokoyami is doing: trying to save his friend(s), but Tokoyami doesn’t listen (also again: not me saying Tokoyami should have listened--realistically, in this situation, it makes sense Tokoyami trusted his mentor!)

Only after his reasoning was rejected did Dabi go to flames mode. He could have just let Tokoyami save Hawks, but instead he really wanted to kill Hawks and that overrode his other principles. Was this just because of his furthering his goal--killing the #2 hero would help destroy hero society--or because of a sense of personal revenge for Twice? That’s open for interpretation (in my opinion, it’s likely a mixture, because again, it tends to intertwine more than Dabi likes to think it does). His principles and/or emotions are brushed aside, and Dabi Does Not Like That. 

Dabi does this again with Shouto this chapter, asking him where he stands on their family issues, and gets brushed aside, and then Shouto goes into his rage mode and Dabi responds. Again, not saying Shouto is rational here or that he should side with Dabi’s murderous plan, but like, his words really don’t come across well to Dabi. 

Dabi going after Shouto after explaining things, asking Shouto for help, and then having his pain dismissed is pretty much a repeat of Tokoyami. When Dabi’s pain is dismissed, he says fine, let’s aim for the highest principle possible: making Stain’s will a reality, and damn any emotional ties. 

Dabi’s obsession with ideals, you might say, is a smokescreen to cover his own pain. Far from feeling nothing, he feels very deeply. (I promise I’m getting to Nejire.) 

So what does this indicate? Well, that Dabi does have a heart and a conscience. But when he lets his heart act, when his heart reaches out, he gets burned. His heart jeopardizes his overall purpose, so he most often dissociates himself from it. But by pretending he doesn’t have a heart, he dehumanizes himself, and he projects that dehumanization onto others (see: seeing Shouto as an extension of Endeavor, when that’s actually the precise image Shouto is trying to shed). 

It’s not a coincidence that Shigaraki has been unconscious during the entire confrontation with Endeavor, nor is it a coincidence that Himiko has been MIA. But, Shigaraki wakes up a bit this chapter not only when hearing Dabi spout about how hero society needs to burn, an ideal/the thing Shigaraki lacks, and through a less important but still-ideal-driven character in Spinner asking him to accomplish his supposed ideal of destruction, but when Dabi saves Shigaraki and Spinner. 

Dabi doesn’t burn Nejire for lols (not that this makes it better because it doesn’t) or even for ideals. He burns her to save Shigaraki and Spinner, because they are his links to full humanity right now. 

(Again, this is also dissociation and projection: Endeavor did this! No, Dabi, you did. You’re perpetuating violence against kids rather than stopping it.)

But anyways, when Dabi calls upon heart, Shigaraki wakes. He lends Gigantomachia and thereby Dabi and the league power. 

Dabi can only grow and actually accomplish anything related to his ideals (fixing hero society) through accepting a heart--even though that will likely mean some painful surgery to shift his ideals to accommodate said heart, because pure ideals don’t leave much room for humanity. He needs to feel to actually change anything, because right now he’s just making things worse (hence, the need for saving and redemption).

I know the League aren’t the protagonists of the serIes, but their complaints aren’t exactly incorrect either (if anything they’re almost a little too valid). But through growing together, Dabi, Shigaraki, and Himiko might actually be able to accomplish something, and get themselves in a place where they can be reached and saved by Shouto, Deku, and Ochaco. Because to be saved, the kids will have to acknowledge the villains’ pain and complaints, and do something about it. 

[rcksmith]

Invigorating — Five Hargreeves

Request : “Hii so i was thinking about some fic/headcanons where five discover that his powers are stronger when he is with reader.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here!!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope I got close to what you wanted. I thought it was better to do it in fic, but it was just out of personal preference, I hope you like it, I found it very adorable to write. Love u❤️

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff.

— — — — —

The superhero life was a mess. Behind all the glamor of HQ’s and the romanticization of the media, there were only people trying to cope with their own lives when everything that was expected of them was nothing short of extraordinary. All the Hargreeves brothers knew this. And they carried the weight of the whole world on their backs. It was like trying to breathe with a rock pressed against your chest, purging all hope of relief.

They would never have a normal life, with normal parents or friends. They would always be chained to that sentence that came with their powers. Sometimes, late at night, some of the Hargreeves wondered how much smoother life would have been had they not been born extraordinary.

Five stopped imagining fantasies that would never come true from an early age. He viewed situations with objectivity, coolness and calculus. But life at the Hargreeves mansion was not easy and the only way for him to deal with the traumas and pressures was to push them under the rug. Then Five started to scoff when the brothers talked about having a normal life.

Who did they want to think about it? They would always be circus attractions. They would never have a normal life. So it was better to get over it, because you can't miss what you never had, and it was stupid want to live a false normal life. They would never be normal, it was the curse of the Hargreeves, and Five accepted that.

But you revoked all of his sentences. You were absolutely normal. Typical life, family, friends and routine. And when you came into the life of the Hargreeves and brought the breath of relief that everyone needed, Five felt that rock be lifted from his chest whenever you were close.

And then he knew normalcy. Five tasted the sweet taste that was enjoying a ray of sunshine, a summer breeze, a sunset, all the normal details that you inserted into his life and that now ... now he had something to miss.

During the months, your presence, for Five, was a sigh of relief amid all the claustrophobic, and he felt a certain envy when he saw how Klaus had a way with dealing with people. How he and Alisson always knew what to say, how to act, and how to captivate you to the point where you want to spend more time with them.

It was hell for Five. because you presence calmed all his nerves, your energy soothed the restless air and removed the rock that prevented him from breathing. Five realized how much he liked fresh air. And he didn't know how to make you want to be close to him too. He felt at peace when you were close. And it was an overwhelming discovery.

“Here it is.” You said, handing Five a mug of coffee, without him even asking.

That was one more thing that made you wonderful in his eyes. You two never had a long conversation, but you knew enough, and whenever you were in the kitchen, helping the Hargreeves for breakfast, you knew exactly what to give him.

Okay, to be fair, you knew exactly what to deliver to everyone. For Klaus, passion fruit juice and hangover aspirin, big and fat pancakes for Luther and Diego, Waffles for girls and strong black coffee for him. It wasn't like Five thought you were treating him in a special way.

But... whenever you gave him coffee and your midday sun smile, that was the best part of the day. And he wished, deep down in his soul, that it was special.

He nodded his head. And he drank the coffee knowing that the taste would be nothing short of excellent. Five concluded that you had a habit of turning everything you touched into gold.

“Are you going to see training today to wait for us?” Alisson asked you.

It was Friday, and Alisson, Klaus, Vayna and you had agreed to go shopping after them training. It was not new you and them to go out together, but it was new for you to watch their training. It was nothing formal, just routine, so it was easier to wait for them finishe than you to leave and return.

“If it's okay with you guys.”

The brothers agreed and Five thought it best not to show any reaction. He told himself it was because it didn't matter whether you saw a workout or not, but, deep in his soul, Five knew it was for fear that if you focused your attention on him, you would end up listening to him fast heartbeat.

But if he knew that everything would start in that training, he would have thought twice about going.

You were sitting on one of the mats in the garden, sometimes reading something on your phone while the brothers practiced the training. It should have been routine for them, as usual, but they all had difficult missions last night and felt exhausted to do their best.

Five came to know his own limits, he knew when his body was entering the last reserves and that it would no longer hold its powers. It was like a big battery that he needed to recharge to keep working. He felt the sting in his muscles, a warning that Five came to understand that signaled that his powers were going to fail.

Five was already orchestrating strategies to dodge Diego's knives when, already knowing that it wouldn't work, he tried to teleport. But the blue flash swallowed him up and when he took him behind his brother, and Five felt his muscles revitalized, the shock left him stunned.

It had never happened. But it hasn't happened again in weeks too.

Five spent days trying to understand how his powers took a turn and then retracted the same stake when he trained again. The bite always hit him in the muscles and then his powers left him in the hand. Five could no longer find the invigorating sensation that followed the hooks.

The second time his powers got stronger was when Luther was pissing him off. They had arrived from an exhausting and difficult mission, and that time you asked them to come to your apartment for dinner. Because you knew that the negativity of the mansion would not do well for a situation that had already brought out the best in the Hargreeves. Always the good person. You knew how to alleviate a situation with the smallest of gestures, and it made you look wonderful again in the eyes of Five.

After dinner, Luther was teasing Five, throwing cushions at him across the room, while everyone talked and rested in the living room. You made them feel like it was just a normal end of day. That they were just tired after work, traffic, and not because they were damn superheroes who fought a nuclear leak and terrorists. It seemed to Five that everything was easy and charming with you.

Then, when Luther threw another pillow at him, and Five felt the sting in his muscles, but tried to teleport to strike back anyway, the invigorating air ran through his muscles and the blue flash swallowed him.

Once again, Five was surprised. And suddenly, he forgot why he teleported.

His mind hummed like a propeller, trying to understand what the hell was going on. And that's when his eyes were drawn to you, like magnets.

The world was seemed to run out of breath, the atmosphere slowed and he followed every move you made until your eyes met his. It was instantaneous. A hot desert wind swept Five from head to toe, and brought the hot, overwhelming thought “It's her.” You were doing it. You were the one who left him invigorated. You removed the rock from his chest and he could breathe. His powers were reacting to you, and the realization it that stunned Five.

You smiled for him and went back to talking to Vayna, oblivious to the overwhelming discoveries that flooded Five.

The third time your presence showed that his theory was right was when you two were alone. It was Tuesday night. You were making cocktails with Klaus and laughing when he gave his verdict:

"I am happy that you are beautiful and intelligent enough to know that you must think about several other professions, because you would definitely make a terrible bartender." Klaus put aside a drink you made after making a face.

You laughed, throwing an olive at him.

“Why beauty would help me?”

“Prostitution, perhaps.”

“KLAUS!” You looked at him with amused indignation and you two laughed out loud.

“I'm going to get something good. Don't get out of here.” He stood up, taking his coat.

“Be careful!”

“I always do, baby.” He shouted at the door, leaving.

You laughed at nothing, cleaning up the mess you had made on the counter, throwing the used lemons in the trash.

That was when Five appeared. The mission mask on his face, the uniform slightly scorched.

“Hey.” You smiled as soon as you saw him, your heart beating faster. “All right?” You pointed to his clothes.

“Fire” Five say, sitting on the stools at the counter you were on and opening the bottle of vodka.

You gave him a glass, and Five thanked him silently while filling a shot and turning it all over at once. You couldn't get your attention off him. His hair was black as the background of the galaxy, his lips were red with drink, the mask adorned his eyes. God, he was beautiful and you felt that you could no longer reason consistently.

This always happened when Five was involved. He is a god of Olympus who had the power to destabilize you with just one look. Now, however, the mask delivered that he could swing you just in the presence.

In fact... that mask just made everything more mysterious and attractive. You felt something humming inside you, like a harp string that connects your heart to your belly.

“What?” Five's voice brought you out of the trance, revealing that you were looking at him for too long.

“N-nothing” You tried not to blush.

You turning around to put away the other bottles that Klaus and you had removed. But the floor was damp from the melted ice cubes you both dropped. And you was so stunned that you slipped.

As soon as the world spun and the wind hit your face, you were prepared to fall to the ground when a blue flash protected you and firm arms held you.

The breath drained, the callus increased, and Five was absolutely sure that it was you who made him stronger. You were the one who reinvigorated his powers because when he came out of that fire, the sting in his muscles hit him hard, and he knew he hadn't been able to use his powers anymore.

But when you looked up at him, and Five felt your warm skin on his hands, he knew he couldn't stay away from you anymore. He thought about doing something, his body was screaming for you, but he didn't have a chance. Your fingers touched the corner of his mask, gently contouring the left edge.

“You're Gorgeous...” Your whispered was a breath, but Five could hear.

Then he leaned over and pressed his lips to yours, because he felt he couldn't live any longer if he didn't. And when you kissed him back, his whole battery was recharged and that rock that was choking him was destroyed in millions of pieces.

As soon as you were apart enough to breathe, your fingers removed his mask and curled your fingers in his black hair. And this time, it was you who brought your lips together in the most passionate kiss.

[heckpup]

I uh, made a little something to cope with Ranboo’s acting yesterday. (Which was a m a z i n g, everyone go subscribe to Ranboo rn)

Anyway, Ranboo is now my comfort character, you can pry him from my cold, dead hands.

Also I wrote this at like 2 am, then rewrote it as I worked it into my phone, and am now about to post it before I chicken out.

(How do you make long stories lock off so you don’t have to read the whole thing unless you click on mobile? I tried, but I don’t know it I used the right thing. Help.)

CW!: dehumanization, mentions of starving, isolation

Edit: I had to go back and reformat all of the story, cause apparently strike through a, italics, and bolds don’t carry over from notes.

Second Edit! I learned how to do the “Keep Reading” thing so that should make my unending scroll through my own stories much easier.

Ranboo is used to the cold.

Being part Ender makes him invulnerable to the freezing cold of the void that makes up the End. It’s always cold there, except for when you get close to the dragon. That’s why so many (of his kind) Endermen congregate on the dragon’s island.

They may be used to the cold, but that doesn’t mean it’s nice, or they like it.

Ranboo only knows this from feelings. Memories that aren’t tethered to anything, just vague thoughts floating around in his own cold void.

— — —

Memories of warmth, true warmth, begin in the Overworld.

There’s the sun, the moon, and stars (so many stars!) that make up the Overworld’s void.

They call it sky.

Sometimes, late at night, when everyone in L’Manburg is asleep, Ranboo likes to go out to his roof and look at the stars. They twinkle and shine, little lights in the overwhelming darkness. Some make pictures and stories, Phil tells him. Others just twinkle and shine, unconnected to any others, alone.

They’re like Ranboo’s memories, in a way. Lights in his dark void, sometimes they connect to each other, telling stories.

It’s hard to find the stories, sometimes.

— — —

Ranboo built himself a bunker. It’s a small, dark room, quiet (until he plays that disk) and as he sits, he can see purple particles from the crying obsidian. They remind him of something, but he just can’t remember.

(He does.)

(He doesn’t want to.)

(The stars spread the memories out.)

(Unfindable, untraceable, unable to be connected to each other anymore.)

(But they’re still there.)

(A friend.)

(Endermen surrounding him.)

(Purple particles everywhere he looked)

(Leaving him to survive)

(Sadness)

(Why did they leave me?)

(Why did they go?)

(Where am I?)

(Why am I here?)

— — —

He kept coming back, until it was too late.

It’s far enough away from the ruins (of his HOME) that he can’t see it, even if he tries. He’d be safe here, he’d always be safe here. He’d saved his pets, the three cats and the dog were here, with him.

So many animals had been left.

He hoped T̷̢̬͖̳̮̩̯̼̪͔̠̳̘̭̒̀̅̈́̽͒͐̒̂͂̔̎͠͝͝ͅụ̸̢̧̩̳̏̂̂̾̄̂͂b̷̨͙̮̰͇͖͎͔̳̮̆͐̆̈̐́́̂͊̈́̕b̸̞̭̫̘͕̏̎ò̸̡̖̍̑̔͆̽͒͘ found Ş̶̡̛͚͎̲̜̻͕̹͉̤͂̓̐́̓͘̕͘͝q̴͙͆u̴̝̥̻͉̯̯͑̿̏̇̾̏̋̐̒̓͜͝e̶̩̤̞͖̹̪͚͛̈̓̓͗̓̕̚a̷̡̭̱̫̭͈͚̙̗̜̬̅ḵ̵̨̧̭̥̬̓̌̏̇́̓̾̏͋ṡ̸͔̱͙̌̀̑͒̐̎̊̑̽͌͝.

Who?

That was someone important.

Why couldn’t he remember?

His memory book (not his anymore) lay on the floor next to him, forgotten.

He didn’t want to go back, to look at the crater. He could just stay here.

Right?

Endermen didn’t need food, why should he?

— — —

He’s alone.

He’s all alone.

Ranboo is certain that if he wasn’t lucky enough to have brought a measly stack of potatoes with him (why did he bring them with him?) the pain would have been unbearable. He could survive, he found, but it hurt.

It hurt so bad.

The animals are gone.

Ranboo (was that his name?) had let them go long ago. Let them run away, sent them off to get food, find new homes, new people. (Why didn’t he do that?) He hoped they found people. (Why wouldn’t they? They were pets, still wanted by people.)

He couldn’t remember their names.

It was dark, and he was alone. (Again.)

— — —

He doesn’t speak. He thinks he’s forgotten the common language, how it feels to talk to people. He still makes noises, to pass that time. One vocalization, each day, just to pass time. (How many days has it been?)

A disk lays next to him, scattered and broken from overuse. He’s hungry, but at the same time, he’s not. Why?

It’s so cold.

Why is it so cold?

He doesn’t like the cold.

But he can’t remember anything else.

Ranboo is used to the cold.

— — —

He won’t die. (Why can’t he just die?)

Endermen don’t die. (Unless they are killed.)

He’s just an Enderman. Right?

A creature, not powerful enough.

Weak.

A thing.

Easily killable.

He hasn’t even looked at himself for so long, he doesn’t remember what he looks like.

He lets out a quiet gr-rk! and looks around the dark room again.

The rock looks grab-able.

He wants to grab it. How long has it been since he held something, anything?

(He ignores both the broken disk and the notebooks.)

(He doesn’t need not blocks)

(He’s forgotten his inventory. He hasn’t used it in so long, he didn’t need it.)

(Why would he need it? He’s not a Player.)

(He’s just an Enderman, after all.)

He (It?) blinks, and suddenly, there’s water flowing. It hurts like hell and the water needs to go away. The water needs to go away, it hurts, it hurts, IT HURTS!

Gr-rk!

It’s above? It doesn’t know where It is, but there’s light, and while it’s too bright for It, It blankly remembers that it could be brighter.

(Why does It remember that?)

Where is this?

Where is the box?

The obsidian is still limply held in It’s hands.

It begins to walk around, slowly.

It sees something, in the distance. A wall of fence posts, small. It walks over, and looks out at what It sees.

Absolute destruction, blood and carnage, and it can (still?) see a big black creature (a lone Wither, left alive) at the bottom. Vines are beginning to grow over the stone, and It lets out a quiet, confused gr-rk? at the sight.

A small star twinkles in It’s void, unconnected, but there.

It looks up for a moment and is shocked to find clouds covering a dark sky.

(Where are the stars?)

It feels like something is wrong, something should be there, not clouds.

It teleports away, letting out vwoop-inv noises as It finds Itself in snow. It’s cold, but the snow isn’t the wet kind, thank goodness.

(Where are It’s boots? It had boots to protect It from the snow, once.)

Gr-rk?

It hears a twig snap somewhere behind It, and It turns to look at someone suddenly. A person? A Player!

They look It in the eyes.

It should attack!

No.

What?

Don’t attack.

Why not? They looked at It, It should attack them!

No. Not P̴̧͖̗̪̹͚̳̰̭̗̞̙̺͛͗͋́͂̈͊́͂̃͌͜͠͝͠ͅḧ̵̡̭̖̪͙̀̇̈́͆̉i̴̛̭̽̈̎̄̾̔̇̒̀͝l̸̡̛̛͔̪͖̦̜̮̐̂̄̋̈̋͘͝͠͝͠z̸̨̛̲̤͔̖̓̓̔͊͑̾̿͘͝͝ą̵̨̞̝̰̖̖́̽̿̓̐̀̋͐̊̌̆̈́.

Who?

“Ranboo?”

It hears the voice, and that’s enough to shock it out of It’s stupor. It won’t attack. It won’t. They’re looking at It in the eyes, and It really wants to attack, to scream, to throw the block at them, but It won’t. Not if the voice asks.

“Ranboo?” They ask again. It doesn’t understand what they are asking. What is a Ranboo? It is only an Enderman.

So, in response, It only lets out a quiet gr-rk? and a tilt of the head.

Clang!

Something falls off It’s head. What is that? It looks like a hat made of metal. It has shinies in it.

It ignores the metal hat and instead stares at the Player again. The Player only looks at It quietly, with water in their eyes. How does that not hurt, water in your eyes?

(It always did, but you could ignore it.)

The Player is holding a block! It looks like the trees around It, but already take . Can It have the block? It’s ears swivel up in excitement, looking down at the dark block in the Player’s hand. It wants the wood. Please?

The Player looks down and puts the block away. It frowns, but keeps Its eyes on the Player. It’s ears go down.

The Player’s arms move a bit, and before It can realize, It has dropped Its own block in favor of putting Its arms around the Player. (Why did It do that?)

(It’s been so long since It had a hug.)

The Player is warm. It practically melts into the warmth, purring a little. The warmth is so nice.

They both stand like this for a while, before It begins to get pulled by the Player. The warmth goes with the Player, so It will follow.

The Player leads It to a big house. (Anything is bigger than the box.) and then they lead It inside. There’s another Enderman inside, and It’s ears go up.

Gr-rk? (Friend?)

Gr-rk. (Hello, child.)

Gr-r-rk? (Where is this place?)

Vwoop. (A home. Philza has brought you back.)

Gr-rk? (Philza?)

“Ranboo?” The Player- Philza, It knows now- begins tentatively. “Where have you been? It’s been a year!”

Is Philza addressing It? Philza must be, since Philza has called It Ranboo since they met.

Is Ranboo It’s name? It knew Philza before?

Ranboo did, it realizes. Ranboo knows Philza! Ranboo remembered something!

With a happy vwoop, Ranboo teleports back over to Philza for more warmth.

“You ok, mate?” Philza asks Ranboo. A shake of the head into a warm shoulder tell Philza all he needs.

“You always did have memory problems, eh? That’s ok. We can work with that. You won’t have to forget again, alright?”

Ranboo is used to the cold.

But warmth, Ranboo decides, is much better.

[lesyah]

moshang childhood friends to lovers au - final

Hello! here is a fic that was posted to my twitter. it has songs to go along with it from my twitter. If you’d like to look at the songs for each part, or just check out my twitter (where I have threadfics and other twitter fics not posted here), feel free to do so!

final [age 22]

Out of all the things Shang Qinghua had gone through over the past three and a half years, this was somehow the worst. He wasn’t sure why this was the one thing that had him on the verge of a breakdown. It seemed somewhat inconsequential compared to the other moments throughout his college career. Other moments like when he was truly on the verge of dropping out, or when he felt so lonely he thought he’d snap in half. He was able to cope with those things. But for some reason, this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

He stared at the program in front of him, gaze faraway and his mind even farther away. All the sounds around him seemed to muffle. He had only picked up the itinerary to double check the time to tell his mom. He realized, in a split second, that Mobei Jun was also graduating. He knew this, in theory, but he never really thought about it.

A painful feeling bloomed in his chest. Mobei Jun was graduating. He was graduating university. He was graduating and Shang Qinghua wouldn’t be there. Shang Qinghua was graduating and Mobei Jun wasn’t going to be there. He blinked a few times, the realization settling in, grabbing his heart like a vice, and squeezing until his eyes pooled with tears.

This was the first milestone they wouldn’t be a part of for one another. They’d done all of the rest together. Mobei Jun had been there for all of it, and Shang Qinghua had been there for him in turn. He had expected this to go on for the rest of their lives. He didn’t necessarily think they’d share the same milestones (though he wished), but he at least thought he’d be there for them. 

He had always imagined Mobei Jun being on the other side of the room, a silent support, when he inevitably felt anxious about this huge change in his life. Now, he was going to have to walk across a stage, receive congratulations, hug his mom, hug Shen Yuan, smile in photos with his friends, and Mobei Jun wouldn’t be there. Even worse, Mobei Jun would walk across a stage, receive congratulations, stand with his father and uncle who wouldn’t hug him, and he’d hover with his friends, and Shang Qinghua wouldn’t be there for it. He wouldn’t get to hug him in lieu of his family. He wouldn’t be able to support him when he inevitably looked at the door, hoping his mother would walk in.

Shang Qinghua set his program down, pressed his face into his hands and wept. 

[“The person you are trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message.”

“Hi Mobei, it’s Qinghua. Um… You’re probably busy getting ready, so don’t mind this. It’s nothing important. It sucks we graduate on the same day, so I can’t go to yours. I wish that I could. Even though I can’t come, I just wanted to at least call you and let you know that I’m really proud of you. Don’t let your dad or your uncle bully you today, okay? I hope you have a good day. I, um…I miss you. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hi! It’s Shang Qinghua. I can’t take your call right now, but please leave a message and I’d love to call you back!”]

“Have you thought any more about that job?” Shen Yuan asked, lightly pushing Luo Binghe’s hand away, where he was trying to dump more food into his bowl. “Binghe, stop. That’s yours.”

Shang Qinghua leaned back against the seat, letting his own food cool down as he thought of how to answer. It was just the three of them, thankfully, otherwise it would have been impossible to be honest. In fact, he was a little thankful that Luo Binghe was there. Luo Binghe would be kinder about it than Shen Yuan. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

Shen Yuan looked up at him. “What do you mean you don’t know? It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“Yeah, and it’s also really far from home.”

Shen Yuan looked at him. Luo Binghe was also looking at him, but more in interest than criticism. 

“Isn’t it exactly what you want to do?” Luo Binghe asked, taking a small bite of his food. “It’d be worth it to move far away, right?”

Shen Yuan looked back at his food, eating a huge bite of noodles in frustration. “He doesn’t want to move because of Mobei Jun,” he said, annoyed.

Shang Qinghua didn’t meet either of their gazes.

Luo Binghe was the one to speak next. “But…Do you know if he’s coming back?”

Shang Qinghua’s chest twinged. “No, I don’t know. That’s why I don’t know if I’m taking the job yet.”

“You’re really gonna determine whether or not you take your dream job based on whether or not Mobei Jun moves back?” Shen Yuan snapped. “Can you honestly tell me that you’re not setting yourself up for failure? Why did you switch schools? Because you made the mistake of following him to his school in the first place.”

Shang Qinghua couldn’t help but wince. He looked down at his food and picked at it. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to prioritize yourself for once!”

Shang Qinghua didn’t respond. He took a bite.

Luo Binghe was quiet. “I don’t know, gege, I kind of understand what he means.”

Shen Yuan looked over at him. “What? You’re saying you would give up your future for me?”

“No,” he defended, also not meeting Shen Yuan’s gaze. “It’s not like that. It’s not that simple.”

“How do you think that makes me feel, Binghe? That I’d be stopping you from doing what you want?”

Luo Binghe sighed and put his chin in his hand. He swirled his chopsticks in the broth in front of him. “But you’re what I want. What’s the point in having a job that I like just to be miserable in every other way?”

Shen Yuan looked at him for a moment, a complicated expression on his face. He looked like he was not about to let that conversation go, but was going to save it for just their own ears. He looked back at Shang Qinghua. “Are you really miserable?”

Shang Qinghua took a bite of some rice. “What gave me away?”

Shen Yuan said nothing. He looked down at his own food and began to eat. The rest of their celebratory meal was eaten in silence.

His mother was being a little overbearing. She was trying to hold onto him now that he was finally slipping away. She hadn’t tried to hold onto him his entire life, but now that he was finally going, she was ready to try. A part of Shang Qinghua thought it was a pretense. That in order to make herself feel better, she should cry and hug and reminisce about how much she loved him and how much of a good child he’d been. It only felt suffocating. 

When she finally went to bed, Shang Qinghua went to his old room and looked at the boxes on his floor. He packed away a few more things he’d be taking with him when he fully moved out. He didn’t have a place yet, and he still didn’t even know where he was going, but it would be easier for both him and his mom to have his things packed up. That way it wouldn’t be a surprise when the time finally came.

Shang Qinghua sat on the floor in front of one of those boxes. It was full of haphazardly thrown in memorabilia, all without a category that could go into its rightful box. It was full of random things he’d kept through the years, random photos, random toys he didn’t want to part with. 

He pushed himself away from the box. It was a box full of Mobei Jun, and Shang Qinghua was more and more averse to thinking of him at all.

He left his home, only bringing a light jacket. The summer air was just warm enough to not need anything heavier. The street he walked down was quiet, but he could hear the sound of the electrical wires crackling overhead. It was soft enough to not be distracting, and loud enough to help drown out some of the loudness in his heart.

He arrived at the park in what felt like a few moments, for this was a worn path, and a known journey. At the end was a familiar sight, with an intimate familiarity with the way the shadows from the moon would bend around each park bench, around each dark lamppost. Even more familiar, even more known, was the figure lying in the small patch of grass at the end.

Shang Qinghua’s heart lurched as he neared. Mobei Jun did not move when he approached. His eyes were somewhat blank as they stared up at the sky. Shang Qinghua laid down beside him and pillowed his head on his arms. The moon was right overhead, and cascaded them in white light.

“You’re here,” Shang Qinghua murmured, voice warm and desolate all at the same time.

“I thought maybe you’d come,” Mobei Jun said back, a similar cadence. 

“How’d you know?”

“Because I wanted to come, too.”

Shang Qinghua smiled a little. He removed one arm from beneath his head and set his elbow on the grass between them. He kept his hand raised in the air and waited. Mobei Jun reached out and grabbed it. He lowered their hands to the cool grass, and the blades tickled along Shang Qinghua’s hand.

“What’s next for you?” Shang Qinghua asked. His eyes tracked the movements of the clouds—a practiced habit. Much of his life was habitual, and he was discovering that anything beyond those learned habits was immensely painful.

“Not sure,” he said honestly. “I’m open to anything, to going anywhere. I just…want to want it. Whatever it is.”

Shang Qinghua nodded. He understood that. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing next?” He asked. He turned his head to look at him.

With his gaze, Shang Qinghua felt like another moon entirely stared down at him, lighting him up from the inside out and revealing all of his secrets. An unnamed desperate feeling welled up with the question. He felt afraid. He was afraid of knowing what his options were and not knowing at all what to do with them. “No,” he whispered, voice weak. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

Mobei Jun squeezed his hand. “It’s ok. You will.”

“I don’t feel like I will.” He could already feel the hysterics welling up. “I…don’t know what to do. About anything.”

Mobei Jun’s thumb brushed along his soothingly. “Qinghua,” he said. “Qinghua, it’s ok. You don’t have to know right now.”

Shang Qinghua squeezed his hand back, like he was trying to keep him from running away. It was all very loud, and he was very out of practice. He hadn’t had Mobei Jun to help him come down when he got like this for a very long time. It even felt like he had forgotten how to listen to Mobei Jun’s soothing voice and his calm demeanor. That scared him even more. He felt untethered, like a balloon full of helium, with nothing to keep him down. 

Mobei Jun released his hand and rolled onto his side to prop himself up on his elbow and look down at Shang Qinghua. The loss of his hand made him feel like he was about to float away forever. But Mobei Jun reached down with his other hand and grabbed onto Shang Qinghua’s again. He brought Shang Qinghua’s hand to his own chest. “Qinghua, breathe. It’s ok.”

Shang Qinghua looked over at him. “Is it? It doesn’t feel like it.”

Mobei Jun looked down at him, face even, heartbeat slow. His hand tightened on Shang Qinghua’s, and pushed it more firmly to his chest. He said nothing. 

Looking at his face, Shang Qinghua counted the heartbeats, and tried to think of nothing else. Instead of calming down, however, the desperation in his chest only morphed into another kind of panic. “Mobei,” he said, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt. “Mobei, I missed you.”

His hand flexed around Shang Qinghua’s. “I missed you, too.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered, almost frantic. “I never knew what to do.”

Mobei Jun began to look sad. “Me neither.”

Shang Qinghua began to cry. He rolled onto his side the same time Mobei Jun shifted, and they pulled each other into their arms. Shang Qinghua pushed his face into his chest and clutched into the fabric of his jacket. It was such a relieving feeling, almost painful in the way it pulsed through him. 

He only felt more afraid. Letting go would be so much harder, so much worse, now that there was no guarantee there would be another time for this. In that moment, he realized one thing: whatever happened, it would have to be final. Either he held onto Mobei Jun forever, or he let him go and never held him ever again.

Shang Qinghua felt a cold dread fill his gut. “Mobei, I need to tell you something.”

Mobei Jun’s arms tightened. When he spoke, he sounded afraid, like he was thinking of the last time Shang Qinghua had said those words. “What is it?”

Shang Qinghua shifted slightly, holding onto him tighter. He allowed himself one moment to savor it, just in case. He felt the way Mobei Jun’s breath expanded in his chest, the way his heartbeat could be felt from how close they were, the way his hair was long enough to fall down his back and tangle in Shang Qinghua’s fingers. He savored the way Mobei Jun held onto him like he would protect him from the world, and the way every embrace had only brought respite. 

“Qinghua,” he said, somewhat fraught. “What is it?”

Shang Qinghua shut his eyes, drifted a hand up to brush through the knots in his hair. “I love you.” He let the sound of it settle into the air around them for a moment, and though he hadn’t noticed before, he suddenly became aware of the sound of grasshoppers chirping, and the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. “I love you in every way I possibly could.”

Mobei Jun was silent and still for several moments. 

“I love you in the way that I want to be with you forever, never too far away and always close.” 

Mobei Jun pushed forward slightly and rolled Shang Qinghua onto his back. He lifted, propped up over him on one elbow, his other hand pillowing Shang Qinghua’s head. Shang Qinghua looked at his face once, but couldn’t take it. He looked away. “Qinghua,” he breathed. 

He blinked a few times, face flushed. “I mean it. Don’t ask me if I’m being serious.”

His hand shifted to caress the side of his face. He brushed his thumb along his cheek. “Qinghua,” he said again. “Look at me.”

Shang Qinghua really didn’t want to. He met his gaze and it was almost painful with how embarrassed he felt. He only felt more embarrassed when Mobei Jun did nothing but stare down at him. “What do you want me to look at you for? I’m so embarrassed.”

Mobei Jun dipped and pressed his lips to his cheek, soft and cool from the night air. “Why embarrassed?” He asked quietly, lips brushing against his skin. He pressed another kiss further down his cheek. Shang Qinghua’s face was on fire, and the grip he still had on Mobei Jun’s jacket only tightened. “What’s embarrassing?” He kissed further down, inward, towards Shang Qinghua’s mouth.

“Because you’re my best friend,” he whispered. “And you’ve been my best friend since I was a child. And—And I’m in love with you.”

Mobei Jun lifted slightly and hovered over him, only an inch away. “Still don’t understand what’s embarrassing.” He lowered, so their lips brushed when he spoke next. “You’re in good company, Qinghua. I love you, too.” 

He kissed him, gentle and calming, the same way he was about everything else. Shang Qinghua’s eyes stayed open for a moment as his brain tried to catch up. But then he found himself clutching onto him tighter, eyes slipping shut, as his hand caught in Mobei Jun’s hair with the grip. Mobei Jun winced slightly, then let out a soft laugh against his lips. 

Shang Qinghua loosened his grip to not pull on his hair, but only moved to cradle his face closer to his own. Mobei Jun tilted his head to the side, pushing further in to kiss him open. Shang Qinghua pulled back to breathe when he realized he had forgotten to do so ever since Mobei Jun kissed his cheek the first time. He kept his eyes shut, not wanting to wake up if this was a dream. He was breathing heavily, hands still on Mobei Jun’s face.

Mobei Jun was undeterred and pressed a light kiss to his open mouth, then to his bottom lip, then his chin, and down his jaw. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he whispered, breath washing down his neck. He kissed beneath his ear. “For so long that it seems odd that I’ve never told you. Why haven’t I?”

Shang Qinghua opened his eyes and the moon stared back at him, like it had seen everything. “I don’t know. I wish you would have. But it’s not like I told you either.” He swallowed, eyes scrunching shut when Mobei Jun kissed back up his jaw. “You meant too much to me to lose. That was why I didn’t tell you.”

Mobei Jun pulled back to look down at him. “You wouldn’t have. Even if I didn’t feel the same way. You mean too much to me to lose, too. There’s nothing you could do or say to change that.”

Shang Qinghua’s eyes filled with tears and he tugged him back down. Mobei Jun went pliantly, pressing their lips together again. He shifted over him, so his knees were on either side of his waist. He held Shang Qinghua’s face, kissing him so gently that it felt like kissing a cloud. Despite the gentleness, he still managed to coax Shang Qinghua open with it, and as soon as he opened up, Mobei Jun swept inside, head tilting to the side for a better angle.

Making an embarrassingly small sound in the back of his throat, Shang Qinghua wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him down. Mobei Jun went, shifting onto his elbows to hover over him. He pulled back for a moment, a quiet, wet sound hanging between them. Shang Qinghua looked up at him, felt his heart lurch, and pushed himself up to kiss him again. Mobei Jun’s lips turned up as he indulged for a few moments longer.

He pulled back and held his face again. His thumb came up to softly brush against Shang Qinghua’s bottom lip. He pulled down on it slightly, looking a little entranced at his red, kiss-bruised mouth. “I love you.”

Shang Qinghua let out a breath, like it was forced out of him. He reached up to grab onto his shoulders. “I love you,” he whispered, as if he was trying to convince him. 

Mobei Jun smiled.

“You asked me what my plans were,” Shang Qinghua said, swallowing as he stared at the hollow of Mobei Jun’s throat. “And I really don’t know. I don’t know what I want or what I’ll do, but I do know that I’ll only be happy if you’re there with me.”

Mobei Jun bent to press their foreheads together. His voice was quiet, so quiet it felt like a feat that Shang Qinghua could hear him at all. “I’ve never really known what I wanted to do. The only plan I’ve ever had has been you.”

Shang Qinghua felt his insides collapse a little. He tugged him down and pressed his face into his neck. Mobei Jun hugged him back just as tightly. They stayed that way for a long time.

[flickeringart]

The Fixed Squares

In astrology there are signs that are more or less compatible. The signs are in essence representative of archetypes of the unconscious and they live out their expressions through our lives. It’s common knowledge that certain people are more or less compatible, which depends on the personal planetary placements and how they interact with another person’s placements.

People are complex and can’t be reduced to a single sign (their Sun sign for example). However, if a person has a lot of planets in a particular sign, they might find that other people with a lot of planets in the squaring sign (90° apart on the zodiac wheel) presents conflicting and disturbing energy. The signs that naturally square each other have a tense relationship because they have the same modes of expression (cardinal/fixed/mutable) but are placed in a different element (fire/earth/water/air). The difference in element poses a significant dilemma, between masculine (fire/air) and feminine (earth/water), mythical and intellectual vs. mortal and emotional.

Let’s move on with the fixed signs (read about the cardinal squares here). As opposed to the cardinal signs, fixed signs don’t seek to assert and accomplish, they are what they are – dwelling in states of being. They are not seeking to become but rather to affirm a state or a stance. Cardinal signs are stubborn through consistent movement with a specific purpose; fixed signs are stubborn through attachment to a specific purpose. Take Aquarius for example, the fixed air sign. Since it belongs to the element of air, it is intellectual like Libra, the cardinal air sign. Libra seeks to achieve refinement through the use of the intellect while Aquarius remains loyal to its own refined thinking – or rather, to thinking itself. Aquarius thinks, and it is reality. Admittedly it sounds like there’s a grandiosity complex hiding behind this way of being, but its really not as bad as it sounds. Aquarius reflects the capacity to have a set frame of mind. It’s necessary for humans to have some kind of fixed mental structure to operate within, to seek refinement within, to explore within. Without some kind of intellectual convictions there would be great uncertainty to the point of us being unable to cope with existence. Aquarius is the sign of fixed concepts the mental patterning. It’s also the sign of genius insight, new thought, progression and innovation. In order for some things to progress in the real sense, there has to be a replacement of the rigid mental frameworks that represented the old paradigm. It’s obvious why Aquarius is a universal sign, seeing as it operates on such a broad level of existence – altering the very cornerstones of conceptual reality. In square to Aquarius there’s Taurus, the fixed earth sign. While Aquarius is masculine and non-physical, Taurus is feminine and physical. Fixed earth clashes violently with fixed air because one is based in the concrete realm, the other in the abstract realm. To Taurus, intangible ideas doesn’t make sense – they don’t serve to alter life as it has always been, getting up in the morning, working through one’s day, eating, sleeping and doing it all over again. Far reaching ideas involving the potential development for humanity and the collective doesn’t really concern this sign, it’s primordial and deals with the basic, daily routine of life. Physical comfort, stability and predictability weigh heavily for Taurus while Aquarius would only really be able to value the earth plane as a concept – not for its physical attributes. The sensory dimension that belongs to Taurus is only a phenomenon to Aquarius, which deals with everything intellectually from a higher plane. Taurus is intimately attuned with the body in terms of sensation while Aquarius perceives the body mentally. There’s no common ground to be had – the signs radically conflict in this way. Taurus can’t understand unmanifested reality while Aquarius can’t be confined to the physical nor accept the “ultimate” reality of the material realm according to Taurus. Sensual pleasure doesn’t mean anything to Aquarius; it can only appreciate the idea (ideal), not the flawed material version of it.

The other sign squaring Aquarius is Scorpio. While Taurus could be described as physically attached, Scorpio could be described as emotionally attached, being a fixed water sign. Scorpio is probably the most complex sign of all, seeing as emotions in themselves are complex, but when fixated, they reach high levels of intensity. Aquarius has a certain global impersonal intimacy going that can be very comforting – especially to strangers and friends. Aquarian intimacy is the intimacy that all humans can share because it stems from being part of the same universal family. Scorpio on the other hand has little capacity to be impersonal because everything is felt on the deepest and most personal level. Emotions are not mere concepts to Scorpios; they are more real that flesh and blood, which is why Scorpio is the sign of extremes. Control over emotions is very important for this reason, their power literally has the capacity to make or break anything in life. There’s enormous passion and resilience to the fixed water sign that Aquarius would never be able to relate to other than as a concept. Aquarius can often offer understanding, but that’s not enough for Scorpios who wants to feel alive through involving others in the same intense experiences they go through. While Scorpio is like a magnetic vortex of emotional energy, Aquarius can expand their minds enough to intellectually sympathize with emotion, but they will not be able to approve of uncivilized behavior or get involved in anything deep and raw in such a consuming way. Aquarius has a futuristic mind that is concerned with ideas and ideals while Scorpio has a passionate and raw perception of reality, trailing back to basic survival and dominance hierarchies. Scorpio is concerned with the hidden underpinnings of reality, the struggle between life and death, the transformation of base metal into gold, the rise of the phoenix after the burning and destruction. It’s not an intellectual process but rather a process of coming up against life in the most brutal of ways in order to shed the layers and reveal something of purity. That which cannot be taken away will remain at the end of the day, and everything else should be allowed to fall away, however painful it might be. This couldn’t be further from the conceptual realm that Aquarius is concerned with. To Scorpio, the border between good and bad is blurred – what is sought is transcendence of polarity. The mental faculties, as opposed to the emotional, have a separating function. It isn’t possible to separate the old from the new any other way than through dividing reality into distinct categories. Aquarius cares about improvement and introducing change, which depends on identifying an ideal – Scorpio cares about transformation from within, sitting through the fire and feeling how the very base substance is altering itself at the core. Both signs are concerned with the very fabric of reality but in very different ways. Aquarius constitutes the mental blueprint that can be altered through detaching from the current order and visualizing something different. Scorpio on the other hand constitutes the subconscious emotional cornerstones and attachments that are intensely personal and painful to let go of. Simply put, Aquarius is civilized and clear, Scorpio is uncivilized and blurry, and they can’t really see eye to eye in any other way than that they’re both interested in decoding reality and existence – even if its for completely different reasons and through completely different methods.

To flip the tables completely, let’s take a look at the opposite signs of Aquarius, namely Leo. The fixed fire sign is complementary to Aquarius and has to do with maintaining the integrity of the self, not maintaining the integrity of thought. While Aquarius has a way of being sure of things on an intellectual level, Leo is sure of its own energy and spirit. There’s hardly a more charming and warm sign than Leo – it’s associated with creativity, intuition, leadership, generosity and talent. The Sun, which is the “planetary” ruler literally sustains life and is basically a source unto itself. While Aquarius is good at remaining in integrity relative to its own unique and liberal thinking, Leo is good at remaining in integrity relative to its own unique self-expression. Taurus, the sign squaring Leo isn’t so much concerned with creativity as it is with stability. The integrity of Taurus is that of the body, not of the spirit. As long as there’s physical permanence and stability Taurus is happy, while Leo would see material gain as a secondary benefit of talent and expression. As long as there’s physical proof of competence and value, there’s nothing to fuss about according to Taurus. There’s simplicity to the fixed earth sign that the other signs lack – it views life through the lens of assets and value and attempts to have control over these things. In a sense, it is much easier than having control emotionally, like Scorpio attempts, because emotions are intangible and obscure. Leo, like Taurus and Scorpio, is also concerned with control, especially when it comes to how to show up in the world. There’s enormous pride to the sign of Leo and it wants to be seen and admired unconditionally. Leo is essentially the king that demands to be worshiped no matter what he wears, says or does because he carries himself with such poise and self-respect. This is difficult to sympathize with for Taurus, who is too grounded and practical to see any purpose to parading excessive confidence. While Taurus is likely to measure happiness in material “standing” and acquirements, Leo is unconditionally honoring to the grandeur of the self by rising above such “petty” things. It’s love that is the most important and Leo thinks itself to be deserving of the greatest love of all. It might seem quite self-centered and presumptuous to Taurus, who puts little value in creative expression – although it loves pretty things as art, albeit not for the same reason as Leo. The joy of creating something is what Leo is all about, while Taurus is more for the grounded satisfaction of surrounding itself by precious goods. At the end of the day, these signs won’t understand each other’s perspectives. Taurus is mortal and Leo is mythical – the Taurean earthiness offends Leo in its attempt to bring legend to life.

Last but not least there’s the Leo-Scorpio square. Leo, being fixed fire, experiences life as a journey of enfoldment in the direction of glory and magnificence. Purpose, meaning and nobility sits at the core of this sign, innate positivity and joy radiates from its center. Scorpio, being fixed water, experiences life through levels of emotional intensity in the direction of transformation. There’s a double-sidedness to Scorpio that Leo lacks, it views life through severe polarity and ultimately knows that nothing is what it seems. Scorpio knows that it’s naïve to take anything at face value. That which appears to be true, is all too often only a well-crafted façade designed to ensure survival on some level. Scorpio’s reality is complex, love and fear are mixed together and one can’t have one without the other. Leo finds this way of seeing things to be offensive and appalling. In Leo’s world, there are such things as true goodness and unconditional love. There’s such a thing as higher purpose, brilliance and excellence that is not a coping mechanism or dominance tactic. Scorpio would deem this attitude fanciful and unrealistic, pointing out that when push comes to shove and life becomes threatening, there’s no room for higher truths or glamorous pursuits of honesty and character. There’s only fear and how far one is prepared to go to ensure survival – however primitive and unpleasant it might look from a detached point of view. When fear reaches its peak, there’s a point where one will take any comfort or relief available no matter how much it conflicts with one’s noble goals. When there’s severe all-consuming emotional pain and it can be soothed, all ideas of love goes out the window. Nothing matters but one’s own uncompromising “selfish” needs. Scorpio has familiarity with the darker dimension of life and can’t sympathize very much with the Leonine optimism. Leo essentially looks on the bright side of life while Scorpio looks on the dark. Scorpio thinks that everything stems from the need to survive while Leo thinks that life is about extending the love that lives within. Both signs share a distinct focus on the self, although Leo more accurately falls under the label “self-centered” while Scorpio would fall under the label “selfish”. Both are very stubborn and like to come off as strong and capable. Leo gives the impression of being good and fair in its attempts to establish leadership, while Scorpio likes to be seen as intimidating and sharp to establish dominance. These signs have a difficult time with each other as Leo isn’t in touch with the gut-wrenching fear of life and Scorpio can’t relate to the ultimate goodness and light that Leo has going for itself.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Deadline

A/N: @harrypotter289 messaged me and asked for a Cedric request that would, and I quote, “make my heart shatter into a million pieces.” So here it is! It isn't very long but I hope you like it!

Summary: He’s found someone new.

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, angst and more angst - heartbreak essentially. or well I hope lol.

Word count: 1.2k

In your admittedly short life, there had only been two constants: Cedric Diggory, and your love for him.

There was no love from your family. Your mother had died giving birth to your sibling; losing the baby too. Your father hadn’t coped well with the loss; he became a recluse, rarely leaving his study and library – throwing himself into his work with a new found passion and determination as if his work could bring back his deceased wife and child from an illness that also affects muggles. You would only see him once a day on an evening through tea where the relationship would be close to a business partnership than a father/daughter relationship.

You were looked after; by the nannies, and the tutors – they made sure you were clean, that you ate, and taught you your ABC’s. They sang you to sleep after a nightmare. They covered the role of parent whilst your remaining one couldn’t handle it. But after a while, they moved on – to new families, to new posts; whatever, they simply moved on, leaving you behind. It didn’t take long for your definition of love to have a deadline.

Your love for Cedric surprised you. You didn’t think you would ever feel this way about someone. You didn’t think you were capable of feeling the emotion but when you looked into his grey eyes, you knew that you had fallen in love with him. It seeped out of every pore; it took over your veins. On your more dramatic days, you were certain that your heart beat in time to the syllables of his name.

His love for you surprised you more. Everything you felt for him was reflected in his eyes, in his actions. He was wary in the beginning, after you had opened up about your upbringing, but you warmed up to him quickly. Soon enough, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Life at Hogwarts became easier after Cedric; happy to have someone love you.

It was teenage infatuation personified through make out sessions in dark corners and supply cupboards.

And all through it, you waited. You waited for him to change his mind; to leave and move on because that’s what always happens when you love someone. There’s a deadline; there’s only so much they can take before they’re gone.

Cedric would kiss away those worries; whispering promises of forever and an eternity, and for a while, those fears disappeared.

Then he became distant; not listening as you asked him about his day or told him about yours. His mind always somewhere else; thinking of something else. Physically, he would be in the room, but mentally, you didn’t know where he was. He wouldn’t hold you in bed now; instead, you rolled onto your sides, back to the other. The gap between you the personification of the gaping void in your relationship. The gap between you a roaring expanse, with him on one side and you on the other, that you had no hope of crossing.

Something had changed.

The small voice in the back of your mind reminded you of the deadline. It reminded you that your love was way past it and that the inevitable was coming.

“I’ve met someone else,” He says on a Thursday afternoon; the sky grey and the rain drizzling.

“Oh?” You say, expecting this conversation.

The worry had settled in your gut like a lead balloon, but the acceptance of the end of your relationship settled deeper; settled within your bones, within the very fibre of your being. You would question yourself – why aren’t you leaving him? Why haven’t you left yet? The answer was always the same: I selfishly love him; I don’t want him to go.

But your time was up.

“I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

“It’s okay, I understand, Cedric. You can leave, they always do.” You smile at him, but its empty. This conversation wasn’t new to you; having heard it a thousand times before from nannies and tutors. For this conversation, you had retreated within yourself.

“Don’t do this.”

“Cedric, I won’t stand in the way of your happiness. You’ve found someone who makes you happy, and not only that, I bet your family approves. It’s a win-win situation.”

His family had never approved of your relationship with him; not after you declined them meeting your father. Your father wouldn’t know where to begin with social interactions after so long isolated. It was for their benefit, you promised, but after that, a chip had remained on their shoulder.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

You run a hand down his cheek, “You aren’t hurting me. It’s been over for a while hasn’t it? I’ve felt; you’ve felt it. You were the only one who did something about it.”

“I want you to keep the flat.”

“Nonsense. I’ll pack my things now and move back in with my father. He won’t notice the extra addition.”

“How are you taking this so well? Why aren’t you angry? Why aren’t you fighting?” He demands, anger lacing his tone.

You shrug your shoulders, “Cedric, I have known for weeks that there has been someone new in your life but you’re too honourable to say anything. The relationship was over when you met her, and it’s okay. I’m used to people leaving me, but I’m going to leave now. I want you to be happy, darling.”

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, the fight leaving him in an instant.

He’s sorry. He’s sorry for not keeping the promise he made so long ago when he was a teenager in love. He’s sorry for not staying; for not loving you like he should. He’s so sorry for falling in love with someone else when he was in a relationship with you.

He’s sorry, but to him, his apology isn’t good enough. It won’t ever repair what you had; it won’t every bridge the gap that he had let grow between the two of you.

Cedric remains in the living room as you pack your things; allowing you the privacy to collect your thoughts and your clothes. The photo on your dresser is wrapped in a scarf and placed in your bag. If you were to keep a memento it would be this one; a photograph of you and Cedric in Hogsmeade on a snowy day. Taken by one of his friends and cherished by you ever since.

Cedric could decide what he wanted to do with the rest of it all. But you were keeping the photograph.

He stands as you enter the room; his face stoic.

You turn to him before you leave, your hand lingering on the door handle. “Ced, will you promise me one thing?”

The use of his nickname brings tears to his eyes, “Anything.”

“Be happy.”

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

You apparate back to the mansion in which you were raised. It never has been nor will it ever be your home, but you apparate back there to see the light to your father’s study still bright. In your third year of life, he had a bed moved in there to make it easier to work; to keep him separate from you.

Your suitcase gets heavier and heavier the closer you get to the house. A physical reminder of the end of your relationship with Cedric.

It was over; he had found someone new, and you were happy for him.

The heartache would come later when night had fallen and your mind finally silent. The heartache would come then, crashing over you – making it hard to breathe, to think, to do anything.

The deadline had come and gone. You were happy for the extra time that you did have.

*****

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter @obsessedwithrandomthings @kalimagik @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @slytherinprincess03 @mischiefsemimanaged @soleil-amaryllis @masterofthedarkness @bforbroadway @chaotic-fae-queen @peachesandpinks @nebulablakemurphy @haphazardhufflepuff @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @deafgirltingz @kylosleftbuttcheek @heloisedaphnebrightmore @harrypotter289 @sprvpti @accio-rogers

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter eleven

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3560

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Honestly, this chapter reads a little weird to me but my friend who helps me edit said it was fine. IDK going from the 40s to 2012 is weird when trying to write.

<< Previous Next>>

Masterlist

Seven months had gone by since Steve and I had been unfrozen. This new world I suddenly woke up in was exhausting. Everything had changed from the simplest thing like manners to complicated things like technology.

Days after waking up, we had been sent to a place called “The Retreat�� so we could catch up on the seventy years we had missed out on. There was so much that we took to writing everything down in small notebooks, so we could remember.

I caught onto using the new technology quicker than Steve since I had worked with Howard Stark for several years. Being able to adapt to strange and new tech on the fly was a requirement when working with him.

After those few weeks there, we were both moved into two separate government apartments located in New York. I wish I could say that it got easier with time, but it didn’t. Instead of going to hang out with Steve or actually trying to make acquaintances with anyone, I just stayed in my room, locked away from everything. Coping with being in the future was the easy part, learning to live without everyone I ever knew was hard.

I hadn't known peaceful sleep in a long time. Every time I closed my eyes I am met with nightmares. The softness of the mattress had made it feel like I would fall through at any moment, back into the ice. To try and combat this I pushed my bed into the far corner of the room and made a cot directly under the frame. It felt safer to lay on the hard floor in the dark. The nightmares still came through, sometimes they were battles, sometimes they were of the plane crashing, but most of the time they were about losing Bucky. Every time I woke up in a cold sweat and never went back to bed. I just stared unblinking at the metal that made the bed frame.

One night after a particularly taxing dream I decided to take a walk. It was three in the morning, so I wouldn't have to deal with a lot of people. I changed out of my pajamas into some of the clothes I had been provided. The clothes of the future were tighter than in the forties. It had taken me a while to get used to the feeling of fabric clinging to my legs and upper body. The outside world was quiet except for the occasional car passing by. I kept my eyes to the ground, not really caring where I ended up. I only looked up when I was almost run over by another late-night walker. Peering from left to right, my eyes fixed on an old faded sign hanging above me. The letters were just barely readable and said in large letters ‘Boxing gym’. With another survey of the area, I realized where I was. This was the gym that Bucky used to take Steve when teaching him self-defense. I had tagged along a couple of times before I had joined the SSR, I was surprised it was still here. I smiled weakly and turned to the door. The light inside was on, it couldn’t hurt to see if they were open. The door creaked open and I slipped in quietly. The sound of someone working out came down the long brick hallway. Hesitantly I made my way to the open doors that led to the sparring room.

Stopping just past the threshold, to my surprise, I spotted Steve, who was busy punching the life out of a punching bag. I walked through the small office and around the boxing rings before I stopped again and leaned against one of the columns a few feet away from where Steve stood. I watched him for a while before he landed a hard punch on the bag and it flew off into the distance. I started clapping slowly and he turned around in shock.

“Good job, you broke the bag, but you do know you’re gonna have to pay for that right?”

“Hey kid, I haven’t seen you in a while. I came by your apartment but you didn’t answer.”

“I know Stevie, I just haven't felt up to company since we got back to New York. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked at me with sad eyes and took three long steps in my direction. His arms came out to engulf me in a hug.

“It’s okay, I understand. Promise you’ll tell me if something's wrong, okay?” I nodded into his chest and he squeezed me tighter.

“I couldn't sleep, I guess you couldn't either.”

“No, too many thoughts.” He let go of me and went to get two more punching bags. He hung them up a few feet away from one another before turning to me and asking if I wanted to join. Pretty soon we were both laughing together if it felt almost like we were back home before everything happened. That was until the same dark-skinned man from that day seven months ago showed up. I later learned he was Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.

“I’m glad to find you both here.” He stated.

“Are you here with a mission, Sir?” Steve asked.

“I am.”

“Is this to try and get us back out in the world?” I asked.

“No, I'm trying to save it.” he thrust out an open manila folder. I grabbed it slowly and brought it to where Steve and I could both look at it. The blue cube that had evaporated Johann Schmidt was in the photograph pinned to the first page. In large bold letters beside the pictures spelled out TESSERACT. We slowly walked to a nearby bench and sat down.

“That's HYDRA’s secret weapon. I thought it fell into the ocean that day,” I whispered.

“Howard fished it out of the water when they went looking for you both. He thought what we think, that this cube could be an unlimited sustainable energy source.” Fury informed us.

“Who took it from you?” Steve questioned.

“He’s called Loki, he’s not from around here. We have a lot we're gonna need to catch you both up on if you agree to help. This world has gotten stranger than you already know.”

“I doubt anything could surprise us anymore, right Stevie?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Ten bucks says you’re both wrong.” Fury bet. We both got up from our seats and handed the file back. Steve went and grabbed another bag from the floor and I just headed straight for the door.

“There are debriefing packets at your apartments, read through them and get back to me by tomorrow afternoon. And before you leave, is there anything we should know about the tesseract?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.” Steve and I said at once before walking out of the gym. Once we were outside on the sidewalk we hugged and said our goodbyes for the moment and then went our separate ways.

The walk home felt longer than the walk to the gym, but this gave me time to think about what I wanted to do. Whether I wanted to go on this mission, or if I just wanted to lay low and live my life. By the time I walked through my front door I had almost made my decision, but I was waiting to read the file before I decided for good. With a quick look through the minimal information provided I sighed and threw the papers down onto my kitchen counter. Shaking my head I murmured to myself.

“No, I am not doing this. This cube is not worth it.” Rubbing my eyes I went back to my room and crawled under the bed, not caring that I was still in jeans and a t-shirt. I was not going to walk blindly into anything dealing with that cube again. I lost my fiance and everyone I have ever known because of that stupid blue thing, I'm not going to go anywhere near it again. I laid there quietly for a while before I eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

The next morning I woke up with a start, almost hitting my head on the bed above me. Furious honking made its way from the street into my room. One thing I definitely missed from the past was how quiet it once was at seven a.m.

Along with the decision to not join the mission, I had also made up my mind about leaving New York. This had been a long decision in the making and the talk with Fury last night was enough to make the choice for me. I couldn't live in this city anymore. The places I used to hang out at were still here, but they had been renovated so many times that they were unrecognizable. Everywhere I turned It was like I was walking through a strange alternate reality. I saw glimpses of the past, like ghosts around every corner, it was worse when it was a place Bucky and I frequented.

When I had gotten back from the Retreat I made the mistake of going to mine and Steve’s old apartment. It had been torn down to construct a bookstore, along with several other retail shops. I broke down in the street when I saw it, waves upon waves of emotions crashed into me. All the memories I had there with Steve, mom, and Bucky had no place to live now other than in my mind. The next mistake I made was to go down the next few blocks to Bucky’s apartment he shared with his mom and sister, Rebecca. It was no longer there either, a bakery stood in its place. I turned and left before the onslaught of tears came. After that day I thought it would be best to go somewhere else, somewhere I had no memories.

I crawled out from under the bed and slowly moved to the bathroom to start getting ready for the long day to come. Once I had showered and gotten dressed I sat myself down on the living room sofa, looking wearily at the telephone on the end table. Hesitantly I picked up the receiver and dialed the number that had been in the tesseract briefing file. It rang twice before Nick Fury answered.

“Mr. Fury, I’m calling to tell you that I won’t be joining your team for whatever mission you have going on. I just want to lay low and rebuild my life and live it quietly without interruption.” I let out a long breath.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Was really hoping to have you fight with us. If you change your mind, you know where to contact me. Goodbye Agent Rogers.” He hung up quickly after that, not giving me a chance to tell him goodbye as well. The next call was going to be the hard one, I had to tell Steve my plans. I dialed his number slowly as I raised the receiver to my ear. It didn’t even have time to get through the first ring before Steve picked up.

“Hello?” He asked on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s up kid. Have you called Fury about joining the mission? I called about an hour ago letting them know I’d help.” He sounded a little enthusiastic.

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this but I’m not going to help with the mission.”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “Why not? I thought you’d want to help get rid of that thing once and for all.”

“It’s not that, I want nothing more than for the tesseract to be gone for good. I just don’t think I can be a part of it, I don’t want this thing to take over my life if we can’t get rid of it. This brings me to another important thing I need to tell you. I can’t stay here in New York, so I’m moving to DC.” He was quiet for a while after I had said that, the only thing I could hear coming from his side was his breath. I grew more anxious by the minute waiting for him to say something.

“What do you mean you’re moving? Why can’t you stay here with me?”

“Don’t be selfish.” I snapped.

“I’m not being selfish, you are.” he raised his voice. I huffed through my nose, getting annoyed.

“I can’t stay here any longer. I have no idea what it is like for you, but for me, being in this city is torture. I see ghosts from the past every time I leave my house. I can’t go anywhere without seeing him, and every time I see him, I break down. I never got to say goodbye and that day plays over and over in my head. Steve, I’m being tormented with nightmares to the point where I have barely gotten five hours of sleep in the past week. I need to get out of here whether you like it or not.” Tears had started to stream down my face as I yelled into the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have helped you, I still can help you if you let me. If you leave I can’t keep you safe, I can’t protect you like I’m supposed to.” He was using his soft “grown-up” voice he always used with me when I was younger to try and calm me down but the tears kept streaming down my cheeks at a rapid pace.

“I can protect myself, we did take the same serum,” I choked out. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to bother you with my problems, I can deal with them myself. Plus you have your own things to deal with, you don’t need to help me with mine.” My head was starting to hurt now and my cheeks and neck itched with quickly drying tears.

“Fine. The only way I will be okay with you leaving is if you promise to call me at least twice a week and you let me help you move.” I gave a strained laugh and nodded, even if he couldn't see it.

“Okay, it’s a deal. I actually already have an apartment lined up, so you can come over and help me pack everything up whenever you want to. I’m going to try and be out of New York by the end of next week.”

��I’ll be right over.” I laughed as I told him that I’d be waiting. I laid the receiver back down in its spot and stood up to go to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking. I was glad my relationship with Steve could handle an argument, understand one another, then go right back to normal, I don’t think we would be this close if it couldn't. I blinked back a few stubborn tears and bent down to grab a rag from the sink cabinet, I dampened it in warm water then wiped the dried tears from my face. The warm water felt wonderful on my skin.

Over the next week and a half, Steve and I boxed up what few belongings I had and packed them and the furniture into a moving truck. I didn’t own a car so the moving truck would be my transportation to DC. One of the many things SHIELD had us do was take a modern driving test, which wasn’t hard, just a few more signs to remember and more gadgets in the car than there used to be, I ended up passing with flying colors.

By Friday morning we had everything ready to go. Steve would follow me on his motorcycle and I would drive the truck the whole three and a half hours to my new apartment.

We stopped several times on the way down, mainly so Steve didn’t have to sit on the bike for the whole three hours straight. We also stopped for lunch. All in all the trip took us about five hours, with traffic added. We made it to my new home just after two and we started moving my belongings in immediately.

Admittedly the apartment was way too big for just me but I liked the extra space, it was different from the tiny two-bedroom apartment I had grown up in. The first thing I made sure to unpack and put up was the bed. I still hadn't told Steve I wasn’t actually sleeping in the bed, but he didn’t need to know that. After that clothes were sorted through and put in their respective places. With our enhanced strength and stamina, we had the whole place relatively furnished in just under two hours. We stopped for dinner when everything had been brought up from the moving truck.

The day went by fast with us talking and laughing like we used to, it was a good change of pace from my usual aimlessly roaming around my apartment alone. But, all good things have to come to an end and Steve had to leave. He pulled me into a tight hug, almost crushing me, and wouldn’t let go until I pinky promised to call him several times a week. I just laughed and promised him I would. I was sad watching him walk down the hallway to the stairs.

I turned back into my apartment and closed the door, locking it behind me. I stared at the box littering the floor and decided to get to work unpacking the rest of what we hadn’t gotten earlier.

Most of my belongings I found in thrift stores and antique shops around the city. It may have been the twenty-first century now, but that wasn’t stopping me from making my home a comfortable, familiar space. If you walked in from the outside world, you would have thought you had been transported to the past with how much authentic 1940s and before things I had littered about. Some things had been saved from the apartment we lived in in the forties. I learned a few weeks before we came back from the retreat that Peggy had been the one to put everything in storage after they had failed to find Steve and me in the ice. I had gone through all of it and took out what I wanted to take with me and Steve had done the same. I was thankful Peggy had done what she did, otherwise, everything would have been lost to time.

That night as I tried to sleep, I realized it was a little easier to relax. DC was a whole lot quieter than New York, there was no honking or yelling every two seconds to keep me awake. I was left alone in almost complete silence, which for others may be worse than being bombarded with noise, but I didn’t mind. I fell asleep almost an hour after laying down for the night and had a restless sleep. I woke up many times in the night covered in sweat, but I couldn't remember the dreams, anything I could remember dissipated as soon as I opened my eyes.

I woke up again very early the next morning, the clock on my wall said it was four forty-five. It was still dark out, but I could hear birds starting to chirp. I crawled out from under the bed frame and went to put on some exercise clothes. Running always helped to clear my mind after not being able to get any sort of rest. The run itself didn’t take long, even though it was seven miles, any normal person would be exhausted but I had barely broken a sweat. I did get to see some nice places, taking a route around the zoo, to the National Cathedral, and then back around to the Dupont Circle neighborhood, where my apartment was. The sun was just starting to come up as I made my way back into my building.

Although I had just moved in the day before, I was ready to start finding some sort of job. The money SHIELD was giving me to help assimilate back into the world comfortably was appreciated, but I wanted to make my own way in life without their help. Finding a job was going to be harder than it used to be, but I did have expertise in several areas. Upon being unfrozen, along with the driving tests, SHIELD created a new resume for me. I had degrees in history pertaining to the 1940s, World War II, and several of the New Deal programs, with a specialty in the SSR. I was also given a Veteran ID, although I don’t really know how that one works because I definitely was not a part of the apparent ongoing fighting in Afghanistan. I still looked twenty-four, I doubt anyone would believe it.

Anyway, I had interviews lined up for today at the Smithsonian, and hopefully, the resume that SHIELD created and my knowledge would be enough to land a job. I had already figured that I would be volunteering at the local VFW. I knew I could find people there to relate to and hopefully be able to make some friends.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Soulmarks, Part 13

First part

Previous

~~~

She heard a knock on her balcony door and opened it. He stood outside, his hands stuffed in his pockets. She glanced him over. He was definitely more prepared than she was, he looked like he’d just walked out of a spy movie with all his equipment.

She looked it over with envy. Ah, the power of money.

Marinette waved him inside. “I’ve still got to get some stuff out.”

She dug through her room. Unsurprisingly, her parents weren’t exactly aware of this particular ‘hobby’ of hers… which meant that she’d had to hide everything pretty well. They didn’t exactly go through her room, but they still came up to talk to her often enough that having stuff out in the open was a terrible idea.

She scooped up the last piece of equipment and turned around.

He was also poking around her room, though the reason why was probably less innocent than ‘looking for spy equipment’... which already isn’t all that innocent, so take that how you will.

Her face flushed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Find anything interesting?”

His shoulders froze and he dropped the tiny Chat Noir plush he’d found. “Your room… it’s... uh… very… pink.” He coughed into his hand awkwardly. “Yep. Got everything? Good, let’s go.”

He made to leave and she grabbed his arm.

Tim paused and looked back at her, giving her his most innocent smile. He was probably anxious that she was mad at him for snooping around her room (she wasn’t, she’d do the same thing in his room if he had actually lived there).

She hesitated slightly and let go, pulling out her yoyo to mess with. Now for the part of the night that she’d been dreading most: “We need a backup plan in case we get caught.”

“I doubt we will,” he said with a cocky grin.

Marinette shrugged. “I hope not, but in case… you’ll need to have some kind of suit so we can say it’s superhero business.”

He winced and looked at the floor. “I don’t want to get back in the Robin suit,” he admitted, his voice little more than a whisper.

She nodded slightly. She’d predicted that. He hadn’t once mentioned wanting to get back into the Robin suit, nor had the soulmark made a reappearance. She held up a finger for him to wait and then walked over to her desk, picking up a tiny box.

She’d thought for a long time about what to give him. She had wanted to give him the fox miraculous originally, it was the most in line with what they were doing; Trixx would give them extra cover and they could get closer to Lila without her detecting them. On the other hand, giving the fox miraculous to anyone besides Alya was risky. There was a risk of her becoming akumatized. They really didn’t need that right now.

And, so, she handed over the horse miraculous. It would give them a quick out when needed.

Also, she thought he’d look cute with glasses. Sue her.

He raised his eyebrows slightly and pulled them on.

She was right!

He frowned slightly and started squinting through the glasses. “Oh, crap, do I actually need glasses these are helpi -- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”

“Shhhhh! My parents are going to hear us!”

He pointed at Kaalki, who crossed her arms (? hooves? legs?) over her chest.

“Who is that,” she corrected, then turned to Marinette with a sigh. “Is he at least famous?”

“Yep. Tim Drake-Wayne. Rich and famous, just how you like them.”

Kaalki beamed. “Finally, someone who actually deserves me.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and turned to Tim, who was slowly backing away from the tiny god. “She’s not going to hurt you.”

“Well, yeah, I can and will punt her.”

She rolled her eyes. “She’s literally a god, but okay.”

“A WHAT?!”

Marinette heard a knock on the bottom of her trapdoor and cursed, quickly diving onto it before her mom could come in. Her hands and knees were scraped, but it was much easier than explaining why there was a guy and a god hanging out in her room.

“Marinette? Is everything okay in there?” Her mom pushed up on the door and she threw all her weight into holding it closed. “Who’s over?”

“Yes, mom, everything’s fine! This is just…” She floundered. “A new superhero?”

“How do you know superheroes?”

“I have an amazing personality.” She caught Tim’s eyes and mouthed that he needed to take off all the equipment and then transform.

He looked reluctant, but he complied.

She waited until he was fine and then finally pushed herself off the door, giving her mother an awkward smile as the trapdoor opened.

“Hi, mom, meet…” She looked at Tim and shrugged. “Horse-guy?”

Tim raised his eyebrows. “Horse-guy? Seriously?”

She shrugged. “Do you have anything better?”

“Uh…” He looked down at himself. “Cheval Brun?”

“Should’ve gone with Horse-guy.” She smiled and waved at her mom. “Great, now that you know nothing is going on, can you… go? I love you!”

“Love you… too?” Said her mom, her eyebrows knitting together. She slowly closed the trapdoor.

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief and laid back.

“Tikki, spots on,” she mumbled.

Tim grinned and offered her a hand up. “Ready to go?”

She took it and smiled as he helped her to her feet.

“Of course.”

~

She pulled her night-vision goggles to her eyes. Lila was… on her bed, scrolling through her phone. Threatening.

“Y’know, it feels weird to stalk someone I don’t like,” she said with a pout.

“Right?” Said Tim, frowning as he set up his camera. “Stalking is for obsessions only.”

“Exactly.”

She heard her comm click. “You guys are really weird,” said Adrien, sounding exhausted. “Just… in the future, can you stick to only stalking each other?”

“Sounds romantic,” said Marinette.

“No,” said Dick. “No, it’s not.”

Tim grinned. “It could be.”

“No --.”

“I say we let them. At least it’s not us anymore,” said Barbara.

Marinette laughed. “Exactly. Be glad.”

She felt Tim lace his fingers through hers and she was lucky it was dark because her face was quickly getting warm.

“We’re turning off comms to listen. We’ll turn them back on if we need to.”

Everyone mumbled a bye (and Dick warned that they would pick up the conversation later) and the soulmates turned their comms off in sync.

They waited there for a long time, their ears pressed to the devices Tim had brought to help listen in. But… it was almost like Lila was being intentionally boring. They didn’t have to peek over the side to make sure that she was still there, because they could hear her shift around on the bed or laugh occasionally, she just seemed to be very interested in her phone.

“Christ, she’s more boring than Adrien. At least Adrien sometimes played piano,” she joked quietly, resting her head back against the wall with a tiny sigh.

Maybe they were wrong about Lila. They’d been going off of shaky evidence at best. Still, something in her told her that they were right.

The thing telling her this was definitely fuelled by spite, but she was going to pretend that it wasn’t.

So she continued to listen in. There was a lot of waiting involved in stalking someone if you’re looking for something.

Her eyes found their way to Tim, who gave her a tiny smile.

Well, she might as well kill time.

“So, we going to talk about Lila?”

~

His smile dropped and he tried not to tense up too much.

“Thought we already did?” He said.

She shrugged. “A little, but I’d like to know why you were so convinced. Yeah, Lila is like that, but you seemed pretty determined to believe her over me.”

He hesitated, looking down at their interlocked hands. He’d hoped that her history with Lila would be enough to convince her that was all, but he supposed he should have known she’d be smarter than that.

Man, why couldn’t he just lie? He wanted to lie, it should have been so easy to say ‘oh, no, she’s just really convincing, you know that’ but he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when he’d seen how hurt she’d looked at the cafe, not when she was giving him that smile that said she’d understand no matter what.

Tim sighed and closed his eyes.

“It’s just… you’re so… good, Nette.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“No, really. Like, yes, you’re probably more revenge motivated than you should be, and you can be a bit of a pushover, and you rival Bruce in the bad coping mechanism olympics, but… you’re also a heroine, you’re sweet, and it feels like you were made for me but…”

She ran her thumb over the back of his hand. She looked like she was going to argue for a second, but ultimately just prompted him to continue with a: “But…?”

“But... that’s just not how things go in my life. There’s always some kind of downside, some huge ‘oh fuck’. So you being some sort of terrible person underneath really would have just been par for the course.”

He felt tears form in the back of his eyes. Venting always feels good after the fact, even if it opens old wounds while you’re doing it. Damn. He couldn’t really afford to do this in Paris, but here he was, and now that he’d started he couldn’t bring himself to stop. If he did, he doubted he’d ever be able to bring himself to tell her, and he wasn’t fond of that, either.

“And, I’ve never really told anyone about this, but… I don’t really… talk to a lot of people.”

“I know.”

His head shot up to look at her. “Huh?”

“You’re my soulmate. It took you until fourteen to get a single person’s name. I kinda guessed.”

Oh. Right.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “Well, yeah, my parents sucked and every person who ever tried to talk to me did it because they were rich. I ended up just never talking to people. The whole ‘friends’ thing is still kinda new to me, let alone getting a possible girlfriend.”

He gave a short, somewhat bitter laugh. “Not that you want to date me. I’m a bit of a mess. So is my life. You’d be better off if we were just friends, and even better if you stopped talking to me entirely.”

He felt her head rest on his shoulder and opened his eyes to look at her. She gave him a slight smile, but her eyes were locked on a place over his shoulder.

A frown made its way across his face and he started to turn to see what she was looking at, only to feel her cup his cheek and pull his face until he was looking at her again.

She met his gaze and her smile dropped into a serious look. “Listen: I like being around you. A lot. I’m not nearly as perfect as you seem to think I am, but I still want to be something good in your life. Please, let me.”

He let himself relax, resting his hand over hers and turning his head to press a tiny kiss to her palm.

“I know you only said that because there was an akuma, but… I’d like that.”

She blushed faintly and relaxed a little bit as well. “I still meant it.”

He looked at her for a minute, expecting to see some hint of a lie, but there wasn’t one. She met his gaze and smiled, leaning up slightly to press a kiss to his cheek.

He couldn’t help it. He turned his head and his lips brushed against hers.

She blinked in surprise.

He looked at her wide eyes and paled. Shit. “Sorry! I don’t know what --!”

She kissed him again and he felt himself smile as he kissed back. It was both of their first kisses, so they were, admittedly, a little awkward, but he could definitely tell why people liked it so much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever felt so energized.

But, eventually, they pulled away. His eyes fluttered open to see she was blushing like mad, and the warmth in his cheeks told him that he was likely just as red. She smiled at him and he felt his heart do a tiny flip in his chest.

Eventually, though, Lila laughed at something on her phone and he was pulled back to reality.

He blinked a few times and looked away. They were here for a reason other than kissing. They had a job. “Did you see where the akuma came from?” He asked after a few seconds.

She snapped out of it as well, pulling her hand from his cheek to point over his shoulder. “Back that way --.”

They both looked at where she was pointing, where the akuma was slowly disappearing on the horizon.

“What are the chances it’s going back to Hawkmoth?”

“Worth a shot, don’t you think?”

They followed after it.

~~~

Next part

A lot of people wait to do kisses until the end but idk I like writing people in relationships too much to

Taglist

@pawsitivelymiraculous @golden-promises @salty-fang @kitsunebell @sassakitty @octobitch @glastwime859 @miyla-lokidottir @onlyabatfan @ira-sairain @2confused-2doanything @ultimatetornshipper @ladybug-182 @laurcad123 @we-want-mini-mini @roguishredaxion @just-reblogs-by-h @futursworld @magic-miraculous @nathleigh @smolplantmum @vroomtaka  @emimar7 @toodaloo-kangaroo @charme-de-malchan @spicybelladonna @fusser90 @indecisive-mess-named-me @rosesgonerogue @celestialsiren @bluesimani @loysydark

[crimsonrae]

Disintegration

Chapter Two

Summary: He witnessed the worst night of her life, he just never expected for her to become the love of his life.

KlausxCami

Warnings: Mentions of Domestic Abuse.

Rating: Mature

Chapter Two

2009

Amber liquid sat almost tauntingly within its iced tumbler as Camille stared aimlessly at the wall. Low chattering echoed dimly in her ears, but she registered little of the subdued crowd. She felt angry... no, she felt numb. Like a spindly serpent lying in wait for its prey, her anger lurked beneath the surface – its coil hardly tolerable.

Her fingers clenched around her glass, silently reveling in the wet dew that had coalesced on its exterior. It anchored her to the present even as she drifted in her scattered thoughts. Small bursts of Saturday played in her head, stuck like a broken reel. It was both a blur and all too clear. She could still feel the slick feel of Scott's blood on her hands, even as quips of conversation broke her reverie. Hours spent in the county jail had been nothing compared to the cold words from her mother and the stony silence that had followed her back to her dorm.

It had all become too much. She needed to get out.

It had occurred to her there was a certain amount of irony that she had taken refuge inside a bar. Not the one that she had beaten Scott to a pulp in – she was firmly banned from that establishment, but one across town. Away from campus and anyone who knew her. Camille tried not to pay too much mind to the fact that she was employing less than stellar coping mechanisms over the mess she had made of her life, but really, she was already on a roll of bad decisions. Why stop now?

Still...it was amazing how quickly everything had spiraled out of control.

One minute she had been a junior, set to finish her bachelor's degree with honors in the next year – now, with a court date set for next week and a meeting with the Dean's office tomorrow, it looked as if expulsion was on the horizon. And somehow that was at the bottom of her priority list. Felony assault and battery charges hovered over her head like an impending noose, not to mention, two parents infuriated with their daughter and the shame she had brought her family. She hardly cared that Scott was breathing from a tube in a hospital, she did care that Marnie hadn't called her.

Had she lost a friend as well as her academic career? She hadn't foreseen that... though, in truth, she hadn't put much thought into her actions. She had simply reacted and that – that wasn't like her.

"Penny for your thoughts, love."

Camille nearly jolted at the honey grizzled voice that chimed next to her table. She glanced up into a pair of oddly familiar cerulean eyes that shined curiously at her. It took her a moment to place him, and it was only as his lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk that she remembered.

He had been there.

Entertained by the entire debacle.

Now, that's what I call a show.

Her hidden ire rumbled in the face of her spectator. How she had hated his delight. It annoyed her that he had found her now when she wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

Pursing her lips distastefully, she arched a brow, "They're not for sale."

Her irritation was not lost on Klaus, if anything her dismissal amused him, "Come now, that's not true. Anything is for sale; it all depends on the price."'

"Well unless you have a time machine, I don't think you'll be able to afford my thoughts." Camille muttered wearily as she sipped from her glass. She pointedly turned her gaze away, making it silently clear she was done with him.

Yet, Klaus had never been one to let a challenge go untested. He found himself slipping into the chair across from her, much to Camille's exasperation, "Now why would you want a time machine? Please tell me, it's not to go back and stop yourself from beating that pillock from the other night half to death. Such passion should never be undone or regretted."

Camille arched a brow, nonplused by his words, "Not everyone views such acts of violence with the same enjoyment as you did... I don't believe that I invited you to sit. I'm not particularly in the mood for company."

"Yes, you've been quite rude." Klaus intoned almost cheerfully as he signaled for a waiter – now he was making it silently clear that he had no intention to leave, "That's alright, I don't mind a bit of surliness. I've been known to be a rather temperamental creature myself... but let's be honest here, love, while I may have enjoyed your spirited attack, you enjoyed committing it more."

She hated the truth that rang in his words. Stifling a sigh, Cami tossed back the rest of her drink and dropped a few bills on the table. She came here to get away, not to be harassed.

She wasn't granted the chance to stand as his fingers entrapped her wrist, "Let me go."

"Stay." Klaus implored, loosening his grip, but not removing his touch, "I won't speak of your little... incident if you do not wish it. I have several hours to kill, and you are by the far the most interesting person I've run into today. Please, keep me company."

Despite her desire to depart, her curiosity glimmered faintly at his words, "Is that why you seemingly tracked me down? Boredom?"

"Hardly tracked you down, love." Klaus said after placing an order for two more drinks with the waiter. "You're in the pub of my hotel. Merely, came downstairs and saw you."

Camille blinked before she sat back and viewed the bar through new eyes. There was an entranceway toward the back that she now realized led into a lobby. Marble floors and polished banisters gleamed through the glass door. It fairly screamed expensive. It also explained the quietness of a bar... the stillness that had drawn her inside.

Klaus watched her perusal with muted amusement, "You have no idea where you are. Not that you're in a bad neighborhood, mind you, but it is foolish to not have your bearings about you."

Camille silently stifled her unease as again his words rang true. A sense of danger lurked with his presence that she was only beginning to acknowledge, but something kept her survival instincts from fully sounding off.

"I wasn't really..." She trailed off as she realized her words would only reinforce his point about being foolish.

He knew it too.

His head tilted to the side and his eyes softened with an understanding that she swore he shouldn't have. It was similar to the way he had looked at her as she had been carted off by the police... Cami didn't understand why it had seemed to soothe and irritate her then, and she still didn't understand it now.

"Running away, were you?" Klaus intoned sagely, "I know a fair bit about that, but you don't strike me as the type to run from a situation. What demons plague you, aside from the obvious?"

Cami snorted and wondered if this counted as talking about her incident, but found herself replying, "Demons is a bit harsh... and why would I tell you, Nosey Stranger, anything about my demons?"

Klaus grinned and was stalled from answering as their drinks arrived, "Well conversation is easier when at least one party opens up, no? And you can call me Klaus. Niklaus Mikaelson."

"Cami." She returned softly, "Why don't we focus on you, instead? What brings you to my little corner of the word, Klaus?"

"I am not nearly that interesting."

"I somehow doubt that."

"Doubt all you like, but I could say the same of you."

"Could you?" Cami said almost teasingly as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Klaus huffed a low laugh as he conceded, "Well, I could if you told me about yourself."

They were flirting, Cami noted distantly as they exchanged not-quite-shy smiles again. Her head spun – how had this happened? She had been thoroughly annoyed with this man not even ten seconds ago. And while some of that sentiment still lurked, she now could only think about how handsome he looked when he smiled... actually smiled, not smirked.

One thing was for certain, she wasn't feeling quite so numb anymore... and she wasn't sure that was necessarily a good thing. Despite how handsome the man before her was or how charming he was turning out to be, she had the distinct impression that she was a match strike away from playing with fire.

"How about a question for a question?" She proposed almost absently and nearly cursed as soon as the words left her tongue.

Klaus considered her offer with shrewd eyes, "Any question?"

A reluctant sigh left Cami, "Let me guess, you have a question about Saturday night?"

"A few." Klaus acknowledged with a sly quirk to his lips, "But mainly one pressing one."

She shook her head and dragged the untouched drink he had bought her to her side. If they were going to play this game she would need the alcohol, "Fine. Ask."

"What did he do?" Klaus asked quietly as she hesitated, her glance almost suspicious – he explained, "In two minutes of conversation, I've ascertained that you are not a rash person. A bit foolhardy perhaps, but you've been moderately cautious since I've engaged your interest. You also don't strike me as the type to attack someone without reason. So, what was your reason? What did he do?"

There was a long silence as Camille gauged what she wanted to impart. Several glib answers rested on her tongue, non-answers that would dismiss his question and move their conversation on, but the truth burned in her throat. It would be nice to tell someone who didn't know her, who didn't know Scott or Marnie, who wasn't there to judge her actions as just or fair what her motivation had been...

"I have a roommate. We've roomed together the last three years – and she's great. Sweet, shy. I couldn't have picked a better roommate... or friend." Camille started quietly. She ignored the lick of angry flames that sparked in her belly, "She met him a few months ago and they hit it off immediately. I liked him. He was funny and he brought her out of her shell."

A wave of nausea swarmed her simmering fury and she paused as she remembered the carefree way Scott would greet her. The little presents that he would bring for Marnie. Those gifts seemed so more insidious now that she realized those parcels showed up after every incident.

Klaus waited patiently, somehow knowing not to speak as she sought the proper words. Her jade eyes had deepened to a sparking emerald, imbued with dark emotion.

"Then one day she came back to our room. Her shirt was covered in blood, a plaster taped over her nose, and two black eyes. He had hit her. Only once she said. It was an accident she said, but he broke her nose." Camille swallowed and resisted the urge to ball her fist, "She refused to go to the RA or the Dean or any other official and just waved me off. It wouldn't happen again, and I knew that was bullshit. I knew..."

The shiver of rage in her tone struck a chord within Klaus as he watched her. Any hint of his earlier joviality and curiosity had vanished in the face of her anguish. His own anger growled in answer to hers – he had never been one to shy away from violence, but brutish nonsensical abuse had always been and always would be a sore point for him.

"How many times?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.

If Camille had been paying closer attention, she would have noticed the almost eerie calm that had leveled his voice. Instead, she shook her head, "Too many."

Another sip from her glass, "He sent her to the hospital Friday night. Two broken ribs and a concussion. I had been with her all night, and I just couldn't go back to our dorm, so I wandered. I wandered and before I knew it, I was inside the campus bar and there he was... Scamming on a freshman. Both of them laughing at some stupid funny joke he had said, as if it were just another Saturday. As if he hadn't just pulverized his girlfriend and left her to rot in a hospital as if he hadn't been getting away with much of the same for months. I was so incredibly angry and all I wanted was to make him stop."

Warm skin brushed across hers and she glanced down to see he had cradled her hand. She was trembling. It was so faint, but the box that she had been stowing all her wildly out of control emotion into had been pried open with his question.

His fingers curled into her palm like an anchor into the seabed and she smiled bitterly, "Still think you received a good show?"

It took Klaus a second to remember his words from that night, but he didn't scowl.

No.

His smile was tinged with undue pride and awe, "I think you just made it even better. I had initially thought you to be some hellcat. Sent into a jealous rage at capturing your boyfriend cheating. The truth is far more satisfying. You're a protector. If anything, I stand by my earlier sentiment. Do not regret your actions, Camille."

She blinked at hearing her full name cross his lips, most assumed her name was Cameron when she introduced herself as Cami, "My name, how...?"

Klaus smirked, "Camille O'Connell, you are under arrest."

His voice was flat with an American intonation, but what part of America she was unsure as his little gimmick threw her from her despair into a baffled disquiet.

Slowly she cringed, "Okay, one – don't ever do that accent again. Just... no. Two – no one calls me, Camille, unless I'm in trouble. It's a grandma's name."

Klaus bit back a laugh as he pressed with his fake accent again, "What? You mean this voice? I think it's uh, rather convincing."

Camille shivered; it was almost like nails on a chalkboard when he spoke like that, but the tension her little story had engendered dissipated, and she felt a coil within her loosen.

She couldn't stop her snicker as she begged, "Stop, please. It's just not right. It doesn't fit you at all. Smarmy Brit is much more your style."

"Smarmy Brit?" Klause threw back almost indignantly, "You wound me, Camille."

"Somehow I think that's hard to do." She countered sagely, but she couldn't keep a grin from her mien. She appreciated his levity.

Klaus arched a brow, "You'd be surprised. Sometimes it doesn't take much at all to wound me."

"Oh?"

"A beautiful woman maligning my character five minutes after meeting me. Stings a bit, love." He answered indulgently, but there was a mischievous glint in his gaze that belied his words.

Cami giggled quietly, "You don't think you're smarmy?"

"I prefer the word charming." The faux innocent look he flashed her had them both grinning, "And I believe it is your turn to ask a question."

There were several that had erupted in her thoughts as they had spoken, but it was hard to choose just one. Part of Cami was grateful that he had lobbed such a hardball as a first question because it gave her clearance to do the same.

"What are you running away from? You said you had some experience with it earlier." Cami finally asked, figuring it would also answer the question of what he was doing here. Two answers for the price of one.

Like with Cami, Klaus sat in a long silence as he thought over his answer. Now he was the one who wished he had placed restrictions on these questions, but unlike Camille, he had no compunctions about lying. After all, they were still strangers, and he was still debating whether to continue their acquaintanceship after they parted ways. He had half a mind to seduce her, drink her, and dump her... but the more time he spent with her the less he wanted to dump her – at least right away. Camille was proving to be very intriguing indeed.

"Family. I'm running from family." Klaus announced, surprising even himself with the truth, "More specifically my father... though my brother is currently a close second."

Camille frowned, not liking the shine of pain in his eyes before he shifted to something more blank, more superficial. Perhaps her question wasn't the gem she had originally thought it to be.

At her muted concern, Klaus smiled bitterly, "My father has no love for me. Even less after it was discovered I was a product of my mother's infidelity. He's been bent on making my life a misery for as long as I can remember. The more distance I can put between him and myself the better."

"And your brother?" Cami pressed almost reluctantly, at once curious and hesitant about requesting such personal information.

"Has a great love for me actually and I, him. But I've... upset him and he needs some time to calm down." It was the most tactful way that Klaus could think to say Elijah was furious with him for daggering their siblings and supposedly dumping their bodies into the ocean. While the first part was true, the second was not... and he was not prepared for his older brother to discover that fact just yet.

An odd mildly entertained expression crossed Camille's face as she puzzled over his words. More questions surged to the forefront, but with great control, she managed to restrain herself... at least for the moment.

Klaus seemed to sense her desire as he cocked his head to the side and grinned, or she was simply terrible at hiding her thoughts, "You want more details."

Almost embarrassingly, she sipped from her glass as she fought a sheepish smile, "I really do."

"And you called me nosey? Sorry, love, you're just going to have to wait." He taunted lightly as she scowled at him.

He was saved from her retort as her phone chose that moment to sound off. Her previous merriment dulled in the face of the device's alarm and fell further as she glanced at the screen. Klaus watched as she reluctantly clicked the phone silent after responding with a text and turned remorseful eyes to him. This would be their parting it seemed.

"Such a dour glance. My last question then, who's beckoning you?" Klaus asked gently, an unexpected jolt of jealousy scoured his veins at her answer.

"My boyfriend." She quirked her lips self-consciously. She had no obligation to inform him of her relationship status and their conversation while personal, had always meant to stay a conversation... at least on her end. Yet, she felt a strange sense of guilt – she felt like she had led him on, "I should be going. It was nice to meet you, Klaus... and thank you for the drink."

Klaus tightened his grip over her hand, both had forgotten he had still been holding it, but now it worked in his favor. He wasn't ready for their conversation to end, "Stay, Camille. By the look on your face, it's what you would rather be doing."

Timidly, she squeezed his hand back, but her rueful smile told him that he was fighting a losing battle. He was tempted to compel her... but somehow that felt like the wrong move for this particular moment.

"He's worried about me. Everyone's worried about me. Or angry. This was a nice reprieve. One I really needed, but I have to go before that worry goes to def-con four." She said almost deprecatingly and moved to stand.

Cami was surprised when he stood with her until she felt him slip her phone from her other hand. A word of protest played on her lips at the theft, but she stayed her tongue as she watched him deftly enter his phone number. It was slightly embarrassing that he had caught her passcode pattern so easily. He must have the eyes of a hawk. He hit the call button and his phone vibrated in his pocket for a moment before going silent again.

Klaus returned her phone with a genial smile, "There. Should you need another reprieve, simply call. I'll be in town for a while and more than happy to indulge you."

"That was bold." She murmured, "Giving your number to a girl who just told you, she has a boyfriend."

He shrugged indifferently, "Fortune favors the bold, does it not?"

Cami snorted and shook her head, "Goodbye, Klaus."

"Goodbye, Camille." Klaus murmured, brushing his lips to her cheek.

The act startled her and brought a lovely blush to her smooth skin. He had no intention of this being their last encounter. Camille O'Connell would see him again. His cerulean eyes danced deviously as he watched her turn to go.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, and he was surprised to see a puckish light in her sylvan gaze, "Definitely smarmy."

Klaus choked on an unexpected laugh before he found himself calling through the pub, "Charming, love."

______________________

Hours later, Klaus remained at the little corner table in the pub. He had steadily nursed several drinks as he kept an eye out for a potential dinner – finding himself feeling pickier than usual about his fare. He was tempted to send Camille a text. She had been reluctant enough to leave that enticing her to return shouldn't have been much of a battle. He regretted not pressing his advantage earlier. They could have spent the afternoon in his bed, sated in every possible way.

Sighing in boredom, he ran an idle finger around the rim of his tumbler generating a low hum. His thoughtless gesture brought a few curious and annoyed looks from the nearby patrons, but no one had the gall to say anything. Something dark and angry lingered in Klaus's stiff presence that discouraged social interaction of any kind.

"Well, you look positively morose."

And yet not all were so cowardly.

Klaus smirked at the amused lilt that sounded behind him. He arched a brow as he awarded the young woman behind him a small smile, "Greta... you've arrived sooner than I expected. Fruitful day, love?"

"Yes and no." Greta answered loftily as she came to stand next to the table, "The witch we're looking for is proving rather difficult to scrounge up, though her boyfriend has been the source of a lot of gossip but..."

"But?" Klaus intoned softly, a dangerous edge tinging his voice. His mood for games had dissipated with the sun.

"He's in the hospital. Unconscious, someone caved his head in apparently. He would need some of your blood to be revived enough to get any information from him." She smirked, knowing how much Klaus loved to do such things, "That is if you're feeling generous."

Niklaus frowned; it would be too convenient... "What's the boyfriend's name?"

"Scott Nebroski." Greta answered simply with a raised brow.

The name had no meaning to Klaus. Camille hadn't mentioned any names when she had recounted her motives to him – and he didn't recall a name being spoken when the paramedics had arrived at the campus pub. Though to be fair, he had lost interest in the whole affair once Camille had been taken to the squad car.

Her fiery emeralds would forever be etched into his memory. There had been a moment where he had thought that she'd break from the officer's grasp and swing at him before something fragile... vulnerable had crossed her gaze and he had to fight the urge to go to her.

It had been an odd night.

"When was he attacked?"

Greta shrugged, "A couple of nights ago, I think. Some chick took a beer bottle to him. A lover's quarrel is the rumor. In which case, it should make him more willing to cooperate with us. He'd probably be looking for a little revenge."

A slow grin spread across Klaus's face – what were the odds?

"It wasn't our little witch who tore into him, love." Klaus murmured, "How long would we need to wait before you could conduct the ceremony?"

"The estival solstice isn't for almost eight weeks, that's when the spell will be at its strongest. We have some time." Greta replied softly as she watched the wheels spin in her master's head. She hadn't expected him to take the news of this current delay so well... but the calm, almost pleased smile playing at his lips spoke to plans with which she had no knowledge of, "The boyfriend?"

"He can enjoy his stay in the hospital for a while." Klaus said after a long moment. He refused to heal the cretin that had rightfully earned his beating at Camille's hands. He would not deny her victory, "Tomorrow I want you and Maddox to find out everything you can about Camille O'Connell. She's Marnie Taylor's roommate and friend... she'll lead us to our little witch."

Gently, Klaus reached out for Greta's hand, bringing her delicate fingers to his mouth as he pressed a kiss to her smooth flesh. He was feeling a tad grateful for the news she had delivered him, and she smelled sweet, like honeysuckle and ivy. His fangs edged at the inner muscle of his cheek, reinforcing his hunger... but he wouldn't bite her here.

Klaus stood and placed a few bills on the table, "Keep me company tonight."

It sounded like a request, but Greta heard the implied order to his tone. She could say no, and Klaus wouldn't bat an eye. She was under no illusion that she was more than a tool in his arsenal. Problem was, she had never been able to say no to him. Not to his power, not to his hunger, and not to his bed. She fully enjoyed being possessed by him. It was the shame that she could not possess him.

She peered slyly at him, "Merely company?"

An indulgent hum purred from Klaus's throat before he pressed his lips teasingly to the corner of her mouth, "You could never be merely anything, love... but I desire this luscious mouth of yours to be otherwise occupied."

Greta's smile turned sinful, "As you wish."

He breathed a kiss to her neck before turning to escort her upstairs. His soul ached for a taste of the hunt... something that Greta could not provide him – she was all too willing to fall into his clutches. She was decadence, chocolate, and champagne. Simply divine.

For tonight she would sate his baser urges, but tomorrow...

Tomorrow he would go after that which was not yet his. Fiery emeralds glinted in his mind's eye. Tomorrow, he would go after whiskey and smoke. Hidden passion.

Previous Chapter                                              Next Chapter