#-and i rot in bed for days wondering why in the world im still trying

[poems-of-a-lover]

im gonna go lay on the ground somewhere and close my eyes and just pretend im not real for a bit i think

[meat-pvppet]

Hiii hey helloooo really happy i found you! Im in love with your art, its so good! I wanted to learn about your ocs through that one post. Would love to get an answer for every single one, but to spare your time and fingers: alone, desire, future

I love Chasm and Tara so much you have no idea

YESSSS I GET TO TALK ABOUT MY GOOBERS HI HELLO ANON I LOVE YOU /plat

ok for this ill do both chasm and tara cuz theyre my little gabagoos and yes yes yes

ask game

CHASM

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Chasms alone most of the time so he's gotten kinda used to it, but he still has bouts of time where it gets to him, yknow?

Of course, hes never been truly truly alone cuz of Bridge, but generally speaking he gets really introspective about himself and how he interacts with others

how he wishes he could be more outgoing and expressive

hes tried that before though and its simply too draining to him

and it doesnt feel real cuz hes just acting and he knows it

so what would be the point?

he tries to distract himself as much as he can when he starts spiraling like this by doing maintenance on his guns, ship, sparrow, himself

read a little

do some organizing

anything to get him out of his own head

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

peace

whether that be peace in his own mind or across sol

he just wants all the fighting to stop

for the conflict to end

hes not even sure if he'll make it out of the next world-ending scenario that hes gonna get thrust into

or if his daughter will survive

he doesnt really talk about how he yearns for a day where a threat isnt looming over his shoulder every second of his existence

a day where he can freely relax with his daughter without wondering whether or not he'll get to see her again

or who will take care of her when hes gone

is that cuz he wants to keep up appearances? no

its cuz he knows everyone probably wants that too

no need to state the obvious

to fulfill it, to him, theres not much he can do than continue on as he is

continue on as a war machine

fight for his and all of humanity's peace

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

i think itd be either he dies, leaving tara alone to fend for herself

or she dies

one he can try to avoid but he can never guarantee

the other is unfortunately inevitable

teehee mortal daughter immortal father moment

TARA

alone: How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

tara isnt usually alone since she'll be online talking with friends or (on the rare occasion) out n about with them or playing gigs

when she is alone she ends up alot like chasm a little

quiet and stone faced

she gets pretty lonely whenever shes not around other people, but sometimes she just doesnt wanna be around other people at the same time

so she'll rot in bed for a while

or play guitar

or do whatever to entertain herself

she kinda suffers from chronic loneliness much like her dad so yeag

desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

same with chasm id think

she could wish and pray and hope for this but theres not much she can do about it

other than spread peace and love through her music of course but she wishes she could be more proactive about it

like her dad

future: What's the worst possible future for your OC? Are they taking steps to avoid that outcome? Are they even aware it's a possibility?

probably also losing chasm tbh

she already had the wake up call that chasm isnt actually immortal fully from the red war and him losing his light

so she knows he can die

and by the nature of being a guardian, he could die

and it would be a very violent death

[pinkseas]

[parasocial bestie] boutta send another ask before you can answer the previous ones.... bro girl (gnc) do you ever think about xiao post-teyvat... after lumine leaves..... like ive took an entire night just hours laying on bed once just to rot my brain on what's gonna happen after all that stuff i told u abt his ideal endinfg and shit i dont remember hhUEHAHAHAHGH BUT LIKE, THE CORE OF IT ALL that he learns and remembers lumine's words to heart; and there's the extra bit i said perhaps, on that time he won't have someone who had made his life a little better, no longer by his side, he would try to delve in a curiosity he had thrown away before. the desire to seek something new, something he used to have, put aside in priority for duty, and that he's not meant to indulge things like other living things do.

i love the thought that xiao takes the step of being in lumine's shoes, not entirely, but the mere concept of being a traveler. a wanderer. someone who's simply curious, who wants to explore what they've never seen. this is a life lumine is at her finest, other than the responsibilities she's weighed to. xiao would just want to Try and feel her experience. he'd leave liyue if only for a few days, still clinging to the thought of,... home? liyue finally felt like home than a place he's obligated to protect. and that's thanks to lumine too. his travels progress with ease with his own form of teleportation through the permit of wind, and he settles to visit,.. places. landscapes, nature,- to meet the people can wait later. for now, he's only here to explore and just... be.

it latches at the very center of my brain for weeks about post-traveler concepts like this like i DONT dig and do not like just outright Despise a xiao that misses lumine to the Extreme, someone to cling onto, because it defeats the purpose of him who's meant to be free and being able to choose. it doesnt mean anything about him forming attachments and loyalty, although hes still loyal to lumine in regards he sees her as a dear friend who taught him so much about life, the life he has and that he should cherish it. and he does, and will try, with all these little steps of moving forward without the hand that pulls you along. the people who cared for him who had been the hand that pushes along, will still push, but now all of his actions are made on his own volition. i just love that. i love that after lumine, he starts to live again. he slowly, but surely, know how to live.

so first of all "bro girl (gnc)" fucking SENT me im gonna cry why is that so funny to me i love that so bad

and second of all okay ngl i dont think about it OFTEN but i do. think about it. i Absolutely Do Think About It. and the way you've described it is flawless i have nothing to expand upon nothing to add no little comment to make im just. speechless. delving into the curiosity he had thrown away before. becoming a traveler, a wanderer. meeting people coming later, for now focusing on exploring, on seeing all that the world has to offer. still regarding lumine as such a dear friend. his actions being his own. learning how to live again. im going to lose my MINDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD.

not getting too close to mortals at least for a while at first, too wary of the pain he's caused them before, too aware of the degree to which he will outlive them (those from the chasm are exceptions, and he'll remember them for centuries after they're gone, even if only in fleeting thoughts). but meeting some of the other archons. becoming closer with other adepti. a small circle, but a circle nonetheless. <- cannot stop thinking about xiao and nahida eventually becoming friends dorry i had to say SOMETHING. its hard to imagine him and the wanderer as Friend friends, but i can see them crossing paths sometimes if they hadn't already met through lumine, realizing fairly early on that neither of them are human, working together pretty well whether in fighting or simple exploration. sharing a sort of wonder at the world, a deep will to be better, knowing what its like to exist solely for one purpose and knowing more still of what it's like for that purpose to leave them, to be taught how to exist without it, to further learn themselves how to exist without it. idk. very different people but a solid few similarities in their lives. xiao albedo friendship i hope i pray at least eventually idk i think they'd just Vibe.

still thinking about xiao and nahida as friends. xiao knowing a lot about various plant life and taking care of it, nahida teaching him the rest and filling in the gaps when he asks. learning how to sew. learning how to best care for the wildlife. learning how to use his hands gently. they're rough and calloused and for so long they existed to wield his weapon, nothing more, but now they make messy stitches and pat down the dirt around freshly planted flowers and ever so carefully pet the stray cats he sees in different cities. xiao is not a weapon. maybe he never was.

idont even know where my train of thought is anymore im just. im just. im just. o(-(

[amjustagirl]

Hogwarts AU (Haikyuu!!)

feat. Miya Osamu 

For the darling @1tooru

Send me an ask with characters you’d like to see me write, whether in the Hogwarts setting or whatever you’d like to suggest, and I’ll try my best to make it work! 

Masterlist link here

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff

A/N: Assumed that the food served is Japanese, not gonna give the Haikyuu boys bad British food (no hate pls!! been traumatised by a recent trip to the UK :p )  

Miya Osamu (Slytherin)

All you knew about him was that he was one half of the famous Miya twins, and with Miya Atsumu strutting down the hallways with a cocky grin, no one would fault you for assuming his twin would be much the same. 

Not to mention the fact that Osamu is a fearsome chaser in his own right, causing such havoc during the match with Ravenclaw that Kuroo, the keeper, nearly tore his hair out mid-match.

You’ve developed a habit of sneaking away to the kitchens, spending evenings with the house-elves, trying to re-create the tastes from home. 

The Japanese food served day in, day out is good - you do enjoy the taste of dashi and miso and soy and pickles. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, you miss the heavier spices like tumeric and five spices, tropical flavours like coconut milk and jackfruit and pandan.

So you sneak into the kitchens and persuade the house-elves to let you experiment with their more exotic ingredients. 

And imagine your surprise when you discover that your sanctuary of food is invaded by one Miya Osamu. 

‘O-oh! I didn’t know the house-elves let anyone else in here’, you stammer, face red, expecting the stereotypical Slytherin response of a sneer to grace his face. 

But to your surprise his face remains expressionless, only shrugging his shoulders with grace. ‘Kitchen’s enough for us two, I suppose’, and he turns back to the rice balls he’s moulding in his hands. 

Three encounters later, you realise he’s not surly - just somewhat reticent and a little shy. You figure it comes with the territory of having a loud-mouthed twin. 

He offers you the onigiris he creates, cracks a smile when you moan over a mouthful of poached egg and soy-flavoured rice, his rendition of the humble tamago kake gohan, the Japanese staple of a raw egg over steaming white rice. His eyes widen in turn when you teach him the wonders of pandan flavoured custard and mango with sticky rice.  

‘You don’t seem like a typical Slytherin’, you gather the courage to make the bold statement one night, when the pair of you are sitting shoulder to shoulder in front of the kitchen fire, sharing a tuna mayo onigiri. 

‘Cos I’m not as ambitious as my lout of a twin?’ he asks, amused. 

You shake your head, trying to deny his statement, but the corners of his eyes only crinkle further. 

‘The Sortin’ Hat gave me a choice between Slytherin and Hufflepuff’, he says. ‘’Tsumu got sorted before me, and I guess I didn’t wanna leave ‘im alone. Who knows what he’d do if I’m not there to stop his shit’. 

‘So you’re in Slytherin for the greater good?’ you joke. 

He snorts, trying his best not to choke on a mouthful of rice. ‘I guess ya could say that, I suppose’. 

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

You don’t tell anyone else about your evening sojourns in the kitchens with Miya Osamu. 

After all, he and Atsumu have a legion of crazed fans, and even though most seem to be gunning for the blonde twin, it’s enough to put you off acknowledging him beyond a shy nod between classes or two. 

Still, someone must have seen you leave the kitchens together, because nasty notes start appearing in your bag, and whispered curses are shot your way, causing your shoelaces to twine together in twisted knots, and your bag to split open when you’re rushing to class. 

You keep your head down, figuring that it’ll only get worse if you fight back. 

‘Why do ya have bruises on yer legs’, he frowns, distracted from his latest culinary experiment. 

‘It’s nothing’, you demur, trying to tug your skirt down to hide your legs but he catches your wrist in one warm, large hand. 

‘Who did this to ya?’, he asks, eyes thunderous when he sees the tapestry of mottled bruises on your knees and calves. 

You try to lie, tell him it’s no one, you’re just clumsy and tripped over your own feet, but he’s relentless and his mouth settles into a taut line when you finally admit that a couple of his fangirls may have gone a little too far in trying to warn you off him. 

‘They don’t get that we’re just friends’, you say quietly, refusing to meet his gaze, a smart move considering the way your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

‘I’ll deal with it’, he promises, and he does, because the next day, the same few girls come to breakfast with red rimmed eyes and apology notes find their way into your bag instead.  

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

Since then, you have to admit that you’ve fallen head over heels for Miya Osamu.  

It’s the most cliched thing in the world to pine after a boy who doesn’t look at you the same way, but you can’t help it. 

He’s gorgeous, with broad shoulders and a slim waist, brown eyes that glimmer occasionally with such kindness that you forget he wears green and silver. 

It’s so easy to pretend that his protectiveness is a symptom of potential romantic feelings for you - but he continues to treat you as he always has, a partner in his culinary adventures, and nothing much else. 

So you trudge along, hiding your feelings until his birthday. 

You charm a paper plane to land in his plate during breakfast that day. He unfolds it, the corner of his lip quirking upwards when he reads your message - ‘Meet me at the kitchens tonight? Got a little special surprise for you!’

He grins - a rare sight, when you and the house-elves burst into song when he climbs through the portrait hole, and laughs out loud when you present him with the chocolate you made with the help of the house-elves. 

‘It’s not perfect, I know’, you tell him apologetically, staring balefully at the too-runny chocolate frosting, and the slanted icing that spells his name. 

‘It looks perfect to me’, he answers, cutting a huge slab for the both of you to share. 

You flush when he insists on feeding you the last bite of cake, your heart pounding when his palm is warm on the small of your back when he walks you back to your tower. 

‘Thanks for the birthday present’, he says when you reach your destination. ‘But forgive me for bein’ greedy and stealin’ one more present from you’. 

Then he gently tilts your face up to meet his, and bends down, slanting his mouth over yours and - oh. 

He tastes of dark chocolate and frosted cake, and his arms circling you still bear the warmth of the fireplace you’ve shared over countless frosty nights. It’s a dream come true, and you’re still breathless when he pulls away. 

‘Was that too much?’ he asks quietly, a note of anxiety in his voice. 

‘Not at all’, you whisper back, the thrumming of your heart betraying that you’d very much like to do it again. 

And when you’re back in your bed tonight, lips swollen from Osamu kissing you senseless in the corridor that night, you’re not sure whose birthday it is - his or yours, the way all your wishes have come true. 

[shurisneakers]

shut in [9]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, shooting

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: ok ok ok ok sam deserves the world and im mad that he’s not getting it

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

He was gone.

10:00am

Time had begun to slip past you. Days where you were forced to wake up at 4am were just a dreary memory you didn’t want to revisit. The rough shoves in the morning to have you awake enough to be in training by 4:30am only fell into the category of things you had forgotten over the time you had stayed here.

Maybe sleep wasn’t a luxury you weren’t allowed to afford.

10:30am

By the time you step into the kitchen, the loose structure of the day you had ahead of you was forming. Maybe if you revisited the small makeshift shooting range you had set up for Sam and you to practice. A couple of old soup cans, a flat boulder for them to sit on and you were good to go. He had allowed you to use his giant board for knife throwing too, laughed when you asked for permission before saying it was for the both of you. 

You made a sandwich for yourself, forcing it down your throat with water. Bread was starting to feel like cardboard and the jam just tasted like nothing. Peanut butter was even worse.

Losing appetite wasn’t an option, even though it had eroded a while ago. The best option was to just scarf it down with water. 

11:00am

Sam isn’t in the house, you had deduced. A morning run or maybe just some fresh air.

You checked for the notes he sometimes left for you when he went out. Something along the lines of when he’d be back, or why he’d left, or where you could find him. 

You looked on top of the fridge where he generally left them; someplace he knew you’d see. You didn’t find one.

You shrugged it off. 

Something felt wrong about the arrangement of the kitchen but you couldn’t place a finger on what it was. All the chairs were in its place, trash appropriately in the bin, no bowls were left from soup day in the sink to wash. 

The origami swan you had made still rested next to his paper airplane. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place. 

You pushed yourself to shake off the nerves, to get dressed instead. The shooting range was waiting for you.

12:45pm

When you shoot for thirty and get all thirty, it tends to get a little boring. Not that you were complaining; if even one was off you’d spend the whole day trying to make up for it.

Violent hobbies weren’t ideal. They weren’t even hobbies per se. Just skills you needed to keep sharp if you wanted to survive.

You even shot at the targets that you had hung up on the trees. Dangerous and completely Sam’s idea. Said the wind made them act like moving targets. Nevermind the possibility of a ricochet.

The target board was empty too. Admittedly, knife throwing was a little harder  to get used than shooting to but it still only took a few tries before you were hitting bullseye over and over again.

There just wasn’t anything to do. And you realised it had been this way for a while but you never noticed due to his lively chatter or how competitive it got with stupid games you were making up as you went. 

1:00pm

You learned against the counter as you ate, eyeing the room, trying to figure out what you had misplaced. The air was cold, even more so after the shower, so you threw on an extra t-shirt to aid you.

You made a noise of disapproval when you couldn’t find what was wrong. A quick wash of your hands before you made your way to the TV, fully intending to doze off while watching Megamind for the fourth time. 

You passed by the mini fridge on the way, noting how you needed to restock the ice cubes when you suddenly stopped in your path.

Your eyes peeled back to the small paper bowl Sam had crafted expertly that was still somehow managing to stick together. But that was what was wrong.

The keys were missing.

The fucking car keys and the pocket change you had taken from Pierce’s house were no longer there. 

Your body moved on autopilot, dragging you towards the front door. You yanked it open, door creaking under the pressure you applied on it.

Your heart sank. 

The car was gone.

1:20pm

You had all the possibilities listed out in front of you with the rest scratched out after you had rationalised it.

Someone had come in and taken the car, which wasn’t likely. 

Sam had stepped out but hadn’t mentioned it to you. If he did, why would he need the car?

Someone had abducted Sam, which was absurd on paper but still left a twinge of uncertainty because you couldn’t definitively rule it out. 

He had just left. Decided he was done and left. 

You stared at the last option. 

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You could feel his muscle shift as he looked at you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

You opened your mouth but shut it again. How do you explain it to him without sounding utterly ridiculous?

You wondered if it was that conversation. 

He wouldn’t leave after you told him, would he?

You hesitated before shaking your head.

He’d come back. He would.

1:45pm 

You had added a few more possibilities to the list but discarded it almost immediately.

You now found a place in front of the TV, watching but not registering what was said. Your fingers kept itself busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. You had thrown another one on since his jacket was missing with the rest of him. It had gotten colder.

The woman droned on about how much her husband loved the recipe she was making. It was Sam’s favourite segment, not because it was particularly fantastic or anything, but because it gave him forty five minutes of free content to trash talk.

Your eyes kept glancing up at the clock. Was it broken or was time much slower than you initially thought?

You almost felt like you were in a cognitive dysfunction; you couldn’t do anything other than while away time till you figured out what had gone wrong. 

2:00pm

If you weren’t paying attention, you wouldn’t have heard the soft crunch of twigs. The whirring of the wheels as it turned gently only made you sit up straight, hands on the gun that rested on the couch beside you.

It came to a stop. The gun was fully in your grip now, TV turned off to determine what the noises were.

It was the most agonisingly slow minute you spent listening as the car opened and shut, muffled by the distance. You were near the door, using the adjoining wall as a hideaway. 

The doorknob shook as someone tried to push their way in. 

“Sam?” you called out cautiously against your better judgement, mentally cringing. 

It took a second for his reply to return. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Let me in, will you? Stupid door’s not opening.”

Of course it wouldn’t. It was fingerprint activated.

Relief flooded your system, letting yourself hold the gun with only one hand as you hastily made your way to open the door.

However, you paused. As much as you wanted to fling the door open blindly, you waited, hand on the knob.

“Is someone out there with you?”

“What?” he sounded confused. “No, it’s just me.”

You opened the door slightly, peeking out through the sliver of open space. 

Sure enough, it was only him. The car was returned to the same spot that it was.

“Where were you?” You yanked the door open. You sounded way more aggressive than you planned to, you were sure. It didn’t matter though.

“Went to the store,” he said nonchalantly, stepping inside, and dropping the keys back where they were.

“What?” 

He was so relaxed about it, like it was nothing. It only irked you further than you already were.

“Drove the car till the highway, walked into town and went to the store.” He set the bag down. “What’d you do all day?”

“You went to the town,” you emphasised. “To the fucking store.”

“Yeah, I figured you would be up by the time I came back.”

“You were gone for hours.” You crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to yell. You could talk it out calmly. You didn’t have to snap

You hoped he had a good reason. You sincerely hoped, for his well being and security, that he risked his life to go to public space.

“We’re way further out than you think. Nearest dollar store’s almost the next fuckin’ state if you’re walking. Had to ditch the car because it’s a little too flashy, even for me.” He lifted up the bag next to him. “Got us some ramen. And juice. That’s all we had cash for anyway.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly agape. 

“You could have been seen, Sam,” your tone was corrosive, the next best you could do instead of yelling. “For all we know, you could have been followed.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

That did nothing to alleviate the anxiety that was crawling into your head. 

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered. “Fucking ridiculous.”

“Where are you going?” You ignored him, turning on your heel and walking to the bedroom. You didn’t care if it was his day that day. He could rot in the kitchen with his stupid ramen for all you cared.

You cursed as you slammed the door behind you, launching yourself onto the bed. 

There was no denying you were relieved that he was still alive and here. But fuck him. Fucking dickhead. 

Fucking juice.

You spent the next couple of hours feeling absolutely embarrassed for yourself. Why did you spend hours worrying if he was safe when he was out there, gallivanting in public for some stupid noodles?

Both of you could have been absolutely fucked if he wasn’t careful. He may have just jeopardised your entire set up.

But deep down, no matter how much it was annoying to acknowledge, you knew he wouldn’t have. He was smart, strategic. 

Why would he do something like this?

How much you were worried scared you. There was no time where it had occurred that maybe you were in danger too. Every possibility you came up with only pushed the thought of him possibly in trouble further into your head. 

But the more you spend time overthinking, the more you realised that him being in danger wasn’t the entire cause of your worry. 

What if he didn’t come back? Why’d he come back? 

He had the means to leave, the will to and clearly was able to go undetected for a while. He didn’t need to return, but he did. 

And for what; to give you some food he bought from the dollar store. 

He seemed excited about it too, before you had closed the door on his face and decided to spend the next few hours self-destructing.

Fucking ramen.

Maybe if you could just lie there until you decomposed, then you wouldn’t have to have a conversation with him about this. That’s what you would have done a couple of months ago. 

But now the idea of communicating had been implanted and implemented several times before. It didn’t feel right to push it away, not when you’d come so far. A chance to heal.

You groaned, shoving a pillow onto your face before getting up grumpily. 

Fuck this man and his stupid, healthy methods of coping. 

___

You opened the door slowly, creeping into the hallway to assess what he was doing. It had been a few hours of silence in the house. He had given you space, not come knocking on the door to explain himself. 

You took note of the kitchen. The table had been laid with two bowls of noodles covered with a plate along with a glass each of juice. It was domestic. Cute.

He was watching Die Hard but the volume was turned down low. If he was anything like you, he wouldn’t have been paying too much attention.

You cleared your throat awkwardly to grab his attention.

His neck craned to look at you, surprise flashing across his face for a second before he leapt up, turning off the TV in an instant.

“Y/N,” he stated as normally as he could.

“Samuel,” your tone was steady. 

He scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up.” 

“Neither was I.” You looked at the table, gesturing towards it with your shoulder. “Watchu got there, Gordon Ramsey?”

Because screw him, but the longer you stood there staring at the bowl, you were starting to understand the lengths he went to to get something other than bread, peanut butter and soup. As much as the prospect of being petty thrilled you, you had survived on nothing but them for the past few weeks.

“Got a few packs of ramen and a gallon of juice from the store. Thought you- we deserve somethin’ nice.” You noticed his quick coverup but didn’t acknowledge it. “It’s not Michelin star worthy, but it’ll do.”

You nodded, avoiding looking at him.

“I-”

“Hey-”

Both of you started at the same time, only to be cut off by the other. You mentioned for him to continue.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I should have told you before I left,” You didn’t expect the sincerity that exuded from every word he let out and you found yourself unable to look away. “I’m not used to people worrying about where I go... but things are different now. I won’t do it again.”

You weren’t used to the feeling of lightness that accompanied an apology. Relief. 

“Thank you,” you said breathily. His face noticeably brightened. “But why’d you come back?”

His small smile left as soon as it came, as his face fell into a frown. “What?”

“You could have just left. You had the car, the-” you stopped yourself from listing out reasons why he should have. “Why’d you come back?”

He looked completely confused. 

“Because I wanted to,” he voiced. “Leaving you behind was never an option. I wouldn’t-”

He trailed off, eyes never leaving yours. 

“You’re stuck with me,” he urged softly. “We’re a team.”

You lingered on him longer than you wanted to admit. He wasn’t lying, you had realised. 

“Care to join me for dinner?” he asked, extending a hand to you.

You rolled your eyes but took it, feeling the heat creep up your neck. He smirked at you and fuck, he was frustratingly cute. 

You understood. You totally understood when you nearly died at the first bite you took, vowing to never take food like this for granted again. It may have been the absolute bare minimum; just the seasoning and noodles he had cooked in the microwave, but it was the best goddamn meal you ever had.

“Good, right?” He looked about as content as he could be. 

“Best fuckin’ day of my life.”

He kidded around some more. You choked out a laugh at some, wholly ignored the others to which he took complete offence. You saw it as a way to humble him.

This was the normalcy you had crushed your craving for so long ago, accepting that it wouldn’t ever happen. A normal dinner with someone who made you smile, no impending doom lurking around the corner and maybe a shot at a glimmer of something happy. 

It was strange that you found it with another hitman in a safe house, hiding from authorities and who knows what else, with food worth a couple of cents. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

Yet there were things that had to be discussed. Conversations that needed to happen.

“Sam, we need to talk about it.” You didn’t have to explain, he knew what you were talking about.

“What’s wrong?” 

“I need to tell you something and I need you to hear me out before saying anything,” you pulled away from him, shuddering at the sudden cold that enveloped you. 

“I’m listening.”

“We do,” he agreed, and you could feel the atmosphere in the room begin to shift. “But we don’t have to do it now.”

He reached across from where he was sitting, hesitantly interlacing your fingers. The sense of fluster you experienced wasn’t healthy, you decided.

You just ducked your head, fighting against the damn smile that was trying to make its way onto your face. You didn’t pull away.

“Okay.”

Next part

[fukurodianthus]

Its just skin

Synopsis: Self-love is not something that comes to you naturally. Years of self-depreciation makes it difficult to grow into the habit of loving yourself despite of the scars peppered across your skin.

But with your fiancé, Tooru Oikawa, you find yourself stealing glances into mirrors quite often. It catches you by surprise when you find yourself...beautiful?

Pairing: Tooru Oikawa X fem!reader

Genres: tooth-rotting fluff , a lil bit of angst thrown in

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: The reader suffers from body positivity issues and insecurities regarding her appearance.

Author’s note at the end!

(p.s. didnt proof read because im ✨lazy✨ might do it later when im feeling cute idk)

“Y/N-chan, can we leave already? We’re getting late for the party” Oikawa whined, tugging the sleeve of your shirt lightly.

“Tooru, stop being so impatient!” You pushed your whiny fiancé away and concentrated on covering up the acne scars and freckles peppered across your face with layers of concealer. No matter how much you tried, you could never make your skin look half as perfect as that of the girls who dominated your Instagram and YouTube feed. Every time you looked in the mirror, the taunting voices of your family members and friends would creep into your mind.

Oh my god! Whats wrong with your face?

Don’t you wash your face properly?

You’re never going to get married if you look like that Y/N! Do something about that face of yours!

Do you want me to recommend a good dermatologist to you?

No matter what the topic of the conversation was, people always found a way to bring up the topic of your skin condition in it. You could be talking about quantum physics for all they cared, they would somehow find a way to bring up the topic of your skin.

But they didn’t know all those sleepless nights you had spent on the internet looking for remedies, they didn’t know how you cried yourself to sleep every night, praying that you’ll somehow find that your skin had magically healed up when you woke up. But miracles didn’t happen in this world. At least for you, they didn’t.

You spent a humongous chunk of your salary buying medicines, serums, anything skincare specialists would recommend to you. But none of it could you fix you. Ultimately it all ended up in the trash and you ended up on the bathroom floor, sobbing as you looked into the mirror, face contorted with disgust and self-loathing.

But then, Oikawa Tooru stepped into your life. The first person who didn’t grimace as he looked at your face. He looked at it with childish wonder in his eyes, as if he was looking at something…beautiful?  Every night, when you fell asleep in his arms, his fingers softly grazing your cheeks, you felt an unfamiliar warmth blossom inside your heart. If he could love you despite your flaws, what was stopping you from doing it?

But years of self-depreciation made it difficult to develop the habit of loving yourself. There are still moments when you found you yourself drowning in self-hatred.

Take the present moment, for instance.

No matter how much concealer you caked on your face, it didn’t look half as good as you wanted it to. You let out a frustrated groan as you plopped down on the bed. How could you go to the party looking like this, especially when Oikawa would be by your side? Everyone’s appearance paled in comparison to his flawless beauty. Then how could you, of all people, ever stand beside him as an equal? You knew everyone would be comparing you with him behind your back, their jealousy-tinged voices emphasizing on how someone like you didn’t deserve to be with him. You’d always be an undeserving lover for him in their eyes.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?” Oikawa’s voice was laced with heavy concern. “Do you feel sick? I told you to not eat that expired candy bar last night, but you didn’t listen-”

“Tooru, its not that. I think I look very fucking ugly right now and I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. I can’t go to the party right now, not when I’m feeling like this.” You buried your face in a soft cushion and let out a frustrated groan as you turned over on the bed.

“Y/N, did you start putting yourself down again?” You felt him plopping down beside you on the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Tooru, don’t lie to me, my skin still looks just as bad as ever.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder if astral projections are real.”

“What? Have you finally lost it?” Your widened eyes searched his face, trying to make sense of his words.

“If it was real, then I’d pull your soul out of your body make you look at your face through my eyes. Because there’s clearly something very fucking wrong with your eyes if you cannot see how damn pretty you are.” Tooru huffed, looking at you nonchalantly as if he was stating the obvious.

“Tooru-” you whimpered, turning on your side to face him.

Tooru and his horrible pickup lines.

Gosh, how can I not love him?

His chocolate-brown eyes softened as he pulled you into his chest. The sound of his heartbeat drowned all the cacophony of all the negative thoughts cluttering your mind.

“Y/N, I thought love at first sight was way too cheesy and corny to be real. But then, one day, back in high school, I saw Iwa-chan talking to you. You looked so fucking pretty, you know? The way you’d bite your lips when you were confused, the way you’d look down and let your hair cover your face whenever you were flustered, it was so damn adorable. I might have gone down on my knees right then, if Iwa-chan hadn’t been there. He’d beat the living crap out of me for playing my ‘disgusting tricks’ on his friend.” Oikawa took your hands in his and slowly drew circles on your palm with his thumb.

“Iwa wouldn’t have to beat you up, I’d do it without a second thought if you pulled any of that shit on me. I always found you very bratty, clinging to Iwa with that radioactive sweet smile of yours.”

“Wow, I was head over heels in love with you on first sight, while your first impression of me was that I’m a brat? No wonder you were Iwa-chan’s friend, you both are so mean.” He pouted, looking at you with playful annoyance.

“That was before I got to know you. Your brattiness started growing on me, gradually. Now I’m so used to it, I think I’d forget how to breathe if I didn’t hear your annoying voice every morning.” You chuckled at how his face kept getting redder with every insult that you threw at him.

“You’re used to my brattiness? Are you implying I’m still a brat?”

“Exactly. Looks like you do have a brain.”

“The most amazing setter on this planet doesn’t have a brain, is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but instead of asking me out on a date directly, you bugged Iwa to set us up on a date until he finally shouted at you in the middle of an English class, saying ‘Alright, Shittykawa, I’ll set you up on a date with Y/N, now stop running that fucking stupid mouth of yours.’ " You stole a glance at his face, savoring his flustered expression. "I’m right, am I not?”

Oikawa’s face reddened to the extent where it seemed that he would spontaneously combust at any moment.

"Tooru, c'mon, we both were emotionally constipated fools who could never ask each other out if Iwa hadn't stepped in." You softly ran your hands over his chest, savoring the warmth radiating from him. "Now stop pouting Brattykawa."

"You and Iwa-cha, both of you can never appreciate me before backtracking, huh?" He ran his fingers through your tangled hair, slowly massaging your scalp.

He knew it always calmed you down.

"Hey, did you really find me pretty that day?" You mind went back to how you looked the day when Oikawa first saw you. Greasy hair stuck to your face, cavernous dark circles covering your under eyes, face swollen as a result of pulling all nighters for a whole week. How could anyone, let alone Oikawa find you pretty when you looked like that?

"Can you not hold a conversation for 5 seconds without putting yourself down, huh?"

" I dont think I can Tooru. It still weirds me out that you, of all people found me beautiful when I looked like such a mess."

"Y/N I think we really need to try astral projections now-"

"Tooru, I'm serious-" You whined.

He chuckled, twilring your hair in his fingertips. "Y/N, after being with you for so long, I've realized something. You look for validation in the eyes of people who couldn’t care less about you. But when finally, someone who really cares for you and sees you as who you are tells you that they are truly beautiful, you brush it off. Why do you pretend that our compliments aren't heartfelt? Why are you so scared of being appreciated?"

Every day, when he saw you stealing glances into the mirror, he noticed how disappointment flashed across your face. He knew how you beat yourself up for not being pretty enough. You were never enough for yourself.

If your mind was a place, he’d waltz into it, shredding the self-destructive thoughts gnawing at you sanity into pieces. He’d untangle the mess inside your head, shattering the walls that bars genuine compliments reach your heart.

Oikawa wasn’t the best with words, not at times like this. But he’d give it his best.

He could feel the wet spots blossoming on his shirt, as you buried your face deeper into his chest.

"Oi!  You dummy! Are you crying?"

"To-Tooru I just think th-that I d-don’t deserve your love because I'm not as good looking as-" You choked out in between an onslaught of sobs.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.” He cupped your flushed cheeks and lifted your chin up, his eyes scanning your face in concern.

“Those fucking stupid scars on your face don’t define who you are, okay? Its just skin, Y/N, you are so much more than just…a piece of skin, you know? Honestly, we’re all just bags of flesh and bones if you look at it that way. Do you think I loved you because you were a particularly pretty bag of flesh and bones?” Even though you found his analogy slightly funny, you noticed how his face lit up with passion so you refrained from making any sarcastic comments. He was trying his best.

“Continue, Tooru. I’m listening.”

“I love you because of who you are. I love the way your lashes flutter when we stargaze on the roof every night, I love you how your hair is a tangled mess when you wake up, I love how your puff your cheeks in annoyance when I stop you from over-drinking coffee every night, I love how you whine when you spend hours trying to get your eyeliner right, only to end up smudging it when you rub your eyes absent-mindedly, I love how your eyes light up when I put an extra spoonful of Nutella in your sandwich…gosh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Your grip on his hoodie tightened. He looked at you, breathlessly, scanning your face for a reaction.

Your stared at your reflection in his chocolate-brown eyes, struggling to find the right phrases to express the way his words made you feel. You felt your heart race as if it was beating in pace with a rhythm set in by a drug-induced ecstasy.

What would you call this feeling of warmth that washed over you with every syllable he uttered?

“Thank you.” You wondered if you could’ve said anything better to express how much his words meant to you. God, where were a the fancy words you had learnt from corny YA romance books when you needed them?

But he didn’t need to hear your words to know that you’d been moved by his words. Fancy phrases could never tell him what the faint rosy glow of your cheeks could.

“Stop thanking me for stuff like this. It’s my duty, Y/N. I’m your fiancé for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re such a sap Tooru.” You giggled, squishing his cheeks softly.

“Yeah but you’re hopelessly in love with this sap, so deal with it.” His grip around your waist tightened as he nuzzled his face on your neck, his hot breath fanning across your collarbones.

“Now let me go Shittykawa, we have a party to attend.” You pried his arms off your waist and sat up.

“Babe, we’re about to get married in a few months, you really need to drop that stupid nickname.”

“Hmm, let me think.” Cocking your head to your side, you pretended to be immersed in deep thought. “Nope, not happening.”

“Don’t blame me for what happens next.” Oikawa sat up and tackled you to the bed, pinning your wrists by your side.

“Ooh, now that’s hot, Tooru”

“You know whats hotter Y/N?”

“What?”

“This.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond as his hands slid down to your waist. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

And then he started tickling you.

You broke out in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, kicking him, trying to get him to stop.

Two minutes later, you both lay side by side, panting, faces flushed with breathless fits of laughter.

You caught a glance of your face in the bedside mirror.

Even with your reddened face, tangled hair and smudged mascara, you looked…beautiful.

You felt beautiful.

As you nuzzled your face on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat rumbling in your ears, his words kept replaying in your mind.

“Its just skin, Y/N.”

Author’s note: ahhhhh I kinda wrote this in a flow?? Its a comfort fic/drabble???Idk what this is tbh. This is very self indulgent because I’ve suffered from skin problems(cystic acne ugh🤢) all my life, so I decided to comfort myself through this fic 🥺👉👈 . If only I had an Oikawa in my life 😩✋

N E ways, drink water, get enough sleep(lmao the irony that I’m saying this-) and remember to love yourself because you are beautiful!😤❤️I’ll come for your kneecaps if you put yourself down🤩🔪.

Reblogs would be highly appreciated!

[that-weird-fandom-girl]

Prompt List And Who I Will Write For

When requesting a oneshot you can but are not required to choose a prompt off this list (which is one of @marauder-exe‘s prompt lists that im using because i physically cant produce prompts lol) and just tell me what character you want it with (i will list characters and ships that i write for at the end)

Send requests here

Angst 

1. “I love you ! Is that what you wanted to hear ?”

2. “I love him/her, and I know that I shouldn’t.”

3. “Can you just shut your mouth ?” 

4. “wHY DO YOU KEEP LYING TO ME ?” 

5.“We both know that I should walk away, but I can’t.” 

6. “Wait, he/she has a girlfriend/boyfriend ?“

7. “I lo—-” “No, please… Don’t say that. You love her/him, not me.”

8.  "Could you just take this pain away ? It hurts, so much… Help me.”

9. “You’re safe here, I got you.”

10. “Don’t ask her out again, please… You’re killing me, every single time you ask that.” 

11. “Look, he/she wants you, just make him/her happy.”

12. “If you go, I’ll know that you never loved me.” 

13. “We never were just friends, and you know it.” “I know it, but you deserve someone better than me.”

14. “SHE WAS CRYING BECAUSE OF YOU!!!” 

15. “You love me like I’m the person who actually deserves your love.” “But you are the only one who deserves it.”

16. “I know for a fact that you’re not “fine”.” 

17. “You’re looking at me like.. you’re disgusted. What did I do? Just tell me what I did, please!” 

18. “What happened between us?” 

19. “Nothing has changed!” “Yes it has, and you know it.”

20. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt this badly.”

21. “You said you needed space. You were 5,000 miles away for a year, and you’re still unsure. I’m starting to think that an entire universe apart wouldn’t be enough space for you.” 

22.“I remember when he/she/they used to look at me that way” 

23. “I want you to list every lie you ever told me. Then I’ll forgive you.”

24. “I don’t hate you. I hate that after all of this, you’re still trying to lie to me”

25. “I can’t keep this secret for you anymore.”

26.. “I’m sorry I’m not what you signed up for.” 

27.“Why she/her/them? It could have been anybody, and you chose to betray me with her/him/them.” 

28. “This will be the last time you lie to me.” 

29.“You never loved me, did you?” 

30. “You made me miserable and I still loved you.” 

31. “Everytime something goes well, I momentarily forget how much I despise you.”

32. “We’re never going to have a happy ending, just remember that.” 

33. “Don’t pretend like you’re not happy to see me like this.” 

34. “Your mind must be a horrible place.” 

35. “Hand me the gun and I’ll kill him myself.” 

36. “And I thought you loved me.” “ And I thought I loved you.” 

37. “ Aren’t you even going to cry?”

38. “I didn’t expect you to wait forever. I just hoped…”

39. “Did you always know that you were going to leave?” 

40.“If you cry, I’ll stay, and if I stay that will just give you another reason to hate me.”

41. “I’m addicted and at this point I don’t think anything could make me stop.” 

42. ”If you wanna know, then ask.” 

43.“You never asked because you knew I wouldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.” 

44. “We grew apart, and at this point I’m glad.”

45. “Find somebody else to kiss your ass.”

46. “When are you going to stop clawing for something that’s never going to happen?” 

47. “What you’re doing is going to kill you one day.” 

48. “It was easier to believe that the you I knew was dead than deal with the fact that I still have to see you every day.” 

49. “What you’re doing is going to kill you one day.” 

50. “Why do you have tO BE SUCH A HYPOCRITE ALL THE TIME” (this is my prompt bc the numbers were being weird)

Fluff

 51. “You’re hair is really soft after you wash it.” 

52. “Ssh. Stop fussing. I’m just braiding your hair.” 

53. “You smell really nice.” 54. “Would it be all right if I borrowed your sweater? It smells like you.” 

55. “I might have slept with your robe when you were gone.” 

56. “If you steal the blankets, I am going to put my cold feet on you.” 

57. “Here, let’s share the blanket.”

 58. “You’re comfy.” 

59.“You are very endearing when you are half-asleep.” 

60.“But I want to hear you sing.” 

61.“Don’t get up - I’ll do it.”

 62.“Care to give me a back scratch?”

 63.“I think I love you.”

 64.“Your bed head is really cute.”

 65.“How about a kiss?” 

66.“You made this for me?”

 67.Aw, you’re blushing.” 

68. Uh oh, I know that look. What do you want?” 

69. “Let me help you with that.” 

70. “I don’t want to forget this moment.” 

71.“Are you really flirting with me right now?” 

72.“I like the way your hand fits in mine.”

 73.“You have something in your hair, umm… Do you want me to get it out?” 

74.“It’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.” 

75.“This movie is really scary, but you’re into it so I’m trying not to cover my face the whole time, but- WHAT IS THAT?” 

76.“Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.” 

77.“Half the time I get too embarrassed to say anything” 

78.“No, it’s fine.  I can wait until you’re done talking to them.” 

79.“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” 

80.“You’re a big piece of inspiration for this, honestly.”

 81.“I’ve been trying to get ready for like an hour and a half, because I know you’re going to look so good and I need to try and match up.”

 82.“I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but that failed.” 

83.“My friends get so annoyed by how much I talk about how sometimes.” 

84.“No, mom, don’t tell him/her I said that about him/her!” 

85.“I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” 

86.“ You are so beautiful — So fucking beautiful. “

 87.“And just WHERE do you think you’re putting your hands?” 

88.“Wow, you look even better in the daylight.” 

89.“I don’t remember ever having this many hickeys. But I don’t mind.”

 90.“We could order pizza and just stay like this all day.”

 91.“It was always you.” 

92.I love you in every possible way.” 

93.“I didn’t mean to love you so much.”

 94.“Don’t you hurt a single hair on his/her/their head.” 

95.“Duck, you idiot!” 

96.“Hey. Pal. I’ve got a wand and I’m not afraid to use it.” 

97.“Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.” 

98.“It’s not a double date. We’re just third and fourth wheeling.”

 99.“Look, I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

 100.“I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror..” 

Sarcasm 

 101.“Define normal.” 

 102.“Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?”

 103.“Just remember if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English.”

 104.“Don’t look for any redeeming qualities. I don’t have any.” 

 105.“It’s amazing how fast the world can go from bad to total shit storm.” 

106.“I love you. You enormously stubborn pain in the ass.”

 107.“And you wonder why you’re still single.” 

108.“Remind me to kill you. Please.” 

 109.“That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

 110.“She’s crazy. And just when you think you’ve reached the bottom of her craziness, there’s a crazy underground garage.” 

 111.“She may seem like lollipops and rainbows but I bet behind close doors she’s latex and whips.” 

112.“If my day gets any worse, I’m asking hell if they’re having an exchange program.”

 113.“Sorry. I don’t speak skank.” 

 114.“My middle finger salutes you.”

115.“I don’t have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel.”

 116.Somebody’s cranky.” “Somebody needs to shut up.” 

 117.“Oh darling. Go buy a brain.”

 118.“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

 119.“All due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.”

 120.“I am one of the few people in the world who can murder you and leave no forensic evidence behind.” 

121.“Excuse me. I have to go make a scene.”

 122.“What did I tell you about calling her/him the devil?” “That it’s offensive to the devil?”

 123.“I heard that!” “You were supposed to!” 

124.“I need therapy after this.” 

 125.“You didn’t get in trouble for lying. You got in trouble for lying badly.” 

 126.“I turned out liking you a lot more that I originally planned.” 

 127.“I think you’re weird.” “I think you’re boring.” 

 128.“I’m afraid I’ve been thinking…” “A dangerous pastime.” 

129.“Wow, there’s a big surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from surprise.” 

130.“I’m gonna hit you so hard, it’ll make you ancestors dizzy.” 

 131.“Sarcasm is the body’s natural reaction to stupidity.” 

 132.“Well, excuse me, psychic wonder!” 

 133.“Don’t look in her eyes, she might steal your soul.” 

 134.“She’s hot, but she’s evil.” 

 135.“Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably.”

 136.“I already know that I’m going to hell. At this point it’s really go big or go home.”

 137.“I’m not a damsel in distress. I’m a damsel doing damage.” 

 138.“So stick that in your juice box and suck it.

” 139.“Never take life seriously. No one ever comes out alive anyway.”

 140.“Sometimes I question my sanity. Occasionally it replies.” 

141.“Why should we date?” “Because we are attracted to each other.” “I am attracted to pie, but I do not feel the need to date pie.” 

 142.“Neither one us is drunk enough for this conversation.” 

 143.“You’re questioning my methods.” “I’m not questioning it, I’m saying it’s stupid.” 

 144.“Wow, somebody needs a Happy Meal.” 

 145.“I didn’t do it!” “Then why are you laughing?” “Because whoever did it is a freaking genius.” 

 146.“Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.”

 147.“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.

 148.“Obviously you have mistaken me for somebody who gives a shit.”

 149.“Rule number one: don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you, that’s not going to change.” 

 150.“You make no sense to me.” “Welcome to my life.” 

 Drama

 151.“Can you stop thinking about yourself for once?” 

152.“Can you stop thinking about yourself for once?” 

 153.“Don’t think I forgot about what you did last time.”

 154.“I know you lied to me.” 

155.“I’m not even sorry.” 

156.“You backstabber!” 

 157.“I never want to see you again.”

 158.“You never mattered to me.” 

159.“I knew this was a bad idea.” 

160.“Rot in hell.” 

161.“It was supposed to be a secret!” 1

62.“No one loves me.” 

 163.“He/she/they is/are so petty…” 

164.“You made me cry.” 

 165.“I don’t know who you are anymore.” 

166.“How DARE you?!”

 167.“I know you’re not talking to me…” 

168.“I SAW you with him/her/them!” 

169.“Just leave me alone.” 

170.“What did you do?!” 

171.“I told everyone that I didn’t want to talk but I’m actually dying for attention.”

 172. “Just admit that was extra…”

 173.“I forgive, but I don’t forget.” 

174.“Did you see what he/she/they was/were wearing?”

 175.“So what if I had sex with your ex?” 

176.“There’s something I have to tell you…” 

177.“I can’t do this anymore.” 

178.“You weren’t there for me when I needed you the most.” 

179.“I never loved you.” 

180.“It’s too late.” 

181.“Quit ignoring me.” 

182. “Don’t you get it? It’s because I love you!” 

183.“I love you. I’m sorry.”

 184.“I don’t want to be friends.” 

185.“Can we please pretend I never said that?” 

186.“Friendzoned again.”

187.“You should’ve loved me when you had the chance.” 

188.“Fuck you for toying with my emotions like that.” 

189.“I was there for you when no one else was!” 

190.“Alright – I can tell a ‘no’ when I hear it.” 

191.“I’m sorry I acted so creepy.” 

192.“Fuck. It’s like what they say – nice guys finish last…” 

193.“I’m tired of keeping this secret. Even if you don’t love me back.” 

194. “I knew that’d be your answer. That’s why I never told you before.” 

195.“When I said I loved you, I meant it.” 

196.“Is there any part of you, deep down, that might love me back?” 

197.“You were the one that left all those notes for me?” 

198.“You’re in a relationship with another person – you know this can’t end well.” 199.“We agreed this was just physical!”

 200.“I love you. I know you don’t love me, so don’t say it back.” 

Characters/people i write for 

Marvel

Steve rogers 

Clint Barton

Scott Lang

Tony Stark

Sam Wilson 

Thor Odinson 

Loki Laufeyson 

Bucky Barnes 

Peter Quill

Peter Parker

Pietro Maximoff

Bruce Banner 

Stucky (ship)

Criminal Minds

Spencer Reid

Derek Morgan

Aaron Hotchner 

Greys Anatomy 

Alex Karev

Mark Sloan 

Andrew Deluca 

Actors

Matthew Gray Gubler

Chris Evans 

Tom Holland 

Tom Hiddleston 

Johnny Depp 

Jensen Ackles

Sebastian Stan 

Daveed Diggs

Colin O’Donoughue 

Once Upon A Time

Killian Jones 

Jefferson 

Harry Potter

Fred Weasley 

Sirius Black 

Remus Lupin 

Draco Malfoy 

James Potter

 wolfstar (ship)

Miscellaneous

Steven Hyde (That 70s Show) 

Jack Sparrow (Pirates Of The Caribbean)

Dean Winchester (Supernatural) 

[descendantofthesparrow]

Protective Harry Hook x reader

Hi, I was wondering if you could write a fanfic for Harry hook x reader. Where maybe the reader was really close friends with the VKs before they left the isle and after they left she joined Uma’s crew (became really close with Uma) and got together with Harry hook. But when the vks come back they found out that reader had a baby with Harry and they aren’t supportive and think she’s betrayed them. And Harry steps in being over protective Dad and Lover. I love you writing, sorry if it’s picky 💗 

a/n: for this im going to make the reader already pregnant for three months, cuz the vks are only gone for six months, not really enough time for a baby to be born safely, so reader and Harry have been in a relationship for five months.

Key

Y/n- your name H/c- hair color E/c- eye color S/c- skin color H/l- hair length H-height V/p- villain parent

B/g- Baby gender B/n- baby name

–(y/n) POV– --D1--

You took a deep breath, trying to pump yourself up to tell your friends Mal, Evie, Carlos, and Jay, about your little “problem” and it might be your last chance to do it, as the four of them would be leaving to auradon within the hour

…oh what was the problem you ask? Well, you’re pregnant, and Harry Hook was the father, he didn't know either, hell! Your friends didn't even know you two were in a relationship!!! Only Uma knew, and luckily she decided to keep your relationship a secret.

Now you may be asking, how did you get pregnant, to answer that, let's go back to half a year ago. You were wandering the Isle after a bad incidence with your (v/p) and you were near the docks and when all of a sudden a group of pirates jumped you, and as they were about to take advantage of you, Harry showed up and saved you. Afterward he took you back to Ursula's chip shop and Uma (who took a couple minutes of convincing to let Harry fix you up, because your Mals friend) allowed you in after acknowledging that you had never teased her and had never called her shrimpy, and after that incident you and Harry had continued talking and soon an emotional and sexual relationship had begun between the two of you. and because the isle didn't really have birth control options, you had gotten pregnant, and with the help of Uma, she confirmed it.

And now it was three months after you found out, and you had yet to tell your friends of your predicament or Harry of your holding of his love child in your womb.

ruffling your (h/c) hair you rushed over to your friends and grasped Evie's shoulder, turning to you she hummed and tilted her head

“(y/n)? what's up? we have to leave in a minute or two.”

“I know, I just need to tell you all something before you go.”

she nodded and gestured for the others to come over, as the four stared at you curiously you took a deep breath and prepared yourself to tell them about you and harry

“I have something really big to tell you guys and promise you won't flip out ok?”

the four nodded slowly, and you decided to blurt out what was going on

“im-” 

“Mal~!”

“Evie~!”

“Carlos!”

“Jay!”

the fours parents interrupted you and the four turned and made their way to the limo, Evie turning back to you,

“you can tell us when we get back (y/n)! see ya!”

Mal then turned to you as well

“and stay away from the docks, Uma will take advantage of our trip to auradon”

you stilled, never telling Mal about your close friendship with Uma.

“um, abo-”

“and stay away from Harry too, he’ll try something while we’re gone im sure of it”

aaannnd your brain went into auto mode,

“sure thing Mal, I’ll just stick it in the hideout,”

she nodded and climbed into the limo.

as the limo drove away only one thought ran through your head.

‘well I fucked that up’

--three days later--

“I tell him, I don't tell, I tell him, I don't tell him...”

you plucked off the last petal of the dying flower “ I tell him”

Uma ground out “finally! we've been sitting here for half an hour!!! okay now go tell Harry and-”

“Tell me wha?”

both you and Uma squealed and jumped around to see Harry staring down at both of you, eyebrow raised and trying to hold in his laughter.

“Harry! don't scare us like that!” you whined at Him, standing up and mushing your face in his chest, feeling it rumble from his laughter.

“don't scare ye? that's my speciality ~!” he cackled as he wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. Uma rolled her eyes and stood up, brushing off her pants.

“well im going to get away from this sappyness, (y/n), Tell him”

Harry's face scrunched up in confusion? “tell me wha? (y/n)?” you bit your lip and stepped back from Harry, playing with your fingers and shuffling your feet.

“Bonnie? ye alright?” glancing up at Harry you saw him staring at you in worry and fear.

“is there something wrong? are-are ye breaking up with me?! o-or-” 

“no!” you gasped grabbing his hands and held them to your stomach “im-im pregnant!”

Harry stopped babbling and stared at you in shock, glancing at his hand which were placed upon your stomach, where his child was.

“how” he rasped “how long?” 

“three months” you looked up at Harry, his eyes beginning to fill with an emotion you couldn't place. “Harry?” he jumped and returned his attention to you “how...how do you feel about it?”

Harry stared at you for a few moments, a look in his eyes you couldn't describe other than pure joy “i-” his voice cracked and thickened as he spoke “I love ye (y/n). and im gonna be the best damn father I can be on this dumpster fire of an island”

tears streamed down your face and you jumped into his arms and he picked you up and spun you around. “well” you choked out “we won't have to raise it on this dipshit of a place” Harry raised an eyebrow “what why?”

you looked at him with a mischievous grin “Mal and her gang are gonna nab the wand and get us off this hell hole” 

“are-are ye serious!!!! holy fuck!!”

Harry lifted you in his arms, spinning you around once more. both of you laughing, one thing of your minds, neither would have to raise your child in this dangerous place.

you just hoped your friends would return soon.

--time skip to coronation--

“wh-what?” you whispered, tears burning at your eyes, Harry held an expression of rage, gripping your hand tightly.

“those-those, TRAITORS” 

all around you, food was chucked at the tv screen. the rage of Harry and the other patrons of the chip shop resounded in your ears. 

you couldn't breath

how could they!

they left you here to rot!!!

your ears started to ring, the world going black. your stomach hurt. you couldn't breathe.

“(y/n)?” you heard Harry's voice, but it seemed so far away.

“(y/n)? love?”

the last thing you felt before passing out was the sensation of being picked up by Harry before everything went black.

---

“gakit cunts!!!” the sound of something breaking broke through your subconscious

Harry's voice broke through the darkness that surrounded you.

“they jus left her here, THEY LEFT HER HERE! WHILE SHE’S PREGNANT WITH ME CHILD”

“Harry! chill!!!! ” Uma, thank god she was here too, trying to make Harry calm down.

“NO I won't CHILL, THEY'RE BASTERIOUS SLUDGE PUSS FILLED-

“HARRY!” 

“WHAT!”

“(Y/n)’s awake”

Harrys footsteps raced towards you, you heard his knees hit the floor and his calloused hand cupped your face. 

“(y/n)? love? are ye okay?!”

groaning you opened your eyes to see Harry's ocean blue eyes staring at you with pure worry and concern.

you smiled and grasped his hand “yes im okay” you rasped.

he breathed a sigh of relief and pulled you into a hug.

“im sorry lass, I should have paid more attention to ye, I could've prevented that”

“im fine Harry, no harm no foul”

He only nodded and climbed onto the bed and pulled you into his lap.

“jus be careful from now on ye hear”

you laughed, “practice what you preach hooky”

“you two are adorable” Uma right forgot she was here.

“shut it Uma” Harry spoke face flushed

“pft ahahaaha!!!” you and Uma burst out laughing. ah Harry could be so funny somtimes.

---D2---

Hard to believe its been 6 months since the Core four left, 4 months since they betrayed you and left you here. and a month and a half since your baby (b/g) was born. the precious thing was born a month and a half early. they looked so much like Harry, but at the same time so much like you...god you loved them, both of them, Harry and (b/n) that is. Harry, being the protective worrisome pirate he is, tutting over you constantly while and after your pregnancy. trying to carry you everywhere, not letting you steal anything. instead, he did it for you and grabbing double. Uma let him keep a lot of what he stole. he moved you into his room on the ship. basically, he’s a protective dork.

now you were walking around with your babe in your arms making your way back from curl up and dye, letting dizzy babysit (b/n) while you got your hair done. cooing at the adorable (b/g), you were startled by a familiar voice.

“(y/n)?!” you turned to see Evie, Carlos, Jay and...Ben. your face turned blank, the sting of betrayal still burned deep.

“is..is that a-” your blank face twisted in rage, and you hissed at her

“yes, this is my baby. wouldn't expect you to know, as, ya know! you abandoned me.” the four winced, Ben seemingly gathering a cloud of guilt upon his face.

“(y/n)” Evie stalked forward, grasping your shoulder “who’s is it”

you growled and pulled away from her “don't touch me! and the father is-”

“step away from the lass and the babe now.” Harry's voice broke through the tense standoff, gently grasping your shoulder and pulling you and the babe behind him, brandishing his sword and hook. creating a barrier between you and your old friends.

Jay walked forward and tried to pull you from behind Harry, thinking that Harry was going to hurt you and your babe, not knowing that Harry was the father.

Harry growled and slashed him with his sword forcing Jay to step back.

“back away from me girl and child! or else il hook ye!”

“your-” Jay sputtered “your child!?! how!!!”

“Aww, Jay~ did ye forget how sex works~? well, ya see-!” 

“Harry stop, not helping.”  Harry snorted and settled into a protective stance once more.

“how is the child even yours Hook! there's no way (y/n) could've gotten pregnant and given birth, in the time we were gone!”

you decided to step in

“when you guys left for Auradon for the first time, I was already three months pregnant, and have had a relationship with Harry for five months. I never told you because I knew Mal and the rest of you would throw me to the streets.”

the three held a look of shame, as they knew it to be true. nowadays they wouldn't, but back then? they would have done it without a second glance.

“you can't trust him!”

“oh really? and why should I trust you? he’s not the one who abandoned me!”

‘‘da da~! *sqee*”  the six of you jumped when all of a sudden (b/n) reached out to Harry and called for him, making grabby hands at him. giggling all the while.

‘holy crap that's so goddamn adorable’ was all the group could think.

as Harry sheathed his sword and took his tiny babe into his arms, Ben stood there thinking of how him not bringing over the next group of kids greatly harmed the ones still on the Isle.

Ben made up his mind, you, Harry and your Baby would be part of the next group coming over to the Isle.

“well, we’ll be going now,” you spoke, tugging on Harry's jacket. urging him to head back to the ship. luckily he obeyed and followed you, carefully holding (b/n) in his arms. “don't get caught” with that you left, Harry watching your back.

The four watched you go, shame, regret, guilt, and also weirdly...relief. you were being taken care of. you were better off then they thought you were.

they would just need to make sure that Mal was not the only one they would retrieve from the Isle. even if it meant taking Mals arch enemy along for the ride.

--the end!--

[swampgallows]

last night in the emergency room awaiting my test results i got really scared suddenly and i started crying. i really felt like, shit, i dont want to die, and i know im going to have to die one day, and what a miserable way to go by being hooked up to a bunch of tubes from a needle in my arm and a sata cable dangling from a bandage on my finger. i had to call the nurse to disconnect me just to get up and piss. 

i thought about how my papou died not from his blockage but from his surgery, how he never came back mentally from that fog, and how he pleaded with me to get him out of the hospital. “I’ve never done anything to anybody,” he said, and i sat there last night crying and feeling that same kind of desperation even though i had a feeling i would be fine. i was completely at the mercy of strangers. i was kind and jovial with them, and they were to me too, but obviously we don’t know each other. and i had the best case scenario: nothing was “actually” wrong with me and i even got to go home. but sitting there for that hour, motionless in a hospital bed, trying to distract myself from all the beeping and chatter outside my curtain, i felt like i was in purgatory.

i felt so frustrated. my mental health has been so abysmal that ive been rooted in stasis for so long, but that was nothing compared to the physical tether of a needle in my veins hooking me up to a machine. i did knock out for about 20 minutes after they administered the benadryl + compazine cocktail intravenously but it wasn’t restful. all i thought was, please god, let me go home. i just want to go back to my bed. and i know that’s all my grandfather wanted too. sitting there, waiting to find out if i had a mild stroke or an aneurysm or what, i was so unnerved. i’d never had a cat scan before. i’ve never been taken to a hospital bed before. ive never had to stay overnight at a hospital before. i just wanted to go home. 

i cursed myself a bit thinking shit, if i had just let this play out and taken the chance of it being just a migraine (which it was, thank god), i wouldn’t have to be here right now. i didnt have to tell my mom. i could have been home. but now im stuck here. and that’s my same fear of calling the hospital back up. “if i just ignore my mental health issues, they won’t throw me in the slammer. there’s no risk of being institutionalized if they don’t know.” i already fucked up once by telling them the severity of my mental health problems. though it’s quite dystopian to have to downplay your own conditions for fear that they will “overextend” their arm of assistance. i don’t want to be punished for seeking help, but that’s really how it felt.

and i know they can’t be saccharine to me. i know, as an adult, that the nurses can’t assuage me with “don’t worry, you’re fine” if the test results come back and i’m very much not fine. so when i was being wheeled to my bed from the cat scan and i asked, “do i have to stay overnight?” the nurse was being honest when he said, “it depends on your results.” these are just people doing their jobs. i know. and i know they must get sympathy fatigue too, especially working late hours in the emergency room. they can’t be fazed by anything. they were a stellar staff though and treated me wonderfully. still, as nice as they were, the entire situation is dreadful. literally, dreading the news of what your results will be, just sitting there wondering “will i go blind again? will i become blind permanently? am i dying? did something rupture in my brain? is it a tumor?”

i worry too because i sustained whiplash from the semi accident in 2013. my neck has been stiff and cracks all the time now, especially in the last few years, and im worried it might be a larger issue. and because ive been having to wear the same glasses since that accident with a huge gouge out of the middle, i think my right eye has gotten “lazy” to see past the scratch. im really hoping that when i get new glasses (i’m told this weekend, i hope it’s true) that my eye will perk back up again, but perhaps the damage has been done.

i’m really shitty at taking care of myself, and my mental health is a huge reason for that. most days i just don’t see the point, and then some days when i muster up enough self-preservation, i don’t know how. or, if i know how, i can’t. if i come home with something, it becomes, “Why didn’t you just ask me?” again, i’m punished for seeking help. i’m tired of needing permission for anything i want to do.

when we stepped into the waiting room, the first thing out of my mother’s mouth was that i was her baby. that i will always be her baby. that, no matter what, i’m still her baby. i know what she means. but with the station i’m at, being 29 years old, it doesn’t come across as charming and matronly. it’s infantilizing. it reminds me that no matter what, i’m still a helpless child who cannot do anything for herself and that my mother wants to keep it so. because if i still need her, then she’s still needed, and then she won’t be useless. meanwhile, i’m useless.

i want to have a job. i want to contribute to the world around me. i want to sustain my own life and take care of myself. i want to be a self-actualized person. i want to live my truths instead of hiding them online and having them fester in my body for fear of being punished by the people around me. i want to move out and live in my own place. i want a direction. i want a destiny.

but my world still feels so very small, and i very small within it. i have been trained to be invisible and small unless i am being boasted about to make someone else look good. i read and draw because it keeps me quiet, and i make jokes so that i’m listened to, so that i’m not making useless noise. i must be providing for someone always, and it doesn’t count when that person is myself. i let myself rot and go hungry because otherwise i take up space. otherwise i’m in the way. otherwise, i want for things, and i am demanding and a burden. otherwise, i’m selfish. 

sartre said in nausea that we are always in the way. even in death, in the way. our blood on the stones, in the way. 

no matter how small i make myself, there’s just no goddamn place where i fit. 

[minsuxga]

Anagapesis

(n.) No longer feeling any affection for someone you once loved; falling out of love.

Inspired by the quote:  “How selfhood begins with the walking away and love is proved in the letting go.”

Summary: Falling in love with Yoongi was easy. Watching him fall out of love with you was hard and there was only little you could do but hope that he found his way home after long nights of being away.

Genre: !Yoongi! + angst + fluff (i swear there’s a happy ending)

Word count: 12.7k 

A/N : Initially, I was really hesitant about posting this. Most of the story really taps into raw emotions and personal experience and if im honest, I put my soul into writing this. I really hope you guys like it. I’ve spent ages on this and i’m so sorry about my semi-hiatus turned hiatus but im back! Please, please, tell me how you guys feel about it! criticisms and comments are v much appreciated. 

You don’t realise.

Maybe you do. Yet, only fail to accept the gnawing pang in your heart that screams to be acknowledged; tucked down every time you force to assure yourself more often than not these days that he loves you, he had to love you – right?

You say you don’t realise but you do, you definitely do, when the morning rays hit the bedsheets and a soft warm glow fills the room and your heart still stings like something akin to how an ice burn would.

You notice with a miserable ache that the bed feels as cold to touch as his skin and the icy miles you’ve put between yourselves is unbearable but neither of you stretches arms to each other to break the iceberg in the middle that hovers in the air in all its apparency.

An iceberg like a constant reminder that there was something obviously wrong in this relationship. Something that neither of you would yield to yet lying to yourselves to say you didn’t notice, fearful of the prospect of what happened when you did.

And his skin, God, his skin was smooth like untouched snow and the warming sunrise hues melted his ivory skin that stained the sheets like ichor into puddles of perfection.

And he looked like a porcelain doll and you could count numbers like the strands of his dark hair sprawled like a fan on the pillows of reasons listing why you loved him, why you’d fallen in love with this man who’d given you nothing more than the infinity and murmured soft kisses into your neck under the witness of the stars and the watchful moon.

The man who had caressed your skin under the soft moonlight, under the gaze of Artemis and the reigns of her night sky that he’d be with you till the ends of the world and beyond.

Loving him was supposed to be infinite. Yet the assurance of infinity was fragile and fell from the safety of your fingers like glass. A clumsy mistake. A hopeless desperation. Shards too sharp and painful to touch and only a longing stare to redo the past differently in its wake.

And here, laying together but not fully together you realised with a daunting recognition that this infinity that you’d proclaimed with naïve hopes and dreams was finite and finishing.

The seeds of a blooming relationship that you had once possessed had seeped into the earth. A connection that had seemed as impossible to break and decipher as the roots of noble trees, giant in age and true in their confidentiality was only the waterlogged earth gulping for breath at your feet.

And as much as you had hoped that your connection would remain as vibrant and prosperous like the first time it had taken to flourish, it was feeble against the change of seasons where flourished flowers kneeled before time and were helpless into becoming decaying ones.

You chastised yourself at the same clueless optimism that you had used to believe that this intimacy, this tenderness that was supposed to be stronger than its fragile appearance would breed life into the darkness of the earth and turn greyish leaves into burning red ones.

Golden speckled like embers and suffer forged and furious, resembling the autumn months did you believe that your love willed anger into a drive for its survival.

You were blind-eyed and walking in a fantasy that was as childlike as your want for the past.

In reality, love was weak and resembled more like the sand that slipped between your fingertips and seemed too far spread to collect, to piece back together like the small world you’d held in the palm of your hands for so long – till now.

For now you could only hang onto each of his words because your relationship to you was like a story. You’d come to the last few sentences and your heart tugged at the thought that you’d one day have to place your eyes on a final single word and a full stop to end whatever this was and close the book despite your stubbornness to stare at it forever.

And you stared at his back as the morning hues took a dullish turn and your monochrome bedroom resembled the dark turn of your life and the never-ending routine you would have to subject yourself to once more – one more day again and again till months passed and one more day was only a reminder that it would eventually only be one more day.

Laying here in the early break of dawn, his body tired out from the hours spent at the studio, you continued to stare at his back, vast as the oceans between you and thought about how he seemed too far away on the bed to be even considered to be sleeping with you.

Staring at his back, as cold and distant to you as the frosty evenings and conversations, you yearned for the memories where he’d turn around, like a sixth sense tingling in his sleep as if he’d known that you were staring and grumble to ask why you were awake and cross the mountains of pillows to pull you under his chin and drowsily tell you to go to sleep.

However, this time like most days, you were met with a still silence and an acknowledgment that those were memories – and memories were things of the past.

So here in your present, Yoongi the best present life had given you, you crossed the mountains of pillows today instead, a bold move and an even more labouring task that caused a quickening of your breath and a rapid thud at your heart against your ribs and you pulled yourself to rest your head in the nook of his spine knowing that he wouldn’t move and in the next hours you’d find yourself miles apart again and tried to assure yourself that nothing was wrong and that everything was okay like it had always been and this time you tried to pretend like he was telling you to go to sleep like he always did.

And you just wanted to sleep not to take solace in slumber but simply because you wanted to live in the land of dreams and fairy tales because you were simply too afraid to wake up and try your hand at another day of avoiding the problems that were becoming far too apparent to be ignored. You were too afraid to come to the terms with the fact that nothing was okay-

That nothing had been okay between you two in a very long time.

And in this present, lying next to him, you only sought to find sleep in the comfort of your lies and pretence and could only hope that you would wake up the day you didn’t need to anymore.

When you met him, he was a man that lacked in words.

Yet, his unwillingness to talk to you was enough to get you intrigued, entranced by the old soulful eyes that took you on journeys and held enough conversations that let you pry into the intimates of his life even without him opening his mouth.

And you travelled his little world in the few seconds you glanced into his brown eyes and you were left with a thirst, a desperation, a want needed to be quenched to see more, to know more.

And his silence and his stubbornness to take a foot forward towards you was the lack of a welcoming hand despite your persisting attempts to be patient and determined even when he wasn’t.

At first, he tried his very best to wave off your irritating attempts in getting to know him, tried to stop you from pursuing your efforts of reading into his story, prying open every cobwebbed page rotting away with years of feelings untouched and forgotten, suppressed into little lines and far too great a book.

You, however, were vibrant as the world that existed around him, a world that had lost his touch and seemed far too distant and tasteless.

And the world, this world he’d once wanted nothing more to do with was grey and monochrome yet your smile breathed light and colour into the ends of the earth that made him want to explore it again to see just what it was that could make you shine so brilliantly- god, he wanted to see it too.

You were bright, you were warm and homey and everything he needed to feel at home again. You were everything he wasn’t and so you moulded into the figures and curves of his body with perfection and your smile and your giddy laughter was contagious and he understood.

God, standing with you he understood that there were somethings in life that could make you too happy to explain.

He understood only by kissing you, on the same lips you used to smile as if the earth was star speckled and coated in fairy dust and magic- that this was what made you shine so brilliantly.

And he understood and more often than not, he’d find himself forgetting who he was, who he was supposed to be and letting himself delve into the little wonders of life that were you.

Together, you bred life into his little storybook. You named every character and held his hand and went over the fading ink so that it was new again and where once even smiling your way and any sort of contact or brief communication was something far too great a distance for him to fathom – he’d found himself miles away from where he’d started, travelled the distance and voyaged every corner of the world by the end of every sitting with you – creeping closer and closer to a territory that Yoongi would have easily expanded on the same earth he’d once found tiresome to share with you.

When in love, what time was there to think about technicalities?

 With Yoongi, there was a lot of things you’d found yourself having to become accustomed to.

You’d found yourself accustomed to the door and every one of its dents. You had stared at every stain with a straining sigh and a soft shake of your head.

You’d found yourself noticing the way the hinges had started to come of the door handle, time worn on the metal as a reminder that you’d been doing this for too long- waiting into the dead of the night for him to enter the door despite your knowing that this was another one of those days where he’d lay his head down and find sleep in the discomfort of his studio chair.

You’d found yourself accustomed to the repetitive routine of repeated events, accustomed to staring at the steam blow off the hot plated dinner into the vacancy of the room to keep you company before the stumbling footsteps at the door once you’d thrown most of it into the trash.

You’d become accustomed to the apologies murmured into the crook of your neck and the arms tight around your waist to yield your disappointment into understanding and you had become old and aged at the empty promises he’d leave on your skin and down your body of a fancy dinner the next night.

It's the same cold, cold night where he’d leave you dressed only to cancel, leaving your hopes and dreams at the foot of the doorstep, not so brave to leave the home and unwavering against the apology texts and more promises of next time that have snaked into an anxiety that pleads him not to because you’re sick of hoping to be anything but disappointed.

You had become accustomed to shaking your head and assuring yourself that his lack of time for you was okay because his work was unpredictable in the way that his actions weren’t.

But you are accustomed to it- you’re used to it. You’ve adapted and learned to change your ways to fit around your emotions because that’s what you’ve been born to do. Born to change and adapt and survive. You’ll make it survive.

So it doesn’t bother you. Despite the fact that everything in your heart yells at you in foolery, in a desperation to be acknowledged that it most certainly does.

And the days move on and dates on the calendar continue unstopping until the summer months welcome the winter ones until they yield their great leaves in surrender, bow their fiery colours for cold ones and take arms to a change inevitable and happening.

You watch the world embrace the frost and the edge of a softening glaze of white and silver and you listen as the sounds of happy summer children turn into carols that light up the sky in a brilliance that is as bright as the fairy lights that follow it.

You remain in your still world, watching the world change, adapt, repeat its cycle from the moment you feel the glaring heat on your flesh. Sweat wet against your skin changing to the soft snow beneath your fingertips, white as far as you could see and resembling the uncertainty of your future, bleaching your relationship in a single colour that made you nostalgic for the colours it couldn’t fathom any more.

And days turn into months and the world doesn’t stop for you despite your longing for it to wait- in a hope that one day you’ll catch up, stop stumbling like a shadow behind it and grip onto anything despite your dizzying fatigue because you simply couldn’t. You couldn’t adapt. You couldn’t change.

You couldn’t yield to a normality with Yoongi that was simply too bleak and dull in comparison once he’d shown you all the colours in the world.

How could you get used to the simplicity of a single thing when you’d felt it all?

It’s a familiar darkening night, the only difference being the change in the moon and the position of the blinking stars that watched on the repetition of the world under it.

The same darkening night, one that’s ripped away the warmth and sea of pinks and red and gold, distinguished the inferno that spread across the horizons and set the world ablaze into an emptiness, a dark aftermath that was nothing less of a still silence that rocked the earth.

And the stars, the stars were the only evidence that it had ever happened. Resting above heads and easily overlooked, the stars were the witness, the fall-out of the flames, now scattered like soft embers into the stillness of the onyx sky.

And it’s during these very nights that you begin to notice the way his apologies slowly start to disappear, how they meld into a mutual acceptance of how certain things will be in a fixture too permanent for either of you to change.

You begin to notice how his kisses have faded into mere imprints, sunk deep into the skin for you to rack your brain in remembrance of what they felt like when they were still fresh on the surface. You notice the lack of limbs around your body, his body etching further and further away on the bed until you’ve settled into a distance that you fear to cross.

You notice the vacancy of his voice in the room- how even in the morning with the vibrant sun, the house makes you shiver in something other than just the cold, lacking in his warming laugh and your giddy happiness, of days where you’d move across the kitchen in a choreography only the two of you could dance in.

Now, you feel like a phantom in your own home, gliding with a heavy heart as if searching the place in a desperation for memories. And Yoongi, Yoongi couldn’t even be called a ghost. His presence so void from the home that he was anything but the occupant that haunted it.

It’s one of those nights, emotions of something akin to loss mingling with the emptiness of the home and it’s suffocating silence, you continue to the stare at the door with the same naïve hope and foolish optimism that he’d be back soon- that he’d take his seat in the chair that almost stared back at you with a pity you couldn’t help but wallow in.

And the silence that followed you as you sighed, the screeching of your chair being the only sound to accompany you as you discarded the remains of your dinner reminded you of the things you’d long noticed and long since avoided, remaining mum about the paranoia’s that had settled in your chest and had crept into the little crevices of your body.

And you continued to think, grabbing a blanket from your room and treading back towards the couch to lower yourself, pulling the soft fabric under your chest as if to cocoon you, to fight away the stupid, stupid feelings of loss- what were you loosing? And still staring at the door in a sadness that wasn’t necessarily directed at anything but the goddamn door.

Time seemed to tick on and fatigue had long since settled into your temples and you fought to keep your eyes open, shaking off the way they draped over your eyes in a darkness you could lull yourself to sleep to but there was a yearning, a need for him to prove himself different today, to be awake when he did.

But the time didn’t slow and the creeping anxiety finding comfort inside you was enough to tell you that some things were bound to break no matter how hard you tried to preserve it.

And it was almost two and your back hurt from finding solace in the couch, tucking yourself into the plush material in the hopes that you could close your eyes and find the same magic, the same comfort that it used to.

You were desperate for some sort of normality, for it to just go back to the way it used to be but this house was full of memories and the man who lived in it a mere stranger.

And it hurt, broke your heart to think that the promises of the world and forever, of an endless love and an unconditional fairy tale was nothing more than a storybook, a fiction and a tale that would never be.

When had the title to claim the love of your life simply become a title with no claim? And you wondered, pondered under the night sky and the blinking stars in the hopes that it would qualm your distress.

In the hopes that it would offer you advice for the man that jumped at the opportunity to travel to the ends of the world and beyond for you- had beyond become too tiresome for him to continue?

And it was on the couch when you heard the keys click and the door creak open, heard him sigh and kick off his shoes and you only listened as he pattered through the home, his eyes merely resting on yours before passing you without even the word of acknowledgement, no reprimanding that you shouldn’t stay awake, no kiss on the forehead, no promise, nothing- nothing but the stillness and suffocation of a silence that said more than the words he lacked in wording to you.

You waited, waiting long before he’d retreated back into your bedroom without you till you broke down, till you made memories of a teary night on the couch that once held a history of a love story for the ages.

And you sobbed into the night, the twinkling stars staring at you with sympathy you didn’t want and you heaved, weeping sorrowfully because Min Yoongi was too far now and things weren’t the same.

You cried because he was your best friend, the person you confided in. Yet in your difficulties today, you were no one to him to weep your worries to.

And you cried, cried till your eyes were heavy with tears and sleep and everything in between and your woes fell deaf to his ears because behind closed doors, Yoongi slept and found solace in the world without you.

You weren’t losing Yoongi. How could you lose something you’d already lost? How could you preserve something that had long since been broken?

In time, you’d simply force yourself to adapt to the constant changes that were Yoongi and his attitude towards you. You’d stopped questioning the way things were and why there were and simply accepted the reality that things weren’t the same and ultimately, would never be again.

The emotion you’d tried so hard to suppress, the growing fear that you’d tried to stifle, tried breaking apart was resurfacing. In the end, behind closed doors and hidden frowns there was the undeniable reality that had you shaking your head, spending moments in front of the mirror to deny in order to drown down your anxiety.

There was the simplicity of a few words that weighed down your heart like the many- a few words that you’d forced yourself to look away from but there was no denying the undeniable, a reality so very real and despite it being deep as the bergs that bred in secrecy- it was like the smoke of a fire you couldn’t hide- one you couldn’t run from.

A simple truth, an inevitable happening: he had fallen out of love with you.

In the end, the truth congregated- gathered like clouds and came for you on dark nights and even darker days. Even the sunshine couldn’t act as a veneer anymore to the change that was inevitable like the sun setting above the horizons and the night appearing, night after night without fail.

You could regret, regret the days you’d taken with him for granted or regret the way things had become. You could long all you wanted for a world painted in colours once you couldn’t fathom them anymore.

Despite the world seemingly mostly black and white these days, your relationship with Yoongi unspoken and dulled down- there was a regret that burned deep inside you, clenched within your core because outside your dreary days is a world that moves spontaneously.

It pains you, to watch Yoongi belong to that world of colours and ignore that everything wasn’t okay. It pains you after seeing, after feeling all those colours, to be told to settle for shades of grey.

And when you wake up in the morning you aren’t surprised that the bed is completely cold and you don’t need to turn away from the ceiling to know that Yoongi’s already left and there’s not a single memo that could have reminded you that he was ever here to begin with.

Achingly, you force yourself up, running your hands over your face and sighing into the emptiness of the room before removing the covers off your body and readying yourself for another day filled with mundane tasks in a silent home filled with your conundrum of thoughts.

You almost dread how you’ve been given the day off work, a soft pat on the back from your boss who claimed you’d been overworking yourself and should take the day off.

However, looking around the house you wish almost longingly that you were back in the security of your workplace, distracting yourself amongst the papers and co-workers. Anything but here. Anywhere but the place that day by day felt less and less like home.

You sighed into your coffee mug, staring into the same kitchen that would be bumbling with noise had it been a few months back; Yoongi making his way over to peck your forehead, your temple, anything, everything, on the days he’d lie in and take comfort in the curves of your body instead but it’d been months and his habits had faded away and you felt stupid standing there making food for two because yours hadn’t yet.

“I should take him some.” You say to yourself, your fingers fumbling around the containers as you try to reassure yourself that this way okay, that you always used to bring him food and surprise him at the studio because he loved it. Why would it be any different now? “He probably hasn’t eaten.”

And despite having everything changed, if there was one thing about Yoongi and his personality was his forgetfulness and how caught up he’d get in his work to forget the simple necessities he needed like eating.

Any other day you might have texted him but this wasn’t like any other days and your phone was as void as ever in a silence he seemed adamant to maintain.

You were aware that you were talking to yourself, almost chanting the words as if they would ease the fear of doing this trivial gesture that should feel like nothing to you but do. You hoped that this, this could be taking the first steps to at least try and salvage the bits of your relationship while you could. You hoped maybe this would be the start of a new beginning, maybe he’d come back to you. Maybe.

And you don’t know what possesses you, what takes over you but your standing in front of his studio with a bag filled with all his favourite foods.

You can’t help but feel childish, like this wasn’t something you should be doing but here you were, a foot away from his studio door with an irrational fear of what would happen when you entered.

You almost felt like you were suffocating. Here, entering a room with a man that was practically a stranger to you now with an emotion that felt too much like the end. In hindsight, you could have said you’d known, that you’d felt it coming and maybe it was for the best but in that very moment, after months of uncertainty, you were firm in believing that today would be different.

After all, something had to break to allow change; whether that be you or your relationship.

With a heavy heart and a shuddering sigh, you closed your eyes and reached to turn the handle to the door that you knew all too well, spending far too many nights crashed on the couch when Yoongi overworked into the night or listening to the unfinished music fill the room- basking in the security that was simply your boyfriend.

This time, the door creaked and groaned under your touch and the magic that you’d always felt in this room that was all too Yoongi were lost and you stared at his back, you were always staring at his back, watching him get further and further away from you.

His face was scrunched up in the way you knew was utter concentration, his headphones around his neck and staring into his lyrics completely and utterly oblivious to the world around him.

Suddenly, you weren’t so sure of yourself anymore and the confidence you had to salvage the remnants of a dying relationship had withered away.

It struck you just how much you didn’t belong in this world, how much he’d pushed you away and just how much distance had grown between you that the few feet that separated the two of you now couldn’t compare in comparison.

The studio had been a place that you had associated with fond memories, yet standing in the middle of it all with not so fond feelings stirring inside your belly made you realise the sheer emptiness of it all; that everything was simply a reminder and there was nothing you could do that would change that.

You felt like you were staring at a picture.

You could remember every feeling, every laughter that you’d felt captured into a single moment adorned with great smiles and even greater emotions but standing here in the aftermath of memories cemented how you couldn’t recreate pictures.

No matter how long you stared at it, it was just a remnant of a single past moment amongst the countless of many futures.

You coughed. He turned. And you watched his brow furrow, staring at your figure in confusion as if he couldn’t comprehend why you were here.

“What are you doing here?” and his voice is void of its usual pleasant surprise and it cements just how much has changed between you and though you expected every bit of it, it doesn’t stop your heart from dropping. He sounded exasperated, tired.

He’s tired of you, a little voice in your head said and you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t know but unlike Yoongi, you weren’t tired of him and this was your last attempt, your little act of selfishness- holding onto him because you wanted to slow down the moment you had to let go.

“I brought food.” You said softly, stating the obvious and pulling up the contents in your hand to show him the bag filled with all the delicious meals that only makes your stomach churn but your particular response isn’t the answer to the question he’s looking for.

Here, staring back at a stranger it’s obvious that you don’t know this man and his brown orbs scream nothing but unfamiliarity to you now- he was asking why you were here. His real question left unasked in the air but one you could read with ease. Why were you still trying?

“Oh,” Yoongi says and he’s looking anywhere but at you when you leave it on his side. “Thanks.”

Was that it? Was he supposed to say something? Were you? But you know it’s your cue to leave when he doesn’t say anything else, when he doesn’t acknowledge you and doesn’t ask you to stay but instead moves to put his headphones back on.

You wonder then, just when did your relationship result in this? Just when did his warm affections become nothing more than cold glances and you can’t help but stare at him with a longing in your chest, a desire to stomp on all the floors and pull a tantrum because you just want to go back, you just want him to love.

You wanted him to look at you, come back with the same vibrant smile you were used to.

You wanted him to love you but fuck, did he even know what loving you was when you were sure he’d fallen out of it?

You stared at his back. You hated staring at his back.

You hated how closed off he’d become, how your attempts at trying to rekindle your relationship bounced off the same goddamn back. You didn’t even realise you were crying, hot tears forging paths down your warm cheeks. Ironic because he’d done nothing but make you feel cold all these months.

And from the way his body stiffens when a sob breaks from your chest and fills the room, from the way he stops himself from looking at you, a deep sigh resounding against your harsh breaths as if he knew it was coming, you know he’s heard.

“Look at me.” You sob angrily, a fierce fire bubbling in your stomach because enough was enough. Because you couldn’t keep pretending, couldn’t keep ignoring.

You couldn’t do this to yourself. You couldn’t continue to live unhappily because you were trying to save something that didn’t want to be saved. “Just this once, look at me.”

And he does and there’s enough emotion in Yoongi’s own eyes for you to know that this is it, that there was no going back from this.

It almost surprises you though, when you see a deep sadness coat over his orbs, a pain present and upfront and inevitable. Even if he didn’t love you now, he had once and letting you go meant letting go of all your memories; of all the things he’d fallen for and all the things he’d adored.

Letting you go was like burning a photobook of a life he’d long since outlived and grown out of. The only reason he’d kept on so long was because of the little attachment he had left, because you had been there when the days and years moved on and when the summer months welcomed the winter ones.

You were there on the same nights, listening with him when the sounds of happy summer children turned into carols that lit up the sky in a brilliance that was as bright as the fairy lights that followed it. You were there, with him, under the same sky that had witnessed it all. The same sky that could retell your history like the stars it had unfolded beneath.

Letting you go was like burning a photobook of a life he’d long since outlived and grown out of but him damned, he didn’t want to let you go because he was scared to make a new one.

“I’m so sick of this.” You cried, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Who are we fooling? Ourselves?”

And you didn’t need an answer and Yoongi only soaked in your appearance, tear-stricken and racking horribly. Your big sparkling eyes had been dulled down with the tears he had caused you, a fire dancing across the softs of your cheeks in a way he knew was only anger, disappointment.

And he hated it. He wished he could take you in his arms and mumble away your woes but he didn’t love you in the way he had and he felt so guilty for falling out of love with someone who’d taught him what love was.

He hated how he was the one who had been the one to suffocate your relationship even after multiple tries when you were the one that had breathed life into his mundane world.

“We don’t even look at each other anymore.” You whispered and he hated how fragile you looked, how the strongest woman he knew crumbled in a state that was as sad as this. And you hated it yourself, hated yourself for succumbing to this. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when we both know it isn’t. It’s just not fair.”

“If I went wrong, if something happened, just tell me. Just tell me how we can fix this” You sobbed desperately and this was it, this was the last and you knew all too well that you couldn’t fix anything and there was nothing you’d done wrong.

Now, here, in that moment, you drank Yoongi in like it was the last time you’d ever be intoxicated.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, because he was sorry and he’d forever be sorry and there was nothing he could do now. Even then he could hardly get himself to look at you.

Despite anticipating his words with every ounce of salt in your body, every hope crushed the moment you’d first walked in through door, it did nothing to ease your pounding heart and you couldn’t stop it when your lip quivered and you had to just stand there embracing yourself when the onslaught of tears came flooding in.

You didn’t know how long you had stood there but it was enough time for you to realise that there was nothing more either of you could say now.

After months of beating around the bush, you’d finally addressed the elephant in the room, finally cut through the tension that had built up in your home and scouted the replies to questions you already knew the answers to.

You and Yoongi were breaking up. After years together, you’d continue apart like individual people on individual paths.

“I’m sorry too,” You said once you’d composed yourself. You were sorry because you hadn’t tried hard enough or maybe because you had longed this out for far too long. You were sorry because you couldn’t keep all the promises you made to him, that he couldn’t keep his.

Sorry because after months of silence where you’d spent endless nights going over what you’d say to him and then finally arriving here- you’d said nothing. Because there was nothing.

Because more was said in the unsaid.

Because he didn’t have to say any more for you to know because you couldn’t scream and cry when it’d been coming and it was more of a matter of when you ended it than how you’d amend it.

You don’t linger much after that, stay only a few more moments to soak in his milky skin, his pretty brown eyes that searched anywhere but yours, his dark hair before turning to walk out of the door with a greater purpose than when you had entered it.

You’d missed the way Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, how his stomach churned at the sight of your food and despite having turned back to his music, there was nothing he could focus on more than you.

He should have been happy. He should have been relieved but his heart feels heavier than ever and he regretted that he couldn’t stare at you enough, his first love, before you disappeared in an air colder than the one he’d given you.

He was a coward but he regrets how he can’t even cower in his emotions before you. A woman made of fire and ice and everything in between.

It doesn’t take you long to gather your stuff.

It doesn’t take you long to collect all the pieces in your- his home. Bundling up all the things that were you and yours before leaving the house in a manner that resembled the state before you’d met him, back when your shirts hadn’t started appearing in his drawers, when your toothbrush wasn’t placed next to his and back when the webs of his life weren’t entwined with yours.

And you can’t help but stare at this sad, sad place that you’d once called home; can’t help but trace over the furniture that had kept you company in months of solitude, accompanied you through bursts of tears and anger and though they might not remember it now, even times of great love and adoration that had once brightened your world in a comparison that could make even the sun yield.

You were quick on your feet, gathering with haste and dread and everything falls apart in your arms but you’re adamant on holding yourself together while you can, stubborn in forcing yourself to be level-headed because you didn’t want to be here when Yoongi got here.

His studio had been your last goodbye and there was no time for treacly sentiments if he came back and encountered you. Knowing him, he’d probably spend the night there anyway, his practice in avoiding you almost an art now. There would be no mistakes, no sentiments.

No weeping would change facts and your feelings despite heavy on your chest and though it felt like the world was falling apart, they were small, insignificant; minuscule against the vastness of the universe that you were nothing against.

Your existence was a speck of dust, your feelings yours and yours alone- one you couldn’t share, one you couldn’t voice.

A pain that was so very individual, so very yours that in the haste to grip onto your things, you’d dropped the strength that had held onto your emotions, unchained them, released an intensity that was wild, untameable.

The realisation of just how alone you were hit you so intensely that you could feel it burn in your core, a desire to rip out your insides and plead them to obey, to reason, please.

But feelings were wild, untameable and they were products of the heart and no matter how many times your mind concluded logically that this would pass, all things do, your heart felt like it was in pieces within your chest and God, you would do anything to make yourself feel whole again.

They’d never told you that love could hurt so hard, that the aftermath of love was just as intense as falling.

No one, no one could teach you heartbreak in the way you’d learn from experience. No one could teach you the magic of falling in love, the vulnerability, the passion, the intensity that could rival a flame and was as magical as the Garden of Eden, with every emotion as vast as the number of flowers that were adorned in it.

No one could teach you loneliness until the veneer that had shrouded your sorrows in a pink cloud of love had washed away in wisps of grey that magic was fleeting and love was as deceiving as the thorns that tempted naïve seekers. An attempt to grasp beauty, a futile venture to seek Eudaimonia.

The aftermath of love was one that was as bitter as it was sweet and the remnants made you feel empty, hollow and as vacant as the world you surrounded yourself in; especially when you hadn’t come out of love and only witnessed the dark truth and a cruelty of what happened when someone else did.

You were falling apart.

Your breath ragged and harsh and this house screamed finality. Vacant-looking and cold.

This would be the last time you stepped foot into this house, the last time you breathed into it, bred life into it and you didn’t know if the attachment was to the love couch in the middle of the room or the love you’d made on that couch that made you less wanting to let it go, to leave.

You were severing ties with things you’d familiarised yourself with, severing ties with years, severing ties with attachment- severing ties with Yoongi.

It would be the last time you would see Yoongi.

You wondered where love went when it died and almost laughed at yourself, a bubble of lacking laughter flittering in your chest because you were going to the same graveyard to be tucked in the very same coffin.

Who cared where love went when it died? Wherever it went, you were going too.

You couldn’t say that you were happy.

What was happiness if not momentary? But in hindsight, it was easy to see that the choice that he made, the choice that you made was something that allowed you to be happier.

It was a privilege, a liberty that was allowed to you after suffering for so long. It was an emotion so foreign, so invasive that you didn’t know when enough time had passed that you’d allowed it to crawl, travelling through blind spots and breaching apparent sight into the cracks that needed filling.

In time, you’d learn that memories made after him were memories as precious as they were with him and you didn’t need to feel guilty, gnawing on days that maybe, maybe, somewhere he’d made a mistake he’d come running to amend.

Gone were the days were you wallowed in self-pity, in self-hatred and clung onto your insecurities with the idea that they were the only things you were allowed to keep.

Now, your chest felt lighter, breathing was easy and the concept of feeling better after time had done its work on you, after hours turned into days and days into months into years- that this emotion wasn’t a foe but a friend come after long nights was a concept befriended.

Your try at being somewhat happy was overdue and though brief as all moments are, it was something that made you think that maybe the wait was worth it.

It wasn’t as if breaking up with him had meant a break up with love either. His absence didn’t scare you from the emotion and neither did its scars frighten you from approaching it time and time again.

You knew love in more forms than he had given to you and you didn’t need his to know, didn’t need his love in a dependency that was unhealthy and poisoning to know that even in the absence of receiving, you could give in abundance.

You gave it in the affection you had for your parents. You felt it in the adoration you had for the sky, the ground, your home and your cat and your work.

You knew love in the smiles of grinning faces, you knew love in the air around you and in the breaths you took throughout the day- platonic, materialistic, familial- you knew love because you’d been around it. It was a shame then that he simply hadn’t been in it with you.

It had been two years since you’d broken up with Yoongi.

Two years since you’d stormed out the home that the two of you had shared and found solace at your best friend’s house, sobbing well into her shoulder and allowing her to hold you, being the little stability that you needed, a pillar on whom you could rely on when your walls fell.

Two years since you’d asked her to pick up the last of your things, instructing her to leave the keys on the kitchen counter when she did and then residing with her until you could find your own place, gradually filling up the vacancy of your new apartment with things that were you and you alone.

Two years since you’d quit your job, tired of the mundane tasks, of the repetitive nature of days crouched over the computer, nodding insincerely at scoldings only to repeat the same things months on end in the room that resembled a prison cell.

Sick of routine, you take up spontaneity.

Grinning when you capture pictures that reflect the freedom in nature, stories behind old eyes and beaming smiles. Days are spent travelling, from wedding to wedding, tomorrow the lake, the day after the sea.

You voyaged from people to people, capturing the essence of one’s world into another’s.

You weren’t happy, who really was? But your life was happier and the air around you was softer, the colours in your home bright as if to aluminate the days you stay in bed, staring hours on end at the ceiling unable to find your path and lost as to where to go.

Two years since you’d pieced your world back together, gluing edge to edge with nothing but time on your hands and as if to apologise for your sorrows, the world was patient and allowed you to steady yourself again, allowed you the years, allowed you to grow and gain and change and learn.

You learned.

You learned with time that you were better than what you had accustomed yourself to, better than the long nights and dark days and better than what you’d been given and so you were allowed to go and demand more.

Two years was a long time and in that time, though you hadn’t forgotten Yoongi’s face or his solemn touch and his gummy smile, you’d learned that you were simply better without it.

You hadn’t had any awkward encounters and you avoid all the places you visited together, avoided the area around your old home and not once did he reach out and not once did you but the fondness in your heart was still present and despite everything, you couldn’t help but think that he still had always been the best for you.

Your first in many things and last in others, with Yoongi moments were countless but it had been two years and your heart didn’t ache at his name.

Your eyes could wash over his pictures in fondness over spite and despite it being two years and despite you having made your peace with your breakup, you couldn’t squash down the little bittersweet nostalgia and the acknowledgement that no matter how many dates you went on, how many people you met, there was a part of you that only ever wanted to love him.

A part of you that only ever wanted to be loved by him.

And here you were, years later, the woman you had always aspired to be. A woman that knew no chains and felt emancipation like the wind between the locks of your hair.

Frenzied, ungovernable and every bit free, you were achieving the world, beyond the promises he couldn’t keep to you. A woman who amounted to nothing less than the universe with a presence that demanded attention yet there was the void somewhere in your chest that you had suppressed over the years that demanded greater caring, a filling that was Yoongi shaped and unforgiving.

You could pretend that you’d moved on completely, could pretend that his name didn’t make your heart sigh in contempt, lost in worlds of what ifs and what could have been.

You could pretend that even years down the line he had no effect on you, pretend that silent moments sat on the sofa watching reruns of your favourite show didn’t sometimes lead to moments with him.

You could pretend that you didn’t still call into your apartment to inform whoever you were home despite there being no one there, pretend that buildings like the dingy café around the corner where’d you first met didn’t remind you of him.

You could pretend a lot of things but you’d be a fool to think that you were anything more than an actor. Actors pretended and what you felt didn’t feel like pretence.

You weren’t holding onto fragments, weren’t cradling them to your chest in an unwillingness to let go. You simply couldn’t delete the effects he’d on you, the changes you’d made as a result of being with him.

You simply couldn’t scare away the phantom that had been your first love and had learned as a result to live with him rather than hiding from him.

Time hadn’t made you forget. It had made it bearable. And though absence had made your heart grow fonder, history was a reminder that things of the past couldn’t be erased.

When you wake up, you simply can’t pin the bubble in your stomach and the soft jitters in your chest to a particular emotion. You can’t place word to face but there is something in the air that screams nostalgia.

All the daily norms that present themselves in the way the light bounces of the walls, how the house feels refreshingly warm and your cat lazy slings between your legs in her morning greetings seems nothing if not odd.

And you don’t know why you do and in hindsight you could blame it on the odd feelings that stir within your chest in a restless agitation to want pleased that you find yourself staring at the old coffee shop that you’d first met Yoongi with a little more than just longing.

You’d spent two years walking past it, never offering it more than a measly glance and a fond smile but there was something almost magnetic, appealing about the store in all its old and dinginess that has you standing before it today.

That after two years of religiously avoiding the café did your heart ache wistfully at the sight in a want to relieve old memories and feel emotions as ablaze as the first time you’d entered it.

You wondered if the feelings you’d buried were still present in the little quaint building, abundant with importance or whether time had nulled its flames and your reach for familiarity had simply wandered away like all good things do.

The café despite its overall unappealing exterior had always been your favourite. You had looked past the falling sign and the uneven canopy and found solace in the grounded coffee scent and the little bakery tucked in the back, finding home in wooden seats and warmed beverage that presented you with comfort on winter days and summer nights.

It was your little secret that hid in the corner in the heart of the town, almost always empty and quiet and very often overlooked.

It was your treasure, the same place where’d you’d met him, finding shelter on a rainy day that soaked through your clothes and had you shivering.

It was the same place you’d locked gazes with him, albeit unfamiliar then but familiar with the dullness in his eyes that had you forcing your way through his walls and layers to extend a friendly hand out.

It was the very same place that had you returning back on dates, familiarising yourself with the seat next to the window and the menu and him until it was practically tradition to sit across from each other on casual nights spent talking aimlessly until it closed.

So returning after two years of being away made you feel apologetic, feeling as though you’d neglected the place in your want to avoid the pain that came with reminiscing and almost repentant in your actions as you stepped inside, knowing nothing had changed and there was still the same wooden tables and the same barrister at the front but still washing your eyes over to drink it all in and playback memories of times before things had changed.

You walked over to the front and smile at the barrister in acknowledgement, wondering if she remembered you and by the way her grin grew and she looked almost surprised you think maybe she does.

“Hi,” You breathed. Your stomach felt a lot better than this morning and it struck you after finding yourself here so abruptly, overwhelmed with familiar smells of pastries and coffees that your want for a beverage was only stronger than ever. “Can I have a-“

“I’ve got it.” She interrupted and a large smile played on her lips as you stared at her in mild amusement.

“How did you-?” You trailed off, wondering how she could possibly remember your order after all these years of being away. Sure you’d been a regular customer but the odds that she’d remember your usual was almost touching in a sense.

“Boss often said we’d lost our best customer,” She replied, a strong glint in her eyes as she busied herself in preparing your drink, her voice soft as she spoke to you. “We don’t get many people but you were here always here without fail so we thought you’d moved away.”

“I’m sorry,” You offer and you really are, this place was like home to you and you’d avoided it in the want to let the past be the past. “It’s been a busy few years.” You told her and it’s half a lie because you have been busy. You been busy in finding yourself, in getting to know yourself and live by yourself.

You’d been busy in getting to know the little liberties that had made you you before you’d known Yoongi- the ones you’d lost in loving him and though you were past the point in your life where you wallowed in self-misery and nostalgia, you’d simply been carried away.

“I can imagine.” She sighed, finishing off the lasts of your coffee before turning to you with a slighter sadder smile. “He still comes here, you know.”

And you know exactly who’s she’s talking about and you can’t help the way your heart leaps at the mention of him, at the thought that he still comes to the same place that was important to you as it was to him, sitting down in the same cosy spot right by the window to mull over his music after long nights of needed solitude.

“Often looks like he’s looking for someone as if any day will be different than the previous,“ She continues, knowing the look on your face and despite only being acquaintances through the cafe knowing more about your love story than the rest.

And when she turns to you, she’s grinning wider than ever, almost glad that of all days, today was the day you’d decided to show up. And she hands you your coffee before she speaks again, and you look down to realise that it’s exactly how you like it, creamy and milky as always and years could pass but your taste most definitely hasn’t.

“I think he can stop looking now.”

And you don’t have any time to really ponder on her last words as she thanks you again, shaking her head at your questioning smile before you turn around, automatically moving towards the area you know best when you see him.

And its been two years but your stomach does backflips and your chest heaves and for a second you forget how to breathe. Your throat feels as if it’ll clam up anytime soon but he looks more beautiful than the last time you’d laid eyes on him.

And he sits there, by the window with dark hair and even darker eyes that contrast greatly with his milky skin, staring out into the streets and sipping at his coffee with his face pulled in a characteristic you know all too well is to show that he’s thinking.

Two years is a long time and he looks slightly older, more mature and his hair hangs low and brushes against his eyes, more rings adorned on his fingers and there’s something about him that screams difference, stranger but has your heart soaring in familiarity because god, you were a liar if you thought that you weren’t still in love with him and seeing him did damage to your strengthened heart. Even now, you could stare at him forever.

And you don’t know whether it’s the stubbornness to sit in the same spot that you’ve always sat, unwilling to sit any place else or simply to talk to him, to hear his voice that gives you strength, holding onto your cup with a firmness that is new to you when it comes to him and marching over with a sense of purposefulness that even you can’t place.

“Is this seat taken?”

And his head whips to look at you with his eyes blown wide and his pink lips parted in disbelief. He could recognise your voice anywhere.

He doesn’t speak immediately, rather taking you in standing before him after years had done its work on you for a few moments. You offered him a small smile in encouragement and his stomach churned unpleasantly because you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.

You were standing there before him with a cup of coffee, your hair shorter, your smile wider and he hated that in your last few months of being together he had stolen that from you. He hated how he’d made you feel, hated the way his stomach churned in guilt, in regret every time he thought of you.

The way you stood only indicated independence, promise and you were strong and holding yourself together with a new profound confidence that left him speechless, repentant for the wonders that were you and the ungratefulness that was him in ever letting you get away.

He could sit there and drink you in, mumble apologises into your skin for the rest of his days and search for any indication in your brown orbs for a hope, any hope that you still loved him.

He could call out for you, reach out for your hand and bring you home, re-find the corners he loved best and re-explore and voyage across the pages in a story that was yours.

He wants to apologise, wants to tell you about the mistakes he made. He wants you to understand him in the way he didn’t understand him, retell his account of those last moments. He wants to tell you about the days where he struggled, the days where he didn’t, he wants to confide in you in the ways he did time ago because this, you had once been his best friend and his world.

The thought is almost dizzying and instead he replies with an even smaller smile that resembles a grimace before gesturing to the chair in front of him because there is time for that and one day he’ll let you know. “Not at all.” Never for you, he wants to reply.

And it almost gives him déjà vu of the first time you’d met, when you’d fought for the seat in front of him and he’d given a slight nod unknowing of the years fate had planned for the two of you, only these were different circumstances.

In a way, he thinks that maybe you are meeting again for the first time, two years was a long time and it was apparent, with the way you approached him with nothing but loose ties and fragmented memories that you were two different people.

And it’s almost painful to think that had it been a few years back you would have bumbled in with a smile radiant enough to make the sun look dull and you would plant a kiss to his lips and you two would sit there, sit here in the very same spot by the window, addicted to each other’s presence.

He had learnt a lot these past few years. From the moment he’d come home to find your things missing to the disappointed stare your friend had given him when she’d collected the last of your bits that somewhere along the lines he had gone wrong.

He hadn’t been wrong to fall out of love but wrong enough to realise that it was a mistake to fall out in love with you when all he wanted to do was bundle you into his arms at night, chat aimlessly on the days he was overridden with frustration and lost for inspiration.

He realised months on, when he’d fall asleep on his desk not wanting to go home because what was home if it wasn’t with you that he didn’t feel relieved, he didn’t feel less burdened without you but rather empty after years of feeling so full with love.

Heartbreak was not a one way street and it took him as much as time as it did you for things about you to stop bothering him and though he still searched for you in the café, always going in case of finding you, he figured you’d made your peace without him.

And if there was one thing he was grateful for, was that made you’d realised that he had never been good enough for you and he hadn’t valued you enough when you were worth more than anything in this universe.

No date he went gave him the same feeling, the same excitement and no music he made felt genuine enough but he’d realised that it was his short fallings that had cost him, something he’d learn to live with yet years on staring at your face, slightly more lined with age and maturity did he realise just how much had been at stake.

“So you still like your coffee black then?” You joked and you couldn’t help but feel relieved when you see a slight quirk of his lips as he stared at his cup sheepishly.

“Some things don’t change do they?” He shrugs before raising his own eyebrows at your cup that you pull towards your chest defensively, almost shocked at yourself when your laughter leaves your chest so genuinely.

“I guess they don’t, Min Yoongi.” You smile at him and he smiles back but there’s something odd in the air, something different about the way you hold and present yourself but it’s obvious with the way he stares at you and you right back at him that maybe there’s a little more than just your coffee that hasn’t changed.

“You look different,” He says finally and you can’t help but stare at him questioningly. Did he mean your appearance? “Better.” And the way he frowns slightly and his eyes avert from yours do you realise that he feels guilty.

You open your mouth to speak, ready to wave off his doubts. “I’m sorry,” and it surprises you when you both speak at the same time, laughing lightly at the interruption and ready to continue when he shakes his head at you.

“What could you be sorry about?” he says, looking at you regretfully. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have let it build up like that and I shouldn’t have let you leave like that either.”

You sighed, after so long of thinking about what you would say to him when the time came, you felt oddly empty. “I think maybe it was both our faults. None of us said anything. I think more than anything I was just scared of letting you go.”

“I was scared of letting you go too.” Yoongi whispered and you looked at him, encouraging him to go on because you needed your closure, you needed answers for a time where he’d refused to give you any. “I was being selfish.”

He looked at you then, eyes filled with raw emotion that are apologetic and gentle and has you choking up. “I just wanted you to be there even when I didn’t think I loved you anymore. Losing you was like losing my security so I avoided it and I’m just- I’m sorry we ever got to the point; for doing that to you.”

“You were my best friend.” You told him and he sighed audibly and it’s shaky but you march on relentlessly. “I would have understood if you had just talked to me. I hated that nothing was the same because I loved you more than anything. I would have ended everything in a heartbeat if it meant that you were happy, that we could still talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi tells you and this time it’s genuine and unlike the time where you’d stormed off and disappeared from his life.

“I’m sorry too,” You smile, shaking your head because you accept his apology and there were things that you had gone wrong in too. “I guess its better this way.” And you don’t want to say that because everything in your heart screams that you still love him, that you couldn’t really cope with anything but loving him and you could live with the fact that he didn’t love you back.

“Is it really?” He whispers, so softly that you almost miss it but you’re sure, you’re sure that he’s said it and maybe, maybe he does still love you and maybe these years were what you needed to make the heart grow fonder. These years are what you needed to grow, to realise your worth as individuals and your strength in being together.

And when you look at him now, he, his own person and you, your own, you’re not as insecure to think that he his your entire world and you are nothing without him.

And you take your time in speaking, take your time in conjuring an answer to fit to reply to him and when you do, he looks at you, patient and waiting and you offer him a smile and a reply that isn’t absolute but provides him with a hope that leaves a smile, a genuine smile lingering on his lips.

“I guess we’ll see.”

And you walk away from the coffee shop, glad you had entered it in the first place with a lighter chest and a blooming smile that makes even your friends question.

“I’ll see you later?” and the implication that you want to see him later, that you don’t want this to end but rather to start has him nodding fondly, glad that after years of searching for you again, he hasn’t found you but rather a new version that leaves him excited and just as eager as the first time you had met.

“I’ll see you later.” He promises, watching you twirl away with a light wave before catching the eye of the barrister who’s absolutely beaming from ear to ear.

A promise that is one absolute that he can definitely offer you.

The promise of later comes sooner than you expect. You find yourself in the coffee shop without fail every afternoon, a brighter step, a bigger grin and a world that wasn’t too large for you to fit into.

He was there too. And you’d end your day welcoming the barrister who’d have your order ready for you, maintaining small conversation before your eyes wandered away and you’d find him tucked away in the corner as if waiting for you.

You’d find yourself sitting in front of him, making up for lost time and re-establishing everything about each other, exploring and discovering and you realise that you had never fallen out of love and seeing the same thing that had once broken your heart reflected in his own orbs- you realise maybe he didn’t either and rather had wandered off lost where familiarity had bred contempt and absence had birthed love.

And it’s inevitable how you two fall in love again, slowly and just as deeply as the first time. He doesn’t promise you anything and there’s nothing guaranteed but the security you feel when he stares at you in wonder is overwhelming.

And you’re glad, glad that you aren’t bound by obligation and sentimental vows but rather in the very purity of simply wanting to be together.

“You took up photography?” Yoongi asks you when you’re huddled up in front of your laptop and camera over a cup of coffee, sighing at the countless images needed edited. You look up to find him staring at you curiously, his eyebrows slightly furrowed because he was discovering new things every day.

“I hated my old job.” You tell him after a long moment, bringing the drink to your lips before indulging in its sheer creaminess, watching him watch you as you hummed in content. “I was just forcing myself to do the same thing every day and so I quit and took up something I actually liked doing.”

“And I like this,” You smile, “I love taking pictures of nature, of people, of everything- every day is different, every person is different and it’s beautiful really, being able to capture every emotion into an instant.”

Like every art came freedom and with photography you had the autonomy to do what you liked and the world to do what you liked with it.

“Can I see some of your work?” Yoongi asks and you stare at him, searching his face only to find that he’s genuinely curious, genuinely interested in the things that you find passion in.

And you realise, not so much as daunting as you think, that you’re slowly letting him back in. what he asks is an innocent question but there’s a sense of intimacy, something almost invasive that makes you realise the extent of your closeness.

You remember days of when he’d ask you to come down to his studio, staring at you with anticipation as he let you listen to his music because it was important to him. By sharing his art he was allowing you to see glimpses of his life. He was allowing you to see his story in other means that were beyond just him.

You understand then, nodding your head in affirmative and watching in the same daunting anticipation as he scrolls through your photos. And he stares in awe, eyeing at the pictures as if he’s trying to gain memories of lost time and you understand then that you’re fine with this.

You are fine with letting him back in after years of being apart and it’s not so scary to realise that this is a start of a new journey in the same love story that in hindsight, never did really end.

Unbeknownst to you, staring at your pictures and seeing your drive in shaping your life to fit the mould that you wanted inspires him and when he returns to his studio that night, it’s your very passion that makes music come easy to him.

“You have a cat?” Yoongi questions, grimacing lightly as he steps into your household for the first time, taking a step further in your new established relationship by dropping you home when he sees that thing twirl between your legs and purr contently at your side when you nestle into the couch.

“Isn’t she pretty?” You ask back, grinning up at Yoongi who doesn’t take his eyes away from her. She hisses at him, scowling deeply when he tries to take a step forward and you laugh at the affronted look Yoongi gives her, offended that he wasn’t even allowed to come near you.

“She hates me.” Yoongi deadpans and you grin because watching both your cat warily eye Yoongi in the same way he eyes her back as if to challenge one another is absolutely beautiful.

Months later, it’s a sight to behold when you find Yoongi asleep on the couch, having given him a set of keys, to see the same feline snuggled up on his chest, purring away as if she hadn’t spent the afternoon snobbishly turning away from his affections.

You had done your growing, he had done him and it’s different. You’re different. And you find a greater independence in voicing your own concerns and holding your ground in moments of anger.

You’re allowed to take up space. You were not an inconvenience. And so when you and Yoongi argue, you don’t cradle emotions to your chest and hope for moments of fury to disperse, but rather yell and scream and cry until there’s an understanding that allows you to grow, to move on, to learn.

“I don’t like it.” You sighed, sitting at the edge of your bed after a long day of arguing. Yoongi pretending to be asleep. “I don’t like it when you sleep at your studio because I feel like you forget that I exist.”

And it doesn’t take him long before he bundles you up in his arms, kissing your forehead because the anger has disappeared into the air and there’s nothing less he wants to do but to argue with you.

“I don’t forget that you exist. I don’t want you to think that.” Yoongi reassures you and you stare up at his long eyelashes and he tucks a hair behind your ear. “I’ll try come home earlier.”

And these aren’t promises but he keeps them anyway and he can’t help but feel a burst of adoration when you two actually sit in front of each other at dinner, babbling away because he’s home early and your showing him your work and he breathes in your inspiration.

It doesn’t take you long to love him and rather you build your relationship in between cracks and corners and you piece them back together in an adaption that is refined and strong.

And so when he kisses you, taking your lips as if there were his own, you realise with him you are whole and there is no other than him you would love.

And when he makes love to you, after years of being apart, your soul drawn to his as if you were forged from the burning ends of the same stars and your souls star-crossed and inseparable, you realise that there is nothing better than him loving you.

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers to you and you turn back to him surprised, it had only been a few months since you had gotten back together and you knew that the idea of saying that you loved each other was a daunting prospect.

“You-“ You start off but can’t possibly end because he’s repeating it over and over onto your skin, lips mouthing the phrase into your lips, your neck, your chest.

“I love you so much,” and he means it, and wonders how he could possibly fall out of love from someone as beautiful of you and he assures you that everything he says is only the truth because he’d be damned if he ever let you get away again.

“Show me.”

And love was not infinite and emotions had ways of dying out but you and Yoongi had proved all ends and if soulmates existed, you were undoubtedly his. You had found yourselves inseparable by a bond that was as strong as you allowed it.

And after nights of living alone, separated from one another and adamant on change and tastes of different waters, he was certain that it was in between your legs, bundled into your arms and smiles was where he wanted to be.

You had started your selfhood by walking away, proved your love in the letting go.

You had finally found each other again after a long winter. Two hearts connected like one, sure of finding the homes to which they belonged.

[radiojamming]

hey. hey. i just wanted to say the angel fic with the guns for hire? it was So Good. im eagerly waiting for part 2, which i hope (first of all that this doesn’t sound demanding lmao) includes the pastor, or maybe the marshal? since they both have their own preconceptions of angels, or in Burke’s case ‘angels’. alternatively joey and staci or whitehorse? just cause they’re fun

OH HECK SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. hopefully the length of this makes up for it.

so this one is jerome, burke, pratt, and whitehorse. the rest of the guns for hire + hudson (i have a special aside thing for her, and mostly i was burning out on this section) will be in a part 3, plus a few other NPCs like eli. :D

also, part 1! in case anyone hasn’t read it.

- - -

Jerome makes his guesses when the Deputy arrives in Fall’s End. And truthfully, how can an entire town suddenly liberate itself through the intercession of one save for divine intervention? He’s been praying about it whenever he has a moment to spare; prays for wisdom, prays for deliverance, prays that all will be well and restored to rights. Finally, finally, there is an answer to his prayers.

He tries not to think too hard on it as they’re piecing the town back together, wrenching plywood off windows, sweeping up rivers of broken glass, tending to the wounded, and what ever else needs to be done. These are his neighbors, his friends, and even though the word feels soured by Eden’s Gate, his flock. They come first, and his musing on the Deputy needs to be secondary. 

But he can’t help but wonder when he watches their hands when they apply a patch of gauze, or how they softly console those who grieve. Jerome has prayed for a miracle; the kind that would bring an end to all this suffering. And when prayers haven’t felt like enough, he’s taken up the sword even when the book of Matthew promised he would perish by it. 

Now with the Deputy there, he thinks. He guesses. And he doubts until he remembers that Thomas doubted and Peter denied. 

When the Deputy finally comes into the Spread Eagle, sweat dried on their skin, dirt forming freckles on their face, looking more human than a miracle should, Jerome doesn’t ask. It doesn’t feel like the right time, right when Fall’s End shakily gets back on its feet and tries a hand at normalcy. Instead, Jerome clasps hands with the Deputy in gratefulness, and thanks them with very human honesty.

“You helped a lot of people,” Jerome tells them quietly, once they have a moment to speak without everyone in the bar asking them for more help.

A shy smile spreads over their face, and they nod. “I know,” they say. 

And so does Jerome.

- - -

Burke doesn’t know until he’s in the Bliss. 

His legs carry him through the soft, shimmering green mist, and he follows Faith’s soft humming across fields shivering in a warm wind, down to trickling brooks of crystal clear water. He smiles when his hands brush over clusters of wildflowers, their petals perfect, their colors vibrant. 

In here, he’s happy. Nothing hurts; nothing bothers him. There’s no stress in the Bliss, no sense of looming deadlines or expectations. At some point, he hardly remembers his old life, and outright laughs when he looks down and sees his kevlar vest. It doesn’t have a use anymore, save for being a comfortable, familiar weight against his chest. Why did he resist what Faith offered him for so long? Why did he fight this? He can’t think of anything close to an answer, so he laughs and laughs. He hasn’t laughed like that in years.

And then, Faith’s singing stops. The stars in the Bliss seem to freeze in midair, shining uncertainly. Burke’s laughter dissipates like mist in the sun.

He watches as something moves in the distance, like a heat mirage dancing among the twisted shapes of a grove of oleanders. The shape resolves itself into something vaguely human-shaped, and Burke squints against the too-still Bliss to try to see what it could be. Vaguely, he registers what sounds like someone screaming, but for all he knows, it could be miles away.

Then, he sees.

The Bliss makes it a strange thing, beautiful in a way that only the Bliss could manage. The being is crowned in the twisted stars of white oleander blossoms, and their body is formed of twisting, flowering vines of what must be a hundred different species. Purple and blue flowers fall over them like robes, and orange and red blossoms hang from their shoulders like a cape. Their eyes are two enormous gold lilies, and their lips are made of snapdragons. When they breathe, Burke can smell freesia and lilac, which seem to cleanse the air of the rotting-sweet smell of the Bliss flowers.

“Cameron Burke,” says the thing–spirit? He isn’t sure what to call it. “Let me help you.”

He stares at it, watching their right hand (made of twisting grapevines) rise, and pink-violet alstroemerias shimmer outward from their fingertips. Under their hand, the Bliss cleaves in two, an earth-colored void yawning open and forcing the green haze away.

The screaming gets louder, turns into wails of agony. Burke just blinks in confusion, unsure, uncertain.

Then, the Bliss leaves him. It doesn’t just fade or trickle out of his head. It disappears. It’s gone like it was never there, leaving his head hollowed and his body aching at its loss. He staggers at the sensation, and looks up to see–

The Junior Deputy. Rook.

Burke almost cries at the sight of them.

They’re standing in a clearing at the edge of a copse of trees, a small creek burbling quietly beside them. It must be just after sunset, since there’s still some residual light that allows Burke to see them. 

“What–” he starts, but Rook quiets him by putting their hand on his shoulder, a much warmer, reassuring weight than the kevlar.

“Later,” they say. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, and I’ll explain everything.” 

Burke nods, and something inside of him (close to where that happiness was) tells him that it’s best to stay close beside them, that everything will be alright.

- - -

Pratt finds out in a way that feels a lot like being blindsided by a semi truck.

It’s only a few days after Jacob has all but disappeared from the Whitetails, and rumors have been flying about how Jacob must have been murdered, his body out rotting among the ferns and prairie grass. But no one comes to the bunker to reclaim it or blow it up, and even when the number of Peggies at the bunker gets lower by the day, Pratt can’t seem to force himself to leave it. It’s as if something has locked him in place, like Jacob’s placed an invisible chain around his ankle. He stays, staring at cement walls, listening to the low whine of fluorescent lighting, the repeated messages on loudspeakers that might as well be done in the voice of a ghost.

Then (and it might be three or four days; time is strange down here), there’s a cacophony of noise that erupts on the floor above him, and Pratt clenches his eyes shut, arms shaking at his sides. This is it. This is how it’s going to end. Some Peggie is going to come into the room and finally put a bullet through his head.

The bullet never comes.

“Pratt,” someone says. There are hands on his arms, gentle and warm. One hand goes up to his forehead and pushes his hair away from his face. “Staci. Hey. Hey.”

They stroke his hair, and he feels their thumb go over a cut above his eyebrow. 

Pratt finally opens his eyes.

He nearly hits the ceiling when he realizes he isn’t in the bunker anymore. He’s in a place he doesn’t recognize, save for that it looks like a prison. There are bars on the doors and bars on the windows, cots lined up against the walls; but there are also open boxes of pizza that smells so good that his stomach nearly lurches clear out of his body, and little trinkets scattered around like duck lamps and baseballs and those stupid singing mounted fish. Pratt nearly faints.

Rook (holy shit, Rook) catches him before he hits the floor, hoisting him up with their right shoulder before helping him walk to one of the empty cots. He falls onto it, wide-eyed, gasping for breath, looking around while his head spins and his entire body feels like it’s on a different axis than the rest of the world.

“What the fu–” he starts, coughs, licks his chapped, split lips, and tries again, “What the fuck?”

Rook kneels in front of him, smiling apologetically, of all things. “Sorry,” they say softly. For fuck’s sake, they sound like they’re trying to coax a pet out from under the bed. “I didn’t want to have to do that, but you’d be in there so long. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“Where am I?” Pratt croaks, casting a weary look around.

“Hope County Jail,” Rook replies. 

The jail? That’s– Pratt can’t precisely think of how far away Jacob’s bunker would be from the jail, but the distance would be impossible to cross in under an hour, let alone a few seconds. 

He’s definitely going to faint.

Rook jumps up as Pratt lists hard to his left, their hand darting out to keep his head from hitting the metal frame of the cot. Vertigo seizes Pratt so hard that even if he had hit his head, he doesn’t think it would matter.

Somehow, Rook manages to maneuver him onto his back. They pull a thin linen sheet over him, and of all the stupid things to think, Pratt wonders at the smell of fresh laundry. He’s been so used to smelling every bodily fluid known that laundry of all things smells like heaven. His eyes close on their own volition, exhaustion and a headache dragging him low enough that it’s a wonder he hasn’t collapsed before that point.

“Rest,” he hears Rook say, but their voice sounds like it’s coming from another room. There’s a gentle pressure on his forehead, and the feeling of fingers stroking through his hair. “You earned it.”

Pratt falls asleep to Rook’s soft voice and the feeling of their hands. He dreams of walking over the tops of clouds, with a sky full of blinding starlight above his head.

- - -

Earl Whitehorse has seen a lot of things in his career that he can’t explain, and he knows better than to try. He’s seen people get mowed down by cars, only to get up and walk away like nothing happened. He’s seen little old ladies lift steel pipes off little kids. And he’s seen a quiet, polite man rise up to become a nightmarish cult leader, turning a picturesque western county into a warzone.

But he has never, never seen anything like Rook.

Maybe he should have known back when they were hired, how quickly they took to the job, seamlessly fitting themselves in with the ranks of Whitehorse’s most trusted. And hell, maybe he should have known in the church, when they cast him a quick look that was full of foreboding and concern.

Should we really be doing this? they seemed to ask.

God, he sure as hell hadn’t wanted to. He can’t even count how many times he’s asked himself if things would have been different if they had walked away.

And maybe he should have know when they escaped the burning wreckage of the helicopter, only to blaze a trail across the county in every cardinal direction, cleaning up a mess that’s been over a decade in the process. 

But it isn’t the battle between good and evil, or even so much as a skirmish that finally convinces Whitehorse that his guess is right. It’s a quiet moment at nearly one o’clock in the morning, right after Rook’s arrival and subsequent rescue of the jail.

It’s been a long day, full of no holds barred fighting and the added stress of trying to get the jail back up and fortified. Virgil and Tracey have been nearly running themselves into the floor trying to get things back together. Whitehorse has been barking orders until he thought his throat would go numb. And Rook has been delivering ammunition to the towers and walls, checking up on people, helping where they can.

By one in the morning, Rook and Whitehorse sit at one of the picnic tables outside in the courtyard, sipping at styrofoam cups of burnt coffee. Whitehorse hasn’t said much to Rook outside of a thank you and some orders. There hasn’t been time to get sentimental.

But now, he can see something in Rook’s face. It’s apprehension, maybe something like guilt. They shift around, adjusting weight, sipping at the coffee even though both of them need to rest up for tomorrow. 

Finally, enough is enough, and Whitehorse sighs. “Spit it out, Rook. You’ve obviously got something on your mind.”

Rook sits up straight like they’ve been reprimanded, their eyes wide. Then, they relax again, and look a little sheepish. “Sorry, Sheriff,” they say. “I just… I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Whitehorse doesn’t say a word or do so much as raise an eyebrow.

Rook grimaces. “Things have been so strange lately. I mean, aside from the obvious. But– Shit, you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“No, Rook,” Whitehorse replies with a laugh. “I’ve seen crazy, and out here, I think anything goes.”

They offer him a weak smile, and take the opening where it’s offered. “It’s just, I can’t… I can’t die. I’ve been shot, literally shot so many times. And all of those shots should have killed me. One Peggie got me in the stomach with a .50 caliber bullet and I walked it off. I got stabbed in the neck in Holland Valley, and I got an arrow in my kidney up near Jacob’s.” They shrug helplessly, like being functionally immortal is something to apologize for; like it’s inconvenient. “And that’s not the weirdest part! Things just keep happening around me. Animals follow me around, and weird plants pop up. I swear to God, I watched a star move. Like, literally change position in the sky. And it wasn’t a satellite or anything.”

Whitehorse watches them get progressively more frantic. They start detailing the sort of people who talk to them, bring them gifts, cry in their presence, and how a hummingbird landed on their hand the other day. They talk about how a hive full of bees just started droning around their head, but pointedly avoided stinging them. By the time they talk about a woman who started crying at them in something that sounded like Hebrew, Whitehorse puts one hand up to stop them.

“Rook, I’m gonna tell you something right now,” he says, and Rook looks like they’re ready to get an earful about how, yes, they do sound absolutely out of their mind. He takes another swig of coffee before clearing his throat. “Listen, there has always been something different about you. I knew that back when you signed on. And whatever this is–” He gestures to all of them. “–probably won’t surprise me. You’ve got something special about you. Now, I can’t say for sure what it is, but I do know you’re using it for good. And as long as you keep that up, there’s nothing wrong with it or crazy about it.”

It might seem dismissive, but after the Seeds and the Bliss and everything else, Whitehorse thinks that Rook–whatever they actually are–is the best thing that can happen to them.

There’s a long silence that follows, full of the crackling of barrel fires and the soft orchestra of late summer crickets. Then, Rook smiles. 

Eventually, Whitehorse is sure he’ll find out the truth about Rook. Until then, there are a lot of people they can help, and the very real possibility that they can take the county back and fix what’s been done. For now, that’s what matters.

[farashasilver]

hey! so, i realize im late af, but i finally took the plunge by binging yoi today. once i was done you were the first person that came to mind. idk if you give recs, but i was wondering - what would you say are some essential must-reads for a newbie to the fandom? fic that really blends into the canon and maybe fills those emotional gaps? (feel free to rec your own work as well ofc!) i'd really appreciate you pointing me in the right direction as i consider you a huge yoi resource! 💕

HI I AM THE WORST you asked me this literal months ago and I’m only just now getting around to making you a rec list. It’s been a real busy back half of the year.

OKAY SO I’m gonna put these behind a cut because this is a wall of recs. At least it’s somewhat organized. Some of these are very strong in the canon setting, a handful of them are AUs. You’re not going to get much plumbing of emotional depths from the PWPs, although there are one or two that stand out as really grounding their relationship in skating. Please enjoy this massive list of fic and mea culpa for taking so long to answer you (and I only recced three of my own fics lmao).

Cute short fics that are Safe For Work

Easy on my knees by ineptshieldmaid - Victor’s subby thing explored as a character studyAddicted (to the taste of you) by smudgesofink - After the Cup of China, Yuuri can’t stop kissing Victoryou’re like heaven to touch by lazulisong - Yuuri is wearing Victor’s jacket and Victor likes that a lotYuuri Katsuki Secret Route Walkthrough/FAQ by Metis_Ink - Meta fic written as if the show is an otome game/dating sim, really cutebetter than sliced bread by ebenroot - Victor owns a Yuuri body pillow because of course he doesthe naming of cats by csoru - Otayuri, a little bit of their careers and mostly them gravitating together for a relationshipa slow invasion of the heart by radialarch - Otayuri, Yuri is straightforward about what he wantsIf We Had No Winter by FreshBrains - Lilia/Minako fic where they maybe had a relationship when they were younger and reconnect nowStay Close to Me by dasedandconfuzed - AU where Vicchan doesn’t die before the GPF in Sochi and Yuuri just barely doesn’t medalNight is Young and the Music’s High by opalish - Yuuri somehow gets roped into another breakdancing contest at the press conference for Japanese Nationals. Outsider point of view.Of Love and Other Emotions by smudgesofink - Two fics of nothing but incredibly tooth-rotting fluffthe warmest part of winter by dadvans - Wedding ficThe Bulge (Don’t Bring a Weapon to a Public Beach) by nagoyadelay - Yuuri posts beach pictures. The internet gains an obsession with Victor’s dick.Feet first (Don’t Fall) by gunboots - Otayuri, awkward teenage romcom shenanigans

Smutty Victuuri one-shots

all the sparks you’re trying to hide by pageleaf - Yuuri gets in touch with his inner doma little love, a little sympathy by pageleaf - Yuuri figures out that Russian names have diminutives and uses it to his advantagea day for all the rest by Etharei - Morning after the Cup of China, a Victor introspective plus sweet morning sexStraight to Video by SocialDegenerate - Pre-canon, Victor’s sex tape leaks and Phichit promptly sends it to Yuuri because Phichit is the bro we all wish we could havei’ve come to be where you are (i can’t help it) by incode - Just some nice kinky sexsmoke and mirrors by grim_lupine - Victor randomly gets de-aged to his long haired teenage self and they bonePraise Please by surveycorpsjean - Praise kinkVictor Effing Nikiforov by shysweetthing - Yuuri doesn’t bomb Nationals and ends up at Worlds in the season before canon, is extremely confused as to why Victor is so interested in himTalk to Me by SuggestiveScribe - Yuuri has a language kink for Victor speaking RussianSubmission by SuggestiveScribe - Shibari bondage and orgasm delay with sub VictorStamina Should Have Been a Verb by scribblywobblytimeylimey - 12k words of completely unrepentant marathon sex where Yuuri’s epic inhuman stamina wrecks VictorIMG_20140215.AVI by neomeruru - Victor finds one of Yuuri’s old sex tapes from college where he one of his ex-boyfriends has organized a gangbang for himMaid to Love You by Kizuna_Auri - Victor in a french maid outfit with lots of kink because why notNot an inch of you I didn’t cling to by Farasha - Post-Rostelecom body worship fic, gentle dom Yuuri, Victor is the subbiest service sub who ever subbed, the YOI fic in my repertoire that’s most grounded in canon, I think

Smutty one-shots for Other Ships

Green-Eyed Monster by flammablehat - Victuuri + Yuri’s raging crush on Yuuri, Yuri overhears them having sex and has an angry jerkoff sessionsix feet under by knightswatch - Otayuri, Yuri has a pair of sexy leopard print heels and Otabek is really into them. someone on the dancefloor, waiting just for you by verity - Otayuri, kinky stuffHands On Education by BewareTheIdes15 - Otayuri, hilarious internal Yuri narrative during awkward loss of virginity shenanigansTeach Me Just What Fast Is by Zee - Otayuri, some kink but mostly them figuring out their relationshipDevour by dannydevito - Otayuri, face-sitting and rimmingKind, Sober and Fully Dressed by probablestars - Chris/Phichit, Chris and Phichit make a sex tape togetherthe taste, the flavor by pageleaf - Yuuri/Yuri, Yuri asks Yuuri to help him get rid of his virginity, hints that it could be future Victor/Yuuri/Yuri OT3crimson headache, aching blush by pageleaf - Victor/Yuri, Victor gets drugged with sex pollen and turns to Yuri for help, also features Victor/Yuuri/Yuri phone sexSoft as Snow (But Warm Inside) by Farasha - Yuuri/Yuri, Yuri gets drugged with sex pollen and Yuuri is the one who gives him a hand, plus emotional codaPino Grigio Boys by cherrybulesque - Chris/Victor/Yuuri threesome, they have some fun together in the hotel at a competitionTonight, You’re All Mine by doncastaway - Chris/Victor/Yuuri, Yuuri and Victor give Chris a booty call and he is not complainingOff the Ice by Halrloprillalar - Chris/Victor, someone throws lacy underwear on the ice as a post-skate gift, they have some fun with itwhat flattery gets you by tripcyclone - Chris/Yuuri, pre-canon, Chris expected Yuuri to be shy in bed and gets a lot more than he bargained forVice by Halrloprillalar - Celestino/Chris, Chris has had a crush on Celestino since he was young and seduces him at a bar

Longer Victuuri Fics (any rating)

Maybe It Started Like This by dance_across - Character study into both Yuuri’s anxiety issues and Victor’s insecurity issues and how they navigate those in their relationshipkatsuki_fc wrote by tetsurashian - Outsider POV fic on Yuuri and Victor’s relationship as covered by fan communities and social mediaMaelstrom by feelslikefire - Time loop/groundhog day alternate universe where Victor keeps repeating the Sochi banquet over and over againKintsugi by witchbane - Alternate universe where they’re both in the mafiaCall Everything on the Ice… by shysweetthing - Victor learns Japanese in order to better be able to communicate with Yuuri’s family, also a really sweet look at their relationship developing while they’re in HasetsuThe Boyfriend Experience by cryingoverspilledvodka - Alternate universe where Yuuri had to quit skating and became an escort instead, somehow he still ends up in Victor’s orbitlove like fools by lily_winterwood - Roman Holiday AU, Yuuri is modern Japanese royalty and Victor is a journalist, they run away togetherKings in Couture by slightlied - Devil Wears Prada AU where Victor is the fashionista and Yuuri is his brand new personal assistant (that he thirsts after like woah)we are lost, but we are not gone by persephoneggsy - Dollhouse AU based on the concept of the Joss Whedon show - programmable escorts that can be anyone you want them to be, heavy on the angst and mindfuckeryThe Lily of Kasagiya by Kizuna_Auri - Memoirs of a Geisha AU (kind of) where Yuuri is a famous Geisha and Victor is his favorite charming foreign clientnever stop until the grave by Naraht - A gritty, angsty look at Victor trying to balance coaching Yuuri and coming back to competition at the same timeFated by maydei - Technically a crossover with Loveless but the only thing you need to know about the Loveless universe going in is that everyone has cat ears and tails until they lose their virginity, the author does an excellent job of explaining everything else in the universe

Longer Fics for Other Ships (any rating)

adventures in personal growth by stutter - Otayuri, also features Yuri’s raging crush on Yuuri, series of three fics, Yuri completely and utterly fails at anything resembling “taking it slow”i walk my days on a wire by idrilka - Otayuri, long distance relationship with pining and Skype sexFrom Almaty, With Love by BoxWineConfessions - Otayuri, slow burn get-together fic where Yuri comes to train in Almaty for the summerNeon Pink Motorcycle by goldheart - Otayuri, soulmate/soulmark AU where Yuri’s soulmark is damaged so he can’t see ithe (walked like, looked like) burned like summer by foxfireflamequeen - Victor/Yuri, alternate universe where Yuri suffers a career-ending injury and seeks out the fae to get what he wants (in this fic, Victor is not a skater, he’s a faerie)Commemorative Photos by airspaniel & dance_across - Phichit/Yuuri, Chris/Phichit, Chris/Victor, Victor/Yuuri; a series of fics that starts with Phichit and Yuuri in college and leads into Victor and Yuuri’s wedding (where Phichit and Chris hook up)i know where my heart lies by orro - Yuuri/Yuri, an alternate universe where Yuuri is the 27yo champion, Yuri is the 24yo Russian ace who can’t quite keep up, and Victor is the bratty 16yo prodigyHalf a Chance by ratherunnecessary - Otayuri, also Yuri’s raging crush on Yuuri, a slow-burn fic of Yuri figuring out how the fuck to deal with his feelingsVodka Tonic by Halrloprillalar - Chris/Georgi, a hookup that starts after the Cup of China turns into something that resembles emotions over timeRed, Yellow, Green by dance_across - Chris/Yuuri/Victor, what starts out as a hookup turns into something like a relationshipbite down (to me) by pageleaf - Victor/Yuuri/Yuri, Victor and Yuri seduce Yuri through skating choreography because this is YOI and of course they doAn Excuse to Be There by shadow_lover - Victor/Yuuri/Yuri, Yuri kept the pole dancing pictures from the Sochi banquet on his phone, Victor and Yuuri know whyOpen My Heart by Farasha - Victor/Yuuri/Yuri, Alpha/Beta/Omega alternate universe where Yuri goes into heat unexpectedly, drags Victor with him, and they all have to figure out how to make it work

[rakuraiwielder]

Wind flower, wind daughter

Anemone petals fall off his lips, //Two sides of the same coin.// Anemone petals stains her eyes. V route

Ray/MC Oneshot

Also on AO3

Foreword:

im currently only on Day 4 but I already smell the flags for these two since Day 2. angst train has no brakes choo-choo

*Day 2 and 3 spoilers. This fic contains future interpretations of scenarios that may or may not happen

Vague creative liberties since I’m not done with his route yet

“I’ll never betray you.”

Her words, quiet but firm, jerk him stiff as he freezes. The room spins as his heartbeat stutters, and for once he is speechless, thoughts of anemone petals dissipating in the wind. There is a ringing in his ears, and he is vaguely aware of it being white noise as he presses his phone so close to his ear it burns.

She had continued her little proclamation while he wasn’t listening, turning softer and more uncertain when she heard no reply. The minute lilt of her voice was a chorded song, and he strains to catch the last of it, curve tugging at the edge of his lips.

“-hy should I? You have done nothing to make me doubt you. I thought it was strange when I had to come here just to play a game. But you have been nothing but kind to me. You… …Ray?”

Silence.

And at last:

“Um, are you listening?”

“Yes.” His voice cracks at the end when he struggles to sit upright, free hand unconsciously moving to clutch his chest. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

The first person he wanted to be close with. The first person who he allowed close enough to his side. And she was here, saying she wants to stay.

“Ray? I… I haven’t been this happy in a long time.” Her voice, now borderline timid but genuinely sincere, clamps up at the end as though it had just chosen to disclose a deeply kept secret with no small amount of difficulty. As though she believed it would be safe in his knowledge.

It tears a ragged chuckle from his throat.

“Thank you, thank you. I have never felt this happy in my entire life.” Lightness floods through him as he grins, an uncharacteristic flush on his cheeks. “You, you are truly, you are so thoughtful… thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

I trust you.

So, this was what it meant to be truly happy.

x

x

“I have been thinking about what you said, about the language of flowers.”

“Oh?” He lifts his eyes from her unknowing gaze to the golden rose cupped delicately in her hands, contemplating. “If it’s something you are interested in, I’d be honoured and delighted to teach you.”

She stifles a delighted laugh, and he takes pleasure in the crinkles that form near her eyes. Another new discovery that sends a thrill through him. Just when he thought he’d figured it all, she reveals yet another new secret of hers, making the pang in his chest ache further. The limited time they share only makes it worse, and he prays time would slow at least a little more during the moments they share.

The moon was high in the sky when they passed the rose gardens, and where the beams of light illuminate the roughness of his silver locks he presses a daisy into her hair. She hums and nods when he whispers the language of his friends to her, but her eyes stray, and before long she slips past him to bend closer to the earthy soil.

His brows furrowed as he follows her gaze, seeing her eyes cloud over to a distant past, fingertips reaching out to touch the soft petals of a folded bulb.

“You know, I knew an old lady back home who tended to a little garden. It’s nothing compared to this one, but all sorts of flowers grew there too.” A pause, before a wistful smile spreads across her face. “Out of all the flowers I remembered the anemones most. They were always so beautiful for something that gave off no scent among the other sweet-smelling flowers.”

“Ah, it is strange is it not? Flowers make use of their sweet fragrances to attract attention to themselves, regardless of colour or type. And yet the anemone flower does not, even though using a sweet scent would make it even more popular among the bees and butterflies. It doesn’t try at all,” He lowers his head, expression disappointed and sorrowful. “almost like a fake.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all.” An amused sigh, and she is shaking her head before he could finish, glancing up to face him properly. “You know, these flowers mean many different things too. Thinking of it as just betrayal is just too sad.”

A pondering look crosses her face, and he wonders where her mind had gone to, if he could ever follow. If he could have his way, he would make it so that she would never wander again, lest nowhere he could not follow. Because no one else but him would be needed to make her stay.

Surprise colours his eyes when she beams up at him, tender and grateful.

“I hope one day when you see anemones, you think not of betrayal, but of something happier and more important to you.”

x

x

The letter on her bed is what sends him into a frenzy, panic and worry overtaking his senses until he could barely think. The watchful believers under him had given their warning a little too late, and now she was lost from their sight, disappearing into a section of the outer gardens they were not yet quite eligible to enter.

Orange rays burst through the hard windows as he races down the hallway, clutching the letter of her promised location in gloves clammy with cold sweat. His rushes into the garden just as the alarm in his phone beeps; a reminder for a duty he could care less for the moment.

She was resting against a pillar next to a clump of daffodils, staring at the setting sun, fingers playing with stray petals of fallen blooms. Her eyes dart up to him when she hears him near, and the welcoming curve of her mouth almost belays the anger that awaited beneath his relief.

“There you are!” He grounds to a stop before her, panting harshly as he checks her over with frantic eyes. “I thought I told you not to leave your room. It’s not good for you to be alone, during this period of time.”

His heart refuses to slow when he feels her pat his shoulder awkwardly; a meagre show of support as he catches his breath, but if he closes his eyes he thinks he can feel the warmth of her touch. A foolish thought, even for one trying to be bold, and he feels the flush of his exertion refuse to fade though his anger dissipates.

“Even if this is a safe place, not everyone here knows you yet.” Not yet. Well, that would change tonight.

“I’m sorry.” Her tone was apologetic at least as she steps away, turning back to the sky. “It’s just, I was feeling a little suffocated. I, I needed to think.”

Her hand reaches to the sky, fingers curling to grasp the sunset.

“Someone once told me to watch the sky, if only to remember how small we are in this world, how little we mean to the universe as a whole, yet still an important part of something bigger. Out here in this wide-open space I feel…” She glances at him, smile small and at peace. “I feel free.”

Her words were familiar, but for the life of him he could not remember where he had heard them before. Instead he heaves exasperatedly, moving to the other end of the pillar to lean beside her.

“I’m sorry. I know how hard it is to be confined inside all the time but tonight is a special case. A special ceremony will be held tonight, and everyone is busy preparing for the celebration.”

She does not reply, and when he turns to face her she pulls away, walking away from the daffodils to stand on the main path. A freshly fallen flower was in her hands, blue petal edges furling in from both rot and night. He can’t tell if it’s a rose or anemone—there were neither in this part of the garden.

“Do you like the stars, Ray?” She says quietly as he wanders after her, following her gaze to the sky. The sun had set, and the purple-hued sky was starting to blink with little specks of diamond.

“Honestly, not really.” He does not look at her when he says it, mint eyes darkening as the evening shadows lengthened. “I prefer the day and light, where everything is bright and warm. I didn’t see the sun a lot when I was young, maybe that’s why I feel an affinity for it.”

There is a lull as their conversation draws to a stop. A breeze blows, disturbing the quiet, and with bated breath he takes a daring step closer.

“Do you want to know a secret?” She jerks her head up when his shoulder brushes against hers, lashes fluttering as her mouth quirks in surprise. He smirks. “The darkness used to unnerve me a little. It reminded me of my childhood. I, I didn’t have the best memories of those times. But when my saviour took me in and I spent my nights in the cool darkness of my workspace being useful, being assured that every step forward took me closer to my goal, and now being able to spend these nights with you and maybe more…” His hand strokes the bloom in her hands, lithe fingers skimming over the arch of her thumb. “I wouldn’t trade any of my childhood for this moment.”

He links their fingers together as he pulls away, nudging her back towards the building. She startles, and with an airy laugh he lets her go, the teasing gleam back in his eyes.

A searching look, then-

“These four days were the happiest I ever had in a long time.” She smiles, but it was a wistful, dimmed under the shadows.

“They don’t have to end. Stay with me, and you can be happy forever.” He does not see her waver, instead his tone insistent as he shifts a distracted gaze to his phone. “Ah, let me take you back to your room. You need to rest for the ceremony.”

“Ray?”

“I’m so excited. After tonight, you won’t have to feel sad or pained ever again.”

“…Hey, listen. I, I don’t think…”

“I can’t wait for you to-“

“Ray!”

Her outburst jolts him into realisation, and apologies spill from his lips in distressed verses. Her eyes widen, and guilt washes over him anew; he’d scared her.

“…S-sorry, I’m sorry I. I got too excited again.”

“No, no its not you its- I’m, I’m not…” She looks to the ground, hestitant. “It is true?”

“Hmm?”

“It, it’s just a game, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is. Of course they are.” An assuring smile blankets his face, a mirror of all previous times. “Because you are here with me, not them.”

“Still, they may be AIs, but why do they have to suffer? I just wanted everyone to get their happy ending. I didn’t think it would hurt that much.”

“Their happiness is a superficial one. And sometimes, some suffering is necessary first for one to gain eternal happiness.” A tick of annoyance twitches within him; her heart was too soft, and the AIs have taken advantage of that. How else could she have grown so attached? “Please, don’t stay sad my dear. They won’t be able to help you and your grief won’t help them either. But I can. If you let me. You are precious to me and I don’t want you to be sad.”

She looks at him with unknown emotion for a long time, but finally a smile spreads across her face and she nods. “You are… you are important to me as well.”

“Oh…” His heart soars then, and euphoria blinds him to everything but the woman who stood before him. “I’m glad, so glad. Thank you. Thank you…”

He leads her home, and in the midst of his lighthearted flutter, does not see the light in her eyes fade as she gives a backward glance towards the marble pillar.

Behind it, a figure wearing the believers’ cloak clutches his hands close to his sides and begins to grieve.

x

x

She was backing away from him now; no longer smiling, no longer looking at him with sincerity. Fear and pain brims and overflows from her shaking stature, reflecting a similar ache within him. He forces it away with a feeling of disgust. Once upon a time the hurt he felt would have overcome everything, a desperate plea of his body to get the person precious to him back, tears swelling in his eyes. Now, it flounders, drowned beneath frothing waves of simmering fury.

She was shaking her head, denial drawing gasps out of her muffled mouth as she shudders, legs locked and stiff as she stands surrounded. Red flashes as she swipes her arm roughly over her eyes, and a growl leaves his lips when he sees the concerned touch of a man he never trusted tap her back in a lame attempt to comfort.

Beside her V -faker, faker, you ruined everything!- stands before him and the advancing crowd, hands trying in vain to shield her from the mass of impending followers; helpless frustration plain on his face as he yells for the saviour to listen to him!.

The latter declares something that makes his face pale, and Ray Saeran imagines the pleasure he would derive from punishing the man as retribution for infringing Paradise later.

Movement alerts him into swiftness, and he looks up fast enough to see the beta-tester kick a reaching arm of a handsy believer viciously away. Rage clouds her eyes as she pulls V behind her, back arched in warning as he cries in alarm. The scene makes his blood boil even further, and he almost leaves his perch by his saviour’s side.

Amid the chaos, their eyes meet.

Betrayal scorches his veins like an almost-lover scorned as he stands by his saviour, despair a swirling reminder that he wasn’t good enough.

Liar, her eyes flash back at him defiantly, trembling lips spilling petals as she cries out from grief, a gullible fool who just wanted to try.

I trusted you.

Somewhere far away a bouquet of anemones remain forgotten in the inky darkness of a control room, magenta petals closed and unfurling.

x

A/N

magenta is both a red and purple shade; red anemones symbolise forsaken love, that is betrayal, while purple symbolises protection, two vastly different meanings. It also fits saeran’s character to a T as well as his desire to both protect and possess.

interestingly, anemones flowers close up at night and open back up in the morning. much like morning glories.

this route was a mistake. everyone is suffering. but man if i dont love the thriller elements. unpopular opinion but currently i love how unfocused on romance the story is and more on the cult.

a lot of day 2 -4 chat and flower refs all over the place lolol i would love it if you guys started listing or tell me what you think ;D

[absumink]

April: the sky looks like it was injected by a needle-point sewing machine, my eyes look like a paint-by-number dream. nobody told me life eventually got stale, i thought the people who warned me of dullness were all crybaby misfits who were prudes towards colour. maybe i should've payed more attention in science class when they spoke about how the illusion of getting cold is really the absence of heat. my father started making buttermilk hot-cakes every Sunday, he said the weather is just right. it's really because he buys too much cream.

May: heat has crept up on me. the stale breath of the orchids down the street started seeping down the drainage pipes and up evaporated concrete. i didn't have time for lunch because I'd rather be filled till i'm full on decadence and watch plagiarized clouds till my pupils dilate. i turn fifteen and watch my skits start to wrinkle, i'm just paranoid; but maybe my life really is collapsing. my mouse pad was peeling so i ripped it right off. it's sad that i have a tendency to pick at the imperfect, that may be why i have so many scabs. summer is relaxing alone while bluebirds are basking in riverbanks, the wind feels like ghost-silk on the nape of my shivered neck. this is what it's like to be afraid of home.

June: savoury solitudes are spread across my bedsheets. i've been trying to find sweet ones for too long because i'm tired of sleeping on spiced spruce and sourdough that rots of dead roots. the shipwrecks of ice-caps have found their way to the bottom of the pond. i used to run above seaweed when i was six till i got sick of the feeling of fingers on my feet. i wear socks now so my toes don't get so pale. the ocean's sea spray stings my throat but only for cleansing because it knows im hooked on the alcohol that i've let control me. sometimes i wake up in the dead of night, watching it screech up my floorboards in red and yellow and blue. the band-aid on my left ring-finger-knuckle is gnarled and frayed from how many times i scrub it with salted soap. i've wasted eight now.

July: my brother buys a shirt that has the pattern as one of my own, similar at least kids at school scream profanities, it's for a girl. he doesn't care. i remember when he'd crack as deep as a sidewalk crevasse when someone else disagreed. i daydream about what it's like to live a life that free. my body has never looked normal to me, i've always hated how my thighs remind me of jelly fish in southern oceans and my smile as wry as bruised bone structures at age ninety-nine. gulf streams soak up too much of my black pants so I'd rather not put them on at all. but i have to, i'm insecure. speaking of, the pockets on the side of my jeans cup my hands like my mother used to. her skin was softer than this denim. but then again she washed the dishes four times a day. i'm now used to the dampness behind my knee-caps and screams under the slits of my tongue.

August: a birthday party under the saturated sun leaves me singed on the back with a ringing in my cars. my brother is growing up and it's not long until he's dead. it's like everything ?ye ever loved is evacuating from flames. i don't see them but i'm engulfed anyway, i smell nothing but God. there's grapefruit slices in the sky and my window broke its nose trying to breathe so loud i woke up. i remember when sunrises looked more cool toned and took no back to alpine mountains, now it looks like the devil under my bed has thrown up blood and burn stains. pain accumulates on my palms, when he looks at me i'm blue, no i'm red. at least, i feel like it.

September: i see him again and statistics are proof i am no longer shallow. something tickles my throat when we kiss so after i go home, i gargle with cough syrup. my teeth are putrid of grape flavouring and dye number 16185. the dog across the street finally shuts up and whimpers when the sky bleeds. it's not that i'm afraid. i mean. i am but it doesn't matter. my new desk at school smells like rotting moons and werewolves that scream at new ones, maybe they haven't yet marked their territory. tomorrow i'll find carved hearts and ill-fated fantasies. my father said i shouldn't get so caught up in love; i am too young.

October: banshees lay their heads on my shoulders and their tongues shackle to my wrist. i feel as if i can't move without waking up the guard dogs and making them shriek. everyone i ask tells me to keep going, they must not know what it's like to balance demons against your hips and listen to the secrets they say underwater. i wish my collarbones would be striking enough to strangle me like the briar brushes strangle rabbits at the edge of my neighbours yard. fences twist metal words from safe to scared from new to old and old to young. they have stories engraved in their bones. i see him at school and i puke out nervous water weeds, the ones that have sprouted inside me. he says i'm becoming broader and that i should stay small, he can pick me up that way. he sounds like a city man 3 thousand in his pocket and his name scrawled on half the town. i loved a small town boy who smelled like the cherry tree its front of my bedroom blinds, not whoever he is now.

November: i'm homeschooled and i don't see him anymore. he swore he'd come around but his excuses echo how little effort he's flossed between his gums. i guess i shouldn't be complaining but the air i'm surrounded with now tastes technicolor ebony, a muted damsel in distress, a silenced plead. snow attempts to bite at my cheeks, i bite back, except it won't budge and i do. i'd trade the clothes i'm in and the food in my stomach to go back to when things were easy. all the mistakes i made no far have been moulding between my pillow cases. i didn't mind the stench before but now that i spend my life indoors i'm starting to cough a lot more. my father won't make breakfast so I'm stuck with bread and curdled milk.

December: i don't wash my clothes. i've been wearing this sweater for a month and a half and i've only showered twice. every time i step into cold air i look at myself and wonder how anyone could love her. people look for happy girls with shrivelled hips and baby blue eyes. i am the opposite. my front door lock has rusted shut because of how no one will open it anymore. our house is a spirit home made of aged mumbles and clenched fists, the old ache of love has bludgeoned me. i forgot to colour my hair black, he said that was his favourite shade and at the time my hair was a charcoal brown. i promised i'd fix myself and he promised he'd stay so i believe that makes both of us liars. how cliché.

January: people say a new year is a fresh start but the sixty seconds between yesterday and today has done nothing but make me nauseous. i'm done hurdling over high trees trying to reach heaven. i think i'm here already. he hasn't called in 3 months and today i don't care. because people say a new year is a fresh start and maybe their fresh start can be shared. i've stopped missing sun rays because i have hope they'll come back tomorrow. if not i'll still have hope then. i refrain from cracking my knuckles. he did too. it makes me sick to my stomach, which has already been bruised. i'm not fixed but i'm getting there. every afternoon i've began blowing the snowflakes off our tree swing so i can swoon below the sky. i'm waiting for blue to move to gold and gold to wave goodbye.

Februaq: Hallmark's profit went up this month but it was no longer because of me. 'he' is just a pronoun and love is something i'm no longer familiar wills. am i complaining'? no, not any more than i am about my body. which, by the way, isn't as bad as it seems. i still feel like i'm an antiseptic to an open cut but i hope it'll pass like everything else has. a program on television told me i needed weight loss pills and wrinkle cream? i think i look fine. skin folds come with aging and maybe i'll still look beautiful its pounds over one hundred-twenty-five.

Mairh: team broke through my stained glass walls and strained my eyes to purple. everything's in a blue hue and i'm afraid i've gotten bad again. i've worked so hard to climb this peak, this prominent place of ease. i am scared that what i'm looking for at the top of the next one. the veins in my arms haven't yet grown back. they look more like agitated vines on corroded brick walls. rain has visited me again and unfortunately it's making me miss how comfortable i felt knowing i was slowly dying. alas, i'm no longer worried of the dark that looms after six. i go walk for five miles in hopes someone will strike me with their front license plate instead of passing me with their back one.

April: well, this is it. relapse is okay, recovery is better. i'm not afraid to love. yes i am vulnerable but i'm not strung together with cuttable cord. my limbs are stationed with metal pipes and i'm not as fragile as i was before. nobody told me life eventually got harder, i thought the people who warned me of the lack of light were pessimistic outlanders who were afraid of their own shadow. maybe i should've payed more attention to the world when it told me i'd eventually come home. the sky now looks like cotton candy and my eyes breathe burgundy butterflies. i've travelled further than i started, i understand that's the whole point. i find beauty in the most mysterious things, this ground beneath me has bellowed in praise. i've accepted things may become difficult, but i'm no longer afraid of the change.

— ; g.k.

[howdoifeelaboutsex]

Last night I was masturbating and breathing quite loudly. My housemates friend heard me. She told my housemate and she was like WELL EVERYONE DOES IT. which I just felt so good to hear, amongst the immense shame. I was trying to hard to be quiet, but also I wanted to enjoy myself and I wanted to push the boundaries to see what effect it would have. I continually put myself into shameful situations... I think in the hope that something good will come of it. In future I think I will be more quiet. I just don't quite know how to be quiet. Without compressing my whole breathing. She must have come out to the kitchen and heard me. I feel so ashamed and embarrassed, just, ugh!!! Avoid everyone!!!! NEVER SEE THEM AGAIN, PRETEND IT NEVER HAPPENED AND THINGS WILL FEEL BETTER ERASING THAT MOMENT FROM HISTORY. But I also feel like, how to go forward? Maybe just accepting it and being like, ok... I guess you heard me enjoying it. And also trying to suppress my breathing but UGH!!! UHH I AM SO ASHAMED, I AM SO EMBARRASSD. I can think of ways out of it. But honestly, I want to move towards acceptance. And I fee I can move towards that acceptance and feel comfortable to just, enjoy myself sexually. I suddenly think of queena, dreadfully. Her sexuality had to be hidden whilst she was right next to her parents. So Her sexuality formed from that. Perhaps that's why she liked the idea of public sex. Also hidden sexuality in compromising situations. How did her parents not even masturbate? I get so turned on when I think of how she got to be sexual when she was so young, and experience all those taboos. I want to crush it, IF I DONT GET IT WHY DO YOU GET IT. I was completely restricted from having those sexual experiences. And I wanted them SO BADLY. I wanted to be that guy she seduced and let her have sex with her. Then again, I want these things, but I don't allow myself to act on them. Because I know it's going to get me into trouble. And I worry about an opportunity where I am given the circumstance to do so. I so would. I wonder about where her hypersexuality comes from. It is said the unlived life of the parents makes the biggest impact on the child. Perhaps... she was given that emptiness of sexuality and felt the need to fulfil it, in order to move forward and then further have healthy children. I get the feeling continually and again, that she will do the best for her and her children in her life. Although she does seemingly have to traverse the entire dark side of sexuality. And she liked it, yet she hated it. She just wanted to be normal, and not struggle with wanted sex in all forms, all genders. She tried to deny she was attracted to girls. I am still unsure of whether it was a power game thing, isn't sex about power? I guess so. That's the unintimate form of sex. But it's always blended. I used to churn with putrid rot inside when I thought of her going on to live her sexual life. As I saw no way forward, and I'm not sure I still do. I really don't know a way forward . I'm so scared to even say such a thing. I want sex so badly that I keep finding ways to jinx or play myself into thinking I'll just make myself be comfortable to go for it. But I'm not. I'm not comfortable to have sex. I start to dissociate. I repress, get paranoid. I get anxious, I get angry. I get so incredibly tense. And I hate it, too. I hate that I chokehold myself when I know I want it so badly. I hate that I choke my own sexuality. I don't know why I do it. I have theories. It could be that it was an adaption to not feel shame. It also further got worse when my mom always looks at me in grotesque sexual ways. It's just so disgusting. She'll come up to me and look straight and my penis with her lips like wet. Like she wants to just touch me. I recoil, I feel absolutely disgusting. She comes up in my fantasies sometimes and it just DISGUSTS ME. I do everything to have it back to how I like it. It's feels so intrusive. She disgusts me in all ways. She disgusts me. She touched my penis when she was putting this cream on. I think she knew I was hard. I didn't even know I was. I just pulled my pants down as she said, and noticed it. She put it right on the tip. Except she like tapped it. It's so disgusting. I didn't know whether I could hand done it myself until I saw her do it to Jamar. She says that it has to be done. Like she absolutely has to do it. She enjoys having me afraid to be in my own skin. Where I'm afraid constantly of people's fast movements. I try to recoil and live in a fake outer shell. Live somewhere inside, where the pain doesn't reach me. Where am I to go? I live with this constant fear, CONSTANT, that I am going to get hit, kicked, held down, suspended, without any possible way to defend myself ... whilst I get beaten .. and cry and scream for help. I don't know when I was first hit. I can hardly remember most of the memories. It's scary. When was I first hit? I remember being invalid, asking for anything was met with instant scolding, existing in that space was wrong, however it was ok to be non-existant. Saying no wasn't allowed. You weren't allowed to have your own feelings or values or opinions. I was never asked how I felt, I was never considered to have feelings. And if I did show feelings, any feeling which was sad, would mean that she would take me to psychologists over and over until I was forced to share the feelings under conditions which were complete lies about why I felt that way. I would be forced to lie about any abuse, and that my helplessness is wrong and my own fault and it is my fault that I feel that way. Naturally i, at all costs, avoided any expression of feeling. It was the one thing that kept me alive. Having my own genuine feelings. No one could take them from me. If I never let them out, I would be ok. I could share them with myself, and I wasn't so mean to myself then. I was pure and felt suffering as a new real thing to experience my way through. I had that. It was my own, it was real, it wasn't pain. It didn't hurt, or make me want to run away. I could stay with my own sadness. I wasn't allowed to feel sad around other people, especially in public, as it would most certainly lead to her being reported back to. And then I would suffer an investigation. I never learnt to share my feelings. I didn't think it was appropriate. It terrified me to think of what would happen ... if someone saw me cry. I would walk into school every day, I had completed the disgusting ritual of having to kiss her. I would be ok. Now I am free. And I am so sad. I am alone, in my own world. My bag is undone, but I liked it that way. I wanted to show the world, why does it matter if my bag is undone? It is ok, things don't fall out. I would wander sadly... into school, slowly repressing the sad feelings and getting ready to put on my happy face. It's the only place I wanted to show my fake happiness. I knew it would be the end of me to breakdown there. But I felt I could achieve things there. I never trusted anyone, I never knew what it might feel like to say,, I am really sad. I am really sad and I'm really afraid and I'm scared... I want to cry and bawl my eyes out into someone like A guidance counsellor. What if they listen to me? What if I can hug them? I just want to hug them. I'm really really sadscared. IM SCAREEED, HHHHHHH I AM SO SCARED I AM SCAAAAAAARRREEEDDDD I am scaaaaaaaaaaAAAASSRRRRESDDDDD I'm scared she'll leave me. But what if she listens to me? I do not know how to say what I am scared about HHHHHHUHHHHUHHHUHH IM JUST SCARED!!!! IM SCARED!!!!!!! What if she just listened to me, what if she was understanding that I didn't know why I was Scared, but that I was, and that I needed her so desperately. I am scared, but with you I feel better. I continue to be scared, but you bring me comfort. I'm scared all the time, I'm too scared to move. I'm too scared to look anywhere but at my feet. I'm scared to Open my eyes. I'm scared I'll flinch. I'm scared I'll try to put my hands in the way and have more hurt forced onto me for doing the wrong thing. I'm scared that I want to try and make it not hurt as much, if I try to make not hurt, I will get into trouble. I'm scared. I'm scared to turn around. I'm scared . Im really scared. I'm scared she'll hit me again. I'm scared. I'm scared to go to bed. I'm scared. I want to sink into the ground, underneath the house, live in the cold soil with the rocks. What wonderful things, these rocks. They are so beautiful. I am so glad I can spend all my time with these rocks, you know? They can be my friends. Down here no one can hit me. I wonder about the rocks, god I am just so happy. I HAVE ROCKS!!!! I HAVE ROCKS!!!!! I wonder what the rocks would like to do. How are the rocks feeling? I love the rocks so much i look at them like a mom sees her child for the first time. Every day I will wake up, and when I wake up, I will ask the rock, how are you today? He has his own bed, and I even made a little blanket for him. I carved some extra space out so he can sleep next to me. I like to curl up, too. It's like we're both rocks. I love him so much.

[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2ro28rk

Although in post modern society superstitions don’t have much of a place, at least not in the typical sense (think OCD). For most of history, superstitions around the world have played a huge role in shaping cultures and societies. Whether superstition examples include old wives tales, urban legends, or just scary stories, every group has their share of them. These are the 25 strangest superstitions from around the world.

#1 Cannibalistic gum chewing in Turkey In some parts of Turkey you may want to think twice before whipping out the chewing gum. There is a belief that if you are chewing gum at night it is actually rotting dead flesh.

#2 Groaning cheese for a newborn You’ve probably heard of swiss cheese, cheddar cheese, or pepper jack cheese but have you heard of Groaning Cheese? In Medieval England, expectant mothers made what they called a ‘Groaning Cheese’ which was a large wheel of cheese that matured for nine months as the unborn baby grew. When the ‘groaning time’ or time of birth came, the whole family would celebrate by eating this cheese until nothing but the outer rind was left. The newborn would then be passed through the rind on Christening day to be blessed with a long and prosperous life. What a cheesy superstition!

#3 Good luck horseshoe Some people believe in order to bring good luck and to keep nightmares away, you must hang a horseshoe in the bedroom or on a door knob with its ends pointing upwards. This belief stems from the fact that a horse shoe has seven holes, which is considered to be a lucky number, and is made of iron, so it can supposedly ward off evil spirits that may haunt you in your dreams.

#4 Friday the 13th Friday the 13th has been a source of superstition ever since the 19th century. Though it’s origin is shrouded in speculations and theories, it’s impact is quite evident. Many people will purposely avoid doing anything significant (like business meetings, socials, banquets, etc) due to the belief that the day is cursed and its a source of ill fortune.

#5 Curse of the Opal stone If your absolute favorite stone is the Opal, you’re out of luck…literally since this stone is said to bring bad luck to whoever wears it. This superstition stemmed from the best selling novel ‘Anne of Geierstein’ by Sir Walter Scott in 1829 where Lady Hermione was falsely accused of being a demon as she dies shortly after a drop of holy water accidentally falls on her opal jewelry and changes its color. This book had such an effect on the image of the Opal that shortly after its publication, the Opal market crashed and Opal prices dropped by 50%.

#6 Ringing of the bells Have you ever wondered why bells are always associated with weddings and special occasions? As it turns out, bells are sounded during special occasions due to the widely held belief that bells frighten evil spirits away. This belief originated during Queen Elizabeth’s reign for two reasons; to ask for prayers for the departed soul and to drive away the evil spirits who stood at the foot of the bed.

#7 Bird poop equals riches Don’t worry, you read the title right. In Russia, there is a belief that if a bird defecates on you, your car or your property it’s a sign good luck and may bring you riches. The more birds involved, the richer you’ll be! So next time a bird poops on you, just count it all joy.

#8 Old, new, borrowed, blue This popular wedding tradition is said to have originated during the Victorian era and involves giving the bride various gifts. One is something old and represents continuity; another is new and represents hope and the future; the third is borrowed and symbolizes borrowed happiness while the last is blue and is supposed to bring purity, love, and fidelity.

#9 Black cats, bad luck Most people have heard the saying that if a black cat crosses your path its bad luck (if you haven’t well now you have). This interesting superstition finds it’s origin in the middles ages due to the misconstrued belief that single women (usually elderly) who associated themselves with many cats where actually witches who could become cats themselves. Thus a black cat crossing your path could actually be a witch.

#10 Unlucky smoking triad From the Crimean War through World War I, it was considered bad luck among soldiers to light three cigarettes with one match. It was theorized that by the time the third cigarette was lit, a sniper would have had the time to have the soldier in his sight, ready to make the kill. However, some believe that the superstition may have been invented by match tycoon Ivar Krueger to drum up more business.

#11 Counting crows No, im not referring to the 90′s band. It’s believed that the amount of crows in a murder has the ability to predict your fortune as exemplified by the popular phrase: “One’s bad / Two’s luck / Three’s health / Four’s wealth / Five’s sickness / Six is death.” More than six however seems to be up to the person whose counting.

#12 Jinxed birds The Wryneck or Jinxtorquilla are a breed of birds that can twist their heads very liberally. A superstitious belief among the locals is that if this bird twists its head towards you, death is on the horizon.

#13 Soul capturing mirrors Most people use mirrors everyday which means, according to this superstition, most people are soulless. There is a superstition that states that looking into a mirror steals your soul. This superstition definition helps explain why the evil queen uses a mirror to harm Snow White, why Narcissus was ensnared by his own reflection, and why soulless vampires have no reflection. Think twice before you look into the bathroom mirror…you have been warned.

#14 Fingers crossed for good luck To cross one’s fingers is a hand gesture commonly used for good luck. Which makes sense since it was used during ancient Christian persecution by believers to identify other believers as a sign of peace. Today however, this has evolved to excuse the telling of white lies which may have its roots in the belief that the power of the Christian cross may save a person from being sent to hell for telling a lie.

#15 Photographic soul cage When photography was first invented in the early 19th century, people all over the world held the unfounded belief that taking someone’s picture was akin to taking his soul. Thus if an enemy was able to obtain a photograph of you, he not only held your soul but also held a spiritual power over you. Thank goodness this is just a superstition, I can only imagine how many people would have power over me…(IE. Facebook).

#16 Unlucky number 13 Not to be confused with Friday the 13th (which is a superstition of the actual day) but similar in nature, this superstition simply states that the number 13 is associated with bad luck. That’s why many architects refused (some still do) to design stairs that ended with 13 steps or buildings that ended with a 13th floor. The fear of the number 13 is so real to many people, that an actual phobia has been created to describe it; its called Triskaidekaphobia. (try to say that 13 times fast).

#17 When you wish upon a star The superstition involving wishing on the first star you see in the evening is somewhat uncertain, however Europeans believed that the gods would occasionally peer down, and when they moved the sky, a star would escape and fall down. The Greeks also believed that the stars where falling human souls, and it was lucky to make a wish on them.

#18 Opening an umbrella indoors According to superstition, if you open an umbrella indoors you are literally asking for bad luck to “rain on you”. One explanation comes from the days when umbrellas were used as protection from the sun; opening one inside was an insult to the sun god who would then curse you with bad luck. Another theory states that an umbrella protects you against the storms of life, so opening one inside your house insults the guardian spirits of your home (whom also protects you from the storms of life), causing them to leave you unprotected.

#19 New broom, new house, bad luck There are many superstitions associated with brooms (heck, that could be a list all in itself) but there is one very curious and particular superstition that we want to caution you on. As the lore goes, you cannot sweep dirt out of a new house (or apartment) with a new broom unless you sweep something in first. If you don’t sweep something in first, then you will be sweeping out your good luck. Do not sweep out your good luck!

#20 Lucky rabbit’s foot To have this token is an unfortunate thing for the rabbit but a magnet of fortune for the wearer. According to superstition (which can be traced as far back as the seventh century BC) the rabbit’s supernatural luck could be exploited by taking the left hind foot of a rabbit that was shot (or captured) in a creepy cemetery on a full moon.(I still fail to see how this is lucky for the rabbit).

#21 Knock on wood Knocking on wood, or simply saying “knock on wood” after making a hopeful statement, finds it’s roots in the idea that you’re tempting fate by acknowledging your good fortune. It’s believed that the expression comes from an ancient belief that good spirits lived in trees, so by knocking on something wooden, a person was calling on the spirits for protection. Another reason why we should all be tree hugers.

#22 Breaking a mirror We’ve already mentioned how mirrors are believed to be soul sucking mystical items (which is bad enough) but what happens when you break these devices of misfortune? Why, seven years of bad luck of course! Some superstitious sources state that the trapped souls adversely influence your luck. And here you thought you were doing them a favor! Nope, make sure those suckers stay inside that mirror.

#23 “God bless you” For many; saying “God Bless You” after someone sneezes is a gesture of politeness. However, the origin of this interesting superstition finds its roots in Pope Gregory the Great who would say it to people who sneezed during the bubonic plague; and from the erroneous belief that the soul escapes the body during a sneeze and the heart momentarily stops. Therefore, saying “God bless you” was a way of welcoming the person back to life.

#24 Four-leaf clover Though the origin of the superstition: wishing over a four-leaf clover is lost to antiquity it has long been a symbol of good luck and fortune. It has also been used in some traditions for finding a husband or a wife. The way this works (for you single people) is by first finding a four leaf clover (good luck with that one), if you happen to find one, you must then eat it (or put it inside your shoe…but eating is more fun). After this, the luck powers will activate and the first person you come contact after the activation will be your future mate…(Word of warning, stay clear of anyone you don’t want as a future mate).

#25 Itchy palms There seems to be a lot of variations on this superstition, but the idea of having an itchy palm generally refers to someone who is greedy or has an insatiable desire for money. Some people believe that if the right palm itches, you will lose money, while an itchy left palm means that money is coming your way. If both palm itches…you may want to go to a doctor for that.

Source: List25