#I might just be numb? but nothing is really emotionally hitting either

[the-bi-space-ace]

I’m not main tagging this bc I don’t want to yuck anyone’s yum but I’m really confused by the pacing of S3 and I’m just kind of… lost? Like everything is both a lot and also not at all? I already knew things were happening bc of the trailer so it’s not really surprising? And I’m also confused about how in 4 episodes it’ll all wrap up in a satisfying way?

I’m just sitting here like this:

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Hi! I really like your Diluc post and was wondering if you could do headcannons for Zhongli, Diluc, Xiao, and Childe with fem! s/o that becomes unresponsive/broken? Would they abandon her or take care of her regardless? Thank you and have a nice day/night!

Hi there! Sorry that these might not be…the best. But I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: suggestive themes, forced marriage, emotionally broken/responsive, yandere, unhealthy behavior and thought process, possessive behavior, mentioned past blackmail, self-loathing

Disclaimer: I do not condone any of the actions that take place in this piece of action. Not only that, but relationships such as these should not be considered romantic. They are extremely dangerous and extremely toxic.

Word count: 2081k

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 Zhongli:

��         Zhongli would feel immense guilt, if he were to ever break you. Even if it was in the name of love – which it was – and watch with guilt ridden eyes your every movement. Which is really nothing, really. You barely even blink, and he always think you died, whenever that happens. He’s not sure when this happened, exactly, he just knows that one day, you stopped trying to escape. You stopped yelling. You stopped everything. You became like a doll, in a sense – a living, breathing doll. But you are his living, breathing his doll, even with how dead you are mentally. He knows he is the reason you are like this, he knows that his love for you was something that was dangerous – something that was hurtful. But he found out far too soon.

 ·         Zhongli would never abandon you, he loves you far too much for that. Even when broken, you are still the love of his life, and as shameful as it is, he is happy about one thing; you no longer complain about wanting to see other people. You no longer wish to see other people. And you never move away from him whenever he gets close now. You don’t resist when he holds you in his arms late at night, the moonlight creeping into the room by cracks in the curtain. You never try to hit him either, body weak and numb from sleeping far too much. He just watches during these times, moving your hair away from your face.

 ·         It’s the only time you look peaceful.

 ·         He bathes you now, washing your hair and a blush visible on his cheeks when he moves to your body. But he would never do anything without your permission when it involves anything sexual. That’s something that stopped the moment he locked you in your shared room. He was okay with that, and he was okay with holding a private wedding with only a few present. Back then, you still had fire in you. You still fought back, and he can’t remember why you didn’t that day – maybe it was the drug he slipped into your drink?

 ·         He feels guilty for that too.

 ·         It was around three months into this forced marriage that you became an empty husk of your former self. And he got used to it, he got used to your vacant stare, your long naps, your lack of response. You never really answer him anymore, and if he is lucky, he’ll get a nod or a shake of the head when he asks a question. But that’s about it – you are no longer the woman he met and fell in love with. You became a living zombie, in a sense – but even Qiqi is more lively then you are. And she was quite literally dead. How ironic – the dead had more life in them then you did.

 ·         No one verbally questions how you look whenever he brings you out of that apartment now. he thought some sun would do the trick, holding your hand as you mindlessly follow him. Your gaze would always be on the ground, and he can’t tell if you can even think anymore. You don’t talk to others, the few he allows to even approach you. They hate him but try for your sake – but nothing ever works. His words of love and acts of affection seem to be wasted on you, doing nothing. No reaction whatsoever, and he’s desperate. He wants any reaction, even your negative ones, if it means bringing the you he knows back. But he knows that it’s wishful thinking, at this point.

 ·         No matter what though, Zhongli would never, ever abandon you. can’t even think about it – the thought never pops up in his head.

 ·         “I made you like this…but you are still the woman I love.”

 Diluc:

·         Dliuc is…more depressed and affected by this, more then Zhongli and Childe is.

 ·         Constantly blaming himself, constantly lying to himself, constantly trying to get a reaction out from you. He lies to himself, on most days, saying that it was not his fault. On others, he accepts the burden of your lack of emotions that was caused by him. He accepts that fact, and he tries his damn hardest to make it up to you.

 ·         Gifts, hugs, kisses, your favorite foods – he thinks this would help. At least, at first he did. But as time went on, he realized that with a heavy heart, you would never come back. What was once a vibrant, young woman was now a mere shell. And he can’t do anything about that. He feels guilt – yet at the same time, he knows that at least physically, you are safe. You don’t have the energy, much less the mindset, to try and escape anymore. You don’t complain anymore, you don’t yell, and you don’t try to bite at his hand whenever he reaches out for you, anymore.

 ·         But he would gladly take that bite, if it meant you would come back. The old you. the you he fell in love with. But he still loves you, and he will always love you, gloved hands brushing your hair. He dresses you up to his hearts desires, the guilt running through him like a train once he realizes that you don’t enjoy it. You don’t feel anything about it. you don’t feel anything for him.

 ·         One would be, no, must a fool, if they think that Diluc would abandon you. That he would leave you. He could never – he loves you far too much for that. Broken or not, you are still his darling, his light – the light he put out without meaning to. You are dim these days, and he can’t help but to feel as if he was dimming himself. Everyone notices his change in behavior: the bags under his face, his already pale complexion turning even paler. His eyes are more dull too – as said by Kaeya, one day. But lying through his teeth, the redhead simply tells the knight that he’s been losing sleep. Well, it’s not a complete lie, he thinks silently to himself.

 ·         He would spend more time with you, actually. Humming your favorite tunes, cuddling with you, kissing you – it feels like he’s kissing a corpse. They are simple and quick pecks, but he no longer receives a look of disgust from you. Your eyes are empty as the night sky on a clear night; not even the stars shine. He’s at fault for this. He is the sole reason for your lack of response, for your broken self. But part of him, the part he despises, says that this a good thing. you will not gain feelings for another, and no one can steal you from you.

 ·         You are out of harms away. You are safe. You are with him, in his arms.

 ·         That’s enough for him. Until the cycle starts again, and he will start blaming himself once more. It’s always like this, and he can’t remember the day you became like this. He knows that the moment he stole you, the moment he kidnapped you, there was a chance of this happening. This is when he starts to question himself. And he hates it. he only did what was best – what he thought was best. But he was proved oh so very, very wrong. But he still took the chance, hoping that everything would work out.

 ·         Clearly, it didn’t.

 ·         But he still loves you, even with how you don’t react to his touches. He knows that you won’t come back mentally, his larger frame hovering above yours. Caging you in, he hugs you. he hugs you and takes in your scent. He knows that you won’t come back. But that does not stop the foolish hope that flares in his heart and the love that is only for you.

 ·         “I’m still only loyal to you, my love.”

 Childe:

·         He’s rather…bored, to put it simply. He prefers the fear and hatred that used to overcome the other emotions laced in your voice and clouded your eyes. He wants you to be submissive, not to be broken and unresponsive. It’s no fun, this way. Childe knew that there was slight chance of this happening, from his blackmail and promises to use your aunt’s debt as a crutch to get what he wants from you. Be that sex or false affection that was forced from you – he got it all. Your expressions were cute, and your hatred funny. After all, even with your hatred of him, he still had fun, with hurting you emotionally. Financially. Sometimes even physically, but only in certain ways, and only when the two of you were doing things that in the public eye, only married couples should do.

 ·         Childe is…more then infatuated with you. It could even be called love; ugly, twisted, hurtful love for you. So, he would most likely not abandon you. He still has feelings for you, which is a curse on your end, broken or not. You were still his, in both body and mind. His possession. His, his, his, his. He would not give up, most likely, especially after he broke down your walls. Although, he hadn’t meant to break your mind, at least not like this.

 ·         Maybe the other Fatui members played a part in this as well…

 ·         But no matter, he would only abandon you if someone else were to use you like he did. And if you enjoyed it. physically, he knows it’s a natural body reaction, but emotionally…? In the blink of an eye, he would throw you away like an old toy. But only for oh so long though, his feelings of you still buried underneath all that anger. However, this does not stop his boredom. He might pay less attention to you, seeing as he will not be able to get a reaction from you. It’s a shame, really; if he had left you, then maybe you would have had a chance to have the light return to your eyes.

 ·         He would be lying if he said he did not enjoy these ‘peaceful’ moments though. It’s nice to run his fingers through your hair without hearing a sassy remark. Kisses come easier too, but it’s annoying when you don’t kiss back. It’s annoying when he looks into your eyes and it’s a vacuum of emptiness. It’s annoying when you don’t make a peep as he bites you. Does physical pain no longer do anything? It’s boring, your actions, or lack of, are boring. He wants the old you back, if only to see your reactions to his actions.

 ·         Although, he is irked when he realized that you no longer care about your own aunt. Your own family. Childe is a family man, and he thinks family should come first. He believes that one should always care about and love their family. He’s disappointed, and angered, when you don’t. Not anymore. It was enduring, how you would do anything for her. Paying him off by pleasing him, playing along with his whims. And he found it fun, the moment that ring was sild onto your left ring finger, and the horrified expression that took over.

 ·         Although now, his bride-to-be is nothing more then a rag doll. But he keeps that rag doll, he keeps you, as a prize of sorts. You are something he cannot part with, and it pisses him off to no end. Childe does not like boring things, and he always looks for action of any sorts. A challenge. That is what drew him to you – you gave him a challenge. But it does not feel like a victory. The fire in you is gone now, and a part of him feels empty.

 ·         Childe would take care of you. He has taken care of his siblings before, and this is no different. He hums while washing your hair, he sighs as he enjoys the one-sided cuddle session. Caring for you was not the problem. But your lack of response was. After a while though, he sees past it, he ignores it. The lifeless stare you would give him, those stiff movements of yours, and your mute self. He ignores it; it’s the only thing he can do. No matter how boring you are though, he can’t seem to part with you.

 ·         “Ah, I should have thrown you away like a toy…but I can’t. Look what you did to me, princess.”

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 Thank you for reading

Tags:

[zevlors-tail]

Hi I feel really bad for sending in an emergency request but bakugou, deku, or kaminari comforting and helping a reader who is going through a major depressive episode with suicidal thoughts. I’m so sorry I feel really bad for asking

A/N: I could not have gotten this at a more convenient time. I just want to say thank you for requesting this, and please don’t be sorry for asking about this. If you want to talk my dms are open, but I hope this helps! This was extremely cathartic for me to write. I only did Bakugou for the moment, but I fully plan on coming back at some point to at least add Denki (and also Deku eventually). Bakugou as a secret comfort character for me? It’s more likely than you think.

TW: Suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, suicidal reader, depression. PLEASE DO NOT READ if these things trigger you. It’s extremely descriptive and emotional!

Bakugou Katsuki

“Hey...are you okay?” 

You barely snapped out of your foggy trance as you slowly blinked, your coworker’s face coming into focus eventually as you gathered your surroundings you had long since forgotten about. Your response was immediate, familiar words strung together with little effort after saying them over and over again. No longer did they drag you down and taste like lies in your mouth; now they were just the ghost of a feeling you struggled to remember, an empty shell with hollowed out meaning. 

“Oh, yeah...just tired,” you drawled. And you were.

There weren’t too many days anymore that you didn’t feel drained, didn’t feel like the weight of the world was sitting on your shoulders. You felt heavy- both mentally and physically, like there were weights tethered to your arms and legs. It made you feel utterly exhausted at the end of every day and stole your motivation to get up in the morning. Your bed never seemed more comfortable, and your sheets never seemed so warm. If you had the choice, you would allow yourself to lie there forever, to skip work in favor of sleeping through the whole day, because what good was there in being awake, anyway? Lately it just seemed like everything was a waste.

“Are you sure? You just seem...down.” Your coworker gave you a concerned look, and you thought it ironic that the day you felt you might snap was the day everyone chose to finally ask if you were alright. Maybe she could see it on your face, or maybe you finally looked how you felt inside. Whatever the case, you didn’t care. In fact, you hardly cared about anything; it was hard to care about your life when you felt there was no value to it.

“I’m fine! Just really tired,” you repeated without hesitation.

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She seemed to take the explanation without any further question, shrugging and turning around to get back to what she had been doing before. “Just make sure management doesn’t catch you staring off like that; I think they’re in a bad mood today.”

Logically, you knew you were dealing with depression. Depression was not something new to you; this had happened before, and you had managed to dig yourself out of your own hole each time, but this time was...different. Logic didn’t stop the thoughts rampaging through your mind, didn’t quiet the voices that told you others would be better off without you. You felt like a burden to everyone, a walking problem that caused trouble everywhere you went. Just this morning at work you had dropped something accidentally, and it had spilled all over the floor and under the tables, the mess reaching into the cracks and crevices of the tiles where it would be harder to get to. You had done the best you could to clean it up, but in the end, the janitor had to step in and clean up the mess that you made. Maybe it was just an accident, and maybe you didn’t mean to spill your food, but you couldn’t see past the fact that you were always like this. Always spilling things, always causing problems for others, always inconveniencing everyone you came into contact with. Maybe...it would be better if you had stayed in bed all day instead of coming to work.

Maybe it would be better if you had never woke up in the first place.

...No!

You shook the thought from your head, doing your best to ignore it and focus on something else. Come on, you told yourself, focus on your job. But your mind remained hazy as you continued on with work, and it only served to cause more problems for you. By the end of the day, you had accidentally dropped a couple more items, slipped on some water and fell face first to the ground, and towards the end of your shift, just as you were clocking out, you bumped into an unruly customer who was clearly having none of it today. Hands reached out to shove you away and you stumbled, tripping over your own feet as you tried to get a grip and regain your balance.

“Watch where you’re going, god! Are you blind or something!? Jesus!”

For any other person, it might have just made them upset or angry, but it would have been passed off as a bad day, a bad moment in the grand scheme of things that would go away with time. But for you? For you it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Whatever motivation and will to live you had left, it was gone within the instant, replaced with a numb, empty feeling. What was the point in all of this? If this was life, if you were constantly going to cause problems and get in people’s way, what was your purpose here?

If nothing was enjoyable anymore...you just wanted it to end. It was too late for you anyways; you felt too far gone to be saved. And honestly...what was even left to save? You felt like a shell of your former self.

And that was how you left the store, feet dragging against the ground as you numbly walked to your car to go home. It took you a while to collect yourself, so you sat there for a few minutes in the parking lot, keys stuck in the ignition and hands resting loosely on the steering wheel. Finally, you worked up the will to actually start the car, and then you were on your way home. Home...where you would probably just lie through your teeth again and go lay in bed for the rest of the night.

Bakugou was in the kitchen making dinner when you padded through the foyer and announced your arrival, the smell of spices overwhelming rather than inviting or enticing. But then again, you didn’t have much of an appetite lately, and you found the thought of sleep to be more appealing than the thought of food anyways.

“I’m home.” Your voice was quieter than usual, your tone flat and monotonous. Bakugou didn’t respond for a minute, and you wondered if he had even heard you over the sound of something sizzling in a pan.

“Y/N, that you?” A head poked out from around the corner, red eyes meeting E/C. “How was work?”

“It was work.” You blinked and kicked your shoes off haphazardly, your body already caving in on itself as you made your way to the bedroom. If Bakugou noticed the change from your usual demeanor, he said nothing about it, only going back to what he was doing in the kitchen when you retreated to your sanctuary for the night.

Finally alone with your thoughts, you crawled under the soft sheets with your work clothes still on and curled up, eyes already shutting even before your head hit the pillow. At some point you must have managed to fall asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being shaken awake by Katsuki, a sweet and savory smell drifting through the air. Your stomach rumbled, and though it felt empty, you still didn’t feel like eating emotionally. The only thing you seemed to feel now was a heaviness settling on your soul.

“Y/N, come eat.” Either you were imagining things or Bakugou’s normally gruff voice was more gentle and relaxed as he woke you from your slumber.

You protested with a whine, your face scrunching up in annoyance from being woken up. “Tired...” you mumbled.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But you haven’t had anything since you came home from work, babe.”

“That was only an hour ago...” you started, your voice still thick from sleep. But as you looked towards your alarm clock on the nightstand next to the bed, you were surprised to find that the little digital numbers read 11:58 pm. You’d slept for a little over five hours since you had arrived home. “Shit-!”

That seemed to do the trick, and you were scrambling up and out of bed in no time, panic and confusion washing over you from your prolonged nap. Had you really slept so long? You hadn’t meant to, but it did feel nice to have a small break from everything you felt when you were awake. And again, you caught yourself wondering if maybe the world would be better off if you never woke up. Eventually the haziness of your dream state faded, leaving you with the same reality you had been facing earlier in the day. You wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and curl up in your state of melancholy, but you were up now, and Katsuki would worry if you didn’t eat anything.

The two of you made your way to the dinning room table where a plate of reheated leftovers sat along with some silver cutlery, a cute little holiday napkin leftover from Halloween resting next to it. You stared at the pumpkin covered paper for a while before picking up your fork and stabbing at whatever dish Bakugou had decided on for dinner. Lately he seemed to be on a vegetable kick, though a healthy dose of fruits and meats were also thrown into the mix for balance. You mindlessly chewed, not really paying attention to the flavor if there was any at all. In fact, it felt like you were chewing cardboard. You didn’t enjoy the taste or feel; you only ate purely out of habit and need to.

“Do you not like it?” Bakugou pulled you from your reverie of thoughts, your head snapping up in his direction when he spoke.

“Huh?”

“The food. You’ve barely touched it in the last ten minutes.”

Ten minutes? Since when had that much time passed? Looking down at your plate, you realized he was correct. Over half of your food remained untouched, bits and pieces of it spread around from your fork and pushed to the side as if it was your least favorite meal. You hadn’t even noticed you were playing with it, and you wondered how long you had been just sitting there scooting food around with a blank look on your face.

“No, it was good.” Liar. You’d hardly been able to taste it. But it wasn’t just food that had lost it’s merit to you, if you really thought about it. The world just didn’t seem as lively; colors seemed washed out and faded, food held no taste, and music just didn’t sound the same. Nothing was enjoyable for you anymore.

“Y/N. You know you can tell me if there’s something going on, right?” Bakugou’s eyes bored into you while you just stared at the brightly colored napkin.

“Yeah, I know!” you chirped back, eyes briefly flickering up to meet his gaze before returning to orange pumpkins.

“Is there anything you want to talk about?” It sounded like a question, but really it was an invite. He knew there was something going on with you. Asking you was his way of giving you room to explain yourself before he decided to pry. Usually he was mindful of any boundaries you might have had, but Katsuki was never a fool, and you tended not to open up easily. Sometimes a little pushing and prodding on his part was necessary.

“Not really? Just work, but it was the usual. I’m just tired.” Even as you tried to pass your unusual behaviors off as a bad day at work and exhaustion, you couldn’t hide the sour note that slipped into your voice along with the visible scowl you made. But the emotions were short lived, and you were back to feeling defeated and down within mere seconds.

“Hey...” You felt compelled to look up at him when he softened his voice even more, but everything in you told you to hold back and keep staring at those damn balls of orange on the napkin. Why, you weren’t sure- maybe it was to keep from crying, or maybe it was to suppress the feelings that were slowly surfacing within you, or maybe it was just because you no longer cared. “Are you alright?”

You visibly winced when he asked. Suddenly everything hurt; everything was a mess, it was all wrong, all of it, and you just wanted it to stop. The pain, the numbness, the thoughts- everything. It felt like you hadn’t been able to catch a break since the day you were born. Day in and day out you lived like that, and no one would ever ask if you were okay. No one took the time to check on you properly; no one seemed to notice when you felt like you were at your worst. Well...no one except Bakugou. He’d been your rock for a long time now, but lately everything had gotten much worse, and you had kept certain things from him so as not to burden him with your troubles. In your eyes, he had enough of his own problems; hero work was already rough on him as it was, so you kept things to yourself so he wouldn’t feel overwhelmed. 

“Why does everyone always ask that when it’s already too late?”

The words tumbled uncontrollably from your mouth as your brows furrowed, a pained look clouding your dull eyes. Bakugou took a moment to process what you said before responding, eyes still locked onto you.

“What does that mean?” He already knew. You could hear it through the apprehensiveness in his voice, see it in the way he gritted his teeth anxiously. “Y/N, what does that mean?”

You glared at the blurry orange shape below you (were you crying...?), refusing to look Katsuki in the eyes. You were afraid of what might happen if you did. “I’m just...a waste of space.” There was a strange conviction to your voice, as if you’d made up your mind about something. Bakugou did not miss this. You, however, did miss the flash of fear in his ruby eyes as you spoke. “I cause problems for everyone I meet. I’m just a giant inconvenience to the world, and everyone would be better off without me. I don’t matter.”

“Y/N.”

“Would anybody even care if I was gone? I mean really, what difference am I making here?”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“It would be better that way. People wouldn’t have to deal with me anymore, and I don’t have to deal with all of...this.” You made some sort of gesture with your hands, your voice cracking as you held back hot tears. “Life. It’s just...it’s so exhausting. I’m so, so tired of having to wake up every day and drag myself out of bed and live. Nothing is fun anymore, and it’s hard just to breathe. I mean, seriously!? Come on, ya know? I didn’t ask for this, I don’t want to live like thi-!” You choked up, silent sobs wracking your shoulders as you buried your faced in your hands. 

Across the table, Bakugou slid from his chair and made his way to you, feet thudding against the floor as he quickly closed the distance and kneeled down to your level. “I knew something was wrong, but...” He gently cupped your face in his hands, palms warm against your tear stained cheeks. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

You struggled to remember when this all started. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, and days to weeks that blurred into months eventually. Time blended together, and you couldn’t recall the last time you felt able to get up in the morning without feeling like it was a chore. “I don’t know...” you answered honestly.

Bakugou rubbed his thumbs against your face carefully, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he brought you into an embrace against his chest. You didn’t fight it, instead leaning into his touch while crying, and the two of you stayed there for quite some time before Katsuki spoke up about how he was feeling.

“You may think that you don’t make much of a difference here on this earth, but that’s just utter bullshit, Y/N. You make a hell of a big difference to me and everyone else around you, and you would be sorely missed and grieved over. Don’t you dare for one second think that you’re not important or loved, because you are; you are so, so loved.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you cried.

“I know, babe. It’s hard to see it right now, I know. Your mind is telling you the opposite. But believe me when I say you are the most loving and caring person I know. You’re always reaching out to others, maybe even a little too much, and you’re always checking on them. You’ve made a world of difference to everyone. Your friends need you, your family needs you, and I need you here. And I would be devastated if anything were to happen to you.” It was hard to believe anything he said. You wanted to, you wanted to so desperately. But you weren’t sure of anything anymore, and the most you could do was cling to him like a koala and hope that what he said was true. “Let me in. Let me be there for you. Trust me, please.” You’d never heard those words from Katsuki before. They sounded odd coming from his mouth, like they didn’t really belong on his tongue. But you listened because it was Bakugou, and you wanted to trust him. You wanted to be able to feel okay, and he’d always been there no matter how much you’d tried to push him away.

“Okay,” you murmured against his chest, your tired eyes drooping shut in exhaustion. Your shoulders followed suit as they slumped downwards, and you gave in and crumbled into his arms. 

“You’re not a waste of space. You’re extremely important to me, and I don’t tell you that enough. Every day when you leave for work, I miss you. I love when you come home and greet me, and I’m a better person because of you. Y/N, you’ve gotten me through shit I didn’t think I was going to make it out of. And you know what? We can do this. We can do it together, and it’s going to take a lot of work, but we will do it. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You couldn’t help but to smile at that. “And I know you feel like a burden, but you’re not. Your problems are never a bother. People are here for you, they want to help support you and listen to you. I want to support you. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Everything’s gonna be okay. I love you.” 

You couldn’t stop the fresh tears from falling, quiet hiccups taking over you as you cried into his shirt. “I love you too,” you managed somehow.

Bakugou rubbed a hand over your back, his chin coming to rest on your head as he sighed. “I’m not going to let you give up on yourself, no matter what.”

[escapetoluna]

How to write about Grief:

There is no right or wrong way to experience grief. Just as there is no right or wrong way to write it. Everyone is different, each set of circumstances are different. 

The point of this post is to show you how different people react in different ways, and give points on how you might write that, depending on your character and story.

Reactions to Grief

Numbness: Your character may go into auto-pilot and be unable to process the events that have unfolded.

Anger: This can be aimed at other people, at a Higher Being, or at nothing in particular.

Unsteady: Your characters may be unsteady. For example, unable to stop their voice from shaking or they may find it difficult to stand.

Focusing on Others: Your character may disregard their own feelings because they are so overwhelmed and instead concentrate on someone else’s well-being. 

Seek out routines: Amid upheavals, your character may seek comfort in tasks that are familiar and “safe,” such as working, cleaning, making their bed, making absurd amounts of tea or taking a morning walk.

Pretending that Everything Is Okay: Grief is viewed as an emotion that should cease or be concealed once the funeral is over. So people mention the news in an offhand comment, then talk and laugh as if all is right with the world.

Denial: Some people deny the reality of death and convince themselves that the news is a joke or can’t be true.

Reactions from people surrounding your character:

People may avoid your character as they do not know what to say or simply can’t find the right words.

Some may even go as far as to cross the street when they notice your character approaching.

Even people that the character has known for years may act strange or standoff-ish, simply because they don’t know what to say.

On the other side of that, some people may be overly helpful and friendly.

It is not uncommon for estranged friends, family or others to suddenly reappear in a person’s life after they have experienced grief. 

Either because those people want to offer their support and love  or because they’re being nosy and they want to be kept up to date on the “drama”.

Most people will move on from the event fairly quickly if they weren’t emotionally invested. 

Some people may even get annoyed at your character for still being upset weeks or months later.

When talking about the person they have lost:

Your character may recall a memory or tell a story about their loved one, these are possible reactions. (I have encountered all of them.)

Your character may being to cry or get upset at the thought of the person they have lost. 

The person they are talking to may become awkward and avert eye contact when your character brings up the person they have lost. 

Others may ask or tell your character to stop talking about the person they have lost. They may roll their eyes, cough awkwardly, or cut off your character mid sentences so that they can change the subject.

Some people may ask inappropriate questions about the circumstances in which the character’s loved one passed away. Depending on the personality of your character then may react differently. 

Other things to note:

Grief is not constrained by time. 

One of the main problems with grief in fiction is that a character is typically heartbroken for a couple scenes and then happy again. But grief does not evaporate because the world needs saving. 

Allow your character to wrestle with their grief. 

Your character may feel guilty. Your character may feel a twinge of guilt when they laugh or have a good time with someone else; when they do something to remind them that they’re alive, and their loved one isn’t. 

Grief is a game changer. A previously outgoing character may withdraw and isolate themselves. Some people may take grief and/or bereavement as a sign that life is too short; they may make big decisions in an attempt to make themselves feel better and grow away from their pain.

Sometimes grief can help you find your purpose.

At first grief can be all consuming. It hurts and you can’t really control it. It may seem unrelenting. Eventually the grief will become easier to deal with, your character may find the days to be better, but that doesn’t mean that when the grief hits it doesn’t hurt any less.

For most people, grief never really goes away. “Sometimes you have to accept the fact that certain things will never go back to how they used to be.”

It is rare that a person will ever give a long speech about their feelings, a lot of people struggle to even find the words. But that’s okay. Show the reader how your character feels, rather than just telling them.

Don’t pause the plot to deal with the aspect of grief. This could overwhelm the readers and drag the pace down. In reality, life doesn’t just stop due to grief, the world keeps spinning and things still need to be done. Use the character’s grief as a backdrop for the story’s events.  

Yes, grief affects the character’s day-to-day life, goals, and relationships. But it shouldn’t drive readers away or stagnate the story. Instead, should engage readers and produce empathy that keeps them turning pages.

You don’t need to tell your readers that everything will be fine. You don’t need to provide all of the answers.

“Skirting grief and treating it lightly is easy. But by realistically portraying it through a variety of responses and its lasting effects on the character’s life, readers will form a connection with your characters.“

[buckleyblueyes]

Buddie + 47 "This is home?" 😊

Thank you for your patience, nonnie! I know this took me some time to write and post. Loved this prompt, though! This fic features an appearance by Taylor Kelly, and maybe isn't the most friendly towards her? idk, I wasn’t actively trying to write her to be a bad person or anything, but just in case I thought I'd throw a warning for people who like her/like her and Buck.

Buck yawns and leans back into the cushions of the Diaz couch. He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally. They were called to a grizzly pileup on the freeway just before their shift was supposed to end, multiple on scene fatalities, and more that they lost later, in the ambulance. He had a date with Taylor scheduled for after his shift, but he knew before the engine even pulled back into the station that he was going to have to cancel. Not just for himself and his need for rest and recovery, but for Taylor’s sake. He wouldn’t have been a good date in his current state. He texted her from the locker room that his shift had run long and he was going to head home and rest. She texted him back with a “I understand, get some sleep” and that was that.

He followed Eddie home, because neither of them wanted to be alone, and he wanted to see Chris, even for a few minutes before the boy had to go to bed. They exchanged hugs and Buck and Eddie both pressed kisses to the top of Christopher’s head. Ever since Eddie was shot--since he told Buck about his will, since Buck spent the summer living on their couch and taking care of both of them--Buck took on a more parental role with Christopher. They don’t really talk about it, but it’s undeniably true, and Buck loves it. The three of them feel like a family, are a family.

Buck showered at the station, but Eddie hadn’t. Eddie likes to take his time in the shower, making it into a sort of ritual where he scrubs off more than just the grime of the day, but the stress and trauma of it as well. He’s going to be gone awhile. So, Buck settles into the couch and pulls out his phone.

I know it’s not the same, but wanna FaceTime before bed?

Seconds later his phone lights up with the call. He smiles when he answers it.

“Hey, babe!” Her smile is bright and bubbly as always.

“Hey, Taylor,” he says, forcing himself to keep his own smile up. “Sorry about our date.”

“No, no it’s fine…” Taylor trails off, blinking curiously through the screen. “I thought you said you were going home?”

Buck glances around the room behind him and frowns. “This is home?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know what your loft looks like.”

“Oh,” His smile returns. Of course, she’s only been to Eddie’s a few times, she doesn’t recognize it from the bit of it she could see through FaceTime. “I’m at Eddie’s.”

Taylor’s confusion morphs into exasperation. “I should’ve realized.”

“You’ve only been here a few times, it’s--”

“No, I mean I should’ve realized you were blowing me off for him,” she snaps.

It feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m always playing second to Eddie, and I’m getting sick of it,” Taylor’s tone is huffy and irritated and Buck hates it. “It was one thing when he was still recovering. But he’s fine now, so why are you still spending so much time with him?”

“He’s my best friend, Taylor,” Buck narrows his eyes. “Of course I spend time with him.”

She scowls. “How can you be too tired for me, but be sitting on his couch?”

Buck runs a hand through his ungelled curls. “Look, our shift ran long and it was really rough. My therapist says I shouldn’t be alone during times like this, and I happen agree with her--”

“So why not be with me?” Taylor asks, tone shifting from anger to sadness.

“Because Eddie knows exactly where I’m at emotionally,” Buck sighs. “He was there, he saw what I saw. There’s nothing to explain. And he shouldn’t be alone tonight, either. It just makes sense.”

She frowns. “So, that’s it? I’m not a first responder, so I’ll never be able to understand like Eddie?”

His stomach twists. This conversation is starting to sound familiar. “It’s not--”

“How can I understand if you don’t open up to me?”

Buck doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s right, of course. He isn’t open with her. She doesn’t know about his childhood, or about Daniel. She doesn’t know about the nightmares that haunt him, doesn’t know about the waves and ladder trucks, gunshots and explosions. She doesn’t know any of it, and he has no desire to share it with her. Maybe it’s the way she looks at her phone half the time they’re talking, or the fact that they haven’t really talked about her willingness to put Bobby’s trauma on the news, but he still doesn’t trust her, not really.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “I’ve been shutting you out.” She looks hopeful, which makes Buck feel like a huge jerk because this isn’t about to go in the direction she seems to think it will. “I have to be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever feel like opening up to you. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” She looks so sad, and the part of Buck that’s terrified of disappointing people is two seconds from taking it all back, when she speaks again. “So, where does that leave us, then?”

“I don’t know,” Buck answers honestly. He doesn’t want to be single and lonely again, but he can’t deny any longer that Taylor isn’t right for him.

“I think you do.” She gives him a weak smile.

Buck blinks. Cocks his head to the side in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“Buck, be honest with me, are you in love with Eddie?”

Whatever Buck is expecting her to say, it isn’t that. All at once it feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out. He knows that he feels more for Eddie than could be strictly described as platonic, but he’s been avoiding those feelings for as long as he’s known Eddie. First because he thought he had Abby, then because Eddie was married, then because Eddie was grieving his wife, and then because they weren’t speaking to each other, and then because the pandemic hit and they had other things to focus on, and then because Eddie was dating Ana...It was never the right time, and he was always too afraid of losing Eddie, when he inevitably had to turn Buck down.

But Eddie changed his will, and Eddie broke up with Ana because “she’s not what I want” and Eddie let Buck stay here, for months, taking care of him and Christopher, and Buck knows in his core that he and Eddie are tied together, no matter what.

“Buck?”

He realizes she’s still waiting for an answer. “Yeah, yeah I think I am.”

She nods stiffly. “Right, well then. I guess we’re done here.”

“I guess we are.” Buck shifts uncomfortably. “Can we still be friends?”

“I don’t think so,” Taylor shakes her head.

Buck opens his mouth to respond, to say goodbye, but he’s cut off by a voice coming from the hallway. “You’re in love with me?” Buck looks up to see Eddie standing there in his sweats, hair still damp and dripping from the shower, brown eyes wide with shock.

Oh, fuck. “Taylor, I have to go.”

“I know,” she rolls her eyes. “Goodbye, Buck.”

“Bye, Taylor,” Buck swallows, setting his phone down on the coffee table. “How--How long have you been standing there? I didn’t hear the shower turn off.”

“Long enough,” Eddie steps forward. “You’re in love with me?”

“I--” There’s no point in denying. “Yeah. Is that...okay?”

It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s all Buck can think to say.

To say Eddie looks dumbfounded would be an understatement. “Is it--What kind of question is that?”

Buck shrugs “Well, y’know. I thought it might make things awkward.”

Eddie shakes his head and shuffles the rest of the way into the living room, so he’s standing right above Buck. “Awkward? Why--What--Like, at work? We’re adults, we can keep things professional.”

“Keep...it...professional…” Buck’s brain processes the words slowly, but when he finally does, his heart sinks. “You don’t want to be friends with me anymore?”

“Um.” Eddie cocks his head to the side, in almost the same movement Buck made just minutes earlier. “Obviously not.”

Buck feels numb. This is it. The end of everything. Just when he thinks he’s found someone who will stay. “W-What about Christopher?”

Again Eddie looks baffled. “What about Christopher? I think he’ll be happy we’re together.”

Time stops. Together? “Uh-Wh-Huh? Together? Like...together-together? Like dating? Each other?”

“Oh.” The confusion melts off Eddie’s face. “Buck. I’m in love with you, too.”

Buck blinks up at him. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Eddie smiles warmly. “I thought I made that clear when I broke up with Ana and kept asking you to stay, but I guess I should’ve known that I needed to be more explicit with you.”

Buck laughs. “Oh, you think? I’m only in therapy for my abandonment issues, it’s not like I have problems trusting that people want me around or something.”

Eddie leans down and takes Buck’s hands in his. “Evan Buckley, I am deeply in love with you, and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Buck grins, tightens his grip on Eddie’s hands, and pulls the other man down onto the couch, right into his lap. “How does forever sound?”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Later, after they makeout on the couch like teenagers, after Eddie guides Buck down the hall to his bedroom, after they curl up in each other’s arms, it finally occurs to Eddie to ask. “How exactly did your FaceTime with Taylor end up with her asking if you were in love with me?”

Buck doesn’t open his eyes when he answers. “She asked why I wasn’t at home like I told her I’d be.”

“This is your home.”

Buck smiles and snuggles closer. “I know.”

[dhwty-writes]

yay for last exam of the term! here is a little prompt, if you like: 'I think you need a hug' for geraskier :)

Thank you my dear, for this lovely prompt! I intended something much fluffier here, but this, uhhhhh, got a little out of hand. (Insert surprised reaction here) I know, I know, who would have thought that a story I’m writing--to one of your amazing prompts, of all things!--could get out of hand?! Crazy, right?

Anyways, this is a little sad (maybe even a big sad), I hope you like it regardless!

Warnings: It’s not explicitly stated, but Jaskier is depressed in this one. Approach with caution, if that’s something you’re sensitive about

Read on AO3

"Jaskier?" a worried voice asked behind him, accompanied by the familiar pattern of footfalls he had grown so accustomed to over the past years.

Jaskier's heartrate sped up immediately. 'Shit,' he cursed silently, furiously wiping at the tears streaking across his cheeks while he desperately tried to regain some kind of composure. "Over here!" he replied, trying—and failing—to steady his voice.

"What are you doing over here?" Geralt asked curiously, approaching rapidly. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he said much more confidently than he felt. "Sure." He snuffled to keep the snot from dripping from his nose. He was an ugly crier and well aware of it, but that was nothing Geralt needed to know.

The witcher stopped only a few paces behind him. Jaskier could practically feel the glare boring into his back as he was assessing the situation. "No," he proclaimed after a few moments of deliberation, his observation astute as ever. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am," he protested stubbornly. Stupid him for stupidly crying and stupidly making Geralt worry about him. The witcher had bigger concerns, as he loved to tell him, than the trivial troubles of a troubadour.

"Liar," Geralt accused him.

Well. He wasn't wrong. "Hm," he replied.

"Jaskier," the witcher tried again. Was that alarm he detected in his voice? Surely not. "Can you turn around to me? Please?"

"Please?" he mouthed silently. He wasn't sure if Geralt had ever told him please before. It was a shocking turn of events, so shocking in fact, that he was taken off guard for a moment. When he found his bearings again, his voice was scarcely more than a whisper: "I'd rather not."

"Alright," he huffed. "Alright." A beat of silence followed. "Jaskier," Geralt said again, his voice closer than before.

"Yeah."

"Can I help you?"

He shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Can I try?"

He shrugged again.

Geralt took a deep breath. This time Jaskier could hear when he stepped closer. "Do you want me to leave?"

'Yes,' was his first instinctual answer. No-one should see him like this, floating in numbness; especially not Geralt. To shrug, was his second. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Stay, go, help, none of that mattered. But there was something inside him, nagging him; something that made him whisper the truth despite everything: "No. I don't think so."

"Thank you." It was a silly thing to respond. A stupid thing, really. But Geralt said it so— so earnestly, somehow, that it wasn't silly, wasn't stupid. It did manage to make him cry again, though, his shoulders shaking nigh unnoticeably, silent sobs rattling through his body, choking him.

"Want to know what I think?" Geralt said calmly, softly. He knew that tone. It was the same as if he was speaking to Roach when she was frightened.

'I'm not stupid horse,' he wanted to say, 'I'm a stupid human who's holding you up because of nothing at all.' But something kept the words from escaping his mouth. Something forced him to wait for whatever Geralt would say next.

What he said next, though, was an impossibility nothing on earth could have prepared him for. "I think you need a hug," Geralt of Rivia said.

It was such a surprise, in fact, that he couldn't help but snort out a laugh.

"What?" Geralt asked, evidently amused by his reaction.

For Jaskier, this wasn't amusing at all. It was downright cruel, teasing him like that; proposing something he would never follow through with. "You, Geralt of Rivia," he explained hoarsely, "do not do hugs. You are the most unhuggable person on earth, the forbidden, the impermissible, if you will."

"Hmm."

'Finally,' Jaskier thought, 'a Geralt-answer.' This conversation almost began feeling normal.

Almost, for then he said: "Can I touch you?"

"Why?" he asked warily.

"To prove you wrong."

He shrugged. If Geralt wanted to humour him, who was he to tell him no?

The first touch was a shock. Five fingertips brushing over his shoulder, sending lightning bolts from the crown of his hair down to his toes.

The second touch was a conundrum. A solid hand on the juncture of his neck and his shoulders, making him wonder what on earth the witcher was playing at.

The third touch was a pillar. A muscled arm snaking around his waist when his own knees turned to mush and threatened to collapse.

The fourth touch was an anchor. A jaw hooking over his shoulder, gently coming to a rest, his body tensing up while all he could hear were gentle, even breaths.

The final touch was a relief. A familiar body moulding itself to his back as if it belonged there; as if it had always been there.

It was so familiar, so normal, so necessary that Jaskier couldn't keep it together anymore. Beneath silly caresses and stupid "There, there, there"s he felt himself crumble to dust. His carefully erected walls ruined with nothing but a gentle touch, the tears flowed freely down his face, his knees gave out under him, he was only held upright by Geralt's arms.

Gently, the witcher lowered them to the ground; kneeling at first, then lying down. "It's alright," he kept repeating. "It's alright, I'm here, I've got you." As if that would make it true. Silly. Stupid.

"It's not," he protested helplessly, because it wasn't. "It's not, I can't, I can't, Geralt."

"I know," he said as if he wasn't talking nonsense. "I know, I've got you. You're not alone."

"It hurts," he wailed.

"Show me where." Slowly, carefully still, as if any touch too bold could make him flee, he snaked his hand under Jaskier's, intertwining their fingers. "I'm here with you."

"There," he sobbed weakly, stupidly, as he pressed his hand over the left side of his chest. "It hurts. Make it stop. Make it go numb again."

"Oh, Jaskier," Geralt murmured, "you don't mean that. Truly, you don't want that."

He shrugged.

Geralt held on tighter. "It's alright," he said again. "I'm here. I've got you."

 ~*~

 Jaskier wasn't quite sure when he regained his senses. All he knew that it was dark now and that it hadn't been when he had fled the camp. And that Geralt was still curled around him, holding on tight.

"Geralt?" he whispered, unsure if the witcher was sleeping or not. He wouldn't want to wake him, if he was. In fact, he would want him to be asleep, so that he could vanish as quickly as possible, for a few weeks maybe, so that this embarrassing episode could be conscribed to oblivion.

But Destiny was a cruel mistress, who held no mercy for him that day. "Hmm," Geralt replied, slowly stirring behind him. "Back with me?"

"I think so."

"Good. How're you feeling? Good?"

"Yeah!" he answered, trying to mask his insecurity with his usual chipper attitude. "Yeah."

Geralt pressed his nose against his neck and inhaled deeply. It was... oddly comforting. "Liar," he concluded after a moment.

Jaskier sagged forward again. "No," he confessed quietly, "I'm not. And— I'm sorry, Geralt, I don't think I'll be feeling good for quite some time. It's— It's—" Truthfully, he didn't know what it was.

But as usual this evening, Geralt had the answer: "It's alright," he promised, squeezing him a little tighter. Somehow, he believed him. "Just don't go wandering off again. You—" He hesitated, then leaned closer as if confessing a secret. Maybe it was. "You scared me."

"I thought witchers couldn't be scared."

"No, we get scared plenty. I— Hmm."

He waited patiently. After a while he had learned to discern the subtle differences between all of Geralt's 'Hmm's. There were the usuals, 'Yes'-Hmms, 'No'-Hmms, and 'Fuck off'-Hmms, the 'Roach'-Hmm's and the 'Jaskier'-Hmm's, which mostly either were 'I'm silently laughing at you'-Hmm's or 'I appreciate what you're saying, but am too emotionally constipated to tell you so, so I'm rather pretending to be annoyed'-Hmm's. And then there were rarer Hmm's such as this one, which was indisputably an 'I want to tell you something that is important to me, but don't know with which words yet; I need some time'-Hmm.

So, he waited. Eventually, Geralt would speak again. He always did and today was no exception. "I'm not scared of monsters," he said finally, "or men. I can hit those with my sword. I can protect you from them, because you're too stupid to stay put when I tell you to. But this—" He pressed his hand over Jaskier's heart again. "—I don't know how to fight this. I don't know how to save you from this. I might lose you to this." His voice was trembling. Actually trembling, too quiet for anyone to hear, but Jaskier could feel the tremors from behind him. "So, yeah. This scares me."

His voice was shaking much more clearly when he replied: "I don't know either. But," he heaved a breath, "what you did was a good start, I think." After a moment of silence, he added: "I'm sorry."

Geralt growled and flicked his ear. Somehow, it was a comforting sound. "Stop it," he commanded.

"Stop what?"

"You keep apologising."

"I'm sorry."

"There!" He flicked his ear again. "You did it again."

"I'm so— Ouch! Don't you pinch me, Geralt of Rivia, I don't mean to keep doing it!"

"Just shut up, then."

"Alright." He breathed deeply in and out. "Alright."

Jaskier managed all of three breaths before his foot started wiggling. Three more and he couldn't take it anymore: "I—"

"Don't you dare," Geralt interrupted him.

"I wasn't about to say it!" he protested. "Truly, I wasn't! I just— I wanted to thank you. You didn't have to."

He snorted. "What kind of friend would I be if I left you to be miserable on your own? It's nothing, Jaskier." He buried his face in his neck again and held on tighter. "I mean it. I'm here. I've got you."

"Thank you," he said again.

"Bed?" Geralt prompted after a while.

"I— Hmm."

He poked him in the ribs. "That's my line."

Jaskier snorted a laugh and scrunched up his nose. "It's stupid."

"As stupid as when you got pissed, chased by a gaggle of geese, and I had to rescue you from the outhouse you had fled into?"

"Hmm." He deliberated the answer. "Alright, maybe not quite as stupid. But it's a close call."

"Then tell me."

He gnawed on his lower lip. The more he thought about it, the stupider it got. Luckily, he'd never had to think to say something stupid. "I don't want you to let go of me," he blurted before he could change his mind.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed and with his lips pressed against Jaskier's neck, he could feel the smile spreading on his face.

It was a new 'Hmm', though, one he didn't quite know what to do with it. Very close to the 'You're a fool, Jaskier' or the 'I'm thinking of Kaer Morhen'-Hmm, but with something else; something that had previously been reserved for the 'Roach'-Hmm's and 'Yennefer'-Hmm's only.

Before he could come to a conclusion as to what that particular 'Hmm' meant, Geralt spoke up again: "Think you can let me let you go long enough for us to get back to the camp?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I can."

"Alright," he mumbled and pressed his lips to the back of his neck; short enough that it could have been an accident, long enough that it could have been something else entirely. "I've got you," he promised again. "We'll figure this out. We'll make you good again, yeah? Together."

"Together," he echoed. Somehow, sillily, stupidly, Jaskier believed him.

[notalotgoingonatthisinstant]

Turning on the Right Street

Juke Sunday bliss, as I usually seem to bring, only this time a bit more angsty than usual.

Find it on AO3 or read on ahead!

Rating: T.

Word count: 2111.

Summary: Her phantoms were backed against a wall again, only this time they had a plan. They had a chance. Said plan would either erase them from existence or bring them back to the land of the living. It really could go either way in the next 24 hours. So, after a charged day with them, Julie retires to her room with Luke, to soak in each other's presence for what could be the last time. Only neither one of them is emotionally stable to keep up with their unspoken rule of not speaking out their feelings, and close is never close enough when she's about to potentially lose her soulmate.

The cliché saying about the stars in someone’s eyes had never hit as close to home as right now. Julie didn’t know how it was possible, because it was past eleven, all her bedroom’s lights were out, and the shades were draped over the windows. By all means, she shouldn’t be able to make out the stars in Luke’s eyes so easily, but there they were. Shining for her.

The silence between them was charged, even if their nerves had calmed down a little over the past hour that they had spent there. It had been a day full of uncomfortable flutters in her stomach, skipping beats of her heart, and many tears, even though she was trying to be strong for her boys. Her boys, who were backed up against a wall again, only this time they had enough information to come up with an insane plan.

Said plan would either erase them from existence or bring them back to the land of the living. It really could go either way in the next 24 hours.

Her body shuttered with another shaky breath, and Luke’s hand flexed on hers as he shushed her. “Please don’t cry.”

“I could tell you the same.” Because now Julie knew why she could see stars in his eyes in the dark, and it was due to his own unshed tears.

Luke squeezed her hands again in their place between their necks, his head on the pillow next to her, so close that she couldn’t quite get her eyes to focus on his features.

Another long moment of silence where they just took each other in. Her left arm was going numb from lying on it for an hour, but she still didn’t move or let go of his hands. Her knees brushed the top of his under the covers, sliding over of his thighs in her attempt to get closer.

He moved his right hand, still intertwined with hers, and touched his fingers to the small patch of her cheek not blocked by the pillow. When he spoke, his voice was a little more than a whisper, soft and open like it had been all evening. “Can I tell you something?”

Instantly, her eyes welled up again, her throat constricting. “It’ll make me cry.”

“Probably.”

“I thought we’d agreed…”

Long ago, they had silently agreed. They didn’t deny the connection and the attraction, but they were realistic. They had kept their relationship unlabeled and limited – songwriting sessions, cuddling, casual touches, kisses on cheeks, foreheads, hands, but never lips. Never anything that would start crossing the line they knew they wouldn’t have the strength to come back from.

Never hands on thighs for too long, not after Julie had felt the muscles there and the intimacy that came with keeping her hand there during band meeting. It had hurt more to pull away than to keep herself from doing it again.

Never hugging her from behind with a kiss to the neck, not after Luke hadn’t been able to stop kissing her neck and pressing his body to her until they were breathless. It had been harder to restrain themselves from chasing that feeling again once they had a taste of it.

Never using pet names, not after Luke’s C’mon, baby, just one more time, encouraging her to play their newest song again, and Julie’s Honey, that’s not– Here, teaching him piano. It had felt too intimate, too domestic, too right. It had felt like labeling it, and they couldn’t handle that.

Never purposeful sleepovers (accidental ones had happened). Never hands lingering on each other’s faces (more than once a week). Never writing too cheesy of a love song (explicitly).

Never actually putting their feelings into words.

“I know,” Luke said. “But all we’ve got is right now, and I don’t wanna leave things unsaid. Not again, and especially not with you.”

It felt like a stab to her heart, the reminder that he might be gone for good tomorrow. A stab with a thick, burning hot blade, with thorns on the sides that ripped her chest open fragment by fragment, inch by inch.

In spite of her pain, the side of Luke’s mouth twitched in a ghost of a smile. “Remember the first time you walked through me? In your kitchen?”

“When you gave me Bright.”

Her instant and sure answer seemed to build his confidence, although it dimmed again two seconds later. His left thumb ran over her hand anxiously. She felt like he might avert his eyes, but neither of them was willing to do that.

“It might be stupid,” Luke started, “and you can call me crazy – Shit, I’ve been calling myself crazy over this for months. But I felt something. When you walked through me. It was like…” He scrunched up his face in thought. “It’s not déjà vu, exactly. But it felt like… not like I knew you already, but like – like I knew that I needed to get to know you, because there was something there. It felt like… like I was close to coming home. Like I had turned on the right street and home was still out of sight, but two blocks away, and all I needed to do was… keep going.”

And maybe he was going to say more, but Julie felt his burning need to get his meaning across and his frustration at stumbling over words and analogies, when she already knew what he was talking about.

“Me too,” she whispered in the air between them. “Like turning on the right street.”

That only seemed to cement something in him, and he grew a bit more agitated. For the past hour that they had lain there, side by side in the dark, his usual electric energy had dimmed to soft strokes and unwavering gazes. Now, it was picking up again, although still contained to their peaceful bubble.

Luke continued, “I don’t know if it’s a thing, but the universe’s insane enough that I don’t doubt it. I can’t explain most of the shit that’s happened to me, especially when it comes to you. The impossible odds of meeting you. The connection. The…” he faltered for a moment, swallowing dry. Words floated around the tip of his tongue, never forming in any way that she could understand.

Then something in his eyes changed. His demeanor changed. Julie’s heart beat out of her chest at the intensity she found in his gaze, his hand squeezing hers as if to ground himself, and she knew something was coming. That was him dropping the pretense completely.

With a shaky exhale, which relaxed his suddenly tense muscles, and a surrendering, one-shoulder shrug, Luke said, “You’re my soulmate, Jules. There isn’t anyone else who’s a better match for me, and my soul doesn’t want anyone else.”

The stars in his eyes burned brighter, either from his confession or from more unshed tears, and Julie scooted forward until their foreheads were almost touching. With a slight turn of her head, she kissed his fingers that had been brushing her cheek all this time, noticing how much they trembled, and connected their gazes again. “I don’t think it’s crazy.”

Julie couldn’t fault him for the unshed tears or the trembling hands, because she was right there with him. Oversensitive emotions that were ready to burst at the slightest touch of his fingers or words from his lips. It felt like they were standing together on a tightrope over an inconceivable cliff, and only she was wearing the security gear.

That mental image was a bit too much for her, and suddenly the panic was back. She had been fighting with all her might not to break down (too much) in the boys’ presence during the whole day, and now with Luke, because she didn’t want to spend their time together crying, but it felt overwhelming all of a sudden.

A fist squeezing her heart. A cold blade in her stomach. A sob in her throat.

“I love you,” slipped out of her, although she in no way regretted it.

At that, Luke squeezed his eyes shut. The fingers hovering near her mouth pushed their way under her cheek to cup it properly, and he gripped her hand, pulling it close to his chest. Julie moved again, scooting even closer, her knees bumping his, her now free hand over his shirt. It was unnerving how she couldn’t feel his breath on her face.

She nudged his nose with hers. “I love you.”

Luke curled in again, his hand on her cheek pulling her so their foreheads rested against one another, his nose slipping in next to hers – the closest their lips they had ever been.

Finally, he opened his eyes. “God, Julie. I love you. So much. You gotta know that.” He sounded nearly desperate.

“I know, I know,” she assured him, hand slipping from his grip to caress his cheek.

It was harder to keep the tears at bay now, with their words out in the open. It brought to the surface the feeling of unfairness, of why couldn’t we have met under normal circumstances, of I need to keep you with me. Because she needed him with her.

At her first sob, the roles reversed immediately, and Luke was the one shushing her and caressing her. While he stroked her left cheek and whispered sweet nothings into her right one, his left hand found her waist. His knees straightened out, allowing him to pull her by her hip into him. It still wasn’t enough. Julie didn’t know if anything would ever be enough. Tonight wasn’t, and maybe a lifetime still wouldn’t be. His hands on her, his lips against the corner of her mouth telling her he loved her… just not enough.

Julie threw away any embarrassment she might have had about their current position – about being in bed with him, under the covers, alone, behind closed doors – and released the reigns on her body that had held him at a figurative arms’ length away for far too long.

Instinctively, her leg draped over his. The hand on her hip squeezed, running down her backside naturally as if he had done that a hundred times before instead of it being the first time he touched her in a such an intimate way. As soon as it was over the swell, he put pressure on the back of her thigh and nudged her leg to hook on his waist. It allowed their abdomens to press together, bringing their chests with them. And it still wasn’t enough.

Their foreheads weren’t touching anymore – they had been forced apart by the angle their necks had been put in when the rest of their bodies met, so now her nose brushed his upper lip. Sobs still threatened to leave her throat in an attempt to hold together her breaking heart, but it didn’t matter. She wasn’t thinking anymore. She just tilted an inch up at the same time that Luke tilted an inch down and their mouths met without any effort.

Luke’s hand slipped from her cheek, this time worming its way under her neck, fighting against her wild hair until it came up on the other side. Then his arm was under her as her new pillow and around her to kill any space between them. As he kissed her, he hugged her fully – arm around her shoulders and an arm around her waist, tense forearms crossing on her back. Julie held him with the same despair, arm around his shoulders and hand anchored on the back of his neck. Pulling closer.

She needed him closer.

It was only when Luke realized that she was gradually rolling him on top of her that he pulled a hair-width away. It made a smacking sound that the back of Julie’s head worried if her family had been able to hear.

“Jules…”

But she was already shaking her head. “I won’t be able to sleep. And I can’t go with you, so it doesn’t even matter. If we just stay here, we’re gonna talk, and I’m gonna cry. I don’t wanna spend this time I have with you crying, Luke. I’ll have time to cry later. I just want to…” Make up for all the times we didn’t allow ourselves to drown in this. “I just wanna let myself feel. I wanna let myself drown in you for once.”

The words hit home in his eyes, shining in the dark, and a breathless, incredulous chuckle left his lips. “God, please, universe, let me keep you.” And he dove back into her.

The line was officially and consciously crossed.

[kayte-overmoon]

"Slow Cherry" Chapter 4

(cross-posted on AO3)

Tags: Mild Depressive Episode, Drinking (everyone is of age; no alcohol abuse), drunk texting, accidental face reveal

Snippet: A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Read Chapter 1 Here

Read Chapter 2 Here

Read Chapter 3 Here

No sexual content in this chapter.

Dream spent the next few weeks losing himself in his schoolwork.

Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of George, heard his voice, saw his smile. It was wreaking havoc on his attention span. His feelings toward the older man were confusing to say the least. It was easier to hyperfixate on school than to try and sort out why he felt this way about a man he’d never even met face-to-face.

Knowing they were only a few short weeks away from living not only in the same country, but the same city made it very, very hard to think about anything else.

Luckily, he had a hardcore coding assignment coming up, so he locked himself in his bedroom with the lights off and drowned himself in Python.

Sapnap noticed something was off and made sure to text Dream whenever he got food (conveniently always with a little more than one person could eat alone). On the rare occasions Dream emerged from his cave, Sapnap looked at him with concern written in every corner of his face, but he didn’t ask what was wrong. He just pushed a bottle of water or a granola bar across the counter to him and told him he looked like shit.

Dream was sure he was right. It was winter, so he hadn’t properly been in the sun in months—for a Florida boy, that was too long. He’d skipped a few showers, and the only time he’d eaten was when Sapnap made sure he did. He shuffled into the bathroom to scrutinize himself under the fluorescents. He squinted in the bright light, so used to the darkness of his room. His hair was a mess, several days overdue for a wash and unbrushed for longer than Dream could remember. He also needed to shave, not liking the scratchy growth around his jaw. There were dark circles around his blood-shot eyes and his skin was paler than it had been in years. He scoffed at himself before stripping and jumping in the shower.

The hot water burned his skin, but it was a religious experience. He hadn’t realized how far he’d pushed himself and how deep he’d let himself fall until it was over. His last final was the next morning, so he was almost done. Thank God.

As it usually did when he had a free moment, his mind strayed to George.

They had still been snapping back and forth, which soothed some of the ache. But it felt like he was looking down the barrel of addiction: he knew that taking one more hit, one more drink, would land him far beyond his limit, pushing him past the fabled Point of No Return. He considered ghosting George, but just thinking about that made his stomach turn. Sex workers got enough shit as it was without their clients pushing boundaries, trying to make something real out of their arrangements, or dropping them outright without warning.

Dream was so fucking pathetic.

He emerged from his shower scrubbed raw, physically and emotionally. He didn’t feel great in his head still, but at least he didn’t stink. He brushed his teeth to cover all his hygienic basics, put on a clean pair of pajamas, and went to bed.

And just like that his semester was over. He did well on his final—not as well as he’d hoped, considering how much time he’d spent studying, but well enough to stay on track to graduation.

He emerged from his final to find a snap from George waiting for him on his phone.

The older man was sitting on his bed, throwing a peace sign to the camera with a huge, cheesy grin. There were boxes stacked around the bed, the only thing left in the room being his bed.

Good luck on your final! Getting ready to put my stuff in the shipping container. Only a few more days.

Despite himself, Dream smiled at the message.

Dream and Sapnap celebrated the end of the semester that night in the only way college kids knew how: by buying as much beer as they could afford and inviting over as many people as they could fit into their apartment. Someone connected their phone to the sound system in the living room, blasting hip hop music over the subwoofer. Dream knew they were going to get a noise complaint from their neighbors, but he was too excited—and drunk—to care.

He got a few drinks in him and danced when he was pulled from the couch. Faces blurred before him, but he knew almost everybody there, so he didn’t mind whenever someone pressed up against him. Someone else pressed another beer into his hands. He was sweating, the heat in the apartment still fighting the December cold even with a few dozen people packed into the cramped space. His jacket came off at some point, so he was only in his beer-stained t-shirt and jeans.

He could happily say he had nothing on his mind. He was just happy, done with school for the next month and surrounded by his favorite people in the world.

But not his favorite person in the world.

No, that person wasn’t here.

He stumbled to the bathroom at one point to piss, wobbling a little and struggling to aim. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked much different than he had the previous night: he was flushed from the alcohol and dancing, for one, but he also felt lighter. Maybe it was the beer talking, but he felt good. He always liked life better when he wasn’t in school. And that message from George made him so, so happy.

Only a few more days.

George.

Just thinking about him made Dream smile.

He pulled out his phone just to look at the photo, which he’d screenshotted. They’d agreed they could save anything they sent each other except for nudes, which they had to get permission to keep. But innocent little messages like that one were free game. Dream was thankful for that, since it let him get a fix whenever he needed it. He found himself pulling out his phone to look at pictures of his camboy whenever he had a free moment to twiddle his thumbs.

He wrote a message to George, not really paying attention to what he said. Mainly he just wanted George to think of him while Dream was thinking of George. He sent the message and pocketed his phone. The music became unmuffled as he opened the bathroom door and someone immediately grabbed him and pulled him back into the fray.

Dream had… many regrets come morning.

Before he even opened his eyes, he knew how much of a doozy this hangover was. His head was pounding with the beat of his heart, his mouth felt packed with sand, and his stomach was turning. He felt like he needed to puke, but he was too numb to get up. Besides, he had a feeling he’d only end up dry heaving.

He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, debating going back to sleep. Something on the bed shifted next to him (much bigger than Patches), alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t alone.

After some coaxing, he squinted his eyes open and blinked against the scarce light peeking around the curtains—it wasn’t much light, but it was enough to make him want to die. He turned to see someone’s back facing him in the bed, a dude. Dream sent up a silent prayer of thanks that both the dude and Dream himself were fully clothed. He levered himself onto an elbow to see who was next to him. It was Skeppy, of all people, and he wasn't alone. Puffy was there too, curled up against Skeppy’s chest at the edge of the bed. Dream had no clue how neither of them had fallen off yet, so tightly wound together on the ledge. But they were there, snoozing happily.

Someone was snoring, but it wasn’t either of them. Dream sat up further and poked his head around to find Bad sprawled on the floor beside the bed. It seemed he’d wanted to get in with Skeppy and Puffy, but there hadn’t been enough room with Dream there as well. Skeppy’s hand was dangling off the side of the bed where Bad was; they must have fallen asleep holding hands. Despite his head and his stomach trying to remove themselves from his body, Dream smiled. They were all so sweet together.

He extracted himself from the bed slowly, not wanting to disturb them, and grabbed his phone charger from the power strip at his desk. He slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind himself carefully. His phone was dead in his pocket, so he plugged it in at the bathroom counter as he set about cleaning himself up. He contemplated trying to throw up but decided against it. It might only make him even more sick. He washed his face and brushed his teeth. He definitely needed a shower and a change of clothes, but he didn’t have the energy for it yet.

A soft ding told him his phone was back on. He dried off his hands and picked it up. He had a couple of missed notifications. Karl left one saying he was taking Sapnap back to his place because someone had already taken Sapnap’s room. There was one from his next-door neighbor asking him to turn the music down or they would call the cops. Dream assumed that was a bluff, considering he didn’t remember the cops showing up at any point.

The last notification caught his eye.

It was a Snapchat message from George, received around 3 a.m.

Dream, call me when you get this. I don’t think you meant to send that. I need to talk to you.

Dream’s heart sunk.

What had he sent George? Had he drunk texted him? What had he said?

Oh God, he hadn't told him anything... incriminating, right? Had he said anything about wanting to be more than a sugar daddy, a friend with benefits, a casual observer?

There wasn’t anything saved in their chats above George’s most recent messages. The last message before that was Dream’s response to George’s “good luck with finals” message.

Wait. No it wasn’t.

The time stamp was wrong.

Dream had sent George a picture around 2:30 last night, when he was several drinks deep. He remembered going to the bathroom and texting George, but he couldn’t remember what he’d said no matter how hard he’d tried. He thought it had been a typed message in chat, not a picture.

Maybe he’d sent a dick pic? He hoped not. He had been too drunk to get it up at that point. If that’s what it was, it had to be horribly unflattering. And if not a dick pic, what had he taken a picture of?

His blood ran cold.

He was hitting the “call” button before he could overthink it.

George answered a few rings later. “Dream?”

“What did I send?” His voice was rough. He was trying to keep quiet so he didn’t bother his guests, and his mouth was dry even after brushing his teeth. He sounded like shit.

George sounded uncomfortable when he spoke. “Dream, I’m sorry. I don’t think you meant to—“

“What did I send, George?”

He knew the answer in the silence before George spoke. His stomach dropped when he said it anyway. “You—you sent me a picture of your face.”

Dream hung his head. Perfect. Of course. He’d had grand plans to pick George up from the airport and reveal his face then, or he’d at least make it sexy over their video calls or something. He wanted to make it a spectacle. Instead he’d drunk texted him a selfie.

“It wasn’t bad,” George tried to reassure him. “I couldn’t see it too clearly anyway. It was in the mirror, and you were very drunk. You were a little blurry.”

“What was I doing?”

“You were, like, leaning on the counter. You were smiling. You had a, uh…”

Dream frowned harder. “I had a what?”

“You had—have—a hickey on your neck.”

“What?” Dream stood up straight and pulled the collar of his shirt. Sure enough, there was a dark red mark on his neck, barely hidden by his shirt. “Huh. How the hell did that get there?”

George snorted. “Sounds like you had a fun night.” There was something bitter in his tone.

Dream scrambled for a response that wouldn't put him in the metaphorical dog house. “I don’t—I didn’t sleep with anyone. I would know. It just—my friends are super touchy. One of them probably did it while we were dancing.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Dream,” George said softly. “I’m a big boy. I know I’m not the only person in your life.”

“I do have to explain myself, though.” Dream ran his hand through his hair. “I care what you think about me. I don’t want you to think I sleep around. I don’t. Not really. Not anymore, at least. And I wanted to surprise you when you saw my face. I wanted it to be a thing.”

“Dream, calm down.” There was something calming about the British man’s voice, especially when he used that tone, like he was soothing a spooked animal. Which, for all intents and purposes, Dream was. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I was just worried about you. I know it’s a thing for you, people seeing your face.”

“Oh.” Dream’s heart was thundering in his chest. It was making his head throb harder, but he didn’t particularly care at that moment. “Thank you. That’s—you’re really considerate. And did you—I mean, did…”

“You’re very handsome, Dream.”

Dream was dumbfounded. That wasn’t what he was going to ask, but he’s glad George said it. He wasn’t really concerned about that particular aspect of this whole ordeal, but it was nice to know. “Oh. Thanks. That’s… you too. I mean, I think you’re—fuck.”

George’s laugh echoed across the line, settling Dream’s frazzled nerves. “I know, honey. You’ve told me before. But let's continue this conversation when you’re not so hungover, yeah?”

Dream hummed in agreement. “You can tell?”

“You were sloshed last night. I could tell just by looking at you. Partied hard, hmm?”

Dream snorted. “Just a little. I don't even want to see the state of my living room right now. And there’s, like, two-thirds of a thruple in my bed right now.”

“Oh?” Amusement and interest tinged the older man’s voice.

“No, not like that,” Dream laughed. “They passed out in there. Their third is on the floor. They’re good friends of mine. No clue when we all fell asleep though.”

“Sounds like you need to get started making coffee for everyone, then. Be a good host.”

“Probably. I thought about ordering pizza. I have no clue how many people stayed over though.”

“Celebrating the end of term, then?”

A yawn worked its way out of Dream. “Yeah,” he said. “We all finished up yesterday so we just bought a bunch of beer and invited folks over.”

“Sounds fun.”

“We’ll invite you next time,” Dream said, his tongue loose from his hangover. Oh well. “I think you’d like my friends. They’re all… absolutely insane. But they’re the coolest, nicest people you’ll ever meet.”

A soft laugh drifted over the line. “Are you still drunk, Dream?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little.”

“You’re a mess, Dream.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for putting up with me.”

“Anytime, love.”

Previous Chapter

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[tyrantofthefirmament]

Lord Starscream... forgive me if I sound ignorant, but I would love to know more about Cybertronians and how they function! It seems like Cybertronians have a lot in common with us humans, physically and emotionally. Do you have a sense of smell? Do you cry? Do you have a way of turning off pain sensors by yourself - did you have to do that when you lost your arm that one time? Do you have to drink Energon on a consistent basis?

I suppose we do have some traits in common with humans, as we do with most sapient life forms we have encountered. Most often that would mean a bipedal, or at least upright, form freeing up two or more limbs for manipulating our surroundings, and a complex social structure. I’m not an anthropologist or a biologist, but humans are relatively easy to talk to compared to some aliens I’ve met. You also ask a lot of questions.

Fortunately, I can answer them.

We do have a sense of smell, though I don’t think it functions quite the same as yours. We have some olfactory sensors in all of our vents, so we can catch scents near different parts of our bodies. That might seem odd to you, but bear in mind that we are very tall and having, for example, chemical sensors in our legs might alert us to acidic vapors collected near the ground, that we might not notice if they didn’t waft higher up near our facial vents. Some of our olfactory sensors are more sensitive than others. My facial vents can detect scents with much more subtlety than the vents on my sides. We also have sensors that can detect magnetic fields and electrical charge, which may seem unrelated until you recall that charge is considered a flavor in Energon. I love the tingle of a good strong High Grade when I smell it and the charge hits my vents.

I don’t know if humans would recognize our equivalent of crying, since it looks very different. When we have a strong emotional or stress response, our systems heat up, and our fans switch on to rid our bodies of the excess heat. If it’s bad enough, our coolant will actually boil over and weep out from ducts in our vents to cool us faster. Evaporating coolant directly from a larger surface area helps chill the ammonia still in our lines directly under the vents, which then circulates and brings our internal temperatures down. Our side vents and facial vents both have this response, along with back and leg vents in very large frames, but you can’t always see it as liquid given ammonia’s low boiling point. Sometimes lubricants will weep out as well, because that is part of our flight or flight response in case rapid transformation is needed, and you can see that. Either way, you can definitely smell the ammonia if someone is crying hard enough. 

We can somewhat dull our pain sensors for a short time, but they are one of the systems we have little conscious control over. I rarely bother, since it doesn’t make that much of a difference. Honestly getting my arm shot off ranks pretty low on the scale of painful things I’ve endured. If you mean when Optimus Prime shot it off, I actually barely felt it, due to the Dark Energon in my system at the time, but even without that, a clean break right at the joint wouldn’t be as painful as say, bent struts or getting armor ripped off of my torso. It’s definitely nothing compared to being shot in the wing. To fully shut off pain sensors you need to see a medic, but well stocked medkits usually have small EMP generators that you can clamp on to numb a small area. In certain parts of the extremities you could also sever the wiring to pain sensors if you really wanted to. It’s simple enough to repair later.

How much Energon we need depends on many factors, but we do refuel pretty regularly. Frame size and activity level make the biggest difference in how often we fuel and how much. A typical Energon cube we’d normally drink from holds maybe 60 gallons of fuel. If an average sized mech, say about my mass, didn’t use their alt mode at all, a cube would last them a couple of weeks easily. If they were a grounder and used their alt mode a few time a day, they’d want to make sure and get a cube at least every couple of days, if not every day. Most people have a cube a day as part of their normal routine anyway. A big mech like Megatron or the Prime would probably still fuel once or twice a day, but they’d consume more. Since they were also soldiers, they would most likely keep fully fueled at all times, so they’d drink 3 to 5 cubes at a time. Megatron would often drink more than that, since he was so active and so large. I have seen him chug 500 gallons of fuel in one sitting, after returning from a battle where he spent nearly all his fuel and got wounded severely. We used the big cubes after battles like that.

Seekers need the most fuel, not just for our size, but overall. My fuel capacity is close to 1000 gallons, and I don’t consider myself fully fueled if I’m below 700. I go through most of that every day since I fly actively, and more on days when I oversee training. Cirrus is bigger than me and with how hard he trains, he sometimes drinks 3000 gallons a day if his morning drills have a lot of afterburner and fast climbs. I do too, on days I show him new techniques, since I usually do all the maneuvers multiple times. You see why I’m such a stickler for securing mines and supply lines? Air superiority depends on fuel, not just for combat sorties, but to maintain training and readiness. Now that we have so many Eradicons (their tanks are smaller but still) and returning Seekers, we’re training Energon Seekers as quickly as we can, and our refineries reach capacity just as soon as we bring them online. Then there’s the Rotorbots on the construction crews, who are even thirstier! 

But you didn’t come here to listen to me go on about running a fledgling city of aerial mecha. Heh, and people wondered why Vosnians were so obsessed with our restaurant scene. I will leave you with this amusing image - not only do Seekers hold more fuel than grounders twice our size, it’s also much stronger. It was a popular joke for us Energon Seekers to share our rations with the mining crews we occasionally worked with, and drink them under the table before we even had to divert fuel into our wing tanks. We kept an eye out for new crews who would underestimate us. Don’t try and outdrink a big Rotorbot though. They’ll bury you.

[laughing-with-god]

QQ has me shaking in my boots ✊🏻👏🏻 but I’ve had a lingering question for the last few days; if the rest of the BTS members were in QQ, what districts would they be from? Love your work 🥺❤️

oh my god, okay here me out; an alternative Quarter Quell Fic were all past victors must play again and all the bts members are victors who come to play the quell but they somehow all become yandere over Y/n.....Lemme know if that’s something ya’ll would like to read.  Anyway, here ya go;

(Btw I’m gonna base these profiles on the crackhead idea I stated up above, except I’m not going to do Jungkook and Tae bc they’re already in my Quarter Quell Fic and their games are being played right now so I don’t feel right doing profiles for them...it’ll deadass confuse me.)

BTS as Victors (Hunger Games AU)

Kim Seokjin- District One (Luxury)  

Jin originates from district one, most would say that he figuratively hit the birth lottery by being from this district.  

The first district is essentially the crown jewel of the capitol, it’s by far the most favored.  The main job of district one is to provide the capitol with all luxury items, so most people make their money by creating jewelry and makeup.  (Both of which are in extremely high demand in the capitol, so 1 is by far the most economically flourishing district.)

Jin never had to suffer food outages or abuse by peacekeepers because of 1′s good status with the capitol.  To further his prosperity, Jin’s father was actually the mayor of district one.  

Which makes Jins’ reaping all the more scandalous.  

There was a rumor that Jin’s father expressed sympathy towards the damaged and less favored districts (11 and 12).So when Jin’s name was reaped, people suspected that the system was rigged and Jin’s name was going to get called out either way.  Because after all, how would the capitol keep a loud-mouth mayor in check?  By putting his son in the games, of course.  

No one volunteered in fear of interfering with the capitol’s plans and getting in trouble. 

However Seokjin fancied himself an actor and practically skipped to the stage with a big grin on his face, announcing his name proudly and even stating that it would be an honor to compete on behalf of his district. 

His strategy was to get on the good side of both the audience and the gamemakers.  Unlike other tributes who sometimes couldn’t help the look of terror they had, Jin made sure to constantly look happy and would even compliment the gamemakers in his interview by saying things like, “This game is going to be the best one in years, I could already tell.”  “I caught a glimpse at the makers during my assessment and let me tell you...they’re not playing around this year.”

Because of this Jin wasn’t the target of any foul play or natural disasters bc the makers held no ill will towards him, if anything a lot of them actually wanted him to win. 

He earned himself many fans and thus sponsors, mainly due to his good looks and partly due to his surprisingly goofy nature.  

Jin was always sure to keep his attitude light. He constantly made jokes and did impressions in the arena, showcasting his humor bc the last thing he needed was to be painted as the bad guy.  His number one rule was to always keep his fans satisfied.  That kept him alive.  

He stuck to the career alliance; teaming up with his district counterpart, two and the girl from four.  He stuck with them because he knew he would need the numbers and the supplies.  But a bit more than halfway through the games, when the careers took down all the main threats, Jin zipped up all the tents that his sleeping allies were in, took a good amount of supplies and set the camp on fire; effectively killing the career pact.  

For two days after that he wandered alone but was having trouble with basic survival skills.  Unlike more than half the tributes, Jin grew up in a city with no true sense of nature.  He was struggling.

 That’s when he came across a boy from 11 and a girl from 7.  They both were rather weak and Jin offered them protection in exchange that they let him stay in their hideout with them.  But when 11 and 7 were under attack, Jin fled and let them be killed.  

Jin eventually had to go against the last tribute standing; a girl from 6.  She was also frail and only lasted that long because of her hiding skills.  Jin overpowered her and threw her off a mountain.  Thus, he became victor.  

He still is to this day one of the most popular victors and a really good mentor (although he mainly just advocates for having allies, using them, then killing them before they can kill you.)  

because of his good looks, he is often sold off to elite women and men for a night with a handsome victor.  Jin has no choice, it’s the only way he was able to make the president forgive his father.  (Think of Finnick Odair).  

Choice of weapon; spear, betrayal (all his allies will eventually end up killed by him)

Arena

Min Yoongi- District Six (Transportation)

District Six is responsible for all methods of transportation the capitol has.  The hovercrafts, the high-speed trains and advanced cargo ships are all products of 6.

Citizens from six are heavily oppressed by the peacekeepers.  Although not as poor as 11 or 12, they are one of the more rebellious districts.  It’s also the largest district and the most unstable, lots of the population suffer from a morphling addiction which is party responsible for the citizen’s disobedience.  

Yoongi came from a lower middle class background, raised by a single working mom who fell victim to the morphling epidemic.  Needless to say she was very absent from his life.  

Life at six is so bleak, when Yoongi’s name was reaped his first thought was ‘well, at least I won’t die in this shit hole.’  

He was very numb due to shock so he appeared very aloof when he went up to the stage; a total contrast to his counterpart who was bawling her eyes out.  

He managed to keep this stoic act up for the entirety of his time in the capitol, his thought process was that he never wanted to give the capitol the satisfaction of seeing him break.  

He mainly enjoyed all the food and luxuries the capitol had to offer, thinking that he had no chance of winning and might as well enjoy his last days.  

It wasn’t until his interview where even the host forgot his name that he realized that he might have a secret weapon under his belt; no one knew who he was, he was forgettable, someone who other tributes overlooked and even underestimated.  

He went to his mentor with this revelation and was told to go the ‘Joanna Mason route’.  

Ie; play weak and stupid until there’s only a few tributes left, then release your inner crazy and kill them all before they ever even saw you coming.

Yoongi figured it was better than nothing and decided this as his strategy.  

Yoongi had no help of sponsors or allies, all he had was himself.  But that’s the way he wanted it.  

He hid for more than half the game, his small stature making it easy for him to hide into small nooks and crannies.  He survived mainly on small plants, insects and any rainfall he was able to get.  

It wasn’t until he witnessed someone die near one of his hideouts that he allowed his murderous side to snap.  

It was a fight between a girl from 5 and a boy from 9.  The girl had knives while the boy had an ax, the girl managed to get him in the throat and he fell over dead.  After the girl searched his pockets for supplies, she turned around to stalk off, unaware Yoongi was only yards away.  

Yoongi silently got out of his hideout, took the ax and ran up behind her before chopping her head off.  

There was only four tributes left and Yoongi hunted them all down, tired with how long this game was taking and desperate to get home.  

he managed to kill them all, the tributes being caught off guard bc of his excellent hiding skills  

He became one of the youngest victors of all time, he was only 14.  

As a mentor, he’s actually pretty absent.  

Yoongi doesn’t like to get too close to the tributes because it becomes too emotionally crushing to eventually witness them die.  

His general advice for them is to lay low and never draw any attention towards you, the factor of surprise is the ultimate weapon for those with patience.  

Yoongi has never been the same since the games, he isn’t proud of it but he’s also become dependent on morphling; it’s the only thing that keeps his nightmares and depression away.  (Like Haymitch, except Haymitch was dependent on alcohol and Yoongi is dependent on drugs)

He despises the capitol even more now, hating the fact that they made him a murderer and he was forced to play into the very game he promised to never have a part of.

He lives with that guilt everyday and doesn’t think he’s any better than the ruthless career kids he sees every year

He’s quite belligerent too.  He is almost never given mentor interviews or screentime because he’s blown up one too many times that the hosts know to avoid him.  (Think Joanna Mason and the one catching fire scene where she flips shit on national tv).

Weapons; hiding, ax

Arena

Kim Namjoon- District Three (Technology) 

District three has some of the smartest tributes, and Namjoon was no different.

District Three is responsible for all the high-end technology the capitol has; the people may not be as strong as two or as flashy as one, but their intellect alone runs the capitol.  

Kids from three are good at creating functional tools, codes, wires, ect.  But sadly, these traits don’t translate well into the games given the clear advantage towards physical superiority over intellectual superiority.  

Namjoon was determined to show the capitol how far a smart kid can go.  

Like most tributes, Namjoon went into a little bit of a shock when his name was reaped.  

He walked up, void of any emotion and avoided any eye contact with the district representative or the female counterpart.  

When he was escorted into the room to say his goodbyes to his family is when he finally broke.  

But his mother made him promise to do anything to get back home, she didn’t care how dirty he had to get she just wanted her boy to live

This encouragement/promise was enough to motivate him to become the last one standing, he didn’t care how gory he would have to get.

He utilized his mentor heavily, talking their ear off and asking countless questions.  Soaking up any information/advice he could get, knowing it could very well be the difference between life and death.  

His mentor advised him to choose the Beetee Latier strategy, telling Namjoon that if he just got his hands on some tools and put his mind to it he could be the most dangerous tribute in that arena. 

During his training days Namjoon spent all his time in the rope stations, net stations and hook stations, knowing that his future plans would require him to be good with these skills.

During his interview, he hinted to the audience that he was very smart.  He was careful to not make it obvious enough to make him a target of the careers but enough to raise the interests of the sponsors.  

His personal score was also good, making the act of getting sponsors a little bit easier.  

When the game began, he ran off from the blood bath but not too far.  He stayed close enough to watch who left and with what supplies.  With this knowledge, he began to track the people who had the tools he would need to play out his plan.  

He would track these people very slyly, waiting until their guard was down to swipe their supplies.  

With these supplies he would build traps and set them up for tributes to unknowingly walk into.  His favorites were bear traps, snatching nets and digging up 8 ft deep holes then covering them up with debri for tributes to stumble into.

He managed to kill a decent amount of tributes before killing off what was left of the career pact.  

However, Namjoon wasn’t able to avoid hand-to-hand combat forever.  

When it came to the end, it was between a male tribute from 5, a girl from 2 and Namjoon himself.  Both tributes had weapons while Namjoon didn’t.  

He fought with them and got stabbed and sliced a good amount, but even with his fatal blood loss and fading consciousness, his brilliant mind came up with a plan.  

He staggered over to one of his traps, making the tributes think he was just trying to run away when the truth was he was trying to lure them to their deaths.  

They took the bait, got strung up into a net before being electrocuted to death.  

The last words Namjoon heard before he blacked out was the head gamemaker announcing him victor.  

Namjoon is now one of the greatest mentors of all time.  Whenever it’s his turn to overlook the tributes of his home district the chances of 3 winning goes up 50%

He is very good at strategy and has even helped the gamemakers create certain arenas for future games.  

namjoon teaches his students the importance of staying calm and sticking to a plan. “When kids are scared, starving and fighting for their lives they’re very easy to pick off.  Utilize that.”  

Weapons; stalking, traps

Arena

Jung Hoseok- District Eight (Textiles)

Hoseok was a victim of the reaping gamble.  (The process in which kids will enter their names in the reaping bowl more times than required in exchange for food)

Hoseok is the oldest of four children, his mother died with the birth of the youngest child and his dad died years later due to poor health via the unlawful work conditions in the factories. (District Eight is responsible for all the clothes the capitol has, this means the vast majority of citizens work in factories. Eight is also very oppressed so peacekeepers beat citizens and hand out punishments often.)  

Hoseok dropped out of school in order to help provide for his brothers and sister.  He is the only one working and he refuses to let the second to oldest child drop out of school to help him.  He just wants his siblings to get their education so hopefully they can end up with manager positions at the factories and wouldn’t have to suffer the awful conditions/abuse average factory workers go through.  

Hoseok is used to putting his name in more times than needed.  Of course it means his panic is through the roof when reaping comes but when the names are called and he’s not one of them, he walks away with a relieved heart and bags full of food for his siblings.  

Hoseok depends on that food, because it saves him up to three weeks of salary and he can use that money to get his siblings some new clothes that they had to wait all year for.  Along with some small gifts in order to make up for the birthday’s Hoseok wasn’t able to afford.  

Since this was his last year of being eligible for the reaping, Hoseok made sure to add his name more than usual, hoping to get more food so he could spread out the money for even longer. 

So in a way, when his name was called, he wasn’t completely surprised.  

But he was heartbroken, realizing that in his effort to provide for his siblings he may have robbed them of yet another caretaker. 

When it was time to say goodbye, he tried his hardest to be strong and promised them he’d come back.  

On the train ride over to the capitol he was completely inconsolable, unable to sleep at the prospect of his siblings having to watch him die on national tv.  

He went through the motions of the first days at the capitol, but it wasn’t until the training days begun that he was approached.  

it was a girl from 10 and she was only 13 years old.  She asked him if he had an ally and if he would be interested in working with her.  Hoseok was about to say no when he fell silent, the girl reminded him so much of his younger sister that he couldn’t help but want to protect her.  

They made an alliance.  

And it was working rather well.  Turned out the girl from 10 was very handy and knew how to keep her and Hoseok alive.  The arena was a freezing arctic and she skinned polar bears in order to keep her and Hoseok warm, later cooking the meat for them to eat.  

Most tributes that year died via freezing to death, very little fighting was done.   

Not the career pact though.

They found Hoseok and the girl from 10, holding him down and forcing him to watch as they tortured her. 

Eventually she died but he would never forget her screams for help.  

This was enough to make Hoseok snap.

So he did.

Hoseok became a monster, broke free and killed the pact.  There was only three (two boys, one girl), he stabbed one in the throat, strangled the other and tracked the fleeing girl down before holding her head under the freezing water till she drowned.  

Hoseok won.  

In a way he’s glad because now him and his family live on victor’s row and no longer have to worry about their next meal. 

 But his sanity will never be the same....

He is the kindest mentor, mainly because he knows that the majority of them won’t be coming back so he’s sure to be very nice and always offers to look out for their family when they eventually die.  

Arena

Park Jimin- District Four (Fishing)

Jimin volunteered for the games, an act that was surprising to everyone and anyone in four.  

It’s not that Jimin wasn’t strong, it was just that he didn’t seem like the type to hurt people and he was mainly just known as a really sweet local fisher boy.  

People wondered how such an angel could even think of volunteering, much less actually win the games...

(Rumors even spread that he must’ve been suicidal or in serious debt, why else would he volunteer?)

But he strutted up confidently and announced his name, holding a certain benevolence that made him seem self-assured in his own ability.  

Jimin was already acting like he won the games before he even got to the capitol.  

He never really showed any anxiety or distress, he talked to the escort and mentors very casually....as if they were all old friends.   

He also was extremely close to his designers/stylists, he allowed himself to get spoiled by the pampering and new clothes/makeup.  (This also could’ve been part of his strategy.  Most tributes could care less about their team but by Jimin becoming close to them, they most likely were more motivated to get him the best clothes, jewelry, makeup and overall helped him get more fans.)  

Needless to say he became popular very quickly, he was by far the most attractive tribute and his laid back/flirty personality was infectious. For the first time ever a tribute’s concept was sex appeal, something that was unheard of for tributes to do because of their young age.  

During his interview when asked about his strategy, Jimin just shrugged cutely and said “I’m a very lucky person, I doubt this will be all that hard.”

he buttered up the careers very nicely, they all basically just saw him as eye candy with lots of sponsors, not an actual threat.  

Little did anyone know, Jimin was actually playing a very intelligent game that requires lots of manipulation.  

His main objective was to stick with the careers until more than half the tributes were gone, then he would turn the careers against each other.  

It would start off really slow and deliberate; going to one career and saying “This isn’t any of my business, but I heard (blank) talking in their sleep about offing you.”  Or going to another and saying, “Don’t you think it’s weird how (blank) is acting?  Maybe they’re thinking about killing us and winning this thing for themselves.”

He creates chaos and distrust and watches as they slowly turn against each other.  

Eventually the careers would begin to kill each other, the alliance crumbling all thanks to Jimin.  

Jimin would wait until only him and another career remained.  At this point the career would realize that it was Jimin who destroyed the alliance...but it would be too late.  

It was a girl career and although she was strong, she was no match for Jimin who dragged her to the swamp and held her head under water until the cannon sounded.  

He would then kill the remaining two tributes, a piece of cake since he only kept the careers around to off the bigger threats, only weak kids remained.  

Wins the game and becomes one of the most popular victors of all time.  (Although it’s still a mystery as to why he volunteered, a lingering question Jimin has always refused to answer.)  

Because of him a new strategy in the games was born; The Jimin game (ie; get in an alliance, use the alliance for supplies/food/protection, then when all the big tributes are gone plant a seed of deception into the allies so they all turn against each other)  

Also because of him tributes began selling a more sexier side of themselves.  (Esp tributes from four bc Jimin mentors them into it so that they can get more sponsors)  

Jimin also frequents the capitol often, being an A-list celebrity and receiving special treatment whenever he comes around.  Unlike Yoongi, Jimin fully embraced his role and is always ready to give out interviews or guest on shows.  

he also sells himself to elite capitol women, not because he was forced to but because he enjoys the sex and gifts that come with it (sugar baby)

Although there is one catch to sleeping with the infamous Park Jimin.....you have to tell him a secret worth his while.  

What he’s planning to do with these secrets....no one knows.  

Arena

[lady-of-endless]

Owned Lessons (Din Djarin x Reader)

Author’s Note: Angsty.  I think I just hurt myself emotionally while writing this because I'm so attached. So please excuse any possible expression that might sound a little bit off. Please let me know what do you think and thank you for reading this!

First, he worried, now he feared.

 His pineal eye sensor from his helmet was flooded with smoke from incandescent weapons that were pushed to their functional limits and fired around him.

Something was dripping from under his armor, and he did not know if it was his blood or his sweat.

Your moves were clumsy and uncalculated but effective when protecting yourself from some hits.

No one can predict an ambush, especially when other so-called bounty hunters decide not to follow the tenets of the Creed. No hunter shall interfere with another hunter. However, you had to fight against men that were thirsty for more, that were self-proclaimed hunters, in other words, thieves.

 "On your left!" You shouted your warning to Din who was attacked by a larger number of armed muggers.

 The Mandalorian was quick and took down the furtive attacker who was attempting to approach him.

He was outnumbered and concerned. This time he did not like the odds, not when you were being attacked as well without any possibility to send a rescue signal to the Bounty Hunter Guild.

Adrenaline quickly brought a piece of new vital information in his mind. He left the ship unguarded. His eyes were quickly directed to your position. You were far away from him and if he shouted, the attackers surely heard too.

Din could not find any other better strategy and sprinted to you, placing himself in front of your figure as a decoy so you could pay attention to what he wanted to tell you. Time was running out, you were getting weaker and the attackers were getting stronger.

 "The kid!" He told you while still aiming the enemies. "Go!"

 Thankfully you heard him clear enough despite the sound of blasters and heavy bodies falling to the ground.

You started running as fast as you could even if you wished to stay and fight next to him. Looking over your shoulder back at him for one last time, your heart stopped at the sight of another danger.

 Din started to regret not investing in another set of Whistling Birds that could get the job done in that critical situation.

Attackers could be charging from the back and he knew that, being prepared for it. When he activated the rearview visor of his helmet, instead of seeing strangers approaching him, Din could see those jump inside the ship after you.

 "Feir'Fek!" He cursed, full of blinding rage.

 That one second of distraction was enough for an unexpected hard blow to a weak spot of his body to knock him down. Even if he still wanted to fight, his body could not get up anymore. Not even thinking about his already deteriorating conscious state, Din's eyes slowly closed while thinking about you until everything faded away. His last wish was to wake up next to you and the Child and forget about this vivid nightmare.

 First, he felt a lack of hope, then he felt a sharp pain.

 The rage did not leave him even after when he woke up in the same place, alone on the ground. He was only surrounded by the sound of the wind when he regained his consciousness.

Grunting, Din got up abruptly, eyes fixated on the Razor Crest as he remembered everything that happened before, one brutal scene after another.

His legs started moving automatically in a desperate limp that seemed too slow to him.

Wanting to get there as fast as he could, Din even thought for a second about using the jetpack that was killing his spine now and every day just to be faster but the distance was too short for that.

His efforts were so big that all of his thoughts were limited to finding you and the Child alive.

 The entrance of the ship was stained with trails of blood that were already drying out.

His head was spinning and his legs were trembling with each painful contraction of his muscles. One part of him did not want to go on and see what happened inside.  Din had to prepare for the worst situation he had in mind, with armor around his heart for protection and a flamethrower for revenge.

Almost choking for air because of the effort and adrenaline, he still did not stop to catch his breath.

 Too often, his contentment was hidden in your presence. Your warmth was always flowing to him in unstoppable calming waves he has never felt from when he was just a child.

Maybe he should have not let you come with him from the beginning of this complicated way of living. He thought how you accepted him with every principle, belief and regretted letting you do it so willingly. Now, Din had no time to ask himself for the reason why you did that.

His body moved almost mindlessly inside the ship as he was trying hard to avoid one lethal thought. He has never seen you fight properly or defend yourself against someone until moments ago and you had no piece of armor either. The Child was also almost helpless if it wasn't for the complicated ability he had. It was all coming from a flaw in his strategy.

 The ship felt cold and too silent.

There were memories of how your voice echoed in the ship when singing random lullabies to the Child or when you were chuckling at Din's long and familiar sighs. He was walking through the haze of those memories, not ready to confront the reality.

As Din stepped cautiously closer to the cockpit, his arm was raised, flamethrower prepared, he restrained himself from calling your name even if the wish to do so was hurting him and clinging to his chest. If there still were any intruders on the ship, he knew that he should not announce his presence so naively.

With each sign of the whole mess that was on his ship, he felt that he could not get air normally in the helmet for the first time. Din went through a lot of ambushes but having something to care about so much was making it difficult. Someone close that he could lose, again in his life.

 The image he discovered after two or three steps closer was one that was close to his late-night worries.

He finally found you, guarding the Child, standing in the front of his crib, injured but alert and with your blaster targeting the shadow, breathing heavily.

For only a couple of seconds, you two were targeting each other. When you both realized it, instantly, you lowered your blaster letting it fall from your hand and Din let his guard down in front of you faster than ever.

Sensing your weakness just in time, he rushed to where you were standing right when your knees gave out and caught you in his arms.

 "There you go." He whispered bringing you closer to him, holding your head steadily by the back of your neck while his own body also lowered to the ground with yours.

 Holding you against his armor on the floor of the ship, Din smoothed your messy hair for a few seconds to catch his breath. He closed his eyes tightly and thanked the stars for finding you and the Child alive. You both stood in silence, clinging to each other and letting the embrace numb the stinging feeling of your injuries while the kid was looking at you happily. Was Din truly awake and holding you after that attack or was it going to be the last thing he will see before really regaining his consciousness?

It took you a long time to make him end up in your arms, investing stubbornness, care, trust in his way. And now you could truly feel how it was all worth it.

 "I'm sorry." It was the first thing you said after raising your head from his chest to look at his visor for a moment. "They were too fast." You said resting your chin on his shoulder, closing your eyes again, melting in his arms against the Beskar.

 "What do you mean? Are you...are you injured?" He panicked already starting to look for any type of injury on your body and wishing that there wasn't any. 

 Even if the armor was cold, his way of holding you tight and his worry were compensating. You have seen him agitated before but now it seemed more obvious.

 "No. It's not that." You quickly responded and looked down, avoiding his gaze. "They stole some weapons." You said in a more silenced and ashamed voice.

 You knew how sacred those are to a Mandalorian and then to a bounty hunter but you could only focus to protect the Child during the attack. Still looking at him, you stood there, waiting for his response. What you weren't aware of because of the exhaust was that Din was still holding you tight, with no break.

 "Don't you think we can handle getting those back next time?" He tried to change the atmosphere for your sake even while looking at the traces of blood smeared to the exit of the ship and being scared of what could have happened.

 His reaction made you smile faintly but even that single smile was quick to transform into a frown as you felt a sharp pain coming from your temple. You touched the surface of your skin and felt wetness on your fingertips. The Child cooed from his crib, looking at you with big worried eyes.

 "Let me help you with that." Din said softly grabbing your chin to take a full look at your face in search of other injuries.

 "I can handle it, it's not a big deal." You responded almost mindlessly with no intention of acting tough.

 At that moment, nothing else mattered more than the relief of you both being safe next to the Child. 

The déjà vu feeling you had from that response was enough to make you remember something. You have had this conversation with him before, but the roles were inverted this time.

Din had his head tilted slightly to the front and you could bet on the fact that he surely had one eyebrow raised at you because of that answer. 

 "Now it's not the time to do this." He scolded you, clear words being emitted out of his helmet.

 Din took off his worn-out cape and wrapped it around your shoulders. Sitting on the floor of the ship, you looked over at Din who was searching for the pressurized container filled with bacta spray.

You observed how his moves were rushed, knocking objects over, hardly audible grunting and sighing were also heard. He was trying to keep everything in even when he discovered that the attackers even stole the damn healing spray.

After finding a simple wet cloth instead, when Din turned to you, every ounce of bold frustration disappeared. He remembered something.

 He has not lost you today.

 Din wanted to thank you for staying safe and keeping the Child safe as well but no formulation was up to his liking.

 "How could you handle it alone?" He asked, even if he knew very well how capable you were.

 "I had a pretty decent example to learn from." You answered lightly pushing your shoulder into his and smiling. "And a hold-out blaster."

You hoped that your words could calm him down even a little and even if you could not see the expressions of his face. Unfortunately, nothing could silence his worry and guilt that still remained.

He knew from the start that there will be moments in which he will not be able to protect you or the Child but pushed that thought far to the back of his mind in order to still function. So far away that now, his worry transformed into fear.

 "Trouble will always stick to you if you stay with me."

 Your weak but reassuring smile slowly dropped when he finally let it out. His shoulders were slouching and his head was moving in a slight shake of disapproval.

 "I know that." You started looking down at your hands for a second. "I know that just as I know how bounty hunting is a competitive business and probably the toughest job in the galaxy. I understand that it's all because of the trouble and those scums that decide not to follow the tenets."

 The Mandalorian looked at you and realized for the first time how much you have learned from working and staying with him. He was never aware of how attentive you were when it came to this business and what he was doing. Din did not want to interrupt or stop you, because it was reminding him of those facts too. You knew him and his way of living and to his surprise, he did not feel uncomfortable because of that. It was actually the opposite.

 "But I still want to stay no matter what can happen." You concluded looking straight to his visor, searching for eyes that were looking into yours.

 Din's lips were parted, wanting to tell you that he wants that as well, but for as much as he could keep you safe next to him.

 His hands were always steady when aiming but focusing now on your injury seemed difficult after hearing those words from you.

Cleaning the injury from your temple while you waited, covered by his cape, he was thinking everything through. You saw him shaking his head slowly during the process. Scenarios of how much it could have gone worse were not letting him feel the same relief he felt when he was holding you.

Din got up with slowed movement and avoided looking at you.

 "Then, you will have to train starting from tomorrow. And the next few days." He said not looking at you as your eyebrows furrowed. "I have to find some weapons that will suit your technique and teach you how to use them correctly."

 He was already planning everything, looking around for equipment that was left and that can be used. A part of him was trying to aggravate his words just to push you away from him, where there is safety. The other part of him was too selfish, wanting to whisper a cordial  'thank you for wanting to stay'.

When realization bloomed in your mind about what he was trying to do, you got up prepared to put it to an end.

 "Din?" You called his name and placed your hands on his shoulders. "Nothing that you can say will make me let go."

 He stopped in his tracks and his shoulders dropped, realizing how his reaction sounded and looked and how stubborn you were. Asking you why seemed pointless now when he finally understood. 

 "Fine." His tone was calmer and much warmer now. "If you want to stay, you must understand that the Child needs you safe." Din placed a hand on the back of your head to bring you closer and stick your forehead to his helmet. "I need you safe." Now that you were so close to him, you could hear how his voice broke with those words.

 It was impossible for you to understand what he was imagining sometimes. Ways to lose you, so numerous and so brutal. The fear of losing you when you were so close to him was always shadowing every beaming thought of you. Every time he was letting himself live in the moment when you softly called his name and touched his helmet as his hands ghosted over your hips, those times were interrupted by a fear that the one he is holding will be taken away. That precaution was pulling him back to a reserved and strict self, right after moments in which you could swear that his armor was transparent and you could see his heart, beating happily at the sight of you.

It always made you wonder why after believing that he let his guard down in front of you, he would act like you two were just acquainted and had plans to keep it like so. Now everything made sense to you and he was anticipating that. There was only one thing that could treat that fear of his and you were ready for it.

 "Then, we'll do exactly as you said. We will train ourselves and make sure to stay safe. I promise, Din." You said in a serious voice before trying to change the atmosphere. "Plus, I bet that I can get you to the ground in no time after such a day and such a confrontation." Your tone mockingly changed into a false proud one as you rested your forearms on his shoulders to the sides of his neck while smiling to him.

 Din chuckled at your playful gesture and grabbed both of your forearms in place, once again placing his forehead against yours.

 "And you'll be falling to the ground with me."

[jewish-gay-elves]

A Night in Hightown

Tristan and Anders are called upon by Carver to help out with a strange letter he received at the estate. It may be Tristan's last journey to Hightown for a while.

Words: 1470, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of the Tristan Amell: Bound to Fall Again

Fandoms: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Male Amell, Tristan Amell, Male Warden, Anders (Dragon Age), Carver Hawke, Varric Tethras Relationships: Tristan Amell/Anders, Male Amell/Anders, Anders/Male Warden Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence

    “He really lives up here in all this pomp?” Tristan asked, trying to imagine his emotionally stunted cousin living amongst the high standard nobles of Kirkwall. Carver and Bethany were fairly average at least, however Lewis Hawke, a mage and known maleficar at this point, also lived with them in their estate. Looking upon the grand townhouse, the thought just confused him while he, Anders, and Carver waited on the last member of their little party to join them.

    “Of course, where else would he live?” Carver answered, one part honest, and at least two parts annoyed about it. Tristan had to concede that he had a point. Lewis wasn’t exactly one who was able to hold onto a steady income. Or be able to get one in the first place. Or even look for one. Regardless, the point was that being a very angry maleficar was not a very profitable life to live, or a very acceptable one for that matter. Tristan could only imagine the hardships Carver and Bethany went through in order to keep their brother’s habits a secret from their mother, much less the rest of Kirkwall.

    “Y’know, he reminds me of someone but I just can’t put my finger on it,” Anders said, looking to Tristan with his hand stroking his newly grown goatee. Tristan knew that Anders just hadn’t had the proper time to shave with all of the hubbub going on in the clinic, and training Bethany in healing magics, but Tristan still wished he would just shave it already.

    “Say what darling?” Tristan said, remembering that Anders had addressed him with that statement, but Tristan had already forgotten what he had said.

    “Maybe he just reminds me of Sigrun? They’re both so preoccupied with death,” Anders mused, at which Tristan just snorted.

    “Sigrun? Be that grumpy and gloomy? Never, besides, she may break rules on occasion, but Lewis’ little habit? She’d never go that far,” Tristan said.

    “You have me there, hmm, I’ll have to think about this again,” Anders said, shrugging his shoulders.

    “Can you two stop talking about people who I’ve never even met? Gets annoying,” Carver barked, crossing his arms.

    “Sorry lil’ Hawke. I know it can be hard to imagine that we have had lives in which we met other people before we met you,” Tristan said, lightly punching his cousin on the arm.

    “Oh shut up, Hero. And smarten up, our dwarf is here,” Carver said as he shrugged him off.

    “Apologies for my tardiness gentlemen, you know how those stairs go with these legs of mine,” Varric joked, Bianca slung on his back.

    “Can we go now? The letter said to meet in Hightown at midnight but not where, so I figure we just wander a bit and see where our new ‘friends’ may be. Besides, I’d rather not have a brawl out in front of the estate where it might wake Mother” Carver said, already alert for any sort of trap.

    “Normally your momma’s boy tendencies worry me but this time, I think I’m actually glad for it,” Anders said as they turned the corner.

    “Not eager to incur my aunt’s wrath again are you? Imagine if she found out you didn’t eat yesterday because there were so many patients in the clinic,” Tristan teased, wiggling his fingers at Anders. Anders just slapped his hands away and laughed at Tristan’s antics.

    “You came,” A surprised voice called out to their group, causing them all to turn.

    “Who are you?” Carver asked as the woman approached. She was dressed head to toe in Templar regalia, doing nothing to set Anders or Tristan’s nerves at ease.

    “You probably thought you got away with it, Ser Karras and the others deaths. Do you even remember them? They were searching for the missing Starkhaven apostates and were murdered. An inquiry determined that the apostates must have killed the templars, but I’ve suspected for years that Ser Thrask and you were responsible,” She said pointing accusingly in their direction. Carver had a look of recognition on his face at the name, and paused before answering.

    “So you’re here to beat a confession out of me?” he asked, squaring his shoulders.

    “I don’t need a confession,” she said sadly before calling out to the squad of templars behind her “My brothers, tonight, justice will be done,” she said, as they all began to draw their swords.

    In retaliation, Varric and Carver drew their weapons from their backs as Tristan and Anders began to cast. Carver dove into the fray, trying to push back as many of the templars as he could, away from the two wardens. Varric, sticking as many bolts in them as he could, aiming for the spots where their armor didn’t cover. Tristan remained close to Anders, knowing that even if the templars managed to cast a Silence on the both of them, that he could still protect Anders with his shortswords. In the meantime though, they both were casting frost spell after frost spell trying to keep the templars distracted and immobile.

    The spells were working for the most part, the ice freezing them to the ground and making it easier for Carver’s broadsword and Bianca’s bolts to hit their marks. However, in the commotion of all the templars beginning to surround Carver, and his pained grunts as some of them landed hits on him, the woman who originally spoke to them had snuck up on the two mages. With a shouted casting of Silence, Tristan and Anders’ spells flickered and went out from around them, the magic keeping Tristan’s rock armor around him fell and puddled around his feet. Fear gripping his heart, Tristan drew one of his swords and used his staff arm to push Anders behind him.

    “The Maker shalt not suffer apostates to roam free!” she screamed as she thrust her sword at Tristan, managing to drive it in the space between his chestplate and shoulder armor. Tristan roared in pain accidentally dropping his staff to grab at the wound, none of his minimal healing skills coming to life like he wanted them to. It took all of his concentration to bring his weapon back up to defend from her next blow. Still favoring his wounded arm he used two hands to wield the sword, defending and attempting to fight her off.

    Without either noticing, Anders had managed to scramble back far enough to snatch a sword from a fallen templar. Using his slender statue, he wove between pillars in the square to get behind the woman who was currently fighting Tristan. She wore the lighter version of the templar garb, meaning that rather than plate armor on her back, it was thickened leather. While it was tough, not unpierceable, as Anders found out for himself as he drove the stolen sword right in the middle of her back. She slumped with a death scream and Anders felt his magic return to him as he rushed to Tristan and his wounded shoulder. Casting a quick spell to numb the area, Anders shot a quick look back to where their companions still fought.

    Carver, lagging with exertion, and Varric who was hurriedly loading Bianca again as the final templars moved in on the youngest Hawke again. Anders fired off a Haste spell for Carver, at which he visibly perked and attacked the last three templars with new vigor. Varric nor Carver looked extremely hurt and so Anders returned his attention to Tristan. After the battle was done, Carver and Varric hurried over to find Anders trying to knit the muscles in Tristan’s shoulder back together again. Tristan had passed out sometime during all of this, only to groan as Carver hurriedly threw him over his shoulder. Anders snagged Tristan’s forgotten sword and staff and then the four of them went to the back entrance of the Amell Estate and down into the basement to the Darktown exit next to the clinic.

    Anders hurried his three companions inside and began to heal the small cuts and bruises that Varric and Carver had received while they waited for Tristan to reawaken.

    “Junior, can we agree to some more thoughtful screening of strange offers requiring us to meet people in dark corners late at night?” Varric joked, to which Carver only bristled as Anders waved his hands over the deepest of his cuts.

    “Still better to take care of plotting nobles rather than let them figure out how to collaborate,” Tristan said, groaning as he sat up. Anders hurried to his side, having finished with Carver’s wounds, and began checking him over again.

    “Though it still may be awhile before I dare venturing back up to Hightown and all that pomp,” Tristan joked, winking at Carver as the younger Hawke/Amell only rolled his eyes in response.

[sadistic-second]

Asher’s Roleplay Wish List

If you recall, @turkoftheslums sent me an ask the other day. My answer highlighted some of the things that I wanted to do. I’ve decided to make things a little more clear and give a better understanding of what I want. Its kind of long so its going to go under a cut.

Also understand that despite the fact that I named certain characters for these scenarios, I’m willing to do them or scenarios like them with anyone. I’m not picky about it. I just want to do them and explore possibilities.

If you want to do any of these, feel free to message me either on here or discord.

As previously started, Reno is in the beginning stages of his addiction. When I say this, its not as bad as it could be. Sure in two different scenarios he’s being dragged through the mud. In one other he’s trying to keep it from his partner. In a couple others, he’s learning to deal with the trust issues from being exposed  with his habit. 

What started this off is Reno had a couple broken ribs with a few more that were bruised. They prescribed him some high dose pain medication. He decided that he liked the numb feeling that it gave him. A sort of high that he’d never experienced before. His metabolism is too high so he burns through the medicine too quickly. He’s got to take it almost constantly if he wants to feel his escape. He even starts to experiment with other drugs to see if he can get it to last longer. And sometimes, they have . . . Side effects.

I really want to see Reno lose himself in his addiction. I want it to consume him. Make him forsakes his friends, his Turk Family. I want to see Tseng’s inner monologue of how watching his second dwindle into madness affects him. I want the Director to kick down Reno’s apartment door down and basically force Rude to drag his partner out kicking and screaming. Send him to rehab? Detox him in their own secret place? I want to write the rehab bits. I wanna see him ache for another hit and get to doing some pretty fucking desperate shit to get it. I want to know what he’s willing to do to get what he wants or die trying.

I want to see him be denied what he wants. I want to see him go absolutely feral. Suffer through withdrawal and be on the verge of giving up, be on the outskirts of death. Maybe even attempt to kill himself. I want to see Rufus get so fed up with Reno’s attitude that he confronts him about it. Thrust this motherfucker against the wall, get in his face, breathe down his neck, tell him he doesn’t have permission to give up. Doesn’t have the authority to die. Get all kinds of tyrannical in his face. Rough him up. Scream at him. Hell, might not even have to do that. Threaten him, sure, but do you know what its like having someone speak calmly to you? Speak all too casually like your life doesn’t matter? Make you feel like absolute shit about what you’re doing. Where your life is going? Shit makes you want to get better. Do better.

I want to see Reno finally break. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Tear him down until he’s just a blank slate. Let him realize what he’s done. Force him to make a decision. I want to see his friends and family build him back up. I want him to recover. I want him to be tempted to fall again. I want him to be on the brink. I want to see who is willing to save him and who’s ready to forsake him. I wanna see him have to earn their trust back, earn his position back. Make him work for it. Monitor him. Make sure he doesn’t go back down the road that will ultimately lead to his death.

I want to celebrate his win against his addition. Keep a running total of the days he’s been clean. Make memories with him, good or bad. I still want it to be a presence in his stories, but I want the struggle to be there. I want something to reference in various threads. I want something I can reference in asks if I need/want to. The temptation. I want it as a sort of side thing that can be referenced if it needs to. I just want it to make an impact. I want my exploration into it to mean something.

That’s not it either. I want to explore other things. More dark themes. I want to delve deep into his mentality about more things than just drugs. I want to know how the plate drop affected him. How knowing what it meant fucks with him every single day. How he can just keep smiling and acting like nothing is wrong. Delve into his psyche and figure out what it bent, what it broke, what it reshaped. Explore what options I can get from that.

I want to do torture threads where he has to get information out of people. Threads where he gets the shit kicked out of him when he gets kidnapped. Brainwashing, reconditioning. I want to go into detail about all kinds of things and just see what happens. I’ve only done one thread like that. I want more. I want to know just how far things can go.

It's hard to find people to do these things with. At least for me, it is. I have so many ideas. Put me on the spot and I’ll panic and not have any and make myself out to be a liar. Give me something like this, where I can sit and think and give details and avenues and options, and its like a fucking gold mine.

Is most of this word for word from the ask? Yes. But I did elaborate quite a bit, I think. Like I said above the cut, if you're interested send me a message here on tumblr or at Asher The Lion#3154 on discord. We can discuss something and get it started.

[thecatprince]

Luckier Than Most

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Summary:  Janus and Patton struggle to cope with the death of Virgil, Roman tries to talk to Remus and Virgil has a heavy realisation.

Warnings: Mentions of death, alcohol, drunkeness and general angst.

Authors Notes: Thanks for all of the support on this fic!!

Reblogs > Likes

--

Chapter Four - The Realities of Being a Ghost

Whatever Patton had expected that night, a phone call from a very drunk Janus wasn’t it. That being said, Janus hadn’t intended to get drunk either.

The whole day had left Janus feeling numb and lost. He felt the pain of his friend’s death sharp like an arrow, but at the same time he felt a bit empty. He hadn’t cried much since the accident, even though he wanted to. Janus felt this aching hole in his chest, the feeling of something missing. He kept thinking he would pick up his phone and there would be a new message from Virgil, or that he would look across the street and see the light on in Virgil’s room. He had even called Virgil, knowing that it would go to voicemail, just so he could hear his friend’s voice again.

In fact, that was what had caused him to get drunk in the first place. Nothing could emotionally prepare him for the sound of Virgil’s voice coming through the phone. The message that Virgil had rehearsed for an hour before finally recording his voice into his phone. The quick “Hey this is Virgil. Leave a message after the beep”. Just a couple of seconds, then the beep sounded and Janus was alone again. He put the phone down, and walked into the kitchen. His father was out picking up takeaway, and there was a bottle of wine left on the bench. Janus felt an overwhelming feeling of temptation, to be able to provide relief however temporary, to the sense of emptiness and pain he was feeling. He got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it up the way his father had done countless times. This wasn’t Janus’ first time having wine, for his father had always allowed him a little sip when he was having some, but this was the first time having a glass all to himself. He took a big gulp of it, and felt a slight warmth in his stomach.

Janus took another sip, and then another, and soon the glass was empty. His head felt a little foggier, and the internal pain he was feeling had diminished a bit. He liked the feeling, the way he felt slightly numb, but this was a numbness he brought on himself. He poured himself another glass, slightly more than the last one, and drained it. Now the world seemed to be spinning slightly and his brain felt very foggy. Even though the emptiness and pain he was feeling before had subsided into a gentle ache, Janus decided that he hated the feeling of being drunk. Patton had only been home for a couple of hours when his phone rang. He of course picked it up, despite being exhausted from the events of today, because his friend needed him. Janus had answered, and after a couple of quick questions Patton realised that he was drunk as a skunk. Out of all of his friends, Janus was the second last person who he expected to get wasted (Logan was the last person, for the only beverage Patton had seen Logan drink other than water was juice).

Janus’ speech was slightly slurred, and halfway through the call he started crying heavily. Patton tried to comfort him the best he could, though he was exhausted and it was really difficult to comfort a drunk person over the phone. Eventually, Janus hung up, whether on accident or on purpose, and Patton was left alone in his room again. He stared out of the window, his chest aching from the loss of his friend.

“Hey Virgil,” Patton murmured. He knew Virgil wasn’t there, he knew Virgil would never come back, but he couldn’t help it. He just wanted to talk to his friend. A tear slipped down his cheek, and he brushed it away. “I hope you’re okay. I miss you… a lot, but I know that it will be okay, and you are in a better place now… hopefully. I just wanted to say, I love you, you were one of my best friends and I didn’t ever want to lose you…” Patton stopped talking as tears overcame him. He buried his face in his pillow as sobs wracked his body and he cried himself to sleep.

--

Roman awoke the next morning, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. He had no idea why, until he saw Virgil sitting on the beanbag in the corner of his room. He was wearing headphones, and apparently listening to music, given that he was bopping his head, and for a moment Roman forgot that he was the ghost of his friend who had drowned just yesterday. Roman watched his friend for a little longer than was probably normal, watching the way the morning sun seemed to make his purple hair even more vibrant. Virgil stared out the window, casually moving his head along to a beat, and it took him a while to notice that Roman had woken up. When he did, he smiled and took his headphones off of his head.

“Good, you’re finally awake. Do you know how long nights last when you aren’t tired? I don’t think ghosts need to sleep. But I did manage to conjure these headphones and play music, which is pretty cool. I have no idea how it works, but I did it.”

Roman gave a shrug, lying back down on his bed. “Ghost logic is something we need to figure out. We could write everything down in a notebook. Maybe Logan could help us. OH!” Roman shouted, sitting up suddenly. Virgil winced at the loud noise and gave Roman a confused look.

“What? Did you get bitten or something? Foot cramp?”

Roman brushed off the questions and continued. “No, I realised we can show you to the others! Virgil you can talk to the others!!”

“Oh,” Virgil said, a look of realisation dawning on his face, which quickly morphed into an uncertain one. “Roman… what if they can’t see me?”

“What? Of course they will be able to see you. I can see you, so they should be able to! Just think of it Virgil, it will be like you never left.” Roman seemed to be vibrating with joy at the prospect. Virgil gave a small smile, conflicted between not wanting to get his hopes up and being overjoyed at the prospects of seeing his friends again, of talking to them again. Roman bounced out of bed and out the door, gesturing for Virgil to join him. Virgil followed, and found them outside of Remus’ door.

The pit of nervousness in Virgil’s stomach swelled, but a rush of overwhelming joy cancelled it out. Roman knocked on the door loudly before barging in. Remus was sprawled out on his bed, picking at his nails, looking unusually quiet and dull.

“Ree, you will never believe it!” Roman shouted, practically jumping up and down with excitement. Remus glared at Roman, and Roman paused for a minute.

“Get out,” Remus said slowly and calmly. Roman looked as shocked and uncertain as Virgil felt. It was very uncharacteristic for Remus to act like this. Normally if he was angry or hurt there would be a lot of loud yelling, punches potentially being thrown (though Remus was always careful to not hit people just things) and you would know exactly why he was angry. It was a hot type of anger and negativity. This was different. His voice was cold, quiet and calm, but he was very clearly angry. Roman swallowed and tried again.

“Remus you won’t believe this.” Roman sounded a little apprehensive. Remus glared at him again, then stood up very suddenly. Roman took a step back.

“Get out!” Remus shouted. Roman’s face fell, but this was territory he was used to. Now that Remus was yelling it would be easier to handle the anger. And part of him knew that it wasn’t fully directed at Roman. “Why are you so happy? WHY?? Our best friend died yesterday and you’re smiling? Did his life mean anything to you?! How could you be so horrid?”

Roman’s face looked both shocked and hurt. Remus had tears streaking down his face, and after he had finished yelling he crumpled to the floor. Virgil went forward. “Remus, look, it’s me! Virgil. Remus, I’m here!” Remus didn’t respond and Virgil knew that what he had feared was true.

“He can’t see me,” Virgil whispered, deflated. He turned around and ran down the hall back into Roman’s bedroom. Roman followed shortly afterwards, his shoulders hunched slightly in defeat. “I’m sorry Virgil. I really thought that would work,” Roman said, his voice sounding low. He flopped onto the bed and looked at Virgil.

Virgil avoided Roman’s gaze and just stared at the floor. “No, it’s okay. I should have known this was too good to be true.”

Silence filled the room, weighing heavily on both of them. After a considerable amount of time, Virgil broke the quiet. “How come you are the only one who can see me?”

Roman made an effort to look everywhere but Virgil. Roman knew exactly why he was the only one who could see him. He made the wish, even though he had no idea it would come true, and he had forced Virgil to come back from wherever you go when you die to the living world. If he told Virgil, Virgil might hate him for forcing to be stuck here as a ghost. Was Virgil even stuck here? Could he leave and go back to being permanently dead with no way for Roman to communicate with him ever again? Would he leave if he knew the truth? Roman wanted to tell Virgil the truth, but he didn’t want to risk losing him again. Not after just getting him back.

“I don’t know,” Roman mumbled. He felt incredibly guilty for lying, but he couldn’t risk it. He will tell Virgil the truth eventually, but not now. He had just got his friend back, and he couldn’t lose him again.

Virgil seemed oblivious to Roman’s inner turmoil as he stared around the room, seeming lost in thought. Eventually, Virgil sighed and turned to face Roman, a sad smile on his face. “Guess I’m stuck with you Princey.”

Roman struck a dramatic pose and mock fainted. “Oh the horror!” he cried in an over the top voice. Virgil laughed.

“Yeah, who would want to be stuck with you? I don’t know how I can cope,” Virgil said in a playful tone. Roman gave him a “really?” face.

“Shut up. It is a privilege to be stuck with me. You should feel honoured!” Roman said, flailing his arms around dramatically.

“Oh I feel so honoured,” Virgil said sarcastically. “It’s just too bad no one shrank your head before I was summoned from the afterlife.”

Roman gave an overly dramatic gasp, then stuck out his tongue. Virgil laughed. “Oh real mature.”

“Hey!” Roman exclaimed, picking up a pillow and throwing it at Virgil. It went straight through him, hitting the wall behind him with a loud thump. The two paused for a moment, waiting for someone to come into the room to see what all the commotion was about, but no one came. Roman assumed his parents were out of the house.

Once it was clear no one was going to come up, Virgil let out a triumphant laugh. “Ghost remember?”

Roman flipped him off, and there was a beat of silence before the two of them collapsed into laughter. For the first time since Virgil’s death, everything felt normal. There was no way Roman was ever letting this go.

-- 

Comments are greatly appreciated!!

[accidentally-a-writer]

you’re running out of time

Hello yes, remember when Stand Back was fluffy? Yeah that time is over now. As always, this is for @stegekay who has been working her ass off lately and running the Non-Stop Marathon, and juggling writing and talking to me in the meantime. Show her all the appreciation guys. 💖

... 

Laurens knocks before entering, seeing that Alex is indeed awake by now. “General Washington will join us soon, he assures, he’s been caught in his endless cycle of work and replies.”  

“As he’s too want to do,” Alex mumbles sleepily, shifting on the chaise, still looking a little uneasy. “Should we two just take supper now?” 

“I’m sure he won’t be long Alexander.” Laurens plops next to him and grins, exhausted. “It’s been a Hell of a day.”  

“Yeah I can see that,” Alex lets his head tilt back. “Maybe we should eat anyways, you don’t feel so good.” 

“Hey, stay out of my emotions, brat,” Laurens chuckles. “Let’s wait for your guardian to join us, he really did seem contrite he couldn’t come sooner.” 

“I’ve no doubt that he’s sorry to miss supper, I just wish he wouldn’t miss it at all- I know he’s working John, but tonight he promised- do not call me a child, I know how I sound.” 

“See? What use am I in our conversations when you can tell so easily what I’m about to say?” 

“Most frown on speaking to oneself.” 

“Conceded.” Alex grins at him, and Laurens grins back. “Come, perhaps we can convince Washington to retire sooner if we bring you to be a constant irritant as you are.” 

“Oh ha ha,” Alexander says sarcastically. “He told us to stay in here.” 

“I made it just fine,” Laurens stands and pulls Alexander up with him. “Besides, I’m a lieutenant colonel, I can protect you for the five minute walk it takes to get to His Excellency’s office..” 

“Oh I most assuredly do not trust you to do so,” he teases. “But should my guardian choose to reprimand us we shall indeed use your excuse to the maximum, a distinguished soldier as you are.” 

“Quite. Allons y, petit lion.” Laurens opens the door and bows dramatically, ushering Alex from his room, the wards. 

Alexander huffs at the nickname and shakes his head, crossing the threshold unassumingly. As soon as John follows he collapses. 

“John?!” Alexander’s eyes widen and he tries to catch him but it happens so quickly, he’s already on the ground. Alexander sinks next to him. He was fine, they were just talking- “John? What’s- John what’s wrong?” 

A hand settles on his shoulder, too close to his neck, and Hamilton feels the cool metal of a dagger placed at his neck. “He’s outgrown his usefulness.” 

The voice sends a violent shiver down Alexander’s spine, and absolute dread fills his core. He feels… he feels wrong. It feels wrong again. So wrong, he feels weak and he can’t breathe and he can’t access his magic- where’s Washington? 

Alexander heaves a breath to scream and- 

The dagger is between his lips before he can utter a sound. “None of that now, I’d hate to mark up a pretty thing like you, but I will. I’ll cut your tongue out if I have to, understand?”

God he can’t stand having the man so close to him it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts- 

“I won’t ask again, pet, understand?” 

“Y-yes,” Alexander says, jerking his head in the affirmative. “John- what’ve you- what’ve you done to him?” 

Where’s Washington? Alexander knows the man should be feeling his absolute terror right now, shouldn’t he be coming? 

“Oh, he’s fine. Mostly. I might’ve slipped him a bit of a poison but it’s an easy spell to undo the effects.”  

The man hauls Alexander up, finally (thankfully) removing the dagger from his lips. He casts a mere glance at Laurens and sends him through Alexander’s door, suddenly bound and gagged. 

“Can’t be too careful; the boy could wake up and ruin the surprise prematurely.” 

“Sur-surprise?” What does he want? Where’s Washington?!

“Yes, for your father-” 

“The general is not my-” 

“Shh, I didn’t tell you to speak.” Alexander’s head spins with the Dark magic and confusion both. Why hasn’t Washington come to help him? 

“He’s blocking your bond, obviously.” Davies chuckles, startling the boy in his grip. “He doesn’t want you to feel his fear; ironic, hm?” 

He feels himself being pulled and it hits him then; this man means to take him. 

“Oh, do not fight me now pet, I so am not in the mood.” Any ability to scream or thrash in the mage’s grip dies with the order, and Alexander is left to scream at the wall of a bond. Surely, surely Washington will come soon anyhow. 

Davies drags Alexander through the maze that is their home, and Alexander cannot help but to let his eyes linger on every detail; what if this is the last time he sees it? 

When he’s out of the house, and therefore out of the last of Washington’s protective wards, Davies stops them. 

“Right, now you may scream for your father.” Oh, there's no way Alexander is doing that, that is so clearly meant to be a trap- 

Agony rips through his veins, all encompassing and everywhere. It feels like it’s eating him inside out, like his blood’s been replaced by fire and he can’t stop the screams of pain from exploding from his throat. 

“You either scream when I tell you, or I make you.”  

Alexander barely hears the mage over his own throat ripping as he spasms in the dirt. The wall in the bond comes crashing down and Washington’s own terror and panic crashes over him. 

/Alex?! Alexander what’s wrong?! Where are you?!/ 

He can’t answer, the pain is so mind-numbing all he can do is scream and scream and scream and scream. 

He feels Washington though, he feels him spatially and emotionally. Frantic. 

The pain fades but its aftershocks are still excruciating. Alexander feels that grip on his arm again, hauling him up and against the man’s chest. His hand snakes around his neck and Alexander doesn’t need the dagger there to feel just as threatened. 

He’s dragged away from the door just as Washington burst through it, fear shining clear as day in his eyes. 

“Let him go,” he gasps, chest heaving. His arms jerk forward, desperate to hold his ward. “Whatever you want, you can have, just let me-” 

“I have what I want.” 

Washington chokes on his breath - not a sob, it isn’t a sob, he needs to keep it together - at the mage’s words. He has his son, he’s going to take his son, Washington is going to lose his son. 

“I- There must be something else, anything else that you want.” 

“Do not try and dissuade me from my prize, Washington. You know as well as I that there is nothing in the world worth more than this little angel full of untapped power.”

Washington releases a shuddering breath, Davies’ proximity unnerves him too but it is nothing compared to the growing nausea at his words. He’s going to take him. 

The air stirred around Washington, cracked with power he dare not release with his ward so close to his intended target. 

“Control yourself, General. I’d hate to have this one meet a painful end so young.” Alex feels himself jerked closer to Davies’ chest, his head forced up so his throat is bared to Washington and he is rendered disconcertingly sightless. 

“Release my ward and you may go,” Washington rumbles, splaying his hands non-threateningly. “We won’t follow.” 

“You won’t follow my initial transportation regardless,” Davies smirks. 

“And why is that?” 

“Because Lieutenant Colonel Laurens is upstairs dying from Ryeinstere poison.” Washington blanches, and the stab of fear Alexander feels from him makes him squirm in the mage’s grip. “Now, there’s no one allowed in little Alex’s room without his express permission hm? Only you and the Colonel. So if you do not tend to him soon, he’ll almost certainly choke on his own vomit and be no more than a corpse by the time you return.”

Washington couldn’t breathe. He either lets this man take his son or- or he’ll take another one. 

/Save John./ The voice slams into his head, reminding him just how enormous the loss will be if Alexander is taken. He’s his Bonded, his child. To lose him will be agony- /Please, please don’t let him die because of me./ 

/Alexander-/ 

“Make your choice now, Washington. You don’t want me to lose my patience; this is going to be the last time you see the whelp after all.” 

“Please,” the plea bursts from Washington’s mouth unbidden. What good will begging a man like this do? “Please don’t take him, please, anything else, I’ll- I’ll surrender.” 

Alexander makes a strained protest, silenced immediately by a sharp ‘Hush!’ from the mage. He’s enjoying this, the most powerful man in the colonies, apparently, begging him. 

“I like you begging… do it again.” 

Washington falls to his knees, without hesitation. Davies jerks Alexander’s hair to see; it sends a jolt of despair through Alexander’s core to see his guardian reduced to kneeling at the feet of this madman. 

“I beg of you, please don’t take him,” Washington was above no form of degradation if it meant Alexander might be safe at the end of it. “Please… please, I beg you.” 

Davies hums, grinning down at Washington. “Moving, truly, General.” Alexander feels the hand in his hair begin stroking. With his other Davies tosses a vial in front of Washington. The antidote, Alexander guesses. “But no.” 

Dark engulfs both the mage and Alexander, wrapping them up and pulling at his very soul and oh God it hurts. What hurts more is hearing Washington scream for him and then… nothing. 

They land in the front garden of a huge estate, warm and beautiful and so wrong. 

Washington’s side of the bond screams in agony, in loss. Alexander sobs as he struggles with his and his father’s grief. 

Rough hands snatch at his jaw, strangling his cries. “Shut up.” 

“Let me go, pl-please, please let me go.” 

“I said shut up!” Alexander is thrown to the ground by the blow to his face, his cheek splitting on Davies’ ring. Davies tears at his hair, forcing him up onto his knees with a cry, hands scratching at the vice ripping at this scalp, trying to relieve the pressure. “No more tears for Daddy,” Davies hisses, “from now on I am the only thing that matters to you.”

[yannsscarf]

A personal selection:

every favorite shot from every episode of Skam France season 3.

episode 1: the moment when lucas made up his mind and took the first step.

to me, its a hard one between the moment when eliott walked in le foyer and that facial expression lucas made. it's like a hit to the head and something was growing inside from that moment. but again to me the story of lucas begins here. he chose his fate, his instinct. he hesitated, swallowed, yet he still walked forward. i just love this moment so much.

episode 2:  the moment when lucas becoming the Polaris of eliott.

specifically this shot. lucas looked back and its almost like he was searching for acceptance. its so telling with his careful, longing, slightly doubted face. he cut himself open and presented his heart to his crush, it's so bold of a move but it's so beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful. and you can see eliott’s eyes, they are lightening up like there’s nothing brighter than lucas.

episode 3: the moment when they challenged each other.

where do I begin? or do I even need to? lucas’ eyes are telling everything. if there’s any moment that they are confirming things between them, this is the moment. lucas is challenging, eliott is challenging, they dare each other to take the first move. the tension, the desire, the nameless butterflies flying around in the air. name one stronger eye contact in tv history I’ll wait.

episode 4: ‘i’ve watched your project.’ ‘guess we have to marry now.’

this particular shot is hands down my fav in this season. just how it resembles the dream of eliott, how it shows that lucas is definitely the polaris to eliott, how brave and beautiful it is for lucas to take a lead and show his pure admiration and love to eliott. at this moment they stopped questioning, they stopped guessing and teasing, they found each other. I might be the weirdest person but to me, locking fingers is waaaaay more poetic, sensual and significant than other physical contacts. and this moment completed me.

episode 5: the ending shot.

how do you say, disappointed, hurt, brokenhearted, numbed and despaired? this ending shot tells you how. I don't know where to begin or how to begin to describe the feeling that I had after this scene. or how much it is enough for me to appreciate the cinematography in here. every time I watch it I'm always amazed by that certain amount of blurriness in the ending shot, as if its seen through the eyes of lucas, blurred out from time to time, losing focus every now and then, crushed by rage, despondency, and hopelessness.

episode 6: utter vulnerability, emotionally raw, and friends become family.

I love how lucas is being the one who comforts people in the beginning and tried so hard to get himself together, yet failed in the end. the whole blue in this shot, tone-wise and emotion-wise, is thoroughly conveyed. somehow in the mood of sadness and sorrow, we felt the warmth. in the moment of taciturnity, sadness was flowing under, and the tears were their way out.

episode 7: a fascinating dance in the rain of oil paint.

I probably rewatched this episode 200 times before i made my decision. what can say besides the fact that this clip is not only a tribute but a poem of its own. the way they swing, how they hold onto each other, the holy intimacy, and colors are everywhere as if we just walked into someone’s dream. the shot is so perfectly done it almost feels sacred to me, and nothing there should be violated. hold your breath, stop whatever you are doing, drop your phone, take a seat, and enjoy one the most beautiful shots in tv history.

episode 8: lucas’ ability to love people.

episode 8 is probably the hardest one. too much has happened and too many need to be remembered. i actually made a final 5 and then ditched them all, come up with this one. funny thing is that no matter how many times i watch this clip, especially this scene, i can't tell if its an improvisation or its actually in the script. but either way, they have given a whole new layer of lucas’ character, his ability to love. he stares at eliott until he has gone from sight, he blows a kiss to him even no one is there to catch. this moment is when i go, this boy is far gone in love, its so silly so pure so heartwarming yet so full of strength. he has the world’s strongest empathy even tho he’s gained less during his childhood. this level of devotion and loyalty made lucas the most loveable, angelic and relatable. (btw the tip of his nose bounces when he blows kisses I’ve watched it for two hours no regret.)

episode 9: remember stopped and lucas whispered, ‘T’es plus tout seul.’

kudos to the editing team because how many of us had goosebumps when remember was put on hold, as if the whole world has stopped and all you can hear is lucas’ mad heartbeat, following the line, ‘you are not alone anymore.’ its so simple, so heartwrenching, yet so powerful. they way lucas put himself in a lower position, forehead against eliott, hands cupping eliott’s face, you don't need to hear it to know how much he loves him. its written on his face.

episode 10: the tears of Juedi 17h32.

lucas has cried many times during this season. too many times to the point some pious, mindless people started to complain about it. I’ve said it before but I gotta say it again, be grateful, be devoted, it really is a privilege for us to sit there and witness them all. his emotions through his tears in this season are priceless. and how amazing the whole crew is because they aren't afraid to show it to the audiences. society tells men that its a shame to cry, and most of them act along. lucas said, fuck it, I’ll cry whenever I feel it. and isn't it just the most beautiful, important thing in the world? to me, episode 10 has blessed us some of the most accurate, sincere, on-point reactions. eliott’s honest monologue about his mental health, lucas’ overprotective status and his strong empathy showed up everywhere in those little details. but nothing hits me harder than this shot. the bus drifted, then the camera started pulling away but remained closeup, lucas’ emotions was poured out, everyone is feeling it through the screen. his tears are shed for sadness from parting, happiness from love and tenderness from eliott. his tears are the proof of living the moment, that lucas is living in the moment and feeling everything. and it has to be in our recognition that no one should be reserved from showing basic human emotions. 

I specifically took some of those out and highlighted some frames just to show that I really really love them. it’s not ranked, its nearly impossible to rank them. I already had a hard time choosing between scenes. again it’s only my personal taste and some might not seem to be important at all to others. but they are truly my favourite, cinematography wise, symbolism-wise, just anything.

I can’t even say its a tribute or anything to season 3 because it’s just my simple modification of the original work. I only picked them just so I can show my genuine appreciation to the whole crew. they are the real MVP. they have to know that I for one appreciate every second of the season and every piece of transmedia content. I laughed, I cried, I got upset, I became furious, I smiled, I rolled my eyes, I looked into the void, I sighed, but most importantly, I learned.

lucas lallemant, being the little hero he is, really had me fall hard. i don’t even know how to use my pale, plain, tasteless words to describe how much i love him. i love him knowing that i could never reach his level of bravery, and it doesn’t matter. i have thousands of words for him yet somehow I can’t say anything.

I guess if parallel universe does exist, maybe I’ll meet him, hold his hands, might even say thank you even if it sounds strange as hell. but I do thank him.

thank you lucas, for you being you, for always choose love. Thank you for never quitting, for never stop fighting. Sometimes I take a look at you and I tell myself, somewhere in this universe you exist, and that’s such a bliss. I don’t know what did I do to deserve you, such a gentle soul, such a golden heart. Thank you for just, your whole existence. I take a look back of the teenager me and seeing the things that I’ve missed, people who I’ve been wronged. And there’s you, lucas, there’s you. You did things that i never had the guts to do, you choose the one that I’ve lost a long time ago. And I’m so happy that you did because you deserve all the love.

You are my little hero and always will. It’s been such a short amount of time, if only I knew parting was this hard, I would give up anything just to live through these all over again, just so I can meet you one more time, just so I can see your beautiful goofy smile, hold your hands, and give you the biggest hug in the whole world, and say a proper goodbye instead of being a mess and totally out of breath because of all the tears.

I’m gonna miss you so much.

Goodbye Lucas, I love you so, so much, I really do.

Until next time.