#I took like a week without replying or forcing myself to or consciously feeling bad abt not replying

[starsmuserainbow]

I emptied my askbox today!

Maybe, just maybe, that means I'll be able to write at least something else again tomorrow? I'll definitely try.

On another note, I'm making progress in that char creator of that "game" that very much isn't of a genre I'd want for the game itself; and I really like the results I can get there!

[glassessence]

Modern Soulmate AU | Watanabe

M O D E R N   S O U L M A T E   A U   |   W A T A N A B E

-- You see in black and white until you meet your soulmate. --

There have been violent protests for days now and this morning graced us with a magnitude 5.9 earthquake. Suffice to say I’m feeling a little ~shooketh~ (pardon the pun; I’ll show myself out haha). 

Anyway, I’ve been writing a lot of angst lately and wanted a change of pace. I love the idea of soulmates, so here’s an AU featuring university professor Watanabe. I’m super tired at the time of this posting so grammatical tenses are all over the place. I’m sorry. I zoned out so hard during this that it’s half stream of consciousness lmao.  

Also, it’s in dot-point format because I have no time to write it into an actual oneshot *cry* Also, if anyone cares, here’s what I have planned for future instalments in this series: 

CEO Lee | Secretary Reader

Pop singer Kamui | Backup dancer Reader

W A T A N A B E   |   U N I V E R S I T Y   P R O F E S S O R

Watanabe has seen in faded colours since the start of the semester. He knows his soulmate is a student, but doesn’t know who.

It’s not until you stay behind to ask him a question that it happens. He turns to you and his world bursts into riotous technicolour. Your world explodes into colour, blues and greens and yellows beyond your wildest dreams.

For a moment, both of you just stare at each other. Watanabe is speechless, blown away by the colour in your cheeks and the light in your eyes. You’re backlit by the soft afternoon sun and all he can think of is how beautiful you are.

You’ve always considered Watanabe handsome but unattainable. You’d always figured someone like him would be taken. All the good ones were. 

But now, he was your soulmate. The knowledge feels impossible and knocks the very breath out of you. 

“It’s you,” Watanabe breathes, so quietly you barely hear him. His hand reaches out. Long fingers are inches from your face when he seems to remember himself. He drops his hand. Clearing his throat, he asks you how he can help.

You’re so shocked at the blazing colour of the world that you’ve forgotten your question. “N-Nevermind, professor. I’ve gotta go.” Heart hammering and face flaming, you rush from the room as fast as you can. 

The next few weeks are super awkward. You’re not sure how to talk to Watanabe and he seems to be avoiding you. He rushes out after every lecture and doesn’t meet your eye. Even though your world looks so beautiful now, it feels grayer than ever.

Watanabe feels miserable and impossibly conflicted. He wants to get to know you, to hold you and kiss you. Knowing you were out there alone was a pain he could hardly bear. 

“You’re kidding,” Bruce says over beer one day. He eyes his lonely friend. “Keep it secret, Watanabe, but you have to do something. This doesn’t just happen to anyone, you know.”

You stopped going to lectures, unable to stand the reality of Watanabe purposefully ignoring you. Was it because you were a student? Or… did he have someone else? The very possibility of another woman filled your heart with envy. 

Noticing your absence, Watanabe grew concerned. He was a university professor, after all. Regardless of whatever bond connected the both of you, you were still his student. 

He reached out to you via email. Y/N, I haven’t seen you in lectures lately. Is everything okay? 

Your response was curt. Thank you for checking in, professor. I’m fine, just been feeling a bit unwell lately. 

Guilt shot through Watanabe. It seemed it was your turn to avoid him. He knew he deserved it. His heart ached. Bruce was right. Something had to be done. I see. I don’t want you to fail the subject.  I think we should have a catch up over coffee to discuss your progress.

Your heart skipped a beat. Was Watanabe asking you out on a date? Or were you reading way too much into it? Regardless, you dressed well. The day was bright, warm and sunny. You’d grown used to the brilliant colours, but still took immense pleasure in seeing the autumn leaves fall. 

He was dressed in a casual button down and slacks, long hair knotted at the back of his head. Handsome without trying, as usual. You eyed him warily. He’d made his intentions clear so far. You didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. Still, something in you ached for his touch. You tore your eyes from his lips. 

Watanabe admired you. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, but seeing you again up close, he was taken aback by your eyes. “You came,” he says simply. “Of course,” you reply casually. “I don’t want to fail the subject, after all.”

Watanabe quirks a smile. “I’d certainly hope not.” The two of you sit down. The conversation is initially focused on your academics and all the content you’d have to catch up on. However, it soon spirals into something else. You make him laugh, a deep rumble that kindles something in your soul. He possesses a sharp intellect that you’re desperately attracted to. Time passes in the blink of an eye. 

“I should go,” you say, gathering up your things as the sun is setting. The sky is overcast, pregnant with heavy clouds threatening rain. “Yeah,” he agrees. “My bad.”

“No,” you counter boldly. “My pleasure.” His eyes widen, but he looks away. He says nothing, but the disapproving frown tells you enough. Your smile fades. “Watanabe...What is this?” His answer is bitter. “Wrong,” he says.

Hurt and anger burn in your chest. “Wrong?” you echo. You point to your eyes. “You think this is wrong?” You slap your palm to your chest. Your voice breaks. “You think this is wrong?”

“No,” he growls, frustrated. “Never. But I’m a professor and you’re a student. I can’t take advantage of you.”

“You’re not taking advantage of me! This is meant to be! I-Is there someone else?”

He stares at you in disbelief. “No, of course not. I just...can’t.” You bite your lip. “I can’t bear to be around you,” you say softly. Raindrops splatter onto the pavement. “I’m going now.”

You turn from him and walk into the pouring rain. Watanabe runs after you. “At least let me take you home. You walked here, right?” You keep walking, trying to ignore the magnetic pull of him. “I’m fine.”

“Dammit woman,” he says, voice low. He grabs you by the arm and forces you to face him. You have to look up to see his face. “Why are you being so difficult?”

Something in you cracks. “Because,” you say heatedly. “I can’t bear to be around you! To want you so much it hurts. To want to touch you and kiss you and be beside you. To know that you’d rather be alone than with me!”

“That’s not true!” he roars back at you. “I want you. So much. I want to leave my marks on you and make you my woman. But I can’t! People will judge you and I won’t allow that.”

“Fuck them,” you reply. “You’re just a coward, Watanabe.”

His hold on you loosens in shock. You take the opportunity to break away. The sky was black now and the rain showed no signs of relenting. You hated how brightly the moon shone and how beautiful the night was under her silver touch. 

Suddenly, a hand pulled you back. Lips touched yours, warm and velvet soft. Watanabe kissed you deeply. His tongue snuck into your mouth, twining with yours like long-lost lovers. His hand curled into your hair. The other encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. His breathing was heavy. “I’m not a coward,” he whispered in your ear. “I just don’t want you to suffer because of me. Others might not understand. They might attack you. I don’t want you to hate me.”

“I could never,” you answer softly. “Never, Watanabe.”

The two of you made it back to his car. But it was a good deal later into the night that you returned home… 

[undercoveravenger]

A Pirate’s Life For Me

Creature Week 2020: Day Two

Pairing: Harry Hook x Siren!Male!Reader

Request: “Harry Hook rescued by a male!siren reader?” 

A/N: This is set in an AU where the villains were never trapped on the Isle, so Harry grew up on the Jolly Roger with his father.

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

Harry had been working on his father’s ship practically since he’d been born, but in all that time he had never seen the typically crystalline waters of Neverland become this rough. He’d seen the Jolly Roger weather storms before. He’d smelled the salty sea air grow thick with the scent of rain and watched as the dark wooden planks of the deck speckled with the falling droplets of water. He’d seen the sails billow and tear when the winds came ripping through more suddenly than the crew had been prepared for.

This was no normal storm though. The sails were being shredded up on the masts, the wind was thrashing the tail ends of the rigging around like whips and no one had been able to pull them in. Harry had abandoned his previous post almost immediately when he realized just how bad the storm was getting and did his best to help mitigate the damage.

He’d barely managed to reel in one of the flailing lengths of rope and get it tied down when he found himself slammed into by a wayward boom, the thick beam uncontrollable since the vicious winds had torn through the sail. The force knocked him from his feet and sent him plummeting over the ship’s railing and into the freezing water below.

Harry flailed, trying in vain to flounder his way to the surface but only succeeding in tiring himself out. The weight of his heavy leather coat and the sword and scabbard strapped to his hip dragged him further beneath the frigid waves as they soaked in water.

His movements had started to slow and his vision was going dark when he’d first seen it. A dark figure had flitted past him, barely discernible from the black depths around him. Then he’d felt the thickly-muscled tail brush against the back of one of his legs and, as his consciousness finally slipped away from him, Harry hoped that he would drown before the siren chose to do more than observe him.

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

When Harry had woken up and found himself lying on the sun-warmed sand of an unfamiliar beach, he had been sure that this must have been the afterlife. The burning ache of his ribs where he’d been struck by the beam during the storm when he tried to sit up had been enough to convince him that the events of the previous night had really happened.

He forced himself to sit up quickly, ignoring the pain from his bruised chest in favor of attempting to identify his surroundings. He was sure that this was not the main island of Neverland, but it also had a very different appearance than any of the smaller surrounding islands that he had been to. He supposed that the ship could have drifted during the storm, but he doubted that they’d made it into a previously uncharted archipelago. But then, how had he ended up here? 

The last thing Harry had known, he had been drowning and the ship had been far enough from land to have made washing up on some beach nearly impossible.

“Oh good,” came the sound of an unfamiliar voice. “You were out so long I was starting to wonder if I hadn’t gotten to you in time.”

Harry wheeled around at the sound of the stranger’s voice, eyes widening as he locked eyes with the most attractive guy he’d ever seen. The stranger was laying in the water on his stomach with his chin propped up on his hands, seemingly undisturbed by the freezing temperature of the water as waves crashed up over the bare skin of his back and shoulders. Harry forced himself not to linger on the stranger’s shirtlessness, instead shifting his attention to the damp waves of thick (h/c) hair falling over captivating (e/c) eyes and the alluring smile he was being offered.

Harry swallowed sharply, suddenly struggling to remember how speaking worked, “You? You were the one who saved me?”

The (h/c) nodded, shoulders straightening proudly, “Yeah, I was swimming nearby and saw you fall off your ship.” He ducked his head, looking almost abashed, “My sisters told me that it was what you deserved, but I didn’t agree so I dove after you.” 

“Your family wanted you to let me drown…?” Harry wasn’t exactly sure what sort of people would want to let someone drown, but he had the distinct impression that he probably wouldn’t like his savior’s family.

He shrugged, rolling over onto his back so he could look up at the sky, “Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s kind of what we do.” At the baffled look on Harry’s face, the (h/c) let out a huff. Harry watched as the stranger shifted his weight back onto his shoulders a little, using the new leverage to lift his legs out of the water.

Except it wasn’t legs that emerged from the frothing waves. No, instead, the (h/c) lifted a huge, gleaming caudal fin from its previous place hidden under the water, droplets and rivulets trailing down the length of the tail toward where it merged with his torso. 

At first glance, Harry had assumed he was just one of the merpeople that lingered in Mermaid Lagoon, but he quickly noticed the distinctive differences. Merpeople had beautiful, elegant tails that came in a rainbow of shades more appropriate to showing off than for use in hunting. Sirens on the other hand? They were made to kill and one good look at the (h/c)’s tail had Harry convinced that he knew what he was dealing with.

His scales shone a brilliant emerald color and the myriad of colors that made up the caudal fin nearly camouflaged the set of poisonous spines hiding along the length of the fin. Harry knew, even without seeing it, that a similar set could be found along the shorter fin that trailed up the back of the tail.

After all, sirens were deadly even without their captivating songs.

Harry scrambled back at the sight, pushing himself further up the beach in an effort to get away from the creature.

The (h/c) let out a disappointed huff, letting his tail drop back against the water with a loud slapping sound. He dropped his head back against the sand, but Harry knew he was still under observation. “You realize that if I were going to make a meal of you, I would have done it by now, right? I had the perfect opportunity before. Y’know, when you were drowning?” He sighed as Harry made no move to relax, eventually pushing himself further into the water and slipping off below the waves.

Harry knew that even with the siren out of sight, it still posed a massive threat. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it would take for the crew to find him, if they ever did, so his first priority needed to be securing himself a shelter. He wasn’t sure how large the island really was, but he decided that he would rather make his camp near the beach than in the thick jungle that loomed beyond the welcoming white sands. He’d just have to make sure to take some precautions to ensure that his silver-tongued visitor would not be visiting unexpectedly.

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

It took him several hours to set up a shelter that he deemed secure enough, and several more to find enough rocks to serve as a sort of barrier. He spent the rest of the day arranging the stones in rows three or four deep around the sea-facing edge of his camp, the most jagged edges facing the water. He knew that rocks alone would do little against a siren, but it made him feel better to think that if the creature wanted him dead enough to drag itself out of the water after him, it’d at least have to risk injuring itself.

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

When Harry awoke the next morning to find the siren lounging in the same spot as it had been yesterday glaring reproachfully at his meager stone barrier, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction.

The (h/c) turned to look at him as he emerged from his shelter, (e/c) eyes glinting oddly in the light. “What’s this for?”

“To keep you away from me,” Harry replied evenly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The siren rolled his eyes grumpily, dragging a claw-tipped finger along the edge of one of the rocks, “And here I was going to offer to take you back to the other humans once you were healed.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, “And get back in the water with a siren? Not a chance.”

“Good luck meeting back up with your family then,” the siren retorted, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “There are not many boats that come this far. There are too many of us up here.”

Harry’s eyes widened; if the siren was telling the truth, then he really was on his own. There would be no chance of rescue if he was deep in siren territory. He swore at the realization, hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Why should I believe you?”

The (h/c) shrugged, pushing himself to sit up further to watch the waves come rolling in, “I have no reason to lie. Because of you, I have no family to go home to. No one to protect but myself.”

The brunet was confused. “Because of me? What did I do?”

“I saved you,” the (h/c) replied simply. “They saw that as a betrayal. Thought that I was putting a stranger above the wellbeing of the pod and decided to cast me out.” He smiled wryly, eyes fixed on the horizon, “I have no one but you now.”

The siren’s honesty had Harry feeling a little guilty about his earlier hostility. And the (h/c) had a point when he said that he could’ve just let him drown, but instead he’d tried to save him and he was offering to take him back to the ship as soon as he was better.

Harry took a deep breath as he made his way closer to the siren, kicking a few of the stones out of the way as he approached. The (h/c) looked stunned by his change in attitude, but he chose to remain silent even as the brunet sat down beside him. “My mom died when I was little,” he started slowly, azure eyes fixed far past the boy beside him. “She’d gone out on the ship with my dad and his crew and when they came back she was gone along with almost half of the crew.” The breath he took was shaky and Harry felt like he didn’t have nearly enough air in his lungs to continue, “My dad says it was sirens; they were lured off of the ship by their singing and drowned.”

The siren’s (e/c) eyes were wide as he looked back at Harry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Harry replied slowly, “I just wanted you to understand why it’s hard for me to trust you.”

“That makes sense,” his companion nodded, the end of his tail flicking and creating a mess of tiny waves that washed up over Harry’s feet and wet the ends of his pants. “You can call me (M/N), by the way.’

“The name’s Harry,” the brunet replied, watching the light dance off his new friend’s scales hypnotically. His lips quirked up as he realized that being trapped here with him until he had recovered may not be so bad after all.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 3: Reading Her Signals

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Step 3: Reading Her Signals

When you've developed a mutual understanding of one another, it'll become important to demonstrate your knowledge. Pay attention to the way she communicates, both verbally and non-verbally. Learning to read her signals will make her feel understood. Be sure to ask for clarification when you doubt her meaning, and more importantly respond to feedback if you get it wrong. If you can do this, you'll be well on your way to charming her.

******

Ron had just turned to chapter three of 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches when something broke his attention. Hermione's breathing picked up it's pace, growing shallower and faster in her sleep. Even though it had been years, she still experienced nightmares from that dreadful day at Malfoy Manor. He knew not to wake her, because they could be worse when she fell asleep the second time. Other times, waking her from them would prevent any more sleep, only to leave her staring anxiously at the ceiling, reliving the nightmare in her memory.

He transferred the book into his other hand so he could inch closer to her. He slipped his free arm across her and guided her gently to her side. Her breathing changed abruptly, and he froze, hoping that he hadn't woken her up. He tentatively placed her head against his chest, and she responded by curling up closer to him, and her breathing steadied. Relieved she was still asleep, he planted a soft kiss on her forehead before turning his attention back to the book.

The interaction was well rehearsed. Through trial and error, he had learned how to calm her out of a nightmare without waking her. He understood the warning signs that preceded one, and he could usually mitigate it rather quickly by holding her firmly against him so she could hear the calming rhythm of his breath.

Admittedly, he was better at reading her body language when she was awake. He could tell if she had a bad day at work simply by the heaviness of the thud her bag made when it hit the floor. On those evenings, he would pour her a glass of wine as she hastily changed into clothes that might as well have the words "we're ordering take away tonight" cross stitched to the front.

At his annual office party, he swiftly changed the subject when his team began talking about their most recent case- an Azkaban escapee who tortured muggles- because he saw the color drain from her face, and she gripped her wine glass a little more firmly. He knew she was ready to leave by her forced politeness when his colleague explained a piece of legislature that she had written herself, and the piercing glare she gave an inebriated guest who mumbled his appreciation for her low-cut dress.

They had even streamlined their communication in the bedroom. He wouldn't bother to cast a contraceptive charm if he found her bundled up in an oversized jumper, so absorbed in a book that she startled when he entered the room. Other times, he didn't need to ask if, or how she wanted him to touch her. He knew by the way she smiled before tangling her fingers in his hair and gently tugging his lower lip between her teeth. On those nights, he would confidently slip a hand under the lace of her knickers, and watch as her eyes closed contentedly and her cheeks turned bashfully pink. Her breath would catch in her throat, she would dig her fingers into his skin, and there'd be no need to say anything at all.

Sometimes he wished he could go back in time, simply to shake his former self by the shoulders and expose every missed opportunity. He could have had her sooner, if only he'd been able to read her signals.

******

Their first kiss took him by surprise. He had accepted that it wouldn't happen until the war was over, but the war was definitely not over when it did. He thought about that kiss often, specifically to remind himself exactly what he did to provoke it. He had expressed a mild concern over house-elves fighting in the battle, and suddenly, without warning, her lips were on his, he had lifted her off her feet, and Harry was mumbling something unintelligible in the background.

Upon reflection, he realized that his comment about house-elves was one of many possible things he could have said in that moment, all of which would have produced the same result. Hermione later described it with a muggle phrase- ‘the straw that broke the camel's back’. It wasn't that particular comment, but the accumulation of many smaller moments over the past few months, which eventually made not kissing him seem utterly insane.

One of the first moments he could recognize as a misread signal took place just a few days after he rejoined the hunt. He didn't want to pressure Hermione into forgiving him, so he avoided the topic of his abandonment all together, even though he knew it eventually had to be discussed. There was an opportunity one night, when he took over the watch and sent Hermione to bed. Things were still quite tense between them, so he was taken aback when she offered to stay with him.

"You really should sleep," he told her. "I'll be fine." If he wasn't so surprised by her offer, he might have been able to establish more control over his tone. Maybe then he would have sounded thankful rather than dismissive.

"It goes by faster when you have someone to talk to," she replied. "I can stay if you want."

If you want. Her emphasis on the words echoed tauntingly in his mind. Of course he wanted her to, and she knew that. He tried to convince himself that he was misinterpreting her tone, but the still-lingering voice of the locket reminded him that he didn't need her company, and that he'd be asking too much by letting her stay.

"I can take care of myself, Hermione."

"I know you can," she continued, wrapping her blanket more tightly around her body. "But I honestly don't mind."

He did want her to stay, but only if she wanted to, and he simply couldn't be sure that she did. He was wrong, of course. He could have accepted her offer, and they might have started healing that night. He might have been able to explain how the locket affected him, and share what it had said before he destroyed it. Maybe then, they would have curled under her blanket together, fingers interlaced, while she rested her head on his shoulder, cushioned by the bushy pillow of her hair.

"You really should go to bed,," is what he told her instead, which unfortunately sounded nothing like 'please stay', and left little room for her to misinterpret his words like he wanted her to.

So she didn't stay. She turned her back to him and left for bed, dragging her blanket on the floor behind her as it picked up dirt and dust along the way.

They had another miscommunication a few weeks later. On a particularly chilly morning, he cautiously approached her, and settled onto the opposite end of the sofa. Since his return, he had been holding back any physical affection. He no longer hugged her before bed, or affectionately tucked her hair behind her ear, or brushed his hand against hers when they passed each other. He wasn't even sure if he could sit next to her on the sofa. These things felt like privileges he had lost when he left, and he didn't dare overstep any boundaries.

"It's pretty cold, isn't it?" she asked him, without looking up from her copy of Beedle the Bard. She was bundled up in her jumper, which was worn and nearly threadbare after months on the run.

"Yeah," he nodded. "It is." They had become more comfortable with small talk since he'd returned, but Ron couldn't help but think she was filling the space with meaningless conversation to distract from her lingering anger.

A few moments of silence passed before she softly spoke up again. "My jumper isn't thick enough."

Before he could let his mind wander to more fun ways to warm her up, he pulled the hem of his own jumper up and over his head. He wiggled himself out and handed it to Hermione. "I'm not really that cold. You can wear mine."

"Thanks," said Hermione, and though she was smiling, something else in her tone made him think twice about whether he'd done the right thing. Either way, she pulled his jumper over her own head, and her hair burst through the neck like a butterfly leaving its cocoon.

"Of course," he said, suddenly very aware of the intimacy of her wearing the jumper that he wore to sleep every night. He risked a glance at her, accidentally catching her gaze.

She grinned softly under his eye contact. "I'm still cold though."

Ron felt the color creep up his neck. He wanted to believe this was an invitation to move closer. He could warm her right up by joining her under that blanket, and wrapping his arms around her. If it truly was an invitation, he could explore what it might feel like to run his fingers through her hair, or press his lips to her skin, all in an effort to keep warm, of course.

Although it sounded like an invitation, he couldn't risk being wrong.

"I'll get you another blanket," he said, before getting to his feet to retrieve his comforter from his bunk.

They carried on like this, second guessing every signal, tiptoeing around apologies and forgiveness until that dreadful day at Malfoy Manor, when he nearly lost her.

He had to block the memory from replaying endlessly in his mind, or else he wouldn't be able to function enough to enjoy the fact that she survived, and he still had a future with her. He spent days by her bedside, promising himself that when she woke up, he would tell her everything. He'd apologize for leaving, he'd open up about the locket, and he'd finally tell her loved her.

But the moment never felt right. For days, she faded in and out of consciousness, while Fleur tended to her wounds. He helped, of course, carrying her when she couldn't walk, changing her bandages, applying dittany on her cuts and bruises, and helping her dress when Fleur needed a hand.

Weeks passed, she began to recover, and Ron hardly left her bedside. Then the nightmares began. He would stay up all night, tears streaming down his face as she relived the torture in her sleep, unable to wake her up and desperately wishing he could do something, anything to make it stop. There were no nefarious motivations the first time he crawled into bed with her to wrap her in his arms, hold her head against his chest, and breathe rhythmically until she matched her breathing to his.

He did it every night. She would refuse to sleep until he slid under the blankets with her, draping an arm across her as he nestled his face into her hair. It had begun to feel natural, and he knew they'd never go back to sleeping alone.

They had yet to kiss, but it already felt like they had far surpassed the intimacy of a kiss. There was one night, when they were lying awake, foreheads together, when she reached a hand to his face. Her fingers slipped into his hair and she gently ran her thumb down his jawbone. He gave her a weak smile, which she returned. Then he shifted his gaze to her lips. This is a sign, he thought, and when her cheeks flushed pink and she nervously bit her lip, he was certain it was.

But he didn't kiss her.

He hesitated because in the morning, she would need his help reapplying dittany to a few of the deeper cuts left by the chandelier. She would tell him to avert his gaze while he helped her change out of her nightgown, because she still didn't have the strength to do it by herself. Then she would drape her arm around his shoulders, while he supported her down the hall so she could use the bathroom, and she would ask him to take the stairs first, just in case she lost her balance and needed someone to catch her fall. He could have kissed her, and he truly thought she wanted him too, but in the small chance she didn't, she wouldn't be able to get up and leave the bed without angering her injuries, and she would have no one to coax her out of her next nightmare.

Instead, he tugged her toward him, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. They stayed like that for a few moments, before she snaked her arm around him and inched even closer so she could bury her face into his shoulder. He felt hot tears slide from her cheeks to his shirt, soaking it though so that it adhered to his skin, the same way it did when he was splinched months earlier. But this time it was Hermione who was hurting, and there was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't think the right words existed, so he simply held her close, letting her cry into his shirt. He hoped she understood why he wasn't really kissing her, and that she saw it as a promise that soon, he would.

So weeks later, when Hermione jumped into his arms in the Room of Requirement, he couldn't help but feel understood. He returned her kiss with enthusiasm, and for a few moments, he was completely unaware of his surroundings. They broke apart only when Harry's mumbling became clearer, reminding them that there was a war going on here, and asking if they could just hold it in a little longer. Ron wanted to laugh, because really, the right moment was either now, or never. His mind ran through every opportunity and signal that he had missed, and he wondered what sign he had given Hermione just now to spark her confidence in kissing him. Whatever it was, he was so thankful that she could read it.

[ladyfiresfanfiction]

Flying the Nest; One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest Fic- Chapter Two.

Sorry I am late, guys and girls! I completely forgot that Sunday had been Easter, so it was a busy day with family. This is a bit longer than chapter one and has a bit more of a backstory on Janie. I’m also trying something new to include the reader in my story, too! Let me know what you think of this idea and the second chapter. I’ll be staring the next chapter tomorrow! Enjoy :)

I don't remember speaking this much since I received the call that Charles Bogney had been found in his family's guest room, hanging from his belt behind the closet door. His mother found him, a bottle of Percodan underneath him, what little was left strewn below his feet on the wood flooring, an empty bottle of 40-ounce Belgian imported beer shattered on the ground from when he dropped it as he lost consciousness and passed away, alone and in misery. Our mutual friend, another toxic ex-boyfriend of mine whose name was Bryan Harris, had to be the one to call me. I had been trying to get into contact with Charles for the last few weeks of his short life. I felt something was wrong. Deep inside I knew if I didn't get a hold of Charley, he would die prematurely. Unfortunately, my gut feeling and seemingly spot on premonition had come to fruition. The first few weeks after Charles had died, I blacked it out. I remember feeling as if the world stopped and froze as Bryan had stammered the news of Charles's death. My heart skipped a few beats and my vision started to become blurry. I dropped to my knees, the phone on the ground as I let out guttural cries of pain that escaped my lips and waves of tears burned my eyes like acid. I cried inconsolably for the first 96 hours of Charles leaving the planet. I couldn't make the trip to his native state of California for his funeral, and I refused calls and visitors for much of the first month of his passing. My only nutrition became opium, cocaine, amphetamines, and alcohol. My family treated me as if I was a lepper, never understanding I had lost the great love of my life, despite the toxic and harrowing past we shared.

 Mac listened intently as he showed me around the grounds. The outside, where the patients (which we coined them the lovable nuts) could come out for fresh air and sunshine for an allotted amount of time per day was fenced in, but it was a spacious and breathtaking piece of land. Large trees that covered most of the land, little trails for patients to walk with supervising orderlies or nurses, tables for patients and the staff alike to enjoy a little solitude during the day. It even had a fairly big basketball court and exercise areas near the shockingly high chainlink fence, which was adorned with razor wire to dismay any patient who thought of running away from the hospital. Overall, it looked like paradise for someone who enjoyed being a prisoner. Mac talked of hearing about the patients going on some field trip, however, it would be just for the boys. The girls had had their own trip last week. As we stopped at the entrance of the second-floor corridor in front of a massive pair of white double doors, Mac turned to me and looked broken. He cleared his throat, forcing me to pay attention and face him.

 "I'll never forgive myself for leaving you with Harry and Ethel. You probably wouldn't be as bad off if I just would have taken you with me. You were just a little girl, though. And I was an irresponsible and young angsty teenager. I thought maybe they would have taken better care of you than they did me. I'm so sorry Jane. I have done horrible things but nothing has given me more pride and made me want to be a better man than having you as my kid sister. You'll never have to be alone again." Mac spoke in a low yet sincere voice.

 "It wasn't your job to parent me. You were eighteen when you struck out on your own, and I was only nine. They were so awful to you. You had to get out before they drove you certifiable. Charles brought me here for a reason. I feel it. I'm just glad to have my big brother back. We're going to make this place ours, Mackie. Then when we get out, we can start lives worth living." I said, patting his shoulder.

 "If you need me, even if it's at night, I'll come find you. There are phones in here, all you have to do is call and ask for me. I'll be here in a jiffy. I'll see you during our counseling session with Ratched and the crew tomorrow. Get some rest, Baby Jane."

 As soon as I walked in, I was brought to intake. My medical history was repeated, I was weighed, my temperature taken, asked a slew of questions, and then I was given an ugly patient garb to wear. As I was taken to the room I would be sleeping in, I saw that in each room there was a telephone with a pamphlet that had numbers to the nurse's station as well as the number for Spivey's office and the number for the nurse's station on the men's floor. Each room on the ladie's floor had three beds for three patients per room, a chair and desk, and a nice comfy-looking Cloth chair with a desk on one side and in the far right corner a bookcase filled with books to read. I would have been far more comfortale to be in a solitary room, or shared a room with my brother and his roommates, but it was against the hospital's policy for men and women to be roommates. I sighed, taking in a breath of courage, and went straight to bed, avoiding the two people I would be bunking with until I had the energy to introduce myself. In fullfledged withdrawal from opiates and alcohol I was  writhing in pain already after only 14 hours without a hit and a drink and I was so sleep deprived. I felt dead on my feet. I threw my haggard body on my bed and soon enough, sleep overpowered me.

 The comfort of unconsciousness would not last for long, though.

 The Ladies ward had come alive with an ear piercing scream in the dead of night. It was only a quarter past one a.m. when animalistic cries and screams of "Charley! Please! No!" had caused an overnight nurse, the security guard, and an on call doctor, and every patient on the ward to jolt awake in sheer terror. After several unsuccessful attempts at shaking my writhing body awake, a slight slap to my cheeks jostled me and my eyes widened as I jolted upright in bed, taking in gulp fulls of oxygen as if I had been strangled. I shrink back as I see a roommate of mine looking worried and sitting gingerly on the edge of my bed.

 "Are you okay?" You ask.

"I-I-I'm fine. I-I'm so-sorry. I... I have night terrors.." I stammered, trying to explain my problem.

"I have them, too. Don't be sorry. My name is (y/n), but everybody calls me (y/n/n), what is your name?" You asked.

"It's ni-ice to meet you, (y/n). My name is Janie McMurphy."

 Before we could get to know each other further, three staff members burst into the room with a mix of alarm and annoyance etched into their faces. Turkle, the nighttime guard of the hospital joined a nighttime nurse  whose name I had already forgotten, along with Spivey's nighttime replacement, Doctor Stuart. Another body scrambled in not too long after, a flustered and scared Mac. I buried my reddening face in my hands as four voices bombarded me with questions I was too tired and ultimately too annoyed to deal with.

 "Sweetheart, what happened?" Turkle asked. "You have a set of lungs on you, don'tcha?"

"Do I need to call Doctor Spivey for you, Miss McMurphy?" Doctor Stuart asked.

"I'm going to get you a diazepam pill, Miss McMurphy. It's all okay, I promise. Mister McMurphy, we'll give you five minutes then you need to go back to your own bed on the bottom floor." The nurse said, winking at Mac.

 "She had a night terror, Mister Turkle," (y/n) began. "It's okay, I got her up. Could I have one too, Nurse Katt? I can't fall asleep tonight." they asked.

"Sure. I'll be right back. Doctor Stuart will be sure to write this occurrence in a note for Nurse Ratched and Doctor Spivey and you can see them both tomorrow morning. Five minutes, Mac." Nurse Katt added as she, Turkle, and Stuart left the room.

 (Y/N) shyly smiled at Mac when they made their way back to their bed, turning on their side to face the wall to give the two of us some form of privacy. I was hugging my knees to my chest in the bed, avoiding Mac's eyes. He let out an audible sigh and sat beside me, placing a comforting arm around my shoulders. I trembled, trying to keep my eyes from overflowing with tears and took in a shaky breath, resting my head on my brother’s shoulder. We didn't talk; we sat in silence until I faced him.

 "I'm sorry you came up here, Mac, but I'm fine." I said.

“The nurse called me as soon as she heard your first scream. I came as soon as I could. Why are you sorry?” He asked softly.

“I’m sorry for a lot of things, but mostly for waking you up, brother. I just can’t control these fucking night terrors.” I replied, scrunching my eyes shut as more tears threatened to brim over.

"How long have these damn things been happening?" He asked, looking down at me.

"For almost two years... Since Charles killed himself." I replied, quietly.

"Meet me in my room around seven o'clock, ok? We'll have breakfast together and head to therapy together. It's going to be okay, Jane. Thank you, (Y/N), for helping my sister, sweetheart. I appreciate it." Mac smiled as he stood up and ventured back to his own floor.

 The next morning I awoke before my two roommates, one being (Y/N) who stayed up with me until the diazepam knocked us into another universe, and another patient around our age named Elise who had slept through the night terror debacle.  (Y/N) said that Elise was used to their night terrors and usually saved a few barbiturates so nothing would disturb her at night.

I made my way to the first floor, skulking into the first room on the right, which Mac said would be the room he shared with “one giant motherfucker named Chief, but he’s harmless so don’t be scared.” I felt uncomfortable in my new uniform, or prisoner’s gear as I called it. As I looked around and made my way through the large corridor and found Mac laughing with a rather large Native man, I nearly ran right into someone.

“Oh! God, I am s-“ I began, finally taking in who I nearly ran right through.

“I-I-Its n-no problem, Muh-muh-Miss.” A very red Billy Bibbit replied.

“No, really, Billy, I am very sorry. I was looking for my brother and just wasn’t watching where I was going.” I smiled, looking away shyly.

“M-M-Mac  is-is-is ri-ri-ri-right in there, Miss.” He smiled, pointing to the door behind me.

“Call me Janie.” I said, finally looking at him and finding myself entranced by his big blue eyes.

“Okay… J-Ja-Ja-Jaaanie.” He smiled back, forcing my name out through stutters that flustered him.

“Did you, uh, wanna have breakfast with Mac and me?” I asked.

“O-Oh, I’d like to, b-b-b-b-but  I have my morn-ning appointment wi-ith Doctor Sp-Spivey now. Raincheck?” He asked, hopefully.

“Of course. I’ll see you around, Billy.” I smiled, watching as he walked away.

“My dear, dear sister,” Mac began, smirking devilishly as he stood in the doorway of his room.

“I do believe you would eat that boy alive if you two became an item. Come on in, there’s somebody I want you to meet.”

 I walked into Mac’s small room and saw the man he was speaking with earlier, getting his shirt on. He nodded at me and I waved. I looked around their room and was surprised at how gloomy and small it was. The ladies had larger rooms with picture windows and furniture. However, the men’s room only held two beds and a kind of chain fence separating rooms with the other men in the ward. Their one large window in the room was locked down tight and had bars on it so the patients had no way of escaping, even if they managed to open their window. I watched Mac talk quietly with the man he called Chief, leaving me standing there awkwardly. Over an intercom it was announced that it was time for medication and all patients needed to walk single-file to the medication window. I walked out with Mac and Chief and found that the women in the hospital were standing in a line next to the men, and I stood with Elise and (Y/N).  

“Remember, Janie, breakfast after this. We’ll go to the cafeteria; there’s a small window table we can eat at.” Mac whispered, and I nodded.

Billy and I stood in line side-by-side, and every time I looked over, I caught him staring at me, which made him turn scarlet. I felt self-conscious, wondering if I looked too fat in this uniform, or if my hair was a rat’s nest, or if there was something wrong with me. Mac was utterly amused and mouthed “Billy has a crush on you” to me, but I rolled my eyes and shook my head. He was just being nice, or so I thought.                                                                                   

The doctor put me on diazepam at night in hopes of ending my night terrors, and in the day time had me on a cocktail of medication. Something for my debilitating anxiety, two different medications that were supposed to work together for depression, something for my PTSD and flashbacks, and a mood stabilizer. Within ten minutes I was at the table with Mac, and he was telling me how he ended up here, a girl had lied about her age and her parents found them having sex. She lied that he raped her and her parents pressed charges and that while he was innocent, he figured he would never beat the case so he came here as a last ditch effort  to avoid spending a third of his life in prison. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I nodded. I believed my brother and I loved him. He had a knack for choosing the wrong girls as I had a knack for choosing the wrong guys.

Several of his new friends sat with us; Taber, who I noticed liked to scream a lot, a pompous and annoyingly whiny man named Harding, a smart and friendly older man named Cheswick, and a little guy who didn’t talk much but was always smiling, whose name was Martini. Chief was minding his own business and standing in the far left corner of the cafeteria, near the exit and watching everyone. He liked to make the staff think he was deaf, mute, and dumb. Once Mac found out that in fact, Chief could not only talk and hear but he was as sharp as a tack, he laughed heartily and gave the Native man a high five, impressed with his trickery and his way of staying sane in this insane place.

“Hey, Billy boy! Can ya show my sister the good Doc’s office? She kinda forgot where it was and I’m still eating this slop here. I’d owe ya one.” He said, winking at me.

Billy had stopped by the table as he had finished his meeting with the doctor to let me know Doctor Spivey was looking for me. He tried to avoid my gaze but caught several glimpses of my blue-green eyes before bashfully turning his head away. I nodded and stood up as Mac grabbed my wrist.

“U-u-Uh, su-sure, M-M-Mac. Come on, Ja-Ja-Janie.” Billy replied, holding out his hand to me.

“Thanks, Billy.” I muttered, glaring at Mac who feigned innocence.

 We didn’t speak much on the way to the Doctor’s office. I felt lost in a sea of fog since this was my first day taking the new medication, and Billy seemed pensive along with being super nervous. As we made it to the office, we stood outside there, not speaking nor looking at each other right away.

“Will you be at th-th-the therapy session today, Janie?” He asked, looking at me this time.

“I sure will. Ratched knows what happened last night and I guess wants me to talk about it today.” I replied, feeling nauseous at the thought.

“Don-don-don’t worry. She ca-can be mean, b-b-b-but deep down she’s a n-n-n-nice lady. She’s friends w-with my m-m-mother, so I’ve known her mo-most of my l-l-life. I’ll be there for y-y-you if things get hard. I promise.” He explained.

This time I looked at him. Really looking and overcome with a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time; safety. I barely knew this cute boy but he, along with my brother, were ready to protect me and get involved in my messy life. I wanted to cry and I wanted to hug Billy, but I didn’t know how he would take that just yet. I smiled and thanked him, finally letting go of his hand before watching him walk away. He had a sweet smile plastered on his lips, his eyes lit up as we said our goodbyes. His soft brown curls bouncing as he jogged back to the cafeteria. I slid down the wall and sat there, trying to gain my composure before recounting what I dealt with last night. The door opened after five minutes and I looked up to see the doctor himself extend a hand and help me to my feet.

“Ah, there you are, Miss McMurphy. Let’s get to the bottom of these night terrors, shall we?”

[timep3tals]

I love your writing!!! You’re amazing!!! Since I’m a sucker for iron dad calling peter all sorts of nicknames, could you pretty please write something about Tony calling peter baby or whatever else you want?

Thank you so much!!! That means so much to me to hear. And of course I can. :)

Typically, in relationships, you couldn’t pinpoint the pivotal moment of change. There were too many nuances, too many emotions, too many distractions to say, “This is the moment where everything changed.”

With Peter and Tony, Peter knew exactly when everything changed.

Peter saw it in his mentor’s face when Thanos grabbed him. Peter saw it in the terrified slope of Tony’s mouth when the titan squeezed, and his ribs snapped under the force and punctured his lungs. Peter saw it when Tony launched everything he had at Thanos, at the desperation to save Peter’s life, while it lay in the balance on a world so far from home.

When the Titan fell, defeated and dead on the burgundy sands of his old home world, Peter knew nothing would ever be the same. Not with the way Tony’s shadow covered him as his mentor kneeled by Peter’s side. Not with the way shaking hands brushed over Peter’s cheek, smearing the blood leaking out from between his teeth.

The world went dark before Peter ever heard Tony call out, “Peter? Peter, bud, open your eyes.”

Thankfully, Strange was there. He put Peter’s body into a stasis long enough to get him back to earth, to the compound where Strange and Helen Cho pieced him back together. Recovery was hell, but Tony was there every step of the way. Literally, every step. He was fussed around Peter worse than May.

Probably because he’d been there to see the life leave Peter’s eyes.

But he tried not to think about how close to death he’d been that day.

Since then, and post-recovery, Peter’s relationship with Tony has been different. Not in a bad way, but it was noticeably different. Three days a week, Tony picked him up from Midtown and took him out for dinner, or to the park, or on some obscure mini-trip bafflingly approved by May. Every other weekend was spent at the compound with Tony, working in the workshop or generally hanging out.

Turns out, Tony was horrible at Sorry, which Peter thought was hilarious. But any card game they played, Tony won without fail. It was actually somewhat infuriating, especially because Peter knew Tony was cheating, he just wasn’t sure how.

Regardless of what they did, everything was different. For one…

“Hey, bambino,” a soft voice crooned somewhere above his head. Peter twitched, but didn’t quite stir from semi-consciousness. “Peter, baby, it’s time to get up.”

The nicknames. The nicknames were definitely new. Not like, new to this exact instance because Peter would’ve shat himself if he heard bambino for the first time (he sort of did, the actual first time). But new since they’d returned from space. Tony always had nicknames for him, of course, Underoos, Spidey, Kid, so on and so forth, but not these types of nicknames.

Not these gentle ones, the ones that made Peter feel treasured, and special, and so very loved.

“Earth to Peter Pan,” Tony said. A finger poked against Peter’s cheek. “Baby, I know you can hear me. I see you trying to fight a smile, you’re not slick.”

The smile burst out from the cage Peter had tried to put it in. He stretched and rolled to face Tony where he sat beside Peter on his bed. A warm, familiar hand caressed two knuckles down his cheek, so light even Peter could barely feel it.

“G’mornin’,” Peter mumbled. He peeked an eye open and caught sight of a smile that made his heart flip. “What time’sst?”

“Time for Spider-Baby to eat breakfast,” Tony said. The hand vanished for a moment, and came back with a sleeve bunched over the thumb to smooth away a line of drool going down Peter’s cheek. “And take a shower. You drooled a small ocean on your pillow.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” 

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

Peter pouted. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re gross,” Tony shot right back. The smile didn’t vanish, only grew, as Tony dipped down and pressed a kiss right above Peter’s brow. “Come on, baby, it’s almost noon.” 

The clock read 9:04 am. Tony, seeing where his eyes went, tried for another tactic.

“I made you pancakes.”

Oh no. Peter squinted suspiciously. “Made or ordered?”

Tony huffed, feigning indignance. “I can cook, you know. I’m an adult, we can do things like cook pancakes.”

They stared each other down. Peter squinted harder. Tony narrowed his eyes in return. Peter raised one eyebrow the way Pepper always did when unimpressed, and Tony immediately caved.

“Oh, fine, I ordered them,” Tony said. “Ungrateful little brat.”

“The last time you made pancakes, you burned both sides. I shockingly don’t like burnt pancakes!”

Tony sighed wearily. “So you’ve said. Now, are you going to help me eat those pancakes or should I help myself to everything?”

“I’ll get up,” Peter acquiesced. If only so his mentor didn’t eat all of his pancakes. “Shower first?”

“Please,” Tony said. Tossing his legs over the side of his bed, Peter hopped up to grab the change of clothes Tony had already set out for him on his dresser. “I can’t have a drool-covered Spider-Baby at my respectable kitchen table. Not in my Christian neighborhood.”

Peter groaned. “That is such an old meme, stop. You’re so old.”

“Excuse me? I am not old, Peter Pan! I am comfortably middle aged!”

The door to the bathroom was inside his room. Peter still hadn’t quite gotten used to having an ensuite, but he’ll admit it definitely had a lot of perks. He swung the door open, and sent Tony a cheery smile back over his shoulder.

“Only old people say they’re comfortably middle aged!”

To the sound of Tony’s spluttering, Peter closed the bathroom door and tried his best to muffle his laughter at the affronted look on his mentor’s face. Once he heard the telltale signs of Tony getting off the bed, Peter cracked the door back open and stuck his head out of the bathroom. Tony looked up, mouth parted on a soundless sigh.

“I love you,” Peter said.

A slideshow of emotions passed over Tony’s face in a matter of two seconds. Finally, he seemed to settle on a nameless emotion that hurt to see, and Peter’s eyes began to burn when his mentor replied, “I love you, too, baby. More than anything or anyone.”

Tag List:

@keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @riseuplikeglitterandgold @just-the-daydreamer @roaringgay @serendipity–goddess @tony-wheres-my-supersuit @baloobird @spider-beep @swagfictonreadingnerd @tcny-stcrks @josywbu (Let me know if you would like to be added or removed!)

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640994942684151808/therainbowwillow

Part 13.

Premise/last time: On Olympus, tensions are high. The pantheon is forced to choose sides: an innocent poet or the man who stabbed him. Hermes only grows increasingly anxious about his approaching trial. If he’s not ready to sing, he’s afraid Orpheus will take the fall.

—————————————

Thanatos stands, exhausted at the gates of Olympus. The walk out of Hadestown had been longer than he’d expected. Hypnos hadn’t woken after the third night. He’d been in and out of consciousness since.

Thanatos calls out to the gods, pleading for aid. Their lack of ambrosia had taken its toll on himself and his brother. Despite his near-constant unconsciousness, Hypnos looks as if he hasn’t slept for weeks. The blinding lights of Olympus do him no favors. The bags under his eyes look even more pronounced here.

Pasithea steps up to the doors and slams her fists against them. “Please!” She cries. Still, they’re met with no reply. She sinks to the ground and buries her head in her hands. Thanatos forces himself not to collapse under his and his brother’s weight. 

It feels like an eternity before a man arrives at the door: golden hair, blue eyes. He looks just like his father. “Asclepius.” Thanatos bows his head to his old enemy. A doctor so incredible he’d resurrected the dead. Zeus’s punishment hadn’t held him down long. Now he’d become a god himself.

“It took me a moment to convince Zeus to let me take my leave. Come in. Speak to no one. Keep your heads down,” he directs. He helps Pasithea to her feet. “You must be out of your mind to come here, Thanatos. If Hades learns of your presence-”

“Hades is here?” Thanatos inquires, forcing back his panic.

“Yes,” Asclepius answers. “He arrived, worse off than you, a few days ago. It seems his years of pushing around his workers finally caught up to him.”

He opens the gates and guides them through the city’s oddly silent streets. Quieter than Hadestown, Thanatos observes. Down below, a pickaxe always swings. A foreman’s shouts are always audible. Here, there is nothing but stillness. “I mean you no offense, my lord, but I believe my storage cellar may be the best place for you to take shelter,” Asclepius says.

“None taken. We’ll take what we can get.”

“If I might ask, what happened to your brother? I will treat him, as he clearly has taken a hit to the head. How long has he been unconscious?” Asclepius asks.

“Hades’s doing,” Thanatos replies, curtly. “He’s been in and out of consciousness for six days.”

Asclepius opens the door to his residence and ushers them inside. “I suspected as much. I assume you fled without carrying ambrosia with you?”

Thanatos nods. “We had no time.”

“I don’t blame you.” Asclepius takes a few pillows from his bed and tears off the sheets. He guides them down a short staircase into a dimly lit cellar. It smells of herbs. The sweet scent of nectar reminds Thanatos of his hunger. Asclepius tosses the pillows against a shelf and rests Hypnos against them.

“Make yourselves comfortable. You may have as much ambrosia as you wish. I will not tell the counsel you’ve arrived. If they come looking for you, hold the door shut and stay quiet. I shouldn’t be long,” Asclepius tells them. He turns to leave.

“Asclepius, I’m sorry for the circumstances of our last meetings,” Thanatos apologizes.

He smiles. “I’m lucky I got off so light. You helped the boy escape, didn’t you? That is why you are so afraid.”

“I’m the god of death. I have nothing to fear,” Thanatos attempts to convince himself.

“Angering Hades gives anyone something to fear, mortal or divine. But I believe Hermes and Orpheus are in far danger than yourself. Regardless, take care. I won’t be long.” He shuts the door behind him.

Thanatos immediately turns search the shelves for nectar. He finds a bottle, flicks out the cork and drinks half of it. The rest, he hands to Pasithea.

Hypnos rubs his eyes. “Ugh...” he groans. “Where are we?”

His wife briefs him of their journey. “So... we’re locked in Asclepius’s basement? On Olympus?” He smiles slightly. “These pillows are almost as good as mine. Comfy. I could almost forget that the furies cracked my skull open.”

“Do you ever stop?” Thanatos mutters.

“Like I said! Vacation, Than. Sure, it’s not a beach, but to be fair, there’s no difference. I’d sleep either way. Give me some of that nectar.” He tips the bottle and swallows. “Mm. Not bad. The underworld ages it better.”

“Hades is here,” Thanatos blurts. “So would you shut up and let me think?”

“He is? Didn’t Hermes steal the train... oh my gods! He walked? Ha! I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Would you listen?” He snaps. “Hades wants us punished. You’ve seen what happens to mortal traitors. We can’t let him find us, Hypnos.”

“And that’s why I’m not going anywhere. Not that I could. Pretty sure I can’t walk. Or at least I wouldn’t want to deal with the headache,” he replies. “Now. What’s the plan, Thanatos?”

“I... don’t know.”

“So we are in trouble then! I... have an idea, but I’m not sure we should rely on it.”

Thanatos exhales. “I’ll hear you out. Maybe a bad plan’s better than no plan.”

“Hades will summon Orpheus and Hermes to trial, right? If that song was as good as it sounded and if I didn’t hallucinate the change in weather, I’d say other gods will side with Orpheus simply because his song has power. Maybe we ought to take their side. Show ourselves and proclaim our support?” Hypnos says.

“Hades will call it a second betrayal.”

“What do we have to lose, Thanatos?”

He sighs. “If they win the trial, it’ll give us a chance. Even that’s better than nothing. I agree.”

—————————————-

“Hermes.” He jumps at the sound, startled awake.

“Apollo.” He crumpled the letters and stuffs them into his pockets.

“You’re anxious. Panicked. What are you afraid of?”

Hermes rolls his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you to stop doing that? I know how I feel without you telling me.”

“Sorry, but you’ve hardly spoken to anyone for days. You’re hiding something. You secret would be safe with me.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t believe that for a second,” Hermes retorts. “You’ll blab to your boyfriend the second you walk out the door.”

Apollo leans slightly more of his weight against the crutch he’s using to walk. “I won’t,” he says, softly. “Hyacinthus is a good man, but this is clearly more than he needs to worry about.”

His tone is honest. Still, Hermes doesn’t back down. “It’s more than you need to worry about. Go write a poem or something, o god of music,” He replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Hermes, look. I know we’ve had our disagreements, but... I do care about you. I guided you through your childhood; I taught you how to function on Olympus. I tried to protect you. From what I understand, you broke your contract with Hades and you’re afraid of what he’ll do to you. Why won’t you speak to us? We know, Hermes,” Apollo tells him.

“No, you don’t know!” He snaps. “I’m not afraid of what he’ll do to me. You called me Prometheus yourself. I’ll suffer, but I can manage. But it’s not me they want. I know Orpheus will take Hades’s punishment in my place. He’s young. Afraid. He won’t survive,” Hermes draws in a shaky breath. “We have no defense.” He hands Apollo the letters. “Read.”

His eyes pass over the words on the pages. “Hermes, we’ve been summoned immediately.”

“I know. We can’t go. Not yet. Orpheus needs to rest. And...” he exhales. “I haven’t told him.”

“He deserves to know. Why do you keep this from him?”

“Because he needs to recover. If he knows, all he’ll do is sing and sing. He’ll forget all else if he thinks he can protect me and Eurydice. That boy, my son, he feels with the whole of his being. He loves with such kindness, such passion, that his love alone brought flowers to the realm of death. He’d give his life if it meant protecting us and I can’t let him do that.” His voice rises. “If Zeus wants my blood, fine! Let him torture me. He won’t touch Orpheus.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll win the trial. You have nothing to worry about! We’ve got Athena on our side and even I’ve argued a few cases. With Orpheus’s song, we’ll be undefeatable.” His words are encouraging.

“I have to tell him,” Hermes mutters. 

“He needs urgency. I hate this as much as you do, but we do what we must.”

Someone pounds on the door. Hermes bristles at the sound. “Who’s there?” He calls.

“Hermes...” Three voices in harmony.

He strides across the room. “Don’t open the damn door!” Apollo snaps.

“Orpheus is next on their list,” he replies. He turns the handle. “What do you want?”

“You cannot defeat fate. You will see. What is coming.”

Hermes slums against the door frame and sinks to the ground. Orpheus is singing. His voice falters. He cries out, “No! No!”. Eurydice screams. The metallic stench of blood hits him. Hermes tries to stand. His wrists are bound in chains. It’s dark. He can’t tell if his eyes are open. 

He gasps and the room returns. Apollo kneels at his side. “Orpheus,” he chokes out. 

“He’s fine. Hermes, what did you see?”

He takes a deep breath. “Orpheus screamed. I couldn’t reach him. Apollo, this is fate. It’s unchangeable.”

“Don’t talk like that. I know how prophecies work. They’re misleading by nature.”

“There wasn’t nuance. We’re going to fail. And when we do-”

“No. Hermes, we’re going to win.” He puts his hands on Hermes’s shoulders. “I swear we’re going to win.”

“We have to tell Orpheus.”

“I can do it if-” 

Hermes cuts him off. “No. He’s my son. I need to tell him myself.”

Apollo doesn’t argue. 

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

Orpheus strums his lyre. His voice sounds a little better today, he notices. Still, he struggles to reach high notes. His voice breaks or he coughs in between lines. He’s begun to realize that it isn’t going back to the way it was. Eurydice doesn’t mention it. He hates to think about the possibility, but he knows he’ll have to eventually. 

He reads over his sheet music. He starts another paper. He tries humming his melody, replacing his higher notes with low ones. Eurydice perks up at the new song. “That was beautiful.”

He cracks a smile. “You think?”

“Sing it again.” 

He repeats it, louder this time. 

“Orpheus!” A carnation blooms in his hands. “My gods, that’s incredible.”

Again, he sings, this time plucking the lyre to the tune of his old song. The harmony hums in the air. Flowers spring up in his hair. 

“How’d you do that?” She’s grinning. 

“I don’t know! I thought maybe it’d be easier on my voice.”

“Is it?”

He nods. “I think so. I don’t feel like hacking my lungs out at least.”

“I love you, Orpheus. So, so much.”

He blushes. “I know.”

“I know you know. I just needed to tell you again.” She marches to his bedside and kisses him before he gets in another word. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

He turns as red as the carnations dotting his hair. “I- mmmph!” She kisses him again. 

“Shush.” She places a finger on his lips. “Just kiss me.”

“O-okay!” He awkwardly presses his lips against hers. She wraps her arms around him. 

“Gods, I love you,” she whispers in his ear.

He remains in her embrace for a while until she pulls away. “You wanna sing that song again, lover?”

He’s smiling like an idiot. “Yes.”

“Well, sing it then.” 

“La, la la la... ha ha!” He laughs. It sounds ridiculous through his ear-to-ear grin. 

There’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it!” Orpheus proclaims habitually. “Oh, wait.” Eurydice stands to open it. “No, I said I’ve got it! Come in!” Orpheus calls. “See?” he says, winking. She laughs. 

The door opens. Hermes stands in its frame, looking exhausted. “We need to talk. Both of you.”

Orpheus frowns. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. No... I don’t know, kid.” He considers just handing Orpheus the letters. Instead, he continues. “I’ve been receiving summons to Olympus since we arrived. I didn’t want to worry you, but I can’t keep you in the dark any longer. Hades has convinced Zeus to put us on trial before the counsel. The charges against you are baseless. But... I did break my contract and I’ll face the consequences.”

“No, Hermes, we’ll win! You said yourself I could convince Hades of anything.”

“Orpheus, broken contracts don’t go unpunished. I just don’t want you to feel the consequences of my actions.”

“Hermes, I don’t want them to hurt you!” Orpheus begs.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want you to worry over my fate, kiddo. I’ll do what I can. I just didn’t want to leave you in the dark about all this.”

“My song has to work. It will work,” he repeats.

“It will,” Eurydice agrees. “It can do all this.” She gestures around the room. Flowers have pushed through the floor boards. They line the fireplace and decorate Orpheus’s nightstand. “It can save us.”

“How long do we have?” Orpheus asks.

“Maybe two weeks,” Hermes answers, “at best.”

“I’ve almost got it, Hermes. I’ll be ready to sing by then.”

“Thank you.”

“It will work. I promise.”

[thisstableground]

Hello! I wanna start drawing again and I'm really fond of your style, I was wondering, do you have any drawing tips? ❤️

okay sorry this took a couple days to reply to because i wanted to think about it, but i think my main advice is to divide up your artistic time into practice and art. this drawfee video on how to practice effectively explains it really well (this section is at around 13 minutes, i haven’t watched the rest of it yet bc it’s a long vid but i bet there’s other good advice in there too): practice is input, drawing is output. practice is learning new information about things you don't know how to do – you're not making a final piece. 

practice is things like:

experimenting with different ways of holding the pen/pencil. holding a pen/pencil for drawing is different than how you'd hold it for writing – you want to hold it higher up, and use looser arm movements. different angles will give different effects (see here). holding a pen for a tablet is different to both a traditional pencil and a writing grip. if you have a tablet that picks up on palm contact, try getting a drawing glove so that you don't have to hold your hand at an unnatural angle. draw different lines and shapes and get used to the different effects you can make.

experimenting with different ways of moving your hand. a general rule to follow here is the bigger the shape, the more of your arm you should use to draw it. a lot of people draw primarily with just their fingers or wrists moving because they feel more control there, which is great for fine detail work but doesn't translate well to bigger sweeping shapes, and thats where you end up with wobbly lines or having to draw several scratchy lines instead of one smooth curve. if you want more confident lines you need to draw from the elbow, or the shoulder. it takes some getting used to but it's definitely worth it for keeping your drawings lively instead of stiff, and your wrist will also feel less strain.

learning to draw basic 3 dimensional shapes. boxes, cylinders, spheres. just draw a whole lot of them from different angles.

learning how to break down a complex form into basic shapes. a good way to do this is tracing – tracing has a bad rap as being stealing, but as long as you're not uploading a traced image and passing it off as your own it's a great way to train your eye to understand how forms work together, particularly for something complex like anatomy. draw over an image and break it down into basic shapes. then try to copy those shapes onto your own paper without tracing. do it over and over until you're better at it. (this method of redrawing is called iterative drawing, it's a great practice technique). 

theres broader practice and then narrow. having a mix of both is good: quick sketching a whole figure some days, other days really focusing in on like “this is how a nose work”. go with what feels right in the moment.

and then the output, the actual drawing, is when all this practice pays off - these are your pieces that you work on to show people, or the things that you want to make, this is where you chase your creativity and passion. keeping them separate really helps to stop your art feeling like a chore and keeps you from overworking your full pieces (incorporating too much practice into your creative art); it also stops you stagnating or becoming frustrated with your lack of improvement (not practicing enough).

you don't have to be super strict with yourself about when to do which thing; you'll probably go through phases of doing a lot of practice, and then phases of doing a lot of drawing.  if you're really struggling with one thing, that's often a sign that you need to do more of the other to balance things out.

other advice:

learn to be bad at art. this is good during practice with things like timed figure drawing or whatever where you just don't have time to make it good, but it's also good in drawing/creating: just letting yourself make “bad” or silly or quick things for the fun of it or to get an idea out. nothing has to be perfect and the earlier you learn to be bad at art the quicker you'll get good at art, and the more you'll enjoy it too

to expand on that, while tablet drawing is great, i've found that i improve a lot more rapidly  when i do at least some of my practice a) on paper but also b) in pen or marker or paint, anything non-erasable. the ability to undo and erase infinitely in digital art is great for full pieces but doing your practices in pen means you're forced to be lot less precious and so you learn quicker how to be more decisive and confident with your lines because whatever you put there, you’re stuck with it.

if you're stuck, try something completely out of your comfort zone. use different materials, restrict yourself to a specific colour palette, ask for prompts, set a timer. sometimes there's just too much choice about what to do and it can be paralysing: giving yourself a totally arbitrary restriction can actually push you to be more creative and to get out of a rut (recommending more drawfee here, their random shapes challenge videos are a really good example of this)

you don't have to find your style. it'll find you. it's good to observe what you like about other people's art and try to consciously think about it, it can be really good to ty and mimic those elements yourself during your practice, but for your actual drawings you don't need to think about your style because as your ability improves it will come out naturally.

this applies mostly to traditional, but try to have your paper tilted slightly rather than flat on the desk – i prop my hardback sketchbooks up on a book. if you have your paper flat then you're more likely to get a little bit of a perspective distortion from top to bottom, especially if you're working from a reference, because you're looking at the paper from a different angle than you're looking at the reference so it can look fine when you're drawing but then when you look at it head-on it's just a little off. it also makes it easier to not hunch up over it and get a backache.

FLIP THAT CANVAS. i don't know why this works but its a time-honoured artist technique for making sure that there's reasonable symmetry especially for drawing people: draw your picture out, then flip it. you'll be able to see a lot clearer where the proportions are off. make changes, flip it again, keep doing that. it's harder with traditional media to do this but if you have some tracing paper you can turn that over, or just take a photo of your work and flip that.

a little frustration can be good if it’s motivating you, but if it's so much that you're tearing up your drawings or wanting to quit, you either need to change up your approach for a while or you need to take a bit of a break. i  know people say you have to draw every day and if that works for you then do that, but personally, i don’t: i go through phases of drawing all the time then not at all for a few weeks, and that works better for me than forcing myself to work on it every day and i often come back to it a lot better because i’ve given all the practice time to actually sink in. breaks are an important part of learning, whether its hour or a day or a week of just walking the fuck away from the sketchbook and doing something else.

stretch your arms and wrists often, especially if you're drawing for several hours. here's the routine i use, it’s only ten minutes but it makes a big difference. and if you've overdone it and your hand or wrist or back is hurting, don't push through it. drawing is surprisingly physical and i’ve fucked my hands up real bad several times not listening to a slight ache and having it turn into full on RSI

i hope some of that helps! there are a lot more specifics i could get into about a million different things but the overall gist of this is that you should be aware of all the different options you have and can dabble in, and try to find a balance of learning and creating that allows you to improve without sucking all the joy out of it.

[pocket-luv101]

Ransom || Part 3

Fandom: Servamp Ship: KuroMahi Characters: Kuro, Mahiru

Summary: Mahiru is kidnapped by the mafia. He learns that Kuro is being forced to work with the mafia. He hoped he could convince him to help him escape. {KuroMahi, Mafia AU}

Part 1 || Part 2 || (Part 3) || Part 4

“Seven cats, three bunnies, twelve birds and one dog. In three weeks, you turned this room into an animal sanctuary. You said that you liked animals but I never imagined it would be this much.” Kuro moved a cat off the couch so he could sit next to Mahiru. His reply was a sly grin as he handed him a game controller. “At least Zeus gave us a larger room so we don’t have to sleep among the animals.”

“The birds are in cages and the bunnies have a large pen so they can’t make the room a mess. The seven sins are well behaved as well. Isn’t that right, Sloth?” Mahiru asked the cats at their feet. He had named them each of the cats after one of the seven sins. Cerberus sat between them and rolled its large body onto his lap. His behaviour made Mahiru chuckle and rubbed its stomach.

When he was taken to the mafia’s headquarters, he had been frightened and confused. Mahiru was surprised by how comfortable he became after a little time had passed. He managed to find a small haven within the sterile walls. Kuro was one of the things that made him feel normal despite how strange his situation was? He slowly opened up to him and they were able to talk like normal friends.

“I wonder what the mafia will do with this game system after I leave.” Mahiru scrolled through the menu’s option to start the game. “Maybe I can talk with Zeus and convince him to let you take it home. The mafia has no need for video games but your siblings would enjoy them. Half of the game’s progress belongs to you, after all.”

“When you leave…” Kuro softly repeated the words to himself. He wasn’t a part of their world so he knew he would return to his own life eventually. He knew it was best for Mahiru’s safety but he would miss him. Instead of voicing his feelings, Kuro said: “I liked having an excuse from work. Spending time with you is better than chasing down drug lords for the money they owe us.”

“You don’t seem like the type of person who would do bad things willingly, Kuro.” Mahiru said and looked up at him. “I consider you my friend. You’ve done so much for me and I want to repay you. When I go home, I don’t want to leave you behind. People say that my uncle is an influential member of another mafia group and he will help if I tell him what you’ve done for me. We can both be free.”

“You can’t save me like you did with these animals, Mahiru. My situation is more complicated than simply leaving and you’ll just be pulled deeper into the mafia world if you try to help me. You might get hurt. I’ve been in the mafia since I was a teenager so I can survive in this world.” The concern in his red eyes squeezed Mahiru’s heart and he wished there was something he could do for him.

Kuro placed his hand over Mahiru’s and gave him a sad smile. “This month long break from the mafia means a lot to me. You don’t need to do anything more.”

“When I talked to my uncle, he told me that the negations are going well and he’ll be able to pick me up in a few weeks. In case you change your mind before then and you want to run away with me, please tell me.” Mahiru was well aware of how dangerous Kuro’s job was since the mafia group was infamous in the news. “It’ll be unlikely that we’ll be able to talk after I’m gone. I’ll miss playing video games with you.”

An alarm blared above them and the loud caused Mahiru to jump in his seat. He didn’t know what the siren meant but it was likely something bad from the expression that Kuro made. He stood and quickly dialed someone on his phone. Kuro’s tone turned flat as he spoke. “Someone triggered the alarm. Can you tell where the intruder is and how many they are?”

Mahiru wasn’t able to hear the person on the phone but Kuro’s replies made him worried. “Five intruders from the Sinnoh region? Shit, Hades and Zeus are still on their mission… I’m the most qualified to deal with them so I’ll go… If they’re on the floor beneath us, I can use the hidden passage to sneak up on them… Position a few men at the door… Keep watching them on the monitor, Hermes.”

Kuro marched directly to the door but Mahiru hugged his arm before he could leave. He looked down into his desperate, brown eyes and he realized the conversation must’ve scared him. He had slipped back into his role as a mafia member. Mahiru’s eyes brought him back and he gently touched his soft hair. “I need to go. Stay here where it’s safe.”

“It’s you that I’m worried for, Kuro. You said that there were five intruders and it’s dangerous for you to face them on your own. Shouldn’t you ask the others for help?” Kuro wanted to reassure Mahiru that he would be safe. On the other hand, it was dangerous for him to linger or else the intruders could venture further into the building.

“I’ll be fine, Mahiru, I’ve managed to take care of myself for this long.” Kuro took Mahiru’s hand and gently opened his hand. He placed a key on his palm. “This is the key to your room. Lock it after I leave and don’t let anyone in. Cerberus, watch after Mahiru while I’m gone.”

Kuro slipped his hand from Mahiru’s and the loss of his warmth affected Mahiru more than he thought it would. The warmth comforted him and gave him strength. He closed his hand as if he could hold onto that warmth a little longer. Mahiru followed him to the doorway and he saw how people were running down the hall. The intruders were likely dangerous for them to cause such a panic.

Kuro walked to the wall across from Mahiru’s door and ran his hand over the cold steel. He looked back to Mahiru and said, “Lock the door and don’t let anyone in.”

While he didn’t say anything further, it was clear to Mahiru that he wouldn’t open the secret door to leave until he closed the door. He didn’t want him to know about the passageway and follow him into danger. Mahiru also understood everyone’s rush to capture the intruders so he reluctantly closed the door between them. He lifted the key to the doorknob but he didn’t lock the door.

The thought of running after Kuro crossed his mind. At the same time, even he knew that it would be reckless and fool hearted to do so. He had never been in a fight in his life and he could cause more trouble for Kuro. He found it difficult to simply sit in his room and wait for Kuro to return when he knew that he was in danger. Mahiru didn’t have

He felt a light nudge against his leg and he looked down to Cerberus. The dog licked his hand and Mahiru knelt down to gently pat its head. Mahiru didn’t know if it fully understood the situation and he sighed. “Kuro is a high ranking member of the mafia so he must be strong and experienced. I still want to make sure that he’s safe. Do you want to go as well?”

Cerberus barked and Mahiru wanted to believe that it was encouraging him. He stood with the decision to follow Kuro. He reasoned that he would only watch him from afar to make sure that he was safe. Mahiru searched the room for something he could use as a weapon in case the situation became dangerous. He picked up a book and walked out of the room with Cerberus next to him.

The hallway was a chaos with people running by so they didn’t notice him leave his room. Mahiru stared at the wall with the secret passage that Kuro used to reach the lower floor quickly. At first glance, he couldn’t see anything different about the panels that could be used to open it. He skimmed his hand over the cold wall. He heard a soft click when he pressed against the wall yet it didn’t open for him.

Mahiru didn’t want to give up and frantically tried a few ways to open the hidden door. The wall shifted slightly so he slid the panel upwards as he pressed down on it. His eyes widened when the wall lifted higher as he put more pressure on it. He immediately slipped into the small opening and Cerberus followed behind him. He found himself in a dimly lit stairway.

Kuro mentioned that the intruders were on the floor beneath them and Mahiru traced the steps he would’ve taken. He reached another door and there was a handle at the bottom. Mahiru pulled the door up until there was a crack large enough for him to peak through. He placed his book beneath the door to prop it open and then crouched down to peer outside.

He wanted to make sure that Kuro was safe and watched him from a distance. Mahiru immediately spotted Kuro fighting a man he didn’t recognize. There were several people on the ground and they were likely intruders that he had already defeated. He knew that Kuro held the title ‘Hades’ among the mafia and he Mahiru could easily see how he earned it. His movements were fluid as he took down another man. Kuro didn’t use his gun and simply knocked out each person.

“Troublesome.” Kuro muttered as he took down the last intruder. He waved to a few members who were barracking the north wing. “Tie these guys up and take them to the prison underground. Interrogate them to ask if there are more intruders we don’t know of.”

Mahiru was relieved that Kuro wasn’t hurt and he placed his hand over his heart. He hadn’t realized that his heartbeat had quickened so much. He started to lean away to return to his room now that he didn’t have to worry about Kuro. Then, he noticed that one of the intruders had regained consciousness and he was reaching for a gun. Kuro was speaking with Makabe so his back was turned to the person.

“Kuro, watch out!” Mahiru called as he threw the door open. At the sound of his voice, the person jumped to his feet and grabbed a mafia member standing nearby. They all froze when he pressed the gun against the person’s temple. The threat was clear and Kuro cursed beneath his breath. His mind raced to find a way to free the hostage without endangering the others around them.

The intruder’s attention was on Kuro while Mahiru was standing behind him. His red eyes met with Mahiru’s brown ones and he prayed that he would return to the hidden passage. He could be hurt if the situation turned to a shootout. Kuro took out his gun and tried to de-escalate the situation. “Mel, it’s going to be okay. Stay still. Everyone, get to safety and I’ll deal with this one.”

His eyes didn’t leave Mahiru and he prayed that he understood that he was also speaking to him. At least he was safe with the gunman’s back to him.

Mahiru gripped his book and his fingers trembled from how tightly he held it. He was scared but he couldn’t force his legs to move. While the man had the person hostage, Kuro couldn’t fight the man properly. He needed to find a way to save the person or take the gun from him. He slowly stepped forward and he was careful not to make a sound to draw attention to himself.

Once he was closer, he lifted the book but he didn’t strike the man. Instead, Mahiru hurled the book next to the man’s head to distract him. He took advantage of the distraction by grabbing the man’s wrist and pulling it away from the hostage. Mahiru used all of his strength to wrestle the gun away from him and he lifted it above his head. Cerberus bit the man’s leg to help Mahiru.

A gunshot rang out between and the sound made Mahiru wince. He thought that the gun had gone off during the struggle. Mahiru wasn’t hurt but the intruder called out in pain. The man let go of the gun and it flew across the room. He realized that the gunshot was from Kuro who shot the man’s hand. “Cerberus, fetch that gun!”

The dog bounded forward and picked up the gun in its mouth. Mahiru didn’t see any reason to continue fighting the man and he turned to run away. He was only able to take a few steps before he roughly gripped his shoulder. “Kuro!”

Immediately after Mahiru called his name, the grip on his shoulder disappeared. Kuro stepped between them and knocked the man unconscious with a powerful punch. He didn’t give the man another glance and focused on Mahiru. He wrapped his arm around his waist and walked him far away from the man. “What are you doing here, Mahiru? You should be in your room where it’s safe. You could’ve—”

Kuro stopped when Mahiru gripped his shirt. He thought he wanted to tell him something and he looked down at him. His face was pale and his body was trembling slightly. He had never been in such a dangerous situation and his heart was racing. The adrenaline he had caused him to shake even though he knew he was safe now.

Gently, Kuro gathered Mahiru in his arms and held him against his chest. He rubbed his back where he could feel how tense he was through his clothes. “You’re safe, Mahiru. I’m sorry I yelled at you for leaving your room but I was so scared something would happen to you. But that man can’t hurt you. You stopped him and saved Mel.”

“When he touched me,” Mahiru spoke in a quiet but broken voice. “I was in that alley where they kidnapped me.”

“Mahiru…” He whispered his name because he didn’t know what else he could say to comfort him. “I’m sorry.”

Mahiru laid in his bed later that night. Even though he was tired, his mind felt restless and he couldn’t fall asleep. A deep sigh escaped him as he rolled onto his back to stare at the tall ceiling. Cerberus laid at his feet and its soft snoring filled the room. He wished that he could sleep soundly as well but the events of the afternoon replayed itself in his mind. He didn’t regret going after Kuro to help him but being grabbed by the man brought back a terrible memory.

The bed shifted beneath him but Cerberus hadn’t moved. Mahiru wasn’t scared by the sudden change since his other pets hadn’t reacted to the new presence. He opened his eyes and his vision was filled with Kuro’s concerned expression. “Sorry. Did I wake you? I was worried that you couldn’t sleep after everything that happened and I wanted to check on you.”

Mahiru sat up in bed and faced Kuro. “You’re safe. The person he held hostage wasn’t hurt. I should be relieved that it’s over but my hands start to shake whenever I think about it.”

“You’ve been here for a while but this mafia business isn’t your life. You’re not used to it.” He was the bravest person he knew. Yet, seeing how shaken he was now, he was reminded that Mahiru was different from him. Kuro placed his hand over his and tenderly ran his thumb over his fingers. The light touch comforted Mahiru and his hand stopped shaking. “Mahiru, are you afraid of heights?”

“No.” Mahiru answered. He was slightly confused by the question and he tilted his head in confusion. Kuro stood from the bed and held out his hand to him. He didn’t know what he had planned but he trusted him so he placed his fingers on his palm. He drew a small circle over his skin and asked, “Are you going to take me somewhere?”

“My favourite place in the mafia building. It’s on the roof so I want to make sure you don’t get more scared today. The fresh air might help you after everything that happened.” Kuro explained. They returned to his room once the intruders were in custody so they couldn’t go on their usual walk. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around Mahiru’s shoulder. “It’s cold.”

“Thank you, Kuro.” He smiled and slipped his arms through the sleeves. They walked to the door and Kuro carefully peered outside to see if there was anyone in the hall. He worried that someone would see them and report to Touma that they sneaked out. He didn’t want him to assign someone else to watch Mahiru since he broke the rules.

Kuro held Mahiru’s hand as they made their way down the hall where the stairway was. He considered taking him to the roof using the hidden passageway but he thought it would make Mahiru uncomfortable. They climbed the stairs and Kuro kept his pace slow so Mahiru could keep up with him. The mafia’s headquarters was tall and they needed to ascend several floors to reach the roof.

He didn’t feel tired from walking up so many steps because he could feel Mahiru’s giddy excitement. His smile was contagious and Kuro hoped he would like the view. He opened the door and his heart dropped when he saw that there was already someone smoking on the roof. They stood a distance from them and the night was dark so he didn’t recognize the person immediately. He turned around to pull the hood of his jacket over Mahiru’s head to hide him from the person’s view.

“What are you doing here, Kuro? You’re never up this late. The person next to you must be Mahiru. Are you two trying to escape?” Touma turned around when he heard the door open. He put out his cigarette before he walked to them. “There isn’t a way to escape through the roof and you two must be intelligent enough to know that. I’ll assume you’re here for something else. Don’t stay up too late. I will be busy with a report on my mission but I will know if you spent all night up here.”

“We weren’t able to walk Cerberus today so I thought we could take our hour of freedom now.” Mahiru said but he knew the excuse was useless when they didn’t have the dog with them. He was surprised to see Touma chuckle and then pat his head.

“You don’t need to explain anything to me. I heard about the intruders and how you helped stop them, Mahiru. Spend as much as you need here and watch the stars with Hades, Persephone.” Touma said and he left the roof. He closed the door before Mahiru could respond to him. Others would tease him for being so close with Kuro but it was beginning to fluster him.

Mahiru blushed and he pulled the fur lining of his hood over his cheeks to hide it. He glanced to Kuro in the corner of his eyes and hoped that he thought the blush was only caused by the cold. “He’s gone so we have the roof to ourselves, Kuro. You said that you wanted to show me your secret spot.”

“It’s the view above us.” He said and then he guided him to a bench nearby and they sat down. Mahiru tilted his head back to stare at the stars and the portrait made of a thousand stars was stunning. He lifted his hand and traced a constellation in the sky. While his attention was on the sky, Kuro was staring at him and the wonder in his expression.

“Thank you for taking me out here to stargaze, Kuro. Something so simple can be beautiful. I can’t remember the last time I stopped and looked at the stars.” Mahiru leaned his head against Kuro’s shoulder and breathed in the crisp air. With the sky above them and the night so quiet, he could almost believe that they were anywhere but in the mafia’s headquarters.

“How do you feel about everything? You don’t have to tell me if you’re uncomfortable but it might help you to talk about it.” Kuro wasn’t able to find the right words to comfort him but he thought taking him to the roof would make him smile again. In the past, he would help him but a part of him would try to keep his distance from Mahiru. He didn’t know when his happiness became so important to him.

“Can we talk about that later?” Mahiru took Kuro’s hand and laced their fingers together. “For now, I want to watch the stars with you.”

Kuro nodded and changed the topic. “What’s your favourite constellation? I learned a lot about the Greek myths behind constellations from my time here so I can tell you about it.”

[angelicdestieldemon]

A Birthday Surprise

This is my first Barisi fanfic so please go easy on me, just love these two and Raúl, anyway enjoy x

(I also have a Kofi page if you're interested)

To say Amanda was surprised when she found out that Barba and Carisi were sleeping together would be a lie, she wasn’t blind, she could see the tension in their mutual teasing and battle of the wits. To then find out that not only were they sleeping together but were in a long-term committed relationship however was a little bit of a surprise. She was happy for them, she just didn’t realise that their relationship went further than sexual tension to be dispelled by hooking up once in a while. But the icing on the cake had to be finding out that they had been living together for a year and no one had noticed, not even Liv. 

Which leads her to today, Barba and Carisi had invited the squad round to celebrate Carisi’s birthday. His birthday wasn’t actually today but they were all working on the day so they waited until the weekend rolled around to celebrate. When Carisi suggested his and Barba’s apartment Amanda could see the look Barba gave Carisi, a look of ‘what  the hell are you thinking?’. However, before Barba could object to the idea, Carisi placed his hand on Barba’s thigh under the table and that look in Barba’s eye turned to soft resignation, it took all of Amanda’ self control not to smirk at the rare display of affection, not to mention the fact that Carisi had managed to wrap Barba round his finger. Letting her eyes drift from Barba to Carisi she could see the smug look he wore, he knew the control he had over the ADA and although Amanda knew that that control wasn’t something Carisi would abuse, she could tell he definitely made use of it. 

So the plans were settled, and everyone agreed to meet at Carisi and Barba’s apartment on Saturday - today - to celebrate Carisi getting that little bit older. She had already given Carisi his present on his actual birthday, a tie from a tailors he had been practically drooling over when they went to speak to the owner for a case a few months back, she knew she’d done well when Barba complimented her gift, telling her it suited Carisi’s skin tone perfectly. 

Now, as she waited for the elevator in the lobby of their apartment building, she was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of Barba and Carisi being in a relationship, a proper committed relationship. 

xXx

Carisi was nervous, she could tell by the way he was peeling the label off his beer bottle. He hadn’t made eye contact with her since they arrived at the bar and his nervousness was beginning to make her feel anxious. Was he ok? Had something bad happened to him, his family? She wasn’t sure if he’d appreciate her putting her hand on his shoulder so instead, she slid the beer bottle out of his hand to draw his attention to her.

“Carisi, has something happened?” She asks, his eyes still refusing to meet hers.

“No. I- uh why is this so hard?” He said, talking more to himself than her. “I wanted to speak to you about something…” he says, his voice trailing off at the end, she could see the internal struggle he was facing on whether or not to tell her what he needed to tell her or let it go.

“Whatever you need to say, I'm here to listen,” she says, deciding to let him talk when he was ready, trying not to force him to say anything he wasn’t ready to say no matter how curious she was.

Carisi finally meets her eyes and for a moment he says nothing, just staring at her as if he is looking for something, he must find it because he grabs his beer bottle, takes a long sip and turns to face her completely.

“I’m bisexual.”

xXx

She remembers that night he came out to her like it was yesterday, he was so scared of her rejecting him, of reacting badly like so many others must have done before. And when she didn’t, when she gave him a hug and told him she was proud of him, grateful that he decided she was worthy of him telling her something so personal, he nearly broke down in tears of relief. 

They had become closer after that, Carisi told her about his previous relationships, his catholic family’s reaction to their only son coming out as bisexual. That night was a rough one, to say that they hadn’t taken it well would be an understatement but they were coming round, slowly but surely. They drank a lot that night and Amanda can still remember the hangover they both had the next morning. 

The elevator finally arrives and as she turns to push the button for Barba and Carisi’s floor she sees Liv enter the lobby, she holds the door open long enough for Liv to make it in before allowing the doors to close.

“I’ve spent all week wondering what their apartment looks like,” Amanda says by way of greeting and she can see Liv smile.

“Honestly, I’ve been doing the same. Until Carisi invited us I realised I haven’t been to any of their apartments even before they moved in together,” Liv replied, Amanda smiled.

“I’m still trying to get my head around how none of us noticed. I mean we’re detectives, how could we not notice?” She responds, her question was one she knew Liv shared.

Barba and Liv were very close, best friends even, and yet he didn’t tell her that he had moved in with one of her detectives, and that they had been living together for over a year. Then again, Barba was a very private man, Amanda could probably count on one hand the amount of personal information she knew about him. That thought leads her to Carisi, sure she knew a lot about Carisi, the man was practically an open book in most aspects, and having come out to her she assumed he would have told her if he was in a relationship. But no, he too - like Barba - had hidden it from her, all of them really.

“I’m trying not to take it personally,” Liv says, breaking Amanda out of her runaway thoughts. “They didn’t have to tell us, but I'm glad they did.” She finished, however Amanda saw her mouth open again as if to speak before she closed it again. Amanda waited for her to continue, knowing that whatever Liv was about to say was important if she was consciously working out how to put her thoughts in to words. 

“I just can’t help wondering why they didn’t tell us sooner? I mean, I know they said that they didn’t intend for it to be a great big secret and that they just didn’t know how to tell us without it being a big thing. I just worry that maybe there was another reason, that they didn’t feel safe telling us,” she explained, a tired look crossing her face making it clear that Liv had spent the whole week worrying about this in her head. 

“Have you spoken to Barba about this? I think it’d help,” she offers. “I can see where you’re coming from, if I'm honest I'm a little hurt that Carisi didn’t tell me, he tells me about everything else. But I can also see from their perspective, it’s hard enough in our world for them to be out, every so often I hear unis and other lawyers take digs at them. Their relationship as I'm sure you’ve noticed has already caused quite a stir,” Amanda rationalises, if anything saying it out loud makes her see their perspective a little clearer.

Liv turns to her, a small smile gracing her features and Amanda knows she’s comforted by her words.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess maybe I'm more annoyed at myself for not noticing,” she says, a teasing smile growing prominently, Amanda returns it.

The elevator finally arrives on the right floor and they both leave feeling better than when they entered. Finding the right door, Liv knocks and they only have to wait a few seconds before Carisi answers it, dressed casually but it’s clear to Amanda that these are clothes bought by Barba. Carisi wouldn’t pay the amount the blue long sleeve shirt he was wearing cost but Barba definitely would.

“Hey, you’re the last to arrive, please come in,” he says, standing to the side to let them past. “Can I take your coats?” Amanda rolls her eyes and shrugs off her coat, Liv following suit.

“Aren't you a good little host?” She teases, Carisi grins taking their coats and hanging them on the rack behind the door.

“What can I say, my mother taught me right,” he teases back, a mocking but happy smile plastered on his face. “Drinks are in the kitchen on the right, help yourself,” he finishes leading them through to the living room opposite the kitchen.

The apartment is exactly what Amanda imagined Barba would live in, the living room is spacious with a large expensive but comfortable looking furniture and large windows with views of the city. A short hallway leading to what she assumes is the bedrooms and the bathroom. The kitchen is filled with top of the line appliances a very expensive looking coffee maker and sleek counter tops, she finds the beer in the fridge and grabs a glass of wine for Liv as well and walks back across to the living room. 

Carisi drops down on to the large L-shaped couch next to Barba, his arm thrown over the back and they’re pressed together at the side in way they never would at work and Amanda can’t help but find it sweet the Barba doesn’t even pretend to act annoyed but relaxes instantly in to Carisi’s side.

She passes the wine to Liv and sits down beside her on the opposite side of the couch from the love birds. Fin taking the armchair across from all of them.

“Well, shall we raise a toast?” Fin announces, raising his bottle. “Happy Birthday Carisi, may you live to share your legal knowledge for another year whether we want it or not,” he teases.

Everyone except Carisi nods their head in agreement and amusement while saying “Cheers!” including Barba, who gets a pinch on his arm from his boyfriend, but the look they share is one of good natured teasing that makes Amanda ache for someone to look at her like that.

The group carry on after that, Carisi thanking them for coming, Liv moving closer to Barba to talk about the apartment, Amanda can see a proud look on his face, it’s clear he loves his and Carisi’s home. She chats with Fin and Carisi about the dinner he and Barba had with his parents and sisters on his actual birthday, Amanda and Fin laughing at Barba being ambushed by Carisi’s sisters, Theresa and Gina making it known that if it doesn’t work out with Sonny, Barba should give either of them a call. 

After a few more beers, Amanda asks where to find the bathroom, “First door on the right,” Carisi says, his arm still firmly around Barba.

She finds the bathroom and marvels at the large bathtub in the corner, wishing her own was that big. After finishing her business and washing her hands in one of the two sinks she opens the door to leave but pauses and decides to have a nose around the apartment without supervision, starting with the bathroom cabinets. The pain killers for migraines are probably Barba’s and the expensive shaving kit is probably his too. She finds hair gel that most definitely belongs to Carisi as it is the same brand he has in his desk for long days. As she’s about to close it and move on to the bedroom, she see’s something that catches her eye. A box of extra large condoms, grinning she takes a picture of the box to tease Carisi about later puts her phone back in her pocket when she hears someone clear their throat behind her.

“Having a nose around are we?” Carisi says, a mocking glint in his eyes. Amanda smiles and hold up the box of condoms.

“Barba’s a lucky man, Carisi, who knew you were packing so much heat in those tailored trousers,” she teases, waiting to see the tall detectives cheeks flush red with embarrassment as it so often does, only instead of blushing she sees him smirk, a mischievous look flash across his face.

“They’re not mine,” he quips, watching her expression turn to one of shock, before leaving her there in the bathroom.

After taking a minute to recover from the shock of finding out about Barba’s size she puts the box back in the cabinet and heads back to the living room hoping her face isn’t red. She arrives just in time for Carisi to lean in and whisper something in Barba’s ear, and to her mortification she see’s Barba’s smile turn to into a predatory smirk. He catches her eye and winks making her choke on her beer. Fin and Liv turning to her in concern, but she passes it off with a “wrong tube” and takes another drink, making a mental note to never go through Barba or Carisi’s things again, there are some things she doesn’t want to know. 

[stevesnailbat]

fear of the (un)known | steve harrington

chapter six : want you to know who i am

summary: Grace, or 007 as she had been called, finally escaped Hawkins Lab after seventeen long years. But, freedom is a lot harder than she thought it would be to maintain.

warnings: mutual pining and angst!! what’s new though

word count: 2.3K

a/n: the gif isn’t mine, it’s from weheartit i believe? i found it on google!

read the rest HERE!

If she could learn to speak three different languages, she could learn to read in English, right? Grace could do it by herself, she knew she could. She was determined to be successful.

Success came at a price, and that price was her own health. She couldn’t tell if she was trying to learn to read because she really wanted to, or if it was just to distract herself from the gnawing pain in her chest, the pain she inflicted upon herself by driving her own teacher—and love interest—away. She was improving every day and she told herself that was what really mattered, it felt like improvement was the only thing giving her a sliver of joy day by day.

El started joining her at the kitchen table when she would read every day. She would read out loud to El, stopping every couple of sentences to explain what a word meant when she’d see El’s brow furrow. Grace was a fast learner, there was no denying it. Once she realized that teaching would help her, she started teaching El how to read when she felt up to it.

It seemed like Grace was at the table for twenty hours a day, reading and mumbling and flipping pages of random books she’d acquired from the cabin—and that bothered Hopper. She was stubborn, though. It wasn’t easy to get through to her, she was trained to be the one doing the convincing, not the other way around.

“You’re gonna end up passing out at this table if you don’t get more than four hours of sleep, you know.” Hop remarked as he walked into the kitchen at 6 a.m. one morning, eyes narrowed as he looked at the stack of books next to her. “Haven’t you read all of those damn books by now?”

“I’m learning. What’s so wrong about that?” she said, a twinge of annoyance in her words. “I’m not bothering you.”

“Not botherin’ me with it, but it does bother me that you’re not sleeping.” he responded, watching as she rolled her eyes at his words. “You’re gonna get burnt out on this shit. You’re killin’ yourself with this determination.”

“I’m not killing myself with determination.” she snapped, finally looking up at him as she flicked the book in front of her shut. “I’m simply trying to find something to do.”

“There’s plenty of things to do besides read shit all day!” Hop replied, coming off more annoyed than expected. “Watch some TV for God’s sake!”

“TV doesn’t help me, Hopper. TV doesn’t occupy my thoughts for longer than two minutes.” Grace retorted, a resentful laugh following her words. “I’m not just looking for entertainment, you know that.”

“Well, I don’t know what the hell you want me to do about it.” he said, leaning against the kitchen counter with an exasperated look on his face.

“I didn’t ask you to do anything!” she said, annoyance and anger beginning to bubble in her chest. “You’re the one who brought it up!”

“Because you’re hurting yourself—“

“I’m not hurting myself! I’m distracting myself from what’s going to really hurt me!” she interjected, suddenly becoming away of El sleeping in the room over as she raised and lowered her voice. “I’m trying to not eat myself alive over here.”

“And you can’t do that with anything other than some bullshit books?” he implored, picking the copy of The Great Gatsby up from the table. “I’m gonna end up taking this shit away if—“

“No!” she resisted, snatching the book from his hands hastily.

“Then find something else other than reading these goddamn books! I’m tired of seeing you hunched over at the table for twenty fucking hours of the day.” he boomed.

“Oh, you want me to do something else?” Grace asked bitterly, rolling her eyes as he nodded at her. “Then I’ll find something else to do.”

She was shoving on a pair of boots and a jacket as soon as she stood from the table. All she wanted was some peace, just for once. Grace knew that Hopper wouldn’t let her go without a fight, but she’d leave the cabin regardless. She’d come back, she told herself, but she needed to leave for an hour or two.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing—“

“I’m finding something else to do.” she said while holding the door handle, cutting his sentence short with sharp words and an even sharper glare. “I’m going for a damn walk.”

“No, you’re not.” he said, hand blocking her from opening the front door more than a small crack. “It’s too damn dangerous out there. You’re not putting your life—our lives at risk to get some fresh air.”

“Watch me.” she challenged, grabbing the edge of the door in a failed attempt to swing it open. “I’m not putting you or El in danger, only myself. Nobody knows that I’m here. I’m going for a walk in the woods and not going to town, because if you keep me in this damn house and take away the only thing that’s distracted me for a a week, then who knows what the hell I’ll end up doing. I’ve let myself slip twice already and I don’t want it to happen anymore—We already saw what that did for one of my relationships.”

Hopper knew he couldn’t argue with her anymore, she was already on edge and he knew that any anger could set that side off. Of course, he didn’t want her to go but he knew she’d come back. She swung the door open once he let his arm go slack on the corner, pushing past him to make her way outside and into the woods.

The woods were vast, Grace knew that. She knew that she’d have to stay close if she wanted to come back. She made her way towards the creek where she’d went with the party and Steve a few weeks back, wishing she could hear the sound of bubbling water. Everything was covered in a layer of frost and ice from the morning dew, it was nearly dead silent. The silence was killer for her mind, ruining the peace she’d been searching for.

After leaving the creek, the silence grew more overwhelming than before. It was like a static in her mind, making her terrible thoughts brew along with the fear already boiling in her throat. The feeling was enough to throw her sense of direction off, putting her on the wrong path.

Grace could tell that she wasn’t going the right way, but that didn’t stop her from continuing to walk in that same direction. It felt like she was walking in circles, she thought she passed through the same trees, the same bushes, the same ground, every five minutes. The scene felt all too familiar, she knew she was in the same woods that she’d been in when she escaped the lab. All she wanted to do was run back to the cabin, she wanted to admit to Hop that she was wrong about leaving, that she’d always listen to him and heed his warnings before doing anything. But she couldn’t even find the creek now, she was in too deep and she knew she was nowhere near where she wanted to be.

The amount of trees began to thin as she continued on, and she could see something other than trees finally. It wasn’t very promising, though. Beyond the tree line was rocks and a gravel drive, which seemed to lead to almost nothing. A breath caught in her throat as tears welled up in her eyes, feeling hopeless about finding salvation in the new area as she walked towards it. A small sob wracked her body as panic ran through her, wondering if there would be any way to find her way back to the cabin. The last thing she wanted was to lose her freedom once again. As she walked, the water below the quarry caught her attention, she was drawn to stare at it—she was fighting to distract herself with something peaceful from the bad within her once again.

Grace's thoughts jumbled together as she walked along the gravel path, vision blurred from tears and a rush of fear through her mind. She couldn’t tell if she was dreaming or if someone was actually calling her name as she walked, but she pressed on. She missed the BMW sitting by the edge of the quarry, her tunneled, blurred eyes forcing all signs of life from her mind as she focused on the water she saw below her. Her mind was fighting her—and it was putting up a tough battle now. But, the strength she’d developed on her own in the last week of independence was immeasurable, she could fight it off now, the urges weren’t as strong as they once were.

Finally, she snapped herself back to reality, consciously realizing how close she’d gotten to the edge of the cliff.

“Grace?” a voice filled with concern called from behind her, Steve’s.

She could’ve sworn Steve had set out to be her guardian angel, honestly. He was always there when she didn’t want him to be, but it was always when she needed it the most. It seemed annoying in the moment, but she knew she’d eventually thank him for saving her so many times. She finally looked back at him to see the worried look spread across his face, relief filling her at the sight of his familiar face.

“Are you alright?” Steve asked, taking a cautious step towards her while closing his car door. “Did you get lost or something?”

Grace could only nod in response, unable to fully comprehend what had happened in the past three hours as she stared over at him. He looked equally as terrified, like he was halfway afraid that she’d turn on him any moment. He had every right to be afraid, she thought, after what she’d done to him before. In reality, Steve was only afraid that she was still mad at him for nearly calling her a monster.

At first, Steve thought she was charging him when she took a quick step in his direction. He flinched and screwed his eyes shut as she approached him at a hurried pace, but was swiftly pulled to ease when he felt her arms around his neck. She had never made the first move to touch anyone else, mainly out of fear of invading their minds.

It was different now, she felt more in control now. She felt like less of a monster, like more of a normal human. A weak cry slipped from her lips as she buried her head in the crook of Steve’s neck, finding comfort in the familiar smell of his stupid Farrah Fawcett hairspray that lingered on his jacket as she relaxed in his arms. Steve stood without moving for a moment, caught off guard by the feeling of her gentle yet needy touch.

“I—I’m learning a—and I taught my—myself how to control the—the stupid u—urges.” Grace stammered with tears streaming onto Steve’s jacket, nearly unable to form a sentence through the cries of relief tearing through her words. “I—I’m sorry I—I couldn’t control my—myself—"

“Hey, hey, you don’t need to apologize for anything, okay? I’m sure it’s not easy to control that shit and—and me arguing with you probably didn’t help the situation.” Steve cut in as he craned his neck to see her nod silently, noticing how cold her skin was against his. “Jesus, Grace, you’re freezing. How long have you been out here?”

“I left at s—six this morning.” she faltered, pulling away from his chest as he looked down at his watch with wide eyes.

“It’s almost ten, Grace. How are you not frozen right now?” Steve implored, feeling one of her cold hands as he noted her extremely rosy cheeks and nose. “Are you like, immune to the cold or something?”

“I don’t think so.” she said with a furrowed brow, realizing how she didn’t feel any type of cold in the moment. “Maybe I am.”

“Either way, let’s get you back to the cabin, okay? I think Chief might have a conniption if you’re gone for any longer.” Steve said, throwing his chin in the direction of his car.

The car ride was an improvement from the last time they saw each other, that’s for sure. Grace was able to sit without worry of what was happening next, she even felt a little satisfied with her new ability to fight back against herself.

“Why were you out there, anyways?” she asked, interrupting the comfortable silence between them.

“I go out there to just think sometimes.” he said, glancing over at her momentarily.

She nodded slowly, taking in the guilty look on his face. Grace knew he was thinking about her. She could just tell by the way he looked at her that he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the last time he saw her.

“I—Before it gets awkward, I want to talk about what happened the last time we saw each other—if that’s okay.” he said, watching her nod once more while staring straight ahead as he spoke. “I’m really, really sorry. I really am. I overstepped and I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I know you’re struggling with all of this and I just want to help. I want to go back to being friends and just—just start over again? What do you think about that?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” she said hesitantly, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Friends.”

Truthfully, she wanted more than anyting to tell him no. To tell him that she didn’t want to just be friends, that she felt things with him that she’d never experienced before. Her heart was aching from even being around him—let alone having him hold her earlier. She wanted so much more than to just be friends, and he knew that too. But they both knew better, they knew they’d break each other’s hearts.

tags: @sourapplebaby @harringtown @jxnehxpper @charmed-asylum @daddystevee @queenofthehairharrington @heart-eye-harrington @hystericalmedicine @a-magey @lemonypink @karasong @batbatsupermanme @used-avocado @letscici @igotmadskills @mikariell95 @anerroroccurrrrred @blueberrylemontea-fanfic @ilovebucketbarnes

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

He Gladly Stopped For Me: A Bruce Banner One Shot

“Baby, you better back the fuck back. I am not the one.”

It was the growl in your voice. Fierce and feral. It jolted Bruce out of a dead sleep. Like a rattlesnake rattle. Worse than that, like raised hackles on a lap dog. Danger. You crackled with energy. He could feel it. Even with you in the hallway. What he didn’t know was who you were speaking to. He could see you in profile. In the shadow on the ground. Time slowed to a trickle and he knew. HE KNEW it had been a fraction of a second but it felt like a full minute as you raised your arm, pistol in hand, bracing to fire. Bruce wanted to call out to you. He wanted to stand between you and the intruder. The gun the man had was bigger. The Hulk was bulletproof. He could protect you. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe.

If there was a reply, the gunshots that rang out drowned it out.  The Muzzle flash was blinding and... and then. Silence.

Bruce sat bolt upright in bed, panting and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His heart was hammering away in his chest and he could feel the Hulk lurking at the edge of this consciousness. Assessing for threats. But there is no threat. There’s only you. Fast asleep, your face obscured by your hair, sprawled comfortably on your belly, arms and legs akimbo, like a child had thrown on the floor and forgotten. One arm was thrown around your beloved stuffed dog. The one Bruce had tucked into your arms when he tucked you into bed. 

The room was dark but for a shaft of moonlight that shimmered gracefully through the gauzy curtains. The house was quiet but for the small creeks and pops of old wood and brick. Things settling and adjusting to the changes in temperature. Nothing amiss. No reason to be alarmed. That’s good, Hulk decides as he recedes below the surface. When the other guy decides that you’re safe, Bruce takes a deep breath.

He’d like a glass of water. A glass of water and a dry shirt. One that isn’t drenched in sweat but he can’t manage to leave you. Not yet. Every night this week he’s watched you die. Unable to stop you. Unable to protect you. Every night, someone you knew well enough to call “baby” shot you to death in the hall. Shot you to death while Bruce lay sleeping. Bruce leans over and kisses your head before tucking the blanket around your shoulders tenderly, making sure you’ll be kept warm. He smiles tenderly when you stir sleepily and pull your stuffed dog closer. 

He was a bit jealous of that stuffed dog if he was honest. Sleeping in your arms while he was tossing and turning, working in the lab. Comforting you now while he was awake. Bruce watched you sleep for a moment, letting his heart rate return to normal. You’re asleep. Asleep and safe. It was just a dream.

A dream.

Right.

That’s what he was going to tell himself. Especially because he couldn’t tell you.  Not because you’d laugh at him but because you’d take it seriously. Very seriously. Dreams were as real to you as he was. They were way finders. Markers on a forest path. 

The spirits way to tell you what you already knew. 

Bruce wasn’t sure what he believed. He genuinely did not know, or care, if the dream was prophetic. All he wanted was for it to stop. He toes into his slippers and padded across the floor, groping blindly in the dark for the basket of clean t-shirts for a fresh one. Once he had one (one that was his and not yours) he tossed the sweat-soaked one in the hamper and pulled it on. Baby steps. 

He already felt better even if he wasn’t sure he’d be going back to sleep tonight. Water. He needed water. His throat was starting to hurt, probably from breathing through his mouth. Bruce glanced back towards you, not for the first time envious of your ability to sleep through anything. Or fall asleep moments after your head hit the pillow. 

Bruce knew it was partly because just living was exhausting for you anymore. Magic was exhausting. Every use of it took a little more. Used a little more of your life force. And, after your time as an active Avenger, even with ways to replenish it, you had paid a price to save the world. A price that left you with chronic pain and not much stamina. Still, he had work to do today, not limited to helping you in your garden. 

Though the actual casting of spells was prohibited to you now, that didn’t mean that you didn’t maintain your studies. Or your garden. Or the practice of teaching. You just happened to need some help with the heavy lifting. Something Bruce could give you, even if he had to go green to do it. It wasn't as if he minded. The Hulk didn’t either, carefully tending rows of fragile plants, minding the delicate buds and casting weeds over his broad shoulders. In the spring, hoeing rows and pulling up stumps and stones at your quiet direction. It was nice. Having the Hulk less destructive. 

He couldn't help it. He leaned on the door frame and watched you sleep. He’s thankful. Thankful that you’re getting rest. He remembers how you used to be. The early mornings and late nights. Tireless. Now you need 12 hours of sleep just to function and sometimes, more and more days that go by, 12 is not enough. 14, 16, 18 hours. Whole days you just can’t get out of bed. It exhausts you just to brush your hair. Hair that, day by day grows a little more white. Lifeforce pours from you like blood from a wound. From a gaping hole that HYDRA has left in your soul, trying to extract the magic you swore to serve others. To pervert it. And no matter what anyone has done, no one can stop it. 

You’re dying. 

Dying in slow motion. 

Fading like flowers in a vase. But Bruce tries not to think about that as he lopes down the stairs for water. He tries not to consider the life you could have had with him if he’d been able to keep you from HYDRA. The children and the adventures. But Children would kill you faster and there was some small pleasure in retirement. Having a house away from it all. Day trips to wineries and apple orchards. Quiet days in a hammock reading books. 

He put the water glass in the sink and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the clock. It was 4:30 now. No sense in getting back to bed now. By the time he got back to bed you’d be up. Or about to be. And he didn’t know what you’d need. Not today. 

“Bruce?”

Your soft voice makes him turn and he braces to catch you. 

“Baby,” he says, steadying you on your feet as you lean heavily on a cane, “It’s early, let's get you back to bed.”

“Are you alright?” you ask him, frowning, touching his cheek with your free hand.

“Fine,” he says, kissing your hand. “Just couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make breakfast.”

‘Bruce,” you repeat sternly.

“Y/N,” he said kissing your palm again, “Stay out of my head.”

“I’m not in your head, you’re a bad liar,” you pout. 

Bruce chuckles and wraps his arms around you gently, tilting your chin up to kiss you. 

“What did you dream about?” you ask him, brow furrowing. 

“Nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about,” he answers gently helping you into a chair. You haven’t slept enough. Or eaten. You shouldn’t be out of bed. Let alone have come downstairs. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on your face from the exertion and it makes his heart twist unpleasantly. It hurts today, moving. You’re exerting will to keep from bleeding life force. A gambit you only rely on when- when you need him not to worry. And it hurts. 

“So you did dream,” you press.

“Yes,” he rumbles, kissing your cheek and smiling a little. “About how much I’d like a lazy day in bed with my wife.” The implication in his voice as he brushes his thumb across your lips sets you to blushing furiously. He chuckles again and kisses your cheek once more, “Let’s get some breakfast in you first though.”

“Bruce,” you sigh, “Please. Please don’t do me the indignity of lying to me. Please.”

There’s something in your tone. Telling him without telling him that you can feel the sword hanging over your head. You know you’re dying. Every minute of every day. You can feel the useless fight to keep going. It hurts to know that you know. Even with him trying so hard to keep you from finding out. 

Bruce took a deep breath and knelt in front of you holding your hands, “I dreamed that you died,” he sighed.

“Is that all?” you ask, brushing hair out of his eyes.

He can’t help it. He snorts. “It was how you died,” he murmured.

“Shot to death in the hall and I couldn’t... I couldn’t get to you.”

You smile a little, “Sweetheart,” you murmur, “It’s no small wonder. You can’t stop this. No one can. I am going to die. A little at a time. All we can do is make me comfortable and try- try not to dwell on it too much.”

“It felt real,” he said softly, “You talked to the person who shot you.”

“What did I say?” you ask him softly.

“Baby, you better back the fuck back. I am not the one.”

You smile a little, “How many times a day do you think I tell myself that?” you ask him. 

“So you’re not gonna get shot?”

“No,” you tell him lovingly, “Probably not.”

“But you’re still going to die?”

“Yes.”

Bruce hung his head and rested his forehead on your lap, “Please don’t go.”

You blink back tears and pet his hair gently, “You’re stuck with me for a while yet, love.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“You’ve stopped doing magic right?”

“Until the dishwasher stops working.”

“Y/N” he snuffles, smiling a little.

“What? You scared my Brownies away.”

He shook his head and stood slowly, “What do you want to eat, baby girl?”

He couldn’t keep thinking about you dying. He’d rather think about the rest of the day. About things that would make you happy and try to stem the tide of what you were bleeding. He knew it was a losing battle, but that wasn’t going to stop him trying. 

“French toast?”

“Perfect,” he said, kissing your head. Maybe he couldn’t stop death, but he could delay it. Just for one more day. One more breakfast. He scooped you up carefully and cradled you to him to carry you to the porch. One more sunrise. One more memory to keep him company when you were gone.

[greekowl87]

Combo C7+C39+46 in so happy you are doing this! Thank you 💞💞💞

“C7+C39+46 Move as little as possible. / Just keep the pressure on it.  / I was a joke, baby. I swear.

A/N: Anon, this probably isn’t what you had in mind with this combination of prompts but I do you enjoy what was born. I love the episode ‘Tithonus’ and the immortal Scully trope. I have played with this idea but I guess I rehashed it for this prompt. Sorry. Sort of. Not really. I love the immortal Scully trope to bits. And I hope you enjoy the result with this fic. Enjoy reading. No beta.

Tagging @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm 

It took Scully a moment to catch her breath as she laid on the cold concrete floor staring up at the worn brick walls. She felt something warm, wet, and cold across her chest and staining her clothes. What had happened?

Everything had happened so fast. 

They rushed into an alley chasing the supposed ghost only to be ambushed by three men. They had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Damn their carelessness. Gunfire had rung out through the warehouse. Who was firing at them? The force of bullets knocked the breath out of her and she fell. Neither Mulder nor Scully made a habit of wearing bulletproof vests under their suits unless the situation required it. She thought this was no different. They had just been checking out a lead. But then the bullets and gunfire rang out.

Scully had felt like she had been punched repeatedly in the chest with multiple punches but it hurt so much more. She remembered briefly the agonizing pain of being shot in the abdomen with Ritter’s bullet. When she regained consciousness, what had probably been a moment, blood stained her white blouse. Something was wrong, so very wrong. Her medical mind realized that with the severity of what likely happened, what should have happened.

She should be dead. Very dead.  

Her hand searched her chest automatically, feeling the hot, sticky blood before she spotted Mulder on the ground gasping for breath. Everything else was forgotten. A moment of deja vu overtook her. His hand was reaching out of her desperately. The bank. That robber. Pressing her hands against Mulder’s chest to keep him alive.

The pain she felt was momentary and she pushed herself up sluggishly. Her chest ached as she crawled to him. She should be dead, her rational mind screamed. But she was fine, right? She was moving and breathing, albeit it painfully, but she was moving. Scully took Mulder’s hand as he struggled to breathe. With a doctor’s eye, she noted multiple gunshot wounds peppered across his chest.

“No, no, no,” she whispered. She ripped off her own jacket and pressed it against his chest. “Mulder, I’m here. I’m here, you hear me?”

“Scully.” He winced. “I was wrong, huh?”

She cupped his face and whispered, “Move as little as possible. Keep your eyes focused on me.”

“You’re shot too…” he whispered. He raised a shaking hand and tried to check her. She pushed away his hand and it fell limply to his side. “Scully?” 

“No. I’m okay,” she answered. She continued to push away his wandering hands and tried to check his wounds. “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

She ripped open her shirt and saw a large, gaping wound near his heart. She was so focused on Mulder that it escaped her attention when he peeled back her blouse slightly. “You were shot. Scully, you were shot. I see the blood. But you seem okay?”

“ I am okay. I’m fine, Mulder..” It wasn’t a lie. She was breathing was becoming easier and she felt better. There was just a dull ache in her chest.  She forced a comforting smile. “I was a joke, baby. I swear. I promise I am fine. Move as little as possible.”

“You’re terrible. Not a joke.” He coughed. Blood dribbled from the corner of his lip. “Scully, you are hurt.”

“Mulder, let me take care of you!” She snapped.

“Just keep pressure on it. Isn’t that right?” He coughed and blood trickled down his lip. She heard sirens in the distance. The back up they had called for. His eyes were glazed and tried to focus on her face. “Scully, I don’t…”

“What?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“I’m not letting you die, Mulder.”

He closed his eyes. “I feel cold.”

Before Scully could answer she felt Mulder shiver and curl into her. Then she felt it again. The same sensation she had felt in Brooklyn New York when she witnessed Fellig die and she survived. “You aren't.”

“You know,” he whispered. “I suspected, Scully and I knew deep down.”

“Not now, Mulder.”

“There was no way you should’ve survived that.”

Scully was not listening. She could feel Mulder’s heartbeat slow beneath her fingertips. What a feeling of agony it was to start your partner’s heart in the Arctic to only feel his life die away in some warehouse in Washington? The sensation increased and it was almost smothering in the back of her mind and she could feel it all around her. Scully couldn’t breathe. She remembered Fellig’s ramblings about trying to capture death on film, to see it. Maybe it wasn’t about seeing it and looking it in the eye. Maybe it was something else.

“Mulder,” she whispered desperately, “I love you. I won’t lose you.”

“You can’t fight death, Scully.”

I did, she thought impulsively, and so will you. “Close your eyes, Mulder.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Scully,” he admonished. Even near death, he was a stubborn bastard. His eyes rolled back into his head. “I hardly think this is the time.”

She bent forward and kissed him. She could taste the coppery tang of his blood against their lips. For a moment, both of the breathes caught between each other, the suffocating feeling burst, and his breath hitched. This is it, Scully thought, this is the end.

But miraculously, he continued to breathe. His breath was stronger and more labored. She hastily reached for his pulse. It thundered with renewed vigor. Before she realized it, emergency support services descended upon them and loaded them both up to the nearest trauma center.

A week later, Scully held a bouquet of sunflowers in her arms as she stared nervously at the hospital room door handle. She managed to convince (and ward off any unwanted medical attention) that the blood on her was that of her partner's. Her own gruesome bullet wounds faded to annoying scratches within days. But to her horror, just like Fellig, they remained scars and reminders of her new reality. Her immortality. It all confirmed the truth she tried to will away. She winced at the thought and decided to not bring it up when she Mulder. At least the sunflowers provided an adequate distraction. 

After trying to summon a moment of courage, she opened the door to find her partner uselessly flipping through the channels.

“They ain’t got shit here, Scully. They had a marathon of Highlander but I turned the channel.”

“You aren’t subtle at all,” she replied warily.

“I haven’t seen you in a week.”

“I needed time,” she answered honestly. She sat on the edge of the bed and squeezed his hand. “To process everything.”

“I see.” Mulder lowered the volume and sat up in the hospital bed easily. He winced a little but that was to be expected.  “The doctors are confounded. There was a bullet that pierced my heart, Scully and yet here I am. And then there is the matter of recovery. The docs said they’ve never seen anything like it. I have.  It’s like yours was, isn’t it?”

She placed the sunflowers aside uselessly, unsure how to answer. “I’ve reviewed your charts myself.” After a moment of hesitation, she unbuttoned her blouse slightly and guided Mulder’s hand to the multiple puckered scars.  “Do you feel those scars? I can’t explain it, Mulder. We both should be dead but we’re okay. We’re both okay.”

He sighed and glanced at the sunflowers. “You saw Death, didn’t you? Whatever happened to you…”

“I felt Death,” she corrected. “And yes. I think so. I don’t know. I wanted to deny it. But I can’t deny this, Mulder. Whatever happened…” She gestured between the two of them. “I can't deny it.” Months of anxiety poured out as she bit her lip and eyes watered. Mulder grabbed both of her hands. The words bleed out like a broken confession. “I’m a monster, a freak.” She tapped the back of her neck. “This, barren womb, and now this.” She gestured to her chest. “What a fucked-up world huh?”

“No,” he urged. He forced her to look at him. “Never. I don’t know what it is. I can’t explain it either, Scully...not yet at least, but you aren’t alone. We’re in this together. You saved me. Remember, I wouldn’t face the darkness without anyone else but you.”

“How, Mulder?” she yelled. “How do you know we’re going to be okay?”

It was quick and he grunted slightly with discomfort but the kiss silenced her. It was everything she had thought of and more. The spark of electricity, the heat of life, and the promise of another day. “Because of what you said,” he whispered. “I may have been dying but I heard every word, Scully.”

“What was that?”

She licked her lips in memory. Mulder chuckled slightly. “I love you too. The strange thing about being on the brink of death does to you. Scully, I don’t know the future. I can’t explain what happened to me or to you but I have a feeling and I think we both know the truth.” He tilted his head as she lowered her eyes, refusing to look at him. “Would it really be such a bad thing, you and me, stuck side by side forever?”

“I don’t know if I want to live forever,” she whispered.

“What about with me? Would that really be so bad?”

“Mulder, I can’t discuss this right now. I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around the fact that I was shot in the chest, I was dying, and yet, I was up, breathing, talking, and walking by the time the EMTs got to us. I had to lie about the holes in my blouse. I am surprised they even bought it.”

“Then don’t. How about living just for the present? You and me, huh?”

“I could bear the thought, the pain of losing you,” she whispered. “I was selfish.”

“You saved me, Scully.”

“I love you,” she continued.

“And me too.” Her eyes shot up and he gave her a small smile. “Don’t look so surprised. Look, well figure this out. Don’t we always, Scully?” He leaned back into his hospital bed and guided her with him. She remembered how he used to do this with her during her cancer treatments. Scully would always find some sort of peace, strength, and hope in moments like this with them. “Easy,” he hissed as her head rested against a tender part of his chest. “Still healing.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re fine. Move as little as possible and we are comfortable.”

This was very unlike her to show weakness but for the moment, she let herself show it. Mulder sighed trying to get comfortable trying to this new thing between them. “I don’t know what happened with us,” Scully told him.

“I think we do but what matters, I think, Scully is what you said. We live for the present and we take day by day.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Besides, I’m rather excited about the future.”

“Why is that?”

“I get to kiss you a lot more now.”

Scully laughed and for the moment, their unknown future seemed a little brighter as he stole another kiss to silence her laughter.

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Isolation

Adrien played listlessly on the piano. His features reflected the melancholy tune that echoed through his room and out the hall.

 

If Plagg was awake he'd certainly protest the chosen song. But they'd had a tough battle and his kwami slept off a gluttonous meal.

 

A brief smile crossed Adrien's lips before the oppressive silence of his too large room stifled it.

 

He was used to being alone. Even if the isolation chafed more now than before... Before them. Before her.

 

Kagami.

 

Every moment with her was filled with more life than he remembered ever being in these walls. Even before. She was filled with so much passion for everything she did.

 

Kagami brought out the side of himself he'd been taught to hide. And from the way she opened up around him, Adrien thought he did the same for her.

 

Before, they were alone. Together, they were free. So, to go from such genuine connection back to this!?

 

The piano clanged as he slammed his fingers on the keys. Plagg muttered in his sleep but didn't wake. Adrien stared at the black and white instrument.

 

He didn't want to be alone again.

 

 

Kagami fired her arrow expertly into the target's bullseye. It sank deep next to the other arrows she had shot into it.

 

Kagami's brow furrowed. She nocked another arrow, steadied her breathing, and fired again. Bullseye.

 

The crease between her eyes deepened. Kagami grabbed a handful of arrows and held them in her hand so she wouldn't have to reach into her quiver for them.

 

The archery range was deserted except for her, which gave her free reign. She removed the cumbersome quiver to ease her movements.

 

Keeping her targets in focus Kagami released arrow after arrow. Each less than a second apart, one for every target in range, every one a bullseye.

 

She had barely exerted herself but her breath came in short gasps nonetheless.

 

Why?

 

Why couldn't she focus? Her thoughts kept drifting from the task at hand. It wasn't like her to allow her mind to wander.

 

She was perfectly focused when Adrien came to see her practice... Wait.

 

She remembered his encouraging grin. How it lit up his face and filled her with warmth. Kagami was great at archery. She knew that. And still she'd shown off. Sought the praise of a novice in archery.

 

How his eyes widened in wonder at her skill. She caused that! She-

 

The bow slipped from her grasp. She looked around at the archery range. It was empty. Kagami had full reign of the place.

 

She started a bit as her ringtone pulled her from her thoughts.

 

Collecting herself she answered it without seeing the caller. "Yes?"

 

"Kagami?" Adrien's voice greeted her.

 

"Adrien." How interesting, the way just his voice was enough to ease some of her tension.

 

"I'm sorry about calling you during practice." He sounded nervous. "Is this a bad time? Of course, it's a bad time, sorry. I'll call back later."

 

"No!" She replied a bit too quickly. "No, that's alright. I'm taking a break."

 

"Oh. Oh good. That's good."

 

"Was there a reason you're calling me?"

 

He laughed self-deprecatingly. "No. I guess not," he admitted. "This is gonna sound corny but... I just wanted to hear your voice."

 

Kagami felt heat flood her cheeks and she was sure Adrien was just as red.

 

"Is that weird? That's weird, right?"

 

"It is not," she reassured him. "I was just thinking of you."

 

Kagami could practically hear Adrien's blush deepen. "R-really?" he asked.

 

"Y-yes."

 

He was silent for a moment. "Does it feel like you've taken a step forward while everything else stays in place?" he asked suddenly.

 

Kagami sat cross-legged on the ground.

 

She thought of her mother. Despite knowing about her relationship with Adrien Tomoe continued to act as she always did. No concession was made. The time they spent in fencing practice and at high-class functions was expected to be enough.

 

No thought was given to Kagami's needs or desires. And in the back of her mind Kagami knew it would be that way. But still. She'd hoped.

 

"Kagami?"

 

"Yes," she admitted. "We've advanced together but no one seems to notice. They do not acknowledge that the field has changed. That... we have changed."

 

"You don't think I'm overthinking this?" he asked, doubt creeping into his voice. "Maybe if we talked to them?"

 

"A warrior must always be aware of her surroundings. If they haven't noticed the change then..." Here Kagami took a breath. She wasn't in the habit of criticizing her mother and it did not come easily. "Then they are not paying sufficient attention!"

 

Adrien understood what she meant. Their parents may not consciously realize that they gave so little time to their children. But that didn't mean it wasn't purposeful.

 

"... I had dinner with Father yesterday," Adrien stated.

 

Kagami wondered what it said of them. That her first instinct was to congratulate him. Despite the forced hope in his tone.

 

"We talked about the upcoming photo shoots... Or he talked about them and I listened. I asked if I could see you Friday! ... Um, he said I shouldn't let myself be distracted from my duties... Then he had to leave because something came up. I-"

 

Kagami waited as Adrien took a shuddering breath. His voice cracked and her heart threatened to follow.

 

"I sat there... and I thought... I thought about how alone I felt! How... it wasn't this bad when he didn't show up! ... I thought about how Father was right there! And I felt less alone when he wasn't..."

 

"... Mother is always there," Kagami began. "She always makes sure to observe my progress. Her instruction is invaluable. I am the swordswoman I am today because of her."

 

Adrien listened to the small variations in tone that people who didn't know Kagami mistook for stoicism. Which easily rose in volume.

 

"Yet, there are times I forget that she is my Mother and not just my trainer. There are times when I wish we did not have the formality of strangers! Times Mother's presence was an ominous shadow that-"

 

Kagami breathed deeply.

 

"... Times you perform an exercise perfectly and they say nothing," Adrien stated softly. "Leaving you alone without a word."

 

"Times your best performance is lacking," Kagami continued. "So they remain. Looking over your shoulder until it satisfies their standards. And all that time you are still alone."

 

Kagami knew that Adrien didn't cry often. She shed more tears than he did despite having more than enough reasons to. So it came as a mild surprise to hear his quiet sobbing.

 

"A-Adrien?"

 

"I- I'm sorry! I..."

 

"Don't apologize." Kagami's voice was thick with her own falling tears. "There is nothing dishonorable about crying. If you need to cry, then cry."

 

So, he did.

 

So, they did.

@adrigami-week

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “The One That Got Away” Part 2

The terrorist attack targeting Wayne National Bank nearly three years ago left only one survivor behind: Y/N almost died from the injuries, but she was lucky enough to wake up at the hospital days later. It was so hard to cope with the news: on top of losing her eyesight, the young woman lost her co-workers also and strangely enough the one responsible for the entire tragedy wasn’t The Clown Prince of Crime.

Four weeks later

“Now we’re going up five steps,” Bruce announces and you carefully walk holding on to his arm. “Almost there. Do you want more champagne or a cocktail?”

“Actually Mister Wayne, I would like a shot of whiskey,” you reply and he signals the bartender.

“I wouldn’t mind one either,” he adds and orders: “Two shots of whiskey please!”

“How long do we have to be here?” you exhale, enjoying the ambiance nevertheless. You wish this could be one of the instances when you are able to see; it must be a really fancy venue. Unfortunately, your vision didn’t return at all after the incident leading up to The Joker saving you from the Triple Star gang.

“Maybe another hour or so, unless you don’t feel well and then I can drive you back to your apartment.”

“I’m ok, no worries. It’s just a bit weird: I’m not used to this kind of stuff,” a nervous Y/N confesses.

“Charity balls can be overwhelming,” Bruce nods in agreement. “Everyone talks and talks, eats, drinks and talks some more. The purpose is to make these rich people give up on their money for good causes so it’s worth it.”

You laugh at his honesty, making sure to underline you’re grateful for the opportunity:

“Thank you for including my charity; I really appreciate it and it means a lot. I will be able to help more people.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Bruce sighs, grabbing the drinks from the bartender. “Here you go,” the glass is given to you. “Since this year it was my turn to organize the event, might as well use the hype from what happened to the Angel of Gotham and get you more funding. Sorry, I don’t want to sound insensitive,” he apologizes when he notices the change in your mood. “That was stupid to say,” Bruce admonishes himself and you try to stir the conversation towards another topic.

“It’s fine; I understand what you mean, Mister Wayne,” you taste a sip of alcohol and continue. “If you want to ask any questions about what happened… you can.”

The billionaire puckers his lips, debating on the unexpected chance to dig out some information that could shed some light on your abduction and surprising intervention from The Clown Prince of Crime. He did read the police report with your statement courtesy of Commissar Gordon, yet off the record discussion is more than welcomed.  

“Let’s go on the terrace then for more privacy,” he suggests and you take Bruce’s arm again, following his guidance.

You pass by people engaged in several chats, hoping nobody will stop you for trivial interrogations you’re not comfortable answering.  

“Did they… did they…e-hem… do… anything…ummm…to you?” Bruce stutters because he has no idea how to convey the inquiry without sounding like a total jerk invading your personal life.

“I said it to the cops also: no, I wasn’t sexually assaulted,” you reaffirm and he grumbles, relieved.

“Thank goodness,” the 35 year old taps your fingers. “I don’t even know why my mouth even uttered such rubbish…I know it’s none of my business,” and he immediately corrects the sentence. “As in of course I would care about something like that, but I shouldn’t force you to share.”

“You’re digging your own grave, Mister Wayne,” you interrupt his tirade since he doesn’t know how to handle the situation.

“Uh, I know. I’m sorry Y/N,” and you laughter makes him chuckle too. “Bad luck,“ Bruce concludes as soon as you are both on the patio. “There are lots of people outside; do you mind using the small conference room? It’s empty,” he gazes through the opened glass doors and you follow him, compliant.

“Of course, no problem.”

“Let’s take a sit on this purple couch,” he urges and you oblige, smiling:

“So many purple items around here,” Y/N has to emphasize because Bruce kept on describing the environment to her and that stood out. “A splash of color never hurts; it must be really nice.”

“I like purple; it’s my favorite color,” he stares at you, searching for a reaction when the tip of the knife he’s holding almost touches your cornea. But there’s no reflex and the man smirks, returning the blade to his pocket. He drinks some more, restarting the debriefing:

“Do you know where you were taken? I mean, I know you are not able to see, still did anything catch your attention? Any noises? Particular smells?”

“No, nothing” you pout. “I assume it was outside town: it was quiet and Gotham is never silent. They transported me in a van, a larger vehicle. I’m sure of that since there were several individuals with me. A few moments after being kidnapped I was hit in the head and passed out.”

And when you woke up you were blind again, not that Bruce needs to know.

“I think I was locked in a basement, very tiny space…I was given some food and water. I lost track of time and at one point I heard someone yelling that The Joker arrived, then a lot of turmoil and a harsh argument. It worsened and almost lost my mind when the shooting started: I was so scared and had no clue about what the hell was happening.”

You pause and gulp, the memory of the frightful circumstances making you shrug.

“My apologies,” Bruce remorsefully hums. “I shouldn’t make you recall such an unpleasant experience… I will get us some grape juice on ice.”

“Grape juice?...” you take advantage of the welcomed change  in topic. Great way to divert your attention from the anxiety you feel while saying out loud what you already disclosed to the cops.

“It’s such a refreshing beverage; I can’t live without it,” he admits and tries to stand up but you stop him.

“Please don’t go; if someone stumbles upon this room in your absence it will be awkward for me; you’re the only person I know at this reception.”

“Of course,” Bruce agrees right away. “I’m definitely not in my best shape today; we can go and get the drinks together.”

“That’s better,” you smile yet don’t show any signs you want to move so he patiently waits; the philanthropist assumes there’s more you wish to say and he doesn’t push for a continuation of your story.

Y/N finishes the drink and glares at the man veiled in darkness just like everything else surrounding her.  

“Do you know what the scariest part was, Mister Wayne?”

Complete stillness and you whisper:

“When I heard somebody screamed: Grenade! It was such a powerful explosion, it reminded me of what happened that day at the bank…”

Bruce doesn’t respond and a tearful Y/N wraps up her story in a way that makes her date impatient for the grand finale:

“The air was so thick I couldn’t even breathe and I fainted. I remember hands digging me out from under the rubble, words and sentences I couldn’t comprehend since I was drifting in and out of consciousness. And then I woke up at the hospital…”

“Mmm…” Bruce pouts. “Do you have any idea why The Joker saved you?”

“I was told about the incident at my Soup Kitchen…and I was shocked. I have no idea why he did that…” you reveal not mentioning you spent countless hours debating about it.

“Possibly because he’s sick and tired of The Triple Star gang meddling with his plans? What kind of stupid name is that anyway? Triple Star!!” he hisses. “Do you know they all have three star tattooed on their backs?! Who does that anymore?! What are they?! Kindergarten brats?!”

Why is Bruce getting so mad?!

“The Joker owns Gotham! Nobody else!!!”

You’re a bit uncomfortable with his rant and it shows.

“Mister Wayne…”

He has no more patience and you get cut off:

“You know why The Joker rescued you? Because he needs you for something, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered. And to prove he’s in charge and not the competition!”

“Mister Wayne, please calm down. You’re making me nervous…” a concerned Y/N pleads.

The man scoffs, straining to regain control over himself.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he chuckles and takes your hand into his, amused by what he’s about to divulge. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Y-yes, of course,” you stammer and want to continue when he reaches over and kisses you, biting your lower lip seconds afterwards.

You wince in pain, freezing when the tone changes to one you hoped you won’t hear again:

“Oh my; am I too rough, sugar?”

You yank your hands away but he won’t let go.

“What is this?!” you pant, struggling to distance yourself from The Joker without success.

He laughs with all his heart, enjoying your stunned attitude.

“It’s your old pal J with the best voice synthesizer money can buy. It’s not that hard to copy someone’s voice with these things, especially since you can find interviews online with the pretty boy.”

You stop fighting his clasp and carefully listen to the wireless mike hidden in your ear:

“Remain calm, Y/N! No matter what you do, don’t set him off!”

The Clown Prince of Crime though has to brag about his achievement and makes sure to bring you up to speed:

“I picked you up in my limo before he did; the rich boy probably wondered where you were when he showed up at your apartment. Congratulations, sugar: you just stood up a billionaire,” the green haired madman snickers. “I have plenty of resources to recreate a party and people that work for me to pose as guests. You’re not at a charity ball, sugar; I simply took you to one of my humble abodes.”    

You feel so exposed, yet your current situation demands a strong determination to help maintain the appearances. The Joker’s fingers suddenly go around your neck, the immediate threat resonating in the room:

“You will do money laundering for me! You will do as I say or I’ll make your life a living hell to the point of you now knowing what’s real and what’s not! Do I make myself clear?!!” he snaps and you nod a yes, obedient to his request.

“Good girl,” he sniffs your scent. “Now I should take you back, I’m tired with the charade; it was fun but exhausting,” he grins and can’t shut up: “The pretty boy must be wondering where you are.”

You want to hold in the defiant remark but can’t:

“What makes you think Mister Wayne doesn’t know where I am?”

“Oh shit!” you hear in your ear. “We’re moving in!”

The Joker frowns, intrigued: the red dots focusing on his chest are an affirmation of snipers ready to take him out.

“What did you do, sugar?” he barks and takes the knife out of his pocket, stabbing your abdomen: the resistance he encounters gives another clue he got played. Y/N is wearing a customized bullet proof vest under her cocktail dress but it’s not enough to stop the blade.

“T-thank you…” you have time to tell him before they barge in.

“For what?” he resentfully snarls, removing the knife from your body.

“For proving you don’t deserve to be saved,” you admit with such serenity he’s thrown off for once.

The noise of broken glass and shattered objects makes you jump as you moan in pain.

“On your knees!!!” the squad barges in, aiming their rifles at The Joker. “Drop the weapon! NOW!”

The gun shots echoing throughout the house are a logical testimony that the SWAT team is swiping out the premises, taking out those from The Joker’s crew daring to fight back.

“Hands above your head!” the team leader shouts and the kneeled King of Gotham obeys with a demented smirk as the knife he dropped is being kicked away from him.

“Civilian hurt, requiring medical assistance!” another team member requests, pressing on your wound. “Don’t worry Miss, you’ll be fine. OK?” the guy reassures. “You were very brave,” he praises your skills. You lay down on the couch, shaking from the throbbing ache. 

“I don’t feel very brave…”

**************

5 Months Later, Arkham Asylum

The buzz lets you know the 6th gate for Level 1 Clarence is opened and you can pass towards you final destination: the highest security area inside the Arkham Asylum reserved for the most dangerous criminally insane.

“Here she is,” the guard points at the one of the screens depicting Y/N searching the space in front of her with the cane. “Punctual as always,” he tries to joke with Bruce Wayne.

“I know,” he flatly responds. “I’m the one that brings her here.”

The head of security gives the guard a disapproving gaze and the subaltern shuts it down, pretending not to notice the sour expression on his boss’s face.

The four men present watch the monitors in silence while a geared up staff helps you enter the interrogation room where The Joker already awaits, tight up in his straightjacket and chained up to the floor. You take a sit across from his chair, the white table separating the two people being the only object standing out in the padded room.

The Clown intensely stares at the table and you blankly glare at him; that’s how every visit goes: 10 minutes every week on Wednesdays, perfect quietness since he didn’t articulate a single word after he was captured 5 months ago.

The Arkham Asylum patients are not allowed to have visitors, yet Bruce Wayne and his lawyers found a loophole that allows Y/N to briefly visit The King of Gotham once every seven days. That’s all they were able to obtain without going to court and it was fine with you: it’s better than nothing so you didn’t argue.

The Joker has the right to refuse the visit but he never does: he shows up for the short meetings, not talking nor looking your way. Who knows what’s going on in his brain besides the obvious insanity?...

“I admire her courage,” the head of security addresses Commissar Gordon since he’s the fourth person there. “Even if I don’t get it: why would she want to be around a crazy psychopath? He tried to murder her!”

Jim scratches his chin, sharing a theory him and Bruce talked about:

“He didn’t aim to kill, otherwise he would have cut her throat or stabbed her in the head. I suppose that in his twisted mind he sees Y/N as a worthy adversary because I’m sure he didn’t expect a blind woman to give him so much trouble. We’ve been trying to catch him for a long time and we finally succeeded thanks to her agreeing to be the bait. When we approached Y/N with the idea, we knew he might target her after he saved her from the kidnappers. There’s no way The Joker would do something like that without a purpose. We discretely guarded her 24/7 and made sure to stay out of sight in order not to arise any suspicions since he was watching for sure. He’s not stupid: he planned his scheme carefully and maybe we had sheer luck with the whole operation. Who knows?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the guard gestures at the screen. “I think he said something!”

“Holy crap!” Gordon blurs out. “Rewind and turn up the volume!”

The camera feed is replayed for the small group watching the short conversation that just took place.

“Can I help you?” The Joker’s husky tone is discerned.

“No,” the indifferent Y/N instantly replies.

“I’ll be damned!” the guard opens his mouth in amazement. “He talked to her!”

The monitor reverts to live broadcast and everyone holds their breath when you get up from your chair and J protests:

“Your 10 minutes aren’t up yet!”

You’re still standing and he wiggles in his straightjacket, uncomfortable.

“I have this strand of hair tickling my cheek; drives me nuts. Would you fix my locks? I can’t do it myself since I’m in a little bit of predicament for the moment.”

They watch you walk around the table and searching around with your hands while the madman grins, actually guiding you.

“Two more steps to your left. Now one more straight forwards. Another one. Jackpot!” he purrs when your fingers search for the strand of green hair you cannot see, but it’s not that hard to find.

“Alert the wards to intervene!” the head of security orders but Gordon has a different opinion:

“No, let her do it if she wants to.”

You caress his hair a few times, turning around to go back to your chair.

“Thank you sugar,” J sarcastically offers fake gratitude. “I truly don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Yes, you’re fortunate The Angel of Gotham took pity on you and got rid of that horrible itch.”

The Joker can’t hold in a disturbing laugh since he finds your statement entertaining by his quirky standards.

“I’m honored. Hey... hey, come back here: I have another itch you can scratch!”

You get ready to criticize his remark and he’s aware.

“It’s my collar bone, sugar! I’m not a perv, don’t get worked up for nothing!” The Clown pretends to get angry at your assumption.

You return by his side and bury your fingers in his jacket, gently scratching the soft skin.

“That’s moooore like it,” he purrs louder, the satisfying groan making you retract your arm. “Ahhh, so nice of you to help a friend in need,” the entitled silver smile dies out on his lips once you interrupt:

“We’re not friends!”

“Of course we are,” he sneers. “I stabbed you: that’s how I seal the deal.”

Gordon furrows his eyebrows, totally captivated by the chat.

“What is she doing?...” he asks as a rhetorical question and Bruce enlightens everyone anyway:

“Playing his game…”

Back in the padded room you stump back to your spot and grab your cane, preparing to bail.  

“Are you gonna come see me again?” The Joker curiously demands to know.

“No.”

“Why not?”

You huff and he cackles, entertained:

“That’s fine, I’ll survive: just like you survived the Wayne Bank terrorist attack and the basement I dug you out of.”

It’s so hard not to fight his venomous barking.

But you keep it together and the custodian opens the door, a weary Y/N emerging from her weekly visit with The Joker yelling and squirming behind her, enraged he cannot escape confinement:

“Who dug you out, huh? Who dug you out? Was it The Batman? The police? Or me?”

He’s becoming more and more agitated, the chief of security pressing a button that opens a sealed exit to The Joker’s left.

“Sedate him,” he commands the six caretakers rushing in while The Clown keeps screaming:

“Get back here!! That’s an order!!” and your disobedience prompts another tantrum as they inject him with the sleep medicine: “Who do you think you are, hm?” he shouts so loud it finally triggers a reaction from your part; you slowly spin towards him, making sure to articulate the perfect words:

“I’m the one that got away.”

 Part 1: diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/185672114796/the-joker-x-reader-the-one-that-got-away-part-1

Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

You can also follow me on AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: Diyunho.

[onewaigu]

Memory (pt.2)

Genre : short story

Theme : angst

Pairing : Kanghyun(Onewe) X Reader

Description : time had stopped once you caught his eyes. this was the very first time you guys met in a very long time. were you friends? who knows. you did ruin a perfectly normal friendship with him. Question was, why were your eyes filled with regret when you saw Kang Hyungu in front of you?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Smiling with a drink in hand, I can talk about it now.

“That'll be-”, you choked on your own words.

You couldn't believe it. Out of all the people in the world, your first ever customer had to be him. Kang Hyungu. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe your eyes were just playing tricks on you. You tried to convince yourself.

“..free-of-charge?”, he cocked his eyebrow questioningly. He was probably amused at your sudden daze.

You snapped out of it.

“2000 Won please”, you avoided his gaze looking at only the money in his outstretched hand.

Once he took the change you gave him, you let out a deep sigh of relief. An air of awkwardness was clouding your consciousness that you weren't even aware you were holding your breath for quite some time.

Finally, he was about to leave.

Except he didn't though. Instead, he paused right in front of the store's entrance with his hand clutching the door's handle, head bowed.

From your peripheral vision, you stared at him quizzically. Slowly in that short period of time, questions started to flood your head only to be interrupted.

Scoff.

“Did you really think I wouldn't recognise you, Y/N?”

He chuckled but it was different than before. Your heart clenched upon hearing the once familiar sound, now coated with an essence of melancholy.

Time seemed to miraculously slow down. The silence in between was almost deafening. Your heart was pounding against your chest. No.

“And here I thought I'd gotten the wrong person but no, it is you isn't it?”, he humoured sarcastically. Ah, that hurt.

Before you could muster up the courage to reply him, you found his fingers curled around your wrist before gently yet firmly dragging you around the counter and out of the store.

You couldn't care less about leaving the store unsupervised. Besides, there weren't many people around.

Thunk.

The sound of the banana milk bottles hitting the table outside brought you out of your thoughts. “You never changed, huh?”, he asked, a faint glimmer of jest in his eyes.

“Still the same Y/N who loves daydreaming”

Now both of you were facing each other, sitting at the table outside the store. The LED lights behind you were illuminating softly onto Hyungu's face. It made him look like an angel almost. Anyone who saw him at this moment would have described him with one word — ethereal. Your eyes unconsciously wandered around his features. Blond suited him well.

“There you go, again”

“So do you”

“Hm?”

You repeated yourself, “I mean, you changed too”. Specks of red dusted your cheeks.

“We have something in common then”, you caught him lifting the corners of his mouth slightly.

I wanna go back, back, back, back, back.

Fitting. Cause you wanted to go back to how it was before with the banana-haired boy in front of you.

“Hm, nice song”, Hyungu hummed.

“..yeah”, your voice trailed.

“It makes me wanna ask, do you ever wanna go back?”, he asked knowing you knew what he meant by 'going back'.

There it was. The kind smile that you always saw whenever you were with him. With your friend, Hyungu.

He nodded understandingly at your silence, he knew. Of course he would.

“If only he hadn't existed in our lives, huh?”

Both of you knew who he meant. Kim Youngjo.

Seemingly perfect to anyone who knew of him, he was a year above you in school. Raven-coloured hair, alluring dark orbs, pearl-white teeth. Juniors idolised him while seniors wanted to be friends with him.

Everything happened when he crossed paths with you.

Ring!

It was lunchtime but you and Hyungu decided to skip it for the school library instead.

Miss Lee, the school's librarian, had told the both of you that the library was going to be restocked with newly-released manhwas. You guys were manhwa addicts so it wasn't surprising that you wanted to be the first two to grab ahold of them.

A few manhwas in, your eyes were starting to droop involuntaringly. Glancing to your right, you saw Hyungu's black fluff of hair touching the pages of a manhwa he was reading. Idiot fell asleep.

You tried to tug the manhwa from under him so he wouldn't drool all over it but you accidentally tugged too hard Hyungu's head hit the table with a low thud.

Oops.

Someone stiffled a laugh.

Your head shot up to see Kim Youngjo-sunbaenim standing near a bookshelf not to far from a still-sleeping Hyungu, trying hard to hide his laughter.

You smiled gingerly in his direction.

That was the very first interaction.

Spicy food should be dubbed as the devil's food in your honest opinion. It tempted and it tortured people. Too bad, your love for it had blinded any signs of rationality in you. You kept eating it then regretting after.

One day, you had bought spicy tteokbokki for lunch. Normally whenever you were having a spicy food crisis, Hyungu would immediately get you some fruits to cool down the spice.

However, he was on sick leave that day so you were forced to suffer silently in your seat. The spiciness was too much you couldn't even stand up.

Luckily for you, a bottle of banana milk appeared in front of your eyes. You didn't even care who gave it to you, you immediately downed the whole bottle.

Later you found out that it was Youngjo-sunbaenim who had given you the banana milk. Blush creeped up your cheeks out of embarrassment. How kind of him.

After that, both you and Youngjo-oppa kept crossing paths with each other. Every time you did, he'd always give you a bottle of banana milk. You found it cute. Days passed and the two of you slowly got closer each day. People were waiting and expecting you two to date.

Eventually on your birthday, he met you after school with two bottles of banana milk in hand.

“Aw, two for me? Tell me, Youngjo-oppa..do you maybe have a crush on me?”, you nudged his shoulders teasingly.

He scratched his red ears, “Actually Y/N, yeah I do”.

You stopped in your tracks. His blunt honesty caught you off guard. Yeah you always thought he was cute and kind but never did you imagine the two of you being more than friends. It made you curious.

“D-do you maybe wanna be more than friends with me?”, he stammered while he fidgeted with his hands behind his back.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you..wanna be my girlfriend?”

For the rest of your school years, you and Youngjo-oppa paraded the hallways as an item. It began with him joining you and Hyungu during lunch. Then he was practically there with the two of you anytime and anywhere. You found it quite endearing..in the past.

Blind love took ahold of you that even when Hyungu would always excuse himself everytime Youngjo-oppa appeared, you didn't even think twice as to why he did it.

The more you were with Youngjo-oppa, the more you were drifting apart from Hyungu. You didn't even notice.

Dating Youngjo-oppa was a thrill. You skipped lessons with him, hanging out under the bleachers. You would sneak out of the apartment at 2 in the morning to go to noraebangs with him. Being with him made you rebellious and you thought that it made you happy.

Until one day, Hyungu approached you after you had avoided him for a few weeks straight.

“Y/N”, he called out.

You tried to avoid him but he was too fast. He then led you under an empty staircase. His face devoid of any humour. “What's happening to you, Y/N?”, he asked looking at your eyes that were avoiding his gaze.

You shrugged him off, “Absolutely nothing's happening to me, Hyungu”.

Just as you were about to leave, he'd caught ahold of your wrist before replying to you in his most gentlest voice, “This isn't funny anymore, Y/N. You know you've changed ever since that guy entered our lives”. He sounded like a defeated puppy.

“That guy is my boyfriend, Hyungu and if you can't accept that then maybe you're much better off without me!”, your voice started to raise, anger boiled in your veins. The nerve of him insulting your boyfriend.

“No I'm not, Y/N..because I care about you”, his voice cracked saying those last words.

“Well, if you cared about me you would understand my feelings”

With that, you just left him alone under the staircase without even daring to look back. Little did you know with slumped shoulders, Hyungu was trying hard not to let his tears fall as your back became smaller in his blurry vision.

From then on, both of you didn't talk to each other even until Hyungu graduated. Unfortunately for you, you had to stay back a year because your grades were failing. So after a few long years of friendship..that was eventually ruined, the two of you were finally not going to see each other everyday.

You always thought to yourself about how stupid you were for trusting Kim Youngjo more than your bestfriend. Now you were alone without a trusted friend or a cheating snake by your side. If you could, you wished to go back to how things were before.

Whoever heard your prayers, you couldn't thank them enough. You had been wondering if fate ever decided to make the two of you cross paths again.

Finally, you were there sipping banana milk with him.

Looking back then, I would've called myself a fool.

[a/n]

this one really took a long time to write heh, anyways here's the angsty part two of Memory ^ ^ Part three's gonna be them talking it out with each other~

enjoy reading and stan Onewe

(video credit : Onewe - Reminisce About All)