#It’s just unproductive and cruel to be so hateful

[callmeethaniguess]

This is so unbelievably real. I understand where people are coming from (in some areas) but there is such a negative idea of masculinity within the queer community that it’s starting to feel childish, like vaspider said. The shit said to trans men and masculine is so fucked up too. The idea that someone being a man is the part of them that is bad is a poisonous thing. It’s incredibly dangerous and is not only working to rip the community apart, but is adhering to fucked up gender norms, in a way. Being a man in inherently not a bad thing, but there are, of course, a lot of bad bad men out there. But even then that doesn’t give people the right to just be shitty to any person they come across that might be a man and say shit like what was shown in the screenshot above. Like shit like this is what pushes men into incel spaces, and saying that all men are evil just allows for more shitty men to do shitty things under the guise of what is basically the adult version of “boys will boys”

alienating men and masculine aligned people is just fucking weird. Especially in queer spaces. Masculinity for some reason is now considered the antithesis of queer, when that is not the case? Queerness doesn’t equal femininity, queerness is just something outside of the strict societal norms that a lot of us are starting to, even if we don’t realize it, adhere to. just be nice to everyone and don’t alienate based solely on gender and presentation, man. Doing shit like this is only going to tear us apart further, which is exactly what the people against this community want.

sorry since realizing my gender i have zero tolerance for the whole “man hating” angle of being queer i hate i hate it i hate you. stop. you are hurting people.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

people need to realise tone policing and respectability politics are literally not at all related to people not listening to you because you're being hurtful. there’s a difference between being angry and loud and aggressive towards people who are causing you harm and just downright cruelty, and even if you’re making the best points in the world no one will listen to you if you do so in a cruel and demeaning manner because they will not trust you’re acting in good faith! and that is not their fault! if you’re not trustworthy and you're throwing innocent people under the bus, how can an uneducated layman know if you’re talking about an actual problem in an extremely unhelpful way or if you’re trying to justify that cruelty? especially since On This Website we have had frequent examples of terfs using bullshit concern trolling about ace people or bisexual people or nonbinary people to try and groom vulnerable queer people into their ideology. people aren’t naive and if you act like one of those people aren’t going to risk you being another wave of them. this is not to say people who act like this are inherently evil or terfy a lot of the times i see people doing this i agree with their central point.

like, for example, there’s been a lot of posts in this nature about transphobia i 100% agree with but also i cannot engage with bc they are deliberately and repeatedly misgendering me and other nonbinary people by reducing us down to our genitals and mocking us for not fitting into the transmasc transfem mould they automatically decided was inclusive when it really isn’t at all in the slightest then forcing us into it anyway. i am not going to reblog posts calling me slurs, even if i think they’re factually correct, because that’s cruel and bigoted. but that’s just one example. one i see brought up and thankfully avoided a lot recently is misogyny towards white women being used in discussions about white women and privilege. white women do have white privilege obviously and that is worthy of discussion. but it is Not okay to mock abuse or spread literal incel rhetoric about the dog pill (like, that is Literal incel forum shit, and they use it against women of colour too why are you normalising it) that’s just violent misogyny. or a lot of self proclaimed “leftists” who can critique capitalism super well but can’t stop throwing around the r slur and spreading eugenicist rhetoric. and the list goes on and on. people will not listen to you if you are racist or homophobic or misogynistic or whatever even if you are totally 100% correct bc people aren’t going to be reading to the end of your post to see that if you sound like blaire white they’ll just block you immediately and even if they do people who don’t know enough on that topic- so, presumably the people you’re trying to reach while doing activism????- will genuinely have no way of knowing if you’re fucking with them or not bc that Has happened and people who do know enough haven’t learnt anything and have just spent the last half hour being called slurs which means you’ve just been an asshole for no reason.

there’s a difference between righteous anger and impoliteness (very fair and understandable) to downright being a cruel bigot to people (which makes you look like a shit stirrer at best) and that needs to be noted. being angry is fine. but being a rude asshole to people bc they’re a minority- even if you are one yourself, even if you’re “more oppressed” (which is really fucking hard to quantify anyway bc believe it or not different things are discriminated against to different degrees based on a wild number of topics especially since america is in fact not the only place with bigotry and bigotry like everything culturally upheld can vary wildly in expression even if it’s the same bullshit deep down)- makes you literally completely indistinguishable from some edgelord troll to people who are trying to learn and just insults people who know enough to deduce you’re correct.

[nostalgiclittlespace]

May I request CG!Angel with a newborn reader who is struggling to get them down for a nap? He tries everything but they just won’t settle.

I cannot thank you enough for your patience on this. I hope you enjoy! And I promise y’all requests will start coming out a lot faster now!

SWF AGE REGRESSION FIC. DNI IF NSFW, KINK, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST TO OTHER SITES Pairing: Caregiver!Angel & Little!reader

Title: Soft Spider, Sleepy Baby

Description: Angel has tried everything in the book, but his Little just won’t take their long overdue nap. He hates feeling so helpless, but maybe he’s better at this than he thinks.

Word count: 921

Soft Spider, Sleepy Baby

Putting a newborn regressor down for a nap will be the easiest thing I’ve ever done! Angel had once thought.  Emphasis on once, because from the very first time he ever put you, his precious little one, down to sleep, he realized just how difficult it could actually be.

No matter how many routines he tried, nothing would consistently work.  Lullabies, rocking chairs, bottles, being held—nothing!  It was as if Hell had found another way to play a cruel joke on him.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy taking care of his little one.  They were genuinely the sweetest, greatest thing that had happened to him, really!  He was a great Caregiver too!  But when nap time came around, when they were exhausted but unable to sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he was doing wrong.

Hence how he found himself in his current predicament.

By now it was late afternoon; Hell’s scarlet Sun had begun to set, casting mahogany glows through the windows, enveloping the tiny nursery he had set up for you in the Hazbin Hotel.  The bottle on his dresser sat empty, but your soft, sleepless whines seemed to mock him; the warm milk hadn’t eased the Little to sleep.  Since it had been finished an hour ago, Angel had been attempting soothing motions in the rocking chair.  He had tried pacifiers numerous times too, but all three had been miserably thrown across the room in a surprising show of protest that was consistently followed by crying.

“It’s okay, baby, shhhhh,” Angel hummed, rubbing his soft finger over his baby’s cheek.  His patience was nowhere near gone, rather, hopelessness was beginning to creep in.

What am I doing wrong? Why won’t they take their nap? he thought nervously.  Yes, they commonly fought sleep, but when they were so clearly exhausted?  Is it my fault?

Sighing, Angel adjusted his grip on the Little, carefully gathering them into his four arms.  He muttered soft reassurances as he rose out of the rocking chair, officially giving up on that method.  Instead, he shifted his weight between his feet, a different soothing, almost swinging motion.  His Little whined as he moved, frustrated coos still arguing against their imposed bedtime.

Music?  No, he had tried that.

A calm movie? historically that made things worse.

A walk?…

Well it couldn’t hurt to try.  They didn’t even need to leave the Hotel; just wandering around the many corridors and enjoying a change of scenery might help.  And trying something new was certainly better than doing something unproductive again and again.

So, he hitched you in his arms again and made for the door, carefully sidestepping all the stuffed animals that had been strewn across the playroom floor.  The cries had not slowed, miserably whines pressed into his furry chest that made his heart ache.

As he emerged into the empty hallway, the sunset light met candelabras glow.  The muted lighting was relaxing, the silence surrounding them even more so.  Taking a deep breath, Angel began slowly ambling down the hall.

Maybe Charlie will have some ideas, he thought solemnly as his feet carried him and his baby towards the Hazbin Hotel’s foyer.  He had done everything he could possibly think of, and his Little was about as close to sleep as he was to redemption!

“I’m sorry, toots,” he muttered as the baby huffed quietly in his arms.  “I know you’re tired, and we’ll get you to sleep soon, I promise.”

Soon, they arrived in the lobby.  Like the rest of the Hotel, it was fairly quiet.  Husk silently moped as he manned the bar, Alastor and Niffty were nowhere in sight, and Charlie laid across the couch with a sketchbook in hand, hummin cheerfully to herself.  He approached her, utterly defeated.

“Hey, Charlie,” Angel greeted, his New York accent as heavy as his tone.

“Oh, Hi, Angel! Aw, is it someone’s nap time?” the princess gushed, smiling widely at the bundle in his arms.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted your help with,” Angel sighed.  “No matter what I do, they just won’t settle.  And I’ve tried everything!  Do you have any ideas?  Any at all?”

Charlie’s head quirked to the side, her eyebrows raised in surprise as she processed his words.  “But, they’re already asleep, Angel?” she remarked, confused.

Angel’s eyes widened slightly, he himself surprised by the assessment, and he tipped his head downward to see for himself.  Indeed, they had gone completely limp in his arms, chest heaving soft and slow breaths.  Their thumb had found their parted lips, eyes had fluttered shut.  They really were asleep!

“Since when?” he exclaimed in a whisper.  “I’ve been trying to get them to sleep for an hour; music, bottles, pacifiers, stuffies!  And the moment I walk downstairs, they finally give in?”

“Maybe you were doubting yourself a little too much,” Charlie suggested thoughtfully.  “They didn’t want toys or blankets.  They just wanted you.”

Angel stood there for a long moment, expression blank as he processed what that meant.  Was Charlie right?  Maybe all the comfort items in the world wouldn’t do a thing if he didn’t hold them this close?

Glancing down at his Little’s relaxed expression, all traces fo distress disappeared from their face, he slowly accepted that answer.

“I guess so,” he huffed a small grin.  “I’m glad they finally fell asleep.  I can’t stand seeing them so miserable and worn out.”

“And now they’ll have plenty of energy for later,” Charlie chirped.

“Oh, yeah, they will.”

[antimattercontainment]

I am unspeakably angry.

I know we're all trying to stay positive and celebrate the little victories (as we should), but right now I just need to scream.

I told myself last night that whichever way the electoral college fell, I would only truly feel disgusted if Trump won the popular vote, which he lost the last two elections (including 2016!) by millions.

Well guess fucking what.

As I write this, the number of my fellow Americans who chose hate—or who at best chose brutal, callous indifference—outnumber those that did not by nearly 5 million. People who are fully willing to be lied to if it means they might pay less in taxes, even as their infrastructure crumbles and their neighbors die around them. People who devour those lies like mana in the desert because it makes them feel better. Stronger. Better than.

And I hate them for it.

It's an unproductive emotion. I know my hatred won't protect my neighbors, won't salvage my heartless nation. Only our collective, relentless hard work can do that, and I'm ready and willing to that! I promise! I swear!

But there will be so much unneccessary suffering, brought to us by a man who is at best selfishly reckless, and more often deliberately cruel. Barring anything truly miraculous, I'm going to spend the rest of my natural life under a stiflingly conservative Supreme Court, knowing every day that it was Trump—both the man and the machine behind him—who put them there.

I am so wretchedly angry.

[runthepockets]

Someone reblogged a post on my dash a while ago that said "I don't listen to Ethel Cain's music cus I don't respect straight trans women" and it pissed me off so bad I blocked OP and it still bothers me every now and then. I'm not an Ethel Cain fan and I think anyone is entitled to dislike an artist for any reason (I don't like MCR cus white people talk about them too fucking much, for example), but remarks like that just feel so...visceral and targeted and cruel, often for no reason? You don't respect straight trans women specifically? Why? What is this attitude that straight women are any less at risk of violence or cruelty or vulnerability than any other demographic of women, especially other trans women? How is upholding this idea that a woman is a waste if she fucks dudes & blaming her for "putting herself in violent situations" because she made the "foolish" decision of trusting and loving men progressive in any capacity? It's crazy how much misogyny you can get away with as long as you slap "cis" or "straight" or "white" in front of "women".

Maybe this is bold and fringe to say, but I feel like a lot of hostility toward straight trans people can be boiled down to "cranky cus you can't fuck us, huh?", because why else would you be making weird, targeted remarks about trans women who write music about fucking dudes instead of other girls? People say it's cus we're entitled, self hating assimilationists, but ime this is far from the truth? Every straight trans person I've met has more or less kept to themselves, even the shittier ones. I've also known trans women irl who routinely shit on straight trans girls for no reason other than it's the easiest way to be mean to other women without getting called out, and had other trans guys be icey and cold and dismissive of me irl for being a straight trans dude, like once I was off the table for them as a potential date n fuck prospect suddenly I had nothing of value to say. Like why else are we living in your minds rent free like this, and why are you taking such extreme measures just to ensure we know you don't wanna be around us and don't like us? If it's not weird psychosexual stuff, it's some weird "I'm projecting my trauma with cishets onto you cus you don't have the same amount of patriarchal privilege to back you when I do it" shit, and that's equally as stupid and unproductive and shitty.

Sometimes I really think some trans people are under this idea that we're all supposed to exist for each other and exclusively each other 24/7, and idg how that mindset is any less harmful than cis people expecting us to exist solely for them. It's the same uncomfortable, cagey, judgy environment with the same air of entitlement and circumstantial acceptance either way.

[systemserendipity]

[Meme Description: sad pablo escabar meme with the text, "us when we try to imagine what it's like in the mind of an anti-endo]

⚠️Rant/Vent about fakeclaimers and anti-endogenic haters/cringers; resources linked below⚠️

Despite all the laughs and fun we have... not all of the plural community is safe for us to venture into. Even where it *should* be safe. Just for supporting fellow systems of all kinds, no matter our own labels.

Some will find ANY reason to call us liars or fakers, no matter what legitimate diagnoses we have, or life experiences we have yet to tell.

Sometimes, anti-endos get into endogenic-positive spaces by actively lying. They'll pretend they agree, and say whatever they think we want to hear. Even lie that they like us, enjoy our company. All to collect "cringe screenshots" and mock us just for existing in our safe spaces, minding our own businesses. And we've just gotta wonder... why?

Yes, we know that a lot of the system community is made of young people; we're bodily 24 ourself.

We know that not all that use the "anti-endo" or "endo-neutral" label are even extreme like this, but after a while of experiencing the same things over and over (all from folx using those labels), it starts getting hard to trust. Starts to encourage isolation and/or silence, at least in our experience. It's exhausting.

But then we realize: that's the entire point. Some will do anything to assert any modecum of superiority they feel over others, all to say, "I'm right/real, you're wrong/fake, shut up." Because they don't actually care about the targets' feelings, or how it impacts their community. They care about feeling better about themselves and their beliefs, at any cost. And it repeats the cycle of mindless verbal violence, minority-on-minority discrimination/oppression, the breaking down of social groups and so on.

Sure, that's not any individual's conscious goal, as we said (or at least we hope not). But it's lack of consideration, research and forethought that always leads to more unneccessary hate.

Like.

Why can't we, at-minimum, stay out of each other's spaces, if anyone really needs to cling to biases and ignore others' life experiences *that* badly? And all the while be a general force of positivity, and support one another?

Especially as plurals, we're part of a community that already deals with enough harsh criticism and fakeclaiming from uninformed singlets, neurotypicals and allistics. Let alone from fellow systems.

We just don't understand... smh... Maybe part of the issue is to do with the chronically online. Maybe part of the problem is traumatic/emotional responses that lead to unproductive and dangerous conversations/online communities. But we're kinda done trying to explain ourselves to those that refuse to listen to us, no matter their reasons.

And to those that may feel similarly to us: see some examples of posts and resources we use to help fight back against these cruel arguments, in our own mind if nowhere else (more linked below). Seeing others' experiences coupled with our own AND academic sources really cement our ideas.

It's okay to have firm beliefs, while also calling out those that stubbornly spread and cling to beliefs that are harmful. Believing neurodivergent people's stories doesn't hurt *anybody.* Fakeclaiming them, shunning them-- or supporting those that do-- certainly will.

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Resource #2

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[declaredmissing]

there is a signal problem

This has been a difficult winter. I find myself impulsively wanting to download Tinder, to bring someone over to my apartment. I tell myself that I just want to have fun again. I’ve moved on over Roshan, I know my boundaries. Mission accomplished, I’ve done the work. But at the same time, when I imagine myself actually swiping and shopping through the marketplace of men, I already feel exhausted. It’s time consuming to filter through the men, to build up camaraderie through text messages, to plan a date.

It’s hard, to resist the impulse to procrastinate and distract myself. It’s hard to sit with myself, with my mess, with my cruel perceptions and harshness to myself, and just how disheartened I feel from past conversations.

I’ve been thinking of a conversation with a friend, at a restaurant in Chinatown. She asked me what I planned to do when I retire and it startled me, to realize people really still do frame their lives around retirement. I still feel like I’m living from crisis to crisis, and I’ve stopped believing at some point there’d be such a thing as retirement in the future. I feel trapped between either choosing retirement or...I don’t know what the other option is. And so when people ask me how I am, how my life is, but I don’t know how to find the words to describe my life or my frustrations. It just sweeps me with numb sadness and paralysis and hopelessness, and I hate that feeling of being trapped, and so I’d rather not talk about my life at all.

I once told someone about how I lived my life collecting memories in anticipation of being imprisoned.

Capitalist realism is a kind of prison. We face little deaths every day. It’s so easy to lose our lives, bit by bit. To grow numb and not even realize it. To forget who we are. Capitalism takes and takes from you until you no longer exist. That’s murder. But what is a life?

Psychologist Judith Herman observed that “the ultimate effect of [psychological domination] is to convince the victim that the perpetrator is omnipotent, that resistance is futile, and that her life depends upon winning his indulgence through absolute compliance.” I feel like I have no choice, but I know that’s not true. A friend once asked me if I felt like I was in the driver’s seat. I said I wasn’t sure, and he told me he thought I was. They were words that cut a door into my prison, with the effect of setting me free, but also setting me accountable and responsible for my life. It didn’t offer me relief. Liberation is uncomfortable. to realize at the end of the day that there’s so much I can choose even though it doesn’t feel like it. What choices do we have? What can we do?

I often (unproductively) mull over these dreary pessimisms, especially during my commutes to work. There is one morning commute to work, where there is a delay on the B train. We’re stuck between 7th Avenue and Columbus Circle. There is a signal problem and we’ll be moving shortly, the conductor repeatedly tells us. The passengers resign themselves to being late for work. This is a situation we cannot control. I think of my friend asking me, are you in the driver’s seat?

My hands are restless in my coat pockets, taking stock of inventory. The essentials: $2 rose lip balm, claw clip for my hair, tangle of wire earbuds. There’s no service in these parts of the tunnel, so I’m listening to songs downloaded on my phone. I listen with distraction to Is This You or Is You Ain’t, by Louis Jordan; jaunty blues that don’t really seem to fit the gray mood of the subway car, and my anxiety of being late. With nothing else to do, I tilt my head back to study the ceiling of the train, the way I so often do when I’m outside and I’m looking at the stars. But there are no stars here.

The motion of looking up, which I rarely do in New York, makes me think back to my birthday last December. I had returned to Kansas feeling obliterated by the polluted skies of New York City, and I told a dear friend, James, that all I wanted was to see the stars. He drove me to an open field late at night, and we stood there and tilted our heads back to gaze at the stars, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the darkness.

We spend my birthday night driving down empty stretches of highway, enveloped in the black silence and stillness of the Midwest, his headlights opening a slim field of vision on a narrow road. Kansas to me is the other face of America; haunted, rural. Miles and miles of asphalt, dim far away lights, road signs, lonely gas stations, empty parking lots, the generic design of corporate parks. I told James that New York is a sensory deprivation tank, how I love and hate it, and he asks if I saw the deer we just drove by.

James connects his phone to his car’s speakers, and plays songs from my teenage years. Born to Die by Lana Del Rey, Go Outside by Cults, Take Me Out by Franz Ferdinand, Stolen Dance by Milky Chance, Float On by Modest Mouse. Lorde, Shrike by Hozier, 90s Russian rock.

When we arrive at the open field he’s taking me to, it’s so cold, we touch the tip of each other’s red noses to prove it and he apologies for not bringing a blanket.

I stand there, breathing the clean air of cornfields and asphalt and the crisp clear night. So sharp and real and vivid. Squatting down to try to identify the type of grass. It’s enough for me, to be standing in this field, breathing the clean air. Even if I don’t make history. It isn’t futile or useless, if my life is only ever ordinary, and if it’s composed only of moments like these.

With my fingertips, I draw smiley faces on the back of his car. He teaches me how to longboard, running next to me holding my hand, a sky full of stars, tumbling into an open field. Trying to teach him how throw a roundhouse kick, spinning circles, it’s like we’re kids again. We talk of the memories we attach to sites and places, and the history and memories a landscape accumulates. We talk about climate change, and how the angle of the moon is what makes it look so big.

It’s Christmas and the tag is still on his sweater that he was gifted earlier that night.

Stargazing and skating in the church parking lot with James and thinking of how my fear traps me. Shakily stepping onto a longboard, in an empty church parking lot at night, taking his hand as he helps me balance. “You have to trust yourself more,” James said. And that’s a lesson I think I am still learning. Something about trying even when it’s scary and even when you’re bad at it. Something about the north star shifting every thousand years or so.

On the drive back home, James rolls down the window, plays 400 Lux and turns the volume all the way up. He knows it’s my favorite song; he’s referencing a memory from when I returned to Kansas years ago that was just like this on the highway, where he rolled down the car windows for me and stepped on the accelerator and I stuck my head out, giddy with the joy of going fast, holding my hands out to catch the wind, hair whipping back on my face.

I’m trying to remember how it feels to be 16, even as I’m trying to grow into the feeling of being 23.

Hands in my lap in the passenger seat of the car, rolling down the car window so I can stick my head and hand out and the air smells so clean and fresh, and I say how I wish I could eat the stars.

400 lux will always be my song for star strewn skies and air that tastes like grass and rain, and reaching out my hand to catch the blur of street lights, for the closest to flying I can. Gannets never go blind, and they certainly never die.

On this ceiling of this B train, there are no stars. I study the way the panels are fastened together, and I think of how stars bolt the fractured sky from falling into pieces above our heads. I wonder–if I could name the pieces of my world, maybe I could stitch together a language to hold my life. A language that doesn’t allow my job occupation to define who I am, or the decisions I can make.

It’s lonely in this city. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a real and genuine human moment like I did on that cold December night, and I think that’s why that memory feels so luminous and significant to me. A memory that, I suppose, that I’m carrying with me as I’m stranded in the sterile brutality of New York. A memory I’d take with me to prison.

I think of the humans as a body, our cells signaling to each other, calling on each other to jolt us back into feeling. There is a signal problem, but the train will be moving shortly.

Am I in the driver’s seat? Or am I in a train, waiting for my life to start, to be jolted awake?

I try to remind myself, whatever I feel in this sensory deprivation tank, there are people standing in a cornfield together looking up at the moon, and teaching each other how to longboard in an empty church parking lot. I hope we’ll all be okay, as we grow older and find it more difficult to feel the same way we used to.

[unbakehisbeans]

One of my irrational frustrations is when YouTubers and other “content creators” talk about how they’re overwhelmed and are taking like a month off or whatever. It’s not that I don’t think they should take time off, they should take time off but I honestly just hate hearing about their creative burnout and how overwhelmed they are 😂 It’s so unfair of me that I hate it so much. My first thought is like aw poor baby you got too tired from making YouTube videos about whatever you feel like talking about and doing minimal research? It’s so unfair and unkind of me. And it’s funny because in a lot of ways what they do is pretty similar to what I do like you gotta research and think and then put together an interesting idea in a way that makes sense and is compelling. And it is a lot of work and it can be hard work, and I get creative burnout too where I just don’t have anything insightful to say and I’m not coming up with any good ideas. Idk idk why it brings out such a mean side of me. Part of it I think is just thinking that other people have it worse so you should be grateful, which is a shitty and unproductive way of thinking.

I also have very unkind feelings about gaming streamers because I’m always like oh wow you play video games for a living for an audience of fans who pay you to play games…. And then they get burnout or get overwhelmed or what have you and the mean old person in my heart is like get a real job jackass. Isn’t that a cruel way to think? I really despise it it makes me feel so guilty. Like, obviously this is a real job this is a service people want and will pay money for and like any job you get tired or you’re not being paid enough you know it has problems like any job.

[mitchmarner]

I LOVE Mitch with all my ❤ & I hope he stays. But him & his agent made his negotiations messy & fans are still bitter about it. If his agent didn't use the media to trash the team & contracts they signed with others, fans might be nicer. He's followed this team his whole life he knows the media is bad & some fans take it too far. His rep got damaged last summer. If that makes him unhappy, there was something he could have done about it THEN. He's got his money now live with the aftermath of it.

His agent is an overgrown child who resorts to cheap tactics, but Leafs fans are also overemotional whiners and it’s a shitstorm combination. Mitch should 100% get a better agent; that’s on him for sure. He stepped in when he was sick of how it was going, as he should have, and that was his move to try and do something about it— he took control and ended the standoff. Yeah, his agent sucks and keeping him is a poor career choice from a PR standpoint. Still, none of this justifies the shit he took. Darren sucks, but I don’t get why adults on hockey twitter took it so personally that their only solution was to tag a player in their cyber bullying to ensure he saw how hated he was. There’s a huge line between “his contract is bad and stupid games were played” versus the really cruel stuff being said about him and his family where Mitch could see it. He has to earn his contract value and that’s fair criticism. However, he shouldn’t have to earn being treated like a human being. He knows this is the market and chose to stay, but it shouldn’t be a choice between being a Leaf and avoiding malicious hate. The people who can’t treat an athlete like a human because they’re so mad about a contract are far worse here compared to a bullshit story about training in Zurich.

[soobrat]

{tw: toxic relationship}

You were unreachable, Beomgyu thought. Acclaimed actress. Multitalented musician. Revered philanthropist. But still seen as down to Earth for a filthy rich celebrity. You were the entire package. Everyone loved you, and anyone who dared voice their opposition were promptly dogpiled and silenced by your inconceivably large following.

Beomgyu was too late. If only he had reached out while you were a trainee, only getting acting jobs as an extra. Maybe that would make him feel less insecure. You were on his arm, but it wasn't adding up in his brain. He'd never admit it out loud but he felt inadequate around you. He was also a celebrity but never quite as unreachable as you were.

To him you were a balloon, ready to drift into the horizon the second he opened his hand. Every time he looked into your eyes, the admiration and fondness slowly shifted to uneasiness about this fact. He had no control over his situation. No assurance or guarantees. Just constant stress about if or when he'd lose you.

He had no power.

And he fucking hated it.

So, yes, when your fists beat against his chest with droplets of tears breaking off from your chin, he didn't feel as bad as he probably should have.

“How could you be so cruel?” You sob, still throwing weak punches against Beomgyu’s chest. He stared down at you blankly. He didn’t feel bad, but he didn’t exactly feel good either. Through this betrayal was the only way Beomgyu experienced a modicum of control. Despite you constantly feeling out of his reach, he could still at least manage this. Pathetic was one way to put it, but power is power.

-

I have been feeling very unproductive and unmotivated so here’s this toxic and depressing shit

[uvobreakmylegs]

Right Place, Right Time

wanted to write something with a little more humor in it but there’s still dark shit because phantom troupe

Warnings: mentions of death

“There's trouble, boss.”

Phinks' voice cut through the chatter of the busy casino. Chrollo didn't look up at first, relaying a few more instructions to Shalnark via text. 'Trouble' wasn't unexpected; as much as Chrollo could plan ahead, human nature could be unpredictable and would usually cause a few bumps in the road when it came to their heists.

“What sort of trouble?” Chrollo asked as he pocketed the cellphone.

“A Zoldyck.”

Ah.... That was a bit more trouble than usual.

Chrollo's gaze followed that of Phinks and Shizuku. Looking down at them from a second balcony stood Illumi, his face devoid of emotion as the black void within his eyes took in the group.

The second Chrollo made eye contact with him, Illumi gestured to his left with a sharp jerk of his head before walking off in the same direction.

“Does he want to fight away from the guests?” Shizuku asked.

“Maybe,” said Chrollo. He began to walk in the direction Illumi had gone, signaling for Shizuku and Phinks to follow. The three of them walked up one of the staircases located to the side. Phinks pulled on the collar of his suit every so often, while Shizuku walked slightly slower due to the heels that she wasn't used to wearing. But Chrollo could sense that the two were anticipating a fight (Phinks likely ready to use it as an excuse to get out of the fancy suit he hated so much).

“But it may not come to a fight with him,” Chrollo told them.

“Don't the Zoldycks hate us?” Phinks asked.

“Silva hates me specifically,” Chrollo corrected, “but Illumi can be reasoned with.”

Phinks snorted a bit at that, but didn't say anything else. Shizuku then asked what Silva Zoldyck had done to the troupe, to which Phinks gave a brief summary of the incident that had happened years prior. A very brief summary, but he knew there was no point in getting into details since Shizuku would forget almost immediately; this wasn't even the first time she had asked.

Perhaps he should have expected that one of the Zoldycks would be present – it was the opening night for this particular high-end gambling hall. But with how stingy the owner had been rumored to be, he would have thought that the price of a Zoldyck assassin as a security guard would have been more than she was willing to spend.

If it was Zeno or Silva there would be no chance of ending things amicably: Zeno was dedicated to his work and wouldn't be moved by a bribe or any words that Chrollo could offer. And Chrollo and Silva shared a very mutual hatred of one another, so a fight would have been inevitable in that case.

But Illumi, while also just as dedicated to his family as his father and grandfather, could be convinced to stand down if Chrollo could name a good enough price and ensure that the Zoldyck name wouldn't be tarnished in any way. The Zoldycks successfully completed every job they took on, but they couldn't be held accountable if their client terminated the contract before they could complete it. It had happened once before, in an instance where a man had hired Illumi to assassinate Pakunoda. Illumi agreed to hold off on going through with the hit for a short while in exchange for twice the amount the man had paid him for and to allow the troupe the time needed to get to the client and release him from the contract.

Though it would be nicer to just get to Illumi's client and kill her off, there was no chance Illumi would allow them to do that while still under his contract. And Illumi would be happier if he was able to leave with twice the amount of jenny he had been promised.

Illumi was waiting at the end of a hall that had fewer people in it, pointedly looking at him before entering into what looked to be a darkened room. Chrollo pulled out his phone to text an order for the troupe to wait as he spoke to Phinks and Shizuku.

“You two wait out here,” he ordered.

Phinks looked as though he wanted to question him on that, but he held his tongue, crossing his arms as he gave a sharp nod in acknowledgment. If Shizuku felt that his actions were questionable, she didn't betray that fact to him.

Leaving the two of them behind, Chrollo made his way to the door Illumi had entered and pulled it open.

This room was darker than the rest of the casino, and without the electric lights that brightened the building and the bodies of the customers that increased the temperature with their own body heat, it was much cooler in the room as well.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but when they did, he saw that Illumi was leaning against a smaller circular table, toying with one of his needles as he watched Chrollo enter.

“I thought you didn't like the body-guarding jobs,” Chrollo said as the door behind him slowly swung shut.

“I owed my brother for his assistance on my last assignment,” Illumi explained, “so I'm filling in for him.”

Chrollo nodded, though he didn't particularly care all that much. Whatever the reason, the presence of a Zoldyck would hinder things. Best to get straight to the point.

“How much are you being paid for this job?” Chrollo asked.

Illumi's eyebrows raised slightly.

“You think you can pay me off?”

“It worked once before.”

“So it did,” Illumi conceded, “but it would start to look suspicious if I accepted your offer too many times, no? It would be a problem if people thought the Zoldycks could be bought out. Our reputation is everything.”

“Well, you can't help it if your client decides that your services aren't needed and lets you go, now can you?”

“Another inexplicable 'termination' with a job that involved the Phantom Troupe?” Illumi asked, “father was annoyed that I did that last time, though he was more annoyed that I took the job in the first place.”

Illumi sighed.

“But again, doing that too often would look strange, and I will not do anything to harm our business reputation.”

“Very few people knew about the previous hit on Pakunoda,” said Chrollo, “there would be few who would notice a particular pattern, and I think the two of us are both inclined to avoid an unnecessary fight if possible.”

“True. Killing you and the rest of your group would take some time. And it wouldn't be worth the amount that woman is offering. Really, she's low-balling us. I don't know what Milluki was thinking when he took this job. Didn't even make her pay upfront.”

“Then we can come to an agreement?” Chrollo asked.

Illumi closed his eyes in thought, his fingers still twirling around that needle. He was considering it.

Chrollo waited in silence. Trying to push Illumi to do one thing was unproductive and could possibly make him decide to fight after all, though he was certain that Illumi was already willing to take him up on the offer since the assassin hadn't sent his needles flying the second Chrollo walked in. Pulling out his phone, Chrollo checked the time: 8:54 PM. He had planned for this particular operation to begin at 9:15. The owner was part of a group that had begun to throttle the livelihood of Meteor City, and tonight she was the host of a party for that group that was taking place in the upper floors while celebrating the successful opening night of her casino. The main purpose was to send a message: kill the group and anyone else in the building so the rest of the world knew not to interfere with the business of his Meteor City. Whatever valuables they collected would just be bonuses for the troupe to divide amongst themselves.

Though Chrollo rarely went back to the city these days, it was beneficial for him if the city still existed. And though he would never admit it out loud, there was of that sentimental feeling of wanting to protect his old home, as harsh and cruel as it had been for him growing up.

Illumi opened his eyes and looked to Chrollo.

“3 billion and I'll leave.”

“That's quite a lot,” said Chrollo, “much more than I paid last time. Why such a steep increase?”

“So it's worth my while.”

Chrollo mulled it for a bit, checking his phone again: 8:57. He certainly had the funds to pay Illumi's price, but it did feel like he was being somewhat taken advantage of in this case. Still keeping an eye on Illumi, Chrollo couldn't help but notice that the assassin seemed to have something else on his mind that he was considering. Then, like he had come to a decision, he sat up a bit straighter as he addressed Chrollo again.

“There's one more thing,” Illumi said.

“Something more than 3 billion jenny, Illumi?”

“Just some time; give me four minutes before you start.”

Chrollo hummed. Illumi didn't need that much time to vacate a building like this. Was it an attempt to set some kind of trap? No, that was unlikely. It would be far too obvious and Illumi wouldn't go to such lengths unless he was being paid to do so. Still, he couldn't help but be a little curious as to what Illumi would need that time for.

“Why four minutes?”

“Personal reasons.”

Ah. He should have sensed something like that would be the answer.

“A lot can happen in even a single minute, Illumi. And you want four?”

“Four minutes is unreasonable?”

“Not enough to end this deal, but I may want you to lower your price a bit.”

“Are you trying to haggle with me?”

Illumi frowned a little when Chrollo smiled at him.

“Maybe just by 60 million or so,” Chrollo said.

“So you'd rather pay two billion, nine hundred and forty million?” Illumi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It's still more than you'll get if you keep your current contract, correct?”

Chrollo saw the corners of Illumi's mouth turn upwards ever so slightly, a small smirk on his face as he closed his eyes again and considered the offer.

“That's true. Even taking that out I'd still be much better off.”

Chrollo checked the time and found it to be 9:01 PM. If Illumi came to a decision soon the troupe's operation could still go as planned.

“Very well,” Illumi said after a moment of thought, “transfer me the money first.”

With a nod, Chrollo accessed one of his bank accounts through his phone, bringing up the necessary amount and transferring it to the account number Illumi gave him. Within a few minutes, the transaction was completed. Illumi seemed rather pleased with himself, Chrollo noted.

“Perhaps you should stay in here for a moment,” Chrollo said, “Shalnark is upstairs. I can order him to take control of the owner and have her officially fire you. Then there won't be any issues with your family, correct?”

“That won't be necessary,” Illumi answered.

“Oh?”

“I got fired before you got here.”

“..... Excuse me?”

There was a flat tone to Chrollo's voice that made Illumi chuckle as the latter continued “that woman felt like she was wasting her money, but she was pressured to hire one of the Zoldycks at the behest of her guests. Seems to me like she was looking for an excuse to get out of paying the full fee. Apparently I was 'unprofessional'. But I'm glad I caught sight of you, otherwise this evening would have been more of a loss for me.”

Chrollo said nothing at first. Illumi had been careful with his wording, Chrollo realized, and it hadn't occurred to him to ask if Illumi was still under contract.

The funds weren't that important to Chrollo, but he couldn't help but feel rather miffed. Had he known that the assassin was currently out of a job, there wouldn't have been a reason to pay a higher price than normal; Illumi would have been left between going home empty-handed or with whatever Chrollo would have been willing to give him.

But then again, how could he have anticipated that a Zoldyck would have gotten fired?

Realizing that he had been played, Chrollo checked his phone again: 9:07. At least they'd still be able to start on time.

“Your four minutes start now,” he said.

Nodding, Illumi stood from where he'd been leaning against the table. He made his way through the room, past Chrollo and to the door that lead to the hall where Phinks and Shizuku waited.

“Perhaps you could humor me,” Chrollo said as he walked by, “it shouldn't take you four minutes to exit a place like this. What exactly are those personal reasons?”

Illumi chuckled a bit as he placed his hand on the knob.

“I suppose you can see for yourself if you decide to watch me leave.”

With that, Illumi left, the door swinging shut.

Standing alone in the dark room, Chrollo wasn't sure what to make of Illumi's behavior. He was used to the assassin being more straight-forward. He was secretive, yes, but there was something about the way he had acted just now that seemed a bit more.... Playful.

Illumi and Hisoka had known each other before Chrollo had met the long-haired man, and the two had seemed like they were in frequent contact. Perhaps, Chrollo mused, some of Hisoka's less-than-ideal qualities were rubbing off on Illumi.

Phinks and Shizuku approached him immediately after he also exited the room.

“It looked like he was leaving,” Shizuku said, “were you able to talk him down?”

“Yes. It was more expensive than it needed to be, but he'll be leaving shortly,” Chrollo answered as he nodded at her.

“He required four minutes before we began, so we'll be able to stay on schedule,” he continued as he looked at his phone again. 9:08.

The two spiders nodded (though Phinks seemed somewhat disappointed to not have a chance to fight Illumi) and Chrollo updated the rest of the troupe. The three of them slowly began to walk back to the main hall before coming to a stop at one of the balcony's. Below them the crowd had only managed to have grow larger as more people had entered to try their luck in the new gambling hall. For the majority of the crowd it seemed to be more of a pastime as they looked more well-to-do, but there were a few individuals who already appeared to be reaching a point of desperation, sweating nervously while they looked to the indifferent dealers.

A grand clock at the top of the hall showed the time to be nearing 9:10, and they had yet to see Illumi leave the building.

“Why did he want four minutes?” Shizuku asked.

“He wouldn't say,” Chrollo answered her.

“Hm. I wonder what it was,” Shizuku said.

“It seems he wanted to collect some woman before we got started,” Phinks suddenly said.

“Huh?”

Both Chrollo and Shizuku looked to where Phinks was looking. Within the crowd they saw Illumi walking through, accompanied by you. He held your hand as he lead you through the throng of guests, and you were giggling at something he had said while you intertwined your fingers with his. Illumi smiled back at you as he continued to pull you forward.

It was not a sight Chrollo had anticipated, nor was he expecting to see the darkened marks on your neck when he squinted. Marks that could've been made by Illumi's mouth.

Remembering that Illumi had said he'd been terminated for being unprofessional, and suddenly the reason for his firing became clear.

“That's just a civilian, right?” Phinks asked, “what does he want with her?”

“I guess he doesn't want to leave her here to die,” said Shizuku, “that's sweet.”

Chrollo continued to watch as the two of you made it to the other end of the hall. When you were finally out of the crowd, you went to wrap your arm around the one that had been leading you, smiling up at him as you two continued your way to the entrance. There weren't many who could touch one of the Zoldycks like that and live to tell the tale. Phinks was most likely right in his assessment; you weren't anything special. You probably had no idea who the person was that you were so happily walking off with or how dangerous he was.

Illumi said something and smiled at you before the two of you began walking again, but Chrollo didn't miss the little warning glance the assassin had sent in his direction.

As Shizuku and Phinks talked amongst themselves on what all that was about, Chrollo found himself unsure of what to think of this particular turn of events.

Evidently to Illumi, you were worth at least 60 million jenny.

You had come to this event on behalf of your friend Kiki, who had been invited by her cousin who had wanted to spend a milestone birthday at the casino. Places like this had never done much for you; the odds were always stacked in favor of the house and you didn't want to lose your hard-earned cash by gambling it away. You only came to do a favor for your friend, and yet about an hour into the evening, she had left you to chat up someone at the bar, leaving you with a group of people you only vaguely knew in an even bigger sea of strangers. Most ignored you, but there was the occasional middle-aged man who would eye you up and make you feel uncomfortable enough that you felt like you needed to leave the general area.

And then you ran into him.

The handsome man with long black hair and dark eyes who'd been walking about. He caught your attention like he'd caught the attention of most of the people around him, though they had seemed more content to watch him and gossip about him from afar. Maybe it was because no one else was going for it, maybe it was because you were slightly jealous that Kiki had managed to find an actual date for the night, or maybe you were just tired of the gross older men that kept ogling you and you wanted to be able to enjoy yourself with someone that you were actually in to. Regardless of whatever it was that made you do it, you approached the man and asked if he wanted to get a drink with you.

He hadn't wanted any drinks, but your boldness had impressed him enough that he wanted to talk with you. In private. Leading you away from the crowd and noise, he took you to a staff-only hallway where he introduced himself as Illumi. You introduced yourself to him, and the two of you managed to hit it off, having a lengthy conversation that ended when he kissed you suddenly. It seemed like something that had been spur-of-the-moment for him, and he pulled away from you to ask if you had liked it. Your answer was to pull him back onto your lips.

Your make-out session had culminated in him pushing you against the wall while he sucked hickeys into the skin of your neck.

And then you got caught.

You were expecting that you'd both get kicked out, but Illumi had been asked to accompany some of the casino staff while you were taken back to the main hall. Being that they were more concerned about Illumi, they left you there while you tried to hide the marks Illumi had left behind. You hadn't been sure if you would see him again; you didn't realize that he'd been working for the casino, and you were worried that you had cost him his job.

So it was unexpected when he appeared before you and asked you to leave with him.

But you said 'yes' without any hesitation.

You slid into the backseat of the car that had pulled up, Illumi coming in after you.

“The Palazzo,” Illumi instructed the driver.

Wait....

“Isn't that the really expensive hotel on the riverfront?” you asked Illumi.

“Yes. I've been staying there,” he answered.

You were amazed that he had the cash to be able to stay at a place like that. Then worry hit you.

“I got you fired, didn't I? Are you sure that isn't an issue?”

With that same small smile you had seen several times now since he'd opened up to you, Illumi smiled back at you.

“I got a better payout leaving like I did than if I had stayed. So don't worry, there's no issue.”

That eased your worries a bit, and you settled yourself into the seat as the car began to pull forward. You glanced back at the illuminated casino as you drove off, and another pang of guilt hit you.

“What's wrong?” Illumi asked.

“I left my friend without telling her anything,” you said as you pulled out your phone, “I should text her about where I'm going.”

“Mm. Yes, that would be a good idea.”

Illumi's tone was always rather flat, so you didn't notice that he seemed slightly displeased as you messaged Kiki to let her know you had left. It seemed like she'd found her own date, so hopefully she wouldn't be too mad at you. It wasn't like she'd been left alone.

The instant you hit 'send', you turned your attention back to Illumi.

“Think she'll get it in time? The reception was a little spotty in some places,” you said.

“It was fine, but don't worry about that.”

With that, Illumi pulled you into his lap while you yelped. You wanted to protest, seeing as you two were in a moving vehicle and the driver could tell what the two of you were doing. Illumi held you securely, however, and when you looked to the front of the car, you found that a sheet of tinted glass now separated the front from the back. The driver must have been able to read the mood.

“Don't worry about what's going on back there,” Illumi told you, “from this point on, all I want for you to focus on is me.”

His order made you blush, and you shyly answered with an “okay” before his lips were on you.

The casino and the people inside it were the last things on your mind that night.

[askthefivefallen]

Shamira takes control and nods, watching as Emily erases the board to set forth her new topics of discussion while Ass' incandescent fury rages. It's a wordless howl of anger that lashes out in every direction. It was, unfortunately, a predictable side effect of the former Exorcist's creation- a feature, not a bug. It made her an easier target.

She remains silent for the moment even as Emily watches her- them, perhaps- expectantly. When the rage fades, it left a hollow sort of emptiness.

Are you okay?

Oh, I'm fucking fine, thanks for asking.

Do you need some time?

Nope. Step back.

Are you sure that's wise?

Fuck yeah.

A: *the moment she's back in control, her lips pull back in a snarl as her anger flares again- but Shamira reaches out, reminds her that this is Emily and she has a point. They both love her and, even if unintentionally, they’d hurt her. But Ass has a point to make, too*

A: “You told me that if Shamira didn’t want to say, I had to respect that. So I drew the line- no sex until Shamira had fessed up. The only time I deviated from that was when I honestly thought Shamira was unaware of what was going on! When I woke up and saw you two talking, I gave her a chance to speak for herself!” *her anger builds as she speaks, her own hurt fueling her* “I’ve done everything in my power to get Shamira to realize that you might give her a fucking chance if she just told you! I couldn’t tell you without disregarding her boundaries! I couldn’t force her! And I was the one who said I’d be uncomfortable until we talked- she never fucking said that, Em! Just that she felt guilty for being what’s stopping me from riding you like a fucking horse!”

A: *she almost launches to her feet to start pacing but Shamira holds her in place and, distantly, she’s appreciative for it* “Here, I’ll make this fucking simple: nothing changed for me, Em. No boundaries have changed, you know me- but now, I’m dealing with the sexual frustration of two people who desperately want to be with you, not to mention my own hang ups from being disconnected from my body! So I’m sorry, Emily, for not coming up with a better way of smashing the fast forward button, but I can only take so much- I miss you, I miss our intimacy, I hate walking on eggshells because none of us know how to navigate this, and you’ve been sending some mixed messages of your own!”

There was more anger but Shamira realized that it was unproductive and surged then, taking control and clamping her mouth shut. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, speaking in a very soft voice.

“Both of you are fiercely passionate about each other… and it’s cruel that, in your triumph, Sera has still manages to inflict me as a punishment on both of you.” She shakes her head and sighs. “Emily… I’m sorry. This is my fault. I wanted to be respectful of your relationship with Ass and give you space. You had every right to… dislike me… and I was scared of seeing your true feelings. In my mind, you’ve looked at me with love- but that was Ass, not me, and it’s… hard? In a way, I lost you, though I never had you.”

She hangs her head. “I don’t know what to say… I don’t know what I can do to fix this.”

A: “It’s not yours to fix, Shamira.” *she looks at Emily* “Anything you wanna get off your chest?” *she spreads her arms* “What else have I fucked up?”

There is a peace and tranquility to the early morning. Usually, there’s no motion whatsoever, but here and now, there is the gentle sound and motion of Emily’s breathing. In the dim morning light, Emily looks so very gentle, and soft, and peaceful, but there’s a small pinch to her brow that speaks of ill thoughts. She moves her hand, lightly drawing fingertips across Emily’s brow, carefully pushing her hair back.

Emily deserves rest but she’s had more than enough. She contents herself with watching, standing vigil as usual.

((@askthefivefallen))

"Well, it doesn't matter~. She won't have such a vulgar name after what will be done to her~. Consider it... an upgrade". Adina’s eyes were filled with glee even as tears soaked down her cheeks. Emily saw red.

Shamira shook her head as Emily begged, pleaded, fought and cried for Ass. She meant no malice, it even seemed like she would have given her back had she the option. It didn’t matter. Emily saw red.

“I didn't want her to hurt you, Emily. The last thing I want is for someone to take advantage of you and break your heart.” Sera’s face was smiling. Emily saw red.

The vision changed again and she was sitting in front of the high council, only a few years after her creation. She was groomed by the high seraphim, the will of heaven herself. She was meant for greatness, a position on the court, Lucifer’s position. It was why the divine had sent her here, she was told. To fix what he had broken. To repair what he had ripped apart. To bring order to the chaos that heaven had become. Perhaps to even take part in the divine act of creation itself. She’d spent her entire life thus far under rigorous testing, constant trials, going from lesson to lesson with very minimal breaks in between.

But Sera was good, Sera was kind. She held her hands in hers and told her that she was proud of her and knew that one day she would be a fully fledged Seraphim. One day she would honor all of heaven.

But the court didn’t agree. Sera argued that despite her naivety, thoughtlessness, impulsivity and her inability to keep her emotions in check, she would make an excellent addition to the court. A fresh perspective from the divine themselves. The court still ruled against Sera and Emily, stating that she was unqualified to set an example of a true seraphim.

One of the Seraphim leaned forward, her head cocked to the side as a smile pulled the corners of her mouth up into a deceitfully warm grin. “Well she has to have a job, doesn’t she? It would be sinful to let her fall to sloth, hm?” The voice was almost condescending and Emily glared up at her. Why was she being so unkind? This was heaven, wasn’t everyone supposed to be kind?

“She is incompetent, unskilled, weak, unfit to lead, and incapable of keeping secret those truths which we hold dear to us. Under what circumstances could she possibly do anything worthy of a seraphim?” The words stung, just as the others all had. This session had gone on all day and Emily was tired of hearing how awful she had done these past few years.

“While I don’t disagree that the candidate is unsuitable and unbecoming, she still needs to contribute in some way if she is going to be in heaven. Since she’s too much of a crybaby to do any of the heavier lifting in our political realm, why not give her something easy, Sera? How about joy?” Emily watched as Sera glared up at the Seraphim. The disrespect in her words was absolutely palpable and Emily wanted nothing more than to cry and perhaps just give up on being a part of the court, but she didn’t want to disappoint Sera. She just wanted her to be proud of her.

Sera went to open her mouth but was interrupted by another court member, “Joy! What a splendid idea! We need a joy bringer, she’d be the first thing the winners see when they get here! She’d fit right in with her being so incompatible with the other seraphim. Her awkward, irrelevant, unprofessional attitude might actually serve to connect her better with the mortals coming in from such a sinful place as the living mortal realm.” The seraphim laughed lightly but the sound grated on Emily’s ears, making them burn golden. “The fact of the matter is, this specimen is motivated by a logic unbecoming of the highest of seraphim, to put her on the court would be a disservice to all of heaven. Joy bringer would give her some sort of position without giving her any actual authority. It’s a fool proof plan, really.” She leaned back, satisfied with her statement and Emily looked down at her feet to avoid seeing her cruel smile.

Sera glared up at her court, but when she realized there was no saving this she released the breath she’d been holding. “I suppose you’re correct. She would be the perfect face of heaven and the winners would be blessed to have her. Let’s take it to a vote shall we? We can draw up a contract and list of responsibilities this weekend if we are in agreement.”

The vote passed and court was finally dismissed. Emily followed Sera back to her office wordlessly and sat down across from her mentor. “Well, I think that went… well I’m going to look on the bright side! This could be good for me! Who knows what I might-

“This is not a good thing Emily!” Sera’s voice boomed in the large office, her hands slamming against the desk and her nostrils flared as she looked down at her ward. “Do you understand what they just did to you? Do you even know what your job is meant to be? Do you know what your grand purpose has become? Emily, you have been put below the winners in their eyes. Doomed to serve.”

Emily’s eyes welled up with tears and she let them fall. She glared up at Sera though as a feeling she was unfamiliar with overtook her.

Emily saw red.

The court room was so loud as Lute and Adam argued with Charlie and threatened to murder her and her family. Is this what the court meant by secret truths they hold dear to them? Murdering human souls by the thousands yearly? That’s the knowledge they had been withholding from her?

Emily saw red.

The flame was going cold, so, so, so cold. She tried to nurture it back to its former glory in her hands, feeding what she could into it but nothing she did was enough. Nothing she could carry to the flame would bring it back. So Emily went to the place where the flame began and hoped that she’d either be burned alive or die trying. She didn’t want to be cold, she wanted to be burned, she wanted to be light! But if there was no more flame than it was best that her icy heart shatter on the brimstone forever.

The story was supposed to end when Ass catches her.

She doesn’t.

Emily sees black.

*Emily wakes up with a start, falling into the bed where she had slept at least somewhat soundly the entire night. Ass is heavy against her and she’s grateful for the weight reminding her that things are alright, she is okay, she is safe*

*She’s not sure if she is worried for her own safety or Ass’s*

[azucanela]

THIS DIDN’T HAPPEN | TSUKISHIMA KEI

HAIKYUU!! MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: Tsukishima Kei would never admit that he happens to like receiving affection quite a bit, only from Y/N L/N of course, and only if no one ever finds out about it. 

WORD COUNT: 2.5k

WARNINGS: honestly i think this is cute, but theres some angst oops, pining, unedited, kissing, kinda sad if you can read between the lines, season three spoilers

A/N: tsukki lovers come get your juice. also if you can’t tell im in the mood for haikyuu!! and tsukki so... rip the wips and requests i said i’d get done but it’ll happen eventually 

“Can I hug you?”

How did he end up here? A fantastic question that he cannot find the answer for as he looks down at Y/N, who’d insisted he walk her to the girl’s dorm. He probably should’ve predicted that she’d ask about his sudden change of pace, but Tsukishima doubted he ever would’ve predicted she’d ask to hug him. Especially since he definitely hadn’t been the nicest to her.

“This didn’t happen.” 

That’s all Tsukishima says as he awkwardly winds his arms arounds Y/N’s form. She hums in response, and Y/N has a feeling if he could see the grin on her face he’d pull away almost immediately. Which is why she’d buried her face in his chest, arms around his body as they stand just outside dorms they’ve been residing in during their stay at the training camp alongside the other teams. 

Tsukishima doesn’t know why he agreed to this. He’s not sure he wants to as he feels Y/N’s breath against his chest, causing his cheeks to warm. During the walk she’d confronted him and he’d— for some reason — told her that he didn’t intend to get left behind Hinata and Kageyama; who’d improved quite a bit it appeared. Even if Volleyball meant absolutely nothing to him.

And then she asked to hug him. Y/N just had a feeling he could use one, though, if she was honest, Y/N had expected a hard no. She’d expected him to criticize her for asking such a childish question, she’d expected teasing and cruel remarks about how ridiculous the idea was. Tsukishima had never been affectionate, or at least openly affectionate. He was never involved in team hugs, hugs in general, not even a simple fist bump from Tanaka. 

And yet here he was, agreeing to a hug from Y/N L/N, one of the new managers of the Karasuno Volleyball Club. 

“This didn’t happen.” Came her response, her words of agreement were muffled against Tsukishima’s chest, but he’d heard her. They had an understanding. 

And he’d never admit it, but it was nice. Hugging someone. Holding someone in his arms. Tsukishima hadn’t actually accepted affection in a while, maybe it was because one of the only people he’d been close with in his life— the one person he looked up to — ended up being a liar. Maybe its because a small part of him wanted to maintain his reputation as a coldhearted jerk, or maybe its because he just hadn’t found someone’s affection he enjoyed.

Until now, of course. There was something different about having Y/N in his arms, something comforting about her presence that made him feel compelled to answer the questions she asked as she pried about his sudden change in attitude. It’s not like they were close, though he tolerated her when she’d simply started coming to club meeting; apparently she’d known Tanaka from middle school, and decided to visit him at the club, until one day it became a daily thing. They ended up giving her the title of manager after she to work alongside Kiyoko. Y/N had even helped tutor those idiots, Kageyama and Hinata, something Tsukishima somehow got roped into. After that, he had a newfound respect for the girl.

It wasn’t that he liked her. He would never like Y/N. She just helped manage the club, and Volleyball was just a sport. Besides, they’d never be that close again, never hug again, never exchange any affection at all, ever again.

He broke that promise fairly quickly. 

Yamaguchi had insisted that he and Tsukishima start joining the rest of the team on their walk home, mentioning how they could stop by Ukai’s convenience store and pick up some food if they so pleased. And maybe that was what convinced him— though Yamaguchi had a feeling the mention of Y/N’s name had a little bit of influence on the decision as well — maybe not. 

It didn’t take long for Tsukishima to realize that as everyone slowly branched off into their respective neighborhoods, Y/N had yet to do the same. Apparently she lived the farthest from Karasuno of the bunch, which is why Tanaka had tried to offer to walk her home. 

She’d rejected the idea entirely, seeing as he’d have to walk back home in the dark by the time she’d gotten to her home. The idea didn’t sit right with Y/N, so Tanaka had left Yamaguchi, Tsukishima and Y/N on their own. 

Y/N didn’t miss the look Yamaguchi gave Tsukishima as he remained by her side, tilting her head in confusion and the blonde waved his friend off and continued walking alongside Y/N. She decided it was best not to question it, they were already a questionable pair of friends and Y/N wouldn’t be shocked if they had some sort of secret code they communicated through.

When she suggested this of course, Tsukishima called her an idiot.

“That’s not very nice, Tsukki.”

If Tsukishima was honest he should’ve kept walking alongside Yamaguchi a while ago, and yet here he was, alongside Y/N. He was pretty grateful she had yet to mention it, especially since he didn’t really favor lying, and he didn’t really have an explanation as to why he decided to walk her home.

It just felt right. 

“Well it’s a stupid idea.” Came his response, nose scrunching up at the nickname. Only Yamaguchi called him that, not that he had a problem with Y/N using the nickname as well. 

Y/N raised a brow, “I don’t think so, you’re smart enough to make a secret code or something.” A smile found its way onto her face as she looked over to him, playfully bumping into his side as she continued, “you probably use it to write about conspiracy theories or something.” 

“I’m not a conspiracy theorist, Y/N.” He side eyes the girl, scoffing at her words as he pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose in an attempt to distract from the warmth that flooded his chest. 

Y/N hummed in reply, looking to him as she asked, “so you don’t believe that lizard people run society?” 

Tsukishima’s brows furrowed as he looked to her incredulously, “absolutely not.” 

“Sounds like something a lizard person would say.” Came her reply, a grin on her face as she came to a stop, likely in front of her home. 

“Did you just suggest that I’m a lizard person?”

“Maybe.”

There was no way he liked Y/N L/N. In that moment, he made another promise to himself, Tsukishima Kei swore he would never like Y/N L/N, someone who was apparently a lizard person fanatic and insisted that he was a conspiracy theorist. 

A silence encompasses the two as Y/N looks up at him curiously, eyes falling over his face as a small hum leaves her lips. Tsukishima doesn’t know why exactly he lets it happen, why he lets her gently grab his chin, bringing him close to press a kiss to his cheek, “thanks for walking me home, Tsukki.” When she releases his face, she turns on her heel, heading toward her door, but not before saying, “try not to get home too late, and text Yamaguchi— he’s probably worried about you.” 

Okay, so maybe he would break this promise faster than last time. 

“This didn’t happen.” He manages to call out to her, watching as she makes her way down the cobblestone path to her front door. 

Y/N looks over her shoulder, a smirk on her face as she offers him a wave, “this didn’t happen!” She called back in agreement, stepping inside her home and shutting the door behind him. 

A lot faster than last time. 

He has no idea why he didn’t stop her the first time, when she asked. And he doesn’t know why he didn’t stop her now, or the next time, or the time after that. Tsukishima probably should’ve known better, he should’ve stopped indulging himself with her presence.

And yet sitting on his bed, lying on his side watching her, he knows there was no stopping this. Y/N is smirking, clearly noticing his gaze on her as she continues to silently read from her textbook, writing things down into her notebook on occasion. He almost gets frustrated at the sight, brows furrowing before he returns his eyes to his own textbook

Tsukishima probably would’ve finished a while ago had it not been for her, it’s not that Y/N had done anything, but her presence only served as a distraction at this point, leaving Tsukishima wondering just why he invited her. He can’t remember the reasoning behind his actions, but he has a feeling it wasn’t worth the lack of productivity that came with her visit. 

“Have you done anything?” 

As much as Tsukishima admired how observant Y/N was, he currently despised this trait of hers as he slammed the textbook shut, “yes.” It was a lie, Tsukishima had never been so unproductive in his life, and he hated it. He hated everything about this stupid project, especially the fact that she was his partner. 

A laugh escaped her, earning a glare from Tsukishima, “you’re so scary.” She says, though its clear she’s teasing him as she comes to pat his cheek condescendingly, accompanied by a mocking tone and an annoying smirk.

“Whatever.” He grumbles, tossing the textbook off the bed before falling back against his bed. 

Y/N hums, eyes falling over his figure as she nods to herself. “I see.”

Tsukishima scoffs at her words, lifting his head up to meet her gaze with a glare, “see what?”

Her grin only widens at his words as she shuts her own textbook, placing it on the nightstand beside her alongside her notebook before allowing herself to collapse into Tsukishima’s pillows. “You’re grumpy—” She turns to her side, lifting her arm up, “because you want a hug.”

Tsukishima looks at her incredulously, rolling his eyes as he brings his hands to his face, causing Y/N to lower her arm as she pouts. “You’re stupid.” He mumbles, watching her push up onto her elbows.

“And you’re a touch-starved grump.” Comes her reply, prying his hands form his forehead to gently remove his glasses, reaching over him to place it on the other nightstand before returning to her side of the bed. She lifts her arm once more, looking to Tsukishima expectantly. 

He inhales deeply, looking away in an attempt to maintain some of his pride when he feels his cheeks redden. “We have work to do.”

“The project isn’t due for another two weeks, Kei.” 

Tsukishima finds himself trying to glare at her, though it fails when he realizes she’s said his first name and he can’t bring himself to be upset anymore, simply saying, “this didn’t happen.” Before his arms come around her waist, Y/N’s arm that was once hovering above her now wrapped around his neck as she pulled him closer. Her other hand coming to tangle her fingers in his hair.

“This didn’t happen.” She repeated.

That day, he promises that the next time they meet, they’re actually going to get work done. He breaks this promise too, quickly realizing that this is a theme whenever the promises are related to Y/N.

Tsukishima doesn’t really realize that he’s in too deep until the day his lips crash against hers and he finds himself whispering those damned words once more, “this didn’t happen.” His hands running down her sides as he tries to pull her closer because whenever he’s around her that cold that plagues him day and night seems to fade, replaced the warmth she seems radiate as though she’s the sun.

He hates that he compares her to the sun, he hates that she’s become something he needs, a presence he craves, because Y/N L/N was meant to be nobody and now she seems to be one of the most important people in his life. He hates that she understands him, that she can read his every move better than he can, that she knows what he needs before he even says it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s in too deep until he’s promising himself not to fall in love.

Because for the first time in a while, Tsukishima Kei wants nothing more than to touch, he wants to feel, even though he’s filled with fear of the unknown, fear of the feelings he so desperately wanted to avoid. For once in his life, he wants to let go, because he finally feels comfortable enough to do so. 

This time all she says is, “I know.” 

Because Y/N knows that falling for Tsukishima was a mistake, a big one. She’s well aware of the fact that the boy is emotionally unavailable and renowned for his rude attitude and crude remarks. She knows that even if they have these silent moments together, even if she’s held him in her arms at night, even if they’ve been closer than she’s even been with anyone else, this basically means nothing. Because its not like either of them would ever do anything about the fact that the few words they did share in moments like these, weren’t ones of denial that the moments didn’t happen, but something else entirely at this point. 

Confessions in their own right. 

But she knows that all she’ll ever be, is something that didn’t happen. Not a story of his first love, not the girl he talks about with his friends, not the one he thinks about, the one he saw in everyday life. She was nobody, because she didn’t happen.

She doesn’t know that she’s wrong. Very wrong. That Tsukishima spoke fondly of her— honestly, Yamaguchi loves Y/N, he really does, but he’d getting a bit tired of hearing about how the mundane things she does that Tsukishima happens to notice. That he thought of her frequently, that the smell of coffee reminded him of her now, that the sight of the sunset she fawned over every time they walked home together only served as a reminder of her.

It’s not until he’s crying out in victory because they beat Shiratorizawa, Karasuno won, he won. It’s not until he’s so overwhelmed with emotion that he finds his legs moving on their own, towards Y/N; who stands beside Ukai and Takeda, the pair had taken to screaming at each other in the midst of their excitement. It’s not until his hands are on her face, bringing her into a kiss, much to her surprise, that he realizes what exactly the warmth was.

“This didn’t happen?” She asks, trying her hardest to ignore the stares of the team—though many of them are still caught up in their own celebration— as she looks to him. 

Tsukishima simply grins, “I didn’t say that.” 

A/N: kei is my favorite person to write for and i cannot explain why and this has not been edited so oops

tags: @beifongsss @shawkneecaps @iwaizoom @therainroguefanfiction​

[5sosxqueen]

Luke Sick And They Don't Believe Him

< Part 1 , ~Part 2~ , Part 3 >

Fun fact: I hate the members calling each other "babe" or anything of the like now. The thought of it just makes me cringe. The only time I can see it and I don't feel strange about it is if I portray them to be in relationships with the other. Yes, that is in my fics at a later time.

Warnings: depictions of illness, awkward pet names, and some serious secondhand embarrassment

Written in 2018

Word Count: 1785

Updates are every Tuesdays and Thursdays

Also Available on Wattpad and AO3!!!

Part 2:

Michael's p.o.v:

      After Matt told us that Luke but still have to do the concert we were all beyond pissed. Management can seriously be utter dicks at times. More often than not, we hate them to be honest. Ashton and I felt so guilty about not believing him and thinking he was faking the entire time. If I could take it all back I would. I was the one that started it so I offered to take care of him since he got so sick.

     After a thankfully unproductive car ride, Luke and I filed onto the bus. "Luke, bud do you want to take a quick shower before getting ready for tonight or do you think there would be no point?" I asked him.

     "I don't think there would be a point in doing that just yet. I still feel pukey. I want to make sure I pretty much have it all out of my system, or at least attempt to, before getting ready. Well, hopefully I don't end up puking again. I just hope I don't end up getting sick on stage or even during the concert for that matter." He said sitting on the couch with an arm protectively around his stomach.

     "Do you want to lay down for a little while? I can get you a bucket. I'm going to get you something to drink whether you say you want it or not. You need to keep up your fluid intake so you don't become dehydrated and that's if you aren't already."

     "That would be nice. Thank you Michael. By the way what you said and the way you acted this morning was cruel and hateful, but I completely forgive you. I know how stressful stuff like this can be. Love you." I felt so guilty and upon hearing that my eyes welled up with tears. I quickly covered my mouth in an attempt to muffle a sob. I gently wrapped Luke in a tight hug as I cried.

      "I cannot tell you this enough. I am so sorry. I should not have acted like that nor told you that you were faking. You have never once done that I should not- I'm just so sorry Luke. Thank you for being so caring and understanding and willing to put up with my bullshit. I love you so much!" I sobbed out. "Now I'm going to get stuff to take care of you, so lay down get comfy and I will be back." I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the designated sick bucket, wiping the, still dropping, tears from my eyes. I grabbed a water bottle and walked back into the living room. Luke was now laying down in a fetal position with his arms tightly around his middle.

      He heard me come in and quickly propped himself up, with one hand covering his mouth, the other reaching for the bucket. I ran over to him and held it under his chin. The poor lad didn't even have to heave for whatever vomit was left in his stomach to pour out his mouth, with a sickening splatter onto the plastic bottom of the bucket. It wasn't a lot considering he had emptied it around an hour prior. After about 10 minutes of him heavily panting over the bucket, I asked if he was done and he shrugged.

      "I think so. I'm not 100% sure though." I nodded, considering he said something very similar before getting into the van. We now had less than 4 hours to go until the concert.

      "Here buddy rinse your mouth out. Try not to swallow it though it could be nasty. I've unfortunately done that before." He took the water gratefully and busted out laughing at what I said.

     He lightly smacked my arm before practically yelling "Damn you Michael! Don't make me laugh. It makes me feel sick again." I chuckled out a sorry.

     "Do you think you could handle taking some medicine?" I looked down at him waited a few seconds before he cocked his head slightly held up his finger. He hicurped and leaned over the bucket spitting bile into it.

     "I can try, but you know there's no guarantees." I nodded and got up to get the medicine. I brought back the stomach relaxers and open up his water bottle for him and handed them to him. He took them and 15 minutes later he was back wretching over the bucket. This process repeated until Matt walked on the bus and told us we have to get ready. We quickly got ready and left the bus and got to the stadium we were playing at tonight.

     It's nearing the time of our concert and all of us are very concerned. We have to do a quick sound check before the concert and we're going to try our best to help Luke feel better before hand. His symptoms are not letting up no matter how medicated he is because he just throws it back up. We have no idea how Luke is going to get through this concert mostly because he can't even stand on his own. Luke has been sick almost non stop all day.

Luke's p.o.v:

     "Luke, okay, management made sure that there will be a bin at all times next to the stage. They wanted me to let you know that if at any point you need to get off, just go. They also apologized that they couldn't get you out of this tonight." Matt told me. I furrowed my brow and nodded not currently trusting myself to open my mouth. "You ok?" I shook my head and placed my hand over my mouth. As weird as it seems, I memorized the places of the bins in the room upon entering. I gagged and ran over to the one next to the table in the room only bringing up a little bile. "Shit..." Matt walked over to me and rubbed my back as I dry heaved. "Boys get ready to head out I'll send him out when he's ready." I looked a deep breath and stood up.

      "I'm good. I can go out. Sorry about that and thank you for letting me know what management did and said." And with that I walked out with the boys onto the stage.

      To my surprise, there was a stool in the middle of the stage, where my spot is, that was also set up by management. I went and sat down on it and so far the audience was completely oblivious to my situation.

     "Now before we begin, I would like to bring up that Luke is actually really sick, he's been throwing up nearly all day and we apologize if at any moment he needs to run off stage." Micheal said learning a a ton of awes and feel betters from the audience.

     "Thanks guys... It means a lot. Fingers crossed that I don't have to run out tonight. I don't want to abandon y'all." I heard a lot of you won'ts and it's oks. "I'm sorry in advance if I do have to though. Ok let's get this started!"

     We started off the night with Jet Black Heart. I managed to get through that song without any problems, but by the time Waste the Night started my stomach was flipping yet again. Started sweating slightly causing myself to shiver and took off my guitar and set it down, quickly running off the stage with my band planted over my mouth. Ashton, having a somewhat similar voice to mine, ended up taking over my parts in my absence.

     Just as promised find management from Matt, there was a pre-placed bin. I launched myself forward clutching the large bin. I heaved for about 5 minutes and the rest of the band decided to distract the audience. They did not want to start another song without me there. Once I felt ready to come back, once again the audience awes at me. "Sorry about that guys. I'm still going to try to sing for you tonight." I rasped out to the best if my abilities.

      "Jeez, your voice is practically nonexistent buddy." Calum said worridly.

     "Mmmm. Ya I'll be back..." I said feeling last nights dinner rushing up my throat yet again. Only this time much quicker... I hadn't put my guitar back on so all I had to do was run off. I got about halfway there, but to my horror I couldn't make it I held my hand over my mouth as I heaved, vomit falling into my hand. I turned from the audience and dropped to my knees. I shot forward with I violent gag bringing up a lot. I was so embarrassed when I heard mixed screams and what sounded like crying. I wanted to both run off and apologize. I have never been so ashamed. All the boys and the stage crew ran up to me. They let me finish before helping me up. Matt went onto the stage as they helped me up.

     "We are so sorry. Luke extends his apologies. We do need to end the show early tonight. Everyone that is here tonight you are welcome to come back in a couple days, as we will be holding a concert to make up for this one." He explained.

     Once I was backstage I couldn't stop the tears from flowing... "I ruined the concert. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry... They going to hate me... God they probably do..."

     Aston pulled me into his embrace. "No honey they don't hate you nor will they ever. You didn't ruin anything. They were informed in the beginning that you were ill. Luke, it's ok babe, calm down." They boys all held me until my tears were dry. They ended up on the ground at some point and I felt my eyes drooping closed. I was in that awkward half asleep state when I felt someone pick me up and lay me on the couch.

Ashton's p.o.v:

     Luke was a complete mess once he was off the stage. He was in complete hysterics. The boys and I just held him until he fell asleep.

     Why we're in no hurry to leave since we were supposed to be here for a couple hours anyways.

     Matt walked into the room an hour layer to check him. "How is he?"

     "Asleep for now. This whole thing really took a toll on him. Poor thing." Michael said.

     "Let's get him on the bus guys." Calum said gently picking Luke up. I grabbed the while Michael prepped the bus yet again.

     Hopefully Luke will feel better when he wakes up...

[kanmom51]

Displaced anger is a phenomenon that happens in almost any situation. For example, people whose full-time jobs don’t pay enough getting mad at people who use unemployment benefits, when they should be mad at corporations who refuse to a living wage while exploiting workers for massive profit.

I see the same thing happening here. People see the hate, and it’s upsetting, and they should be angry at the people hating. It should be simple. But instead, the anger gets placed on Jimin, Jungkook, or both. It’s “why won’t they just change their behavior so it stops” or “how dare Jungkook act like this and direct hate Jimin’s way!” These are illogical and don’t actually address the problem. They blame the victim, rather than the root cause. It’s sad and unproductive. And honestly it is very apparent that these people have given NO THOUGHT to what it’s like to be that famous and try to be true to yourself while millions of people read into everything you do and have cruel opinions on it. They don’t owe y’all that, and it’s entitled, myopic, and incredibly juvenile to think they do.

Oh so true!!!

[pips-fics]

ask: can i request minho getting sick, making him super clingy to jeongin and needy to any members

for almost three years, jeongin has had a human shadow almost constantly.  it’s shape was inconsistent, but most often took the form of seungmin or hyunjin.  he’d like to say that he’d grown used to having various members trail him around, and sometimes it was the truth, but other times… it was just suffocating.

the fact that minho had been following him since he’d twisted his ankle earlier in the day didn’t sit well.  jeongin was an adult, and had been for quite some time; not to mention, he wasn’t that much younger than the others to begin with.  knowing their concern always stemmed from love wasn’t a fully effective salve to his stung pride.

“hyung, just sit there–“ jeongin pointed to the empty space, “this couch is big enough for both of us, you don’t need to sit on top of me,” jeongin complained.  he wasn’t lying.  the couch was probably big enough for three or even four people, but minho insisted on sprawling over jeongin’s chest even though they were the only two occupying it at the moment.  jeongin wriggled around, hoping minho would get off of his own volition before jeongin had to forcibly remove him.

“don’t wanna,” minho protested smugly, “you’re much more comfortable.”

jeongin tried to be understanding.  he tried to be accommodating, sympathetic to the genuine concern.  he liked to think that he was relatively indulgent with his members, who he loved— but sometimes, it really did get to be too much.  jeongin did what he could to rein his temper back in and find his patience, but he needed some space.

with a gentle shove (but a shove nonetheless), he pushed minho off of him and onto the empty part of the couch.  jeongin stood up.

“i’ll see you in a bit to record some of the chorus parts.  go find jisung or felix, hyung, they won’t mind cuddling.”

minho whined, sniffling.  “how cruel, yang jeongin!  i’m sick and you won’t even let me cuddle you.”

ah, that would explain minho’s sudden clinginess.  jeongin flinched away.  “you might be contagious, hyung, i don’t wanna get sick, too.  drink some water or something - chan-hyung probably has medicine you could take.”  jeongin looked at minho a little more closely, but other than a sniffle and a slight rasp to his voice, he didn’t seem to be doing too poorly.  “you’ll feel better soon,” he said, and then he left.

he felt a little bad, walking to the cafe on his own, but mostly he felt relieved.  the ambient noise, which didn’t require any sort of response from jeongin, was comforting.  after ordering a drink, he dropped into a chair, and was grateful for the hard plastic against his back.  it was grounding, a cool contrast to the stifling warmth of another human’s touch.

jeongin was savoring it all when, not more than 5 minutes after he’d sat down with his drink, warm arms wrapped around his chest, quickly followed by a weight on his shoulders.  he nearly choked on the urge to groan - and his drink - and elbowed the offender in the gut on instinct before spinning around.

minho was doubled over, wincing.  jeongin’s eyes widened - he certainly hadn’t meant to hurt him!  he hadn’t thought he’d used enough force for that.

“hyung, are you— i didn’t mean to,” jeongin’s mouth was moving too quick for his brain.  he’d stood up and now hovered at minho’s side, unsure how to help.  minho waved him off.

“i’m–” he coughed.  “i’m fine.  just wasn’t expecting it.  i shouldn’t have,” minho took a labored breath, “shouldn’t have snuck up on you.”

minho looked very distinctly not fine - but jeongin of all people wasn’t about to call him out on it.  after all, he knew best how double-edged that kind of concern could be.  jeongin nodded.

“still,” he said.  “i am sorry.”

at that, minho cracked a grin.  it looked kind of like a grimace, but jeongin figured that was more an effect of the lingering pain than intent.  “no, no, you were right,” minho said, and there was something in his voice that jeongin didn’t like.  “i’ll go find someone else to bother.”

jeongin frowned.  it was what he’d wanted, after all.  but something didn’t sit quite right.  the sincerity - it was rare for minho to sound so honest, especially about the vulnerable pieces of himself.  especially about things like shame, and regret, and hurt.

then again, if minho was going to find another member, it would be fine.  jeongin was fairly confident that most of the others were just as capable at handling whatever mood minho was in - and most of them were probably more suited to that task, even.  he spared a thought to hope that minho would find chan and let the matter slip from his mind.

it wasn’t until they were setting up to record the chorus parts of the title track that jeongin really thought about minho and his weirdness again.  it wasn’t minho’s presence that reminded him, but his absence.  chan was already looking for him by the time jeongin showed up.

“the last time i saw him was a few hours ago,” jeongin said.  “at the cafe.”

chan checked the clock, and even though they had five full minutes before they were scheduled, his frowned deepened.  “he’s usually the first one here, after me.”

that was true.  jeongin looked around and saw that all of the other members were already present, and something like guilt sank heavy in his gut.  “has anyone else seen him?”

chan grimaced.  “felix did, but it’s been some time since then.  he said minho was acting a little strange, but that’s kind of…”  chan trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence for jeongin to hear it.  that’s kind of normal.

the truth was, of all the members, minho was still a bit of a mystery.  they’d all grown up together, so of course they knew bits and pieces of him inside and out, but the rest of the members wore their heart and soul flayed open at all times.  jeongin could probably describe felix’s character better than felix himself could.  even seungmin, who had seemed on the reserved side for the first few months, had grown into regular displays of openness.

minho was different.  he guarded his heart like one would a fugitive on the run - by pretending it didn’t exist.

“i’ll go look for him, hyung, don’t worry!”  jeongin said, the words out of his mouth before he realized what he was promising.  and yet, he didn’t care to take them back.  chan blinked, hesitated, and jeongin knew it was that troublesome, unwarranted concern again.  it struck him that, in a list of members with their shutters closed, jeongin himself probably ranked second.  he softened slightly.  “i’ll have my phone with me,” he said.  “if you want me back, just call me.”

with a wry smile, chan nodded.  “send me a text if it takes more than 15 minutes?”

jeongin nodded, and and then he was off.

it was an aimless search.  he really had no idea where minho was - he hoped he was in the building, at least, but for all anyone knew minho could have gone back to the dorm, or literally anywhere else.  he really was an enigma.

jeongin’s phone rang and he checked the time.  it had only been 10 minutes.  his heart lept at the thought of good news, that maybe he was overly worried for nothing.  “did you find him?”  jeongin asked immediately.  chan sighed.

“no, but he texted and said he’s fine.”  chan went quiet.  jeongin chewed his lip.

“do you think he is?”  jeongin asked.  he already knew the answer.  he could picture chan’s frown - the one where he was worried, but trying to be reassuring to anyone who looked.

“i guess we just have to trust him.”

trust.  the word lodged itself and rattled around in jeongin’s mind even after he hung up and started making his way - slowly - back to the rest of his members.

as closed off as minho was, jeongin trusted him.  all of them did, he knew.  jeongin trusted all of his members, completely, but minho especially.  for all of his guarded emotions, minho would never allow harm to come to those he cared about, and everyone knew it - except maybe minho himself, who didn’t like to acknowledge that he cared at all in the first place.

the thought that minho didn’t trust them back made jeongin feel clammy.  it drove him to take the longest way back he could think of, and it made him backtrack immediately when he heard the quietest gasp coming from the direction of the bathrooms.

he found minho in an open stall, seated firmly on the ground, his upper body wilted over the toilet seat.  vomit stained the corners of his mouth.  tears ran down his cheeks.  he didn’t notice jeongin immediately, which gave the younger boy a much appreciated moment to steady himself, to acknowledge and accept and acclimate to the sharp ache the gripped his heart.

“oh, hyung, you’re really sick.”  the words came out like tears, seeping.  minho startled, and scrambled to the side of the stall that was furthest from jeongin.

“jeongin.”  fear flashed across minho’s face, like jeongin hadn’t seen on his face outside of their survival show and experiencing high altitudes.  jeongin stepped back, hating to be the cause of it, when minho spoke again, sounding choked.  “you were right, it might be contagious.  you should go.”

jeongin shook his head so hard it hurt.  “no, i didn’t mean– hyung, here, let me help.  please.”  he approached slowly, wrapping his arms around minho’s shaking back.  minho sucked in a breath, and then released it, relaxing into jeongin’s embrace.  then he tensed up and lurched over the toilet with an unproductive heave.  jeongin shifted to rub the sick boy’s back.

minho groaned.  “you should leave,” he said.  “i’m gross right now.”

“no,” jeongin said, as gently, as firmly as possible, addressing both statements at once.  “i’ll stay, hyung.”

minho didn’t have a chance to protest before he was being sick.  he was shaking so badly that jeongin worried he’d slip to the ground if he stopped supporting him.  he brushed a hand through minho’s hair.

“it’s okay,” jeongin said, and he wasn’t really sure why.

minho gasped and another stream of puke splashed into the dirtied water below him, unrelenting.  his whole body was tense below jeongin’s hands, so much so that it made jeongin’s own muscles ache.  suddenly, in the dim lighting of the bathroom, face covered in barf, minho looked very small, and fragile.  like he might shake himself apart.  jeongin’s grip on his shoulder tightened as another heave wracked minho’s body.

jeongin’s phone ringing startled both of them.  minho looked up during a brief reprieve.  “you can answer it,” he said, his words torn apart and raw.  jeongin shook his head.

“it’s just chan-hyung.  i’ll text him.”

minho didn’t respond to that, jaw clenched very tightly shut.  jeongin gave him a stern look.  “you should let it out, hyung, you’ll feel better sooner that way.  then we can go home.”

it was unclear whether minho took the advice to heart, or if his body simply overcame his willpower - both options seemed unlikely - but soon he was throwing up once again.  he didn’t have a breather for so long that jeongin started worrying at the choked sounds.  he was about to send a text asking chan if someone could drown this way when it finally tapered off to dry heaves and small dribbles of bile.

minho looked like a soft breeze could break him.

his eyes were sinking shut and his skin was washed out.  he’d given up holding himself up and slumped heavily onto jeongin.  jeongin wiped sweat and sick from his face with toilet paper, and then flushed the mess away.

“are you done?”  jeongin asked quietly, with half a mind to just let minho sleep.  the sick boy nodded.  jeongin hummed.  “we should go home.”

minho nodded, but didn’t move.  “c’mon, hyung, it’ll be better for you to sleep in a bed.”

jeongin started to stand, but minho grabbed his sleeve with a strength jeongin wouldn’t have expected him to have at this point.  “hyung?”

“don’t leave.”  minho’s voice was so, so small.  jeongin smiled.

“i won’t.  we’ll go together, okay?”

sure enough, minho refused to let go of jeongin’s arm as they walked.  chan had texted that they’d cancelled recording for the day, so the other members were waiting in the car already.  even as the rest of them fussed over minho, jeongin stuck close.  his arm was finally freed when minho fell asleep upon returning to the dorm, but jeongin stayed nearby anyway, even when the other members tried convincing him that minho would be fine if he left.

that was the thing: minho would be fine.  jeongin knew that minho was strong.  they all did.  but something protective had started growing in him since he first saw minho in the bathroom - before that, maybe, too.  something protective and urgent, a need that had to be fulfilled.

jeongin trusted minho fully.  he needed to know that minho trusted him, too, and he thought this was as good way to start working towards that.

——

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