#SORRY im having intrusive thoughts and this is the only way to combat them this morning

[squuote]

my narrator could definitely look more human or even have a full stylized human look but I think he would hate the idea of looking fully human to any extent. even his humanoid form would originally leave such a distaste for him because the feeling of control resides in not being the human, the player, but instead being the narrative. so it’s more of a ‘I would never stoop to being human to any extent because they are weak and powerless things that barely have any agency for themselves’ kind of thinking that only a certain button could break him out of that line of thinking

[cherriesfineline]

savior next door

im on a writing trance so expect a lot of writings from me hehe, here's what i wrote last night, enjoy besties.

- fluff & a tiny little bit of smut (not really lol) | not proofread, sorry

Pairing: HarryxY/N

WC: 3.8k

the one where Harry is Y/N's shy and virgin neighbor.

The constant feeling of uneasiness has been haunting Harry ever since he almost got himself in a car accident almost a year ago.

It hadn’t been his fault – he was crossing a random street in a quiet area of New York when a hand grabbed his upper arm and pushed him out of the crosswalk, where a car speeded through without even slowing down. “Watch where you’re going, you’re going to get yourself killed.” The woman who’d saved his life scolded at him with a worrying look on her face. He remembers her eyes were glowing in such a splendor, something he’d never seen before – it intrigued him to know who his life savior was, but before he could even make a comment, the woman stormed off and got lost between the seas of people around the corner, leaving Harry in an unsuccessful search for her.

Harry has never been a people person. He always avoids big crowds, social events and especially, study groups. His university journey so far has been a lonely and reserved one, having movie marathons when not studying or discovering new kinds of herbal teas. His only form of social interaction is the occasional chat with his across-the-hall neighbor Niall, whom he considered -kind of- a close friend; his only one, in fact.

“Heard someone’s moving in to the flat next to yours.” Niall knows Harry isn’t exactly a social butterfly, and maybe it’s the fact that Harry is younger than him and how he seems like such a harmless human what makes him feel like he needs to help him. Harry just shrugs at his comment, not really interested in any possible intruder to their peaceful hallway (where both their apartments and the currently empty one in the corner were the only three ones on their floor). And maybe it was the fact that it has been almost a month since Niall’s comment what made him furious when he saw the cardboard boxes on their hallway, forgetting about the possibility of having a new neighbor.

The sudden sound of glass crashing and a loud yell snaps Harry out of his frustrated trance, stepping around the huge boxes scattered around the door next to his to knock on the doorway of the open door. Even if he really isn’t very fond of having a new neighbor that doesn’t mean he’s not going to check on them to see if they’ve gotten hurt. “Is everything alright?” He still can’t see whoever is inside, but he decides on waiting if no one replies to step inside. But he doesn’t need to, because as he was about to make his way inside, a head pops up from one side of the entry hallway, assuming that’s where the kitchen is, as he notices the apartment is a replica of his own, but inverted.

“Hey, sorry, just dropped my favorite cup.” His breath gets caught on his throat when her life savior’s face appears in sight, the cutest frown adorning her features and her sweet voice resonating through his brain. Her eyes, exactly like he remembers shine with an unbeatable glow, like a thousand diamonds under a microscope, but the image he had of her on his brain doesn’t make her justice – she is even more beautiful than he remembers. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you. You live in this floor?” Harry can’t help but be disappointed at the fact that apparently she doesn’t remember him.

“Y-yes, next door. H-harry.” He stutters. Her presence just makes him so nervous, he can’t help it. She is probably one of, if not the, most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. Her eyes are hypnotizing, the softness of them which appears to be constant warms his insides and he thinks he could spend hours upon hours staring right at them.

“Do I know you? I feel like I know you.” Y/N’s thinks out loud, her expression alluding to her thoughts trying to place him somewhere in her memories.

“Uh, I- I don’t think so?” Harry feels embarrassed, so he couldn’t come up with a better answer. He is silently hoping she doesn’t remember the time they met all that time ago – this is his chance, he thinks, to redeem himself, for her to see him as a normal dude instead of this clumsy and shy boy who couldn’t even thank her when she saved him from being ran over by a car.

He wishes he could read her mind. What’s her first impression on him? Does she think he’s cute? She probably doesn’t. He thinks she’s too pretty to even spare a second glance at someone like him; a shy boy with bad posture and still breaking out in his forehead despite being 22. And she, Y/N, a woman who could make anyone her own, a woman who probably makes every head turn her way when entering a room. Harry feels his chest deflate as his thoughts start beating him up.

During the course of her first two months living next door, Y/N and Harry barely interact. He keeps stealing glances her way whenever they run into each other in the hallway, getting shy and cheeks reddening when she catches him every time. He gets jealous whenever he hears her walking down the hallway from inside his apartment, obvious guests coming in and out of her apartment – and if the person (because he recalls hearing both men and women) is good enough, he can even hear her sometimes through the thin wall that divides their bedrooms, her headboard clearly mirroring his. He feels dirty and intrusive during nights like these, so he opts on putting headphones on, music playing in his phone to help him drift off to sleep.

But Y/N is fascinated by him, maybe not as much as he is with her, but enough to wonder how it’d be like to reallyhave him in her life. She knows he’s a very reserved man, her animated chats with Niall more usual than not drift towards Harry and how she wishes he’d just keep looking at her when she catches his eye instead of running away – not because her ego is enormous or anything, but she is aware of the obvious crush Harry has on her. “He’s not going to start conversation, you should just go for it.” She remembers Niall told her one night after having a small chat in his threshold; because all Niall wants is for Harry to put himself out there, but he knows he needs a little extra push.

But it all changes one night. A night Y/N drinks more than usual – shot after shot going down her throat making her feel nothing but dizzy, the sensation of puke going up her throat forcing her to call it a night. Barely making it out of the elevator she stumbles on her way to her door, and Harry hears her. The sound her combat books make is so engraved in Harry’s brain he knows it’s her after just a couple of steps.

“Fuck.” Harry hears the unmistakable sound of her keys, and how she’s clearly struggling to fit them inside the lock. After a loud banging sound and what sounds like her sliding down the door, he starts worrying about her and how she’s probably not going to make it inside her apartment without a little help. So he steps outside after sliding his old white vans on to find her on the floor leaning against her door, legs bent and elbows resting on either knee supporting her head.

“Y/N?” He calls her in a whisper. She shoots her head up immediately making her insides turn, and with unfocused eyes, she looks up at him and smiles fondly.

“Hey, pretty boy.” She greets him with a soft smile, eyes closing and opening again slowly and Harry feels his stomach erupt in a thousand butterflies. Did she just call him pretty boy?

“You need help?”

“Please.” Harry’s red cheeks don’t go unnoticed by her the moment she lifts her hand to give him her keys and she honestly thinks he might explode. He helps her get up and guides her inside her home with such gentle movements she could melt in his hold, and that’s when she decides (drunk out of her mind) she wants him to hold her again, soon. And while sober.

He lays her down in her bed and announces he’s going to take her shoes off, giving her enough time to object. “I always catch you staring, you know?” Her thoughts slip off her lips unannounced, but she doesn’t really care. Harry, on the other hand, freezes in his spot, one of her shoes still in hand and with wide eyes he connects their gazes for the second time that night.

“I- I… I’m sorry- I don’t mean to be c-creepy or anything I j-just-“

“Shh.” She cuts him off, his stuttering making its first appearance of the night. “Didn’t say I don’t like it.” She confesses and wiggles her feet so he can resume his actions. Harry’s brain is betraying him more than usual right now. His thoughts are everywhere, not a single coherent answer coming to mind, so he doesn’t do anything but finish helping her out of her shoes in silence.

“Goodn-night, Y/N.” Harry left her apartment that night after carefully placing a soft blanket over her body and making sure she had a glass of water on her nightstand (he didn’t want to snoop around her apartment for some pills for her hangover, so he just left her with the duty of doing that herself in the morning) and laid in bed with so many thoughts running through his head he barely got an hour of sleep that night.

And that went on for a week. Knowing she was sleeping on the other side of the wall makes him more nervous than before now that he knows Y/N is aware of his constant staring – but who would blame him? She really is a sight for sore eyes. Y/N knocks on his door the following Saturday, and he opens it surprised to find her on the other side, mainly because she’s usually out with her friends by now every Saturday (not that he’s constantly waiting to hear her walk on their hallway, but he truly is always sitting on his living room and the thin walls of their apartment complex don’t provide them much privacy).

“Harry, hi.” She offers him the sweetest smile, but there’s a shy and nervous undertone to it this time. “I just wanted to thank you, for helping me the other night.” She clasps her hands together in front of her and nods with a tight lipped smile. “But I also want to apologize, I know I probably made you uncomfortable with uh, some comments I made.” She slightly scrunches her nose, waiting for his reply.

But Harry is, in simple words, speechless. He can’t believe there’s a sober Y/N who just knocked on his door willingly talking to him. Her voice sounds so melodic and Harry just wants to cuddle her and the giant, soft looking green sweater she’s wearing isn’t helping him ease his thoughts. He wants Y/N to hold him while she talks to him with that sweet voice of hers, he wants to hold her small hands and fill her cheeks and mouth with kisses along with every inch of her body -not that she’d ever let him, Harry thought, but a boy can dream-, but most importantly, he wants to learn every single detail about her. How she likes her coffee in the mornings, or if she prefers tea. In which position she sleeps the most comfortable in and if there’s any TV shows she re-watches just because it brings her comfort. He has so many questions he wants to ask her he completely forgets they’d been standing in his threshold for long minutes, with him just staring at her.

“It’s ok, don’t worry.” He says barely above a whisper, and they stay in their positions for a while, again with no words spoken between them, until he finally gains enough courage to ask, “Do you want to come in?” He opens his door a bit wider with a wary look on his face. Y/N nods, her smile widens and makes her eyes sparkle with that glow Harry is still fascinated by.

They sit in the couch with a long distance between them; farther away from the other than any of them like. Y/N does most of the talking, but she truly doesn’t mind – she talks animatedly about this new show Bridgerton she binge watched last night, Harry making mental notes about most things she says. He wants to remember everything, from the way her voice slightly sharpens when she mentions something she suddenly remembers to the way she moves her hands to accompany her speech; he already loves how expressive she is with her face features, and only confirms how he’d listen to her speak for the rest of his life.

Y/N manages to get more words out of him than she expected, and asks for his opinion or thoughts on most things she mentions. She hates making conversation purely about herself, she wants to know about Harry as much as she can. She wishes he would initiate conversation or switch topics with no shame, but she knows she’s asking for too much. This night alone they interacted more than the last three months combined, and Y/N is grateful for it.

Three chapters of FRIENDS had passed when she finds herself scooting a bit closer to him, carefully trying to read his body language. When he stiffens in his position, she turns her head to look at him. His cheeks are tinted a cute shade of pink, and he’s blinking a lot more than he usually does. He places both hands on his thighs and runs them up and down to get rid of the sweat accumulating on them, and he can’t help but gasp when their thighs touch, meaning she scooted even closer. As if that isn’t enough to kill him, she softly rests her head on his shoulder.

“Is this ok?” Y/N whispers, and he forces himself to turn his head to find her eyes, which are already looking up at him. He slowly nods and makes the dumb mistake of looking down at her lips. He feels the hot embarrassment run up his neck and quickly turns to face his TV again, planning on pretending nothing ever happened.

That is, until he feels the soft skin of her palm and gentle fingers grab his jaw, forcing his gaze back on her. That touch alone makes him feel more than any other human has made him feel in his entire life – but it doesn’t compare to the eruption of jitteriness washing through him when her eyes look down at his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry freezes in his spot. He wonders if he heard her correctly, not believing his senses when around her, the possibility of her wanting to kiss him are too low, he thinks, and when he doesn’t respond, she slowly begins to remove her hand from his face, taking a guess on his unspoken rejection. He, for once, reacts quickly enough; he grabs her by her wrist, placing her hand back again in its spot on his jaw, and works enough courage to just go for it. Harry lowers his face to gently envelope her top lip between his own. It’s quick but sweet (just like she had expected their first kiss to be, if she’d ever got lucky enough to experience it) and when he moves away just enough to separate her lips, she wastes no time in connecting them again. This time, the kiss is longer and with more determination than before, and when Harry feels Y/N melt into him, he gains enough confidence to grab her face with both of his hands, deepening the kiss.

They stay enveloped in each other for a while, mouths molding and moving in sync with so many unspoken emotions it feels overwhelming for both – they barely know each other, they’re very aware of it, but the undeniable infatuation they both feel is stronger than they’d ever admit. Y/N feels on her face the long exhale that leaves through Harry’s nose when she softly traces his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, and when he meets her tongue with his, the mood that was settled between them switches drastically – from sweet and innocent to needy and passionate.

Harry isn’t very experienced with kissing, let alone with anything past first base. He’d only made out with a girl all the way back in high school during his senior prom, and the girl was so harsh and desperate Harry knew that moment he wouldn’t ever share an intimate moment with anyone again unless he truly felt something for them. Now, he knows it might seem like he’s rushing things in his heart, but he’d do anything with and for Y/N – but he knows he’s not ready just yet.

His nervousness consumes him again when she moves to straddle his lap, making him whimper at the new position. He shakily places his hands next to her legs on the couch, not sure what is too much and what is ok to do. She runs her hands from his jaw down to his shoulders, and moves them all the way down his arms to his hands, giving them a soft squeeze before placing them on her waist and sliding her own back up again towards his neck, never breaking the kiss.

He unintentionally lets a second whimper leave his mouth when she sits herself down on his lap, creating some friction between their groins. He knows he’s hard – he felt his dick grow in his pants the second she touched his jaw, but knowing Y/N could feel it now put him a tad on edge. He separates their lips; their agitated breathing mixing in between them.

“I- I’ve never…” Harry begins, but he’s having a hard time finding the correct words. Y/N understands almost immediately – she’s not proud to admit she had figured he was unexperienced, feeding the stereotype of shy-ergo-virgin, even though she was correct this time.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to,” Y/N gives him a soft peck and continues, “you can say no, but I’d love to make you feel good, if you’d let me. We can keep our clothes on.” Y/N suggests. If she has to be honest, she hasn’t dry-humped anyone since high school, but the thought of doing it with Harry lights her insides in animalistic flames.

When Harry timidly nods, she shakes her head with her eyebrows raised in a disapproving look, “Use your words, H.”

“I- I want you to- to do it. I- I trust you.” His stuttering makes Y/N’s insides warm, the fact that she makes him nervous amuses her – she’s certain she’s never made anyone this nervous before, but it is the fact that Harry admitted he trusts her what sends shivers down her spine. All she does in response is roll her hips against his – and when he closes his eyes with a pleasured groan leaving his lips, she does it again. Harry’s grip on her waist lowers to her hips, squeezing the flesh that was subtly beginning to get exposed from all the movement, and when he throws his head back Y/N takes advantage of his exposed neck to finally attach her lips to it. Her hold on one side of his face moves to grip his jaw, turning his head slightly to the side so she can suck on the sweet spot behind his ear still rolling her hips on his, and when she pokes the spot with her tongue to soothe the pleasuring sting, he unconsciously thrusts his hips up to meet hers; Y/N can’t help but smile and leave a trail of sweet, wet kisses from his new deepening bruise to the place where his neck meets his shoulders, repeating her actions there to leave a second bruise.

Harry feels his cock twitch in his pants when Y/N rolls her hips with more pressure, and they both know he’s close - his inexperience making him not last longer than a couple of minutes. “Are you going to cum for me?” Y/N asks him, holding his jaw tightly to keep his gaze on hers, and when he shyly nods she adds, “I want you to look at me when you do it.”

Harry can’t believe what’s going on – he has the most beautiful woman in the word on top of him about to make him cum, and he’s sure he’s going to come so hard he’ll probably have to throw his briefs into the trash. Her gaze staring so intensely into his eyes is what makes his insides finally explode, his eyes seeing white for a moment – with his mouth open ajar and glossy eyes he feels the large amount of cum spurting from his cock, making a mess inside his pants. The pleasure and fullness he feels during this moment is something he has never experienced before, never thinking he would surrender this fast over someone else’s actions. Y/N slows her movements but doesn’t stop for a while, allowing him to empty his insides until he hisses at the friction. Harry hugs her lower back to pull her closer to him, and Y/N lets her head drop to his shoulder so they can both catch their breaths.

They stay like that for a while, hugging each other with Y/N running her hand softly through his chocolate curls and Harry tracing small circles on the small of her back.

“You saved me from a car accident, a year or so ago.” Harry confesses – the pure bliss he’s feeling makes him dizzy and unaware of his words.

“I know. I remember.” Y/N confesses herself, and when Harry’s soft caresses stop at her back, she removes her head from the warm spot on his neck to look at him in the eyes, finding a confused frown in his eyebrows and lips in a small pout – she kisses him soft and quickly, not being able to contain herself. “I figured you either didn’t remember or didn’t bring it up for a reason, so I chose to not mention it.” She shudders and gives him a soft smile.

“Was embarrassed, still am.” Harry whispers with red cheeks, and Y/N’s laugh resonates through his living room, and if he wasn’t already obsessed with her, her laugh completes his way there.

“So cute.” She pecks his lips. “Can’t believe it took us this long to… talk.” Another peck. A knowing look on her face knowing damn well they did more than talking.

“You are too pretty. And intimidating. Can’t even walk in front of you without tripping over my own feet.” Y/N giggles at his confession, finding him even more amusing.

“Do you want to go on a date tomorrow?” Y/N asked, not being able to wait another day to ask. Harry feels his cheeks hurting from all the smiling, but he is too content in this moment.

“I’d love to.”

x

As always, feedback is truly appreciated,

love, Joey.

[sukiglycerin]

it takes two || katsuki bakugou.

* pairing: pro-hero!katsuki bakugou x reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, teeny bit of angst

* words: 1,647

* warnings: brief fighting scene (implied), swearing (duh), a lil bit of insecure katsuki but ofc comfort after, reader is mentioned to be in the hero business field, KATSUKI WEARS SHOES IN THE HOUSE !!! can you believe the audacity-

* original request:  Hello dear :)) Can I request a Bakugou x reader fic where he gets hit by a clone quirk and the clone is like the complete opposite of him, personality-wise, and Bakugou frequently loses his temper because the clone keeps hitting on his s/o I am sorry for bothering you :(

* a/n: you? bother me? never. actually, i’m sorry this took so long to complete! i’m hoping i can restart a consistent posting schedule soon. happy early birthday bakugou! this is my gift :) i hope you all enjoy~ i love @toishi for proofreading this T^T

it’s a lazy day for you. all you’ve been doing is sleeping, waking up occasionally to eat, and indulging in six different rhythm games despite your lack of rhythm, it’s a good day, snuggled up under the mountains of fuzzy blankets and squished in between soft pillows on your bed, your favorite song quietly playing from your phone on your nightstand. natural light fills your otherwise unlit room, curtains pushed aside to let the sun shine in her full glory. time is idle in this sanctuary of yours for only today; whether a minute or an hour has passed is something out of your concern. 

there’s nothing different when bakugou comes home, the jingle of keys and click of the door telling you that it’s him. he’s oddly quiet, though, and for a second you’re almost wondering why he hasn’t yelled “i’m home, dumbass!” before said blond peeks his head into the room. 

“hey, love,” he flashes a rare smile. it’s kind, like the soft light of the sun you've become so acquainted with. “i’m home.”

“hey?” you sit up, propping the pillows behind you so you can comfortably lean against the headboard of your bed. “you feeling alright?”

you expect a gruff reply of “the fuck are you talking about?” and a scowl, but get the opposite. a pleasant expression graces katsuki's face, which makes him look more handsome than usual. his hair almost seems tame this way. he’s also uncharacteristically clean; his costume is usually dirt-treaded and at least a little battered whenever he returns from hero patrol. now, though? his outfit is pristine, as if pulled out from a laundromat and ironed professionally. there’s a ghost of a frown on your lips.

"i'm lovely, now that i can see you." the line is spoken like a sappy confession from the male lead of a k-drama; you'd laugh if it wasn't for your utter confusion about katsuki's sudden change in demeanor. his facial expression is twisted in such a gallant way that it arouses suspicion in you.

you’re opening your mouth to reply when there’s a startling crashing at the front door. katsuki’s face falls into downhearted dread, as if expecting the intrusion. his reaction surprises you more than the intrusion itself. the door slams shut in the distance, rattling the house. the sound of boots clomping against the hardwood floor frightens you as you thrust your warm sheets aside (alas, they could wait) and reach for your bat under the bed. katsuki only stares at you, transfixed, and you feel the slightest urge to clobber him with the weapon. why isn’t he ready to fight? you’re up and approaching the doorway of your bedroom when you stop in your tracks.

“hey, fucker!” a loud, abrasive voice yells from down the hallway. “i found ya!”

you recognize that timbre in an instant, then turn to look at katsuki, still standing at your bedside, with a questioning gaze. he’s wearing an expression you never thought you’d see your husband have - his eyes are wide, mouth agape like a deer in headlights.

despite this vote of inconfidence from him, you pad forward slowly, bat gripped tightly and slung over your shoulder. you plunge forward, passing the doorway and glancing left. a shadowy figure stands five feet from you, its stature menacing. you swing blindly, but you bat is only met with more air. the figure is a little bit further now - damnit, it had good reflexes.

“you could still use some work on that swing,” it lowly chuckles and confuses you. you squint, trying to make out who in the world this guy thinks he is to comment on your swing. you gasp, faltering your grip on the bat. 

“k-katsuki? what?”

“got hit with a stupid clone quirk on patrol,” this katsuki grumbles bitterly, stepping towards you. he’s dressed in his full hero costume, green grenadier bracers a tight fit in the narrow hallway. “i apprehended the guy but my clone won’t stop following me around. it’s stupidly fast, too, whenever i try to catch it.”

“....and,” you start, “how do i know that you’re not the clone?” you pretend to inspect him close, eyes slowly trailing from the tips of his spiky, golden hair to his black combat boots. (oh, man, you were going to yell at him about wearing shoes in the house later.)

“don’t start this inception bullshit with me now,” he groans. 

“what’s katsuki bakugou’s favorite food?” you question, though you have no doubt that this katsuki is the real one. 

“anything spicy,” he bemoans. “now, let me-”

“that was an easy one.” you shake your head. “what was the first idea katsuki bakugou had for a hero name idea instead of lord explosion murder?”

if you were in better light, you’re sure you would’ve seen his cheeks flush pink. 

“mighty boom,” he mumbles. 

“sorry, what was that?” you tease.

“mighty boom!” he half-shouts, flustered.

“oh, okay, so you’re the real katsuki,” you say. “how do we defeat the clone?’

“according to the quirk user, it should disappear after two or three hours. but it can’t really do much harm, as long as it’s not in the sight of the user himself,” he says. “now let me at ‘im. he’s making a fool of myself.” 

he attempts to shove himself forward, but you stop him before he can see through the door frame. you glance at the clone, who’s looking at you with round, ruby eyes. he looks like a puppy with that innocent expression, and for a split second, you think that you actually might miss the calm, charming air of this katsuki. turning back to the real katsuki, who pretends not to notice the shift in your eyes, you exhale. 

“have at it, but take it outside first, please. i can’t have you tracking in more dirt.” you look to the dirt-ridden footprints behind him on the wooden flooring, sighing.

but in a flash he’s past you - wow, you really weren’t blocking him at all before, were you? - outfit a blur of black, green, and orange as he seizes the clone, slings it over his shoulder like it's made of air, and vanishes past you and out the door. he seldom leaves a trace of dirt, this time, smooth maneuvering himself outside while the clone bids you one last pleading farewell.

you hear blasting, yelling, and yelps, the lattermost presumably the clone’s, barely muffled from your position inside. your first thought wonders what the neighbors will think. you glance one last time at the tracks of katsuki’s boots then turn back to your room. he’d have to mop up that mess later. 

ten minutes and an eternity later, katsuki returns inside. by the pause at the front door, you figure one of two things: katsuki’s either taking the time to take off his shoes and put them away properly or staring at the filth he left on the floor. you’re hoping it’s the former. his footsteps are light as he goes to fetch a mop and clean the mess.

finished, he shuffles into your shared room and briefly looks at your comfortable position on the bed.

“what?” you whine. “hero business is hard. i needed a day off.”

this earns a laugh from the man, who’s in the process of removing his gauntlets and stowing them away. he shrugs off the rest of his costume, opting for much more comfortable attire and dropping his mask on a dresser. 

“how was your day?” you ask when he snuggles next to you on the bed. he’s sweaty and smells deeply of caramel, but you’ll nag him to shower later. the wear shows in his eyes and movement, sluggish after a long day of work. 

“good,” he mumbles, nuzzling into your warmth. “except for that clone bastard.”

you hum, joking, “he was charming, though.”

when he looks up at you with a vulnerable look in his eyes, you regret it.

“did you… really like him that much?” his voice is hoarse, scarcely a whisper. he averts his eyes, fiddling with the hem of your shirt sleeve.

“of course not,” you reply tenderly, bringing your hand to caress his cheek. he still can’t look you in the eyes.

“you know you’ll always be number one in my heart, right? even if you’re not the number one hero, you’re the constant in my heart.” you touch your chest, right over your heart. 

“y-you sure?” his words crackle like dying embers, inconsistent and unstable, flakes of lit ash that weakly dissipate into the atmosphere. a waning fire is still warm, though; with a bit of oxygen it can be rejuvenated, relit, and burn bright once again. 

“am i one to be wrong?” you ask him, and he faintly shakes his head. “i fell in love with you not for your looks, katsuki… i don’t want a disney prince. i want you, not some fairytale guy.”

“i yell, and i’m brash-”

you cut him off, chuckling, “and that’s what i love about you. you don’t-” you make a vague gesture with your hands, then drop them, unsure how to articulate your thoughts. “you don’t care what people think. you’re unapologetically… you.”

“you sure?” katsuki tries again. “that- that guy, that thing- you sure you don’t prefer a guy that’ll buy you roses with a note on the tag that says ‘you are the most beautiful flower in my garden’ in fancy cursive script on it?”

“do people really do that?” you frown. “i mean, i hope no guy does that for me-” katsuki exhales a breath of relief. you look at him questioningly but don’t press the issue. 

“i love you, katsuki,” you finish, “and no shitty clone will ever change that. ever.”

while he showers, katsuki’s thankful that he burned the roses from some secret admirer he found in your shoe locker during your high school days. 

[casvist]

hello my lovely peaches , *puts my clown wig on bcs i’m shy* i’m back at it again, being a greedy bitch and bringing you my second  and super fake muse, yeva.  remember that part where the darkling’s fake ass pretended to be all nice and wholesome. well, yeva is faker than that. she probably has severe back pain from single handedly carrying all her lies on her back. anyway, i could slander her more but i will probably do that later. if you want to plot please LIKE this post or IM me/message me on discord and i’ll bring some clown shoes and ask for some plotting ( but in.... greedy )

PINTEREST  . PROFILE .    BIO (tba) .  VIKTORIYA.     discor*d     six of hoes🔪#7888

[ yeva zudina ], an [ twenty-eight ] year old grisha in the little palace. she is a [ tidemaker ] and are known in the little palace as the [ mountebank ]. they are known to be [ adaptable ] and [ devious ] and vaguely resemble [ davika hoorne ]. 

( okay my soc ass had to make her grow up in ketterdam i’m sorry )

- before yeva knew that she was a tidemaker, she was what one might call an “ordinary” girl in ketterdam. ( as far as anyone can be ordinary in ketterdam )

- as many people living there, she didn’t really have the best time of her life there. her father, well, he was just a name causing an uncomfortable silence whenever one would mutter it. her mother, she tried her best to survive in that hellhole. although, yeva knew how much her did for her, the only person she really could get close to was her step-sibling. ( a wc i’ll elaborate more on when i’m finally requesting that wc). though not bound by blood, they meant the world to yeva and little yeva felt as if she had to protect her from whatever was lurking in ketterdam’s (shady) alleyways.

- despite of her noble intentions, realistically she wasn’t strong. and how so? no one taught her how to protect herself and she was still a child. however, yeva didn’t want to wait around for nothing. instead, she decided to take matters into her own hands and looking back this idea was really stupid, but she wholeheartedly believed that messign with some other kids would be a brilliant way to improve her combat skills ( all my muses have to be stupid at some point i’m sorry, theyre all dumb)

- of course this plan failed terribly ( and instead she was the one getting her ass beaten  ).  luckily someone witnessed that (comedic) unfortunate scene and helped yeva out. and this somehow became the turning point of her life. yeva, completely awe-struck with the stranger, wanted to know more about him. truth to be told, he didn’t do much and his presence alone somehow scared the kids away ( poor kids almost got into a fight with a grown-ass man) but yeva didn’t really care. turned out he was a drüskelle (retired though (as much as one can), thus he didn’t really have to rely on any grisha “magic”, something yeva really admired.

- long story short, he not only became a mentor to yeva ( who successfully convinced him to show her some “cool” drüskelle tricks) but also a father-figure. yeva really trusted him and his beliefs also became hers. which we might say weren’t exactly grisha friendly. at first she didn’t get why he hated grisha so much, to her they didn’t seem too bad but as time passed his words left a mark.

- however, what actually made her end up despising grisha was a certain incident. as much as this day affected yeva, everything happened within a second. a short moment of exchanged laughter, cruelly disrupted by two grisha. tidemakers ( a cruel twist of irony ) . looking back at it now, yeva figured that these two grisha had a long and unresolved grudge against him ( which wasn’t too surprising with him being a drüskelle) and had their eye on him ever since. 

- to put it briefly, yeva was forced to witness the death of someone whom she considered a father to her. yet, fate couldn’t be more cruel on her and it was also the moment her abilities were triggered , and , of course, she turned out to be a grisha as well. make it worse. a tidemaker.

- skipping over all the formalities (bcs this is getting too long) and luck not really being on her side she was brought to the little palace. her mother wasn’t too surprised and knowing that yeva wouldn’t have a future here at ketterdam, she thought that ravka was far more appealing.

- yeva wasn’t happy of course. not only was she forced to be with the people who she despised she herself was one. at first, she refused to do anything at all, she didn’t mind if she were to be punished for her stuborness. no one knew why she was behaving this way, they just shrugged it off as her being a spoiled brat refusing to be useful. yeva, however, didn’t continue to be like this forever and what happened next surpirsed everyone. suddenly, she was eager to train and improved quickly. all they saw was a hardworking grisha but what they didn’t know was that yeva’s intentions weren’t noble. 

- instead of wasting her time at pitying and hating herself, she realized that she was at the perfect place to learn everything about her ‘enemies’. 

- basically, she has that grand plan of trying to destroy things from within, being the wolf in sheep’s clothing (cutting this short bcs this is getting long again). 

personality

- honestly, as i’ve mentioned before she’s fake. and not in that way where she’ll just pretend to smile and go on with her day, she really goes out her way in acting as if she was the sweetest and kindest girl out there. however, everthing she does serves some purpose. she helps you with some training ? she gives you some advice on a personal matter ? she compliments you on your smile ? lets say she doesn’t do it out of kindness. not when you’re a grisha. of course, she isn’t perfect at keeping this act up all the time.  and if one pays a little more attention to her actions, they can see her facade crumbling. still, where vika is all about being straight-forward and accidentally hurting one’s feeling without meaning it, yeva is all about sugar-coating when she needs to but also deliberately using one’s weakness against them.

traits ( adding some bcs i want to redeem her a little bit but i also don’t respect her so..) 

[+] adaptable, decisive, loyal , observant 

[-] ruthless, doesn’t think through consequences, blindly faithful, intrusive

headcanons

- tba ( but i just had to add that yeva prbly wouldn’t hesitate to push someone from the ship when they’d travel through the shadow fold.)

- every time she must do more than simply tolerating grisha, like saying that they’re great she probably loses one year of her life

- trying to keep her reputation yeva is known to give exceptionally good advice

- as much as she despises that “grisha magic” she believes in things like card reading, fortune telling and is quite faithful to the saints (regardless of being grisha or not)

connections

someone who sees through her (shit) facade and unlike everyone else who perceives yeva as that sweet angel, they find her suspicious and doesn’t trust her.

a grisha who is the complete opposite of what yeva think they are and might as well be someone yeva tolerates and might add that 0.1% of character development 

listen an unrequited love bcs i’m laughing at the idea that someone might fall for her super fake persona and the more time they spend with her they start to realize that it is just an act.

someone who turns for advice to yeva bcs of her reputation

*sneakily puts my step sibling connection here so if u r intreested hmu ;) but i’ll also request it later but rn i’m too lazy*

HONESTLY EVERYTHING i love angsty and dramatic shit, but i’m super open for other ideas bcs my two braincells need that wonderful input and inspo so gimme all the connections PLS !!! *types this in thirsty for all ur wonderful muses*

[wastelandcrown]

logan lark’s adventures in trying to appease his parents

CHAPTER 6: don’t lose ur head (the terrifying tales of the grimm monarchy)

Summary: Logan Lark is a fairly average high school student. By all means, he should be impressing his parents on all grounds. Except...he doesn’t exactly have a social life. So after his parents give him puppy dog eyes, he decides to join the local theatre's youth production. Good grief...His life is about to get weird isn’t it?

Warnings: Potential ooc behavior, Roman is a teenager who makes bad choices EXTREME edition, Remus being Remus, Intrusive Thoughts, Minor Bad Parenting, so much swearing it’s insane (If I miss something please tell me!)

Notes: This fic is based off an idea from @under-the-blue-moonlight. If you wanna be tagged in chapters, please ask!! I love this freaking chapter SO much but I’m really scared of how it’s going to be received. All feedback is extremely welcome!! 

Pairings: Intrulogical, Eventual Rociet, One-Sided Logicality, Platonic DRLAMP

Tagslist: @under-the-blue-moonlight @why-should-i-tell-youu2 @im-actually-ok @hauntedturkeycalzonedreamer @croftersjam15 @rainbowsixth @snaketho @wasinotwantedatthisexactsecond @a-soul-among-the-stars @sweet-razz-tea @the-cactus-lord

Over the course of the next month Logan learns that despite their reputations, Roman and Remus are the opposite of what everyone thinks of them.

Logan is the smartest person he knows, there is no way in hell he’d ever miss Roman’s multiple attempts to sabotage his role as Hamilton. Smart, and yet so oblivious. Each time Roman had tried to mess with Logan after he began cultivating a friendship with Remus he was miraculously saved from the torment at the last second. Remus is a hundred percent certain that Logan has no idea that he’s fighting off his brother at each and every turn. He’s not certain of much, so it’s saying a lot. There is a beautiful dichotomy in Logan’s logs of the events and the stories Remus tells about his brother’s scourge against his brand new ‘enemy’. On a page labeled ‘Roman Incidents’ in Logan’s succinct handwriting documents every incident through the month when Roman attempted to sabotage him.

July 20th - Roman tripped near my things in the drama room while holding coffee. When I went to check on my things, someone had removed the contents of my bag and filled it with around six pounds of glitter. If this happens again, throw the bag away. Glitter makes anything unsalvageable. You will keep finding it everywhere. 

Remus knew Roman had been planning something. Of course he did. Though they didn’t share a room anymore, sneaking into it had never been exceptionally hard. Neither had eavesdropping, when it counted. It counted now more than ever because Remus had become unreasonably attached to Logan and when he heard Roman talking to himself and mentioning the name of his favourite little nerd badly he knew it was now or never. It took two excruciating hours of sitting still and listening to get the juicy stuff. He almost got caught by their mother twice. She’d only been home for three days and she’d checked on Roman twice in one night. If Remus told her about the amount of effort he was putting into something she might keel over dead from shock. 

What a funny sight that would be to him. His mother, dead from the shock of his hard work to do something good, thumping onto the floor. He laughs a little, quiet enough to keep Roman from hearing. His brain supplies the rational next step of Roman running out of his room and distraughtly cradling their mother’s head in his lap. Roman sobbing. Roman blaming him. Roman screaming about how it was his fault. And it would be, if she died like that. Remus doesn’t think it’s all that funny anymore, but once the train of thought starts it can’t be stopped. He decides that eavesdropping isn’t fun anymore and makes his way to the kitchen, trying to shake the idea of his brother cursing him out for killing their mother out of his mind. 

It doesn’t really work, but he tries anyway. The kitchen is full of distractions, good and bad. The knives in the block look so enticing to his self-proclaimed ‘shitty-dick-wad brain’, but the cookies he nabs from the cupboard are so easy to shove into his mouth that he figures it evens out. He sits at the kitchen island and doesn’t even bother to turn on the light. It takes six cookies in his mouth at once before he can direct his thoughts somewhere else momentarily. How in the hell is he going to combat Roman’s plan? He spits all the cookies onto the counter as his brother walks in, flicks on the light, and sighs deeply.

“You could at least do that onto a plate.”

Remus just shrugs, so Roman speaks again, “How’s your evening been?”

“Before like...five minutes ago I was really liking it.” Which was true, Roman slides into the seat next to him and picks a cookie from the box.

“What changed?”

“Shitty brain,” He replies, “Y’know how it gets.”

“I do indeed. Do you need anything?” His voice is surprisingly soft with him, to the point where Remus has to give him a confused look before deciding what to say next. He figures out how to fuck with Roman’s plan in that moment.

“I wanna go to Party City and terrorize the night staff.” 

Roman only chuckles, Remus watches his twin put away the cookies and grab his car keys from the bowl on the counter. 

“Come on then, we can buy some of those plastic babies you like so much.”

As Remus is falling asleep later that night, his chest feels warm. He attributes it to the upcoming scheme-ruining scheming. It’s easier than admitting that that was the first time Roman had willingly hung out with him alone since elementary school. He knows the next morning that Roman is most likely buttering up because he suspects Remus knows. Which is...fair. Even if it hurts a little. They get coffee on the way to the theatre and separate. They both have important things to do. The best part about their somewhat rocky-relationship is that they always know where the other is in order to avoid each other. Remus knows that Roman has gone to see Janus and probably make heart eyes and pine over him like a dumbass. Roman knows that Remus is off drooling over his arch nemesis. Today it is more imperative than ever. During practice Remus manages to steal Logan’s backpack while he’s busy. 

He swaps the contents out with the six pounds of glitter he bought the night before and shoves Logan’s things into his bag for safe keeping. Nobody would dare look into Remus’ bag for fear of gore or weird pornography, even if he only has one in his bag at the moment. He’s shoving a small notebook in when he catches a title. “Hamilton Performance Experiment”. It takes literally all of his self-control not to immediately snoop. He makes it through, eventually meeting up with Logan and even carrying his bag to ‘be nice’ so Logan doesn’t pick up on the bag glitter. When Roman walks by with his coffee and “trips”, spilling his coffee all over Logan’s bag, Remus smiles. 

“Oh! Logan I’m so sorry! What a terrible accident!” Roman cries, ever the actor. 

Logan looks downright frantic as he lunges for his bag and rips it open. Glitter goes everywhere. Logan’s hair, Roman’s shoes, the entire dressing room floor. The look of distress fades from Logan’s face momentarily, returning full force when he realizes his things are missing. 

Remus pulls them out of his bag in secret, walking to the corner of the room, walking back and exclaiming, “What a good prank Roman! You must be taking some tricks from my book!”

When he hands the things back to Logan, Logan smiles. He decides not to ask about the notebook. 

July 27th - One of the props from the prop room was moved in with my things. I suspect Roman because of the look on his face when Remus took the fall for me. 

Just because he didn’t ask about the notebook does not mean it left his memory. By the time he gets in the car alone with his brother he realizes that Roman is pissed off at him.

“Couldn’t you have left it alone? How did you even find out!?” 

“I have my ways. Now shut up about it before I tell mom about that time in 8th grade-”

“Okay! Okay! I’m shutting up!” 

And he did. However that included no longer voicing his plans out loud. Which meant Remus had to get creative. He was very very good at getting creative. 

Dinner with their mother was much more quiet that week. Both twins brooding and not speaking with each other, their mother only prompting Roman to talk. It was too familiar in the worst possible ways. Remus despised his mother, but he knew how much his brother loved her. She was...well she was beautiful, intelligent, a very influential fashion designer, extremely supportive. Roman would go on about how perfect she was for hours. Sure, Remus could concede that their mother was beautiful, intelligent, and a very influential fashion designer, but whenever Roman talks about her he never says she’s at all a good mother. Especially not to him. He watches her laugh breathily at one of Roman’s shitty anecdotes from practice and decides he’s had enough of family dinner. He gets up and dutifully cleans his plate and places it in the dishwasher. The chef gives him a smile, and he smiles back. 

“Remus, dear,” His mother begins in her shrill voice, “If you’re not going to eat with us, at least go and shower. Your smell is unbecoming.”

Then she turns back to her food like she didn’t just attempt to insult him. Jokes on her, it takes a lot more than that to hurt his feelings. He still ends up forcing himself into the shower for thirty-five minutes that night.

The rest of the week he’s more tired than usual, which the others notice. He makes an effort to not be, he really does. When his mom is in town, everything just sucks. He hangs out with Janus three times and Virgil once to get out of the house and away from his family. The other nights he spends sitting outside the convenience store with a monster or two. He ends up calling Logan one of those nights out of need for company. Logan chuckles when Remus makes up a silly reason for calling that he can’t even remember now, but he can remember Logan’s laugh. He listens to Logan talk about the book series he’s been reading and he feels a little lighter. He never ends up finding out what Roman has planned, but it’s so easy when it’s happening right in front of him. Despite his lethargy lately, he feels a fire lit in him when the missing prop is found with Logan’s bag. 

Virgil and Janus are the only two teenagers with keys to the prop room. If Logan stole the missing prop, he would have had to steal the key. No one but the twins even knew Janus had a key, and Virgil was dead set on not letting a soul into the prop room. The idea that Logan, precious little innocent fucking lamb Logan, committed theft not once but twice enrages Remus. When they find it with his things, Logan is utterly baffled. Then he realizes the implications and his face pales. Roman calls for Thomas, spouting off about how Logan stole the prop and he should face consequences, when Remus laughs as loudly as he can. 

“Hah! You guys are so funny! You think specs could ever!? Guess my prank worked out pretty damn good if you actually think Mr.Goody-Two-Shoes could commit such a heinous fucking crime!” 

Thomas sighs, tells Remus to just ask next time, and leaves. Roman stares at his brother for a solid minute with his mouth slightly ajar. Janus and Virgil are both looking at him like he’s insane because it’s so obvious to them that Roman did it. Patton is looking not at him, but at Logan, with so much concern. And Logan...Logan stares up at Remus with the look of a small and confused animal.

“Did you really do that?”

“Of course I did! I’m the resident rat bastard, I have to cause a little recreational chaos.”

He’s pretty sure Logan believes him until they’re leaving for the day and Logan whispers a ‘Thank you’ to him as he walks by. He would have melted into the floor if Janus hadn’t put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him down to whisper to him.

“Why the hell did you let Roman get away with that?” Virgil is on his other side now with a scowl.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about JJ! I committed a very heinous crime!”

“Then why did Roman ask to borrow Janus’ key earlier?” Virgil asks, and Remus drops his smile to replace it with an annoyed look. 

“He just fucking asked for it!? I can’t even believe I’m related to that half-witted twit.”

“Yeah,” Virgil scoffs, “Not really the sharpest sword in the armoury, is he?”

“Please, we’ve known that for years. What I’d like to know is what are we going to do about it?” This quieted Remus, but made Virgil smirk a little. 

Janus continued, “After the backpack incident, and now the stealing incident, I’m half-convinced we have a brand new chaos demon in the group.”

“At least Remus’ chaos is fun sometimes,” Virgil mutters, “Roman’s just an ass.”

Remus gets away with being quiet as they talk until they get into Janus’ beat up old van. He doesn’t call shotgun, doesn’t slap the car's ‘ass’ as a joke, he just climbs into the back and sits there. He’s so quiet that Janus and Virgil are a little shell shocked. 

“Remus?” Virgil asks quietly and pensively, it sounds just like that soft tone Roman used with him last week. 

He’s quiet, Janus starts the car and clicks his tongue, “I’m going to shove Roman down a flight of stairs.”

“Don’t.” He manages, and the boys in the front seats go quiet. Virgil passes him the aux cord. 

He plays “Call Them Brothers” by Regina Spektor and Janus and Virgil know that tonight will be a very quiet outing. 

They’re sitting at IHOP drawing dicks on their pancakes in syrup when Remus’ phone rings. Janus and Virgil know who’s calling the second Remus sees the caller ID and smiles. 

“Evening Logie-Bear, why do I get the pleasure of hearing your devilishly sexy voice in this IHOP tonight?” Remus says and Janus groans loudly.

“You’re at IHOP?” Is the first thing Logan says, which makes Remus smile even brighter.

“Yes, sir! I’m with Virge and Janny too, you wanna say hi?” 

Logan sounds a bit contemplative when he mutters, “I was hoping you’d be alone...”

Eavesdropping Janus and Virgil make surprised faces, Remus smacks Janus in the arm, “Oh you were, were you? Why? Phone sex?”

“I wanted to ask for an opinion on a predicament.” Virgil smirks and Janus nabs his phone to speak for Remus.

“Remus would love to-Remus let me talk-You should come have some pancakes with us-Ow, watch the face!-and tell us all about how your science is going.” Janus can hear Logan hiding his laughter through the phone as Remus wrestles with him in the booth. 

“It’s more of a philosophical predicament.”

Janus nearly sees red, eyes widening and making Remus cackle,“Why in the world would you ask Remus Grimm about phi-”

It’s silent for a few moments then Logan hears a familiar voice. “It’s Virgil, we’re at the IHOP on 81st and Green.”

Logan laughs brightly, “I’ll be there. Order something for me.”

They spend the evening with breakfast for dinner, and the four get into a fairly heated friendly debate about moral ethics. Janus isn’t sure he’s ever had more fun in his life. When he’s driving away from Virgil to drop Remus off at home, he can’t help but smile at Remus’ improved demeanor. 

“Remus,” He starts after they’re alone, “I thought you and Roman were doing better, did something happen?”

“He tried to sabotage Logan twice for entirely selfish reasons, I wouldn’t care if he dies!” Remus dramatically cries.

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

They’re quiet the rest of the ride, and Janus gets out to give Remus a hug before he goes in. Remus ignores Roman’s questions about his whereabouts and locks himself in his room to try and keep his mood up. It doesn’t work, but he tries. He does. 

August 3rd - Roman gave me a “peace offering” in the form of lunch. I am led to believe he was attempting to give me food poisoning, as Remus ate the lunch and has now come down with food poisoning.

His mother leaves for her office in Paris on August 1st. Roman cries and hugs her, says he’ll miss her, goes on and on about how it’s so terrible how she’s never home. He does this every time their mother and father leave, he has since they were young. Remus couldn’t give less of a shit. His plan now was finding out what Roman’s next move was. Which was hard because they were back to avoiding each other like the plague. They’d spent a few months getting better at being brothers, then one of their parents shows up and ruins it. This time it was great, Remus would never admit it, but it was. Roman made an effort when their parents weren’t around, a few months ago he started doing things like making dinner for them both and bringing it to him, offering to do a load of laundry for him while he was doing it, being mindful of his volume when practicing his singing and acting, all these little things. 

He’d even started initiating physical contact again, which Remus couldn’t get enough of. Literally. An occasional pat on the back, a grab of his hand to pull him somewhere, a light slap to his knee or arm when he said something distasteful. Giving physical affection to Remus was something that seemed to be unique to Roman. It had always been like that when they were younger, and Remus didn’t think he wanted it to stop. Any time he thinks about it he always drifts back to his head against Roman’s knee a few weeks ago when Roman had carded a hand through his hair and then a few minutes later practically tackled him to douse him in perfume The shit smelled awful, but afterwards Roman had slung an arm over his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. That and the closeness with Logan kept him buzzing for the next two days. 

Now there was nothing again. It was like Roman could turn off his affection for Remus and pretend he didn’t exist. Remus tried not to be angry about it, he really did, but he couldn’t stop the fire that he felt when the other people on stage got his praises and affection. Both of them were incredibly clingy, but Roman was so much worse at hiding it and it made Remus nearly scream. He piled all of his affectionate behavior onto Logan, and Logan never really minded. He’d place his head on Logan’s shoulder, hold his hand on stage, sit pressed up against him offstage. He loved it, he did. He loved protecting Logan, talking to Logan, existing in the same space as the dork was exhilarating. He hated having to protect Logan from his brother. There was no way in hell that Remus would let anything terrible happen to Logan, but there was no way he would ever let his brother’s stupid selfish decisions fall back on him. He knows he shouldn’t give a single shit, but he does. 

His tiredness fades with his mother, but he’s still exhausted because Roman keeps trying to fuck with Logan when he knows damn well Remus won’t let him. The selfish ass. This time, Roman has the gall to pull his entire scheme in front of Remus. 

“Logan,” He starts, his affected air is slightly dim today and his hands are hidden, “To apologize for my unkind actions, I have brought a peace offering.” 

Roman hands Logan a little bag from a restaurant Remus swears he recognizes. 

“Oh, thank you.” Logan says quietly, opening the bag and pulling out a wrapped burger. 

Logan takes it out and inspects it as Remus wracks his brain trying to remember where he knows the packaging. It hits him right before Logan takes a bite. This burger is from the restaurant that gave Roman food poisoning a few months ago. It looks like the same burger too. At this point, Remus is half-convinced Roman is taunting him. He’s in a bit of a panic and doesn’t think before he snatches the burger and shoves it in his mouth.

“Remus!” Both call out, the wrapper is still on the end of the burger so he pulls it out then chews and swallows the thing whole. 

He coughs and sputters for almost two minutes after, then shoots Roman an awful glare. 

“What just happened?” Logan asks, extremely puzzled. 

Roman is gawking at Remus again, “Why did you eat that!?” 

“Fuck you that’s why, you horsefucking shiteating egomaniac bastard.”

Roman walks off in a huff, Remus lays on the floor. 

“Are you alright?” Logan questions, handing him a water bottle.

Maneuvering onto his side, Remus takes a sip and his throat feels miles better, “I just straight up ate a burger whole like a fucking snake, how do you think I am dipshit?”

“Hm,” He pauses to think, “Bad.” 

Both boys laugh, and Logan joins Remus on the ground.

“I am beginning to believe your brother has a vendetta against me.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Logan pauses, looking at Remus who is still occasionally wheezing.

“Are you alright...emotionally?” Remus wheezes and laughs at the same time, sounding something similar to a goose. 

“‘Thought you didn’t know much about those, poindexter.”

“I do not. However, as your friend I feel like it’s important to ask.”

Remus just sighs, closes his eyes, and blows a raspberry at the ceiling.

“Me and Roman are complicated.”

“I can tell.” Remus laughs, Logan really is something else. 

It’s quiet when Remus asks, “Do you hate him?”

“No,” Logan’s response is measured and confident like he’s asked himself this question a hundred times, “I don’t hate him. I think he’s got some things to work out, and is taking out his frustration on me as of late.”

He keeps talking, Remus covers his closed eyes with his arm, “More importantly, do you hate him?”

He almost rockets to his feet when Logan says curiously, “Or, more interestingly, do you love him?”

It takes him nearly two and a half minutes sat up and sipping water, watching Logan pack his things, to muster up the will to tell the truth. 

“Of course I love him. Nobody else is gonna fucking do it.” 

He could barely comprehend Logan’s response to his admission so he shoved it out of his mind with all the force he could muster, then waved a goodbye to him when he parted and left Remus with his mind. 

He ends up going home early because his awful decision ended up actually giving him food poisoning. He takes a sick day the next day, and spends most of the time feeling like shit physically and emotionally. His brain has kept tabs on all the shitty feelings and thoughts he’s had and is now playing out a full length shitty horror movie about his life and his dumb brother and his shitty summer crush. Then there’s that conversation with Logan. The last sentence is running through him over and over again. He keeps coming back to it, though he’s sure Logan didn’t even mean anything by it. Seventeen words and his world was sent spinning. 

“Ah, I understand, it’s hard to love somebody when they don’t act like they love you back.” 

Logan doesn’t even know the half of it. 

August 20th - Roman asked me directly to leave the production. Though I admire the effort, all it achieved was a quite awful night, and an angry lecture(?) of sorts from Janus. I do not believe Roman will be trying this tactic ever again.

Roman tries to apologize multiple times, but something angry and petty in Remus doesn’t accept any of them. They’re both getting more and more frustrated by the minute. By the time the thirteenth of August rolls around they aren’t on speaking terms again and everyone can tell that it’s taking its toll on them both. Remus acts out more than usual against people he doesn’t usually target. He scared an ensemble girl one too many times, to the point where she ended up slapping him. He deserved it, but it still stung. Roman poured himself into his role more than ever, but it only ended up stressing him out even more than usual. When his voice so much as wavered on stage it shattered his confidence. 

It affected their friends as well. Roman spent more time with Patton and Emile, avoiding Remus and Janus as much as he could possibly manage. Janus rolled his eyes but just resigned himself to the tech booth with Virgil, Remus, and Logan. The only good thing that was happening lately was Janus’ newfound attachment to Logan. The pair's insane intelligence and love of debate meant one was nearly guaranteed every other time they were in the same room. It was exhilarating to watch, and probably exhilarating to take part in. Remus didn’t much care for debates, but watching Janus and Logan go at each other with an occasional snarky comment or new suggestion from Virgil was making him grow a fondness for them. At this point there was barely anybody in the theatre who didn’t adore Logan.

The staff, the cast, the tech. Everyone adored him. He was smart, diligent, and hard-working. He asked questions, didn’t undermine others, and respected the entire cast's talent at what they did. It was magical to watch everyone in the auditorium drift under Logan’s thumb. Remus was included. They were saving Say No To This until near last because of the lack of dancing involved, but it didn’t even matter. Say No To This was not needed in Remus’ seduction plan because Logan seemed to gravitate towards him with ease. He is a damn good friend and Remus is determined to make that boy his bride. 

Despite his growing lack of sleep and reliance on caffeine, Remus is skating by just fine without anything bad happening. Until his brother decides to fuck with his life again. He’s on the thin line between being shitty in secret and full-on breakdown, Roman really isn’t helping his case. Remus is lounging on the floor while Logan reads in a chair next to the makeup mirrors. He hears someone enter, but isn’t bothered enough to move. 

Ever the polite, Logan greets the newcomer “Ah, Hello Roman, how are you?”

“I need to ask you something.” His brother asks, and Remus turns his head away from the noise. 

“Alright, what is it?” Logan sounds so measured and calm.

There is a long pause, “What is it going to take for you to realize you should quit?”

The calmness in Logan’s voice wavers, and Remus can hear it wobble, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I mean, it’s obvious I've been trying to get you to leave, so what’s been keeping you!?” Roman raises his voice near instantly, that same childish selfishness burns from his tongue. 

“It is none of your business.” There’s a dignified fire raging under his voice now, it’s like he’s been practicing for this. 

“You’re not even a good actor! From what I can tell, you’re entirely uninteresting and way too intellectual to be here!” Roman continues, Remus feels the urge to get up but he can’t find the will to move. 

“Roman, please think before you say something you regret.” Remus knows what Roman is going to say before it happens.

“No!” His brother is so typical, “You have no idea what this role means to me, why can’t you just leave!?”

That’s typical too, Remus opens his eyes and looks at the pair. Logan looks pissed off, Roman looks pissed off, and Janus is watching from the doorway. 

“I try very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt in regards to your debilitating egomania, but it is beginning to appear as if your whole sense of stability and purpose is built upon some false reality where you need to be the star at every possible moment. Go to therapy about it, and leave me alone.” Logan spits this in Roman’s face, then turns back to his book. 

Clenching his fists and staring at the ground, Roman looks almost defeated until he catches Remus staring and his face morphs into something so bitter he has to force himself to look away. 

“No. I will not leave you alone until I get this part. None of you have any idea how much I need it.” 

“Roman-” Janus speaks up daringly from his spot by the door, his tone is enough to warn him to stand down. 

Roman’s eyes are squeezed shut, his fists are clenched, “I know we have the same face, but I’m not a failure like my brother.”

That sends Remus to his feet and out the door before anyone can say a word. As he passes Janus on the way out Janus tries to stop him but he pushes past him, past everyone, and out the front door of the theatre. 

Janus turns on Roman in an instant, walking slowly into the room and shutting the door with purpose. Roman’s eyes are sewed shut and all the guilt he tries to push down floods him when he makes eye contact with his pissed off friend. 

“Roman, we need to have a talk.” 

[stovetuna]

Imagine Steve/Avengers walking in to Tony entertaining two soldiers in the common room and being really confused because Tony??? Despises the military??? But then find out that those two soldiers are actually from the “fun-vee” way back in IM 1 and Tony’s fitting them with prosthetics.

ahhh this has been stuck in my head for DAYS anon! I don’t necessarily agree with the assessment that Tony hates the military, per se (doing business with the military and the military industrial complex, however, and all that that toxic shit entails, definitely yes), BUT it’s such a heartbreaking/warming concept I had to run with it! I think I got it right with Air Force vs Army, but the movie was kinda vague—I’m going off of the fact that the driver said “I’m an airman,” which you would not say if you were in the Army.

and since the airmen (and woman) Tony was traveling with in the Fun-Vee are canonically deceased, I thought I’d have Tony do something…well, Extremely Tony™ to compensate…

(::whispers:: also we’re just gonna pretend that the Bucky-killed-Tony’s-parents-revelations of Cap 2/3 aren’t a thing in this vaguely alternate MCU universe. la-di-da, la-di-da…)

***

It’s not surprising to walk into the Avengers common area and see Tony Stark working on something no one can quite comprehend. That’s par for the course, really, as commonplace as days that end in Y. Machines, phones, tablets, watches, the toaster after Hulk pressed the cancel button a little too hard—they’ve seen Tony futzing with just about everything that exists in the Tower (and some things that don’t—couldn’t—exist anywhere else except where Tony is). 

What the team isn’t expecting when the elevator doors open onto the communal floor that sunny Tuesday afternoon is a living room scattered with men and women in various states of modest undress, all of whom immediately pivot in place to take stock of the new arrivals. Three men, one woman, and in the middle of their protective circle is Tony, eyes blazing with the same thrill of invention he often gets in the lab, a pair of needle-nose pliers clenched in his teeth.

Steve in particular notices the way Tony looks, because he’s developed a bad habit of doing that over the past year and change, and he’s kind of helpless at this point. Tony’s backlit by the afternoon sun, preoccupied with whatever he’s doing with the strange woman’s arm to distraction, and Steve can’t be judged too harshly—anyone with eyes would drag theirs over the exposed muscles of Tony’s arms, the shift and flex of his shoulders, the firm taper of his waist, the pronounced curve of his a—

“Are we, uh, interrupting something?” Clint has to shout to be heard above the music blasting from all corners of the room. 

Tony looks up from his work and waves his free hand, the one that isn’t wrist-deep in what looks remarkably like a prosthetic arm. He makes a ‘cut it off’ motion to his neck before taking the pliers out of his mouth while FRIDAY lowers the rock music to a dull background hum. 

“Hey! Sorry, I tried to keep it to the lab, but these guys wanted to see where the Avengers hang out, and I couldn’t say no.” 

Steve tears his eyes away from Tony (who should really work the sweaty-and-disheveled-mechanic look more often) to take in the others in the room with him. It’s a panorama of people, and the first thing Steve notices, besides their more obvious differences, is how comfortable they all are with each other, to the point that walking in on this moment feels invasive, almost rude. 

The four are all of remarkably different builds and backgrounds, not a similarity between them: an African American man, no taller than Steve was before the serum, sits on the couch; a white man, thin as a rake and twice as tall, is reaching for a glass of water on the coffee table; an Asian American man, whose shoulders are somehow even broader than Steve’s, stands rigidly next to Tony, arms folded across his chest; and the lone woman, whose glossy black hair is wound tightly in a bun at the back of her head. Steve notes the beautifully elaborate Native American tattoo covering the expanse of her shoulders and upper back. 

Then Steve notices the high-and-tights, the form-fitting, drab beige shirts they’re all wearing, the combat boots lined up behind the loveseat, and he realizes, much like he did with Sam that morning in DC, oh—these are my people.

“Ah, well, welcome to the octagon!” Clint says with an easy smile, stepping forward to shake hands and say hello like a normal human being. Natasha gives Steve one of her looks before she and Sam follow him into the living room—I don’t know any more than you do.

Bruce, Wanda, and Vision stay behind with Steve to let the first wave through. Steve watches his teammates greet the airmen without fanfare, welcoming strangers into their private midst like it’s routine. 

“Didn’t know y’all would be around, else we would’ve stayed outta sight.” 

Sam laughs, clapping the sitting man on the shoulder. “Dude, if Tony told us you were here, I would have come downstairs and bugged you, myself.” 

“Sure, PJ—you just wanted to see what real Air Force muscle looks like,” the man grins, flexing his barrel chest hard enough to strain his shirt. Sam guffaws and gives him a friendly punch to the shoulder, which the man returns in kind with a fist to the kidney. 

Clint is already deep in conversation with the redheaded beanpole, who talks so fast it’s dizzying; Natasha is standing next to the third man, keeping her eyes forward, and together they watch Tony disappear back into his work, muttering things back and forth to each other, so quiet even Steve can’t hear. 

“I think all is clear,” Vision says smoothly, drifting forward with Wanda, who is visibly fascinated by the woman’s tattoo until she steps into the throng and sees something that makes her face fall. 

Steve moves forward, curious and worried in equal measure. Bruce is hot on his heels. 

“—I mean it’s crazy right? It’s crazy, Tony Stark, Tony Stark calls us up out of the blue one day and says ‘You’ll be waiting six months to a year for a decent repair job, let alone a complete replacement, and I owe you guys, come on by Avengers Tower—”

Redhead is gabbing excitedly, gesticulating like Tony does when he’s in the mad depths of an invention binge. Steve sees the glint of metal and hears the whir of mechanisms working smoothly together in tandem and realizes both of the man’s hands are prosthetic. 

“Oh man! Oh, man! Captain, sir, wow, it’s—fuck, shit, my mama would kill me for swearing in front of you, fucking—shit, sorry, fuck—ah, damn it!”

Steve smiles and introduces himself—Corporal Bill Levee, apparently, is just as talkative up close. For all that his hand is made of metal, his grip feels remarkably, tangibly real. 

While Bill goes back to talking compound bows with Hawkeye, Steve looks at the man on the couch. Sam and Vision are now sitting on either side of him: both of his legs end at mid-thigh, and in their place are what look like brand-new metal limbs, designed to match his proportions exactly. The metal is dark, shiny, beautiful. He looks thrilled. He looks even more excited when Steve approaches, leaps to his feet and doesn’t even balk at the fact that Steve is a head and change taller than him and a superhero—he just steps right up to Steve and jabs him once in the shoulder with a grin. 

“Captain Rogers,” he says, and sticks out his hand. Steve shakes it. The man points a thumb at himself: “Captain Freddy Harrison. A little after your time, sir, but an honor to meet you regardless.”

Bill is still talking a mile a minute behind him; Freddy sits back down on the couch and lets Steve continue his “Captain America Meet-and-Greet” but makes him promise to come back and swap stories, which Steve does, happily, even as his mind whirls. How does Tony know these people? Why are they here? Where did these prosthetics come from? 

Bruce has joined Natasha, standing apart from the rest to talk to her and her new friend. Steve stops to say hello, as is only right, waiting until he’s entered the man’s line of sight to do so. Only then does he realize that the man has no line of sight, because both of his eyes are prosthetic. 

“I’m not completely blind, Captain,” he says, voice low but good-humored. Next to him, Natasha smothers a smile behind her hand. 

“Steve, this is Sergeant Daniel Kwon,” Bruce offers. The sergeant smirks and extends a hand—the eyes in his sockets look incredibly lifelike, but don’t move even a fraction of a millimeter. They gleam, still, with an uncanny sense of knowing. Steve has a sneaking suspicion they see more than enough and match his original eyes perfectly. 

“I’ll still make an exception in your case, Sergeant Kwon,” Steve replies, shaking his hand, “for not saluting a ranking officer.”

Dan chuckles under his breath.

“Let’s see your battlefield commission and then we’ll talk rank, sir,” he says. 

“Ugh, men.”

Steve turns around, and there’s Tony, flipping shut a panel high on the woman’s left arm with a smile. He pockets the pliers and drags the back of his forearm across his glistening forehead. Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, a saxophone is blaring. 

Honestly, the intrusive thoughts he could deal with, but the fact that Tony looks this good after hours of hard labor really isn’t fair. 

“Seriously, barely two minutes in and you military guys are at it like frat bros at a kegger.” Tony looks sidelong at the woman, who rolls her shoulders with a pop and a groan. “How do you manage?” 

“Easy,” she says, “I let them drink until they pass out and then I run back to the women’s barracks with all their clothes so they have to walk across the TOC butt-naked.”  

“I think we need to compare our respective strategies,” Natasha says, taking Wanda’s arm on her way to greet the other woman. “This is Wanda; I’m Natasha.”

The woman turns to face them. Her features are striking in a way that makes Steve think of old friends from the war, men he met on those rare occasions he had leave. He’d listen to Native American Code Talkers tell stories of land and legacy and home, stories older than anything Steve had ever known. He’d never been so humbled. 

“Delores,” she replies, shaking their hands. “But please, call me Del, or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Steve looks at Tony, who giggles—giggles—and mouths ‘Umbridge.’ Del must have ears like a bat, because she smacks him smartly with her prosthetic arm and Tony yelps before devolving into outright laughter. Steve could watch and listen to Tony laugh—that big, gut-wrenching cackle Tony thinks is unattractive but Steve thinks makes Tony look like happiness personified—all day. 

The conversation devolves quickly from there, and within a couple of excitable minutes, the airmen are eager to get a look at the Avengers’ game room. They pile into the elevator, talking animatedly over each others’ heads, placing bets and picking teams as the doors close. 

In their wake, Steve’s ears are buzzing, and he realizes with a jolt that he’s now alone. With Tony. 

It happens often enough that the fact itself isn’t jarring, but something about being alone with disheveled-frazzled-happy-sweaty Tony sets Steve’s nerves on high alert. Tony is loose-limbed and relaxed, moving in and out of Steve’s space as he picks his way around the living room barefoot, looking for discarded tools. 

“There you are,” he coos at a tiny device that looks remarkably like a laser pointer. Knowing Tony, it’s probably a real laser. He pockets it, assumably to put away later (or fish out of the laundry at the last minute). 

“Who are those people, Tony?” 

“Friends of friends,” Tony replies. Steve also knows Tony well enough to recognize his I am being deliberately vague voice when he hears it. 

“Uh-huh.” Steve sits on the arm of the sofa, legs stretched out in front of him. “And who are they really?” 

“Who wants to know?”

“Me,” Steve says gently, scratching his palms with dulled fingernails. “They’re strangers, and they’re in our home. I think if you were in my shoes you’d want to know.” 

Tony stoops to pick up and pocket what looks like a dissected nine-volt battery. Steve kind of wants to ask, but he’s too distracted by Tony’s ass in those black Levis to ask any cogent questions. Seriously, he wonders, are those painted on?

Only when Tony sighs, and quite heavily, that Steve realizes this was more than just a friendly house call (of sorts) on Tony’s part. He watches Tony stand up, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows bright with the glow of sunset, and admires the way Tony suits the view so perfectly. He looks good all the time, but like this—skin burnished gold, brown eyes honeyed by the light—he’s something else. Someone Steve wants, desperately, but like most things in his life, knows he’s not allowed to have. Tony Stark is beyond him in so many ways. Reaching for him seems futile, so Steve stays on the ground, and looks. 

Tony fidgets nervously with a mini Phillips Head screwdriver, twiddling it in his long, clever fingers as he stares out the windows at the city sprawled out beneath them. 

“They’re from the same company as the guys in the convoy I was with when I—when they—” his voice sputters out before he can say the words. Steve doesn’t push. He doesn’t say anything. He just waits for Tony to gather himself. It’s one of the hardest lessons he’s had to learn about Tony Stark—sometimes it’s better to let him get a handle on himself, rather than jump in and try to handle Tony for him. It doesn’t change the fact that Steve wants nothing more than to hold his hand, now that it’s hanging at his side like its string was just cut. “A while back I dug into Air Force records, talked to Rhodey, got some names. Five people died in the hit that was meant for me. I figured, the least I could do was find five of their closest buddies who needed help.” 

Tony glances back at Steve—the little smile on his lips could break Steve’s heart if he let it.

“And I’ve heard you talk about how convoluted the VA is when it comes to services and benefits and whatnot. I figured, my tech probably took their limbs, I should cut out the middle man and give them new ones, myself.” 

Something in Steve’s heart shifts irrevocably before kicking into a whole new gear. By the end of the sentence, Steve knows he’s going to do something incredibly rash, the only question is when. 

Funny—ten minutes ago he was coming back from a team exercise, prepared to give Tony a friendly but firm talking-to about missing it, and instead here he is, breathless, heart racing, sitting and listening to Tony talk humbly about fixing people because he knows it’s the right thing to do. Because it’s the least he can do. And isn’t that the wildest understatement Steve’s ever heard? 

As if anything about Tony Stark could ever possibly be least. 

“You built them all those prosthetics?” 

“Top of the line!” Tony smirks, saluting Steve with his Phillips Head. “Nothing more high tech in any of them than a heart rate monitor and some other odds and ends—no rocket launcher eyes, don’t worry. I kept my baser urges in check with these.” 

“It’s good,” Steve blurts out, too loud and too fast. Tony inhales sharply, fingers clenching around the screwdriver hard enough his knuckles go white. Steve feels his face go hot and groans. “I mean, what you did—what you’re doing—is good, Tony. It’s really generous of you to do that for those guys.” 

Steve crosses his arms across his chest to make himself feel safer, more contained. If he doesn’t, who knows where these ridiculous feelings might go. He feels silly enough as it is, blushing and stammering while dressed in his uniform, sans helmet. Even Tony’s probably wondering why he’s wasting his time talking to a red-white-and-blue fossil when he could be downstairs destroying Clint and the others at pool or showing the airmen around the tower, giving them the bells-and-whistles tour. 

Tony looks at the floor, away from Steve. Steve feels it like a physical thing, Tony pulling away, retreating, wanting to hide. Amazing, how a man who almost literally wears his heart on his sleeve still thinks he doesn’t have one. 

“Yeah, well,” Tony mutters, “it’s good practice, anyways.” 

Steve’s thoughts grind to a halt. 

“Practice for what?” 

Tony starts moving around, shuffling back and forth across the living room floor, looking for something that probably isn’t there. Steve knows when Tony is avoiding eye contact with him—it happens often enough. 

“Just a pet project, nothing major. Hey, have you seen my cable knife anywhere?” 

“Did you leave it on the floor? Tony…”

“I know, I know, the only thing worse is Legos, but I was busy! You can’t blame me for—OW FUCK!” 

Like a shot, Steve is up and holding on to Tony so he doesn’t hop backwards into the glass coffee table. One arm wrapped around his back and the other hand on his bicep, Steve steadies Tony as Tony searches underfoot for whatever hurt him. 

He comes up with a magnet the size of a dime. 

“Ha,” Tony wheezes. “Speaking of Legos.” He drops it into his pocket along with the laser pointer and whatever else is in there and hangs his head. Rubbing his brow, Tony says: “God. I could sleep for a week after today.” 

Steve keeps holding Tony. He should let go, but opportunities like this so rarely present themselves. Plus, Tony feels so good under his hands, strong and warm and just small enough to envelope in a hug if Steve let himself, if Tony wanted him to, and Tony does look dead on his (adorable, bare) feet…

“What else have you been working on today? This pet project?” 

“Hah?” Tony breathes, still wincing slightly from stepping on the magnet. “Oh yeah. For Bucky, when you find him. Ow, motherfucker, that hurt…”

The thing about being in Tony Stark’s presence is, it’s so easy to lose the plot. Tony’s mind moves faster than Steve could ever hope to match, mentally or physically; he’s always one pace behind, catching up. It’s fine, though; he actually kind of likes it, being challenged the way Tony challenges him, delighting in the push-pull of their banter and debates, the way Tony teaches him about science and tech and the 21st century without being condescending. Steve gets to a point where he thinks he knows Tony, how he operates, how his brain works—then moments like this happen, and it’s like he’s sprinted smack into a brick wall. 

“What?” 

“What?” 

“Bucky, you said—are you designing a new arm? For Bucky?” 

Tony seems to notice their position at that exact moment. Steve feels him blaze with heat where his hands are touching Tony’s bare skin. 

“Uh. Maybe?” At Steve’s look, Tony bites his lip and sighs. “Fine. Yeah, I am. Can you blame me? The thought of Sputnik wandering around the tower with that Cold War-era paperweight hanging off him when I’ve got brand-spanking-new, finely-tuned StarkTech all but ready to go? Perish, Steve, perish the thought.”

Tony is smiling up at him from his place in Steve’s arms, relaxed now, almost leaning into him, and all Steve can think is, he belongs here. 

“What’s that face?” Tony asks, curious but still smiling. He pokes Steve in the middle of the forehead with a cheeky grin. “Keep frowning like that, your face’ll stick.”

When, apparently, is right now. 

When Steve reaches up and takes Tony’s hand, he gets to watch Tony’s thoughts run into the wall, for once. 

When he weaves their fingers together, he gets to watch Tony’s mouth click shut and his eyes go wide. Super-hearing means he can count the beats of Tony’s racing heart without having to feel them. Steve’s telegraphing every movement, every feeling, as much as he possibly can now that words seem to have escaped him. 

He must manage okay, because the look that passes over Tony’s face is the same one Steve’s seen in the mirror a thousand times since the day he realized he was halfway in love with Tony Stark: wonder, one part lost, one part found. 

When he leans down, slowly, Steve gets to watch Tony’s beautiful eyes flicker and shut. He counts the dark lashes where they rest on Tony’s high cheekbones, breathes in his smell and listens to the shudder in his exhale before drawing him in for a kiss that draws everything else to a quiet, blissful blank.

When Tony pushes his fingers up into Steve’s hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck, Steve drops his arms around Tony’s waist and pulls him in close with a soft groan. He’s warm and messy and still holding that damn screwdriver, but he kisses Steve soft and eager like it’s the only thing he wants to do for the rest of his life, folds himself into Steve’s embrace like he wants to build a home right there in his arms. 

One day Steve will tell him he already did, a long time ago, and it wasn’t the least of anything. 

*** 

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[guidedbygunpla]

Gundam Sports Story Chapter 2. Back Home in Tonosho

The scramjet landed as it always did, its giant parachutes opened up and the last few G’s were decelerated out of the giant titanium bird. Catalyst and Ryu were escorted to their car, and started on the long drive out from the airport.

               “you know, I think it’d be better for Ohm if we moved to the city, he’d have more kids his own age, out here in Kagawa its all senior citizens and college kids, no one lives here anymore.” Ryu said as he motioned around them taking his hands off the wheel briefly.  “out here, im worried aside from video chats with his online friends, he wont really….you know, have any friends”

               “I didn’t really have any friends when I was growing up, I turned out fine” Cat said, her head resting on the cool glass of the window. Watching the sun as it set on the bay

               “oh I’m sure that isn’t true Cat, I’m sure you had friends when you were a little girl”

               “no I’m sure I’ve told you before, there were hardly any kids on Moore, it was a business side, so it was mostly young men and women just getting their careers growing, so I was always 5 years older or 5 years younger than almost everyone, there were only like 10 or so kids in most of my classes all through school…never really liked any of them. That’s why I moved to  Hatte after grade school, I wanted to go to college with people my own age, I didn’t have many friends until that point.”

               “well that’s exactly my point, don’t you think Ohm deserves that? You know, to grow up with kids his own age.”

               she looked behind her, as ohm layed across the back seat, covering up with his coat like a big blanket.

               “yea, I suppose…..but I don’t want to move away from your parents, they love getting to come see ohm when we’re on break, or after big matches….I think it does them good” she said looking back out the window as the bay disappeared behind a sea of trees and old homes.

               “Cat, is this a depression thing…you know I don’t want to pry” Ryu said setting a hand on Catalysts leg.

               “maybe, I think its just I don’t want to live someplace that exposed…I like being able to just live here, I don’t feel like a celebrity you know. I mean everyone here knows me, but they aren’t stopping to ask for my autograph or anything, just asking how you and Ohm are, I hate being watched now….it makes me feel like I’m back out in the Sides….I always felt like someone was watching me out there.”

her eyes seemed to stare off, past everything around them

               “I know Cat, you’ve told me before, the giant windows made it seem like someone even miles away could see you, that’s one of the reasons you liked working as a book keeper, you didn’t really have to be around anyone”

               “it kept the noise down” Cat said, her voice a bit toneless

               “I know, you always say the newtype thing can get overwhelming, you always thought it was just anxiety when you were a kid” Ryu said, their car cruising into their drive way, their garage door slowly rolling up “Cat we can talk more about this once the season starts to wind down, but I really think we should talk about getting Ohm at least into a school district where he would be able to make some friends”

               cat just nodded, she got out of the car and grabbed her duffle bag from the trunk and walked inside their home. Ryu woke up Ohm and walked him up to bed. Their home wasn’t fancy, it wasn’t spacious. Sure they could afford a nicer house. But They liked living a smaller life, living on the run during and after the war made them learn a lot about what they wanted in life, and it wasn’t stuff, it wasn’t things, it was eachother. And it was Ohm.

               Ryu got Ohm into his pajamas and into bed. After a while he walked into the room, as Cat slowly worked herself in and out of sleep, her muscles ached, and her head was a storm. The last few matches were just qualifying bouts, a formality to see who in the Japanese League would represent Japan in  the Grand Prix, but the fighters were hungry, and many more then usual were Newtype expressive this year, maybe not full Newtype, but they were expressing some base characteristics, heightened awareness, auras, intrusive thoughts. It was exhausting. Catalyst grew up thinking a lot of her intrusive thoughts and fears were just anxiety or depression, but what it turned out to be was she was able to hear more passionate thoughts from those around her, and feel the auras press out from people experiencing strong emotions. A common expression of Newtype abilities, it wasn’t until she was put under the life or death event that was the Moore colony incident that her real powers, the foreknowledge, seeing things happen before they do and being able to react in kind, and the physical 6th sense where she could feel the movements of others who have habited a space before and follow them. She hated the thought that this year she might have to face newtypes with similar abilities, up until now, aside from a few of them with foreknowledge or the one kid from the Oceanian Union who could telepathically yell at her and project images into her thoughts, she had a pretty easy time of it….she hoped this year would go as smoothly.

               “everything okay Cat?…you look stressed” Ryu spoke, softly as he climbed into bed alongside her. She smiled up at him

               “no, I’m alright, just thinking about work”

               “works over, home time.” He said kissing her on the top of her head

She sat in the flight simulator that sat in the corner of her garage, watching computer generated images move around her as Tenneth spoke through her headset.

Ryu was old fashioned in a lot of ways, Cat liked that, it reminded her of her grandparents, who were the first generation to be shipped out to the sides. Ryu grew up on earth, and as such didn’t seem to possess any Newtype abilities, and didn’t seem to put off any aura or even intrusive thoughts. That was one of the things Cat loved about him, when she met him he was one of the first people in her life who didn’t express even a tiny bit of psychic energy. She couldn’t read his emotions through anything but her eyes.  And neither could he, but he could read her like a book some nights. Cat snuggled up to Ryu and drifted off to sleep.

_______________________________________

               “come on Cat, let that anger out, you’re getting too clouded. Remember, don’t think, act. If you want to avoid having a Newtype spring some mind game trap on you, we need you to ignore all those intrusive thoughts and all the noise up there, and just hit them.” Catalyst used the small thumb stick on the right flightstick to cycle through her combat maneuvers, and select the appropriate ones as the situation called for them, with the most common ones mapped to her primary triggers on the left and right and the two thumb buttons on either side of the thumb stick. A simple block here, a windmill block there, cycle through the menu, Judo Transition, Kata Ha Jime hold, followed by punching the opponents camera out. Battle reset, the simulated mental noise being piped into her earphones increased in volume as it did so. Another round of simple block, windmill block, menu cycle, scarf lock, opponent reverses, Kata Gatame to reverse said reversal, elbow drop to back of head. Combat resets, volume increases, opponent moving faster. Windmill block, opponent has a heat hawk, windmill block again, axe swinging in, opponent moving very fast, Deashi  Harai throw, opponent is briefly stunned, Uki gatame hold, try to wrestle away the heat hawk, heat hawk secured. Opponent punches the cockpit of the GM, the first one catches her of guard, the second causes the combat alarm to sound, ending the match.

                 “you alright Cat…didn’t want to over stimulate you, but figured throwing a few faster ones in there wouldn’t offset you that much” Tenneth spoke as he walked into the garage, turning the lights on as he did so.

  she wasn’t paying attention to his hand once the heat hawk was freed.

simulation ended, the noise finally stops

               Cat took the earphones out and sat back in her seat.

               “no…Ten I think I messed up…I’ve been worrying since last night about whats going to happen if another Newtype on my level actually makes it into the Grand Prix this year, theres a lot of lower rank fighters I’ve gotten paired up with during these qualifying matches who have some abilities, what if someone on my level shows up, who can really throw me off my game” Tenneth sat down in the chair facing the simulated pilot seat itself and handed her, her water bottle.

               “well Cat, that’s a good question….I mean intrusive thoughts and that one Aussie who could telegraph stuff at you were bad enough, that’s why we added them to the training routine”

               “telepath” she said

               “im sorry?”

               “the Oceanian Union fighter who used the Gray Efreet with the twin heat hawks, he was a Telepath”

               “ah right, sends words an pictures into your head, that’s what I said.” Tenneth stuttered “I mean is there a lot worse than that?...when you say someone on your level, you gotta remember I’m not entirely sure what that entails”

               “well I know some of them can cause low level visual hallucinations, like, in Terra Stormriders book, War and Humanities place in it, she talks about weaponizing  Newtypes, I guess one of the ones she fought during the war was able to make it seem like she was running through a field with them, as little girls, she said she felt like she was there for hours with her. Imagine if I got in a match and some jag puts me in a submission hold and then transports me to some psychic day dream while I accidently tap out or what have you…..how would I even combat that.”

               “well…I mean I could see about finding some Newtype pilot, I know a few from the service, I  could call one of them,set up a few test matches with him, we could do the fight in the fukushima exclusion zone, wouldn’t have to worry about helicopters or anything, you and them could work through some counter Newtype techniques, try and figure out some solutions to deal with whatever happens.”

               Cat took the straw to her waterbottle out of her mouth and thought for a moment “well…I mean the worst that could happen is theres another Newtype out there who might end up in the Grand Prix who would know said counter Newtype techniques….guess it’s better then going into a Newtype V Newtype fight blind. Got anyone in mind?”

               “I’ve got just the guy, he was the Feddie Airforces Ace of Aces, took down over 100 dopps, and even took out a gow carrier single handedly. All with a saberfish, if memory serves, he’s started fighting on the Brazillian circuit” Tenneth said pulling up his MSMMAA stat chart on his tablet. Handing it to Catalyst after he had done so.

               “he’s doing pretty well in qualifying, so who knows if he’ll make it to the Prix or not, but he looks like he might make it in. whats he piloting for his qualifying matches? He have a corporate sponsor?” Cat said finishing the last of her water

               “right now he’s got a Feddier surplus Zaku, was being used as a test suit in Oceania, near the Sydney ruins, but guessing he bought it off em, or stole it, or won it who knows. been using that, guess he modded the mocap computer, added some basic krav maga and what not into it, nothing too fancy with the zakus limited range of movement of course.  guess hes doing pretty well for himself out there in Brazil…no listed corporate sponsors though. I could call Canon up, ask to barrow the Madea and have him and his team flown over. Set up some fake photo shoot somewhere, get all the mobile suit paparazzi away from the fukushima zone, so no one will be any the wiser.”

cat handed the tablet back to Tenneth

               “and we’re sure hes full Newtype, not just expressive?” she asked

               “that’s what interviews with him will have you believe, no specifics on how his manifests, but from what he says about it, it sounds like hes pretty powerful. Foreknowledge, projection the works. Must be how hes moving up the ranks so quick.”

               “wonder why he left the federation? Said on there he had been promoted to captain” Cat asked as she leaned forward and started to log out of the simulatior

               “donno, maybe there really is just that much more money to be made in the fighting pit than in a fighter jet.

[dpdr-dreams]

hi, i was wondering how i can get diagnosis independently such as online or something because im finding it difficult to tell m y parents about my symptoms. im regularly dissociating and nothing feels real and im constantly suicidal and have intrusive thoughts and do impulsive things like harming myself,,, i need answers

HI anon ! Thank you so much for your ask !

depending what you want from a diagnosis will depend where you go. I’m glad you're talking about your worries about parental involvement into your health, as i actually was referred without parental involvement at all to my child and adolescent mental health service (uk mental health system) ! be it from the issues being sources from home/ worried about parents potential negative outlook to treatment or diagnosis/ family circumstance which can in turn result in a difficult treatment process as you can already be maybe experiencing , but i strongly still advise if there’s a way to educate (if its not a case of safety or worsening mental health obviously) parents, family or gradually open debates on general mental health or provide a way for any parent or carer to then be in a better mindset and moral position to help you when you may need it most or support you along treatment, and if this is not possible find friends you can be open with or a teacher, therapist, social worker/counselor, just someone you can trust ! :). some adult try to think of (especially their) children in the best light so mental health issues can be a little confusing and feel most helpful cover it up (till its over) kinda thing (which any professional will tell you ‘off the bat’ is not how it works with mental health, brain is an organ that requires care on top of that body part being also linked up to your whole body, so is a priority and no care can make things much worse) especially very confusing for a parent or someone who has never experienced dissociation before. thats my step one, step two is back to thinking who to ask! so, for example, if your looking for help with your symptoms or a treatment path, but step one if family isnt working out right now or you don’t feel now is the right time (which i understand, and agree with you if thats your choice trust me aha) i would recommend counselors that can work into your school schedule with our disrupting a school timetable and take notes of symptoms and then transfer them to a phycologist that can privately come in for you to meet with you outside of school, remember often admitting discomfort around parental involvement is often respected and makes things easier! if your not at school or uni/college a local church or temple will have someone you can talk to and they tend to be a lot more private with information, as they won’t, have a name and document attached to you like in a school setting, but can be a more lengthy wait to meet a genuine diagnostic phycologist who can recommend you then for dpdr treatment as unlike a school there’s no laws ensuring time limits for waits, but i can almost guarantee they will know your local centers or services specific to you too during that wait.  ,or if you’re rather looking for the validation of a diagnosis and less of a treatment (which i do not recommend without then digging further for treatment after diagnosis as of the serious nature of dpdr) making appointments with your doctor and use key symptoms and words, bring up dpdr prior if possible, on phone or email etc and prepare your doctor to learn about dissociation before appointment as they will be a general practitioner and likely not even be aware of dissociation so dont let this hold you back from receiving help., use bus routes and learn your transport to your doctors and work out how to get there by yourself or with non-family related transport like friends etc. if being physically present for an appointment doesn’t work discuss with local church/temple or school to write a recommendation for as you said ‘online’ are “skype”/video call or “phone based” therapies and appointments which my university has and i believe is a method being implemented universally around the world atm, although I’m not sure how comfortable most diagnostic doctors are with creating a fully diagnosable profile of a person without seeing you interact in real terms with them and talk face to face but this can help create a profile, speed up the whole process, as less in centre time for a doctor to schedule and limit total of parental questioning visits out of the house without an excuse if your a bad liar like me aha. if your still worried about your privacy? discuss legality of search up on your age and information sharing laws of where you live. but this should in no shape of form limit your ability to get support when you need it, so don't let fear or other people come between you’re health and especially with what your describing its critical to find treatment as soon as possible as it can have longer lasting and faster recovery from damaging symptoms. so step three you’ve found the path of entry to a doctor best suited for you, create a list of symptoms, as i know i certainly dissociate during a session and can’t imagine the bravery it takes to make that first jump for you so to avoid your dissociation limiting your treatment again ill reiterate, use keywords, key symptoms ideally in perspective to how its effecting the main “three life indicators” social life, work and school life, and day to day routine functioning and use depersonalisation and derealisation, dissociation, etc as this helps your doctors more than imaginable in figuring out what’s going on in your head, remember  even the experts aren’t experts  and will need your guidance sometimes to reach a conclusion to help you or recommend you to the right people for you, be honest!. some resources to help you find some words that will ‘click’ better with a doctor and other help dpdr related->  (http://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/dissociative-disorders/dissociative-disorders/#ddd). as i know with my doctors at least they we’re very confused initially and then extra time had to to be spent on rewording my experiences to what they were taught as they were not very well working with dissociative disorders but of course had the basic training as a phycologist. dissociation is terrifying as im sure you know so i recommend finding grounding or ‘time slowing’ techniques that help to slightly regaining enough time to prevent impulses taking over your ability to control your own bodies actions. its key to not panic during dissociation and sometimes sit and accept the sensations even if quite violent or sensory distressing, gaining control when your not there to be in control is something i combat every day and it can feel scary but certain techniques like going limp or short term solutions to keep you from harm is important right now till you get the support you feel you need. i also recommend discussing medication before talking any as many effect dissociation and should be taken into consideration which many doctors forget and EMDR is the best and latest treatment for chronic dpdr ! so make sure this is mentioned in your first appointment as to put you on the waiting list asap i write a bit more on it here -> and dpdr in general to help you or anyone your talking to to understand it all a bit better ive written and used external information to help me put this page together https://dpdr-dreams.tumblr.com/about%20dpdr  

although treatment can vary too , remember they will be trauma-related treatment rather than only grounding technique worksheets as your symptoms are 24/7 dissociation,( some suffer from off and on anxiety induced moments of dpdr , so dont let your doctor confuse these things and put you on the wrong care programme) the treatment list will be, CBT, talk therapies, medication for other emotional health issues you may also be experiencing, but the most important treatment at the moment  for dpdr is EMDR, so as of your long lasting sensations i’d say it would be best fighting for that care plan :).

again if its more you feel you struggle abit to talk with parents but are able to if possible persist! and educate! u can use some of the information i provided to help you make your point to your parents if that’s easier or write down how you feel or the symptoms of a real illness you’re experiencing to your parent, find a way if possible! :)) 

if you feel you need a sense of validation of dissociative experiences i recommend DES like tests online as they’re linked to most clinical tests and can help you label your illness to yourself as it is common in dissociation to feel confused over it all as of the nature of dissociation-> http://www.traumatherapyboulder.com/mental-maladies-and-the-history-of-the-dsm/treatment-of-ptsd-dissociation/the-dissociative-experiences-scale-des/

and of course if you are in a state of crisis or need someone externally to have a talk to about what your going through which i know can happen so easily when dealing with such persistent and uncontrollable illnesses here’s a mix of phone, text and live chat spaces to help you when you need-> 

  The Trevor Project Call 866-488-7386 (24/7) Live Chat with the Trevor Project (Fridays 4:00 PM to 5:00 PM EST)

Crisis Text Line: Text SUPPORT to 741-741 (24/7). Our trained counsellors can discuss anything that’s on your mind. Free, 24/7, confidential.

thanks again for your important ask :) sorry if it was wordy and general or was a bit of a word jumble.of course i have experience with it so if you have more questions, or later questions at any point after you found your pathway and/or plan for care i will be willing to be more specific as i dont know your country and its laws of practice of course, and stay safe anon, seriously hope you the best ! x

[poison-prayer]

So... what’s your thoughts on overcoming awful coping mechanisms?

This is clearly a very important topic, and I’m sorry I didn’t answer this last night. Hopefully it didn’t come off like I was ignoring you. 

First of all, I want to establish something: I will not call them awful coping mechanisms. They are unhealthy coping mechanisms. Considering them ‘awful’ can sometimes lead to a feeling of guilt, which makes confronting these things harder. You shouldn’t feel guilty about your coping behavior, but you should have the desire to change it in order to be a healthier person physically or mentally. 

The first step in this process, like many, is to self-identify. What are your coping mechanisms? What are your triggers? How do these things impact your health or state of mind. Why are the coping mechanisms you use unhealthy? It’s important to be honest with yourself, here. It’s easy to say that a trigger you once had doesn’t bother you anymore, when that’s not necessarily true. We have to face the facts that we’re not well in order to get better. 

Re-arranging your way of thinking is always difficult, but it’s necessary for you to move away from the unhealthy behavior. This requires a combination of will, action, and the capacity to beat your feelings into submission (stay with me here!) 

A friend of mine has struggled with trauma and intrusive thoughts for several years, and has only recently learned to cope with them herself. She knows that it sounds a little like condescending, but she’s been dealing with her own mental illness for almost a decade and assures folks she talks to that she’s being genuine when she gives them this advice:

Tell yourself “no.” 

When we have thoughts that we know, logically, are unhealthy or destructive or self-depreciating, we can often be so caught up in these thoughts that it gets overwhelming. At this point it’s necessary to tell yourself, “no.” 

Your trauma was your fault. No. The only person to blame was who hurt you.

You deserve to feel like this. No. You wouldn’t wish it on anyone else, and you don’t deserve it either. 

Your trauma has impacted your self-worth. No. Your self-worth is not dependent on what happened to you. 

Now, when you start this exercise, your mind is going to instinctively fight back. You’re going to tell yourself you’re only saying no because you want to lie to yourself. At this point, you have to push back even harder. Don’t stop telling yourself no, even if you’re convinced it’s a lie.

It sounds too simple to work, but it will. Eventually you will be able to re-wire your thinking. Those self-depreciating thoughts will still crop up from time to time, but you will be able to identify them as outliers, now. 

Once you identify what your unhealthy coping mechanism is, why it’s unhealthy, and learn how to tell yourself no, you can start to combat your behavior. 

You have to admit to yourself that there are some unhealthy coping mechanisms that you can’t handle on your own, and seek professional counseling or treatment for them. While I’m always here to support you, I won’t pretend to be qualified to help you overcome addiction. 

However, for unhealthy coping mechanisms that are rooted in the thought process, you can use these skills to restructure the way you cope. Identify the unhealthy coping mechanism, and tell yourself, “no, this is not something I can rely on.” 

It probably won’t work at first! Rewiring your thought process rarely does. But eventually, just as with everything else, you will come to believe it and understand that your old thinking was a result of trauma. This is a huge step in healing. 

This isn’t to say that you should remove your coping mechanisms all together, or that having one is bad. But over time you can learn to replace this behavior with something healthier. There are alternatives to negative coping mechanisms, though most of them sound cliche, like reading a book, cooking, or finding safe alternatives to self-harm. But by associating these positive new behaviors with the act of coping, you will eventually draw a genuine bridge between the two, and be able to move away from your unhealthy habits or ideologies. 

We naturally seek patterns in the world around us. It’s part of our evolution. That’s why I’m telling you all this. Because when your brain begins to notice the positive effect that the new coping mechanisms have on you, it will make that association, recognize that pattern, and accept it as new information. You can effectively condition yourself to make the association. 

Now, please understand - if you are struggling with unhealthy coping mechanisms, and want to change your behavior or way of thinking, you’re more than entitled to support. You’re allowed to ask for help, you’re allowed to seek a professional who you can confide in and work with to find a better way to cope and heal. 

I want to remind everyone, please. I will always be here for you! I truly will. I will always try to help, and this will always be a safe place to come to for advice, I promise. But I can only offer so much. I will support you, but sometimes supporting you means urging you to see someone with more of a professional background than I have. 

If this is something that you struggle with, something that is deeply upsetting you, that you find you’re unable to handle by yourself or with the support of friends and family alone, then you deserve to be able to seek professional help. This is your health we’re talking about - yes, it is. - and your health is important. Your mental health is important. You’re important, and if you’re hurting I only want to see you get better. 

Ha!! Sorry this got so long! I guess I let myself get a little carried away, here!! But still, I hope I could this can help you - or anyone reading who might need it.