#and im trying to swallow around that idea easier because the only other option is to choke on it. but maybe i chose the wrong career path.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[machinegunbun]

Benanigans

Word count:1.4k

tw?: smut including semi public sex acts

A/N:this was originally posted in response to an ask but something happened and it got deleted so im reposting it here for now. Enjoy!

The sound of laughter faded back into earshot as you made your way from the kitchen to the living room, taking your seat at the bar behind the couch. Amy and Casey were sitting on the couch in front of you with Pete on the chair directly across from them. They were all enveloped in a conversation that jumped from topic to topic. You weren’t entirely interested, only half listening as you allowed yourself to zone out and enjoy your snack.

In hindsight it probably would’ve been best to stay checked in, considering when you zone out your mind tends to wander to things a little less than appropriate. Thoughts of messy kisses and slow touches filled your mind and you quickly realized you’d been staring at Pete. It was a lot easier, after all, to imagine him doing those things to you when he’s sat right in front of you. He notices you staring, his eyes flicking from his sister up to you. A smirk spreads across your lips as an idea pops into mind.

You pull the skin of your banana down a bit more, sliding the tip in your mouth, making sure to look him right in the eye. There’s a small smirk on his face as he shakes his head in disapproval, looking back at his sister in an attempt to not give you the attention you so desperately wanted. But he couldn’t help but look back up every few minutes, watching as you took more and more of the banana into your mouth. At first he had figured it was a joke, just a harmless joke about something vaguely resembling a dick (his favorite kind of joke), but it had become clear that you were genuinely attempting to seduce him right now.

You maintained the intense eye contact, sliding the banana in and out of your mouth once before taking a bite and hiding the smile that was fighting to get out.

It was kind of amusing, but also kind of hot. Okay, maybe not the banana licking, but rather doing something dirty that you know you shouldn’t quite literally right behind his mother and sister’s back. Or maybe it was the insinuation behind the banana licking that caused the reaction happening in his pants. He couldn’t tell, all Pete knew was that he was wearing sweatpants. Loose sweatpants, at that, that would do him no favors in hiding the ever growing arousal in his pants. He casually grabs the throw pillow that had been supporting his back and shifted it into his lap, trying to continue the conversation without raising any suspicion. 

The conversation eventually ended when Amy and Casey stood up and walked to the kitchen, bringing their cups and the question of what dinner would be with them. You discarded your banana peel in the trash before taking a seat next to Pete.

You sat in silence for a moment, your head resting on his shoulder, when you placed your hand on his upper leg. He lets a breath out through his nose, knowing exactly where you’re going with this. Pete was not amused when you began rubbing slowly, determined to replace his last boner, which was now long gone, with a new one.

“You’re not jerking my dick in front of my mom and sister.” Pete says, grabbing your wrist to halt your actions

“I’m not the perv who got hard when I was trying to eat my banana.”

“Oh, please. You weren’t eating it, you were blowing it. I think I saw some cream slip out the top somewhere between you deep throating it and taking your first bite.”

“The banana I was eating or the one in your pants?” You ask, continuing to rub your hand over his hardening dick

“Seriously, they’re right in the other room we can’t.”

“I’ll stop if you fuck my hand,” You offer up, you see him hesitate as he tries to decipher whether or not you’re serious “they wont hear anything as long as you’re quiet. Plus, which would you rather, me dealing with it now and them never knowing or them walking in here and seeing you with a boner next to your girlfriend in the family room.”

“I’d rather them not walk in on my girlfriend giving me a handjob.”

“If they do you can just blame it on me,” You say, reaching into his sweats and wrapping your hand around him “after all, I am what caused it.”

He let out a breath, glancing behind him into the kitchen to make sure no suspicion had been raised before he slowly began lifting his hips into your hand. He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to fully acknowledge the situation at hand. The situation being that he was letting you jerk him off in the family room of his shared house while his sister and mother were barely a room away.

“Uh, kinda dry.” he says, opening his eyes momentarily to look at you. You glance at his lips for a second, thinking about what you should do to solve the problem. Decisions, decisions, should you spit on your own hand or make him do it? Or should you make him spit in your mouth and then lick your hand? All good options, but you thought you’d finally find what you’d settle for.

You lean in so to Amy and Casey it would look as if you were getting a kiss, but opened your mouth as Pete grabbed your chin with his thumb and forefinger and spat in your mouth. You had to stop a sick smile from crossing your face as you bent down and began sucking him off with a mixture of his spit and yours. The whole situation was seriously heating up and anyone could tell that you were both getting impatient. You could still taste his cock in your mouth as you came back up, glancing into the kitchen.

“You’re fucking sick.” He whispers

“Achoo.” you say, clearly pleased with yourself.

You realized that to get the length of his dick through your hand he had to buck his hips up off the couch, so you decided to help him by stroking along with his thrusts. You really hoped there was nothing on your face that would give away what was happening, although you could feel the warmth on your cheeks which meant you were definitely blushing. It’s okay, you told yourself, blushing can mean a lot of things. Just as long as they stay over there everything will be fine.

Your head flicked over to the kitchen as you overheard them talking about what to have.

“We could just get out?” Amy offers up

“Yeah, if everyone else wants to.” Casey responds

“I’m okay with it, what do you guys think?” Amy inquires from her place in the kitchen.

“Yeah, that sounds good to me. Maybe applebees?” you agree, speeding up your actions and focusing on his tip, A small moan slipping past his lips as you do. Pete’s mouth hung open, his breathing heavy and his hips bucking forward into your hand. You couldn’t believe the sight in front of you, it was seriously something straight out of a porno and it was so, so hot. 

“Hm? You want something else, baby?” You ask, tone as innocent as ever “What would you like?” Pete turns his head to glare at you, trying his best to muster up a response.

“No, that's fine.” He finally manages to get out, his voice clearly straining.

“You feel alright,hun?” Amy asks, concern lacing her voice. For a moment you were worried she would walk over to check on him, but Pete in a moment of genius quickly wrote it off as a stomach ache. Good thing, too, because you could tell Pete was getting close. His hand gripped at the couch and his jaw clenched as he struggled to keep it together. You felt his dick twitch in your hand as it occured to you that you had nowhere for him to cum. You tried to think quickly about what to do. I mean you couldn’t very well just sit on it, but his sister and mom were looking at you now and would notice if your head dipped down so you couldn’t swallow it either. Try as you might, it was a time sensitive option and the clock was running out, so you pulled his underwear up over his dick and continued stroking him. He finally exploded, his orgasm soaking into his underwear,  Pete struggling to disguise his moan as him clearing his throat.

“Actually guys, maybe we shouldn’t go out. I think Pete might be coming down with something.” You say

[lemonietrinket]

Dreams Come True ||| Johnny x MakeupArtist!Reader

summary: johnny is kind to all the members of staff, and so you believe that he thinks no differently of you genre: fluff, tiny bit of angst but you have to squint, some more heated elements its john warning(s): slightly more inferred heated elements than i usually make, but otherwise none word count: 2189  song(s): ambience an: sorry anon for the wait! this really wasnt supposed to be long, i literally wrote it in my drabble format, and throughout it genuinely felt like it was only 1k words but... yeah. im not changing the format tho no sir. i havent the patience lmao

fem!reader

~~~

the beat of the bass bounced from wall to wall, thumping over the air at the stage and all the way through to the small room you and easily twenty others were mulling around in. a long time ago, the inability to see around the throngs of people—no matter if you knew them or not—would have unnerved you. but now, despite the way you had to curl over the counter of a vanity to make space for the other stylists, you felt at home. because even with your back to the wall, the vibrations running their unnatural fingers along your spine, the gentle smile of an even gentler giant was mere inches from your own, and it left you no option but to be enthralled by nothing but him.

he was grinning despite your repetitive comments asking him not to, as you extended the brush towards his cheeks—probably because you’d said them through small giggles of your own. it wasn’t your fault that his jokes were funny. he had the comedic timing of a god, teasing the others in such a way that it was impossible not to smile... right? he was too gorgeous to block out, but there was no way in hell you would admit that. 

“what?” he enquired teasingly, eyebrows raising beneath the fluttering fingers of the hair stylist stood behind him.

you rolled your eyes, applying more colour to your brush just so you had an excuse to avoid his gaze. you knew full well he stared at people intentionally to make them nervous. you had no idea why he did it to you though. it made you take longer with his make-up and you were already falling behind—you didn’t even have to glance at the clock to know, the fact that you were working at the same time as another stylist was enough. you prayed the smooth breeze from the window was enough to cool the blush off your face as you attempted to focus upon your work, smoothing the rouge across his skin. but it was inevitable that he would capture your attention once again, and he did so with spending barely any effort. his chin tilted upwards for you to get a better view of your canvas, leaving you able to make sure everything was blended properly, but also very nearly unable to breathe.

johnny, the only man you were practically assigned to now after you’d proven your skills during a comeback late last year, was known for caring for the staff. holding doors, giving them space, sitting down so they can reach easier because it was his responsibility that he was a damn tree. since you were practically his personal make-up artist, it was thus no surprise that you were the focus of his caring nature. however, even you were beginning to question how far his gestures went. like now—now was one of those times.

“y/n,” he began, and you immediately caught onto that tone of mischief he always had when he was about to try and catch you off guard.

you sighed, biting your lip to try and remain serious in the face of what you knew would inevitably follow. “yes, john?”

he took that as his cue. “do you mind making my lips a little more red?”

glancing away from his eyes before you could get trapped in them, you stared intently at your handiwork instead. regarding his lips, you felt your eyes narrow. they were plenty bright enough, exactly how you’d done last time. ‘you sneak,’ you thought, ‘does he just find joy out of other people’s embarrassment?’ though you had to question yourself if you were really embarrassed, as a part of you was perfectly happy to bask in the opportunity of touching his plush lips. they were so full and soft that you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander whenever you looked at them. 

when you peered up, searching for the clock on the wall, you caught the hair stylist’s stare. she’d slowed her ministrations, and was now eyeing you blankly. only below the surface was there a glint of warning.  you quickly glanced away, only to accidentally to meet johnny face on. he’d cocked his head on one side, brow creased in that way that threw your heart in a loop. 

“pretty please?”

caught up in his handsome features you could feel the heat rising to your face once again. as much as you willed it away, deep down you knew it was no use. you cursed at yourself in your head, why do you take everything he says so seriously. there’s no way you actually mean anything more to him than just friendly coworker. 

you swallowed with a nod, letting your fingers run aimlessly through your kit while you focused primarily on thinking about something else. dwelling on the impossible would do nothing but lower your mood and you knew that. still, it didn’t mean the tiny spools of daydreams didn’t occasionally slip through. they left you dazed when you came back to the real world, as if their tiny pinpricks of imaginary light grew to the size of blinding headlights in the pitch of night. upon your return you found that your gaze had barely left him at all—as soon as your eyes trickled away, they absently fled right back to him. a circumstance that he always looked so damn happy about. dreams don’t come true, y/n.

you hadn’t registered that the hair stylist had stalked away until johnny spoke up and his words left you fumbling in the mix of your own crush and the fear that someone had overheard.

“you look so cute when you’re focused,” he’d said, grin a hair-width from a knowing smirk, eyes curved in that gentle enticement. it was as if he wanted you to fall. had you not been reeling you perhaps would have scowled. you already had fallen, you didn’t need him to turn up the anti any more than he head—otherwise there would come a stutter that your heart didn’t recover from.   

“sh-shut up,” you stammered, trying to hide the jump of your heartbeat behind a smile. but as his plush lips parted into a chuckle, your mind just trundled straight back to the dreamscape it always visited when you thought of them. 

truly, no one would blame you, because kissing a man like that would be one of the true wonders of the world. the flashes of a possible time, where your lips melded with his and he held you close and safe, away from the rest of the world, where no crowd could ever hurt you, were tantalising to say the least. you bravely gulped them down. 

it would not last however, as johnny was on a mission, it seemed, to make you blush as much as possible. so much for feeling calm.

when you poised your hand by his lips again, he merely insisted, “how can i? with someone like you right here... i just can’t help myself.”

you very nearly choked on those threads of dreams as well as the corniness, whilst he underlined all his words with a sweet smile. the one that made you want to cup his cheeks and feel the gravity of such a person before you. 

you shook your head, to abandon the thoughts as well as shake him off. he’s just trying to make you laugh. “bleghh, now shush,” you managed, praying he’d take your simple response as a sign to quit.

alas, your poor heart, he did not.

“what? do you not believe me?” you didn’t peer up and instead took advantage of the tiny pause to brush more scarlet around the corner of his lips. it was short-lived however, as they then opened in exaggerated surprise, and you only just managed to pull away before you accidentally painted a faded gash across his chin. “you don’t believe me!” 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, johnny,” you uttered, hesitantly peeking over at the clock to see the minute hand way too close to the hour for your liking.

he sighed, and had you actually regarded the entirety of his expression, you would have spotted how saddened he looked. “you don’t...? ah, y/n, how could you not realise just how beautiful you are?”

“johnny...” you tapered off. you had expected to come out in more of a warning tone, but with the seconds ticking by at an alarming rate, the elation at his words combined with the nerves and irritation at how you couldn’t do your job all combined to make it sound a lot more emotionless than its nature truly was.

“with your gorgeous smile, pretty eyes, adorable laugh, impeccable fashion sense...” he paused and you could have sworn his breath hitched in his throat, “really, it’s enough to ruin even the strongest of people around here, i w—”

in a desperate attempt to get your job done, without a single thought you raised your hand to grip his chin gently between your thumb and finger. and instantly, all the words he had been suddenly desperate to ramble in that moment were stolen off his tongue, the flirty smirk stilled. 

for a few seconds you were stunned too, before the two minute call rose throughout the room like a game of chinese whispers. in a moment of sheer reflex, you attended to a minuscule patch of faded vermilion and further highlighted an extra line of shadow that in all honesty didn’t need renovation, all while your head span as you interrogated yourself and the world on as to what the hell johnny was playing at. 

“there you’re done.” 

your hand jumped away as if shocked by static, and you began to clean up your cramped workspace. you didn’t give a final look over your masterpiece, you knew the man could pull off pretty much anything thrown at, or in this case upon him. but he didn’t respond, and it was the uncharacteristic silence that brought out just enough confidence within you to turn your head towards him once again. 

you find his honey eyes wide and a small and silent gasp upon those very lips that had said all those confident, sly things. his fingers were tentatively brushing against where yours had been, as if tracing the petals of a rose.

“i-i would know,” he finished out of the blue, expression still in his stupor.

“sorry?”

johnny’s pout was truly something to behold, and it was now different now. as the light in his eyes softened, he murmured just loud enough to be heard only by you over the chatter of staff and bandmates alike, “weren’t you listening?”

tracing backwards through the amalgamation of chaos that had been the past five minutes felt like it would take hours. somehow though, as in the peculiar nature of all thoughts and memories, you managed to trace back just far enough, for enough to fall into place piece by piece. and as soon as a part of the jigsaw was revealed, the wider picture came into focus. despite your own sheer disbelief.

“i... ruined you?” 

he laughed sheepishly then, hand finally moving from his jaw to the back of his neck, the consideration of not ruining his hair style clearly skipping his mind. “well... in all the best terms of the word, yeah.”

silence filled the space between you, leaving the ruckus beyond to only grow and seep into your ears, like the cold of autumn through a forgotten window when the music stopped playing. instinct drew you forward then, as if it were pulling upon strings of fate. your hand twitched in your lap, ready to lift and hold him again, and it was as if both of you forgot where you were—johnny moved forwards in his seat much like you did. 

but then came the frantic yell from the doorway. “johnny, what are you doing?! you’re on stage in literally thirty seconds—!”

the man swept to his feet, making sure to draw his face as close to your ear as he could get away with under the suspicious eyes of the staff surrounding you. you would argue that there was no way that could ever be construed as meaningless, but in the moment there was no way you could care. 

“you’ll help me get this all off, right? after?” he asked, before he leant back. 

you had offered him nothing but a smile, but he knew the gleam in your eyes. it was one of intrigue, one of excitement. with a final glance down to your lips, your crush strode off and out of the room, leaving you with a dozen pairs of eyes all focused intently on you and the bright grin on your face. 

you cleared your throat, covering your mouth with the back of your hand as you nodded an apology to them, you hadn’t meant to make him late after all. but nothing could quell the joy that pulsed through your veins, and so you excused yourself for a small break outside to gather your breath in the cool night air. 

maybe dreams do come true after all. 

~~~

an: i dont like this. not one bit. i really struggled to write it bc creativity hates me so im really sorry :((  i hope ill edit it soon, for the benefit of everyone :/

also... im aware that the ambience isnt specific to the scenario right here, but—as much as i love the idea of the videos og scenario—this is the closest thing i could find to what i was after :(( please imagine more chatter with it 

also can you tell i know nothing about makeup? ha

Masterlist

~~~

[2badshewonteatacookie]

HOW TO STOP BINGING

Hey guys,

I see a lot of people who are struggling with binge eating in this Community. And I don't mean the "oh I ate over 1000 calories" binging, I mean the 3.000 -over 10.000 calories binging.

My Story : I always had a fast metabolism and was always the skinny girl who would eat a lot. Then I discoverd the pro-ana community and I thought I could become even skinnier, so I started restricting, but I always stayed over 1000 calories. I lost a lot of weight people where concerned and always commenting on how skinny and unhealthy I looked blablabla, I loved it. But then I would have these cravings and I would eat a lot, so I got back to my starting weight, over the years it got worse because I would try to restrict during the week and always binge on the weekend. Holidays where the worst, because I had no routine and would binge every day. Last year I finshed high school and started a gap year in the USA and maybe going to the US with binge eating disorder was the worst Idea of my life. In the last 8 month I gained over 22 lbs /10 kg. A lot of shit happend at home and I wasn't there, so I would eat my feelings, I would stay in bed for weeks and eat 10 whole meals a day until I thought I would die from a heart attack because I ate so much. I have a 9 to 5 job in an Office right now, so I dont move a lot. Most days I get up go to Work and have lunch, go back home have dinner, eat a lot of Snacks watch TV go to bed. But since a few weeks I am binge free, I still eat too much and not healthy all the time, but it's getting better slowly and I already lost some Weight. So here are my things that help me.

🌻Accept it.

You have Binge eating disorder, Yeah it sucks, and it's gonna happen again! Nothing sucks more than having this anorexic beauty standart /goal in your head, but binge eating at the same time. But this is where we are right now, so accept it. And dont promise yourself to never binge again, this will put you under pressure and you will most likley binge again! Promise yourself to get better.

🥗 Eat healthy.

All this processed food will lead to more cravings and wont make you full. Also healthy food is lower in calories, more nutrional and will make you feel better.

📺 Eat mindful.

Don't eat in front of any media. If you have time prepare your food and eat slowly. I used to eat every meal while watching something on my Phone, to the point where I couldnt watch something without craving food. Yeah eating in silence is boring but it will stop you from over eating. Also dont eat in your room!

🕛Eat regulary

Try to eat at the same time every Day. That doesnt mean you have to eat exactley at 12pm but try to eat around that time. What Works for me is having 3 big meals a day. But there are so many options like 3 meals two snacks etc. Just try to have a routine. It helps especially when you have trouble knowing when you are hungry or full. I try not to eat after 7pm because I know that thats mostly emotional /binge eating. And dont freak out if something unplanned is happening and you can't eat at that certain time. Its ok thats life. Try again tomorrow.

👭Eat with friends.

Especially when you feel like binging. Call a friend, do a sleepover. Eating with others will stop you from eating like a pig. Maybe you will still overeat but at least not until your stomache hurts.

😴 Get enough sleep.

If you lack of sleep your body is trying to get the energy from food, so you will eat more. Try to get 7-9 hours every night. And have a certain bedtime. I had most of my binges after 10pm but if you sleep you can't eat!

🏡 Get out of the house.

If you are at home it's easier to binge. No one is watching you and you have all the food around you. Try to have something to do every Day. Meet with friends, get a hobby. Even if you have work to do, do it somewhere else like the libary.

🙅Avoid Stress.

Bad feelings like stress will lead to binging. If you have a big project to do and you don't know how to start and you procastinate, that will lead to guild and stress. Start early, ask for help, prepare for a binge. Dont let other people Stress you, especially family members love to tell you how many things you should be doing and how far you are behind and how easy it is to do All of this. Its ok, breathe, especially with Depression and an eating disorder it often feels like you are stuck in life and everyone else figured it out. Its not like that! Your trying! As long as you keep trying you are not stuck!!!

👸Don't compare yourself to others!!!!

This is maybe the most improtant one. Dont compare yourself, yes there are people where it seems like there are perfect, they have all this energy and they are good in everything. But who cares? They are not you, you should only compare yourself with yourself. Everything else will make you feel like you can never do it and you will never be good enough. But if you only Focus on your own progress you will get happy and stay motivated.

🐢 Be slow.

Yes I know we all want to see change as soon as possible. But change takes time. Think about where you would be right now if you made slow but constant progress?! Yeah we see all these people who eat under 1000 calories exercise every day and have straight A's. But you tried that right? It worked for a week and then you binge again. Dont overwhelm yourself Start slow. Start with one challange a week. Set yourself realistic Goals. For example exercise 4 times a week. Thats your goal for the week nothing else. You could stay in bed all Day and eat, as long as you exercise 4 times a week. It works, I promise you wont stay in bed all Day, but if your brain thinks you could then it doesnt feel like restricting and you wont binge. Its So weird but the Moment you tell yourself Im gonna binge again and it's ok, you are less likley to binge. The mindset, I never gonna binge again, is the most dangerous.

⭐Dont be a fucking perfectionist!

I told myself so many times Im gonna eat healthy and then I would eat one drop of olive oil and be like fuck it now Im gonna eat 10.000 calories of junk! There are so many diffrend ways to reach your goal! Not this one perfect way. And even the most perfect people are not always perfect. You dont have to be perfect to reach your goal!!!!!!!! Slow progress!!!! Kill your All or nothing mindest!!

🍕Enjoy your binge.

If you are about to binge, keep calm, Trink some water. Call a friend, prepare your binge food, try to make it more healthy,for example vegan junk food or stuff like hummus and Avocado, wich are tasty and high in calories but healthy. Binging on more healthy food will make you feel better than binging on McDonalds and your skin is not going to break out, also it is hader to eat as many calories with healthy food. Enjoy the food, dont just swallow it!

🚫Dont restrict the day after!

It seems so logic right? I binge, now Im gonna starve the next Day. But this will ALWAYS lead to another binge. Dont skip meals! Move on as if nothing happend!

🤸Learn to fill the void

Lets be honest there are only 2 reason why we binge,1. You don't eat enough and your body is trying to get the nutrition. And 2. you're trying to feel better. Tasty food is releasing Dopamin and we feel good, at least while we are eating. But after you binge you feel disgusting and like a failure. So you have to find something else to fill that void. I read once that for every Bad habit you want to break you need 5 good habits. So find something that makes you happy. Start your Day dancing to your favourite songs. Meet with friends. Exercise. Watch your favourite Show without any distraction. Draw. Masturbate :) whatever makes you happy.

🌈Stay motivated.

Remember, progress is slow. Sometimes you wont see any change, your brain will tell you it's not worth it and to just give up. Remember why you started. Keep a tumblr with stuff that inspires and motivates you, but don’t compare yourself with others! Search for people who have the same problems it's not a race, be Kind to each other motivate each other. And don’t use your whole energy for this one goal, focuse on other things in life, time will go faster that way. Dont search for change in the morrior everyday! You got this!

🍑Hope this helps someone. If you have more Tips please share. If you have questions ask me and if you want to chat, message me.

Sorry for my spelling btw.

[xmemeanonx]

Tough love

The second part of my yandere Luther Hargreeves fic which was based from @yanderepeterparker s (❤️) headcanons for said character.

The story will be told from your POV and Luther's POV.

Tw. emotional abuse, kidnaping, past talk of physical abuse, disabilities, past noncon talk, Luther's basically no help

Darker than the last one DO NOT READ IF THE WARNINGS OFFEND YOU

Enjoy! :)

= = =

The squeaking of the wheelchair on the hardwood floor became a normal sound to the both of you. Though it made each of you feel very different emotions.

To him its a symbol of his love towards you, a mark of every generous thing he has done for you. The vague reminder of the noise puts a smile on his face.

To you, a constant reminder of the type of monster he truly is. He calls it love, you call it bullshit. This isn't love. Love is selfless and understanding, his love is selfish and one sided.

But he doesn't see it that way. Never did, never will. Stubborn bastard.

= = =

“What would you like for breakfast, dear?” He chirps. He’s facing the counter but you can tell he's smiling.

You cringe on the inside. “Can I make my own breakfast, Luther?” you say quietly, picking at wood on the table.

He turns to you silently, frowning. “It's not Luther, dear.”

He tries so hard to be a normal “couple.” From pet names to breakfast in bed, he tries everything that normal couples would do. But it all feels so empty, so forced. Even his love for you feels fake. Sometimes you wonder if he even truly loves you, or if it's just something to take his mind off of how much he hates himself. You want to confront him on it someday, but for now it's easier to just play along.

“(Y/N)? dear?” he says expectantly. You look up at him.

“Sorry. . . . . honey. I was just thinking”

His smiles, eyes softening. “Its okay, dear. What were you thinking of?” he says expectantly

Your stomach turns, “oh. . .” you gulp, look up at his smiling face, fake smile on yours. You sit up in your wheelchair.

“I-I was just thinking about how. . . . happy I am with you.” The words felt disgusting on your tongue. Heavy and tough to say.

“Oh, that's great dear.” He grabs your hand, holding it gently. “Im happy with you too.”

Its silent. You clear your throat, turning away. He takes the sign.

“So uh. . . breakfast?” he asks.

You nod.

“. . . . eggs?”

You nod again.

= = =

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Can. . . . can I go outside? Please?”

He stops pushing you, next to a window. He looks out to the backyard. “Sure, we can go outside. It looks like a nice day out, kinda grey though.”

You sit up, turning to look at him. “No. . . Can I just go out by myself. . . . honey?”

Brows furrowed, he frowns, “no, dear.”

“Why not?!”

He scowls down at you. You forgot how quickly his moods changed, almost like he was waiting for you to “mess up.”

“Because I said so.” You almost scoff at this. Did he really think you actually cared about him, or hell, even his opinions? Fucking idiot.

You put your head down, sighing.

You felt your emotions build up, yet you swallowed them down. You know they will come out as bullets one day. Wanting to pierce his skin, directly into his heart. Hopefully killing him, lord knows he deserves it, especially after everything he did to you, but that’s just wishful thinking.

“(Y/N)” he growls, gripping your shoulder. “Talk to me.”

You shake your head.

He grips you harder, “(Y/N). . . . .”

You put your head down lower, tearing up. Picking at the skin around your nails, you get the same feeling you got when he crippled you. He’s going to do something bad to you very soon, you felt it, but really. . . . . what did you really have to lose?

Your life? His lost.

“(Y/N), say something!” You sob. That shuts him up. Good, he talks too much. Now it’s you turn to speak.

You turn, eyes leaking hot tears, smiling dryly at him. “Why?”

“Wha-“

“Why do you want me to talk, Luther?” It's becoming too much for you to handle

He squints, “(Y/N) I’m not playing your games.”

Way too much.

“Is it because you can’t handle the silence? Because you know that, then you’ll be alone with your thoughts? Maybe then you’d actually think about what your doing, instead of keeping, crippling, assaulting and abusing someone who barely even knows you.”

He punches the wall beside the both of you. You suck in a breath, looking between it and him. Ohhhhhh shit, you messed up.

This happens quite often actually, surprising or not. You mess up and he get pissed. He's going to get angry now and you're going to pay the price of his “mistakes.”

Mistakes. That's what he calls them. As if your legs were a mistake. He says they'll heal but you don't really care, he would just do it again if you tried to run. And you will try again.

But that's how it normally goes, you “misbehave,” he loses his shit, he takes it out on you, then cries and begs for forgiveness. You give him what he wants, fearing for your life, but recently you're getting really desperate.

“. . . . . I'm sorry. “ you say quietly. He can tell your lying.

“Were going to bed.”

You may have no respect for him but at least you`re not stupid.

“Okay, honey.”

= = =

After helping you get ready for bed, with surprisingly very few words exchanged, Luther's body ached for a shower. He felt tiredness like he never felt it before when he had to deal with your childness. If he told his younger self that this was what love was like, he would have never even bothered. But he's changed so much hasn't he?

He'd never enjoyed showers, even as a child to now, with his grotesque body. He remembers his mother telling him that they were good for him, especially after training. She said it was a great way to get clean and to calm down.

He still thinks about her now, Pogo too. But what had to be done to keep you safe was done. Every risk, chance, or possibility of you being taken away from him, he'd take care of. Even if it means removing his own family from the equation or taking away your dignity.

Yes, it hurts him to see you cry, but what are his other options? He's never been good with words.

= = =

Lying on his bed, waiting for him, had to be the longest 20 minutes of your life. Picking the skin around your nails, silently listening to the shower water falling on a human body would normally be a calming thing for you, but nothing about this is calming is it?

You knew what was going to happen but that didn't help the feeling of dread coursing through you.

You weren't a virgin when he first did those things to you, but it didn't make it any less painful. You pissed him off real bad, but you didn’t run or try to fight, you just yelled, you spoke out, and that was enough for him to force himself on you.

You remember lying there, wishing you were dead. You told him to stop, you told him no, screamed it even. But he didn’t care, in fact, he made it even more painful. All for his amusement, his pleasure.

It was when he just left after he finished, not caring for your comfort, you realised how much of a monster he truly was.

Now your scared he’s going to do it again.

= = =

“You do this to yourself, you know?”

“. . . . . “

“I’m only doing this because I love you.”

“. . . . . “

“I love you so much.”

“. . . . . “

“(Y/N)?”

“. . . . . “

“Please”

“. . . . . .”

“Please (Y/N), please just say it back.”

“. . . . . “

“I know you wouldn’t mean it bu-“

Oh, so he does know. Even with him spooning you now, he knows just how much you hate him. Honestly you’re surprised. Considering how much he plays into his little fake domestic life with you, he knows just how much you hate him. You can’t tell if you feel bad or if it makes you hate him even more. But for once, why not play a bit too?

“I love you too, honey.” You say, petting his hand in fake comfort. It’s hard to say, but in a way, you hope it would comfort the pitiful, love-hungry beast behind you.

“O-oh. . . That’s. . . . n-nice to hear.”

“I’m glad, honey.” You feel his tears on the back of your shirt, they make your shirt damp and uncomfortable.

It’s silent. A comfortable silence surprisingly. But then he asks you a question that surprises you. Something you’ve thought about for so long, yet sounds so awful coming from the person it’s directed at.

“(Y/N), do you hate me?”

Yes. oh my god, YES! Oh how much you wanted to tell him that! Yet, you chose not to, especially after what he did to you legs. Broken, yes. But they will heal. At least that’s what he says. But you don’t really trust him do you?

You wanted to tell him the truth, for your sake, not his, never his. Although you try and think of you options and their possible outcomes.

If you say no, you continue to lie. Possibly fueling the already smoldering fire inside of him, feeding his ego yet, at the same time, his insincerities.

Yes on the other hand could burn the whole forest down. It would either burn you or him to death. And honestly, at this point you can’t decide which is the better possibility. You, finally being brought the sweet relief of death, or him, being left to care for a person who he knows hates him while he constantly yearns for their, although fake, love. It almost seems like the better choice is the one where both of you get burnt.

You know which one is the better answer, you even say it what a smirk on your lips.

“Yes. Yes I do Luther.” Your words pierced him right into his heart.

Closing your eyes, listening to his soft sobs behind you, you felt something you haven’t felt in a long time. . . . .

Satisfied.

Because now, he knows the meaning of tough love.

= = =

Hoooooo! That got intense! I’m so sorry if this offended anyone, but I did put a warning at the top. Also Happy New Years, y’all! Hope y’all have a great 2020! Love you! I have a lot more ideas for Luther and the umbrella academy so I might write more. But please request more in general, requests are always open for the umbrella academy!

[pastelwitchling]

The prompt is courtesy of @toooldtoactcool

Following his discharge, Alex takes the recently vacant position with the sheriff’s department.  As the the new guy, he’s on Saturday night jail duty.  Michael keeps goading Max to arrest him so he can spend time with Alex who has been avoiding him.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t put Alex in those awful sheriff’s department outfits, he’s too cute for it. Not to mention, he’s a genius, I felt the sheriff thing a little beneath his ability. I hope my take on it is okay, though ❤

***

               “Seriously?”

               “What can I say?” Michael smirked. “I’m a menace to society.”

               Max glowered at his brother from behind the bars, his arms crossed. “You know this is pathetic, right? If you want to talk to him, just talk to him. It’d make all of our jobs a hell of a lot easier.”

               Michael stood. “You don’t think I’ve tried? The guy’s freaking military, Max, if he doesn’t want me near him, it’s gonna be damn hard to get near him.”

               “Getting yourself thrown in a cell every day is not what he wants, and you know it,” Max said, his expression softening. “We need him, Michael, and because of you, he’s started to hesitate coming in here. You have to stop.”

               “No, Max,” Michael shook his head, holding onto the bars. “I need him. And he won’t talk to me. I’m running out of options here.”

               Max pursed his lips, then sighed. “You want me to talk to him for you?”

               “No offense, buddy, but I don’t really need a wingman,” Michael said. “Especially not my own brother.”

               Max scoffed. “You need all the help you can get.”

               “Who’s going to need help?” Alex suddenly said, walking in, his eyes on the papers in his hands. Michael, without really realizing he was doing it, stepped closer to the bars, trying to get as close as possible to Alex.

               “Oh – uh –” Max tried, but before he could get a word out, Alex looked up and his eyes caught Michael.

               If Michael wasn’t who he was, if he hadn’t known Alex as well as he did, then he may have missed the subtle way Alex tensed, the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly on his papers, the way his eyes seemed to shine for a split second, only to be shadowed with an overbearing darkness that spoke of resignation.

               If Michael hadn’t known Alex, he might’ve missed all of that. But he did know him, so he hadn’t.

               “Sorry about my brother,” Max said, but Michael couldn’t miss the way Max moved aside to give Alex a better view of him.

               “Bar fight?” Alex asked, his eyes on Michael, and Michael shrugged a shoulder. Alex then looked to Max, and as he approached them, he said, “Then what are you apologizing for? You’re not the one in a cell.”

               His tone was curt, his stand cold and distant, as if Michael was a common criminal. Part of Michael knew he should sit back down, to stay quiet for the remainder of the time that he’d be stuck here, to think of another way to talk to Alex, but he couldn’t move. With Alex so close, Michael felt himself drawn to him, his body refusing to pull away from the bars.

               “I finished up those security details you wanted,” he said, handing the papers to Max. “Fixed a few miscalculations, looked over the entry and exit points. Pretty basic stuff, but I wanted to doublecheck everything.”

               Max looked over the papers, and after a while, nodded. “Alex, this is amazing. Hey, thank you for coming in, all your help. I know you’ve been busy lately, with your enlistment period ending.”

               Alex’s brows furrowed. “Wait, how’d you know my enlistment period was…” he trailed off, and Michael saw him glance at him before quickly looking away, sighing. “Right. Well, don’t worry about it. I’m glad to keep busy.”

               Max looked like he wanted to say something, his eyes softening as they usually did just before one of his comforting talks, except this time, Michael knew it would be on his behalf. To his luck, before Max could say anything, his two-war radio sounded on his belt, and he picked it up.

               Michael only heard static as he focused on Alex who was looking over his work again, though Michael had the strong suspicion he was just doing it to avoid having to look at the cowboy. He didn’t know if he felt great or sick about that.

               Before he knew it, Max was talking about needing to head out, and he asked Alex if he wanted a ride back with him. Michael swallowed, his hands tightening to fists around the bars as he thought about Alex leaving, but Alex shook his head, smiled, and said he would drive himself back.

               Michael barely registered Max walking out, his eyes on Alex, trying to figure out what to say.

               “Are you hurt?” Alex suddenly asked, his eyes down.

               For a second, Michael thought he’d heard him wrong, but when Alex glanced at him, he cleared his throat, and smirked. “Uh – why? You wanna nurse me back to health?”

               Alex rolled his eyes and started to walk off, but Michael, in a panic, grabbed his sleeve through the bars. “Okay, alright, I’m sorry, don’t leave. I’m sorry.”

               Alex raised a brow at him, and Michael let go of his arm, holding his hands up in defense. “I was just… trying to make you laugh.” When Alex looked unimpressed, Michael swallowed and said, “Just – just a few bruises.”

               He shook his head. “If this is your attempt at getting my attention –”

               “—it is –”

               “—it sucks,” he said. “Do you have any idea what this past week has been like? Walking in every morning just to see you beat up? Most people use a phone, Guerin.”

               “Would you have picked up?” Alex said nothing, and Michael pursed his lips. He wasn’t completely surprised, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. “I didn’t know you hated me that much.”

               Alex frowned. “I don’t hate you, you know I don’t. Don’t say that again.”

               Michael’s eyes caught Alex’s, and when Alex looked away, Michael stepped closer, the two a mere few inches apart. He loved seeing Alex in jeans and flannel, the shirt folded at his forearms, a watch and a string bracelet from Maria’s mother on his wrist – so rugged, so grownup, so…

“You look good,” he said quietly, searching his face. “How’ve you been?”

               “Better than you, apparently.” He shook his head. “Guerin, you have to promise me you’ll stop doing this. You’re going to get seriously hurt.”

               “You know none of those bastards could touch me if I didn’t want them to.”

               Alex scoffed, looking at Michael incredulously. “So you’ll risk either breaking a bone or revealing your secret?”

               “If that’s what it takes to talk to you,” Michael said, coming as close as he could to the bars so that his body was pressed against them, and he was close enough to Alex to whisper. “You’re avoiding me, and I can’t – I can’t take it.”

               “We survived ten years without each other.”

               “No, this is different, you know it is. You’re here and you’re not here at the same time.”

               “I tried to be here, and you threw me away,” Alex whispered, but it was enough for Michael to feel his anger and pain vibrate through him.

               Alex’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and the words died in Michael’s throat. “I was terrified, and I took a chance for you, and you chose someone else. What do you want me to do? Smile every time I see you? Laugh with you like we’re best friends? Like seeing you doesn’t kill me? What?”

               “Alex…” Michael trailed off. Even when he had nothing else to say, Alex’s name came to his lips, but what could he say to wipe that look off his face? The one that told Michael that he just didn’t trust him anymore? The one that hoped for a word of comfort, but knew he wouldn’t get one?

               He opened his mouth, not knowing what would come out, when Max walked back in, a struggling skinny man, Joel, in his hold.

               “Found this idiot right outside,” Max said as he handcuffed Joel to his desk, seeing as how Michael was occupying the only cell there. “Drunk out of his mind.”

               “Only one who’s drunk is you, Sheriff,” Joel slurred. “You saw the way that filthy Mexican looked at me! If I hadn’t pulled a gun out, he woulda’!”

               “Yeah, yeah,” Max said. “Meanwhile, you’re always here.” Michael noticed Max harshly close the cuff around his wrist, and he snorted. “Maybe it’ll give you time to think, or, you know, whatever that mess of a brain usually does in its spare time.”

               Max sighed, his hands on his hips. “You guys good to stay here with him for a bit while I go draw up the paperwork? He’s harmless.”

               Michael pressed his lips together, wondering whether or not he should remind Max that both he and Alex were perfectly capable of keeping themselves safe no matter who was locked up in there with them, but before he could make the retort, Alex politely said, “Don’t worry, we’re fine.”

               Max nodded, ignoring Joel’s accusations of unjust treatment as he walked out.

               “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” Joel complained as Michael tried to speak to Alex, though Alex looked like he was done talking.

               Michael stuck his tongue in his cheek, and quickly, he lost patience. He and Alex both snapped at Joel to “Shut up!” and the racist seemed to realize then that he wasn’t alone in the room.

               His eyes glossed over Michael and settled on Alex, and his expression soured. “Oh, great,” he whined. “I’m really screwed if the fag is outside the cell. This whole country’s goin’ to the flower boys and caravans!”

               Michael stared. “The hell did you just call him?”

               Joel narrowed his eyes. “You his boyfriend or somethin’?”

               “Guerin, stop, don’t engage with him,” Alex said calmly, seemingly unbothered by the insult. “He’s not thinking clearly.”

               “When is he ever?!”

               “Hey,” Joel whistled, “freak! The sheriff’ll listen to you. You tell ‘im to let me go, or I will make your life a livin’ hell, boy. I can do it, I have that power.”

               “Good for you,” Alex said thoughtlessly, his focus on his papers, then he mumbled to himself about security details.

               He was so busy with his thoughts, he didn’t notice Joel grab a stapler with his free hand, but Michael did. Joel threw it, and just before it hit Alex’s head, it froze in midair. Alex didn’t look particularly startled that it was flying, only that it had been stopped, though Michael’s glare was more focused on a shocked Joel.

               Michael felt his blood boil, the energy coursing through his veins, his head throbbing as he forced the stapler open, turning it against Joel in the air.

               “You,” he growled, “are gonna pay for that, you asshole.”

               “Damn it, Guerin, stop!” Alex hissed, taking the stapler in his hand. While Joel stuttered behind him, he turned to face Michael, his voice low. “What were you thinking?”

               “He was going to hit you!” Michael said. “Now, get out of my line of vision so I can blow him up.”

               “I can look after myself,” he said, and went to place the stapler on the opposite side of the desk, all the while, Joel stammering nervously.

               “Hey, d-did you see that? That stapler flew, did you do that? Hey, freak, answer me –”

               Joel grabbed Alex’s arm, and Michael saw panic flash across Alex’s face for only a split second before he grabbed Joel’s wrist, turned his arm, and in a flash, Joel’s face was on the desk, his arm twisted painfully over his head as he screamed, Alex pressing down.

               “Grab me again,” he said quietly, his voice dark, “and I’ll tear your arm out of its socket.”

               Joel wailed loudly, tears running down his drunk face as he screamed, “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, p-please!”

               But it was as if Alex couldn’t hear him, his eyes out of focus.

Michael moved his lips, his words silent. “Alex,” he finally said, his voice soft, but it seemed to be enough to wake Alex out of his trance.

               The airman blinked, his brows furrowed, and once he realized what he was doing, he stepped back quickly as if Joel had been on fire. He held his own hands up in front of him, his expression a mix of shock and horror.

               “Alex,” Michael tried, “Alex, it’s okay.”

               “I – I have to – go, I…” Alex backed toward the door as Max came in.

               “Alright, Joel, let’s get this over…” he trailed off, looking at the mess of papers on the ground, the crying Joel slumped over his desk, the distressed look on Michael’s face, and he frowned. “What the hell happened? Hey, Alex, are you okay?”

               Alex nearly jumped at Max’s hand on his shoulder, muttering quick apologies as he hurried out, despite Michael calling him to come back.

               Max kept his eyes on Joel as he approached Michael. “Okay,” he said, his eyes dark, “what’d you do to Alex? What’d you say to him?”

               I-I look in the mirror, and I… I don’t even see myself sometimes. I see my father.

               Michael shook his head. “I don’t think it’s what I said, Max. I… I think it’s what I didn’t.”

[docholligay]

The Mind of an Eagle, the Heart of a Dove: Part One of Two

Hello all! This is part one of a fic sponsored by @katrani, so anyone who wants to enjoy some fine Pharah screwing up but being determined action please let her know! Part two is next month, and from Mercy’s perspective, instead. 2500 words thank you for reading!! 

Pharah did the things she was meant to do. The things she had been born for. This was her guiding light, to uphold the principles she had sworn herself to and to do it fully and without hesitation. It made life easier, when you had a guideline. When there is no question over the correct course, life falls into place. Less messy.

Given that she had simply continued to do these things, she struggled to understand why Mercy had simply made her coffee and stormed out of the apartment that morning, without even telling Pharah where she was going. Mercy had barely looked at her since yesterday, save for a few sniping questions and a slammed book in the reading nook.

And Pharah could not imagine why. She knew she was given to say the wrong thing in her desire for precision, but it was so unlike Mercy to simply be angry. Mercy often gently told her when she was too rough or too direct, when she had been insensitive to someone’s sore spot. Even Mercy’s own. But Pharah had said nothing she imagined would be hurtful, and indeed, after the rescue yesterday, there had been little to be said, comparing bruises and eating Indian takeout at Winston’s until they dropped off to go home and sleep.

Mercy was so obviously furious with her, and Pharah could not divine the reason.

She sighed heavily. If she asked Tracer, all Tracer would give her that look of amusement and pity, and say Pharah might try asking Mercy, instead of her. It would not be an unfair thing to say. Tracer was many things, but she was rarely unfair.

But she could not explain to Tracer that she felt she should not need to ask Mercy what was wrong. She knew so well, after the years they had been together, how Mercy’s feelings went, the things that made her happy or sad, and how rare it was of her to be angry. Mercy generally considered anger a vice, and not a virtue, and rarely gave in to it.

Pharah looked around the quiet and empty apartment, the one they had so carefully chosen together, the location and decor all researched and checked again, the long days they’d painted every room.

Tracer has a gift with people you do not.

It pained her to say it, but the thought was true. There were reasons far beyond her experience and rank that Tracer had been her natural choice for co-commander of Overwatch. Where Pharah was regimented, Tracer was flexible. Where Pharah was dependable, Tracer was nimble. Where Pharah was commanding, Tracer was affable.

It was silly, Pharah would often say, that Tracer was ever jealous of her, but she never added that she often felt jealous of Tracer.

It did no good to dwell on this situation, on Mercy’s anger, on her own confusion, on the knowledge that a tiny British bouncy ball might be her only savior. Pharah did the right thing, and because Pharah did the right thing, she would swallow the ember of her own pride, feel it burn all the way down, and ask Tracer what she might have done.

Mercy was worth burning for.

___

The walk to the office from the apartment was mercifully brief, one of the many reasons they had selected it out of a multitude of options, but it gave her time to reflect on all the things she had said and done. The conflict had gone well enough, as much as could be expected, with little property damage and no civilian casualties. Even the team simply had a few bruises and cuts, Winston with a graze on his arm, the worst injury anyone could lay claim to. The dinner afterward had been the usual gathering in Winston’s home, more secure than the rest, until they felt the danger had reasonably passed and Talon was licking their wounds.

Mercy had pulled away from her that night. Had glowered at her, and snapped, and Pharah had seen tears in her eyes. When she’d asked what was wrong, Mercy had shaken her head, and drawn her shawl over her shoulders, and hurried home, alone, telling Pharah not to follow her.

Pharah ran the situation over and over again in her mind, but every time she tried to remember the words, all she could see were the tears in Mercy’s eyes, the way she pulled her shoulder away from Pharah’s, and these hieroglyphics held no meaning for her but sorrow.

The door creaked as she opened it, the bright tap tap tap of computer keys greeting her, accompanied by the fierce bubble of a water kettle and the cheerful hum of the office occupant.

“You were bloody brilliant last night, love,” Tracer did not wait for the door to close behind Pharah, “what with your swoop down into the middle of all them omnics. I mean, bloody stupid, but bloody brilliant,” she paused for a moment, “say it’s a rather me sort of maneuver, but you was the one what done it, not even waiting one bit for us to catch up with you, right?” She shook her head and grinned out the window, “Bloody brilliant, so it is.”

“Good morning.” She turned to hang up her coat immediately, keeping her voice neutral, afraid that Tracer would notice, even as she planned to ask. “I am pleased to see you are working on the press--”

“What’s the matter, Fareeha?” Her voice was kind but inquisitive, leaned forward over her desk now, her head cocked as she looked at Pharah.

Tracer’s mind paid attention to everything. Snippets of conversations she wasn’t having, the pattern on the wallpaper behind someone’s head, the smell of kebab down the block, and the downside to all of this was that her mind occasionally missed whatever it was Pharah was saying in all of the traffic.

Except, of course, when Pharah did not want her to notice something.

Pharah sighed, still facing the wall. She had known Tracer for years now, knew that once she had latched onto some perceived problem, she would refuse to let go until you had told her or she’d puzzled it out for herself. She was tenacious to a fault, and while this was useful in battle, it was less so standing in the office, wishing that she could simply ask Tracer, wishing that she could escape from the situation.

“It is nothing.” She lied, turning toward her desk.

“Oh come on--”

“Yes,” she turned back to face Tracer, to face the difficulty. She had come here to ask Tracer’s counsel, and here she was avoiding it. Mercy deserved better. “I--I would like to ask your advice. It is a personal matter.”

Tracer said nothing, something Pharah always claimed to want but never seemed to settle into easily.

“Angela,” She took a breath, at attention, hands behind her back, hating everything coming out of her mouth, hating that she had to say it to anyone, “She seems very upset with me. I cannot,” she gave a small sigh, afraid for a moment that she would break, that Tracer would see just how concerned she was, “I have tried to find a reason, and it eludes me. You have known Angela for many years, and you have a good sense of people. If you know the reason, I would appreciate knowing.”

“Aw yeah,” Tracer said, nodding, “last night. I mean, it ‘appens,” she chuckled, “Number of times Win’s near gone bloody mental over me, that ‘e’s not just told me to get stuffed is the miracle of me life, it is.”

Pharah stared at her. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“The Omnics. Last night.” Tracer leaned forward, eyes wide and nodding toward Pharah.

“We defeated them.”

“Right. You was in a real scrape, though, right love?”

Pharah shrugged. She had jumped into the middle of the group of omnics, that was true, but she knew her team was behind her, or would be soon and while it was risky, it was not, to Pharah’s mind, utterly careless. Innocent people could have been hurt, and it was Pharah’s duty to stop those things from happening. What she was born for.

She sat down at her desk and looked over at Tracer, in that same terrible silence.

“There was nothing in my manuver to be criticized.”

“You know,” Tracer looked out the window a moment, licked the edge of her lip, and began. “Crashed me glider when I was, must ‘ave been thirteen. Young. Just got me glider’s license. We was out over a field, and I, well, you know ‘ow I can be, right? Get a bit of the wind in me face, and I just--”

“Tracer.”

Tracer nodded, called back to the scene. “Right. So I’m a bit careless, I crash me glider, and its a bad crash, love, broke me collarbone, few ribs, me wrist. Bad bump to the ‘ead. “She indicated each spot on her body with a point of her finger, as if Pharah would not know otherwise,and then paused, looking off for a moment. “Now as I think on it, think it’s the worst crash I’ve ever been in. One where I got ‘urt the worst, at least. Well, except for, of course,” she tapped the edge of her CA, “this. Crawled out the wreck, rested me back against the fuselage. Waited.”

“I am fascinated to hear what this has to do with anything other than your congenital inability to employ caution” She drummed a pen against the desk, both distracted and annoyed.

“God, but you accuse me of ‘aving no bloody patience. So, me dad comes after me, right? He finds me and god, I’ve never seen ‘im so bloody angry, before or since.” Tracer shook her head and snorted, “‘Owled and screamed at me, ‘e did, told me I’s irresponsible and what the bloody fucking ‘ell was my problem, et cetera and all that. And let me tell you this, Fareeha Amari, that crash bloody well ‘urt but it was me dad what made me cry. ‘E did, ‘e yelled at me so ‘ard I burst into tears. Convinced ‘e hated me, I’s absolutely crushed, felt just awful for ruining the glider, all of those things. Cried the whole way to emergency.”

“Yes.” Pharah was never the best at active listening. Luckily, Tracer didn’t seem to mind.

“Later, in ‘ospital, me dad apologizes to me, says ‘e never should have said those things, and ‘e was so, so sorry, and ‘e loved me so much, and ‘e wasn’t angry over the glider at all.”

“Thought I’d lost you,’ was all he said, and that,” She smacked her hand against the desk and pointed to Pharah,”that was the moment, through this ‘aze of medication, I realized I’d scared the bloody ‘ell out of me dad. ‘E thought I’s dead, and when I wasn’t, well, ‘e ‘ad to be cross with someone for tearing ‘is ‘eart out, right? Protective, like.”

Pharah considered for a moment, looking down at the pen in her hand, rolling it over and over “Are you saying Mercy is not speaking to me because she loves me?”

“Oh see, you can take a parable as it’s meant!”

“I did not have so much as a broken rib.”

“But,” Tracer leaned back in her chair, apparently pleased with her pursuit of hidden knowledge, “you did rather fly out the frying pan into the fire, right? Not a thing you generally do love, that’s me job, so it is,” she gave a playful scowl and jumped back to sitting, “And don’t think I don’t notice you encroaching.” She looked up at the planes on the ceiling, “Ang ‘as ‘ad more than ‘er share of people come and gone. Bit ‘ard for ‘er to imagine you.” She tossed a pen at one of the planes, and it spun on its metal wire. “Not something you ‘ave to think about, what with the rules of engagement. No shooting the medic and all.”  

Pharah knew it was true, even as Tracer said it. It was so easy to forget that Mercy had lost so much. She did not wall herself off from the world, had never become bitter or hard, she simply took each heartache, each lost team member or civilian into her heart and let it hurt her, again and again. And here Pharah had willingly put herself in harm’s way.

Had it really been necessary? She told herself it had been, that if she had hesitated, an innocent bystander might have been lost. But looking back now, that didn’t seem to be true. At least, she could not recall it. What she did recall was the joy and excitement she felt at diving into the fray, the way she’d smiled when she thought about how they would not be talking about Tracer’s daring, but Pharah’s, the logical and confident leader, now also the daredevil.

It had been selfish and vainglorious, and Pharah felt hot shame rise to her cheeks.

“She loves you, Fareeha, she’ll move on from it. Winston always does with me.”

“No.” Pharah shook her head.

“She will, love, don’t--”

Pharah raised her hand. “What I mean to say is, I will not let that be the end of it. I owe her,” she rose to her feet and tugged at her shirt to straighten it, “my truest apology. Do you never apologize?”

Tracer gave a smirk and a shrug. “If I’s to apologize, I ‘ave to think I won’t do it again. And I will. It’s part of me job description, part of me family line, part of, well, me, I suppose.”

“But not me,” Pharah nodded to her, “Selfishness masked as heroism was my mother’s game, and I will not allow it to be mine. I am no flank, no dogfighter, and I should not behave as if I am. Thank you, Tracer.”

She headed to the door, unsure of exactly what she would say to Mercy, or how she would say it, how she would soothe the secret hurts in her heart, the ones that Pharah had caused with her own need for attention, the sort of thing she had called out so many times in team members as unnecessary and childish.

The greatest battles Pharah had ever known were not the Omnics or Talon or anyone she had fought with Helix. No, she had been well prepared for all of those battles, her mind found the holds and worked a pattern to the top of the wall, no matter how high or how strong.

It was only on these fields of love and of emotion that she found herself unable to even hold the weapon. Her mother, her aunts, the people she had known and loved in her mother’s Overwatch, they had taught her to shoot and to study, to grow and to fight, but never the small and soft things, the things Pharah needed now most of all.

So she would work. Practice did not make perfect, but it made progress. She would think of what to say, think of what to do, and show Mercy that she would hold Mercy’s heart in her mind most of all.

Pharah did the things she was meant to do. The things she had been born for. And Mercy was her guiding light.

[stinkfacestories]

Stinkface Stories: Total KnockOut

Featuring: Kevin Owens, Big Show

The service elevator ran the length of the building; from the sub basement to the penthouse and everything in between. The staff used it because it was easier than taking the stairs and the talent used it because it ran directly from the gym to the suites. It wasn’t uncommon for a  PA to be riding up with coffee and contracts to have one or two slick slabs of sweaty wrestler squeeze in headed to change or go run through a routine in the practice ring.

“You can’t,” Big show said. He pressed the button to summon the elevator. He was wearing dark blue sleeveless shirt. He wa quite the imposing sight: giant,bald, big bushy beard.

“Come on, I’m telling ya, I can do it. It will really give me boost you know?” Kevin Owens, though nearly a foot shorter than Big Show, stood next to him also waiting for the elevator, They had been working out together all week. He cut quite the figure too. A little pudgier, just as big a beard. His grey t-shirt emblazoned with the letters ‘K.O’  was near black with sweat.

The elevator opened and a thin looking PA looked up, wide eyed at the two. The other runners had always joked about who would be the worst pair to be forced to ride up with, and out of all the possible combinations, Big Show was always one of the pair. The elevator itself was not nearly as big as the ones in apartment buildings. Two normal sized people would have an uncomfortable ride, let alone a giant, his fat sweaty friend and a 9-5’er.

“Hey there,” Big Show said kindly as he stepped in. The box groaned in protest but the floor held. He turned his back and wedged himself into the opposite corner, though his massive frame still covered half the width. When Owens joined him taking up the other side the PA was pressed practically nose to back with the two. The doors closed as the fourth passenger made their presence known: the hot body odor wafting off the two of them. It filled the compartment like a thick fog. The two wrestlers either didn’t notice, or didn’t care. The PA was barely able to hold his breath.

“Maybe I could just do it once and see how it goes. Then we can make a decision” Owen spoke up, the first to break the silence.

“You can’t finish with a Stinkface, there’s a tradition with it. Unless you wanna quit and do house shows in high schools for the rest of your life, then you gotta follow the rules.”

“What rules? Its sticking your ass in some guys face for fun, what rules can there be?” Owens said.

The PA heard the word ‘ass’ and looked down at the two of them. Two big ones right in front of him. Each were covered in some dark shorts; The Big Show’s were a camo pattern, very tight, almost painted on. His ass was like two monster boulders crashed together. Owens were looser, solid black, athletic--slick and shiny. He was a bit rounder. The globes of his ass were bubbly, jiggling slightly every time the elevator would jostle just a little bit.

“We don’t have time for this man, when the time comes I’tall happen.” Big Show said.

“Time? We need time?” Owens looked at the panel in front of him. He opened a small door revealing a large red lever marked ‘Emergency Only’. He grabbed at it and turned it. Turned it so far and so hard that it broke off in his big thick hands. The elevator jerked and sputtered to a halt, somewhere between the floors.

“Hey man, what the hell did you do that for?” Big show said

“Are we stuck? What happened?” The PA said, trying to see between the two walls of flesh in front of him.

“I figure we have at least an hour before they send people to get us, maybe longer for them to get us out of here. So now we have time for you to tell me just what rules and qualifications I need to finish a match with a Stinkface,” Owens said. He thumped at Big Shows arm, punctuating his point.

“Stinkface?” The PA said.

“Yeah, Stinkface. I want to start using it in my routine. I think my crowds would love it.”

“You couldn't have left me get off before you got of stuck? Can this thing hold you two? Is there enough air?”

“Hey ho, quite up now,” Big Show said. “It’s done now so no use complaining. Having you here will work out fine. We can get some outside perspective on the matter.” He looked down at Owens “So tell me. Why do you think you deserve to do this Stinkface?”

Owens smiled. “Well, look at me man. I think the crowds would love it. I’m like a smaller version of you. Got the big beard, pretty thick. Wouldn't they think it was funny if I sat my big ass on some jobber?”

“Well, you stumbled in the first requirement. You gotta have an ass. I know you can be an ass, but that dont mean that you got one. The crowds don’t want to see just any flat-ass guy pinning someone in the corner. They want to see someone with some real powerful haunches smother a guys face; that’s why Me and ‘Kishi are so good at it. So… do you really have the ass?”

Owens reached back and punched his own ass, the big thing trembled before the smaller PA. “Hell yeah man. I got one. You see this thing? I avoid doing too much work on it because I want it to be big, but I don’t want it to be to hard. Know what I mean?” He peered behind him at the PA. “You got a good view, tell the guy about it.”

“What?”

“Tell Big Show how my ass looks like it would be great to give a stinkface”

“I don’t think Im really the best to ask--”

“Come on now play nice,” Big Show piped up “We might be here a while so just be helpful. Tell the guy if you think his ass is good enough to stinkface a guy.”

The PA looked back at Kevin Owens’ ass. It wasn't something he would want to tangle with.

“I’t looks..good I guess?”

“Come on guy,I need more than that get in there” Big Show said.

Owens obliged and reached back and grabbed the guys hand and put it on his ass. “See,” he said. “Feel how its just the right mix of soft and firm. Plenty of room for a face right?”

“Yeah sure, it’s like sweaty bread dough,” The PA said

“Amature. It’s not the Stinkhand Owens.” Big show shoved Kevin and he went stumbling backwards. Flailing to keep his balance, his ass slammed into the back of the elevator; the poor PA’s face between his cheeks. Owens blubbery cheeks engulfed his face, wrapping from ear to ear. One could only imagine the smell that he must have suffered. It may have only lasted a moment, but when the beefy wrestler leaned forward and looked behind him at what he had done, the PA’s face looked as if it had looked as if it had been wedged in there for an hour. He was in shock. His face was splattered with sweat; as was the wall behind him.

“Well shit,” Big show said. “I was wrong about you K.O. That right there is the sign of a good Stinkface. The look of horror, disbelief.”

“How was it?” Owens asked the PA.

“ Uhg…” He just wiped his face.

“Good? Bad? Come on we need words dude,” Big show said. He leaned down a little “Or do you need another, longer, go to form an opinion?” He raised his eye and gave a grin.

Wet, cold, but also hot. Silent”

“Awesome,” Owens said

“And the smell?”

“Didn't inhale, thank god” The PA said.

“You didn't smell? Your face was buried and you didn’t smell?” Big Show rolled his shoulders and slapped Owens on the shoulder. “He didn’t smell. How are we supposed to judge how good it was if at the end of the day he didn’t take a sniff.”

“Im sure its bad,” The PA said. “This is a pretty small space. You can’t smell it already? It reeks in here.”

Kevin sniffed at his pits. “I smell nothing.”

Big Show sniffed too “Me either. We were in that Gym for along time. Your noses is the only one that knows. So go on smell it and tell me how it is”

“Whoa, Show you sure that’s a good idea?” Owens pipped in. “Trust me when I say that’s a pretty dangerous area back there. Might not be safe to go in and sniffing around.”

“ Ill pass,” The PA said. “I can smell it from here. I give it a 9/10 on the bad scale.”

“Not good enough for me pal,” Big show said. “Who knows what your smelling. Could be me. Only way to go is to get up in there and take a big sniff. Owens assume the position.”

Kevin turned and put his hands against the wall, spreading his legs ever so slightly, like he was preparing to be frisked. His ass was begging for someones face at that point.

“No way. You can just take my word on it.”

Big show grumbled. “Your choice pal: You can either take a big sniff of Owens, or you can be sniffing my ass  from now till the fire department gets here. And my ass don’t play nice.”

Kevin gave a short laugh, his ass jiggling with it “Aint that the truth; take the easy way out guy.”

The PA had no real option. Given the choice between the two asses, he opted for the less violent of the two.  

“Where should I, you know.. Target?”

“Right where the back turns into the ass, if your a chicken-- right in the blast zone if your a real man.”

“Blast zone?” Owen looked over his shoulder at Big Show

“You know,” Big Show blew a raspberry “Blast zone”

Owens laughed “Oh man, I get it. I should get some underwear that says that”

The PA swallowed

“So what’s your choice?” Big Show asked

“What’s the current.. Blast danger I guess?”

“... rising with each passing second bro, so the quicker the better”

The PA leaned in, settling somewhere not quite as high as the back, but a fair share north of the blast zone. He was less than an inch away. He could feel the head radiating on his face.

“Keep that mouth closed,and give it a good 30 seconds. I don't want you cheating and holding your breath”

The rank odor of Owens ass was powerful. It filled the PAs nostrils. It burned. If he were lucky it may have destroyed his sense of smell right then and there and he would be done with it. But nevertheless it kept on stinking.

“When's the last time you took a shower K.O” he asked

“What day is it now?”

“Saturday,” Big Show said

“Easy: Late Friday Night”

The PA took another wiff

“...you mean yesterday?”

Owens counted on his fingers “.. no..I think it was three or so Fridays ago.

“And when did you wash these shorts last?”

“Wash them? These are workout shorts. You don’t wash them. I just shove them in my gym bag.”

Big Show laughed. “So that’s why they call you K.O, everyone who gets a wiff gets knocked out. So how is it dude?”

The PA pulled away “Bad. Salty. Hot. I wish I had been knocked out. My eyes were burning”

Owens gave a thumbs up “Thats two for two. So I can stinkface guys now?”

“Not yet. One final qualification: The gimmick.”

“The gimmick?” Owens said

“Gimmick?” the PA said. “I thought the stinkface was the gimmick.”

“Don’t we wise. Everyone who does the stinkface does their own little twist.”

“Oh yeah,” Owens said. “Like how ‘Kishi hikes up his thong, or does it bare ass?”

“What do you do then?” The Pa asked Big Show.

“I fart.”

The PA groaned and turned away

Owens laughed. “Thats real? I thought that was a joke. You really do that when you give a stinkface?”

“Yeah. Every time.”

“Who does that? Why would you even do that. It’s not like the crowd can tell. Your big but I don’t think you could.. Do that...loud enough for the cameras to pick up” The PA said.

Big Show loomed over the PA, forcing him to one of the corners. He pointed his big finger down at the guy. “First off, if you wanna find out how loud I can fart all you have to do is ask and I’ll be real happy to give you a demonstration. Second it’s not for them. Its for me, and for the tradition.”

The PA groaned again

“I could do that too!” Owens interrupted

“You could?”

“Yeah. I never ripped one in front of you? I swear I must have. Haven't I?”

“Think you could work one up now?”

Kevin scrunched up his big bearded face, grunting a little as he closed one eye. “Yup. There it is. All loaded. I was gonna drop it in my Uber on the ride home but I can drop it here.”

“But were in an Elevator. A tiny, tiny elevator” The PA said. Both Owens and Big Show looked at him like he was speaking some alien language. “So?” they both said

“That’s like the only elevator rule. You don’t do that in an elevator.”

“I do.” Big Show said.

“Same. A lot.” Owens said.

“In fact I dont think Ive ever ridden an elevator without farting in it.” Big Show said.

“Fine. Just.. let me get out of the way.” The PA slide as far in the corner as possible, leaving Kevin on the opposite side.

“This is a stinkface test though. K.Os bringin the stink, you gotta supply the face.”

“What? No way! Not this time” The PA said.

Big Show had enough. He reached out and grabbed the guy by the shoulder, effortlessly sliding him forward. Big Show leaned back against the wall, his arm pinning the smaller man in place.

“Hey let me go!” He said

“You’re free to try, but bigger men than you have failed.”

Owens turned around and began to back up slowly.

“Hey K.O. Why not try out both. Maybe that can be your thing”

“Both?” He said

“Yeah. Drop them draws.”

K.O slid his shorts down. Like the rising sun, his pale ass light up the room. It was glimmering from the sweat. The first thing everyone notices was how hairy it was.

“Damn K.O even your ass has a beard. You ever think about getting that thing waxed?” Big Show said.

“Tried it once, but they said they didn't have enough wax and wanted to charge me three times the regular price.”

Owens backed up even more. Soon the PAs chin was resting on the dark valley that was Owens ass. He backed up even more and he could feel the weight of the two fat globes pressing him into Big Shows gut.

“Come on guys. Show. Big. Big Show. Tell him to call it off. He doesn't want to do this. You can stop him”

“Let’s see: Hey K.O”

“Yeah Big?” Owens looked over his shoulder. Lining up his ass for the best stinkface possible.

“You sure you wanna rip one in this guys face?”

“Sure do Big,” Owens said.

“There, all settled. Go on blast away K.O. Hell I think I might give him one after.

“Come on you can’t do-mpf--”

Big Show pressed the PAs head down so that everything save his eyes were pressed into Kevin’s hairy crack. He was really tasting the musky, sweat soaked forest of hair. Kevin was braced like a centerlinemen, ready to snap the ball.

“Here,” He grunted out. Half of his face was scrunched up. “Comes. The knock Out..Ahh..”  His ass erupted in a deep and vibrating blast. The bassy rip reverberated throughout the elevator, shaking even Big Show to the core. Owens went slack jawed. His mouth open almost drooling on the floor. “ Puuunnnch…...aw man now that Felt great.”

The PA’s eyes rolled back in his head as he was forced to breath in every once. He coughed, but that only forced him to breath in Owens Ass through his mouth. His senses were completely overwhelmed. He could see nothing but Owens hairy ass, smell nothing but his meaty fart, taste the salty hairs of his crack, feel the flapping and giggling of his cheeks on his face, and hear Big Show and Owens laugh.

And it wasn't even over

Owens hoisted up one leg and propped it on the wall behind him. He cocked to one side and let out another, less intense but longer sputtering fart. “It’s like a flood gate. Once you break the seal all the rest just wanna slip out”

The PAs eyes rolled back even further. The sloppy blast had done him in. With one final sniff his body went limp and he passed out.

“Damn K.O, you really earned that name.”

‘Hell yeah!” Owens pumped the air. “This means i’m in right. I can do the stinkface on my opponent's right?”

“Not quite.”

“What? Come on Show, I practically melted this guys face off. I can do it!”

“Oh you can do it all right. But you can't do it on stage till someone gives it to you.”

“Wait you mean I have to…”

“Thats right.”

Just then the elevator jerked back into motion. Big show reached over and pressed the button for the floor with the practice stage.

“I’ll see you in the ring, Owens”

[katoninefandoms]

9. “I regret ever meeting you.”

Feat. Bucky and Steve (warning for the sad)

“I regret ever meeting you!”

Steve flinched back, shocked at the words, and stared for a moment. James was frustrated, and he knew he really shouldn’t take it out on Steve, but...

“Buck-”

“I’d never have gotten into this… this… mess . I’d never have lost my arm, I’d never have been with… with them… and I… I…” He whirled around and shouted in frustration, driving his metal fist through the wall. “I hate being here! I hate what they did! I hate that I had to go off to war, and I hate that that stupid fall didn’t kill me off.” His breaths were ragged. “I hate that you didn’t catch me,” he hissed. “I hate that I can’t remember things before that.” He ripped his hand back out from the broken plaster. “I hate being around you, all hopeful that I’ll remember you. But I won’t . I can’t . So why don’t you just give up already?”

James’ chest heaved and he turned around, half expecting Steve to be gone. But he was still standing there, frozen. He looked away when James met his eyes, and James could see how deep and measured his breaths were. He could see the redness starting to creep around the corners of Steve’s eyes, and his stomach dropped. Oh. Oh, no. But Steve started to nod, backing away.

“Okay.” His voice was low and quiet, and he turned, leaving the room. James’ advanced hearing was the only reason he heard Steve’s mumbled, “I’ll let Natasha know she needs to help you finish.”

James watched Steve go, unable to follow him. Steve had been incredibly patient with him throughout all of his reintroduction to the modern world. Natasha helped him with histories and learning about the new politics. Steve taught him about pop culture and tried to help him remember things about his own past. James tried his best to remember, because, for some reason, it made his stomach flip whenever Steve’s eyes lit up, happy that he had remembered, even if he still couldn’t remember their supposed life together in Brooklyn. He knew that sometimes he got temperamental, angry that he couldn’t do something as simple as remember things about himself. But Steve had never let it get to him — at least, in front of James.

Natasha eventually walked in, and helped him calm down, eventually getting him to sit, cross-legged on the floor.

“I screwed up,” he muttered, holding his head in his hands.

Natasha just shook her head, rubbing his back gently. “It’s okay, James. This is part of your process. You’re allowed to be angry.”

“But Steve… He’s just trying-”

“He knows what he’s getting into by helping you. He knows that this is something that can happen, and that may happen again.”

James was silent for a few moments, just thinking. “I told him he should stop trying.” She raised an eyebrow for him to continue. He swallowed, “He just… he said, ‘Okay’. And then he backed out… he was crying…”

She frowned and her hand stopped for a moment. His breath stuttered at that. She shook her head and gave him a small hug.

“Do you really want him to stop?”

James shook his head, “No… No he’s… I like it when he’s around, he… he knows. He knows about me and it’s just easier to believe that maybe I was… good once.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then cupped his cheek, kissing his forehead. “Go find him. Talk to him.” She gave him a small smile. “He doesn’t want to give up. I think he just wasn’t prepared for it this time.”

James took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay. Is… Do you know where he is?”

She stood, “I don’t. But he’s probably found a good chair.”

She let her hand brush over the top of her head before heading out of the room.

James huffed and rubbed a hand over his face. He sat for a long time, just considering his options. He should fix it, he knew that. But being around Steve anymore just seemed to set him entirely on edge. The guy was helpful sometimes, and always kind, but James just couldn’t handle the pressure of Steve’s expectations. He couldn’t handle seeing him disappointed after every session when James didn’t magically remember everything they had been through together. And while he could understand that it was hard for Steve, too, it wasn’t something he was really wanting to try and deal with anymore.

Then again, this time, Steve had left with something worse than disappointment, and that was weighing on James.

He could wait a day, maybe, and see how he felt about it then. But it also didn’t feel right leaving Steve so upset.

Before he quite realized what he was doing, James was up and across the room, pressing the button for the elevator. It opened almost immediately, and he stepped in.

“Sergeant Barnes,” the AI greeted. JARVIS, he thought. “Where shall I take you?”

He had no idea where to look first, so he said, softly, “To Steve.”

“Right away.”

The doors opened again once they reached Steve’s floor, which seemed maybe too obvious a place to look. But Natasha had been correct, and Steve was in the far corner of the room, curled up in a large armchair.

The chair wasn’t something James had paid much attention to before, other than to notice that it was very out of place in the modern decor that Stark had outfitted all the rooms with. It was old and worn, with an ugly green and yellow pattern. To its credit, it had always seemed a very comfy chair, well-stuffed and plush. He’d once thought he’d be able to nap on that chair if he tried.

He wouldn’t, though. It was Steve’s comfort space, he could tell. Steve’s knees were pulled up to his chest, and his head was resting on his knees. But it wasn’t tight. He was more relaxed as he watched the city from above. His face was still sad, eyes still red-rimmed, but he was calmer at least.

James cleared his throat, and it took a moment for Steve’s head to turn. They locked eyes, and Steve went rigid. James winced a little and ducked his head, trying to seem meeker. He took a few more steps in, coming closer so that he would be able to speak softly.

“I need to apologize,” he said, careful to look at the floor. “I can’t… I can’t regret meeting you if… if I can’t remember… meeting you.” The frowned. That wasn’t quite what he wanted to say, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Steve was already replying.

“You have every right to regret it,” he said, voice low. “What happened to you was awful, and I… I was always a… challenge.” His smile was pained. “It’s fine. I’ll just let Nat cover things with you.”

“No,” he said, quickly. Steve looked up at him, confused. “I… I really didn’t mean what I said. I was frustrated. But you… You know things. That I don’t. About by life and they’re important things. And I…” He took a deep breath and decided to just be honest. He closed his eyes. “I like being able to get things right. You get happy and it’s… right. Something in me knows that it’s right for me to make you smile. I want to try.” He looked up again, and saw tears in Steve’s eyes again. He moved closer and set a hand on his shoulder. Steve’s eyes focused on his knees. “I’m not… I’m not good, but I wanna be. And, most days… you’re the reason I wanna be. Don’t… Please don’t give up on me, Steve.”

Steve was silent for several moments, but James could feel him shaking under his palm. He started to rub Steve’s shoulders just a little, and a sob left the other man. Steve pressed his face against his thighs and started to cry again, in earnest. James felt his own eyes sting in sympathy, the knots in his stomach roiling. He knelt in front of the chair and pulled Steve down onto the floor with him, holding him close. He let Steve hide his face against James’ chest as he cried, and James just pet his hair, letting him hold on as tight as he needed.

It took several minutes for Steve to cry himself out. James’ knees were hurting, and his back felt odd in his positions, but he held it, his training helping him hold the position. He let his hand curl in Steve’s hair, just holding on a little.

Steve’s breath stuttered, and he held still in James’ arms just a minute or two longer before pulling away. He sniffled and rubbed his eyes. James’ hand let go of his hair, but moved quickly to hold his free hand.

Steve laughed weakly, “Thanks…”

James took a deep breath, “I was wrong. I want to remember, I just… It’s hard. I need your help Steve.”

Steve was shaking his head. “You already told me. It’s… it’s fine. You’re allowed to be upset.” He gave James’ hand a squeeze, and smiled just a little. “But… yeah. Thank you.”

James couldn’t help but smile, a little wider, in return. The knots in his belly were untwisting at seeing Steve smile again. He pulled Steve into another hug, and grinned wide as Steve’s arms wrapped around him.

[comicteaparty]

April 18th, 2019 CTP Archive

The archive for the Comic Tea Party chat that occurred on April 18th, 2019, from 5PM - 7PM PDT.  The chat focused on The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya by Reimena Yee; Edited by Atla Hrafney.

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Chat:

RebelVampire

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB START!

Good evening, everyone~! This week’s Thursday Book Club is officially beginning! Today we are discussing The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya by Reimena Yee; Edited by Atla Hrafney~! (https://reimenayee.com/the-carpet-merchant-of-konstantiniyya/)

Remember that Thursday discussions are completely freeform! However, every 30 minutes I will drop in OPTIONAL discussion questions in case you’d like a bit of a prompt. If you miss out on one of these prompts, you can find them pinned for the chat’s duration. Additionally, remember that while constructive criticism is allowed, our focus is fun and respectfully appreciating the comic. All that said, let’s begin!

QUESTION 1. What is your favorite scene in the comic so far and why?

my favorite scene is definitely the one where zeynel sneaks off in the middle of the night after eating the cat to go pray. i love this scene for how emotionally raw it is. like this is somewhat being stripped and presented at their most desperate and vulnerable, and every part of the scene shows that. while at the same time, it has a good balance of feeling sort of mystical and expressing zeynel's faith through the choice in visuals and how many of the panels are composed together.

another of my favorite scenes is the end of volume 2 where certain ppl kick the bucket. it too was a powerful scene in terms of emotion and vulnerability, and another moment where i truly felt like the character in question was being their truest selves without the layers that ppl build up to protect themselves. not to mention i appreciate the bittersweetness of how it played out and how kindness kind of won in the end.

mathtans

Heeeey there. So, I kinda screwed this one up. Because normally when I reach the navigation page, I hit "FIRST". Aaaand... yeah, that wasn't the Carpet story. There's apparently a whole lot of other stories that come first. I was very confused, and this was a busy week. I figured it out half an hour ago and am reading now.

RebelVampire

oh dear. thats a lot worse than i was assuming too cause i knew the other comic was interspersed between the first and second volume. but now im glad i was vague in that last answer XD

mathtans

I was surprised it had been running since 2013 and then I noticed the artist had said they started it in 2016 in their kickstarter and derp. So I'll just kinda thumbs up stuff as I spot it.

reimena

If it makes it easier; here are the ebook versions of Volume I and II

Vol I: https://reimenayee.itch.io/the-carpet-merchant-voli Vol II: https://reimenayee.itch.io/the-carpet-merchant-volii

mathtans

Oh, hello author. Thanks.

(And now I must go tend to the wee one.)

RebelVampire

let's see then in the meantime. i loved the first scene where we see zeynel plying his trade and selling a carpet. like the scene immediately paints a picture for the visuals and draws you in with them. and the visuals are consistently beautiful throughout the comic.

but by contrast, i also appreciate the scene later on in the second volume where Mora wtfs Zeynel just taking the insults and Zeynel explains how its part of the job etc. etc. It was interesting to see this other take on his job and that not everything about selling carpets is all that fun and even if youre a cool vampire, sometimes you gotta swallow your pride and accept customers being dumbasses.

mathtans

Back-ish. Oh yes, the visuals are amazing. Not just the carpet patterns either. Even the sheep were different.

Lots of neat cultural stuff too.

RebelVampire

what i appreciate i think is the character of the backgrounds. cause a lot of them have what im going to describe as this splash effect. and while it may not always have anything to do with whats in the main panels and is mostly there to not be white space, i feel they always add great atmosphere to each individual page.

yeah i really adored the culture stuff. this is definitely not a heavily featured culture in comics so it was super interesting to get to see it.

though i also appreciate later zeynel's ability to just kind of meld into different cultures. cause it really gives the opportunity to compare, contrast, and appreciate

one thing i also want to say in regards to culture is that i also appreciate that the comic balances having unique culture features while still telling a story that is really universal to anybody. so you dont need to have some deep specific connection to the culture in order to appreciate the story in its fullest

QUESTION 2. One of the comic’s central themes is related to stories and story-telling. Overall, what do you personally think the comic is saying about the importance of stories in our lives? Of the fables that were juxtaposed to the main narrative, which one captured your imagination the most? How did you feel it related to what we were seeing in the story? In what ways did you see stories affect the lives of the characters within the story? Additionally, what did you make of Zeynel’s explanation about each carpet having a story within it? How do you think this applies to the works we see in our own lives? In total, how has the comic changed the way you see stories and how they shape our lives?

mathtans

Okay, little one's settled back in the crib, more fully back now.

Yeah, the story seems universal (from what I've gathered so far, with the two families). So it's more a bonus, the phrases and references and things.

RebelVampire

ill tackle the second question first. my favorite fable juxtaposed to the main narrative was Karagoz and Hacivat. there were a lot of reasons this juxtaposition really worked for me. first off, its premise of being a show that zeynel was watching i think somewhat helped build a feeling of nostalgia. like because the show was in the past, it helps illustrate how far away zeynel is from that. however, i think it further helps set up the idea of culture clashing. and predictively shows that both sides kind of have a negative and specific view of the opposing culture. so when these come up in the story, they help paint a particular perspective regarding them. and kind of force us as the readers to recognize that both sides have their biases as zeynel adjusts to life in different places.

mathtans

I know the feeling of being a better listener than talking about oneself. (Just as I'm reading, not sure if that necessarily relates to the stories idea.)

RebelVampire

in terms of the importance of stories, i feel like the comic was overall trying to say that stories help us connect to the world around us. and i kind of think this is represented with young zeynel. cause he sucks at talking about himself, but tells and listens to stories to connect with others. and this is how he bonds with people, learns about the world, and somehow down the line eventually learns about himself.

reimena

I do have thoughts of the intention behind the Karagoz and Hacivat scene, but I'll wait until everyone's done typing! (unless you want it now)

RebelVampire

you may go ahead since math definitely wouldnt be close to that one. participate as you would like

mathtans

I agree with what Rebel said, both about the bonding and learning through stories, and about the do your thing and don't wait for me, I'm a slow reader in general.

reimena

Haha I'm just lurking (doing other things while keeping this discord open). Only dropping in when necessary. (I appreciate all of the discussion though! <3)

mathtans

There's some really good non-dialogue panelling as Zeynel is opening himself up to the merchant life.

reimena

With the Karagoz and Hacivat story, it was meant to act as first, a parallel to Zeynel and Mora (with Zeynel being Hacivat, and Mora being Karagoz). Second, a subversion of the Other. Since Vol II is a jab at Orientalism, I thought it would be fun to have characters who are normally seen as "Other" to call out the Western world as their "Other".

Muslims both in the past and the present have always been constructed as monstrous or barbaric in Europe. Very rarely in a visual medium's critique of Orientalism do I see the opposite. Especially in the context of the era the comic is set in.

RebelVampire

i definitely appreciate the subversion of the "Other" then if it was intentional

reimena

Which explains the European wooden puppets at the end. The costumes, the white facepaint and blush, and the 3D construction of the design. Those are European. And they look rather jarring and out of place in a book that's mostly visually Ottoman.

mathtans

I was a little worried about how Zeynel's parents would react to his independence. It felt spot-on in the end, in particular the embrace and such, I'm glad he managed it. (Then fainting, hah.)

RebelVampire

this is true, their design really is odd compared to the rest and it did make me wtf for a moment admittedly. but i also definitely thought it made sense in the context

zeynel's parents reaction surprised the heck out of me, but probably in the good way

usually when you have overbearing parents, you expect them to be stubborn and not able to be persuaded. and yet here they were not and i thought that was a nice variety.

mathtans

Yeah, I was wondering about that, but the conditional acceptance worked for me.

Oh, well, the next sequence is a kick to the heart for me.

reimena

That's because they really love Zeynel. It's more overprotectiveness than being stubborn

mathtans

Speaking as someone with infertility issues in the family, ouch. Captured well though.

RebelVampire

QUESTION 3. Though much of the comic is about stories, there is also a lot of focus given to defining ourselves and achieving our dreams. Between Zeynel and Ayşe, which character’s struggle with their future path did you identify with most? What about it made it compelling? What do you think the comic shows and says about the way we define ourselves and pursue our dreams as it relates to others? Further, the narrative somewhat creates an identity crisis for Zeynel when he becomes a djinni/vampire. What part of his transformation did you find most compelling in his reaction towards it? What do you think we can learn from the comic in regards to moments like this where who we are changes? Is there anything else you’d like to mention in regards to identity and the comic?

i think i identified most with zeynel in regards to the future path struggle. cause ive been there with zeynel where you dont know what to do. and then you encounter ppl like Ayşe who just are 100% of what they want to do. and it can be an intimidating experience that makes you feel more lost sometimes, which i do think at first kind of happened. mostly cause zeynel really opened up and laid everything bare after some pressuring and i think its because Ayşe caused those emotions to reverberate more strongly than ever.

mathtans

Yeah, I've never really been clear on where I'm going, but I'm highly organized in the moment. Then there's those times when I know where I'm going (start a family) and reality just kicks you from behind and says you need to adapt those plans.

RebelVampire

yeah. but ultimately what i found about zeynel's struggle was how we were shown how he overcame it. in that he found something interesting that he was good at and decided to give it a try against all he was taught. but that it was something he did with those around him supporting him. and i think in a large way this is part of what the comic shows about defining ourselves. that in essence we are defined somewhat by the people around us, such as how zeynel's parents picked his career or how Ayşe herself was defined by her family's occupation. but at the same time changing how we see ourselves is made a lot easier when those around us who originally helped define us support explorations into other areas.

mathtans

Yeah, Zeynel also got a lot better at talking about himself. (I'm at the part where he heads off, runs into a guy and is suddenly telling him all about himself and carpets.)

RebelVampire

its easier to talk about yourself when youre proud of what you do

i really enjoyed how zeynel's vampire situation kind of goes through a lot of the stages of grief. though not all with zeynel either. cause i think denial hit Ayşe a lot, lot harder. but i think it played out really well because of that since his reaction felt extremely realistic.

and i love how hard they tried to make it work before hitting that acceptance stage

but all together i think the comic shows us that sometimes we do change, its sad, but we have to accept it cause no matter how hard we may try to make something work, the reality is it doesnt always

mathtans

I'm at the transformation part. That's rough. Some stuff you can just write off, but then reality hits you once again... and yeah, I agree Rebel, reality can be at odds with what we want or believe.

Interesting how the tavern guy, while being a jerk, still had an element of sympathy to him, what with his history.

RebelVampire

i felt bad for tavern guy. cause he was definitely a jerk, but at the same time all i can think of is how this poor guy will be found and no one will know who the murderer was. and maybe therell be a vague description of some out of town dude showing up. but then nothing cause this isnt modern day and its not like they have forensics or security survellaince footage.

mathtans

Yeah. Though I guess he did kinda want death, just earlier when he was with the sultan... his reality didn't work out either.

RebelVampire

it certainly did not.

i like to think tavern dude was the showcase of what happens when you choose to define yourself with anger and revenge

mathtans

Perhaps he wanted to beat someone up and figured an out-of-towner was better than someone who might have relatives nearby.

The night imagery when he goes back home is very effective

RebelVampire

that is probably true cause that scene made me marvel about how if you killed for self defense, the best course of action probably is to just run the heck away. cause like, who are you going to tell? and what is the liklihood those you tell are going to believe you that it was self defense? cause if i was like some town guard and some out-of-towner said to me "nah dude it was totally self defense" i might be like "idk man that sounds suspicious"

QUESTION 4. Much of the second volume focuses on the character of Mora and Zeynel’s affect on him. Overall, what is your opinion on Mora? Do you feel Zeynel handled the situation correctly, or would you have done it differently? Why do you think Zeynel had the affect he did on Mora? Do you feel Mora’s regrets at the end redeemed him, or do you feel that he had done too much damage by this point? Do you think Zeynel was sincere in saying that he would try and start forgiving Mora at the end? In essence, what do you think Zeynel and Mora’s story together says about good and bad people? Additionally, what is your take away in regards to the themes of redemption and forgiveness? What in the comic made you feel this way?

i love mora because he is a conflicted, murderous teddy bear who got dealt the worst hand in life.

and i think zeynel handled the situation 100% correctly. because i think that played into a large reason why he has an affect on mora. cause i think its relevant to even the scene where we first see mora. in that mora is flat out just not used to kindness. and that she be shown kindness reminds mora that not everyone are the people who were awful to him in his past.

mathtans

I don't think I'll get that far. Ayse is taking this better than I thought she would.

RebelVampire

honestly i didnt know what to expect for how Ayşe would take it. i was legit as nervous as zeynel about it. cause this is an unbelievable situation where you have to ask a person to 1) believe youre now a supernatural creature and 2) be okay with the fact that you sorta murdered someone, even if out of self defense

but i enjoyed i didnt know what to expect

cause it helped put me in zeynel's shoes

mathtans

Yeah, I kinda thought she'd let him go and try to find a cure or something. But in the story she told, I guess she still needs him as a constant in her life.

It's kind of regressed Zeynel back to the point where he's not sure who he is any more, or what he wants. Before it was his family affecting him, now it's this inner demon.

RebelVampire

since you wont be to that volume i wont dwell on it, but i do want to finish the last set of questions off by saying i do feel mora earned his redemption in a sense. not in the lets all forgiveness sort of way, but in the sense he finally took a satisfying step in the right direction since he acknowledged everything he had done to that point was wrong. but with mora and zeynel, i think the story is saying bad and good people are still people. and that bad people are often bad for reasons and that while we dont have to forgive them, theres a degree to which we should still show them some human decency. and that if said bad person is trying to redeem themselves, its good to encourage it even if to us personally they cant be redeemed.

mathtans

Definitely address your questions, they seem like good ones.

RebelVampire

i think thats a good way to look at the transformation. that hes regressed. cause its definitely an identity crisis

like even without the vampire thing i doubt zeynel would have labeled himself as someone capable of murder

so that in itself is a holy crap moment

mathtans

He never knew what he was capable of until it was thrust onto him.

Something I've noticed narratively is the use of flashback. We started with the little blurb on the boat... then to the carpet selling... then back again 25 years. (There was something similar in the very first story too, the one I started reading accidentally.)

RebelVampire

yeah and tbh i think thats kind of within the comic as well regarding identity. that as much as we can come to define ourselves, we may still be missing portions of that definition if we never test ourselves in certain ways and find out what were actually capable of in certain situation.

mathtans

I always hesitate a bit with that style, like I wonder if it's really necessary, but I thought it worked well in terms of how the 25 years got kind of "fast forwarded" through the relationship to bring us to the present rather than jumping back. That was good.

(No idea if that narrative idea happens again.)

That's a good way of putting it, Rebel. Not only missing portions from testing but if other people are needed to bring those things into focus for us.

RebelVampire

yeah the use of flashback is interesting. though i think i most appreciate the first flashback transition from the boat to zeynel's successful merchant life. cause i think the boat really set up some great expectations. so when you see zeynel all happy selling a carpet youre like "hey werent you just eating a rat on a boat how did that come about."

mathtans

I'm not sure I made the link that fast, I just thought they were related or something.

RebelVampire

well even related i still think it sets up ominous tone for future events. so eh.

mathtans

I'm reminded of a conversation earlier today with colleagues, of when someone gets old and feels like maybe it's just their time and isn't necessarily proactive about health and stuff. But others may need that person to still be around. So they make an effort for that reason.

This two-panel style between Zeynel and Ayse is pretty effective.

RebelVampire

i think thats true to whats happening in the story for sure. cause as confident as Ayşe is, i dont think she wouldve accomplished her goals without zeynel. and tbf we dont really see them have that many friends who arent family and working for them. so they probably a close knit group

one thing i want to say at that end is that this comic really made me want to learn how to make carpets so i too can have beautiful carpets on my floor

mathtans

It's like, there's so much emotion here, it needs space to breathe.

I think there was a tutorial panel somewhere in there.

(For making carpets.)

RebelVampire

there was and id be lying if i said i didnt legitimately studied it for a bit

but then i gave up

and felt Ayşe's pain

mathtans

Made it to #300. Rough stuff. Very emotional.

You'll just have to weave your stories in the meantime, Rebel.

RebelVampire

this chat was missing a pun

COMIC TEA PARTY- THURSDAY BOOK CLUB END!

Sadly, this wraps up this week’s Thursday Book Club chat for now. Thank you so much to everyone for reading and joining us! We want to give a special thank you to Reimena Yee and Atla Hrafney, as well, for making The Carpet Merchant of Konstantiniyya. If you liked the comic, make sure to support Reimena Yee’s efforts however you’re able to~!

Read and Comment: https://reimenayee.com/the-carpet-merchant-of-konstantiniyya/

Pledge for a Hard Copy: https://unbound.com/books/the-carpet-merchant-voli/

Reimena’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/reimenayee

[hiraethstill]

Hey hey hey!! Could I get KuroKen with Kuro helping Kenma through a panic attack or a depressive episode??

Unknown Number

Kenma could feel himself shaking long before he managed to find an empty stall. But the real panic only started to set in in full force as he slumped against the wall, sliding into a sitting position and wrapping his arms around his knees– shuddering, shallow breaths and the blurred lines of the stall door, the wall, the toilet next to him, the crush of anxiety on his chest forcing the air out of his lungs, disconnecting him from his surroundings. It seemed as though he was looking at everything through the wrong end of a smudged telescope, but even more sickening was the cold familiarity of the feeling.

It took him at least half an hour of using any method he could think of to calm down before he trusted himself to uncurl his body and sit upright. Blinking, he rubbed at his eyes weakly, willing them to focus on something, anything. They eventually landed on the inevitable graffiti covering the wall, trailing along the crude “Fuck this shit,” which he silently agreed with, a drawing of a penis, which he did not appreciate, and a few Your Mom jokes, which he didn’t bother to read fully. It was only when his eyes skimmed a small message near the bottom that he paused.

Aside from the elaborately drawn chemistry diagram, there were five words.

Ever just need a friend?

Right under the message was a number.

He stared at it for a long time, like if he touched it, it wouldn’t be real. Finally, his hands moved on their own, taking out his phone. The rational part of him told him that it was a complete stranger, might even be a practical joke. The rest of him was too done with being alone and terrified that it worked on its own, taking a blind leap of faith.

His fingers stopped over the call button, however. It would be much harder to call the person and hear their voice while having to respond with his own weak one. A text would be much easier, safer.

Exhaling slowly, he exited out of the current screen and opened the texting app instead. His fingers already seemed to have memorized the number, typing with quick efficiency until he pulled up a chat box for the unknown addressee. Before he could second-guess himself any further, he let himself go, typing out exactly what he was feeling, all the words he wanted to throw in his teachers’ and classmates’ faces but could never bring himself to voice aloud.

Kenma: yes, i need a friend. because im so damn tired of myself and my inadequacies but no one will listen farther than a few times including my parents and do you know how hard it is just to get out from under the blankets in the morning and know that no one will truly want to see you or ask how youre doing and youre too anxious and withdrawn to ‘just go out and talk to people’ which you absolutely hate but cant do anything about except retreat into your shell and socially regress every single day when all you want is for someone to just. listen.

He took a deep breath, realizing he’d been holding it the whole time, and let it out, sagging back against the wall and letting his head tilt back toward the ceiling. There was a strange sense of calm creeping in at the edges of his mind and chest, almost a sort of relief. The truth was out there now, at least with one person, and even if whomever it was blocked him or never replied, he felt lighter.

What he didn’t expect was the chime of his phone about a minute later.

Blinking, he tilted his head back down to the screen. A new message had popped up from the unknown number. And another.

Unknown Number: I’d be more than happy to listen

Unknown Number: Maybe we’re strangers, but you can talk to me, tell me how you’re doing, about your day - I’ll keep listening, or uh, reading, oops

Despite himself, Kenma found the corner of his mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile. Every part of him that felt dragged through the mud felt as if it were reaching out, trying to grasp onto something. It was strange how he was gravitating toward a chance at hope when everything was so hopeless. There was only one thing to say.

Kenma: thank you

**********

Kuroo knew to turn off his phone during class, or at least silence it so the teacher wouldn’t know. Recently, it had been more of the latter since his mom had been in the hospital and had no qualms about texting him at all times of the day.

So when he looked down at the silent notification, his eyes didn’t register that it had come from a different number at first. It was only when he saw the long paragraph that he paused. Instinct told him to look up at the teacher to make sure she wasn’t paying attention to him, and he subtly tilted his head down so he could scan the screen.

Something in his chest clenched, and he checked the sender’s information. Unknown. But this unknown had reached out to him. The person had no other option, and that tugged at him inexplicably.

He wanted to help.

Quickly, he typed out a reply one-handed, pretending with the other that he was taking notes, and sent another just in case. Then he went back to the chat box for his mother just in case the teacher decided to question him, heart picking up.

When he checked again, there was a short answer. Just two words.

Unknown Number: thank you

Kuroo smiled to himself. He’d made a difference, no matter how slight, and he knew that could mean the world.

Kuroo: No problem

Kuroo: Are you in class right now?

Immediately after he’d send it, he pursed his lips in distaste. He had no way of knowing how old the person was, much less if they attended school or not. He probably sounded like a fool.

Unknown Number: no

Unknown Number: dont worry about it, ill go to class or home soon

Kuroo: Ah, okay

Kuroo: Just wondering where you got my number

Unknown Number: werent you the one that wrote it on the bathroom wall

Oh. Oh. So it was a kid that went to this school. Kuroo had almost forgotten writing it out on the wall, but some vague memory resurfaced from the previous year involving a 2000 yen bet, a squirrel, and a certain bully’s underwear.

Kuroo: Right, I did, sorry

Kuroo: Glad it was put to good use

It took a while for the next response, enough to let Kuroo fill at least a third of the page with actual notes.

Unknown Number: i still can’t believe it

Kuroo: Believe what?

Unknown Number: that youre still here talking to me

Kuroo: You’re kind of stuck with me now (-u0)

Unknown Number: …youre a dork

Kuroo had to smile at that. It really wasn’t far off the mark, and he was pleasantly surprised at how perceptive this person seemed to be. Intrigued, even.

Kuroo: Can’t argue with that~

**********

The daily conversations became less about anxiety the longer they went on, and more about daily life. Even the silences were companionable, not oppressive like before, as Kenma slowly learned that the other person didn’t expect anything of him, didn’t silently demand what others did. He stuck to his phone longer, but now it wasn’t completely because he was withdrawing from others. Now he had something to look forward to - someone to look forward to - and it was a comfort in so many ways.

Unknown, which was what he’d dubbed the person, was smart, he knew that, and cared a lot about his mother. He was also confident, which Kenma envied slightly, being uncomfortable in his own skin. Or maybe Unknown had just stopped caring what others thought.

Either way, he found himself checking his phone constantly, and while he still had panic attacks, still couldn’t bring himself to talk to people, still let the negative thoughts creep in often, he had this Unknown, finally had a constant.

It was a few months before he checked his phone one morning to more of a decision than a message.

Unknown: Hey, I was wondering since we’re in the same school and all, would you like to meet? Totally fine if not, I don’t want to pressure you into anything

It took him a few minutes to completely register that message. Texting was one thing, but face-to-face interaction? He still got anxious whenever he even passed people in the hallway. How could he willingly…

He stopped, took a deep breath. What was he really scared of? Unknown had done so much for him, and here he was, scared of something so simple. In fact, if they could meet in person, it might be even better, for the both of them. They could actually spend time together in person, do all the normal things that friends did. Unconsciously, his fingers were already replying, typing out a quick affirmative and asking when and where. It didn’t take long to receive a reply and sort out the details.

Saturday. Only a few days away.

**********

It was only as he was pulling on an acceptable shirt on Saturday morning that Kuroo realized he had no idea what to look for. They hadn’t talked at all about how they looked, so he could completely pass by the other and not even know. Hurriedly, he sent a text.

Kuroo: What should I look for?

Unknown: ill sit at the table closest to the door with my psp

Kuroo: Okay, see you soon

Gathering his wallet and keys, he stood and made his way out the door and toward the train station. A short ride and a quick walk found him standing in front of the cafe. He didn’t hesitate as he pushed his way inside, immediately looking around.

There, with a PSP clutched in his hands and knees curled up to his chest, was a boy who couldn’t be much younger than himself, sitting at the closest table as he’d said he would. The hair spoke of laziness or just apathy, brown roots showing through the dyed blonde. Luminous amber eyes flicked up toward him, and seemed about to flick right back to his game, but Kuroo held them there as he stepped up to the table.

“Are you…?” he started, then stopped. The eyes seemed to grow even wider, blinking rapidly. “Are you okay?” he finished, coming to sit across from him.

The other nodded slowly and ducked his head, seeming to be trying to swallow. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, uninflected.

“You’re… taller than I thought.”

Kuroo was slightly taken aback, but broke into a grin and took the seat across from him. “And you’re smaller than I thought, but hey, both are okay.”

The blonde paused his game and set it carefully on the table, looking up. “Your name…?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou.” He reached out with a hand slightly, but stopped himself. No contact, right. Instead, he settled for a smile.

The other’s voice seemed be softer and stronger all at once. “Kozume Kenma.” Kuroo was surprised when he reached across the table himself and touched his palm to the taller male’s in a sort of half-handshake.

“I’m…” Kenma hesitated. “Well, thank you for coming.”

“I’m the one that invited you,” Kuroo pointed out.

“Yeah, but…” Kenma shrugged, and Kuroo understood, he really did.

“Hey,” he said, softer. “It’s alright. I know.”

The immensely grateful look in Kenma’s eyes made it all worth it.

Just goes to show, sometimes I get extremely carried away. This was almost 2K on google docs, and first written on what was supposed to be scratch paper after state testing. Oops.