#but he has consistently never been able to cry with actual tears

[diseaseriddencube]

i thinkg it's so so intertesting that there's a throwaway line implying that fushi is physically incapable of/has never cried EVER!!!!! and then the anime fucked that up royally like i think it's soooo itneresting and i want him to enever evr be able to CRY like there cann ot be tears of sadness rolling down those cheeks absolutely NOT

[evilminji]

Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes

[joemama-2]

men who get nearly, if not as emotional as you during sex.

okay so think about it, they wouldn’t usually label themselves as emotional or sensitive. they’re supposed to be strong with sometimes a mask of indifference. they’ve only ever shed tears a handful of times in their life. not many things can make them break down so easily. but you know what does?

your warm, slippery cunt.

if there was one drug they would be addicted to, it would be your soft walls that eagerly suck him right back in. the first time it happened, he actually thought he died and came back to life. but no, the hot tears that land in your cheek as your sprawled out beneath him bring him back to reality.

maybe it’s just because it’s the first time, he thinks.

again, no.

it happens every time. it’s almost annoying and maddening. it’s like a switch flips in his brain, his mind, and soul once he’s deep in you, pounding you like he needs to. over time, you caught onto the tears and wrecked expression on his face and god, it somehow gets you even more wet.

“shh, shh. please, please be more quiet.” he whispers pathetically against your lips, his own trembling ones having to kiss your moans down. his tears coat your skin as he works simultaneously at keeping your mouth shut, but also being the reason as to why you need it shut in the first place.

“please baby, god…y-you feel so good.”

his sobs and cries make you pull him closer by either his face, shoulders, or neck, whispering soft and sweet praises into his ear. you think you’re helping, but you’re really not. if anything, you’re making him cry more.

but he’s not the only one shedding tears. you’ve always been a crybaby and he used every chance he gets to tease you about it. that consists of him scaring you too much even when he wasn’t even trying to in the first place, stubbing your toe into a stubborn corner, watching a scene you know will make you cry, or when he raises his voice at you.

you always cry.

you think it’s karma for him chastising you for not being able to go five seconds without the waterworks when he can’t even go one pump without sobbing like a desperate man.

your guys’ tears mix together into a slobby mess and sex with him is never clean. it always ends with rags being used to clean whatever liquid was emitted or squirted during the entirety of it.

however at the same time, sex with him is different. it’s magical, as stupid as it sounds. it’s completely pure and it’s love in its most precious form.

his tears showcase the ever loving amount of affection he has for you.

“ ‘m gonna cum….” he breathlessly mutters. “cum with me, please baby. i need it.”

he begs like a man in heat.

but like the sweet girl you are, you always give in, always finishing with him.

————————————————

jjk: gojo, nanami, ijichi, choso, ino, getou, higuruma, maybe toji?

[deedeeznoots]

Hope I Never Forget

➺ Characters: Choso Kamo, GN!Reader

➺ Word Count: 1.7k

➺ Genre: Fluff, Angst (With Comfort)

➺ Content: JJK Anime Spoilers, Mentions of Death, Grief, Choso Crying, Reverse Comfort, Established Relationship 

➺ A/N: Thank you @emmyrosee for requesting something from my 100 followers post! I hope I did your request justice!

➺ Synopsis: Choso’s fondest memory after being incarnated was his younger brothers helping him with his hair. Years later, he’s ready to relive that memory with you. 

Choso remembers that day like it was yesterday. 

It had been years since the deaths of his brothers, and while he has long forgiven the people who killed them (especially his other younger brother Yuji Itadori), he will never be able to fully recover from losing them.

As the years passed, life moved on for Choso. He no longer had to fight anymore, and even found himself in a loving relationship. Yet, every so often he still thinks about his brothers, about all the little things they couldn’t do before their deaths that he has the privilege to experience. Every birthday he celebrated, every Sunday morning he spent in bed, every late night spent laying next to his loved ones watching movies, all things his brothers have never and will never be able to experience with him.

His brothers were only able to experience one small shred of comfort before their deaths, and that was tying their older brother’s hair. The day the brothers incarnated, they insisted on tying Choso’s hair for him. The feeling of his hair being pulled into two pigtails by his younger brothers was the last memory Choso had of all of them together, and that day was the last time Choso ever saw their smiling faces. 

Choso remembers that day like it was yesterday. 

The hairstyle brought Choso a sense of comfort, it was the one thing that remained untouched by the new life Choso led as a human. Every day, Choso would take two hair ties and carefully put his hair into the familiar pigtails that his brothers did for him years prior. 

Still, tying his hair up would be a struggle sometimes. Even though it was a style that he’s done for years, some days his hair would simply choose to not cooperate. Today was unfortunately one of those days for Choso.

 Each time Choso tried to put his hair up, something would feel off. Whether it was the pigtails being uneven, his hair slipping out of the tie, or finding his hair in knots from constantly pulling on it. What seemed like two simple pigtails turned out to actually be quite difficult to put up. Yet, Choso was determined to do it correctly, he had to for his brothers.

He started tying his hair during the early morning, but enough hours had passed that the once rising sun began to set. Even as the world moved, Choso stood still in front of his bedroom mirror, trying to tie his hair perfectly…but he just couldn’t get it right. Choso began to grow frustrated with each failed attempt. He thought about how much easier this would be for his brothers, how they would be able to do it so easily. He thought about how much easier everything would’ve been if he just had them by his side. 

Choso’s chest began to tighten. He wasn’t even focused on his hair anymore, his only thoughts consisting of how much he missed his family. Tears threatened to fall from his eyes, when he suddenly heard the front door open. 

“Cho! Where are you?” your distant voice was like a lifeline for Choso, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down. He didn’t want to cry in front of you, not today. “I’m in our room” his deep voice boomed throughout the house, and you rushed to that spot the moment you heard him. You entered the bedroom to see Choso sitting by the mirror with his hair down. You looked at him confused, “You’re re-doing your hair?” you asked him. Choso stood still for a moment, he didn’t like lying to you, but how could he explain that he spent the entire day doing his hair? 

You knew Choso more than anyone though, so his silence was enough. Every so often Choso would be so focused on a task that he’d lose track of time, and you assumed this was one of those days. “Here let me help you” you said gently, but as you reached out to touch his hair Choso suddenly stood away from you “No!”.

You immediately move your hands away from him, staring at him wide-eyed. Choso never yelled at you, so you were concerned about something being wrong. You look at Choso now standing, as looks shocked at his own behavior toward you.

You see Choso’s body tremble as he slumps down into the floor. The tears he tried so hard to hold back now freely falling down his cheeks as he sits in a seated fetal position, trying his best to make himself as small as possible. “I– I can’t…” he whispers to himself, but you are able to hear it. As you slowly sit next to him, you are able to hear his full sentence “I can’t do this… not without them” you hear him repeat over and over in between soft whimpers.

You know immediately who he’s talking about. You slowly inch closer to Choso, making sure he’s comfortable with your distance between each other. You breathe out a sigh of relief when you feel Choso lean into you, connecting your bodies together. 

“I’m sorry for yelling…” Choso says softly, his own breathing calming down the moment his body touches yours. You wrap your arms around him, making sure to speak softly to not frighten him more “It’s okay Choso… but why won’t you let me help you?”. You didn’t want to make assumptions, you wanted Choso to tell you his feelings directly.

Choso thinks for a moment, choosing his words carefully when he says “No one other than my brothers ever touched my hair. If I let someone else do it now… what will it mean for them? What if I forget the day they did it?” Choso makes himself even smaller than before, shuddering at the thought of one day forgetting his baby siblings. 

Hearing his words breaks your heart, and you can’t help but put your hand to his cheek and wipe away the warm tears from his eyes. Caressing his cheek, you say “I won’t do it for you if you really don’t want me to… but you would never forget your brothers, and I’m sure they would want you to ask for help when you need it”. You touch your boyfriend’s forehead to your own. Looking into his eyes, you see him trying to contemplate his thoughts “Are you sure…?” he asks, trying his best to trust you at this moment. 

You smile softly… still holding Choso’s body close to yours, “Completely”. 

The both of you take a seat on your shared bed. Choso, feeling soft and comfortable, leans into you as you comb your hand through his tangled hair. He still felt a bit odd feeling someone else touch his hair in this way, but eventually he was able to fully let go and allow you to take care of him. It helped that your touch was gentle, making sure to not pull too hard. You didn’t rush with his hair, something that even Choso did sometimes when he put his hair up. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. 

You continued gently brushing his hair, making sure to get rid of all of the little knots that appeared. Choso felt his eyelids get heavier as you massaged his scalp, and while he tried his best to stay awake, his eyes continued to close for longer and longer periods of time before he finally succumbed to slumber while sitting down. 

You didn’t notice that Choso fell asleep at first, continuing to gently brush his hair until it was completely untangled. You eventually took two hair ties and securely tied his hair into two pigtails… making sure to keep his bangs down, just the way Choso liked it. Finishing up, you exclaimed “Perfect! My boyfriend is so handsome” with a giggle in your voice. 

When you don’t hear Choso respond you get slightly worried, wondering if you did something wrong. That was until you heard him softly snore and realize he’s completely asleep. You can’t help but let out a soft laugh, making sure you aren’t loud enough to wake him up. You slowly turn him toward the pillows and lie him down with his hair still up. 

You softly kiss Choso’s lips and lay on his chest, feeling him rise and fall as he breathes in and out in his sleep. Feeling comfortable with your boyfriend’s warmth enveloping your body, you feel yourself slowly fall asleep on his chest, your heart beating with glee at Choso allowing himself to be vulnerable with you and being brave enough to share a part of himself that he hadn’t before. Eventually, you feel your eyes completely close, with your last thought before completely falling to sleep being your loving boyfriend.

After a few hours, Choso is stirred awake and he wakes up. “What happened?” he sits up confused as he rubs his eyes. Your lying figure next to him helps him relay his memories slightly. Right. You were doing his hair when he must’ve fallen asleep.

He sees you asleep and he can’t help but kiss your forehead. Still feeling the ties around his hair, he gets up to look at himself in the mirror. You did an amazing job, and two pigtails still stand proud on his head even after his sleep. 

A big goofy smile is plastered on his face as he admires your work. He thinks about his brothers once again, that soft feeling of familiarity as he allowed them to take care of him. He thinks about you and how you allowed him to feel that feeling once again with your gentle touch and understanding. Grief is no easy feat, and Choso has to go through that grief every day. Still, he thinks about you and how you comforted him today through such a small action, and he can’t help but smile.

He was so afraid of taking away the memory of his brothers by letting you tie his hair, but he realizes that it isn’t true at all. His brothers will forever live in his memory now through the both of you, and he feels them all around now more than ever. He was going to be okay, because he had you. 

Choso remembers that day like it was yesterday… and he hopes he never forgets. 

A/N: So…I have a prequel made for this story of Choso’s brothers doing his hair. It was originally supposed to be part of this post but after writing it I realized it didn’t really fit so I decided to just make it a separate post. I’ll be posting it tomorrow! 

A/N: Love Choso? This story also features him! (Be warned, it’s 18+)

Taglist: @emmyrosee

[moonflvver]

Starlight

character: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

warnings: angst (with fluff)

a/n: This is probably one of my favorite pieces about Bakugou that I've written. Also, I'm clearing out my drafts so expect an influx of posts over the next few days. And I'm getting back into mha so trust that there will be lots of Katsuki content in the future lol.

w/c: 1297

He was running his fingers through his hair as his jaw clenched. “What the fuck do you want from me then? What do you want? Because I just can’t figure it out. No matter what I do for you it’s never enough.”

You sighed, you were getting tired of having the same argument with him over and over again. And now of course he was turning this on you. Of course Bakugou Katsuki just couldn’t fucking admit that he was in the wrong for once. 

“What I want is for you to care about yourself Katsuki. I want you to stop overexerting yourself and coming home with an injury every other night. I want to trust that you’ll be safe when you’re out there.” You were trying your hardest not to let him hear your voice shake but it cracked mid-sentence nonetheless. 

It was just too much. God you loved him, of course you did. But he was too stubborn for his own good and he refused to stop pushing himself to the very edge of his limits. But that’s the thing about Bakugou, he’s a star. I mean it sounds silly to say but it’s true. 

He’s not just good at what he does, he’s great. But there’s something in him that refuses to let him enjoy what he has at any given moment and that’s the problem. They say that the stars that shine the brightest burn out the fastest and you know Katsuki better than anyone, so it’s clear to you that he’s just one mission away from crashing and burning. Which is why you can’t stop. If he won’t care for himself then you have to do it for him. 

“You don’t get it do you? I can’t just stop doing my job. People need me, people depend on me. I keep this city safe. I won’t drop it all just for you.” He shouted back. 

“Just for me, are you serious? Do I really mean that little to you, that you’d choose your own self destructive tendencies over me?” You’re crying now, tears are running down your face as you look at him. “I need you too, Katsuki.” You mumble, looking up at him.

Fuck. He looks exhausted and you’re sure that you don’t look any better, especially not after all of the crying you’ve been doing. But it’s clear that the long hours he’s been working have taken a serious toll on him and it makes you sob just a bit harder. 

His head is in his hands now as he says, “Shit y/n I didn’t mean that. I just-” But before he can finish you stop him. 

“I can’t watch you implode like this, I can’t stand by while you do this to yourself. I was so stupid to think that you’d actually change. But it doesn’t matter. You’re still that same impulsive, stubborn little kid that you were in highschool.” He knows you don’t mean it, he can tell by the fatigue that’s evident in your voice. You’re done. You’re clearly just grasping for straws at this point. There’s no fight left in you anymore and it’s all his fault. Fuck, of course he ended up pushing away the one person who’s remained consistently by his side.

The person who makes him lunch, who reminds him to take care of himself. Who always texts him on patrol asking him how he is no matter how late it is. He can’t let you leave, he just can’t. He wants to scream, he wants to fucking cry, he wants to let himself crash and burn and he doesn’t want you picking up the pieces. He just wants to be left alone but there’s a part of him that needs you more than the air that he breathes. And that part of him just can’t allow you to go. 

He’s taken you for granted, he knows that. He knew that his rise to the top would put a strain on your relationship but he had convinced himself that he would be able to figure it out. I mean of course he would, Bakugo Katsuki can do anything. Right? Anything except for preventing himself from getting completely and utterly blindsided by his own goals apparently. 

You’re grabbing your keys to walk out and take a breather but then he stands up, abruptly grabbing your arm.

You look up at him in mild shock. “Bakugou what are you-” 

“Don’t go.” He says, and it comes out as a quiet whisper. “Please don’t go, I’m sorry. Okay? I am so fucking sorry, just please don’t leave.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound so desperate.

He looks down, lets your wrist drop. And now he’s just waiting for you to say anything, anything at all. You sigh, dropping your keys back down onto the table. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” He echoes back as his head comes up and you see that his eyes are full of tears. 

You step forward taking him into your arms and he buries himself into your chest as you stroke his back. You inhale that familiar caramel scent that always seems to linger around him, a scent that reminds you of home, a scent that never fails to make you melt into his arms. He makes you feel so at home whenever you’re near him, you just want to hold onto him forever. You open your mouth and just as you’re about to say something to him he pulls away, pausing for a moment.

“I know.” He says quietly. “I know that it’s been hard for you. It’s just that no matter what I do, no matter how much I achieve it’s just that. Fuck. It’s never enough.” There are tears falling from his eyes. His long lashes are coated in the salty drops of water that won’t stop cascading down his face as he continues, “I get into this insane mindset that I could just be doing everything better, that I could be stronger, that I need to try harder. And I end up pushing you away. I end up hurting you and it’s not fair to you and I’m just really tired.” His voice cracks as he finishes and all you want right now is to take away everything that’s weighing on him and put the burden on yourself. 

Really that’s all you’ve ever wanted, just to make him hurt a little less. Because seeing him like this makes your heart ache. How could he ever think that he was anything less than good enough? Katsuki Bakugou is a star. And sometimes his light is blinding and it overwhelms you. But he’s also capable of illuminating everyone and everything around him. And he needs to know how important he is. 

You close the distance between the two of you and you swipe your thumb under his eyes hoping to clear away his tears. Your hand lingers for a moment and then you cup his face. “You are good enough. I get that it’s hard, I know how much pressure you put on yourself. But I need you to know that I see it. Even if no one else does. I see how much of yourself you’re putting into your job, I see how deeply you care.”

 He’s staring at you, practically dumbfounded. But then his eyes soften, “Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.” It comes out almost as a sigh, like he’s finally able to let go of the air that his lungs have been holding in for the past half-hour. His shoulders relax and your hands find their way into his hair as you bring him into your chest once again, mumbling into his hair. “How could I not see you? You’re too bright to ignore.”

[th3secr3th1story]

getou reacting to you having a mental breakdown/crying

geto reacting to a breakdown

of course, thank you for the request! hope you're ok

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst ig, first time writing in present tense wheww yazan dont fuck it up..., soft!geto, reader is stresseddd about life, crying, established relationship, no prns used, if u see any typos IM SORRY. i proofread but it's late and im tired!

words: 1,026

some days are harder than others. ups and downs are normal (and expected), but knowing that doesn't make difficult times any easier to manage.

you're a strong student, there's no doubt in that. you consistently perform well in all your assessments, sparring sessions, and missions, but sometimes it feels like the better you perform the better you're expected to do.

that day, geto is able to tell something is off. you didn't participate as often as you usually do in class, your typically composed expression seemed strained, you ate your lunch slower than usual, and despite beating him in a fight, you seemed less focused.

"are you okay?" he asks as the two of you walk down the hallway, turning your face gently to look at him.

"yeah, just didn't sleep too well last night," you smile, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand before quickly heading off to the bathroom.

despite being in a relationship with geto for over a year now, vulnerability is still challenging. not to say you've never confided in him, since there's no one you trust more, but putting thoughts into words never comes easy.

-

you don't know how you make it through your last class. just the thought of all your homework, your upcoming mission, the fact that it's only october, if you're really going to be risking your life for a living--you can't wait for the school day to be over.

once the final bell rings, you gather your things and leave the class, not stopping to thank the teacher or say bye to your friends as you normally do.

"what's up with y/n today?" gojo questions.

that confirms geto's suspicions. something is wrong, and he's ready to help.

-

once you reach the dorm, you shut the door and flop down onto the bed with a sigh.

"is it always going to be like this?" you wonder, feeling the stress from the day pressing down on your chest, practically suffocating you.

before you know it, half an hour of staring at the ceiling has gone by before a knock shakes you out of your thoughts.

sliding the door open, you see geto standing there staring right at you with his hands in his pockets.

"hey," he says, breaking the silence.

"what're you doing here? is everything okay?" you question, beckoning him in.

"you've been acting off today. even satoru noticed, which is definitely saying something since he's always in his own bubble," he grumbles the last part, smiling a little.

"what's going on? i need you to talk to me," he continues.

sitting down on the bed, you sigh for what has got to be the thousandth time in the last 12 hours and try to figure out how to formulate your words.

"today was just hard, i guess? i don't really know," you mumble, not even sure of what to say.

"what do you mean?" he asks, encouraging you to open up, sitting down next to you and placing his hand on your leg.

"i just feel like there's a lot of pressure to do well, from my parents and teachers," you respond, not sure if you were talking to him or yourself.

"like, the more missions i come back from successful, or the more projects i do well on, the better i feel like i have to perform. which of course isn't a bad thing--i mean it's probably a good thing, actually," you start, feeling the familiar stinging of your eyes.

"but it's still kind of tiring because i feel like i can't really catch a break. like, once i finish something, there's always something else waiting for me," you stop for a second to sniffle as the tears start to fall, quickly wiping them away.

geto scoots closer and wraps his arm around you, rubbing his hand up and down your arm.

"and i get this is the life of a jujutsu sorcerer and i just have to suck it up and get used to it, but it's hard, you know? i don't know how to get my shit together."

your breaths are coming in quicker now, placing your elbows onto your knees so you can lean into the palms of your hands.

"i'm just tired, suguru. really tired," you choke.

"i feel like i'm going insane. i mean, what if i fuck up my next mission and then that's it?" you ask, letting silence wash over the both of you as you cry into your hands. you shake your head, feeling the embarrassment push through you.

at first, geto doesn't say anything, processing your words, before he pulls you back into his arms, hugging you tightly and letting your tears fall onto his shoulder.

"i get what you mean, y/n. you're not crazy," he whispers into your hair, rubbing your back as you continue to cry hard.

"you keep talking like you're alone," he continues, "but you're not. satoru's here, shoko's here, baby-" he turns your head so that you can look at him, "-i'm here."

"expectations are challenging, and they can definitely feel suffocating. but you're more than a failed mission," he whispers softly, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

"mistakes are inevitable, and yes, failure is always a possibility. it's unrealistic to expect yourself to complete every single mission perfectly, you know. i doubt anyone ever has."

"but what if i disappoint everyone? i don't want to be a failure," you whisper, shaking your head as you look away from geto.

"listen, it still doesn't mean you're weak or incapable. you're the strongest person i know, and your dedication to everything you do just proves that," he smiles, pulling you in so you can rest your head on his shoulder again.

"stronger than you and satoru?" you ask, finally smiling a little as the tears begin to subside.

"way stronger," he responds, kissing your forehead before pulling the two of you down to lay on your bed.

"wait, i have homework, suguru-"

"just for a bit, baby. i know how tired you are, it's okay," he whispered, pulling you in closer and beckoning you to finally close your weary eyes.

[pub-lius]

Do you have a post on Maria Reynolds? I haven't been able to find much information about her, I read she became a nun or something after the scandal??

i know i do, i am struggling to find it because tumblr's search function has and always will be ass

RAHHH I CANT FIND ANY OF THEM fuck this im giving you a short history of her life because i love you with all my heart

DISCLAIMER: i fucking hate Ron Chernow, especially for his treatment of Maria Reynolds in his book, but him and wikipedia are all I have right now and my relationship with him is very toxic pls help. also this post will discuss heavy things like forced prostitution and ron chernow absolutely butchering this subject so just be aware of what is best for you

Early Life

Maria Reynolds was born as Mary Lewis on March 30, 1768 to Susannah Van Der Burgh and Richard Lewis, who was Susannah's second husband. She had eleven siblings, and they did not have very much money, and were likely a pretty average 18th century white family in America, with poor literacy rates, struggles with debt, and the women being taken advantage of. They lived in Dutchess County, New York.

Maria was literate, but not well educated. This is something she was strongly mocked for by both her husband, Hamilton, Chernow, and other men. Well, I guess Hamilton didn't really mock her, but he definitely looked down on her for it. Fucking asshole. She also seemed to have very strong mood swings from a young age, and this could have been something psychological, like a mood disorder, or it could have been physiological or hormonal, such a menstrual disorder that was never properly treated because women's issues were not taken seriously at the time, mental or physical. This is also something she was mocked for.

Maria was married off to James Reynolds, a Revolutionary War veteran, on July 28th, 1783 when she was 15 years old. James Reynolds often lobbied the government for money after the war, foreshadowing his debt problems and later exploitation of his underage wife for money.

Together, the couple would have one daughter, Susan, named after her grandmother, who was born on August 18, 1785. Maria showed herself to be a devoted mother who would do anything for her daughter, including putting herself in harms way to make sure she didn't face the same fate. Unfortunately, Susan would also later be in an unhealthy relationship, despite her mother's efforts.

Maria Lewis was always described as very emotional, innocent, smart, and pretty, despite those who attempted to degrade her.

Men before Hamilton

It was early in her marriage when she was looked down upon by men, beginning with the son of her first landlady in Philadelphia.

"Her mind at this time was far from being tranquil or consistent, for almost the same minute that she would declare her respect for her husband, cry and feel distressed, [the tears] would vanish and levity would succeed, with bitter execrations on her husband. This inconsistency and folly was ascribed to a troubled, but innocent and harmless mind... [Reynolds] had frequently enjoined and insisted that she should insinuate herself on certain high and influential characters- endeavor to make assignments with them and actually prostitute herself to gull money from them." -Richard Folwell, August 12, 1797

Her complicated feelings about her husband allowed men to reduce her to being deceptive, however it shows that she was torn between her bias towards her husband, who had been around her and influencing her throughout her formative, adolescent years, and the things he was asking her to do, including prostituting herself.

These escalated to more than requests for her to prostitute herself to rich men into demands and threats. Reynolds became physically abusive to his wife if she did not comply with his demands to sleep with and extort rich men. Eventually, this became a pattern, and she became known as a prostitute who slept separately from her husband so she could entertain her midnight visitors, when essentially she was being human trafficked by her husband at the age of 18.

There is evidence to suggest that she only slept with Hamilton when Reynolds threatened to physically abuse her daughter, Susan. I'm not going to go into too much detail about the affair because I believe it's over done, but I am going to discuss how Ron Chernow talks about this woman, and the consequences of victim blaming.

Ron Chernow Hates Women

Ron Chernow discusses the Reynolds Affair in chapter 19 of his novel Alexander Hamilton. Already, he places some of the blame on Elizabeth Hamilton with the sentence "It was a dangerous moment for Eliza to abandon Hamilton,", even though he likes to put her on a pedestal so people think he's a feminist (Chernow 363). You're not a feminist, Ron, you're a 75 year old incel, and I feel bad for your wife.

Chernow introduces Maria Reynolds by stating her age at the time of the affair (23), and for some reason, making up the fact that her name is pronounced "Mariah"??? He gives no citation for this, so I'm assuming he made it up to make her seem more slutty. Her name was Maria. Actually, her name was Mary, but if we had any link between her and the Christian figure for maternity and purity, well that wouldn't work with the portrayal of her as a disgusting, crazy, lying whore, right?

Chernow uses words like "doleful tale", "fanciful", "conspired", and "trickster" to describe Maria, but gives no proof of her malicious intent towards Hamilton. He portrays Hamilton as vain, however a savior to Maria, and she simply HAD to have been in love with him because of how good of a person he was. Ron Chernow manipulates Maria Reynolds' character to fit his personal belief that there are two kinds of women: good, pure, Christian homemakers, and uneducated sluts who deserve their mistreatment from men (Chernow 367).

Even though Ron Chernow finds it more comfortable to believe that Maria worked in cohorts with her piece of shit husband, and that they together decided to use Hamilton for his money, the truth is that she was a severely abused woman throughout her entire life, especially at the hands of James Reynolds. Her manipulation of Hamilton was not to gain something, but to prevent her and her daughter from being abused. Chernow glosses over this, dismissing it as something she made up to secure a divorce, but it was proven true in a court of law. Chernow's famous cognitive dissonance strikes again: the US government is very securely made with a magnificent justice system, yet uneducated, illiterate women can manipulate it to get... a piece of notarized paper! Yeah, don't let this senile old man write any more books. Thanks.

Aftermath

The backlash from The Reynolds Pamphlet, published 1797, would haunt Maria for the rest of her life. She remarried twice, once to Jacob Clingman, who is another piece of shit who should have his dick guillotined, and the other time to Dr. Matthew (idk his last name) who she was a housekeeper for. She allegedly wrote her own pamphlet, but never published it. Idk anything about that.

Maria would raise her two grandchildren after her daughter's untimely death. She also changed her name back to Mary, becoming Mary Matthew for the rest of her life. She was devoutly religious, joining the Methodist Church, but not a nun. She died loved on March 25, 1828. And if there isn't someone on earth who loves Mary Matthew, then I am dead.

Here's your Maria Reynolds post. I love her so much, and I will defend her until I have no voice left, my fingers can't write or type, my eyes can't move, and my legs can't walk. She deserves so much better than what she got and how she's been portrayed. Vive Mary Lewis.

[marblemoovt]

Bake A Wish - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: Fluff with a smidge of angst

Summary:

You bump into a man and his daughter at the grocery store. The kid is really insistent you join them for dinner.

------

She’s been on a tangent about her father, who you assume she’s hiding from, for ten minutes now. From what you’re able to gather, he works in the military. 

Unwilling to dampen her excitement, you crouch down and listen to every word. “Is that so, little one?” you say, propping your chin up with your hand. 

She nods, brown strands flying everywhere. “Mhmm. And he’s super handsome, too! A lady called him a dill, but Daddy’s not a pickle! She was so silly.” Your eyes widen, and you slap a hand over your mouth to barricade the gurgle in your throat. A fucking DILL.

Note:

This has been sitting in my wips for over a month but it's finally done!! I apologize if the quality feels sporadic throughout the fic. Writing consistently is just something I can't seem to do and my motivation/inspiration has been in a slump lately. The amount of fluff fics I've written that involve baking is ridiculous, I didn't realize that's the activity I default to lol.

I've never written for John before, so I'm still trying to get a feel for his character.

Anyways, thank you @yeyinde for introducing John Price to me. I was debating on not tagging you but I can't be a coward forever.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John holds the hand of his six-year-old daughter, Rose. The little munchkin is a ball of energy, and he fears the consequences if he were to let her run wild. “Don’t let go of my hand, ok Rosy?” Rose grins with more mischief than a little child should have. She attempts to run away, and John scoops her in his arms.

“I’m too big to be carried, Daddy!” she squeals, arms flinging around his neck to stabilize herself. The scent of her strawberry shampoo tickles his nose.

“You have to promise me you’re not going to do that again,” he says. Rose holds out her pinky, and he accepts her promise. Her finger looks tiny and frail compared to his. He sets her down and ruffles her hair despite her whinging. “Do you remember what we came here to buy?” he asks.

She claps her hands with glee and exclaims, “Cookies for Santa!!! Because Daddy can’t bake, so we have to buy cookies from the store!” John smiles, but he can’t help but feel the sting of her bluntness. Kids are way too honest.

“What kind of cookies do you want to get?” he asks.

“Not chocolate chip. Everyone uses chocolate chip.” She strokes her chin, imitating the gesture she’s seen her father do whenever he has to think hard about something. “Candy cane cookies!” She ponders over it for another minute before nodding her head. “I bet Santa’s never gotten candy cane cookies before.”

“I don’t think they sell those, rosebud,” he says, and she frowns.

“I guess they’re too special to sell in a store,” she laments, her enthusiasm wilting a little.

John crouches down to Rose’s eye level. “Why don’t we look at all the cookies they have and pick one afterwards?” he suggests.

“Ok,” she sighs, holding her hand out for him to grab. Large, calloused fingers swallow her hand whole, and John wonders how much longer it will stay like this. Her brown locks are a few inches longer than last time, but the beaming smile on her face when she sees him remains constant. He blinks the heat away from his eyes and leads Rose to the snack aisle. 

There’s an entire shelf dedicated to cookies, some of them themed for the holidays. But the snowflake shortbread cookies further deflate Rose. She droops when they come across sugar cookies in the shape of Christmas trees. John silently curses the corporate companies for manufacturing every winter holiday cookie except for a candy cane. He squeezes her hand, and his heart aches when he catches Rose biting her lip. Tears are on the verge of spilling, but she will not cry. He actually can’t remember the last time he’s seen her cry. The thought bothers him more than he wants.

John spots a box of rainbow cookies on the top shelf. He releases her hand to grab them, “What about these?” When he turns around, Rose is gone. The box tumbles to the ground. “Rose?” His eyes sweep the shelves. Rows of cookies and other snacks, but no sign of her. “Rosy?!” He begins jogging through the store, checking every aisle before moving on to the next. Icy claws grip his chest, and all of his senses are on high alert. He fidgets with the dog tags around his neck and has to remind himself that he’s not on duty.

Sharp laughter slices through the pounding in his eardrums; a high-pitched fit dissolves into familiar giggles. Rose. He flexes his clenched fists to relieve the stinging in his palms. He pinpoints the sound to the baking section and sprints like a madman. Sliding to a stop, he spots her at the other end of the aisle. His body sags against a shelf, and the air enters his lungs with ease once more.

“My Daddy’s amazing! He can shoot bad guys from reeeeally far away,” Rose brags to a stranger crouched in front of her. That stranger is you.

A faint giggle grabbed your attention. Twinkling lights accompanied by the pounding of tiled flooring. A little girl beelined straight toward you, veering to the side to hide behind a display of chocolate bars. She covered her shoes with her hands to dull the blinking, peering around for someone. She spotted you holding a bag of flour and asked if you bake. Her eyes lit up when you confirmed that you do. 

She’s been on a tangent about her father, who you assume she’s hiding from, for ten minutes now. From what you’re able to gather, he works in the military. 

Unwilling to dampen her excitement, you crouch down and listen to every word. “Is that so, little one?” you say, propping your chin up with your hand. 

She nods, brown strands flying everywhere. “Mhmm. And he’s super handsome, too! A lady called him a dill, but Daddy’s not a pickle! She was so silly.”

Your eyes widen, and you slap a hand over your mouth to barricade the gurgle in your throat. A fucking DILL. You don’t have the heart to correct her. Correction: You’re too busy trying not to collapse on the floor in a fit of laughter. The misunderstanding is best left alone, but your curiosity is piqued. What does this man look like?

“Rose!” A voice booms from the other end of the aisle, and the child hides behind you. You stand up and shield her with your body, eying the stranger with a frown. Brown hair with silver streaks, and his eyes—fuck, you wish the sky would be that blue instead of grey. He approaches you two, and when Rose makes no further movements, you stick your arm out to block him.

“Who are you?” you ask. He must be at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and built like he could beat you into a bloody pulp if he wanted. 

He mirrors your frown, eyes flickering to the brown hair peeking behind your figure. “I should be asking you that. Who are you, and what are you doing with my daughter?”

You narrow your eyes. “How do I know you’re not some pervert who kidnaps children?”

He chuckles; the low rumble sends the butterflies rampaging against your stomach walls. “Sweetheart, I could say the same about you,” and he crosses his arms—his thick and muscular arms. The way his biceps bulge underneath his sweater…. You bite your lip. The metallic tang in your mouth grounds you. You swipe a tongue across the fresh wound, and the sting helps you regain a few brain cells. 

Turning to Rose, you ask, “Is this your dad?” and squeeze her hands. “You can tell me if it isn’t, and we’ll find a nice employee to help you.” You talk slowly, enunciating each word with care. Rose glances at the man behind you before settling on your face. 

She cups her hands around her mouth, and you lean in, her warm breath tickling your ear. “Yeah, that’s my dad. What do you think? Super handsome, right?” she whispers. You glance at him and huff. A fucking dill, indeed. 

“Rosy, stop bothering the nice stranger,” her father says, gesturing for her to come to him. She skips over and fails to dodge his hand. Rose groans and buries her face into her father’s stomach as he ruffles her hair. You avert your eyes and ignore the heat that prickles the back of your neck. Wringing your hands, you stare at the floor as their laughter echoes in the aisle. You hardly know these people. Plus his wife must be somewhere in the store, ready to pop out at any second. 

“The ‘stranger’ has a name,” you speak up, introducing yourself. You keep your eyes trained on the shelf of sprinkles above his right shoulder as if the plastic bottles of sugar will stop you from falling.

He holds out a hand for you to shake. “John, John Price.” Firm warmth envelopes your skin and dissipates far too quickly for your liking. Sparks of electricity fizzle before they get a chance to light your nerves on fire—and you want to burn.

“Heh, P as in Pickle,” you snicker, making the mistake of meeting his gaze. Your arm drops to your side, and your bones turn to lead. The sky must be grey because all the blue was stolen and contained in his eyes. There’s no coldness, no ice, only calm ripples of water. The gentle drag of the ocean as the waves lap against the shore, inviting you into its depths.

John raises a brow. “An odd observation, but yes.” He smooths Rose’s hair to no avail. Baby hairs and cowlicks in all different directions are a continuous reminder that he’s been meaning to learn how to style hair. 

Rose beams at him with her toothy grin. “Cause Daddy’s a dill!” she adds.

John’s confused expression quickly morphs into one of horror. “Where did you hear that?!” He narrows his eyes at you. 

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Don’t look at me. This is the first time we’ve met.”

Rose tugs on his shirt and says, “That lady who used to babysit me. She also called you a fox, but I told her you’re a man.” Your eyes widen, and your shoulders tremble. John runs a hand through his graying hair, and you rip your gaze away because witnessing that felt illegal. Every time you look at him you notice another thing that attracts you.

John sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry about her. I love Rose, but she can be a handful at times,” he says, whispering the second half. His head tilts forward, and now all you can focus on is how his moustache frames his mouth. Plump and pink.

Your lips crook upwards in a slant. “It’s not a problem. She’s an entertaining conversationalist.” You find yourself drawing nearer to his face, wandering from the shore and deeper into the ocean—oblivious to the current that will pull you under.

Rose tugs on your shirt and asks, “Why don’t you join us for dinner?” You pull away with a sharp inhale, processing how John’s eyes flicker to your lips. The little girl gazes at you with a hopeful smile, but you look to her father for confirmation. 

“Rose, you can’t invite people you barely know to your home,” he reprimands, and her smile flatlines. It’s probably for the best. At the current pace, it’s like you’re in a sappy romance novel! John shoots you an apologetic smile, but you wave your hand and shake your head in understanding. 

Rose pouts and stares at her shoes. She shuffles her feet, and the lights twinkle with each tap. “But then there’ll be someone who can bake cookies,” she says, looking up at him with puppy eyes. John winces.

You notice him wracking his brain for a response and decide to help him. “They sell rolls of sugar cookie dough; next to the puff pastry,” and you jerk a thumb behind you. Sometimes you buy a roll or two when you feel particularly lazy but crave cookies. 

John mouths a “Thank you” and holds Rose’s hand. “C’mon, rosebud. Let’s buy some, and you can make your candy cane cookies.” 

Rose perks up at the mention of cookies, her shoes now fighting to match the brightness of her eyes. “Wow! They sell everything here!” She drags him to the pre-made dough section. Well, she tries to drag him. Rose is less than half her father’s size. It reminds you of those cartoon characters that try to move a comically large boulder. Blue eyes meet your gaze one last time and wink at you. 

Did. Did he just?

You stand there, unblinking, staring at the corner they disappeared behind. 

Holy fucking shit. He did. 

You don’t register going through the checkout and packing your things in the car. With a blink, you’re in front of the steering wheel, key in hand. Where were you...? Home. You were on your way home. Slotting the key in the ignition, you start the engine and begin the drive home. For once, the clouds have gone, and the world mocks you with its clear skies. You don’t think you can stand to look at the colour blue for a while. It’s a good thing you’re sitting right now. 

The drive itself is unremarkable. You go through the same streets, pass the same buildings, pull into the same parking lot, and park in your usual spot next to a truck. You admire the muscular arm resting on said truck window. Funny. Guess that sweater is popular around here. Large hands run through brown hair flecked with grey—John.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

You creep out of your car and circle around to the apartment building, abandoning your groceries.

Just a few feet. Just a few feet, and you’ll make it to the door. Conscious of your steps, you slink across the pavement and concrete. You wrap your hand around the handle, and the tension bleeds from your shoulders. 

“Are you playing hide and seek, too?” a voice from below asks. You jerk and pull the door instead of pushing. A loud rattle echoes in the vicinity. Who decided it was a good idea to make doors out of glass? A sadist who likes to watch people open doors incorrectly, that’s who. You glance down. Long lashes frame blue eyes that stare into your soul. Your fingers itch to adjust the cowlick in the disarray of her hair. You spot a few leaves clinging to her locks. Was she hiding by that bush beside you?

“Are you hiding from your dad?” you ask Rose, scooting behind the potted plant when she beckons you closer.

Rose shrugs and peeks around you. “Daddy was taking too long. I’m waiting to see when he’ll notice I left.” 

Your brows pinch together. “That’s not safe, Rose. You should stick close to him. What if something bad happens to you?”

“Don’t worry, I have a lot of uncles, and they taught me how to beat up baddies!” She punches the air a few times. Her face pulls tight in concentration before loosening into a grin. She shrinks behind the bush and brings a finger to her lips.“Now shhh, we have to be quiet.”

Boots thud against the pavement, the strides between each step growing shorter. “Rosy! Where did you run off to this time?” There’s a divet to his tone beneath the loudness, like the warning tremors of an avalanche. “I need to put that girl on a leash.” There’s a smile in his tone, but it stretches taut like a rubber band, ready to snap and whiplash you with his increasing agitation. He runs a hand down his face and sighs, eyes darting across the rows of cars. 

You can’t watch this any longer. You move to reveal yourself, but Rose beats you to it. She tiptoes behind her father, giving up halfway and slamming herself into him. 

“Boo!” Rose screams, voice muffled by his shirt. 

John stares at Rose and shouts half a second later. “Ah!” Half a second too late.

Rose pulls away with a sullen frown. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

John crouches down and pets her hair. “No, no, rosebud. Was so afraid I forgot how to talk,” he insists. 

Rose gives him a scrutinizing look. “Liar,” she pouts. John leans in and whispers something into her ear, scratching her smooth cheek with his beard. She giggles and squirms, pushing his face away with both her hands. He deliberately rubs their cheeks together, and it causes her to laugh harder. 

Once again, you’re watching the two of them from afar. Heat pricks your skin, and your gaze steers toward the door. You should be able to slip unnoticed if you’re quiet. Standing up, you wince as your joints pop. You might as well hang a giant neon sign to denote your presence. 

John’s voice glues your feet to the ground. “Let’s bring everything inside, then you can bake your cookies,” he says. You press your back against the wall and exhale through your nose. No big deal. You just need to wait until they head inside first. Your palms dig into the stony material of the building. As if with enough force, you’ll be able to reorganize your atoms and disappear into the walls to escape dying from embarrassment. 

“I have a surprise for you, Daddy!” Rose’s voice draws nearer.

You are a wall. A silent, still, and formidable wall.

“Did you find another pretty stone?” John asks, tone laced with amusement. 

You close your eyes, but the ocean will not leave you alone. The waves lap at your feet on the shore, and you shrink away. Stone presses hard into your back.

They won’t find you. They’ll walk past you and go inside. Your erratic heartbeat fragments your thoughts into mismatched puzzle pieces. You can’t think with all this drumming and adrenaline.

“It’s pretty, but it’s not a stone.” Rose runs up to you and tugs you from your hiding spot. “A special guest for dinner!” she presents you like a prized animal. You stumble, and your eyes snap open in fear of hitting the ground. Strong arms rush forward to steady you. You lift your head, and your mouth dries.

Cerulean eyes pull you into their depths, crinkles forming at their edges. John’s accent caresses your ears, and you tamp down the unintelligible noise that threatens to destroy your last shred of dignity. “I didn’t know you lived here too,” and the corners of his lips twitch.

You force your tongue to articulate, the words scraping like sandpaper up your throat. “Neither did I—that you also lived here! Cause I know that I live here because I live here!” A shaky laugh warbles out of you. “I wasn’t following you because that would be creepy—and I’m going to shut up now.” You seal your lips together before you can dig a deeper hole for yourself. His hands are still on you, fingers wrapped around your arms. Your blood sings at the contact. 

“Do you think Daddy’s handsome?” Rose blurts out. Flames lick your skin, and your mouth becomes reminiscent of a goldfish. 

John’s fingers dig into your arms, and it’s not until you flinch that his hands drop to his sides. “That’s not a polite question, Rose,” he rumbles. It’s low, a warning. But when you’re a kid, you’re not afraid of anything.

Rose places her hands on her hips. “But you were like this in the car on the way home too! And when I asked you what was wrong, you told me I was too young to understand. I’m not stupid, Daddy. I’m six.” She stomps on ‘six.’ And you watch as this little girl brings this burly man to his knees. 

John sighs, “Not here, Rose. Please.” 

But Rose refuses to yield. “Why not? You both like each other, so why can’t we have dinner together?” she asks.

John rubs the back of his neck, the muscles in his arms flexing. “Would you like to join us tonight?” he asks, eyes flickering between your face and the parking lot behind you. 

“I’m afraid Rose will kidnap me if I don’t say yes,” you joke. 

Rose grumbles, “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to say it out loud.” She grabs your hand and tugs you to the entrance. “Daddy can bring the groceries inside. I want to show you my toys!”

You dig your heels into the ground and say, “I need to bring my things inside as well. It’ll only take a few minutes.” Rose’s smile falters, and she reluctantly lets you go.

“Don’t worry, Love. I can take care of that for ya,” John offers

You fidget with the keys in your pocket. “Are you sure?” You’re not worried about him stealing your car. He can’t exactly hide if you two live in the same building. Besides, you want to believe that the kindness in his eyes is genuine. 

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he reaffirms. 

“Ok,” and you hand him your car keys. His fingertips graze your palm, and you shiver. God, you’re pathetic. Rose tugs on your arm, and you trail after her. She leads you up a few flights of stairs before stopping on the third floor, where you also live. Except she walks to the opposite end of the hallway, away from your apartment. She pulls a key out of her pocket and unlocks the door.

Rose drops your hand and runs inside, returning with a stuffed animal in her arms. “This is Mr. Bear. Daddy got him for me!” Mr. Bear is wearing tactical gear and a bucket hat. Frayed threads stick out of his body along the seams, and small patches of fur have fallen out. She cradles the stuffed animal close to her chest and rests her chin atop his head. 

You nearly melt on the spot. “That’s very sweet of him,” you say.

“Sometimes, when I miss him, I just need to squeeze Mr. Bear tight.” She gives you a demonstration.

A familiar warm timbre greets your ears.“I love you, rosebud.” 

You grin and say, “Your dad reminds me of a bear.”

“Yeah! He’s big and cuddly. But his face turned red when I told him,” Rose mumbles the last part. She straightens up and tugs on your arm. “Oh! And these are my action figures!” 

You walk into what you assume is her bedroom. It’s not as chaotic as you thought it would be. Her bed is in one corner of the room, with a collection of stuffies sitting along one side. There’s a shelf with knickknacks and picture frames. Your eyes land on a photo of John holding a small bundle in his arms. It looks like the picture was taken without him knowing. His eyes are wide, staring at the tiny hand wrapped around his thumb. 

There’s something that’s been bothering you, but you don’t think it’s your place to ask. Rose startles you when she starts barking out, “Hold your fire! We can’t alert the enemy of our whereabouts!” You whip around to see her sitting on the ground with a mini soldier in each hand. The large tub behind her is open, the lid propped neatly against its side. You sit next to her and watch the ‘mission’ play out. She hands you a soldier and assigns you the special position of super spy. Now a successful job rests on your shoulders.

Thanks to Captain Rose, your team retrieves the files, returning without a single casualty. Although you had a close encounter with the enemy’s Captain Pickles, which began some sort of enemies-to-lovers arc. You don’t know. She’s six. She reasoned that the power of love triumphs over all. Rose begins cleaning up, setting the toys neatly in the bin before snapping the lid shut.

“Did you learn all that from your dad?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and picks up Mr. Bear. “Daddy never tells me anything about work. It’s classified. Sometimes I watch TV. There’s a show where one of the characters looks just like him, but Nana doesn’t let me watch much 'cause it’s not for kids.” Dear lord. Could you imagine being sandwiched between two Johns?? 

“Rosy? Want to bake your cookies now?” John shouts from the corridor, snapping you out of your fantasy.

“Yes, please!” Rose replies. She grabs your hand and gives you a toothy grin. “You can be my assistant. Daddy’s hopeless at baking.” She leads you to the kitchen, where some bowls and a tray are on the table. Rose lets go and skips to a seat, plopping herself down. Mr. Bear is seated on the chair next to her.

You sit at her other side and ask, “What kind of cookies are we making?” There are no cookie cutters in sight to give you a clue. 

Rose clasps her hands together. Her feet swing beneath the table. “Candy Canes! Santa will be so impressed that he’ll grant my wish for sure,” she answers.

You don’t know what a six-year-old would ask from Santa, but you sincerely hope it’s fulfilled. Perusing the items on the table, you notice a vital ingredient missing. “Do you have food dye?” you ask. 

Rose strokes her chin. She hops off her chair and walks up to John. “Daddy, do we have any food dye?”

John’s head peeks out from behind the fridge door. “Sorry, Rosy. I don’t remember,” and there’s a sheepish grin on his face. 

Rose hums and grabs a stool, tottering to the drawers. “I forgot. You went away for a while. I think Nana left some the last time we baked.” Your eyes snap to the fridge when you hear a thud. An apple rolls across the floor and stops near your feet. You pick up the fruit, thumb brushing over the bruise blooming underneath its skin. “I found red!” Rose waves a small bottle in her hand and dashes to show you. 

You set the apple on the table and praise Rose. Her chest puffs up, and the smile she gives you is dazzling. She hops onto her seat, clutching the bottle to her chest. 

John walks up to you two. “Here’s the dough,” and he holds out the cylindrical tube but changes his mind and leaves it on the table. The only seats left are the ones across. He picks the spot in front of you. 

“Thanks.” You snap the tube open and remove the packaging. “Alright, Rose. We split the dough in half, and you’ll colour one part red.”

Rose cocks her head to the side. “We don’t paint the cookies?”

You shake your head and say, “There’s an easier way to make them look like candy canes.” You hand Rose a wooden spoon and tell her to mix the dough while you add the dye. Once half the dough is red, you take equal parts from both bowls and roll them into noodles. Putting them together, you twist them to form a cane. You curve one end, and the result is a near-perfect replica of a candy cane. Rose marvels at the sight, face inches from the table’s surface. 

There’s a streak of food colouring on her face, and you grab a tissue for her. She’s engrossed in the cookie, picking it up and turning it over. Out of impulse, you wipe the stain on her cheek and her laughter tinkles throughout the room. She complains about being ticklish between her giggles. A low sigh draws your attention. You look over to John, who’s watching you with his head propped up with his hand. “What? Do I have something on my face?” you ask.

There’s a softness to John’s features. He looks at you like you’re holding his heart in your hands, squeezing the pulsating organ with every cookie you form. “Do good looks count?” It’s barely audible, but you hear it. His elbow slips from the table, and he clears his throat. “Just been a while since I’ve seen her so happy.” He folds his arms across the table, a wall of muscle to create a false sense of distance. 

You gesture your head at Rose. “Make a cookie with her; have fun together.”

John stares at the table, stroking his chin in a familiar fashion, but remains silent otherwise. You chew on the inside of your cheek and resume forming the cookies. The squeal of wood scraping against wood pricks your ears. John squeezes himself into the space between you and Rose. His shoulders brush against you, and he is radiating heat. “What have you got there, Rosy?” he asks.

Rose looks at him with furrowed brows. “A candy cane, silly. Here, I’ll show you how to make it,” she answers. Rose does a quick demonstration, but John still struggles. Somehow he’s managed to mix the parts to create pink. Rose shakes her head, lips tugging into a frown. “My hands are too small; can you help him?” She turns to you. Long lashes frame her doe eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to say no.

You glance at John to find he’s staring at you. Shifting in your seat, you say, “If you don’t mind…?”

John maintains eye contact. “I’m all yours,” and the smile he gives you is bashful. You fight the warmth rushing to your cheeks, but it’s like trying to douse a flame with gasoline. The heat intensifies, and you grab a tissue to wipe your clammy hands, muttering an excuse about the dye staining your skin. 

You focus on the table, resisting the temptation to turn your head and meet the gaze burning into your face. “You take equal parts of each dough and roll them into logs.” You pause to make sure he’s following along. “Once they’re the same size, you can twist them together to form a cane.” John is about to mush his cookie as children tend to do with playdough; always mixing the colours. You grab his hands to stop him. His fingers twitch against your palms, but he doesn’t recoil. “Like this,” and you twist your cookie, rolling it some more to flatten the cane.  

“You make it sound so easy,” John huffs.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s not too bad once you get the hang of it.”

John shakes his head. “Give me a pistol, and I can field strip and reassemble in a few minutes.” He holds up a warped cookie. “This, this I can’t do.”

You bump your shoulders together. “I’ll have you baking like a pro.”

John grins; it’s boyish and charming—it pulls you in like a flower reaching for a ray of sunlight. “Is that a promise?” he asks, lashes framing an expanse of blue. And once again, you are hopelessly lost at sea. 

“Only if you’ll invite me over again,” you quip.

“Is this flirting?” Rose asks. Her head pops up behind John’s shoulder. “If Daddy won’t invite you, I will.”

You smile as John buries his face in his hands. “Thank you, Rose,” you say.

She returns the gesture with a wide grin. “You’re very welcome.”

You continue making the cookies in silence, gaslighting yourself into thinking that the numerous brushes against your hand are accidental. 7/10 times you’re grabbing something, John also happens to be reaching for the same item. The cookie under your palm flattens into a pancake when his body leans ever-so-slightly into yours. Thankfully this is the last cookie, and you place it on the baking tray with the rest.

Rose insists on putting the tray into the oven herself, and John watches her like a hawk, hovering behind her in case he needs to step in.

Once John’s certain the apartment won’t burst into flames, he rolls up his sleeves. You eye the veins along his arms as subtly as you can, wincing like a child caught in the act of misbehaving when John speaks. “Can you please help Rose clean up? I need to get started on dinner,” he asks.

“Yes, Chef,” and you give a mock salute. “Alright, Rose. I’ll wash all the dishes in the sink. Can you wipe the counter?” you ask her.

Rose straightens her back and nods. “Affirmative,” she replies, marching to grab a towel. 

You begin collecting the bowls and utensils, plugging the drain afterwards to fill up the sink. A few drops of soap and a mountain of suds form. With a sponge, you begin scrubbing away at bits of dried-up dough and red dye. In the corner of your eye, Rose is reprimanding Mr. Bear on how he needs to pull his weight too and that it doesn’t matter if he’s not heavy because he’s full of stuffing. 

“You’ve got an adorable soldier,” you say, turning your head to John, who’s heating a pan on the stove.

John watches Rose with deep affection. Those are the eyes of a man staring at the purpose of his existence. “She’s a trooper, alright,” and the smile on his face is lax.

“What’s on the menu tonight?” you ask, adding more soap to your sponge. The remaining traces of dye are giving you grief.

“Fish and chips; one of Rosy’s favourites,” John answers.

“Daddy makes the best!” Rose pipes up.

John shakes his head, and the base of his neck flushes. “She’s exaggerating,” he says.

You smirk, “I’ll be the judge of that.” The chuckle your words elicit from John fills you with a pleasant buzz.

“I have to warn you. I aim to please,” and the lilt in John’s voice encourages you further.

“Yes, you certainly look the type,” you say, eyes trailing up and down his figure. John’s body trembles under your gaze. “Is it just you and Rose here?” You don’t know if he’s divorced, but you don’t recall seeing a ring on his finger.

“She’s dead,” John says. Concise and well-practiced. The plate in your hand slips and splashes into the sink with a thud, shattering the silence. You look over at John, but his back is to you. Shoulders hunched and head low. “Died during childbirth,” he adds, and the slight wobble churns your stomach. You should have known. Should have guessed from how the pictures on the walls only contain two subjects. Rose only ever talks about her father and grandparents. How could you be so fucking blind?

You crush the sponge in your hands, and bubbles seep out between your fingers. An apology is on the tip of your tongue, straining under the weight of your rapid thoughts. Day one, and you’ve already stepped on a mine. A phantom pain aches in your chest, grieving the loss of a love you never had in the first place. John says nothing. Continues to fry the fish in silence. Pops of oil like the rounds of a machine gun, but not loud enough to drown out the hammering of your heart.

Rose breaks the silent war. “I cleaned the counter. Can I check on the cookies?” she asks.

The apology dies on your tongue, and you tear your eyes away from John’s back, missing how the tension bleeds from his body. “Of course,” you say, placing the last dish on the drying rack. “Do you know how?”

“Nana showed me the buttons because I accidentally turned off the oven before,” Rose replies. She hands you her towel, and you lump it in the sink with yours. Rose walks up to the oven, and John moves to the side. You hang back, grappling with the temptation to steal a glance. You’re not sure what’s worse: John catching you staring or the disappointment of him not staring back. In the end, you decide to focus on Rose. She awes at the cookies and beckons you closer. You shuffle towards her, sticking close to the opposite side.“We should leave extra for the reindeer and elves who want some too!” 

You smile and pat her head. “Next time you can buy peppermint extract so they’ll taste like candy canes too!” you suggest. Rose’s eyes widen. She looks at you like you have the biggest brain in the world. Your confidence skyrockets, but a quick peek at John sends you plummeting back to Earth. You can’t read the expression on his face, and it worries you.

“They look so good! Santa will definitely grant my wish!” Rose’s comment piques your interest.

“What’s your wish?” you ask, crouching down to her level.

Rose glances at her father before lowering her voice. “I can’t tell you with Daddy around; it might make him sad.” Your jaw slackens. What could a child wish for that would make their parents unhappy?

Dinner is served, and the seating arrangement remains unchanged. True to John’s words, Rose devours her dinner. She even asks for seconds. “I’m a growing girl,” is all she responds with when she notices your amused expression.

The conversation consists of small talk. You learn they moved into the complex two years after you did. It’s honestly amazing how you didn’t run into them earlier. John doesn’t talk about his job, but he asks you plenty of questions about yours. You’re happy to answer. Glad to have something to talk about that won’t prod old wounds. Before you know it, you’re cracking jokes, and John is struggling to breathe. His laughter is intoxicating, and like an addict, you crave another dose. Rose watches the entire interaction with a broad smile, nibbling on her food as her eyes ping pong across the table.

John leans forward and hangs off your every word. Every ounce of his attention focused solely on you. You pause mid-story, caught up in the softness of his features. Before he can ask you what’s wrong, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You pull out the device to see it’s a text notification. The time on the screen reads 9:30 pm. It’s getting late, and from the way Rose slumps in her chair, she should be in bed soon.

“I should go. Rose looks like she’s about to pass out,” you say.

“M’not sleepy,” Rose argues, rubbing her eyes.

John rises from his seat. “I’ll clean up. Rosy, why don’t you say goodbye to our guest?”

Rose gets out of her chair with Mr. Bear and holds your hand, leading you to the entrance. John steps forward but stops himself. He turns to collect the dishes, and you walk away, feeling the heat of his gaze lingering on your back. 

As you’re slipping on your shoes, you ask Rose, “Now that it’s just us, do you want to tell me your wish?” She glances behind her. The faint sounds of porcelain clattering against metal travel along the corridor. 

“You can’t tell Daddy, but I don’t want him to be lonely. He doesn’t cry at night anymore when he thinks I’m sleeping, but he still looks like a raccoon in the morning,” Rose says, pinching an invisible zipper between her fingers and dragging it across her lips. You copy the gesture and even go as far as to mime turning a key and tossing it over your shoulder. You have a sneaking suspicion, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. 

Unlocking the door, you reach for the doorknob. “Wait,” John shouts, stopping you in your tracks. He jogs up to you and holds out a reusable takeout container and your bag of groceries. “I made too much. Take some leftovers with you.” You peer inside, and there’s a generous portion. How much did he cook?

“I’m tired. I’m getting ready for bed,” Rose suddenly announces.

John chuckles, “I thought you weren’t tired earlier?”

“That was earlier. I’m tired now.” Rose walks off to her room, mumbling to Mr. Bear. The only snippet you catch is something about ‘having a moment.’ You take the container and bag from John, fingertips touching. He doesn’t let go, and you’re left standing there awkwardly.

“Don’t feel bad about what happened earlier,” John says, withdrawing his hands and shoving them into his pockets. 

Earli—oh. Your cheeks tingle with warmth. You clear your throat and bring the container close to your chest. “I didn’t mean to pry, I just wanted….” You pause.

“Wanted what?” John asks, and his eyes are wide and pleading. He waits and doesn’t push. Watches as you chew on the inside of your cheek and avoid his gaze.

When you finally gather the courage to look at his face, tender eyes observe you. Does he feel the same? A wave of confidence washes over you, and you decide to take the risk. “To know if I have a fighting chance,” you say.

The corners of John’s lips boomerang up and then back down. His eyebrows draw together, and he almost looks… scared. “Love, I work in the military. I’m a single father. I don’t have much to offer,” John rasps, the words constricting his chest like a vine of thorns. His throat bobs, and he closes his eyes, steeling his body. Because bracing for impact is a natural human response in an attempt to lessen the damage of an imminent crash.

You smile softly. “And if I said I didn’t mind? That I’ll wait for you to come back and become Rose’s favourite while you’re gone?” John’s eyes snap open wide. He stares at you like you’re some sort of mythical creature; a being that can’t possibly exist in this world. Here is a man with his own baggage, who carries a burden on his shoulders that you will never comprehend. And you want to learn how to love him anyway. His expression softens, and he gravitates toward you.

“When I saw how you handle Rose, I didn’t think I could like you more than I already do,” John says.

Your ears perk. “You like me?” you ask. You didn’t think the attraction went both ways.

John rubs the back of his neck, and his cheeks flush. “Might have seen you use the elevator a few times… regularly,” he confesses. “I’ve liked you for a while.”

“And you never tried to say hello?” you tease him, placing a hand on your hip. The pain that flashes across his face is brief, but it stops you from continuing. You decide to change the topic. “Can I kiss you goodbye?” Your face engulfs in flames. “On the cheek, I mean!”

The pink dusting John’s face darkens. “Only if I get to kiss you—on the forehead,” he clarifies.

“Deal.” You place a quick peck on John’s cheek, his skin an inferno against your lips. He cups your face and leans in. It’s soft and leaves you tingling from head to toe. A laugh bubbles in your chest. You slap a hand to cover the dopey grin spreading across your face. “Sorry. I'm just really happy.”

John’s thumb caresses your cheeks. His blue eyes are sparkling. “So am I, Darling. Goodnight,” he says, leaning forward to plant another kiss. You close your eyes and make a content hum, basking in his warmth. 

John opens the door for you and leans against the doorframe after you step out. The hallway is relatively dark, and the lights from the apartment bathe him in an ethereal glow. A smile graces his features, and the current that threatened to pull you under has settled into gentle ripples. “Night, John,” you reply, waving goodbye. 

A smug grin stretches his smile, and he winks at you. “See ya later, Love.” 

You skip to your apartment. The door behind you doesn’t click shut until you disappear from sight. You head to the fridge first to store the leftovers. You find a note when you put away your groceries. Fishing out the paper, it reads: ‘Rose’s bedtime is 10 pm.’

The clock on your stovetop tells you it’s 9:50. 

Where did you put that expensive bottle of whiskey you bought years ago?

Bonus Scene:

John tucks his daughter into bed, pulling the blanket to her chin. “What else did you wish for, Rosy?” he asks. It’s become a tradition to figure out her Christmas present. He makes sure to ask her right before bed when he’s certain she won’t remember the conversation in the morning.

Rose snuggles into her pillow, hugging the stuffed bear close to her chest. Her voice is muffled and thick with sleepiness, but he hears it crystal clear. “A little sister.”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

Happy early Valentine's Day! I can't wait to consume the Valentine-themed content for all the fandoms I'm in. Not related, but I saw a cowboy ghost render on IG and I think I'm going to have to go back to writing something for him ¯\_( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_/¯

Time to drop off the face of the Earth for a month or two again.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Man I love your headcanons SM!! Do you perhaps have any on what color and killer were thinking when they first met each other?

Now, this is gonna be a bit difficult to answer on Killer’s end simply because his views on Color will be drastically different depending on what Stage he was in when they first met.

The quote “a fell first, but b fell harder,” regardless of romantic or platonic or something in between interpretations, has always been something I seen being able to apply to Killer and Color. Color fell first, Killer fell harder.

I’ve always been under the impression that Color was always aware of Killer before Killer even knew Color existed. The man has a reputation, everyone steers clear of him. He is inherently isolated except to, as it seems, come out of nowhere and brutally terrorize or murder anyone he sees. If anyone knows anything different, they don’t speak; either from fear or loyalty.

I doubt Stage 2 would think much of anything of Color at first if they were to ever had met while Killer was in this Stage. Unless Color manages to hold his curiosity or Killer can somehow gain something from interacting with him, I doubt Killer would get involved. He’s not interested in much of anything or anyone genuinely in this Stage.

Stage 1 Killer is interested in people, he doesn’t want to be alone. But he believes he is safer alone. He needs to protect people from himself, he knows how he can be. And he’s also..deep down, terrified of others. Of getting close to people. Of being subjected to another’s will yet again. Losing himself in them, too obnoxiously uncaring in Stage 2 to do much of anything about it.

He’s allowed so much to be done to him while Stage 2. His body feels defiled from every touch, and a part of him is almost relieved that Stage 2 seems to have become more territorial of certain things—more willing to assert some red lines, even if it does often result in people being stabbed and broken bones. That Stage 2 is starting to practice some semblance of autonomy with the free will he stole.

Stage 1 will try to warn Color to stay away from him. Even as he is choking on DT and crying in pain, and Color instinctively moves to try and touch him, but Killer would immediately push him away. Color doesn’t understand how even slightly touching him can result in his death.

Color would see someone in pain, and in deep denial about being in pain, and someone believing he deserves everything that’s ever happened to him. Someone too hopeless to care about himself, someone who despite all his Determination, has given up totally and completely on himself.

Stage 1 Killer would see his future victim. It’s not an if in his mind, it’s when. And he can’t take that.

And he doesn’t like how this guy is looking at him. He’s not something to be empathizing with. He deserves this, and if Color knew the truth, he’d agree.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for Killer at this point in time, Color is filled with kindness and patience and perseverance. He’s steadfast, without being intrusive.

He keeps consistently trying to reach out, let Killer know that the hand is offered. He doesn’t command him to take it, and he doesn’t flinch when the hand is slapped away with a weak, tearful glare.

I think it’s actually very important that their relationship starts with Stage 1. Color would never get anywhere with Killer if they met in Stage 2, the apathy and dissociation is just far too strong.

Stage 2 does not connect to the past, too steadfast and firm in the belief that he doesn’t feel anything. Trying to connect with Stage 2 emotionally is going to be a major bust that’s likely to end in bloodshed.

By meeting Killer when hes in Stage 1, Color gets to build a sense of familiarity, connection, and safety with Killer. But more importantly, hope.

And it has a ripple effect across the other Stages, given how Stage 2 suddenly is more tolerant of Color’s presence and less likely to resort to violence immediately—not to say that he won’t, just that he hasn’t yet. Perhaps..a bit reluctant, for a reason he does not yet understand.

(Something like this for Stage 2. Color feels familiar in a way most things don’t anymore, and that catches his attention and fascination. And the more he picks at Color’s layers, the more he keeps finding something new, something different. I believe Stage 2 is intensely fascinated by Color. He waits for the day he gets bored of Color, and yet it never seems to come.)

With the sense of safety already established, it gives grounds for Stage 2 to..peak out from behind the curtain of his “silly, talkative, hyperactive idiot” facade in favor of another self—apathetic and shallow. And perhaps, occasionally, with the single eyelight in his right eye socket, Color can begin coaxing him out a little further from that apathetic shell.

It won’t be easy. It’s exactly like trying to tame and rehabilitate a feral animal with rabies who thinks being tame means being a slave.

All is to say, I think Color’s just really good at instinctively noticing when someone is not who they say they are or when there’s something more beneath a surface.

He’s aware of all the apathetic, manipulative, violent, remorseless, problematic aspects of Killer’s character. He knows he’s dangerous and likely to attempt to manipulate or use Color if he believes there’s something to gain from doing so.

He knows Killer is very likely going to push and push and push on his boundaries just to see what he can get away with, what Color can take before he gives. And he also knows that Stage 1 is going to keep trying to push him away, believing himself a complete and utter monster but trying to avoid what he believes is inevitable anyway. Because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

He knows he’s going to have a hard time trying to convince Killer to admit what he actually wants. Even harder convincing Killer that what he wants matters at all.

Despite that, he’s going to help. Because he also is starting to understand why Killer thinks this way, why he is this way. Because the more he learns, the more he grows to care for killer. All parts of Killer.

Because alongside his violent and uncaring nature, his tendencies to both need to control and then to completely withdraw in stage 2, he choices to be gentle with the cats that rely on him.

He is relentlessly resilient and determined, pushing towards a goal or purpose regardless of how many times he falters. He doesn’t let others’ opinions hinder him, and he’s a deeply loyal person regardless of how “little” or big the reason for it is. Even if the loyalty can be conditional.

Color sees it with the attentive gaze whenever he speaks, how killer hands him objects to fiddle with whenever he notices the flames becoming too sharp and real, forces himself to memorize color’s favorite trips and pictures and drinks and shows.

Listens whenever Color starts talking about his favorite shows and even attempts to engage with Color’s special interests with him. It’s extremely hard for killer to remember or pay attention for too long, even with color, yet he still tries to remember every detail he finds fascinating about color.

He gradually grows to respect color enough to listen to his opinions and thoughts seriously, and actually consider them rather than dismissing him. Killer respects him enough to at least try to put in effort and consideration.

And because it’s the right thing to do.

[peachiibon]

I think white pearl cookie didnt realize the gift she was given before it was too late. she was given the gift of the sea. not the weather or the waves or the seaweed, but the sea.

sea fairy spoke directly to white pearl. crimson coral cookie says that this was "unheard of." already signifying the sea's bias toward white pearl. (besides the blatant "little moon" comment)

I think the reason white pearl didn't feel anything after the sea foam rite was because shes already been exposed to the bias of the almighty sea. we see later in the story that sea fairy specifically watches over white pearl, and even comes to her aid when she asks for it. it makes me wonder if sea fairy has always watched over white pearl cookie. maybe shes the one that brought the current that carried frilled jellyfish to white pearl.

I furthermore think the reason white pearl only feels the power once embracing the sea fairy tear, is because shes connecting to the source of her power.

and there are more instances where her power is showcased. she hears lord oyster's voice, despite him having crashed most likely nowhere near tearcrown. if this was a power everyone else had, surely her sisters would've told her to stay back?

by taking white pearl cookie's hand, lord oyster no longer feels soggy, and he can breathe again. it seems white pearl knows this power of hers, despite having never been with a land cookie before. perhaps it's just something all gem mermaids can do, but I feel like this is a special gift from white pearl. the fact her Tear gem also grants this power also proves to me that this is something unique to white pearl.

white pearl even says "its the sea, watching over us." maybe it's just me but this is such a specific thing to say. sure, the gem mermaids worship the sea and believe that it is always watching over them, but in this moment? it feels like white pearl cookie just doesnt realize that, actually, this is just her gift.

another thing: when white pearl cookie goes to the sea fairy tear after the sea foam rite, the sea says "Your power can only shine where there is no light." AND DURING THE ECLIPSE ALL OF THE GEM MERMAIDS HAVE THEIR POWERS WEAKENED. BUT WHITE PEARL COOKIE LITERALLY COMMANDS A WAVE TO TAKE LORD OYSTER AWAY AND STILL SPEAKS WITH THE MOON. SHE SHINES METAPHORICALLY DURING AN ECLIPSE, BECAUSE SHES THE ONKY ONE WHOSE POWERS DONT WEAKEN!!!!! and the reason she doesnt shine as bright not during an eclipse is because she thinks shes powerless!! and her sisters are the one that shine!! not her!!

after the gem mermaids chase away the abalone crew for the second time, white pearl literally TALKS TO THE SEA AND SHARES A MOMENT OF YEARNING WITH IT. ARE YOU KIDDING??!?! CRIMSON CORAL COOKIE SAID THE SEA SPEAKING WAS UNHEARD OF!! AND WHITE PEARL COOKIE IS DOING IT CONSISTENTLY!!!!!! WHAT!!!

during the eclipse we're told that the sea fairy tear is noticeably "unstable." but white pearl cookie has no trouble connecting with it once again.

and when she confronts lord oyster, she commands the waves to sweep him away. while her sister, gold citrine cookie, is able to control the waves, white pearl cookie commands them. she speaks to them. and they listen.

when all hope is lost, when white pearl has nothing else, she calls to the sea for help. the almighty sea says "Little Moon's prayers and tears..." and this is actually crazy because you're telling me she wasnt listening to the other mermaids? I'm sure that the other merfolk were begging the sea to stop this attack, but only when white pearl cookie calls out does sea fairy listen. AND THEN SHE TAKES THIS OPPORTUNITY TO GO TO THE MOON SHE LOVES SO DEARLY. GOD GOD GOD AND THE ANIMATION IS SO GOREGOUS I LOVE SEA FAIRY SO SO MUCH . sorry got sidetracked.

anyway after sea fairy creates the tower of frozen waves, white pearl cookie cant help but cry. "this is the love of the sea" she says. she witnesses this beautiful moment and empathizes with the sea itself.

she goes to the sea fairy tear one last time. her heart is being tormented with all of the tragedy that has struck. she calls upon it once more. she remembers what sea fairy said. "you will shine when there is no moonlight." and white pearl remarks how her heart is just as somber as the eclipsed sea. maybe now, she can finally realize her strength, and use it to save her sister, to save her home. she begs the sea. "just a little more" she says. the power is surging and white pearl cookie—

then theres a torpedo. it crashes into the chamber. and white pearl cookie, already full of so much hate and despair and heartbreak, snaps. disgusting, she calls the two-legged beasts that ruined her home she is filled with hatred and wrath. and while the sea can be serene and calm, it can also be unpredictable and violent; non discriminatory in its path of destruction.

the music that plays when black pearl cookie emerges is somber. it is sinister, but it still reminds you that this is a tragedy. the sea's little moon has been corrupted, damaged beyond repair. shes already seen the dark side of the moon, and she cannot go back to the naive mermaid she once was.

she commands the sea once more: "Waves, carve that ship in half and swallow up the Cookies at once!" and the sea obeys.

my interpretation of what happened to white pearl cookie is that she let her emotions of hatred and anger consume her while she was connected to the sea. and the sea responded by giving her what she wanted: the strength to destroy all of the ships attacking her home. she grows in size, her new form fully representing the power she wields.

in conclusion: white pearl cookie had the powers she dreamed of. she just couldn't realize it. and before she could, she was forced into a war that made her forsake all hope. she remarks that her head hurts whenever she thinks about her past.

I think that if white pearl cookie hadn't been so, so damaged by the time she went to the sea fairy tear for the final time, she wouldve fully realized her powers. but that's not what happened.

[coldpintglass]

💖👖💭👀 for the fanfic asks!

RIVER!!! Thank you so much for the ask, you’re a babe. Also a great compliment because I love your stuff so much 💖🥺

💖What do you like most about your own writing?

I really enjoy the sort of personable way I write a characters POV/ internal dialogue! Take this snippet from “you’re my baby, say it to me” where Southgate has a clanging realisation about his future:

“He has to quit.

He sits with the thought for a minute, it’s been rattling around his head for days, shadowing him every step of the way. He knows they’ve been calling for his head back home, pundit and public alike.

He should have quit already.  

Fucking hell, he thinks, and then swigs the whole mug of whiskey in one go.”

Because that’s how people think through events. They talk in their head! They bat it around and imagine scenarios and have horrible moments of clarity. It keeps you up at night! 

From a writing perspective: it makes it easier to understand motives, to make a fic memorable plus, frankly, it’s so much fun to both write AND read as if you’re in the characters shoes. Not just watching them from the outside! 

👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent

BOTH. A rough outline of what I want to go down will get plotted, plus I’ll probably spend some time mulling it about my brain to see what jumps out (or more recently, chat about on discord with likeminded folk, HELLO CARRAVILLE DISCORD, LOVE YOU 💖) 

Catch is, I think I have it plotted out and then fuck me, this is taking a turn isn’t it? Whoosh, out goes the plan and in come the vibes. So, swing and a miss tbh. This has happened with all 3 fics I’ve published so far…! 

Like “Amensalism” started life as something else, in fact the section where Southgate dreams about Harry agreeing to letting him care for him was the first part I wrote. It was meant to be much much much more bleak and grim for Harry.

💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?

That it is painfully obvious that I am English and grew up on British comedy 😔🇬🇧🍺💷

 I think it was Sara (@storyshark2005) who asked in the comment of “i thought maybe we could kiss tonight” if I was British because of my dialogue I’d given Jamie!!! I actually quite love being able to flag that sort of regional U.K. dialogue with words/phrases. Think it puts a nice stamp on the work and also makes me feel I can do a decent job at fleshing out characters. 

👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?

I think I want this WIP to see the light of day BUT it’s probably the most unsavoury and grim thing I’ve written. I’m not sure how many people would want to imagine it, let alone read it. Anyway, as mentioned above, I totally intended Amensalism to be a much more bleak and nasty fic. I literally dubbed it “SouthKane Misery AU” when writing it as a draft header. 

And then I realised actually where I wanted to go with this. Let’s just say it’s slowly becoming more “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” then I care to admit. 

Here is a snippet of it.

NB: warnings for abandonment, unhealthy relationship, and BDSM. Probably rate this section as a hard T, so nothing explicit. Sorry don’t know how to describe this more specifically but you’ll know fairly quickly if you want to touch this or not. Behind a read more it goes:

“Come on Harry, it’s not difficult” He tugs his hair sharply “Be a good boy now”

“P-please, please I’m sorry, boss, please-“ he chokes on a sob. 

It’s exceedingly easy to get Harry to cry, that’s not a problem necessarily, quite the opposite. But Gareth is almost suprised it’s this easy to start seeing cracks in him - he’s a ugly crier, lips pulled up high, nose and eyes streaming, blotchy red face. 

However, tears means he’s making progress.

“All you have to do is let go, I’m not sure why that’s so hard for you” Another tug, another sob. 

“I-I’m not a dog” he croaks out “Boss, please, Gareth -“

Defiance and using his name? Christ, can’t even piss outside without making a huge deal about it. Gareth tuts, it’s a shame really, two steps forward and one step back. 

Still, nothing a night outside in the stables can’t fix. 

He lets go of Harry hair, turns on his heel and locks the door.

*

Gareth finds he’s almost tempted to flick the heating on, it’s gotten chilly this morning, a welcome reprieve after a week of hot afternoons and muggy evenings. Woven silk threads are scattered across the grass, coated in dew, glinting in the dappled sunlight from the trees. He couldn’t ask for a better a view out over the window by the kitchen sink. It’s times like this hes especially glad for the house, even if it needs constant matience and having to wrangle around the council if he wants to do anything. But a Quick Look at the vistas outside and all is forgiven.

Speaking of. 

He grabs a bowl from the cabinet, filling it with tap water, and pulls a banana off from the bunch in the fruit bowl. He’ll give Harry something a bit more substantial once he’s inside and got him to ask for it nicely. It’s finding the right balance that’s tricky, he does love him, honest, even after everything. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s above correcting Harry when he goes wrong. 

As he opens the door, the cold nips at Gareth, that’s a little bit fresher than he was expecting to be. Well, he’s not a monster, he throws the dogs blanket over his shoulder. He pulls on his outdoor shoes he keeps by the door and walks across to the stables, the dawn chorus starting to wind down to make way for the rest of the day. 

A quick turn of the key in the lock and he is greeted by Harry blearily staring up at him from the floor. He’s hit by the stench of piss and body odour as he step inside, a dark puddle shaped stain on the concrete beneath Harry.

He puts the bowl and banana down in front of Harry, bending down as he reaches round to click open the lock on his wrists and is taken a back by how grimy Harry feels, specks of dirt and dust covering his goose flesh skin. His skin blossoming under different shades of pink and red, the chill slowly creeping around his body. 

Not a peep from Harry. No crying, no whinging, no sharp comments. It’s lovely. Gareth can’t resist indulging him with a kiss to his temple, he’s done so well, wrapping the blanket round his shoulders. 

“You ready to be nice and listen to me now, sweetheart?”

Harry manages a shallow nod, his hands shaking as he tugs the blanket right around him. 

“Good boy, have a drink and I’ll feed you after” 

[lestappenforever]

Quick and Weekly (or rather race week specific) kind of analysis, basically just my takes on what went on during the race.

WE NEED TO GET THE YOUNGER ROOKIES SEATS. Ollie was an absolute beast yesterday, finish p7, managing the tyres, MANAGING A 7 TIME WORLD CHAMPION BEHIND HIM, holding off the rest of the pack, close to overtaking george, just Nico with his experience was able to hold him off a bit longer. Scoring more points in F1 than F2. Scoring more points than almost half of the grid. All with just one free practice session. This kid has a future (the only driver I could actually call kid😂)

Ferrari look fast. Finally being able go see Charles’ pace yesterday, in addition to not being fucked over by strategy or any shit, they’ve done a pretty good iob on that car. I mean, a rookie scored on his debut, and so far, a Ferrari’s always been on the podium. Of course this is just the second race, but still.

Haas aren’t that shit this year. The car looks good. Kevin was an absolute MENACE yesterday. Holding off Yuki, Esteban, Zhou, Valtteri, Alex, Logan, Daniel ALL WHILE HE KNOWS HE HAS A 20 SECOND PENALTY. Also Nico’s pace was pretty good, holding off Zhou and Alex, and kind of with ease. Apparently having a TP other than Guenther is proving to something quite positive.

RB are in shambles. Like, Yuki was pretty good, but wasn’t able to convert his p9 quali to points, and Daniel is just not doing well, that even with that 20 second penalty to Kevin, he’s still dead last. (Maybe it wasn’t McLaren, it was the choice of leaving red bull back in 2019) (I have a whole thing in my head about Daniel, and I still want to make sure if the facts and data before sharing it). But it might have been a miss that RB didn’t get Liam in this season, but we never know. I mean, Helmut Marko did say that there could be mid season surprises. And so far, non of the RB drivers seem or look to be even in contention for that Red Bull seat, in all honesty, it appears so far that Checo is more likely to keep his seat for 25!

I am not 100% convinced with either McLaren or Mercedes. Like yes both are consistently scoring points, and gaining, but I can’t really find that speed. Like they are okay, better than last year, but not Ferrari level improvement. Also, the strategy that both teams put Lando and Lewis on (especially Lando) cost him a better position, more points, maybe even a podium let’s be real.

Williams are okay. Ngl, I love James Vowels, his technicalities and as he said in DTS his geek-inees (hoping to be like him honestly one day). I feel like, Saudi and Bahrain aren’t really their tracks, because they did well, both Logan and Alex gaining positions. They are a team I’m waiting and hoping to see thrive, because Alex and Logan both deserve it.

Stake were okay, especially with that Zhou crash in FP3, like he couldn’t even qualify, but strategy kind of wasn’t ideal, and in all honesty, they’re just kay, not too fast, but not too slow.

And finally, our leaders. Despite everything, they do be cooking (Adrian and Max, you’ve both done it). That speed, the tyre deg, just everything about that car is phenomenal. And Max deserves it, after everything he’s gone through in his life, and he deserves to re-write the history books, which he already is, with re-reaching seb’s record not even 6 months after breaking it. This man who everyone is bored of his dominance are all going to be crying and missing him after he retires (I DON’T WANT TO THINK OF THIS DAY, BECAUSE I’LL BE THE FIRST ONE IN TEARS) but Max Emilian Verstappen is something that hasn’t come and probably won’t come again in Formula 1 and Motorsport history.

So yeah, that’s kind if my inital takes in the race, kind if a mini summary as well, and may we always listen to the Dutch National Anthem because I’ve been emotional this week with Max and everything happening around him.

This is such a wonderful analysis that really doesn't need anything added to it because you've got this spot-on, so I will try to keep my own thoughts relatively brief.

Ollie did incredible and I am so excited to see him in F1 permanently. Him and Liam? The future is bright.

I am cautiously optimistic about Ferrari and I really hope that, for once, they won't fuck themselves over which is in no way, shape or form a guarantee.

K-Mag did so fucking well, and it brings me so much joy seeing my fellow Scandinavian putting on such a performance. And Nico had a decent race, which also makes me happy. It's obviously far too early to be sure, but their new team principal seems to have been a good choice.

VCARB are just... Well, I'm not even going to utter my thoughts. All I will say is that there is no way in hell Daniel will be a good replacement for Checo. Claiming Daniel is better than him is just laughable.

McLaren and Mercedes are giving Ferrari 2023 vibes with their strategy calls yesterday, and it will be interesting to see how they develop over the season.

I truly hope Williams will improve over the course of the season, because I want to see Alex and Logan do well so fucking badly.

As for Stake: they were unlucky, and I'm just glad Zhou made it out of that crash unscathed. It's a shame he missed out on being able to qualify because holy hell did that team do their fucking best trying to get his car ready. I want to see him, and Bottas, do well.

As for Red Bull, they are as impressive as I hoped they were going to be so far this season, and as a Max girl it makes me laugh seeing Max haters bitch about his dominance making the sport boring. I, for one, am having the time of my fucking life. I won't even think about him retiring at this point, and will just keep enjoying every race for as long as I can. And seeing Checo starting off the season in such a strong manner fills me with joy. I am by no means Checo's biggest fan, but the shit he went through last season at the hands of disgusting Helmut Marko and the F1 community at large has me wanting him to suceed. Put some respect to his name because God knows he's fucking earned it.

Thank you so much for sharing yet another wonderful analysis, my darling. You have no idea how happy it makes me, and how much I appreciate it. ❤️

[fallen-pines]

Searching for a Feeling

Despite knowing that aiming for a consistent experience with the gods over periods of time is kind of... antithetical to belief and probably not good for a spiritual practice overall, I can't help but think back to the point where it hit me that I really want to build relationship with the gods.

I was driving to work, literally had just started going down my own street, when I realized that the morning light was beautiful and perfect and I wished I didn't have to go to work so that I could sit outside and see it more properly. Since I couldn't, I decided to say a quick thanks instead. I had already switched my focus to Apollon at that point so I was going to just dedicate it to him, but when I started giving the thanks I felt compelled to switch it. I still thanked Apollon for allowing the light to reach me and shine so brightly but I primarily thanked Helios for guiding it for us each day. Before I could finish the sentence, I could feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes and I quickly (safely) pulled over for a minute to get it under control.

I am not a crier. Like, to the point that I have to sit down occasionally and intentionally try to make myself cry cause I know it's good for you to let stuff out but it just doesn't happen for me a lot. But it had happened so quickly I didn't really know what to do. What I did know was that it was a good cry, I was just so happy and grateful. I couldn't pinpoint what had actually made me start to cry, I'm still not entirely sure.

If I look solely at myself, maybe it was some cosmic feeling of me being able to thank someone else for being there, that I wasn't alone in the cosmos as I sometimes fear. Derealization has been an issue in my life and occasionally it psyches me out to think I might be in some vivid hallucination or simulation or coma and none of what I know is really there. If I look outward, I almost got the feeling that someone else was crying too and giving me a pat on the back or a quick hug. When I think about it, Helios today is a relatively forgotten deity, though I mean it in the kindest sense. In history, Helios was the one believed to draw the Sun with his chariot and was given worship for many centuries due to being so important to agriculture and various aspects of life. But over time, focus shifted and he was worshiped less intensely, then by less people, then was potentially replaced in certain societies by other figures related to light, such as people who do worship Apollon and attribute the sun to him. And today, though I've seen him mentioned by hellenic and roman practitioners alike, the number of people who dedicate worship to him regularly instead of for ceremony or holiday is extremely slim. At least that's what I've seen online, there could be a huge difference to what's practiced in closed quarters. If I could sense that someone who barely knew me, or maybe knew me a long time ago and hadn't spoken recently, had seen something beautiful and loved it enough to suddenly reach out and tell me about it? Yeah, I'd probably cry.

I don't know which of the two is true. It might be that both are true. It might be that I'm projecting onto an entity that was pleasantly surprised and I was just stunned to pick up on any energy at all.

I might never know, but I do know that that feeling has stuck with me ever since. I can't lie and say that I don't want to capture that same feeling again, or that when I meditate or try to hold ritual that that's not exactly what I'm hoping will happen. It can't be healthy or sustainable to have a specific goal in mind when trying to build an authentic relationship, gods or not. I know I need to push that aside and just do things as if that experience was a one-off thing that I was lucky to experience, not something to rely on. But it's difficult. I was not raised in faith, I am not accustomed to believing things without evidence and repeatable results... but that's what faith is. If I'm going to build a practice, I have to really figure out what will stick for me and feel "worth it" and meaningful even on the days where I get that feeling again that I'm alone and my mind and body are fake, that I might be praying to 1s and 0s in a computer program...

I need to build a practice where it's okay for me to do it even if that was ever true, because it's for me, it's what I want. I want to reach out and give thanks to the beings who help shape our world, or influence it, or merely interact with it in a way we aren't capable. I want to feel like they'd enjoy my presence if an afterlife is real, devout worshiper or not. I want to feel like I'm doing what's best for me, and to me I think that's finding some sort of structure in my life that goes beyond bodily needs and societal pressures.

I mainly wrote this just to get my thoughts about that one experience out of my head. I'd love to hear if anyone else has had an experience like it; I'd love even more if there were other folks who've had similar difficulties starting a practice or maintaining a faith, any faith really. Hearing how you've worked through it or continue to make efforts towards faith despite barriers would be great.

[ I'm tagging only the non-hellenic paths that I personally follow in case others have had a similar experience, apologies for crossposting. ]

[moviesessionwithmyhubby]

Box of chocolates

#notamovieexplanation

"Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

The famous phrase from the film "Forrest Gump" released in 1994 has now become a significant element of popular culture. It has motivated numerous individuals, including myself, to accept the unpredictable nature of existence. The main character of the film, Forrest Gump, portrayed by Tom Hanks, speaks this phrase while narrating his life's voyage. Life, according to him, is comparable to a box of chocolates, where each chocolate symbolizes a distinct experience, some of which are sweet while others are bitter. Similar to real life, we are often unaware of what we will experience until we actually try it. Our life is filled with unexpected twists and turns, both favorable and unfavorable, and that we never really know what the future holds. As my husband and I celebrated the arrival of the new year in 2023, we were filled with hope and excitement, believing that this would be our year. I hoped that my new job would provide me with opportunities for growth and financial stability and we believed that my husband’s business would also fly high. At that point, we were optimistic about a bright future ahead. But little did we know, life doesn't work in such a way. The job that I had expected turned out to be a nightmare. I find myself struggling with irritation from my colleagues, which has led to endless stress and sleepless nights filled with tears. Similarly, my husband's business is on the brink of collapse. He must work diligently and consistently to maintain it. Even my husband started saying, "This is the year." This year is crucial as it involves numerous significant decisions. And I believe so.

My anxiety and stress levels have been over the roof ever since I began working here. Even a mental consultant wasn't enough to help me out. This week, I experienced a severe mental breakdown due to work-related stress. On one day, I arrived home and immediately called my husband, bursting into tears. The other night, I had a dream where my boss was yelling at me. It was so intense that I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't fall back asleep. I felt a deep ache in my heart and even started crying when I heard my husband's voice. I have started to feel afraid of waking up and going to work. I have lost my sense of joy and happiness, as well as my motivation to attend work or engage in any other activities. Moreover, I began thinking about why life can be so difficult. I began feeling trapped in my job. But is it true? Whenever I have considered of quitting my job, numerous thoughts have been occupying my mind, causing me to feel overwhelmed. I am constantly considering the people who would be disappointed if I were to resign from my job. This includes the HR who recruited me and emphasized the company's desire for a long-term commitment, as well as my colleague who referred me for this position.  I am concerned about who would take over my project with the strict deadline, even though I can't stand my boss's constant yelling and unjustified blame for trivial matters anymore. But more important, I find myself worrying about the possibility of not being able to find a job after I quit and I am concerned about adding more pressure to my husband's shoulders. I have been thinking too much. But am I truly unable to move forward? No, I am holding myself hostage and I am the only one who can set myself free. Last night I told my husband that I was presently savoring the taste of chocolate that was bittersweet, and I assured him that this was just a phase in my life. But then my husband asked me about the duration of my indulgence in the bittersweet flavor, as he had not heard me mention any forthcoming sweetness. I told him I didn’t know. I didn’t know when this phase would come to a close. That was when my husband reminded me that the decision of ending rested solely in my hands. My husband had long believed that my motivation for retaining this position came from a desire to exert myself and demonstrate my capabilities within this workplace. But then, he came to the realization that the root cause of the issue was my own self-criticism and fear of disappointing those around me, including him. Imagine it this way: I am currently chewing on a piece of bittersweet chocolate. The reason I am continuing to chew is because I am thinking about the people who were responsible for creating this particular chocolate. They had put in so much effort, how could I just throw it all away? So I am unable to either swallow it or spit it out. But if I haven't finished this chocolate, how can I eat the next one? How am I supposed to know what fresh flavor of chocolate will be waiting for me?

But how can get rid of this bittersweet chocolate? 

How do I get through this difficult part of my life and move into the next, more joyful phase? But then I realized this seemed to be the wrong way to ask. The movie my husband and I watched before - Forrest Gump then came to my mind and resonated with me like a powerful awakening. I found myself wondering how Forrest Gump, a man with a relatively low IQ of 75 and physical challenges such as a crooked spine and leg braces that made walking difficult and running nearly impossible, was able to excel at running and live a fulfilling happy life. Gump never tries to get rid of any phases of his life, he just simply enjoys his box of chocolates. Then how can he do that? I personally think it’s because he just lives, does what he loves and never afraid to try something new. Yes, he does what he loves. Forrest Gump always made his own choices, even when it meant fulfilling a friend's dream, such as opening up the Bubba Gump Shrimp restaurant for his friend. Forrest didn't feel the need to overthink his actions as he relied on his intuition and pursued his passions. He opened Bubba Gump Shrimp because he loved his friend. He had a passion for running, so he pushed himself to cover as much distance as possible. Similarly, he deeply cared for Jenny and went out of his way to assist her and bring joy to her life. I must confess that I have never pursued my true passion because I was unaware of what it was until recently when I discovered my love for writing. I have come to the realization that working as a project manager does not bring me a sense of well-being. Although I am able to handle the stress and workload to maintain a certain financial income, I find myself repeating the depressing cycle because I do not have a passion for what I am doing. Yes, he never afraid to try new things. Forrest Gump's fearlessness in trying new things and his lack of insecurity about failure is a valuable lesson to learn. He show me that it's natural to make mistakes when trying something new, but it's important to remember that perfection is not always attainable. Instead, it's possible to surprise yourself by discovering a hidden talent or simply finding joy in a new hobby. During his journey, Forrest encounters various individuals, including renowned musician John Lennon and President Kennedy, and fearlessly initiates conversations with them. He is open to exploring new hobbies such as running or ping-pong, and he doesn't get too upset if he doesn't excel at them. I must admit that I am sometimes afraid to step out of my comfort zone. I feel comfortable working as a project manager in a 9-5 job, as it has been my profession since I completed my university studies. Do I truly love it? No, I do not. I have come to the realization that my lack of passion for what I love has hindered my ability to achieve success in my career thus far. The quality is average, neither particularly good nor particularly bad. Even after discovering my passion for writing, I still felt hesitant. I am uncertain about my future in writing as I have never attempted it before, which makes me hesitant to pursue it and causes me to feel afraid. But now I think it’s time. But I think the most two important lessons that Gump taught me is that you never know what you’re capable of. Tom Hanks' character Gump is a regular guy with a below-average IQ, yet he accomplishes a lot more than most people could ever hope to. The young Forrest would not have believed someone if they had told him that he would become renowned for running such a large distance. But he really did go from using leg braces to competing professionally. Before my husband persuaded me to undertake it, I would never have guessed that I would be able to write such a detailed analysis of a movie. Then why is it that I can't earn a living off of my writing? Why am I giving this much thought and let myself to get trapped in this comfort zone of bittersweetness, chewing on this bittersweet chocolate? I feel like I have been chewing on this bittersweet chocolate for 5 years. And it’s time to step out of this comfort zone. Just as Jenny encouraged Gump, "Run, Forrest, run!" I am now encouraging myself, "Run, Hương, run!"

"Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

[moonflvver]

characters: Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki x reader

warnings: angst with comfort

synopsis: reader and katsuki get into yet another argument about his inability to take care of himself which leads to him opening up about his inferiority complex

a/n: none

w/c: 931

He was running his fingers through his hair as his jaw clenched. “What the fuck do you want from me then? What do you want? Because I just can’t figure it out. No matter what I do for you it’s never enough.”

You sighed, you were getting tired of having the same argument with him over and over again. And now of course he was turning this on you. Of course Bakugou Katsuki just couldn’t fucking admit that he was in the wrong for once.

“What I want is for you to care about yourself Katsuki. I want you to stop overexerting yourself and coming home with an injury every other night. I want to trust that you’ll be safe when you’re out there.” You were trying your hardest not to let him hear your voice shake but it cracked mid-sentence nonetheless.

It was just too much. God you loved him, of course you did. But he was too stubborn for his own good and he refused to stop pushing himself to the very edge of his limits. Bakugou is a star. I mean it sounds silly to say but it’s true.

He’s not just good at what he does, he’s great. But there’s something in him that refuses to let him enjoy what he has at any given moment and that’s the problem. They say that the stars that shine the brightest burn out the fastest and you know Katsuki better than anyone, so it’s clear to you that he’s just one mission away from crashing and burning. Which is why you can’t stop. If he won’t care for himself then you have to do it for him.

“You don’t get it do you? I can’t just stop doing my job. People need me, people depend on me. I keep this city safe. I won’t drop it all just for you.” He shouted back.

“Just for me, are you serious? Do I really mean that little to you, that you’d choose your own self destructive tendencies over me?” You’re crying now, tears are running down your face as you look at him. “I need you too, Katsuki.” You mumble, looking up at him.

Fuck. He looks exhausted and you’re sure that you don’t look any better, especially not after all of the crying you’ve been doing. But it’s clear that the long hours he’s been working have taken a serious toll on him and it makes you sob just a bit harder.

His head is in his hands now as he says, “Shit y/n I didn’t mean that. I just-” But before he can finish you stop him.

“I can’t watch you implode like this, I can’t stand by while you do this to yourself. I was so stupid to think that you’d actually change. But it doesn’t matter. You’re still that same impulsive, stubborn little kid that you were in highschool.” He knows you don’t mean it, he can tell by the fatigue that’s evident in your voice. You’re done. You’re clearly just grasping for straws at this point. There’s no fight left in you anymore and it’s all his fault. Fuck, of course he ended up pushing away the one person who’s remained consistently by his side.

The person who makes him lunch, who reminds him to take care of himself. Who always texts him on patrol asking him how he is no matter how late it is. He can’t let you leave, he just can’t. He wants to scream, he wants to fucking cry, he wants to let himself crash and burn and he doesn’t want you picking up the pieces. He just wants to be left alone but there’s a part of him that needs you more than the air that he breathes. And that part of him just can’t allow you to go.

He’s taken you for granted, he knows that. He knew that his rise to the top would put a strain on your relationship but he had convinced himself that he would be able to figure it out. I mean of course he would, Bakugo Katsuki can do anything. Right? Anything except for preventing himself from getting completely and utterly blindsided by his own goals apparently.

You’re grabbing your keys to walk out and take a breather but then he stands up, abruptly grabbing your arm.

You look up at him in mild shock. “Bakugou what are you-”

“Don’t go.” He says, and it comes out as a quiet whisper. “Please don’t go, I’m sorry. Okay? I am so fucking sorry, just please don’t leave.” You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so desperate.

He looks down, lets your wrist drop. And now he’s just waiting for you to say anything, anything at all. You sigh, dropping your keys back down onto the table. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoes back as his head comes up and you see that his eyes are full of tears.

You step forward taking him into your arms and he buries himself into your chest as you stroke his back. You inhale that familiar caramel scent that always seems to linger around him, a scent that reminds you of home, a scent that never fails to make you melt into his arms. He makes you feel so at home whenever you’re near him, you just want to hold onto him forever. You open your mouth and just as you’re about to say something to him he pulls away, pausing for a moment.

“I know.” He says quietly. “I know that it’s been hard for you. It’s just that no matter what I do, no matter how much I achieve it’s just that. Fuck. It’s never enough.” There are tears falling from his eyes. His long lashes are coated in the salty drops of water that won’t stop cascading down his face as he continues, “I get into this insane mindset that I could just be doing everything better, that I could be stronger, that I need to try harder. And I end up pushing you away. I end up hurting you and it’s not fair to you and I’m just really tired.” His voice cracks as he finishes and all you want right now is to take away everything that’s weighing on him and put the burden on yourself.

Really that’s all you’ve ever wanted, just to make him hurt a little less. Because seeing him like this makes your heart ache. How could he ever think that he was anything less than good enough? Katsuki Bakugou is a star. And sometimes his light is blinding and it overwhelms you. But he’s also capable of illuminating everyone and everything around him. And he needs to know how important he is.

You close the distance between the two of you and you swipe your thumb under his eyes hoping to clear away his tears. Your hand lingers for a moment and then you cup his face. “Listen to me. You are good enough. I get that it’s hard, I know how much pressure you put on yourself. But I need you to know that I see it. Even if no one else does. I see how much of yourself you’re putting into your job, I see how deeply you care.”

He’s staring at you, practically dumbfounded. But then his eyes soften, “Thank you. Thank you for seeing me.” It comes out almost as a sigh, like he’s finally able to let go of the air that his lungs have been holding in for the past half-hour. His shoulders relax and your hands find their way into his hair as you bring him into your chest once again, mumbling into his hair. “How could I not see you? You’re too bright to ignore.”

[devilishfink]

Some time passed after this incident and you could say things were going smoothly from there, we both agreed on having no secrets anymore from each other which mostly consisted of lil Twitch being honest about the amount of sugary stuff he ate in secret when he was still in junior high. These cute little sweet little secrets of his turned into stories about he was nice to a girl, got his first kiss out of it and later in highschool it ended with him laying the wrong “sweet” girl because of this angelic sweetness of his. I should have told him, not everyone is nice and understanding out there when it comes to “sharing their sweets”. Sure he was beaten up in return from the owners of said candy aka the boyfriends of the girls he laid with ease, but he never lost his sunny boy attitude and smile - until one evening it was…

It was already past midnight, as the black-headed demon walked down the living room like a tiger in a cage ‘He was never this late before! I should go search for him before-’ Fink’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the front door. ‘Baby bro! Thanks hell you are back in one piece! Where have you been?’ - °I’s uhm… I’s sorry and just really wanna go to bed please?° - ‘We promised each other - no secrets remember?’ as he laid his hands on the blonde's shoulders he didn't get the sweet smile he was used to in return, but a pale and sad looking face. He has been.. crying? That was the first time in ages, the angel let slip his light side like this since this one night in hospital. The older brother narrowed his eyes trying to find the right words but his thoughts were interrupted by his brothers tiny voice °Like uhm… when did you hit puberty? How was that like?° - ‘Puberty? I thought you were already in with all the girls you had by now-’ - °Will… I mean THAT puberty y’know… the demon one.° Twitch’s eyes started to turn watery again, as his brother pulled him into a gentle hug: ‘...I didn’t know I was sorry for the bad joke… I thought we had a little more time until… Well until you grew up like that’ a gentle laugh crossed his lips as he stepped back and stroked the blonde curl in front of him: ‘Let’s sit down and talk this over shall we?’ - °…Fine..° the little angel nodded and walked ahead revealing his shirt ripped open at the back, before sitting on the couch in the living room, dropping down like he had no energy left at all in his body. Twitch took a big breath before telling the whole story about being beaten up again for the same reason as before, trying to stay peaceful himself but failing at it this time big time and ending up in the middle of nowhere because of abilities he didn't know about until now. ‘That’s… a lot indeed I- I am sorry that I couldn’t be there for you Strych…’ - °Don’t be. I’s should be old enough by now to look after myself and well- maybe I’s can now.° a somehow painful looking smile formed on the younger one's face. Wilhelm on the other hand was already going through all he learnt about his and Twitch’s kind in his head, he had never heard of an angel being able to manipulate memories or being able to fight back like that. Maybe there was more of their father in the younger brother than both had thought: ‘Seems like it yes… but that also means I will try to teach you everything I could find out by now. Since I still don't know about any other angels around here - not that they would show up when I am around anyways.’ Wilhelm smiled warmly and brushed some tears from the check of his blonde counterpart ‘Go to bed… You will stay home for the rest of the week alright?’ - °Mhm-mhm° Strych nodded and hugged his older brother tightly in response. This night proved Willhelm wrong, that the life of an angel was less hard than the one of a demon, it was just a different kind of hardship.

So I gave Twitch a different kind of lesson back in that week; like how he could actually use his wings more than just as a shield but also as a weapon. The feathers could be turned into weapons, mostly swords and spears, which are pretty darn effective against my demon kin - and myself too. Let’s just say he is good with his hands and body but NOT in the fighting way, still got one nasty scar from the training. On the other hand angels are very charming and can pull people in with ease, that explained why he was so great with the ladies and talking his way out of dire situations. There were just some skills that didn’t match any of my theories and notes. In the end he was still the son of Lucius and somehow some demon blood was running through his veins.

‘Alright that’s that… I think you should stick with the sword since- like- you can control that the best..?’ Wilhelm scratched his head with one hand while pressing his other hand on a wound on his leg. °I’s… does that hurt? I’s didn’t mean toooo!° - The demon shook his head in response, before heading to the drawer in the living room searching for something: ‘It’s but a scratch compared to other nights. Anyway… I’ve got something for you in case you awake as an angel’ he pulled out a wooden box and handed it to his little brother, who hesitated at first: ‘Open up and put it on okay?’ Twitch nodded, opening the box, revealing a long rosary with a little wooden cross at the end: °Dat’s pretty~° he smiled wide while putting it around his neck. ‘It will protect you from other demons and suppress your angelic aura. You should keep it on as much as possible alright?’ The angel nodded and threw himself right around his brother's neck, who let out a short cry of pain, which let the angel back off again: ‘...Just be careful with that around me too… on bare skin it really burns..’ - °U-understood…°