#but when shes still bitter no matter how many times i comfort her and let her vent and cry to me and when she chooses her husband over me

[puzzlekinq]

cant sleep because im seething with anger

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Unrequited (Arthur Morganxf! Reader) - RDR2

A/N: Whoever decided that there could be a button where Arthur Morgan says "good girl" how ever many times you want, I hope both sides of your pillow are cold.

Synopsis: Arthur loved Mary, didn't he? So, why was it he was spouting all this nonesense about loving you?

Warning/ Tags: Angst. But like SO MUCH FLUFF. Allusions to Sex. Mentions of violence. Coarse language. Kissing. Hurt/ Comfort. Angst with a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.1K

Masterlist

Even now, Arthur Morgan was a lovesick fool for Mary Linton.

You shouldn’t have been surprised; you weren’t really. Arthur doesn’t talk about her much anymore, but you’d known him long enough to see he’d never really let that part of himself go. The part of him that loves. That dreams of something better for himself even if he thinks he’s the big, bad, scary man that he is.

And maybe in some aspect, he is that man.

Threatening, bartering, killing. Sometimes you look into his eyes and see nothing but a hard, desolate exterior that wouldn’t think twice about shooting anybody up so long as Dutch told him to do it. But the reality Arthur Morgan doesn’t want to accept is that there’s goodness hiding within the moulding of a gunslinger enforcer.

You can glimpse that goodness when he helps a woman on the road or gives medicine to a man dying from snake poison, and you can especially see it when he’s hauling his ass on his horse to help Mary even when he’s being pulled left and right to finish errands for the camp.

So no, you shouldn’t have been surprised that Arthur would ride out the earliest he could to help his past lover.

But hell, why did it have to hurt you every damn time?

He returns to camp just after the sun rises and light starts to colour the world around you. The air is still crisp, and the heat of the sun is non-existent on your skin.  You’re brushing your horse’s mane when you hear the familiar holler of his voice towards Bill. You don’t look towards him as his horse trots towards the hitching post.

As he dismounts, he greets you, a little pep in the tone of his voice.

It irritates you immediately.

“Mornin’.”

You grit your teeth and put on the brightest smile you can muster. “Mornin’!”

He takes a moment. His eyebrows crease. “Something matter?”

“Uh-?”

“Nothing it’s just-“ he breaks to think about the right words to say. “You don’t look- Never mind.”

This only encourages you to grow your façade stronger. “So,” you start “what’d Mary need this time?” It comes off a little pettier than you intended it to be. He doesn’t deserve that, hell, Mary didn’t deserve your bitterness either, fine woman she was.

That little fact seemed inconsequential however every time he uttered her name and the familiar feeling of jealousy pricked, downright stabbed itself in your gut.

He picks up on your tone, not appreciating it one bit. The displeasure that carves into his expression almost makes you wince and the fake smile that’s plastered on your face twitches the slightest bit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You take the coward’s way out, you always do.

You break eye contact and continue to brush away the embarrasment. You’re rewarded by a loving whinny and it almost distracts you from the ice-cold awkwardness you’ve built around this conversation. “Nothin’, just asking.”

Whether he believes your fib or doesn’t, he doesn’t let it show. But him moving on has you thanking God regardless. He takes out a brush, starting to work on his own mare’s mane. “Good girl.” He whispers. Warmth creeps up your neck as your ears tingle towards the baritone timber of his voice. It makes you lose all self-respect for yourself. He sneaks a look at you for the tiniest bit of time before continuing your conversation. “Her brother was involved in some weird religious group.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep,” he sighs “buncha turtle lovers.”

That gets a genuine chuckle out of you even though you don’t understand it. When you glance towards Arthur’s direction, the indifference has faded away from his features and all that’s left is a sarcastic smirk in its place. All frost has melted away and all too quickly you’re back to the ease that usually came with your dynamic.

You can’t help but throw a snide joke his way. “Gosh, if you’re still this involved in their family drama, you should just make it official and propose again.”

The idea haunts you, of course, it does. But you weren’t going to let Arthur know that. The more you joke, the more it becomes real, the more your true feelings become buried underneath a pile of age-old lies and supportive nonsense. Because at the end of the day, if it would make Arthur happy, you’d keep biting your lip and pushing him towards that happiness. 

Love worked funny like that.

His smirk falls and you’re worried you pushed it a tad bit too far. “I tried once and I don’t know if it’ll ever happen.” He turns almost sombre, like thinking back on old memories that were equal parts sweet and bitter and this bothers you in a different way.

“I sincerely think if you were to propose to her right now, she’d say yes with no questions asked.” You hope he sees the genuineness in your intentions.

He merely gives you a scoff, slightly shaking his head. “Yeah well,” he trails off. “It’d never work out now.”

You decide not to continue pushing. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to dig deeper into the situation and even in your sorry narrow-minded state, you could understand and respect keeping your mouth shut when you needed to. You lick your lips and stick another sickly-sweet smile to your face. “Well, you continue on moping, but I can’t say I’ll be sticking around to see you grumbling around.”

That gets him to snort. “And where will the rough and tough princess be today? Helping a rabbit off the road? Wait-“ he pauses for dramatic effect “Talking to the birds and singing em’ a song?” He makes himself chortle quietly at the idea.

“I have a date.”

That gets him to stop cold turkey. He’s only met with a smug appearance on your end. “You?”

You fake great offence and snap at him. “Hey! Even I can seduce someone if I try!”

“No, I know- I” He appears shaken up about your revelation and for a moment, the tiniest fraction of a second, you could almost see the tensing of his jaw. “With who?”

It’s your turn to leer at him. “Why’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t I-“ he stutters “I just-“

You raise an eyebrow. “Well if you must know, he works at the hardware store.” You say as you recall the day you met the gentleman. “I helped him carry out some tasks and he gave me a daffodil in exchange, of all things.” You pointed at the flower currently tucked in the band of your hat. “Cutest thing.”

“Is that right?” He gruffed out.

“Mhm, so I’m gonna escort him and his granddaughter to a birthday party out in Strawberry.” You giggle. “He said he needed a ‘fighter’ with him because of his ‘old bones’ and ‘lumbago’” You roll your eyes. “Sounds like Uncle.”

This seems to take Arthur by surprise. The dark clouds in his eyes clear out and his eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Wha-?”

You bite your lip to keep your internal laughter from spilling. “Listen, I offered.” You explain. “He’s been giving me discounts at the store and that girl is just the sweetest thing and well-“ you shrug, “I couldn’t say no like the goddamn softie I am.”

The blades in his eyes dull at the statement. The mysterious scrunch of his shoulders from earlier disappears. He steps away from his horse and walks around his mare to shorten the gap between the two of you. It reminds you that he’s tall, much bigger than you are. “That bleedin’ heart of yours is gonna get you killed one day.”

He mutters his words lightly and yet, there’s some odd sadness you don’t understand attached to it. He puckers his lips as if he wants to say more on the matter yet can’t.

You put on your best Arthur impression, puffing up your chest and scrunching your face. “Well, somehow this don’t suit me, now does it?”

He wouldn’t even have to touch you.

At that, Arthur chuckles deeply. “Nah, you obviously ain’t tall enough to be me, shortcake.” He jabs you playfully at the shoulder and in response, you over-exaggerate the motion of being pushed back.

Though, if he really wanted to, Arthur could have you on your back in less than a second.

Before you can go further down that rabbit hole of thoughts, you carry on with the train of humour. “Besides, heard from Jerry there’ll be plenty of cute fellas around to keep me entertained.”

The clouds start to roll back in his demeanour, dare you say with a touch of thunder this time. “You gonna be looking at other men?” The lightness in his voice is gone, only replaced with the venom from before.

You’re befuddled at the quick-changing atmosphere, but don’t go back on what you said. “All I’ve got to look at are you folks all day,” you quip “A girl needs a change of scenery every once in a while.”

He crosses his arms, clearly not amused. “We not pretty enough for you?”

“Well, you are certainly, but I don’t know about Pearson.”

You purse your lips immediately and silently curse yourself at the admission. That same old shit-eating grin makes a comeback. “Is that right?”

You push his arm back, but unlike him, you hardly get the man to move more than half an inch. “Oh shut it.” You quickly un-hitch your horse and mount her. All you want to do is wipe his lips so it turns back into his usual frown, but you’re afraid you’d just embarrass yourself further. “I won’t be back for a while.” You pull your horse away and pat her on the side. “Didn’t know children’s birthday parties could take so damn long.”

“How long will you be gone for?” He mumbles, voice noticeably quieter.

“However long it takes for a fella to get me off.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. The sun highlights the tips of his ears go red. “Wha- What?” He strained out like he wasn’t quite sure of what he just heard.

A real, true laugh comes out of you then as you spur your horse into action, cantering away from camp. You don’t wait to hear the rest of what he has to say. His flushed look is enough of a prize to take with you.

You replay it all the way to Strawberry.

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

It was well past sundown when you return. Truthfully, you don’t even know what time it is, all you knew was that you were gone long enough that laying down on your cot would be much appreciated by your aching muscles. There’s a light breeze and you take your hat off, shaking out your hair.

The party was a success. Jerry and his granddaughter got to and from Strawberry safely, and really, that was all you could wish for when you were being hunted constantly because of the bounty on your head. You knew you offered, hell you were pretty self-approving when you did. But even then, you made sure to ask if Jerry really wanted a gunslinger as an escort, to which he replied, “Oh, shove it.”

Wonderful man.

The rest of the camp, well those that were here anyways, aside from Bill who was back on guard duty, are already fast asleep. The crackle of the fire is the only sound filling your ears other than your own footsteps.

There’s a small oil lamp turned on in the corner of your vision, brightening the blue hue and you instantly know the only bastard who would be up at this hour.

He’s drawing again. His brows are focused in that way you loved so much and he only looks up from his journal once you amble closer towards him. You almost hate that you’ve disrupted him. You could watch him draw for hours and hardly get bored.

He closes the book and looks up at you. You nod towards his hands. “You’ll have to show me what you’re working on at some point, Picasso.”

Arthur lets a huff through his nose. “Not gonna happen.” He motions you to sit beside him and you take him up on his offer. You catch a whiff of his scent, something like tobacco mixed with old leather. It may have been slightly repulsive to anyone else, but this was Arthur, and all it made you feel was safe. “You was gone a long time.” He points out, a bitter tinge to his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

You tilt your head at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “You just went off and didn’t come back until now.” The bitter tinge morphs into something like annoyance. “I was worried.” He mumbles low.

“Oh, I was fine.” You bump your shoulder against his, but it again, doesn’t make him sway. “Besides, I had a fella with me.”

His hand, the one closest to you, balls up at his side. He’s always been hard to read, but he clearly isn't happy at your revelation. You had half a mind in this late hour to stew in that fact. “Did you now?”

“Sure, one of them single fathers.” You let a small laugh escape you and shake your head, kicking the dirt with your worn-out boots. “Don’t worry, I’d never steal one from a married woman.”

“Was he…cute?” He mutters.

“Never thought I’d hear the word ‘cute’ come out of Arthur Morgan’s mouth.” You catch a glimpse towards him and again note the same pink twinge on his ears, probably embarrassed at being called out on something so stupid.

You finally start to feel that familiar flutter in your stomach hidden behind all that supportive “do what makes you happy nonsense”.

No, you couldn’t have that.

So, you bury it down.

It just became easier that way after all these years.

“That ain’t the damn point.” He continues to grumble. “Was he?”

You ponder the question for a short while. “I mean, he was alright in the looks department, not cute-“

He cuts you off quickly. “Just alright?” He scoffs lightly.

You remember the aforementioned single father in question. His looks are the last thing on your mind. He was alright, not cute, not ugly. Sure, you wouldn’t want to sleep with the man, but-

“He was damn good with his kid, and I thought I’d like to get to know someone like that more.” You reveal through a whisper.

This causes Arthur to frown, but his expression softens. Some of that constant bitterness fades away. “You- “he cuts off and thickly swallows. “You weren’t doing anything strange were you?”

You can feel a prickle of heat in your face at the question. “I mean, we talked sure, but if anything, I just maybe wanted to indulge in a fantasy.” You shrug.

He snaps his gaze back towards you. “A fantasy?”

“What it’d be like-“

God, why was it so hard to say?  “Being normal, having a family.”

The silence that follows is thick and you immediately scold yourself for ruining a perfectly airy conversation just like this morning. You regret it, you do, but you can’t deny how nice it is to finally get that dream off your chest. It wasn’t original, what woman at camp, save Mrs. Adler, didn’t want that stability?

The feeling of riding was freeing. It gave you the grace of flying during a time when you were being held down and that will never change. But nowadays, you find that instead of being held down, you want to be held close. To be called important, matter to someone, so that when you felt lost soaring, you’d always have a beacon home.

“Damn it, you can’t be sayin’ things like that.” He forces out a murmur, a shred of his usual gruff tone.

“You ever think about that?” You tread lightly. “Having kids? Building a farm out somewhere and just-“ a deep sigh escapes you. “living and not surviving?”

It takes him a while to answer your question.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” The vulnerability colors his voice and it starts to trip you over the edge.

You nod, pursing your lips. “With Mary?” You meekly ask, the crickets chirping making the exchange more awkward. You almost cringe at the silence of it all.

He tenses at her name and it seems like you get your answer.

“With Mary? I mean-“ He tries to dissuade you with absolutely no conviction in his voice. He pauses and curses under his breath. Arthur shakes his head, closing his eyes a moment. “Y’know, it ain’t always about Mary.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Arthur, it’s always been about Mary.” Sighing deeply, you bite your cheek at the acidic truth. “Even when you met Eliza, it was still about Mary.”

He’s taken aback by your statement and a subtle look of frustration overcomes his features. “No, it hasn’t.”

You want to say more, but your sardonic nature halts at his stoic reply. It’s like your heart stops, a coldness and a shrill wake your senses from the inside out. “What?” Your brain halts, all thought ceasing to exist except to process his next response. He tries to avoid eye contact, but you seek his gaze as you tilt your head sideways. “Arthur, what do you mean?” You repeat more sternly, begging to get a straight answer.

He throws you a stick of dynamite.

The smoke clears and all that’s left is the destruction that caters right in the center of your chest.

“What about you?” His voice is hoarse like this is the most difficult thing he’s ever had to squeeze out of his mouth. “What about when it became you?”

Ka-boom.

There’s no longer just a flutter in your stomach, there’s a whole damn circus, and it decides to release the butterflies you worked so hard to keep from their magical chest of caution.

You shake your head and your body goes rigid. You move away from him and stand abruptly as you place your hands on your hips. He’s quick to follow you on your feet.  A sarcastic laugh leaves your throat before you can stop yourself. “Arthur-“

“No, let me finish.” He steps in front of you and holds your shoulders square, turning your body towards him. Even in your bubbling anger, you hate the way your skin immediately melts under his touch. His eyes and actions are pleading for you to stay, so you let him speak, biting your tongue to keep yourself from interrupting. He stumbles over his words. “It’s been you for a long damn time.” He admits. “But I was, I don’t know-“You notice the light sheen of sweat gracing his forehead. “I was scared to say something.”

“If this is some dumb joke-“

“No!” He immediately denies like he’s appalled you would even think of it in that way. 

“Well,” you sneer “I’m sorry if I have a hard time believing that.” You remove his hands from your shoulders stiffly and start to trudge away back to your horse.

In the years you’d known him, Arthur had been a force, even more so when he was younger and reckless. He was stubborn as a mule and despite keeping the peace for the most part, there was a strut in his step when he walked because he knew he had the power to change that fact whenever he wanted and get away scotch-free. Arthur was arrogant in that way, always threatening people with a smirk or an edge to his voice.

But this is the first time you see him flinch and it happens to be at your curt words.

A lump catches in your throat, but you’re too annoyed to care, all but continuing the short distance back to the hitching posts. Arthur is hot on your tracks, not letting up one bit. Maybe Bill was overhearing, maybe one of the girls stirred awake. It didn’t matter, you couldn’t care less. You just wanted to get the hell away from here.

His catches up to you in no time, his strides much longer than yours. He steps in front of your path and when you make a move to step aside, he mirrors your actions. You click your tongue, glowering at him from beneath your lashes. “Look,” he starts “now I know you may not like me, but I-“

That gets your anger rising to incomparable heights. “Not like you?!” You practically shout out. Looking around, you remember where you are and it’s the only reason your voice lowers. “Arthur, I’ve liked you since the day I met you!”

His eyebrows pull together and his nose crinkles. Arthur’s face morphs into something like agitation from its previous confusion. “So, why all this attitude?”

You’re dejected. “Why all this attitude?” You softly hiss. “Why all this attitude when I’ve loved you for years and all I’ve heard about is Mary?”

Arthur winces. He steps back from you, recoiling like he’s just been shot by a sniper rifle.

Good, you think. He should feel like a right asshole.

“’Why all this attitude’ he says!” You giggle manically at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “Where do I even start?” You begin to rant, hands back on your hips to give you some sort of anchor from sinking towards the ground.  “I don’t know Arthur, maybe it’s because while I’ve been here stewing in self-pity, you were always out seeing her.  Maybe, it’s because every time you were young, drunk, and broken, you’d come back whispering her name, mistaking her for me, and I was the one helping you pick up the pieces.”

Your heart was racing a million yards a minute, but you couldn’t stop now. All the hurt and sorry baggage poured out like molten lava, burning with years of intensity. “Or maybe-“ you point an index finger at him and snap sarcastically as if you’ve just discovered a newfound truth “Maybe, it was because I worked so damn hard to tell myself I wasn’t in love with you and you just-“ your voice breaks.

Arthur doesn’t interrupt you at any part of your monologuing. Just like usual, you can hardly decipher his emotions except notice the colour draining from his face.

“So, I’m sorry that I don’t believe you when you say It’s been me.” You continue. “You’ve given me no reason to believe otherwise.”

You sidestep him, not taking a single look back in fear of him seeing the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You unhitch your horse, giving her a slight pat before mounting her again.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t see or speak to Arthur for a few days after your argument.

You don’t have much energy to talk to anyone really.

So, you somehow end up back at a familiar field surrounded by evergreen trees and flowers. The crystalline water of the hot springs gleams in your eyes and a chill wind sends shivers up your spine.

You set up camp and stay a while. The serenity of the woods is welcomed. You don’t consider yourself the best hunter, but fishing didn’t require the same amount of dexterity. It's quiet, peaceful even. All you hear is the chirp of the birds and the steady flow of water.

It gives you time to cool off, reflect on everything that’s happened.

The more time you spend out here, the more hesitant you are to leave. It's a nice reprieve from the perils of civilization and you find yourself slipping away, trying to grasp a sense of comfort that's unimaginable for you most days.

Tends to happen when you're an outlaw, you suppose.

But one day, as you’re laying under the shade of a tree, feeling the blades of soft grass beneath you, you hear heavy footsteps starting to approach.

There's no need to bother even acting surprised.

Arthur takes a seat beside you with a deep sigh. He leans back, using his hands to support him.

The both of you are silent for a while, not one peep out of your mouths. You expect it to be uncomfortable but having him by your side brings an ease you haven’t felt in days. Arthur continues to stare up at the sun starting to descend in the horizon and you follow suit, eyes trained to the sky above.

“When I met you, I thought you were nothing more than a naïve, innocent little thing.” He starts, baritone drawl catching you off guard. You don’t realize how much you’d missed hearing it until now. “You were this small girl I needed to protect. “

 You glance towards him and notice the small smile now gracing his lips, his eyes glossed over like remembering memories from so very long ago. “You could barely ride a horse, hell, you could barely mount one.”

The genuine warmth in his voice continues to chip away any frustrations left within you as you recall those days like snapshots in your mind.

“Every day, it was something new with you.” He laughs out, making your heart traitorously skip a beat. “You were learning the ropes of it all, and for a while, you were just a ratty brat who wanted to try on boots that were too big for her.”  He pauses and you look at him more clearly this time, head turned towards him fully in an effort to really listen to what he has to say. “But Mary, she-“ he swallows “I could just turn my thoughts off with her.”

He gives out another sigh. “I loved her, I did.” He admits. “It was so easy loving her at the time. We had no expectations of one another, and then all of a sudden that shifted and I don’t know if I could have been the man she needed me to be.”

You ache but it’s not because he mentions his past lover’s name.

“So I ended up actin’ like a goddamn fool. Boozin’, sleeping around.” He groans, obviously not proud of his previous ventures. “Dutch and Hosea, they couldn’t pull me out of it. I mean, they tried everything, but then-“ He releases a relieved chuckle. “Some woman I’d never met before poured a bucket of cold water over my head and pulled out her revolver, threatening to shoot my dumb ass if I didn’t get up.”

You snort as you’re reminded of that day.

It was dry and humid, overall making it a miserable summer afternoon. Arthur stumbled back into camp smelling like he was doused in moonshine, groggy and slurring his words together. Even Hosea, forgiving as he was, cringed at his sorry state.

You just about had it.

After collecting some from the nearby stream, you pushed Arthur down and doused him in ice-cold water. He sputtered, clearly not happy about what you just did and attempted to get up to confront you. You pulled out your gun before he could and shot right between his legs onto the dirt below. “If you don’t pull your damn weight around here, I’ll make sure the next shot hits!” you shouted, utterly disappointed.

“Good times.” You mutter and Arthur’s smile widens.

“Sure.” He agreed. “When my eyes started to clear, I swear to god I thought I was looking at an angel.”

You had a hard time believing that too. “You looked at a woman who just shot at you and thought she was angelic?”

He tries to find better words. “I guess you looked ethereal all together.” He tries to explain. “Like you were something I’d see at the pearly white gates of judgement.”

You sat amused at his thoughts. “That so?”

He’s finally able to make eye contact with you and revels in that fact. “My vision was still a little hazy and you just stood over me, posture straight, hat on.” He takes his hand and scratches his chin. It’s a tick for when he’s nervous. “Your hair had a glow to it from the sun and your eyes, they just- had this fire in em’ I’d never seen before.”

His shoulders drop and the mood suddenly turns mellow. “When we were ridin’ around and ended up at this clearin’, you just took off without me and I realized how much you’d grown into yourself right under my nose. You didn’t change much, you were still the same old, sunshine, animal-lovin’ princess, but the way you carried yourself? Asserted yourself more?  God-.”

He holds your gaze as he continues and it’s like the world holds its breath for whatever he has to say next. “You rode off, hair wild, not looking back at me one bit and I just couldn’t stop starin’ at you because I thought you were such a damn sight.”

“It made me wonder-“ his words trail off. He stops for a while and you let him. You know how much courage it was taking him right now to admit this to you, letting down those guarded stone walls he loved so much.

You lick your lips, and in an act of your own bravery, you settle your hand on top of his, to which he visibly softens upon. “Made you wonder?” You urge.

“If that’s what Mary felt like, seeing me go all those times.” He finishes. “Because I hated it. I hated every time you got on that horse and left, and it would only hurt less whenever you came back.”

Arthur’s hand starts to clench, but you flip his hand in yours so you can interlock your fingers properly. You give his hand a squeeze and the tension eases off.

“But then I hear you wantin’ to go off with some man and all I could do was mope like a sorry idiot because what if-“ His throat works. “What if you rode off and didn’t come back this time?”

“Oh, Arthur.” You softly coo.

His hand starts to make small slow circles over your hands. “You know I realized something when I last saw Mary that I didn’t before.”

You’re expectant to hear what it is.

“Every time it got a little too rough between us, she was done with me.” He perceived. “I don’t blame her, she deserves someone to make her happy, but I wasn’t gonna change fast enough in her eyes.” He squeezes your hand tighter. “But you- you didn’t expect me to change on a dime. You were patient, you understood that I didn’t want to start a family not because I didn’t want to, but because I was afraid of feeling that pain again.”

After clenching his jaw, he takes his other palm and cups your cheek with the utmost tenderness a man of his size could muster. “With you, I feel like I can be something else, something good.” You lean towards his touch, begging that if this were a dream, you never wanted to be woken up. His gaze is soft on your features, highlighted by the starlight above.

“I fell in love with you a long time ago Arthur Morgan.” You confess. “I keep running away because no one holds me close enough to keep me somewhere.”

You feel a lump in your throat as you remember all the times you rode off wanting to hear him shout "Wait!", but he never did.

“I know and I’m sorry for that sweetheart, I really am.”

Tears start to escape your eyes and you don’t bother wiping them away. “Loving you hurt so much Arthur.” You whimper. “I started to pack all of those feelings away if it meant I didn’t have to ruin what we already had.”

He presses his rough lips to your forehead and leans back. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He tilts your chin up with a finger. “If I could go back and change the way I handled it all, I would.”

“Give me something to believe that this is real. That I’m not just making this up in my misery.”

Arthur takes a moment to look at you before he speaks. He takes the time to figure out how he’s supposed to approach what he wanted to convey “Close your eyes for just a second.” He mumbled, his voice pleading.

You don’t question it and do what he wants you to do. You fully accept you’d be one of those pathetic individuals who’d follow him off a cliff if it meant staying with him and keeping him safe.

In the darkness, you feel him pick up your hands and place them on his chest. Under your palms, you feel the fast thrum of the beat of his heart and the laboured way his chest rises. You stay like that for a few seconds and match your breathing to his.

“Okay,” his voice cuts through your thoughts “now open your eyes.” You follow his command and you open your eyes to Arthur with a tender expression. You feel his breathing get faster, like he’s almost waiting for a reaction.

You tilt your head. “What?”

Arthur chuckles quietly at your question. “This is me trying to prove I’m serious about you.” His hands are still around your wrists, keeping your palms on his chest in place.

“By what? Letting me feel you up?” You jokingly say. “Arthur, who do you think’s being lugging your heavy ass around when you’re drunk, cause it sure as hell ain’t Uncle-“

Even in the darkness that surrounded you, you can sense his embarrassment. He starts to sputter to quickly get words out “Wha- no, that’s not what- I- you-“ He stutters, clearly flustered at the comment. He sighs. “Now, that’s not what I meant and you know it, sweetheart.”

“So then, what?” You push. You’re not trying to be obtuse in any way, but you want to hear a proper answer.

Arthur swallows awkwardly. “I’m just- I want you to know that my heart beats for you.”

It puts you in such a complete state of shock, it renders you speechless.

Just a couple of days ago, you would have been thirsty to hear those words drip out of his lips, but now that you’ve actually heard him say it, you don’t know how to exactly respond.

“Sweetheart?” He calls, voice laced with worry.

You slowly lean down and press your ear against his chest, wrapping your arms around him. He smells like gun smoke and mountain air. The fast bu-dump of his heart is intoxicating, making you break out into a smile.

After a few seconds, he slowly places his own arms around you and pulls you in closer. His hold is firm. Secure. A bandwagon of bandits or federal agents could show up this instant and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone so much as even look at you the wrong way.

He tucks your head under his chin. “I can’t give you a house, or children, or land right now, but I want you to know you have my heart.” He places another soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ve had it for a long time and it’ll always be yours as long you’ll have me.”

“Well, I never thought Arthur Morgan was capable of such sweet words.” You tease.

You feel the rumble of his chest as he freely laughs. “Well, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other it seems.”

You give his statement some thought. “Maybe we can start to find those things about each other out.”

He nods against you. “I’d like that.”

You sniffle and follow him in letting out a laugh. “I’ll end up falling asleep here if we keep this up.”

He snickers at your comment. “I guess I’ll just have to carry you to bed then, huh?” He teases back, his tone light and playful.

You push away from his chest and fix your gaze directly at him, a dazed smile on your face. “I guess you’ll just have to, Arthur Morgan.”

His breathing hitches, obviously not expecting to be accepted on his offer. “Yeah, I suppose I will, sweetheart.”

You place a kiss squarely on his mouth and he reciprocates it almost immediately.

You grasp his face with your hands and do something you’ve been wanting to do since the day you met him.

His lips, though slightly chapped are soft and his stubble that he hasn’t shaved for weeks tickles your cheeks, poking you in a pleasurable way. You taste the tobacco on him and though you don’t smoke, maybe through kissing him you get the appeal. Fingers thread through your braid that’s falling apart by the second.

For the first time, you don't hold the butteflies back.

You part your lips to deepen the kiss and allow him to explore your mouth with his tongue.

It becomes hungry. Insatiable. It's years of pent up frustration and confusion exploding into a possession that consumes your whole body. He groans and you barely notice when he scoops you up, hooking his arm under your legs. “God, we could have been doing this earlier.” He growls.

As you giggle against his lips, Arthur continues to carry you, walking briskly towards your tent.

And the world around you stayed silent that night, except for a few hushed noises.

- - - - - - -

A/N: Yee-haw. Pls interact, I need to to talk to more RDR people lmao. pls.

[onmyyan]

Yandere Batfam being kind of terrible and over all neglectful to their Batmom darling makes my heart ache ache for angst and the drama that comes with it. It's always so satisfying to see Mrs. Wayne go be at he wits end with the family she is slowly began to loathe, decides to leave them quietly, and start to be selfish for a change by living her best life in with out them and in comforting solitude. It was so easy to get Bruce to sign her one way ticket out her depressing life, via not paying attention to the papers he signed of. Oh well 🙂

This is so scrumptious omfg the angst possibilities are literally endless??

Like her being there for Dick when he arrives as that broken little kid despite the misdirected anger he aimed at her, she'd still ask him how his day at school was or if he wanted to walk the gardens with her, no matter how many times he rejects her, she'd be there for him without overstepping the delicate boundaries surrounding him and his recently departed parents, I can see him opening up just the slightest but then he becomes Robin and since at this point batmom doesn't know about any of that, it drives this wedge between them.

She'd fall in love with being a mom despite its many challenges, when Dick grows up and eventually moves out her heart aches but then Jason comes into their lives and it's like a breath of fresh air in the stagnant house Bruce had cultivated. Then he dies. And everything is grey. Jason would have been close to her before she died but afterwards? She's just as bad as Bruce in his eyes and he's sure to let her know it.

Tim's another tragic case of misdirected anger, his father's murder fresh in his mind, it be impossible to bond with him every attempt would be met with more resistance and bitterness, it hurt when he so clearly thought you were trying to replace his mother, and this distance between you isn't something he grows out of

[starcharmed]

— MEMOIRS OF THE PAST

summary: leaving a topic behind to go check up on sunday worked out well in your favor.

cw: romantic sunday pairing, past romantic dan heng pairing, after 2.7 quest but nothing mentioned, reader is an astral express member, caelus as trailblazer, fluff with an undertone of hurt/comfort | wc: 2k+ | my secret santa gift for @milksnake-tea <3 please read the note at the end

The Express seemed to hum during its “nighttime”. The record Caelus set earlier this morning looping idly, the tune stitched into your memory. Pom-Pom had stopped sweeping around ten minutes ago, Himeko retired to her cabin, Welt had long gone to his own as well for a much-needed rest.

Dan Heng insisted that he assisted March in “helping Caelus decorate his room”. Not that you would raise an eyebrow at him for doing so, those two were bound to have everything turned upside down and on the ceiling if left alone.

Which left only one Express member left, Sunday.

In your opinion, he could rival Dan Heng in measures of silence. At first you weren’t sure if he simply disliked you, but after being around him for more than a month you soon realized he was just like that.

It’s not as if he was cold, though.

The first week he was on the Express, he brought everyone delicacies that he presumed would match everyone’s taste.

He was correct in his judgement.

You weren’t even sure how he had figured out that you loved deep-fried flying sea anemone — a dish you tried on Xianzhou when in need of a small energizer after all that went down — nonetheless how many toppings you liked to have with it.

You remember messaging Caelus after receiving the gift, questioning if he had played any part in it. The only response you had received was a Wubbaboo emoji.

Very helpful.

That was besides the point, however. 

Unlocking your phone with a click, you opened your messenger. You sent Dan Heng a simple “u up?” before scrolling through your contacts, bored and in need of someone to bother. 

The second Dan Heng responded, you tapped on the notification.

You ; 10:45pm     u up?

Dan Heng ; 10:47 pm    You should be asleep.

Of course….

You ; 10:47pm    so should you

You hit him with the Pom-Pom “Pay Attention”. That’ll get him.

Dan Heng ; 10:48pm    …    Sleep if you can.     If not go see what Sunday is up to, he’s been silent for a long while.

Dan Heng ; 10:49pm    March said she let him in her room to look at photos.    Try looking there first.

You ; 10:49pm     march is letting him go through her photos alone??     did see get possessed by some random heliobi somehow??

Dan Heng ; 10:49pm    As far as I’m aware, no.     He’s…processing a lot of things right now.     Especially ones about his past.     I know how that feels.

You bit down of your tongue harshly to stop the bitter laugh surfacing from your throat. You knew that. How could you not practically know everything about him considering you two were the only people on the Express besides Welt, Himeko, and Pom-Pom for a long time.

Maybe, maybe you were still irritated that Dan Heng had kept his secret from you after you both had “dated” off and on for a time of years. Leaving you to a not so fun surprise during your time in the Xianzhou Luofu. Iron filled your mouth and you let your facial muscles relax. Aeons…you needed to get a grip. What was done was done.

Your phone’s ding pulled you out from the mucky mess of the past.  

Dan Heng ; 10:50pm    Please check up on him. 

Cringing, you hesitated before sending a Pom-Pom emoji. Huffing you placed your phone down beside yourself, rolling your head to the side to stare at your cabin’s door. Ah, what the hell. All of that didn’t matter right now. Sunday.

It didn’t take you that long to find him, in March’s cabin. Sitting cross-legged and shuffling through photos, door ajar just enough that you could peek in without disturbing him. You assumed March let him in, she’s bubbly yet still wary when need be. 

After what went down Sunday certainly was a “need be”. 

Rapping your knuckles against the door, you watched as a photo album slipped from his grasp before he caught it between his forefinger and thumb. The only sign of him being startled. Turning his head, Sunday’s posture relax imperceptibly. 

“Sorry”, Slipping inside the cabin, you caught the door before it shut completely, “I should’ve been more noticeable, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t startle me.” He was quick to retort, sparing you a second glance before focusing back on the picture.

“Right.” Easing over you crouched beside Sunday, noting the lack of his gloves and coat – two clothing items he almost never went without. Peering over his shoulder, the image of a smiling Robin with an excited March taking a selfie with her filled your vision. 

Oh. 

You hesitantly sat down, “I remember when that was taken, y’know? On the feldspar.” The addition after everything happened in Penacony died down on your tongue, you shouldn’t mention that. “March was so excited to finally snap a photo with her. She wouldn’t stop rambling about it all day.”

Sunday’s right wing twitched as he placed the photo back in its slot within the laced album, “That sounds like Miss March.”

A silence creeped back over the both of you, the Express’ humming becoming more prominent within your mind. The nagging feeling that you made an incorrect choice prodding along with the melody running on repeat inside your head. Perhaps you should have made the decision to leave him be. Maybe letting Dan Heng know that he was looking through photos would’ve been enough. 

His message became center stage in the circus of your mind. He’s processing a lot of things right now. That was understandable, and that was also the problem. You weren’t sure how to interact with Sunday without dragging him back in his murky mess of a past.

Like you did with yourself earlier.

But, then again, it’s not like you’ve done anything to make him feel outed, right? All you have to do is just leave and check back in with Dan Heng. And maybe you can catch a few hours of sleep. Just excuse yourself and head back to your cabin. 

“Well…” Standing up you raised your arms over your head, stretching until you could start to feel a slight burn, “If you don’t need anything I guess I can-”

“Wait!”

Time seemed to freeze as your eyes went wide, both of Sunday’s wings twitched violently, and the Express seemed to stop humming as if his shout momentarily stunned it. Lowering the hand he had extended in suddenness, Sunday cleared his throat. 

“I apologize. That was abrupt of me.” You swear you could see his eyes flickering between you and the wall, a moment of nervousness from Sunday caught for once in your eyes, “I was curious if you had any more stories about your travels to tell. I enjoy them.”

Feeling yourself becoming flustered, you started to ease back over to where he was sat. Perhaps your tendency to recall and talk about your journeys with the crew had gotten yourself a title as the second best storyteller within the crew.

You were never beating March for second. 

Point still stands. 

Although no one honestly asked you to retell stories unless no one else was present to do so. It might’ve been because you do so without honest flair or excess details that added a hint of humor to the mix. However, that could be your opinion of how you tell tales carrying over to your own thoughts. 

It was like he handed you the book for popcorn reading.

Sunday seemed to slide over, making room for him. A considerate action that wasn’t new. He often didn’t want to get in the way, even when he wasn’t. You can recall when he stood to the side when Pom-Pom was sweeping in a completely different area than him, as if he was trying to blend into the wall. 

Odd.

You reached for a photo in the album blindly, blinking thrice as you realized which one you had chosen. It was one from Xianzhou of all of your luck, one snapped in a hurry. It was on of you, Dan Heng, and Caelus in front of the Express. Caelus and you were mimicking Dan Heng’s newly-found horns (at the time) with your fingers before you all departed Xianzhou, March snapping the photo quickly before Dan Heng had started to stalk off the train.

That was a fun moment, despite all that had happened.

“That’s from the Xianzhou Luofu, correct?” Sunday questioned even though you could tell he already knew by the look within his eyes, “I’ve heard about what had happened there.”

You nodded. “It was a thing.”

A thing? Really?

“I never thought to ask what the story behind his form in these pictures was all about”, Sunday started, “Do you think you could tell me some about it?”

You take that previous statement back, he handed you a loaded gun.

The wince that slipped past your lips was sharp enough to sound like a whistle. With a click of your tongue, you started to put the photo back, “Well, I think you’d have to ask Dan Heng that yourself. He seems to have taken a liking to you so maybe you won’t get the sharp end of the sword.”

The statement was meant to be humorous, yet it came out as the complete opposite.

“It’s just something from his past. Everyone has one that nags them on this Express it seems, even someone as giddy as Caelus,” Closing the album, you reached for another one.

“Even you?”

“Unfortunately”, laughing you turned your face to look at him, “It’s not as deep as memory loss or being birthed from a literal nuke. Why? You surprised?”

“It’s hard to imagine you being chained down by memories and experiences of the past, you don’t let it seem to show.” You weren’t sure if you or Sunday had moved closer to one another.

In public you wanted to add, letting the two words melt on your tongue. 

“Yeah, well”, Scooting closer, your right knee bumped his left, “It’s different for everyone.”

“That it is.”

The humming of the Express seemed to become muted, as if you had submerged underneath the water.

Sunday was so pretty.

His hair framed over his wings perfectly, his eye color blending into his attire beautifully. Little things that he seemed to make stand out wonderfully.

“Do you and Dan Heng have quarrel?” Lifting his head, Sunday’s eyes locked onto your own, “I do not want to trouble you by mentioning the past if both of you have some together.”

“No, it’s just a…little thing.” 

Who started to lean in first?

“A little thing? You have a lot of those, hmm?” Sunday’s lips upturned slightly before they fell into their normal line, “Are you sure?” “You’re not getting in the way of anything, Sunny.” The nickname made his lips part, his honeyed breath being intook by your nostrils, “It’s fine, I swear.”

You could practically feel his hair against your face as he tried to close the distance, flinching back once his nose brushed against yours. Your fingers traced the outline of his jaw as he exhaled shakily, his lashes fluttering closed so delicately it was if a feather had fallen against the smooth water of his skin. 

Smooth lips met yours as soon as your own eyes closed.

You felt his hand sneak up to the nape of your neck, a gasp pushing past your lips at the skin-on-skin contact. Sunday must’ve felt as he did something incorrect, pulling back before you brought up your other hand, keeping him within the moment of the kiss.

The muffled humming started to become clearer as you pulled back to open your eyes. Sunday’s wings had come around to fit around his face, a pink creeping past the edges. 

And you let out a small laugh filled with nothing but joy.

Lowing his wings from his face, Sunday averted his gaze partially to the ground, “I suppose you should go back and try to sleep now.”

Although it was a statement, it carried more a questionable tone.

“Yeah”, you croaked out, nodding stiffly as you stood up. “You rest well if you can.” With a nod himself, Sunday started to study the pattern on another photo album. You practically speed-walked out of March’s cabin, heading to your own down the hall as your hand subconsciously raised to your lips.

Aeons were you glad you didn’t bring the past to the present with Dan Heng.

HI ILLU!! i hope you enjoy and this wasn't too ooc 😓😓 you've been such a huge inspiration and a major reason of why i'm so hooked on sunday as much as i am HAHAHA, i hope you have a very wonderful christmas and the rest of the year treats you right. thank you so much for being so wonderful and joyous to be around, i truly appreciate you 🫶🏽

[ericityyy]

Hi!

Can i request a fluff georgie x reader where he is head over heals with her?

The family dont know who she is (just sheldon bcs they are in the same university and she is very smart), but one day georgie takes her back home to hang out as friends and the family falls in love with how kind smart and charming she is and they are like: "this is the one for him"

Your writing is wholesome 😚

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞

���𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘦’𝘴 “𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥” 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘍𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺

𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘉𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘹 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘵

𝙏𝙮𝙥𝙚: 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1,632

𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

Sometimes when you look at someone you like, you get this feeling of time slowing down around you but fast forwarding to the moment you imagine yourself with that person. That feeling is what Georgie experiences when with her. Y/N L/N. There are many beautiful girls around the world, but nothing can compare to her.

She’s beautiful in his eyes, no matter what setting they are in, whether it is dark or not. She glows in his eyes. When it’s bright, she’s the cause. When it’s crowded, she’s the only one he sees. When they’re alone, nothing else matters. Needless to say, Georgie will always be proud to admit that he is down bad for this girl, and yet he couldn’t find the courage to do it in front of her.

It is no secret that Georgie is not particularly the smartest one in the family; however, that does not mean that he is dumb. He’s smart in his own way. Everyone is. It’s always comforting when she tells Georgie that he’s not dumb, as other people put it. In her words, she is "book smart” and the boy is “street smart," to which the latter agrees since Y/N does not go outside much.

There’s more ways to enjoy herself in the comfort of her home, more specifically in her room, where all her books and experiments reside.

That’s why she was left confused when she found herself at Dairy Queen with Georgie. How he convinced her to hang outside, she doesn’t know. Clearly it was one of Georgie’s talents to be so convincing. Partly, it was because Y/N couldn’t say no to the boy.

“After graduating high school, I just go to Dr. Sturgis’ class for the hell of it.” Y/N explains while scooping up some ice cream, “My parents are trying to convince me to go to a university and finish my studies altogether; honestly, they just want to brag to our relatives that I graduated college at such a young age.” She furrowed her eyebrows while letting out a bitter smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents, but I don’t want to rush into college, y'know? I just want to take a break from studying, but I gave them a chance to let me enroll in Dr. Sturgis’ class, but only in his class so technically, still not in college.” Y/N laughed slightly before turning her attention to the person she’s with.

Georgie nodded his head at times when Y/N was telling her story, and the girl noticed, “I’m sorry, I’ve been talking about myself; how about you? What’s the latest news going on with Mr. Georgie Cooper?" The girl smirked smugly at the boy in front of her, making the said boy chuckle nervously.

“Nothing much, really.” Georgie shrugged, not knowing what to tell, “Just the usual, religious mom, coach dad, carefree meemaw, chaotic little sister, know it all little brother, y'know the normal.”

Y/N laughed at his description of his family. Nothing is normal with the Coopers, that’s for sure, but that’s what makes them so unique in a way that the girl wants to have the pleasure of meeting them. And because of that, she blurted out, “They sound fun; it’ll be a joy to meet them personally.” She not-so-subtly hinted to Georgie, who stopped scooping his ice cream.

“Why? "Georgie squinted his eyes confusingly, not really understanding why the girl wanted to meet his family.

Y/N shrugged, playing with her spoon. “Nothing really; I just want to meet them. Is that okay?" She then asked, losing confidence in her voice, which, again, the boy noticed.

“It’s okay, just don’t let them freak you out.”

"Oh, please, how bad can they be?”

・‥...━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━...‥・

“Y/N, what were your thoughts in Dr. Sturgis’ class today? I think it was motivational. Then again, it’s not like I don’t know what the contents of his lessons are anyway.” Sheldon arrogantly bragged as he walked alongside the older girl. Although he did not know he was being arrogant, it’s just the way he presents himself to people. And Y/N has come to terms with that.

Y/N decided to humor the younger boy as they walked outside the university. “Well, I think Dr. Sturgis made a mistake during his lecture.” Sheldon looked up at her, confused with his face all frowning. “What do you mean by mistake? I’m sure I would have recognized the mistake that Dr. Sturgis made.”

The girl was about to answer when they heard a car honking, startling Sheldon in the process, before they both noticed it was “Georgie!” Y/N exclaimed, a huge smile on her face seeing her friend. She ran up to the car as the boy got out of it to open the passenger door for her.

“Ma’am, your service awaits.” Georgie pretended to tip his imaginary hat. “Why, thank you, kind sir," while Y/N attempted to mimic a British accent, almost doing it perfectly.

“Georgie?” Sheldon asked, confused as he walked to his older brother’s car, "What are you doing here? Where’s Meemaw? Will you be the one taking me home? ”

Georgie sighed a bit annoyed. “Meemaw is a bit busy right now, so I volunteered to pick you up, also because Y/N will be joining us for dinner.”

“Huh. Well, that’s delightful to hear.” Sheldon opened the backseat door, waiting for his brother to come in before speaking again. "Delightful, as in Y/N joining us for dinner and not you picking me up.”

“Would you like to walk home? ”

“No.”

“Georgie!”

・‥...━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━...‥・

“We’re home!” Georgie shouted once they came inside the door of their home. The Cooper household, it was nerve-wracking for Y/N to experience this kind of situation. She didn’t grow up with that many friends due to her isolating herself most of the time. But there’s a first time for everything.

Sheldon, after pestering Y/N with what mistake Dr. Sturgis made in his lecture, went to his bedroom to drop off his briefcase, but not before telling Y/N that “This isn’t over, L/N.” Y/N raised an eyebrow at the walking boy before turning back to the nearing footsteps.

Mary came face-to-face with Y/N, not being familiar with her. “Hi, I’m sorry. Who are you?” She asked, not wanting to be rude but wanting to know this stranger inside her house.

"Oh, where are my manners?” Y/N offered her hand to the woman, giving her a beaming smile. “I’m Y/N, Mrs. Cooper. I was invited by your eldest son to dinner, but now I figure that you weren’t informed of my presence here in your humble abode.” The girl then turned to Georgie, who shrugged with a smile on his face. “I wouldn’t want to possibly intrude.”

Mary waved a hand in the girl’s direction before shaking hands with her. “Nonsense, darling, I’m happy that Georgie made friends with a gorgeous girl like yourself, and you may call me Mary.” The woman then led them to the dining table, not noticing that Y/N elbowed Georgie once her back turned to them. The boy crouches in pain, not before seeing Y/N’s overly sweet smile.

・‥...━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━...‥・

“So you mean to say that you go to the same classes with Sheldon at the university?" Missy questioned, interested in the new girl placed between Sheldon and Georgie. “And you survived being with him? Oh, I like you.”

Sheldon looked offended by his sister’s insult before looking content with their mother scolding the twin girl.

“It’s not much of a challenge anyway; I like Sheldon’s wit. It amuses me.” Y/N laughed at Sheldon’s arrogant expression.

“Do you have any religion, Y/N?” Mary asked hopefully. So far, she really likes the girl between her sons; the woman thinks that the girl is the one for Georgie.

Y/N nodded, swallowing her food before answering, “I was born and baptized a Christian, as my family is all Christians.” Mary, after receiving the answer, smiled widely at that, looking at George, motioning her head toward the girl excitedly.

“You mentioned that you graduated high school? At what age?” It was now George’s turn to ask; they were all taking turns getting to know the girl, and by that, it meant questioning her.

“Yes, Mr. Cooper. I actually graduated high school when I was 13. And now, I’m thinking about when I’m going to enroll fully in a university to get my degree. I haven’t really thought about going to college any time soon; basically, Dr. Sturgis’ lectures are just hobbies in a way.”

“And what exactly is your relationship with our Georgie here?” Connie finally asked what most of them were thinking, casually drinking a beer. Y/N choked on her pasta, with Georgie patting her back gently and offering her water, which she took. The boy noticed his family eyeing his actions toward Y/N; he sent them an eye roll.

“We’re just friends, Meemaw," Georgie answered, fighting back the urge to confess his feelings right there and then. But he figured to take this more privately than out in the open with his family present. That doesn’t really scream romantic to him.

Y/N paid no mind to his answer and rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand, smiling at him. "Thanks, darling.” She was grateful for him taking care of her when she was nearly dying earlier. “Don’t mention it, dear.” Georgie smiled back.

They didn’t notice the eyes on them, as they only saw each other right now. Needless to say, the family found the one for Georgie Cooper. He did too.

“I still don’t recall Dr. Sturgis’ mistake earlier.” Well, it was good while it lasted.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

i am so happy receiving your request :’> you’re my first ever request in this app and i was lowkey losing hope. but thank you so much for requesting this and i hope this lives up to your expectation.

pls don’t be a ghost reader.

[luvzshy]

The lie

The soft glow of the bedside lamp is the only thing keeping the room from total darkness. You lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling Billie’s warmth beside you. It should be comforting, but tonight, it’s suffocating. That nagging feeling—like something’s just off—has been eating at you for days, and you’re done pretending you can ignore it.

You glance over at Billie’s phone on the nightstand. You hesitate, but not for long. Your gut is telling you that there’s something you need to see. You reach over, careful not to wake her, and unlock the phone. Your fingers move with purpose, navigating to the messages app. You freeze when you see an unfamiliar name near the top of the list: Emily. Your heart pounds, but not from fear—it’s from the anticipation of finding out what Billie’s been hiding.

The messages aren’t new—most are from a few months back—but every word is like a fresh cut. There are long paragraphs, conversations between Billie and her ex, talking about their past, about things that once were. They talk about closure, about letting go, but there are moments when the ex reminisces about old memories, about the way things used to be. And Billie… she responded.

You’re not the type to crumble. You set the phone down, hands steady, jaw clenched. For a moment, you just sit there, letting the weight of it settle in. Billie kept this from you—hid it while telling you every day that you were the only one who mattered. A lie, all of it.

You take a breath, but it’s not shaky. You lean over, your voice sharp, cutting through the silence. “Billie, wake up.”

She stirs, squinting against the dim light as she turns to you, her voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong, baby?”

You don’t waste time. “Who the hell is Emily?” you ask, holding her phone up. The look on her face—how her eyes widen, how her expression shifts from confusion to dread—hits like fuel on a fire, but you’re done holding back.

“Y/N, it’s not what you think—” she starts, reaching out, but you pull back, standing up with a sharpness that makes the bed creak beneath you.

“Oh, it’s exactly what I think, Billie. You lied to me. You hid this from me,” you say, your voice steady and cold. “You know how many times I asked if everything was okay? How many times you brushed me off and made me feel like I was being paranoid?”

Billie pushes herself up, running a hand through her hair, panic flashing across her face. “I didn’t want to upset you, okay? She reached out, and it wasn’t about getting back together. It was just—she needed closure. I thought if I told you, you’d feel threatened for no reason.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Threatened? Billie, I’m not some insecure little thing you need to protect. You thought you could decide for me? You thought lying was better than being straight with me?”

“It wasn’t like that, baby. I swear, it wasn’t about keeping something from you. I just didn’t think it mattered,” Billie pleads, her voice breaking, but you’re not about to let her off easy.

“Yeah? Well, it matters to me,” you snap back. “Because now I’m wondering if some part of you still wanted her to reach out. If some part of you isn’t as over her as you like to pretend.”

Billie’s face crumples, her hand reaching out again, but you step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Don’t. You don’t get to touch me like it’s all good just because you’re sorry now.”

She stops, her voice a fragile whisper. “Y/N, that’s not true. I only want you. I love you.”

You shake your head, a bitter smirk tugging at your lips. “Then why couldn’t you just tell me? Why did you have to hide it like this?” You pause, letting the silence hang between you. “I thought we were better than that. I thought you were better than that.”

“I made a mistake, okay? I didn’t want to hurt you, I swear. I thought I was protecting you,” Billie says, her voice desperate now, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Please, you have to believe me. I would never do anything to ruin what we have.”

You meet her eyes, unflinching. “You already did, Billie. The moment you decided to lie, you made that choice for both of us. And now, I get to decide if it’s even worth saving.” You walk over to the window, staring out at the darkened skyline. The night air is cool against your skin, but it doesn’t soothe the burn inside your chest.

Behind you, Billie is silent, struggling to find the right words. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want to lose you. Please, baby, don’t do this.”

You turn around, meeting her gaze head-on, and for the first time tonight, you feel your resolve waver. But the sting of her betrayal is still too fresh, too deep. “I don’t know what to do, Billie. You lied, and now I have to live with that. And maybe you do too.”

Her expression crumbles completely, and she takes a step forward, her voice breaking apart. “Please… I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me.”

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment as you try to collect yourself. Then, you open them again, meeting her tear-filled gaze with one of your own. “I need space, Billie. I need time. And I need you to understand that you broke something I’m not sure can be fixed.”

Billie stands there, her face a mixture of despair and regret, and for a moment, you almost reach out to her, almost let the part of you that still loves her take over. But you hold your ground. You turn back to the window, the silence between you now thick and heavy with everything left unsaid.

After a beat, Billie’s voice comes through the darkness, barely a whisper. “I’m sorry,” she says, but you don’t respond. You don’t trust yourself to.

It’s only when you hear the soft creak of the bed as she lies back down, curling into herself, that you finally let the first tear fall. It slides down your cheek, hot and bitter, as you look out into the night, wondering if you’ll ever be able to see Billie the same way again.

[inquisimer]

For arlow and viago 😭 ❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜

THANK YOUUUUUUU I am ALL up in my feels about them ;-; this is set well pre-canon, right after Arlow is released from (my version of) "how not to get possessed" Crow Edition

Arlow de Riva & Viago | 972 words | cw: implied/referenced torture, child abuse | @dadrunkwriting - veilguard

-

She is ragged, rubbed raw when they dump her on the stoop of Viago's estate. They rap on the door, once, twice, three times, because she could not lift an arm to do it herself. And then they leave her there, shivering and utterly drained, still bleeding where the manacles had held her. Still aching where the Fade had dug its claws into her.

But she is alive. That is more than most of the others can say.

Viago opens the door himself--of course he does, because he does not employ a staff, would not give anyone such access, no matter how thoroughly vetted. She wonders, as a soft string of curses fall from his lips, how they even knew to leave her here. Its location is a closely guarded secret.

(She will never know about the gold and threats exchanged, when first she was taken. As soon as she has passed, he insisted. Not a moment longer.)

His arms are gentle, slotting carefully under her legs and at her shoulders; he is trying to avoid the bruises, the welts, the weeping wounds. If she could find her voice, she would tell him not to bother--there is nowhere that does not ache, in some shape or form. But he is trying, and she focuses on that, rather than how the world spins as he lifts her, carries her down the hallway to a familiar room. It is not hers, but she spends a great deal of time here, being poked and prodded--poisoned--pressed for answers and learning how to describe what he needs to know.

The cot she usually sits on is made up with softer blankets and pillows than is typical. As if it were waiting for her, and knew that she would not be in a state for the harsh, cold crinkle of paper. But that is foolish--there is no one in the estate except Viago, and Viago is not the type to prepare such creature comforts. If her mind were not so muddled--

She blinks, and Viago presses a vial to her lips. He does not need to tell her to drink; she lets him tip it down her throat without hesitation. Bitter elfroot, and acidity. At her side, over her knuckles, and where it is seeping down her temple, blood clots as her skin knits itself back together. Though the gash over her shoulder blade only gets about two-thirds of the way there, and she knows that it will be a scar.

Experimentally, she reaches for it with her magic. It is new, this power within her, and awkward like a third arm, or second tongue. It is also weak, drained by the price the Crows have exacted. But she has paid it--she is alive. She has been judged, and not found wanting.

For once. Perhaps for the last time.

"Stop that," Viago snaps, as if he can sense that she is pushing past limits that have long since been flattened. "You will make it worse."

The tendril of mana blinks out into nothing. He cuts her ruined tunic away, pursing his lips together as each snip reveals bruises, burns, and more ribs than he'd been able to see three weeks ago. But he is not surprised. Necessary, as so many painful things are. When the pain fades, confidence will take root--in confidence, safety.

With short, clinical strokes, he cleans her skin and a tiny sigh parts Arlow's lips. She has nearly forgotten what it is like to be touched with an intention that is kind.

He takes his time. Tends each of the wounds with the appropriate salve, or balm, or serum. His gloved hands are more gentle than they have ever been when he urges her to lean forward, but he offers no apology when he draws the needle through her flesh, sealing another mark into her skin.

When he is finished, he wraps her in fresh clothes and brings her to rest before the fire. Hands her another potion, diluted this time, and gives strict instructions to sip, slowly.

Despite the fire, despite the ghost of his care lingering over her skin, Arlow feels a chill. This is the part where he leaves. She knows--understands, even. So much more than a child should have to. Of all the ways Viago covers his skin, he has never treated her with kid gloves.

She does not want him to leave. But it is not her place to ask him to stay.

Her eyes drift closed; for a moment, her heart stutters, afraid of the darkness that waits behind her lids. But the fire makes it warm and orange; the cold and dank to which she has been relegated remains firmly--if a bit too near--in her memory.

In that halfway place between waking and sleep, she imagines tender hands tucking a blanket around her. Shifting her on the pillow so that her neck will not be so terribly cricked in the morning. It is nice of her mind, to cushion her recovery with such niceties.

Gloved knuckles brush a stray hair back behind her ear. A softness that she will not remember in the morning, nearly gone to the Fade already as she is. Which is why he offers it, of course.

"Well done, parajito," Viago murmurs. She will not remember that, either, or the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. When he is stern and exacting in the morning, she will not remember that he was proud of her, or relieved to have her back under his purview.

But that does not change the fact--he is.

He tucks the blanket more snugly under her chin, smooths the wrinkles over her legs. For the first time in three weeks, she is resting easy--and he leaves, for the first time in three weeks, to do the same.

[cookie-waffle-art-and-stuff]

Voyagers Chapter 4: Troubled Minds

Rung realizes he may be a bit too overworked on The Ark

Content Warnings: Topics regarding mental illness and trauma

Prominent Characters: Elita One, Rung, Bumblebee, Windblade, Red Alert, Starscream

Elita One sat stiffly on Rung’s couch, her face in her hand, not saying anything.

“If you’ll allow me, Madame,” Rung began gently, “I could start if you’re finding yourself unable to.”

Elita ex-vented, dragging her palm over her optics. “Go ahead.”

Rung adjusted his posture. “Very well, then,” the doctor started. “Do you have a clear memory of what happened last week?”

Elita’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s fuzzy… I just know that my behavior was unacceptable.”

Rung nodded. “Acknowledgement is a good first step. Not everyone is as introspective.”

Elita sat up slightly, rubbing the side of her sore right upper arm. It had been welded back on, but still needed to heal internally. It had to be in a sling for a few weeks. She looked to the side, avoiding the other bot’s optics.

“Can you remember what triggered the episode? You don’t have to answer if you can’t, but it might help me get a better understanding of the incident.”

A bitter laugh escaped her. “What didn't set me off?”

Rung lowered his notepad and looked at Elita. “Could you elaborate?”

Elita sighed. She took a long pause, deciding if she wanted to answer or not. “I felt… Like I was in the same damn place I was back at home.” Elita stood up and began pacing around the room. “Ironhide isn’t the first friend I’ve had to watch die on a hospital bed. Nor is it the first time I’ve had to comfort a loved one while doing so. And every time I see Chromia…” Elita halted mid-step, “Whenever I look at her I just.. I see myself. And when I look at Ironhide I think of when Optimus was critically wounded by Megatron and I- “She sighed again, “I’m being selfish, I know. I need to be focusing on being there for Chromia and my kids, not on my past woes…” She sat back down on the couch, landing a bit too hard. She grabbed her arm and winced in pain from the mild impact.

Rung scooted over a little closer to his client. “You’re not selfish. You’re just a person like the rest of us are. And a lot— I’d even dare to claim all —of us, are deeply traumatized people. Be easier on yourself.”

“Still not an excuse for my behavior.”

“Do you think there was any one specific thing that might have triggered a PTSD episode?”

“No… Well, maybe it was just the sight of Starscream and his stupid smug face.” Her brows furrowed at the thought of the former high-rank Decepticon. “Why does he defend them?”

“Come again?” Rung adjusted his glasses.

“Optimus! After all, we’ve been through, after all that animals like Starscream and Megatron did to us!” Elita’s optics glowed brighter as she continued “Don’t get me wrong, Rung. There are many well-reformed ex-cons on the fleet. But some people can’t just… UGH! Who shouldn’t be offered any kindness from us? It’s like Oppie can’t even remember what has happened in the past several billion cycles! I don’t get it! Why does he have to be so relentlessly forgiving? WHY is he allowing Starscream to run loose on the ship and letting Mebatrom just waltz on in whenever he wants?! He didn’t even take my side when our own kid started dating Deadlock!”

“Drift.”

“What?”

“His name Is Drift, now.”

Elita squinted her optics. “Right…”

“Apologies for interrupting.”

Elita rubbed her hand against her face. “look, Rung, I know Dead- ugh, DRIFT is a lot more well-mannered than someone of the likes of Starscream. But it doesn't matter how much he tries to repent. Doesn’t matter how often he meditates or how spiritual he’s become. It doesn’t even matter if he feels genuine remorse! He still has more blood on his hands than most of us do. I mean, is Hot Rod even aware of how many people he’s harmed?”

“Oh, he knows.”

“There’s no way he knows.”

“Elita, trust me, he knows. And he certainly knows a lot more about Drift than either of us do.”

Elita leaned back in her seat and let another long vent. “Shit… He’s just like his father, isn’t he?” She sat there for a few moments, looking down at her legs, saying nothing.

“Elita One? Are you alright?”

“……No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

Rung could see her free hand gripping her thigh. “Are you certain, madame?”

Her shoulders began to shake as she tried and failed to choke back on her tears. She covered her face with her hand, turning away.

Rung brought the chair in closer. “Hey, hey, it’s okay to cry. If there’s anyone you don’t need to hide your tears from, it’s me.” He reached out a hand, but she didn’t take it.

“I miss him.” Her voice cracked, barely a whisper.

“Optimus, I take it?”

Elita silently nodded, wiping tears away from her optics.

Rung leaned back in his seat, thinking of what to say next. He wasn’t trained as a relationship counselor, but neither was anyone else in the fleet. “Elita, no one comes out of a merge break unscathed. It causes permanent physical damage to your spark. Your tears are more than justified. Never having been part of a merge myself, I can’t even begin to imagine-”

“We’re still merged.”

“You are?”

“Of course we are. We’ve been merged for the majority of our lives. We are bonded for life. Even if we tried to break the merge, we’ve done it too many times. We have far too much of each other’s sparks in our chests to break without killing each other in the process.”

“Wait, so, You two are split up… but still merged? Elita, you do know that-”

“YES, I know!” Elita blurted out louder than she intended. “I can’t even hear the sound of his voice without my spark practically trying to leap out of my chest to join his!”

“And you also know that it’s going to get worse.”

“Yes… I miss him every day of my life.” She looked at her injured arm. “I know he’s probably feeling it too, but, we can’t merge again. We’ve grown too far apart.”

Merge breaks were potentially deadly, but there was at least a chance for survival. But unsuccessful merges were always fatal, hence why very few conjunx endures attempted to merge.

Merging was Primus’s gift to Prima and Megatronus, two of the original 13 primes. The Allspark said to hold a piece of Primus himself’s spark, was what gave Transformers the ability to create offspring without the well. But one Transformer’s spark was not powerful enough to create another without killing the parent. There needed to be at least two. The more people who are a part of the merge, the stronger the resulting offspring will be.

Spark merging was exactly what it sounded like it was. Two or more transformer sparks temporarily merge into one. For a few moments, the merged become the same person. Sharing all thoughts, emotions, and memories. Afterward, much of it fades away like a dream. But each merge results in leaving a little bit of you in your partner’s spark chamber. Legend says, that if you merge enough times your bodies combine permanently. But no Transformer has been able to prove that as true.

Elita and Optimus merged a few cycles after the war had started. Both knew it was a horrible idea at the time, but the spark doesn’t always ask for permission. Sometimes the merge just happens accidentally while interfacing. To create new life, it couldn’t just be one merge. It was a very complicated process that involved both recreation interfacing and spark merging. Elita and Optimus had planned to have a sparkling after the war, but they never got the chance to. Sometimes, Elita allowed her mind to wonder what their child would have looked like. She missed having children, but both she and Optimus refused to bring a new spark into a world that may not have even been there by the time they grew up.

Rung was genuinely at a loss for words. He desperately wanted to offer advice, but even he wasn’t sure how he’d handle the situation if he were in Elita One’s place. But alas, he tried his best. “If you don't mind me asking, how is your relationship with Hot Rod, currently?”

Elita let out a groan. “I think he’s still angry at me. I also think he’s been deliberately avoiding having to see or speak to me.”

“And why do you think that might be?”

“He knows I don’t want him around Drift.” She began absently fidgeting with one of her antennae, “I know he’s far more than old enough to be making his own decisions. And I know he’s confident about Dea-Drift being reformed. But dammit, that’s my KID! How could I just smile and nod while watching him put all his love and trust into someone with a past like Drift’s!”

Rung took off his glasses and removed a cloth from his storage space to clean them. “Correct me if I’m out of line here Elita… but have you ever considered trying to get to know Drift yourself?”

“Hah! I'd sooner adopt a scraplet!”

“I’m serious. You should consider it. It may ease the tension between you and Hot Rod. And hey, if you find some current dirt on him, you’d have the satisfaction of proving your point.”

“That’s one of the things I’m afraid of. I’m already on bad terms with Roddy, the last thing I want to do is be the one to break his spark. I can’t always be the bad guy here!”

“Elita, I’m going to be honest with you. We live a VERY long time. We’ve all been through more pain than we can measure. The one thing keeping all of us sane, and therefore alive, is family and camaraderie. We need to fight for the people we have in our lives now before we end up having to spend the rest of our long, painful lives without them. And I think it would be a great benefit to you and Hot Rod to have you both here, but he would have to agree to come along.”

Elita stopped for a moment to think. “Maybe I’ll have civil a chat with Drift… but I doubt Roddy will agree to come to therapy,” she murmured.

“That’s fine. Perhaps you may even start to understand Prime’s view on things a bit more.” Rung gently set his glasses back on, pushing them in with his index finger.

Elita turned sharply, antennae twitching. “The only way I’m ever going to understand Oppie’s reasoning for being so easy on dangerous ex-cons is if I merged with him again. And like I said, the resentment that has grown between us— It’s too risky.”

“Then maybe…” Rung tried to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “Maybe you could try to start over instead? I think what you have in mind is jumping back into the relationship right where you two left off. But lovers don’t always work out that way. Sometimes, starting over slowly is the best way to rebuild a relationship with an ex-conjunx.”

Elita waited another moment, then stood up and began pacing around again.

“Elita One?”

She stopped pacing, biting the tips of her fingers. “I doubt he’d ever want me back. Especially not after what happened the other day. And even before that, the last time we had a real conversation we had…”She hesitated, looking away. “It was not long after the war ended. An argument. A bad one. Intense argument over Megatron.”

“The war ending is what caused you to split?”

“not entirely,” Elita said quickly. “At first I was elated, Just like everyone else. But then Oppie wouldn’t tell me why. And then he started visiting Megatron in prison. I was just so FRUSTRATED with him suddenly not telling me anything! And when we discovered the supernova, that’s when it happened. The argument, I mean. He wouldn’t stop INISITING that Megatron was a reformed bot and that we should let him on the fleet instead of just executing him.”

Rung tilted his head.“Hasn’t Optimus always been highly against executions?”

“OF COURSE! But it’s MEGATRON. There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that he is taking advantage of Oppie’s forgiving nature, and has somehow convinced my sparkmate that D-16 is still in there somewhere!”

“Elita,” Rung said carefully, “Megatron is also my client. I can’t delve into personal patient information, and I won’t claim to understand everything that goes on in his mind, but I can tell you that he’s trying. I can see it He’s trying as hard as he can.”

“Then he’s lying to you, too. Do you honestly think he’s not just going to shoot Oppie in the back and try to take over Theta-3 the moment we land?”

“And do YOU honestly think Megatron would even attempt to do that when Autobots and Nuetrals greatly outnumber the surviving Decepticons? He doesn’t even have his fusion canon anymore. He left it back on-.” He slapped a hand over his mouth, optics widening. “Scrap… I wasn’t supposed to share that information.”

“What did you just say?”

“I wasn’t supposed to “

“He left his fusion canon back on Cybertron?!”

Rung shut his optics, slapping his palm against his forehead. “Uuugh…. Yes. But do NOT tell anyone else!”

Elita Blinked. “I had always assumed he at least wore it on the Nemesis…”

Megatron’s fusion canon might as well have been permanently welded onto his arm. He never went anywhere without that thing. He even slept with it on. And if rumors were true, he didn’t take it off while interfacing either.

Elita’s optics darted around the floor, processing the new information. “But why would he leave it?”

“He wasn’t lying about his vow against violence.” Rung explained gently. “I completely understand your anger and resentment towards him, but I think his actions have been speaking louder than his words. He never wants to see that canon again in his life.”

Elita sank back down into her seat, her expression torn. Again, she didn’t speak for several moments. Rung gave her time to think. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I…. forget it—“

“Come again, Madame?”

“Oppie… I want to trust his judgment so badly but—“ her optics flared in frustration. “I DON’T KNOW!” She grabbed one of her antennae, tugging at it as she fought back the threat of tears.

Rung offered his hand again, this time she took it. “I can’t tell you what to do, Elita. But I can see that you still care for him. Who’s to say he doesn’t miss you just as much?”

Elita looked at her arm, gently placing her hand over the injury. “It was… it was just so easy for him to cut it off… No hesitation.”

“And you think that hasn’t been tearing him up inside ever since? You know him better than any of us, Elita.”

“I suppose…” She vented.

“Bonded for life, remember?”

She managed a weak laugh “I do still feel bad for throwing him.” She got up for a final time. “I should go apologize… Right now.”

“While I admire your determination, you still have a day left to spend in psychiatric care. Just be patient, we still have at least 10 cycles to go on this ride, he’ll still be there when you get out.”

“I hope you’re right about him, Rung. I want to believe you so badly.”

He wanted to say “I hope I am, too.” but decided it was unwise. Instead, he just nodded.

“Well Elita, I’m glad I got the chance to speak with you. But I’m afraid our time is almost up, and my next client should be coming in soon.”

“I understand. Thank you, Rung. Truly.”

Rung reached out to shake her hand but was surprised with a hug instead. “Oh!” He awkwardly patted her on the back. “Um… Thank you!”

When she let go of Rung, she wiped away one last tear before saying her final goodbye. Once outside the office, she was supposed to go back to psych care with Chase. She hated having to be supervised like a child, but she knew it was a temporary policy for psych patients were were in care due to violent behavior. Chase was only doing his job.

But Elita found herself distracted once she spotted Bumblebee waiting outside for his appointment.

“Hello, Little Bee.” she knelt and welcomed him into a hug. They pressed their foreheads together. “I’m so, so sorry about what I did, Little Bee. I must have worried you sick!”

Bee took his mother’s hands into his own. “I’m not angry at you, just worried. We all are— especially Dad.”

Chase walked up from behind Elita. “Ma’am, it’s time to go.”

“Just give us a moment, please.”

“Elita-“

Bumblebee separated from Elita and then placed himself between her and Chase. His horns curled back and his door wings raised as a warning. The hole in his neck vibrated with a low growl.

“Woah there, little guy!” Chase raised his hands. “I’m not going to harm her.”

Bumblebee stared the officer down, juking forward at him.

“Bumblebee! What has gotten into you?”

Bee lowered his wings and looked back at Elita, frowning with his big blue optics dimmed.

“I’m sorry, Chase.”She stepped between him and Bee. “He’s just being protective.” She turned back to Bee and gently caressed his crest. “I’ll be alright, Little Bee. Chase is only following policy.”

Bumblebee sheepishly looked at Chase. He mouthed the words, “I’m sorry…” before running into Rung’s office.

Rung saw his client rush in, “Woah, Bee, what’s the rush?”

Bumblebee lightly shook his head, signifying a, “Nothing”

Rung looked behind the small mech. “Where’s Optimus? Could he not make it?”

Bumblebee shook his head again, horns curled down.

“That’s alright. We can take this as slowly as you need. We don’t even have to discuss your experience today if you can’t do it.”

“Thank you…” Bee mouthed.

“Very well. Is there anything else on your mind that you want to talk about?”

Bumblebee’s horns slightly perked back up. He took Rung’s hands. “Well, Windblade is back on the Ark…”

Rung’s big eyebrows raised. “Ah! Thought I saw her pass by me in the halls the other day. How have you two been?”

Bumblebee looked down, his optics glowing slightly brighter, “Well, we’ve been hanging out a lot…”

Rung leaned forward, smiling. “Aaand?”

“I haven’t told her yet— It almost slipped out while we were drinking together last night, but I chickened out again. I’m not sure I can do this, Rung. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before…”

“Oh, Bee,” Rung said softly.

“I know you said I should give it a shot but, haven’t been the same since…” Bumblebee took a deep vent. “Since the injury.” He paused and looked at the stars outside of Rung’s window. “When we first met, it was at a victory celebration where I was singing in a gig with Jazz, Blaster, and the cassettes. She said she loved my voice… And when I first spoke to her, I made her laugh. A lot. She loved my jokes…” He closed his optics and dropped his head. “But now… I’m angrier. Always, frustrated, always in pain. I’m always running on low power because I have nightmares whenever I try to recharge. Maybe if I had realized how I felt much, much sooner, I would have had a chance. But now-“

“Bumblebee, you are the same person as before. You’re traumatized, and I’m certain Windblade is wise enough to understand what trauma does to someone.”

Bumblebee looked back out the window. “Maybe you have a point… She’s also had her share of scarring memories during the war after all.”

“Look around you. Trauma may have changed you, yes. But you are still loved. I’m not sure there’s even anyone else on the Ark that has as many friends as you, Bee.”

Bumblebee turned and looked back at Rung. “I really love her, Rung. But I’m so scared.”

Rung gave his client’s hands a comforting squeeze. “Loving someone that deeply is extremely rare. I’m several vorns older than you are, and even I have yet to meet someone I feel that way about. Even if she says no, I truly think it’s worth a shot.”

Bumblebee took a deep vent, his optics dimming briefly before glowing steadily again. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

Bee leaned back into his seat, letting go of Rung’s hands. He thought for a while, then nodded, a light smile appearing on his face.

The rest of the session was uneventful, but Rung did give Bee a prescription for sleep-aiding medication. “These are in extremely low supply, and a lot of bots need it. Don’t take any more than your prescribed dose, because you won’t get an early refill.”

Bumblebee gave an acknowledging nod.

Rung patted Bee’s shoulder on his was out. “Good luck, Bumblebee. And whatever happens, you can always come talk to me.” He lowered his voice to a light whisper. “I’ll even let you in when I’m off work.”

Bumblebee smiled, then gave Rung his second hug that day, this one being a lot tighter.

“Haha, Th-thank you Bee.”

Bumblebee was the last scheduled appointment Rung had that day. Now he was open for walk-ins. He took the opportunity to take a break and brew himself a cup of energeon tea. He was just about to pour in his sweetener when a red, white, and black mech forced the door open, ran in, and started yelling incoherently.

“HE IS HERE. HE IS HERE AND HE HAS FOUND US AND WE SHALL BE CONSUMED BY HIS LUST FOR AGONY!!!!!!!!”

“Woah, woah, WOAH! Hey!” Rung backed up. “Red Alert! Let’s try to settle down!”

“HE SHALL PUNISH US FOR ATTEMPTING TO ESCAPE OUR FATE! I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN AND NOBODY BELIEVED ME!!!!!!”

“How about we just sit down, and you can tell me all about it. And….” Rung looked around the room. “Where is your supervisor?”

“THEY WOULDN’T LISTEN!!! I SAW HIM! I SAW HIM AMONGST THE STARS!!!!!”

Rung pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, jeez— Alright just sit down, Red Alert. I’ll listen to you.”

“Yes! Thank you, Doctor! Thank you!” Red Alert aggressively shook Rung’s hand with both of his, nearly lifting the much smaller mech off the ground.

Red Alert cautiously sat down on the couch, optics fixated on the window. Rung sat down across from him.

“What’s the matter, mate?”

“UNICRON, GOD OF CHAOS AND CONSUMER OF WORLDS SHALL REIN HIS VENGEANCE DOWN UPON US!”

Rung blinked, “Inside voices, Red. I can’t understand a thing you’re saying when you’re yelling like that.”

“OH- I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better.” Rung gestured for him to proceed.

Red Alert cleared his throat, “I was looking out the window at the rear of the ship. And I-I-I saw him, Rung! I saw him! Unicron has followed us!” Red Alert was trembling as if he had just witnessed a murder.

“Red Alert—“ Rung sighed, “we’ve been through this. You’re just seeing Shaula from a distance.”

“No, no it’s not like last time! It’s not a star! I saw something MOVE!”

“Red, did you take your medication today?”

Red Alert stiffly shook his head.

“Do you think we should probably go do that?”

“They only make me take them to shut me up!”

Rung shut his optics, rubbing his temples. “We’re trying to look out for you, Red.”

“No, no, not you too! You’re the only one on this ship who listens to me!”

“And I am still listening to you, Red Alert. But you aren’t well right now. Paranoid Personality Disorder makes it difficult to rationalize. The meds you take help you think more clearly and be less frightened.”

“NO NO NO NO NO! HE IS UPON US!!!”

First Aid suddenly stumbled in. “Come on, Red Please don’t make this difficult!”

Red Alert shoved First Aid over as he barreled back out the door. He could be heard outside, transforming and speeding away. Rung leaped up to stop him, but First Aid was too quick to get to his feet and hold out a hand in front of him.

“This is my job, Rung. You stay right there!” The medic transformed inside the office and drove after Red Alert, scraping the inside of Rung’s door frame on the way out.

“Bloody hell…” Rung murmured.

Red Alert was practically a permanent resident in psychiatric care. Always fearful and constantly on suicide watch. He was SUPPOSED to be working as the ship’s security director, which was a job he used to excel at. But the troubled mech was so shaken by the war that it left him in a constant state of paranoia. The voyage had only been worsening the poor bot’s condition.

Rung was able to finally finish preparing his tea. He sat down and began sipping on his drink, trying to take Red Alert off his mind. It wasn’t long before he heard someone knock on his door.

Rung leaned his head back in his seat, exasperated. “Break is in 2 hours.” He reminded himself before calling out to his next client to come in.

A young fembot shyly poked her head through the door frame, the signature Camien tattoos on her face making it clear who it was.

“Windblade! Please,” Rung gestured towards the couch, smiling. “have a seat.”

The Camien jet sat down in the center of the couch, back straight and shoulders tense.

“Saw Bee earlier today. I won’t go into specifics, but he always says good things about you!”

Windblade nervously laughed. “Yea… Bee is great.” She forced an awkward smile, tapping her thighs with her fingers.

“Was there something you wanted to see me for?”

“I’m just… Checking in on my mental status. Always important to keep both mind and body healthy after all!” She gave another awkward laugh.

Rung raised an eyebrow. “You seem a bit tense.”

“Who? Me? Nooooo, I’m fine! Well I mean, I’m not completely FINE. Why would I be here if I was totally fine!” Windblade responded, still smiling.

“Alright… So, what was-“

“I had sex with Starscream.”

Rung nearly spat out his tea. “…………Come again?” He asked, feeling his spark drop to the pit of his fuel processor.”

“AAARGH! I don’t know what I was thinking!” Windblade suddenly raised her voice. “I felt so awful for him after the incident with Elita. His stay in the med bay was extended due to the assault. I went to visit him in his new room, alone.”

“Please— don’t tell me you did it in the medbay.”

Windblade tapped her thumbs together. “No… I snuck him back to my quarters for the night. At first, we were just going to have a few drinks…”

Windblade explained what happened that night;

She had walked Starscream to her quarters, with him still sore from the two previous attacks.

He walked up to her mirror. He hadn’t seen his own reflection since before the first attack. His armor was covered in scratches. The soft alloy that made up his face was scarred and still very sore. “I look like shit.” He huffed.

“You can borrow some of my makeup if you’d like.”

Starscream’s optics widened. “Really? Where is it?”

“First drawer under that mirror.”

“Ooooh!~” Starscream opened the drawer, seeing various containers of face polish and lip paint.

Windblade walked up next to him. “I think you should use the medicated faceplate polish. It won’t irritate the cuts on your face and might help soothe the pain a little.”

Starscream held up a tube of deep red lip paint, smiling at it. “Mind if I borrow this one too?”

Windblade playfully giggled, “Sure, Star!” She took her entire makeup kit out of the drawer and set it down on her window-seal. Then sat on it with Starscream after she brought two pints of low-grade. The lights in the room were off, save for one lamp. This way, they had a clear view of the gorgeous stars and nebulae that painted the black backdrop of the void.

“You know, as much as I hate this goddamn trip-” Starscream started gazing out at the universe as he rubbed polish around his cheek, “I’ll never get tired of this view. Even the clearest nights on Cybertron didn’t look this spectacular.”

Windblade leaned back against the wall with her arms crossed. “Neither did the nights on Caminus.”

“Ah, yes… forgot about that colony.”

“Windblade furrowed her brow” You certainly wouldn’t be the first.

“Sorry about the whole er…. The whole thing about your planet running out of resources and everyone dying… thing.”

Windblade raised an eyebrow at the red seeker and snickered. “You aren’t very practiced at consoling people, are you?”

Starscream half-heartedly shrugged, looking into a hand mirror as he painted his lips. “Oh, I look absolutely delectable in this color!”

“It does look great on you! You can keep it if you want. I have a spare, anyway.”

“Why think you, darling!” Starscream turned his face from side to side, admiring himself in the mirror. His expression changed for a moment.

“Something wrong, Star?”

The seeker slightly narrowed his optics. “Why exactly don’t you hate me just like everyone else?”

Windblade looked into the mech’s optics. “I guess I just figured you needed someone to have your back.”

“I can take care of myself!” Starscream snapped, immediately regretting it and softening his tone, “But, er… thanks for not despising me, I guess…”

Windblade tilted her head. “Can I be honest, Starscream?”

“What is it?”

“I think you have trust issues.”

Starscream gasped, clutching his chassis in mock surprise, “NO, do I?”

Windblade smirked, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t exactly say I blame you. But I do think you should try to be a bit more open about making friends. It’s not gonna be as easy making it to Theta-3 with your sanity if you spend the entire trip alone. We all need each other right now.”

Starscream creased his eyebrows and batted his optics. “But aren’t WE~ friends?” He lightheartedly exaggerated.

Windblade laughed. “Yeah, I’d say we are.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while, watching the stars. This distance between them seemed to shrink when Starscream slowly turned back and looked into the optics of the other jet. “Windblade…” he started, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes?” Windblade whispered back.

“Those markings on your face— did you emerge from Caminu’s forge with them?”

“They’re tribal tattoos, actually.”

Starscream softly smiled. “Very interesting! Your pain tolerance must be something to admire.”

“Oh, don’t even REMIND me.” Windblade exaggerated, making Starscream slightly giggle.

“I think they’re beautiful.”

Winblade blushed and bashfully averted her optics. “Th-Thank you!” She mustered up the courage to look back into his optics, softer than she had ever seen them before. “Did you emerge with the black tearstain markings?”

“Yes, and so did my siblings. Faceplate markings are very common in seekers.”

Starscream had thick black markings covering his optic lids, like permanent mascara. Markings known as ‘tear stains’ ran down from his optics to the start of his neck. Markings like this were often considered physically attractive in many cultures.

“You’re very handsome. But I’m guessing you are already aware of that.” Winblade complimented, her spark fluttering.

“I am aware of that, thank you.” Starscream took a long sip of his drink, still looking at the fembot.

The air felt thicker and a subtle scent of pheromones began to emanate from both bot’s bodies. Starscream and Windblade bridged the gap between them, pressing each other lips together. The kiss was far more gentle than Windblade would have expected from Starscream.

Once they pulled apart, both seemed at a loss for words. They stared into each other’s optics for a few moments before going back in for another tender kiss.

Windblade ended her story there, sparing Rung the more intimate details.

“After we— Ahem, did our thing… we lay in bed for a while and shared a joint. He opened up to me a little bit more.” Windblade fiddled with a loose thread on the arm of her chair. “I think there’s a lot more to him than people think.”

Rung shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his one antennae twitching. “……uh-huh.”

“He mentioned he used to be conjunxed with Megatron. Can you believe that? And they were together for a long time, too. I think that relationship really hurt him…” Windblade looked down at her thighs, the memory of Starscream’s lip paint smeared all over them making her blush. “Rung, I know he’s older than me, but I…”

Rung forced a smile, trying to ignore the voice in his mind saying, “Oh good heavens, please don’t say what I think you are going to say, PLEASE.”

“…I think I have deeper feelings for him. But I’ve never had feelings for someone before, so, I’m not sure what to do next. Especially considering who he is…”

Rung’s optics squinted, still forcing a smile. “Oh my god, what have I done? Bumblebee is going to be crushed!” he thought silently to himself.

“I’m also a bit concerned that he won’t want me. I mean, he obviously finds me attractive, but everyone knows he usually prefers larger mechs over fembots.” Her leg restlessly shook, heel tapping on the metal floor. “He said Megatron used to carry him around on his shoulder. Used to call him his Lucky Star… I think Starscream really misses that kind of affection, but I’m not sure I can give it to him. I’m a lot smaller and weaker than Megs, after all.”

Rung scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t think you should rush into things.” He paused for a moment, rubbing his temples. “But I also don’t think it’s useful comparing yourself to someone’s Ex.”

“Yea… Maybe. I guess I’m just nervous about asking him if we could be conjunx enduras, or at least test the waters for a while and see how things go.”

“D-Don’t you think you may be going too fast?”

“Romantic love is so rare in this universe, Rung. I’m not sure I’d want to risk wasting this chance. Would you?”

Rung leaned back, steepling his fingers in thought. “Windblade, it’s perfectly natural to seek romantic connection, especially after facing so much loss. But I think you need to consider what you’d be getting involved with. Starscream, by his own admission, is a rather complex individual. And you can’t enter a healthy relationship based on trying to fix someone who doesn’t want help.”

Windblade frowned, wings dipping slightly. “I’m not trying to fix him. He just…. He just needs someone who believes in him and has his back. I can see that he’s always scared and tries to hide it. He’s spent most of his life being hated and has gone through so much abuse. Nobody else seems to see what I see in him….

Rung slowly nodded. “That’s not a bad start, but are you even sure HE’S ready for a connection like that? The turbulence of his past relationships is not exactly a secret.”

“Uugh! That’s because he was abused in nearly all of his past relationships! He still has chronic pain from his damaged voice box, for Primus's sake!” Windblade snapped. She lowered her voice. “I’m sorry! Sorry… I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“His voice box is damaged? Well, that sure explains a lot. Should’ve been obvious in hindsight.”

“Rung!”

Rung held up his hands a little. “Apologies! That wasn’t appropriate of me.”

Winblade ex-vented. “Look, I get it. Nobody on this fleet likes him. But you’ve personally seen Drift’s reform, as well as Megatron’s of all people. If a monster like Megatron could be a better person— I think… —Then why couldn’t Starscream?”

“Megatron and Drift WANTED help. That’s the difference. Starscream is an extremely stubborn person who refuses help from anyone who offers it. He’s very well known for this.”

“Well then maybe he just hasn’t met anyone who makes him feel safe enough to trust.”

“Windblade…. You can’t fix someone who doesn’t want to be.”

“But- I want to help him. I… I think I’m in love with him. And because of that, I don’t want him to be in pain anymore. I care about him.”

“GOD DAMN IT,” Rung thought to himself, still trying his best to be professional and supportive. He couldn’t lie to his client, she had a few solid points. If Megatron could learn to cope with his issues, then it theoretically should be possible for someone like Starscream. But Rung personally did not have the slightest bit of confidence when it came to that bot. His stubbornness and arrogance were legendary. Rung had also formally diagnosed the seeker with a laundry list of mental illnesses. Narcissistic Personality Disorder, CPTSD, Bipolar Disorder, and whatever the hell else he didn’t have time to test him for. And Primus almighty, was he a combative patient.

Rung gently set his tea aside and clasped his hands together. “I understand. Love is elusive, and you want to bring out the best in him. You’re a good person, Windblade. But I think you need to be approaching this with caution—“

“THE GOD OF CHAOS IS UPON US!!!!! KNEEL AND PRAY THAT PRIMUS HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SPARKS!!!!”

“Oh no.”

“YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR FATES!!!”

“Um… What is going on outside your office?”

“HIS TEETH WILL GRIND OUR METAL INTO DUST AND HIS EYES WILL BURN THROUGH OUR VERY SPARKS!!!!”

Rung let out a long, exasperated sigh, “Red Alert.”

Red Alert forced the door open again and ran in, startling Windblade and causing her to jump out of her seat, wings fully extended.

“It’s okay Windblade! He’s harmless! He’s just confused!”

First Aid stumbled through the door again, this time followed by Ratchet and Jazz.

Jazz attempted to rationalize with Red Alert, “Come on, man. We’re your friends! You’ve known Ratch and me for vorns!”

“You two have just been playing me for a fool all this time and you know it!”

“Red, you’re sick! Please come back, we’ll help you!” Ratchet said.

Rung tried to step in. “Now Red, I know you’re scared and frustrated right now. Being medicated will take that away.”

“Sure! But then it will just come back? Won’t it?! This is the real me, Rung! And I’m not crazy!”

Rung could see First Aid quietly sneaking up behind Red Alert, small syringe in hand. It was the kind used to inject through the neck or a joint. “You’re right, Red. You aren’t crazy, you’re just unwell.”

“JUST SHUT UP, SHUT UP” Red Alert grabbed the sides of his helmet and screamed, curling over on the floor.

Rung, nor anyone else in that room, had ever seen Red Alert get this bad.

Windblade felt obligated to help settle the frantic mech down. She slowly approached him, “Hey, you’re gonna be okay buddy. Everyone here wants to keep you safe.” She knelt next to him.

Ratchet was quick to warn, “Windblade! I know you’re trying to help, but you need to stay back and let us take care of this!” But he said it too late. The moment Windblade placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, his gut reaction was to strike her in self-defense. She was hit directly in the optic and was knocked out. Rung, Ratchet, and Jazz rushed to her side as First Aid used the distraction as an opportunity to jab his syringe right into Red Alert’s neck. The effect was instant, and he passed out. He was unharmed, only having fallen asleep.

First Aid rolled the unconscious Autobot to his back. “I’m so sorry, friend. I didn’t want to do it.” First Aid’s voice cracked.

Rung’s composed demeanor was thrown out the window, “Oh my God! Oh my God- Windblade! Can you hear me?!” He lightly but firmly shook her by the shoulders.

Windblade’s optics were dim and half-open, the injured one was flickering. A little bit of bright pink blood trickled down from it like a tear.

“Shit!” Jazz yelled, “Ratchet, is she gonna be okay?!”

“Everyone get back!” Ratchet pushed Jazz and Rung aside. He knelt next to Windblade. “Jazz, go get more medics while First Aid takes care of Red!”

Jazz left for the medbay without hesitation.

Ratchet took a look at Rung, who was trembling and hyperventilating. “Rung, you look like you’re about to have a panic attack!”

“I-I am having one!”

“Shit— Just go sit down and try to relax, I need space!”

Rung stepped back, his legs threatening to give out from how much they were shaking.

“She isn’t going grey and I can feel her spark beating. She’s alive.”

While Ratchet was trying to take a closer look at Windblade’s damaged optic, a low groan came from her frame to everyone’s immense relief.

“Oh thank heavens!” Rung exclaimed.

Winblade’s optics fluttered open. “Augh! What just happened?”

“You were knocked out. Take it easy.”

“What happened to Red Alert- OH MY GOD! Am I missing an optic?!” She felt around the side of her face that was hit. “I can’t see out of this one!”

“You’re fine!” Ratchet firmly reassured. “It probably just came a little loose. I’ve seen it happen more times than I can remember.”

Her face and the back of her neck were very sore from the impact. Thankfully, the hit wasn’t strong enough to have likely caused serious injury, and it took a lot more than being knocked out to cause real brain damage in a Transformer.

“Hold still, this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.” Ratchet warned Winblade.

“WAIT WHAT ARE- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!”

Within a second, Ratchet had used his thumb to forcibly push her optic fully back into its socket. He released when he felt the ‘click’ from it setting in.

Rung looked away, nearly losing his tea. “Ratchet! Was it REALLY necessary to do that right here?”

“You couldn’t have at least sedated me first?!” Winbladed added, rubbing her optic.

“Sorry— field medic habit. But can you see now?”

“Ugh…” Winblade’s optic blinked open. “It’s blurry but… Yea, I think l so.”

“That’s normal. You’ll be okay, kid.” Ratchet patted Windblade on the back after she sat up.

Jazz and Knockout came back just in time. Ratchet sent Windblade with them to get an optic patch. She wouldn’t need to stay in the hospital, but the optic still needed to be examined in a less chaotic environment.

Ratchet made sure to check on Rung. “You okay, pal?”Rung was still venting heavily. Ratchet held him by the shoulders and rubbed them. “You’re okay, buddy. You’re okay. I think you should take an early break and get some rest.”

“Yea…” Rung took in a deep vent. “Okay... I’ll do that.”

“Need me to get you anything?”

“Plain liquid energon, please.”

Ratchet luckily had a tube of some in his storage compartment. He gave it to Rung, who thanked him. Ratchet stayed with his fellow doctor till he was finished drinking and calmed down.

Rung took Ratchet’s advice and took an early break. He pressed a button on his terminal, changing the sign on his door to read ‘closed’, and list what time he’d be back.

His tea was cold by now, so he quickly drank the rest of it, not wishing to waste the energon. He turned the radio on— anything to help him shake off the lingering anxiety gripping his chest.

The voice of Rewind, who had been substituting for Blaster ever since Iornhide’s suicide attempt, could be heard on the radio. He was saying something or whatnot. Rung wasn’t paying attention, he just needed the background noise.

He set his alarm for an hour and a half before laying down in his bed to take a much-needed nap. It took him about 30 minutes to go into recharge mode, his mind fixated on what he had just seen. He was only able to relax after resorting to his very limited supply of anxiety medication. It was a small tube of liquid that had to be injected into a port on his wrist. It offered near-instant relief.

When he woke up, he didn’t feel very well-rested but knew he didn’t have time to keep recharging. He had slept through his alarm and only had around 20 minutes left of his break.

He turned to his side, reaching for the datapad on his nightstand. He needed to see who his next client was. When he read the next name on the list, he sat up, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it.

[oletus-writer]

Heyy can I have Wu Chang, Mary and Joseph reacting to their s/o giving their mini pet versions more love and affection then them? They think the pets are too cute to not give attention to

Sorry if I made any mistakes English isn’t my first language :)

I do believe I’ve seen people write for Joseph’s pet receiving more attention than him, but here’s my shot at this.

Wu Chang, Mary, and Joseph getting jealous of their mini versions

Warnings: slight jealousy

Xie Bi’an

At first, he thought the fact that you had a mini Wu Chang as your pet was pretty cute, until you began giving it more affection than you gave him.

Of course, he was happy that you were happy, but the bitter pangs of jealousy began creeping up on him.

‘Qin ai de - ah, you’re playing with your pet again... Well, please don’t let me disturb you.’

He wanted to say something else, but left as you hugged the mini Wu Chang to your chest.

He’d plan dates with only you and him (and Wujiu, if you were also dating him) and amp up the sulking if you had brought your pet with you.

‘Ah, I thought I had specified that this date was only for you and me, but you brought it along… it looks like you love it more than me.’ But of course, this was in a joking tone, no matter how he felt.

Expect a lot more of romantic gestures and pampering, as if he was saying ‘I don’t understand why you give the pet more attention than you give me. Look - I can treat you better.’

Fan Wujiu

Unlike Bi’an, he was kind of annoyed that you had a mini version of him. What to cuddle him? Just ask. Want children? Well, that would be quite a conversation. Everything the mini version of him could do, he could do better.

So, when he saw you pampering the pet more than you gave attention to him, he was quite infuriated. Marching towards you, he snatched it from your hands.

‘Give me affection, then I’ll give you back your pet.’

While his directness can be appreciated, sometimes it would be too much. You explained that it was a harmless pet, and that you were comforting it because it was sad you got chaired first.

Hearing this, Wujiu calmed down and stroked the head of the mini him thoughtfully. ‘I did not expect these tiny things to be capable of feeling emotions. How interesting.’

Still, he’d prefer you go to him immediately after matches, especially since you could potentially get injured.

Mary

Sometimes, Mary would get pretty insecure - was she a good girlfriend? There were many other good candidates in the manor, yet you still stuck by her side. She was sure that you would eventually leave her, so seeing a little pet that looked like her to keep you company reassured her a little bit.

That was until you began giving it more affection than you gave her.

She saw an example of this in a match you had with her - you had asked her not to go easy on you, so she obliged, leading you to be chaired. You were comforting the shivering mini Mary, which made the former queen quite displeased.

‘How dare you! You are my lover first, and then the owner of that pet second. Now, as we wait for your teammates to rescue you, shall we have a lovely chat?’

Slightly puzzled, you were rescued by your teammate and Mary continued to chase you.

Be prepared for intense courting, European style, after you finish every match. She can’t stand someone else sweeping you off your feet, even if it’s a mini version of her.

‘Ma chere/mon cher, I had Emma pick the best flowers for you. Now be a dear and let me braid these in your hair/make you a flower crown.’

Joseph

The Frenchies are very similar in how they react to your pet. How lovely of you to have a little remainder of him every where you go! To By God, why are you giving it more attention than you give him?

He’ll also attempt to win your attention by going on more extravagant dates, and all in all spending more time with you.

‘Beau, would you like for me to show you some recipes that… Claude and I used to enjoy? Can you bring your pet? No, I’m afraid it may cause a mess.’

Out of your sight, he’d be rather petty with his mini version. From glaring to knocking if off the table, he’s not going to accept another competitor. Of course, he’d stop if you asked, begrudgingly, but be sure to reassure him that he’ll be the only one in your eyes.

[whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk]

Who Could Ask to be Unbroken or be Brave Again? (iii, ao3)

It’s here! The final chapter of @kale-theteaqueen’s Secret Santa 💕 @acotargiftexchange. This healthy dose of holiday angst has been so fun to write and I hope you’ve enjoyed it! (previous chapter)

“Come back inside.”

A voice— his voice, cut through the silence as easily as the sharpest knife. 

Standing in the falling snow, it was soft enough to make Nesta want to weep, his tone gentle and imploring; sliding across her skin with ease and familiarity as his muffled footsteps neared. Standing on the back lawn of the River House, eyes cast towards the city and arms wrapped around herself as the snow fell in earnest from the skies above… still Nesta couldn’t bring herself to turn and look at him. To see the expression on his face.

“It’s freezing,” Cassian continued, closing the door behind with a soft snick that was almost swallowed by the quiet. She suppressed a shiver, and briefly she shot a glance over her shoulder, quick and fleeting. It was impossible to miss the way the corners of his mouth tugged downwards as he took her in, his eyes scanning every inch of her and noting each and every sign of the cold she knew he’d see impressed upon her skin. The tip of her nose, turned pink. Her cheeks, red. Her fingers, curled around her arms so tightly she might very well bruise. 

The curse he let out was low and filthy, his brows knitting together in a frown.

Only then did Nesta notice the jacket dangling from his fingers; the one he must have paused to grab before following her— his jacket, the one he draped around her shoulders now, after striding towards her with something in his eyes that seemed to be an echo of rage, of indignation that still simmered. Like no matter how hard he’d tried to leash his temper before stepping outside…

Those eyes darkened when he looked once more at the flush the cold had brought out on her cheeks. 

“You’ll catch your death,” he muttered as his palms lingered on her shoulders, the wide span of his hands a comforting weight as he fussed with the jacket until he deemed it to be sitting right— to be wrapped around her enough to keep out the worst of the cold. She said nothing, remained silent even as he lifted a hand and brushed away the snow that had alighted on her cheek with a single swipe of his thumb. She could only let out a sardonic huff, one that was low and bitter, even as something deep within her practically keened at his touch.

It was an old saying, she knew. One she had heard so many times, even below the wall. And yet… it was ridiculous.

So few things could kill her now, least of all a little cold weather. 

“I caught it a long time ago,” she murmured, more to herself than to him as she turned her attention back to the skyline still visible through the veil of falling snow. 

The look Cassian shot her was one of veritable heartache as he settled himself beside her, and even though she still couldn’t turn to face him fully, she saw him in the corner of her eye, sliding his hands into his pockets as the snow gathered along his lashes. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, to stand here in the dark, the cold. And when it was clear that Nesta had no intention of going back inside, Cassian only extended one of his wings behind her shoulders, angled a little over her head to give them both some small shelter from the weather. 

Nesta kept her arms wrapped tight around herself, shifting only to grip the edges of his jacket with nearly numb fingers, letting her nails sink into the butter-soft leather that smelled so familiar— smelled of him.

Of home.

Even now his eyes were scanning the grounds before them, casting his gaze swiftly over the gentle sweep of the lawn right down to where it met the riverbank. Ever the general, she thought wryly, always assessing his surroundings.

 She might have smiled, had she been able to muster it. Might have teased him, if she’d been able to find the strength.

But she couldn’t.

And when he turned that piercing attention on her, the force of it blinding, suddenly Nesta felt like she was staring into the face of the sun, every inch of her laid bare. And still she didn’t know how to let him in— not with this. Couldn’t speak the words aloud. Didn’t want to admit it— that she was still failing, even after all this time. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he asked, scanning her face like he might find an answer there.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Nesta answered flatly, curling and uncurling her fingers around the hem of his jacket, if only to bring some feeling back into her hands. The cold might not bring her death anymore, but ever since she’d given away her powers to save Feyre and baby Nyx, she hadn’t been as immune to it as she had been before. And now…

It reminded her of all those winters she’d spent freezing in that cottage in the woods. 

Cassian snorted.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” His eyes turned soft, the hundred shades of green and gold and brown made mute by the darkness of the night and the clouds that masked the glow of the moon. “You can’t lie to me. I see through it, every time.”

Nesta sighed heavily, feeling her chest expand and the cold rush in, like ice spearing her lungs. 

Stupid— it was stupid, to think she could ever lie to him. He saw through her so easily now, and gods, she hated it.

Hated that she was hurting him even now, by standing here instead of sitting inside, bathed in the warmth of the fire and the glow of the faelights. All he wanted was for her to be happy, to enjoy the holiday the way he did, and it killed her that she couldn’t, because not for anybody else had she ever really wanted to try. Not really— not even for Feyre or Elain. 

Only for Cassian had she really, truly, honestly wanted to try and understand this year.

She supposed she could chalk it up to one more failure; one more mark missed. 

“It’s nothing,” she repeated again, lifting her chin and letting the cold kiss her neck, casting a sideways glance to where he stood beside her. “Go back inside.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” In one smooth movement he stepped around her, his palms landing on her shoulders again, fingers curving into the back of her neck as he stood before her, bending slightly at the knees in order to level his eyes with hers. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear herself free from that unflinching, unwavering gaze. “Not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

The weak light of the moon shone from behind the clouds, lining him in silver as the snow continued to fall, dusting the crown of his head. Because he’d kept his wings extended over her instead. His eyes dropped to her freezing fingertips, still clutching the edge of his jacket like it was the last kernel of warmth left in the entire world. His face became unbearably soft, lined with concern, and only with effort did Nesta pull from his grasp, leaving his fingers to slip down from her shoulders even as they curled and tried to find purchase, like he was desperate to hold on even as she backed away. 

“You shouldn’t have said anything to Mor,” Nesta said at last.

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because,” she shrugged. “You just… shouldn’t have.”

“So I should have sat back and let it slide?” His voice dropped low, an edge creeping in as his brows drew together. His gaze was hard, unforgiving. “I did that once before, Nes. For too long. I won’t do it again. Not ever.”

Conviction weighed each and every word then, the kind that Nesta once thought she might have killed for. The kind she had dreamed of, every time he’d sat back and watched as his family crossed a hundred different lines with the things they said to her. But tonight…

She didn’t have the energy, anymore, to fight for it.

“I won’t have you arguing with them because of me.”

“Arguing?” Cassian echoed, shaking his head and sending the melted drops of snow scattering. “Setting down boundaries isn’t arguing.”

Nesta bit back the scoff, the scorn she tried so hard each day to ignore. “I don’t think any of you truly understand the meaning of the word boundaries.”

She watched his lips part, watched the argument, the contradiction, rise on his tongue. And she watched, too, as Cassian paused— considering her words for a moment before loosing a heavy sigh and rubbing a hand across his jaw, freeing some of the tension that had gathered there. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, he nodded.

“I…” He shook his head. Conceded. “I’ll give you that. Spending so long in each other’s pockets… some lines might have gotten a little blurred over the centuries.” He met her eyes; did not blink. “But things are different now.”

Nesta refused to meet those hazel eyes and instead, took another step back, pulling his jacket tighter around her shoulders.

“I won’t ruin Solstice for you,” she said firmly. His face seemed to crumple, something like agony writ large there as his eyes turned wide, and something in her chest, something brittle as cracked glass, shattered. “I can’t pretend to understand it, but—“

“I don’t want you to pretend anything,” he interrupted, but Nesta shook her head and carried on regardless.

“You don’t understand. None of you understand.” She kept her voice steady, kept that mask in place even as she struggled to breathe around the shards that seemed to have gotten lodged in her heart, threatening to skewer it with its every uneven beat. “How hard it is.”

“So tell me,” Cassian said again, his voice bouncing off the stone walls of the House, echoing in the silence. “Nesta. Please. Tell me.”

“It’s not…” she trailed off, taking care to keep her voice low. She was all too aware that anybody inside could overhear if they ventured too close to the windows, and it was hard enough to speak the words aloud to Cassian. “It’s difficult for me, that’s all.”

She shrugged again, trying to downplay that feeling in her chest. That whispering voice that said she didn’t belong, that perhaps she should have drowned inside that Cauldron instead of being born again. That perhaps it would have been easier that way.

“It’s not natural for me,” she continued, shifting her attention to the snow beneath her, the way it had settled around her, her footprints scuffing the pristine surface. Just her presence there had been enough to mar the beauty of it, to create a puddle of churned-up snow and ice, and had there ever been anything more fitting— a less subtle metaphor? “Celebrating fae holidays.”

And there, beneath it all….

Nesta Archeron was angry, too, and now that she’d started she couldn’t stop, the words crowding on her tongue and gathering in her throat, like she’d choke on them if she didn’t let it out. 

“We had our own, you know,” she said, lifting her gaze at last, pinning Cassian in place. “Traditions we celebrated and observed— things we did year in and year out, just like this.” His face was crestfallen, as decimated as a battlefield after a long campaign, and she hated it, that she was the reason for that lost look in his eyes. “But did any of you ever think to ask? To care?”

He opened his mouth, but the words seemed to fail him, and Nesta shook her head as nausea swam in her stomach.

She hadn’t wanted this.

Hadn’t wanted it to go this way.

It wasn’t malicious or deliberate, she knew that much. Despite all that strategy and battlefield intelligence, she really didn’t think Cassian had ever realised that all of this was as foreign to her as the ground beneath her feet. He had been so insistent that she embrace their language— that she call him her mate and not anything else, and because she loved him to distraction she had accepted it. But had he - had any of them - ever thought to ask what it had cost her? What piece of her had broken when she’d given up on hoping for a husband?

“It doesn’t matter,” she said after the silence stretched for a beat too long. “Go back inside. Happy Solstice, Cassian.”

She turned away, turning her back, but Cassian caught her by the shoulder before she could get too far. His face was blank and hard to read as he pulled her back.

“You think I care more about this than you?”

She was silent, and she could have sworn he almost recoiled when he met her eyes and saw the lack of sure answer there.

“Fuck this, Nesta,” he said hotly. “Fuck. This.”

With one arm and one sweeping movement, he motioned to the house behind them, large and glittering in the snow, the windows like golden pools against the darkness of the night. A bitter, pained laugh escaped him as he waved his hand dismissively, like that house and all those inside it meant little.

“Fuck all of this. I don’t care about Solstice at all if you’re not happy.”

She could hear his heart hammering, beating against his ribs like a drum. Still, she frowned. 

“Don’t let them hear you say that,” was all she could think to mutter. 

But Cassian’s eyes were wide and frenzied. “Why?” he demanded. “Why not?”

The snow continued to gather around them, and Nesta shivered even though she didn’t feel the cold as harshly as she did when she was human, even despite the numbness of her fingertips and the frozen skin at her cheeks. Cassian tracked the movement, his eyes drifting closed as he swallowed, his throat bobbing. 

“This isn’t something I ever wanted.” He glanced towards the house, then back to her. The expression that crossed his face was one she suspected few ever saw— gone was the cocksure general, the arrogance and the easy confidence that had everybody in this damned city falling at his feet. No, the Cassian that stood before her now was burning with quiet fury, with pain, and with something like guilt carved across his face as he fixed his eyes to hers, their gazes meeting with a jolt that ran down her spine. “Don’t you dare bite your tongue for me. For anyone. Ever.”

Nesta snorted. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” Cassian challenged. She struggled to believe it, but there he was, standing in the snow, with his heart on his sleeve. She looked away, but he gripped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. His touch was gentle, but there was nothing soft in his eyes now. They were frantic, fiery. “I mean it, Nesta. Don’t you ever hold yourself back.”

“There’s no room for me, Cassian,” Nesta whispered, searching his face for something to hold onto to— finding it when he pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t you see? I don’t fit.”

“Bullshit,” he snarled, before pulling away just enough to run a hand through his hair, shifting the snow that had gathered there, before taking both of her hands in his.

His hands were warm— the siphon on the back of one hand radiating heat that seeped into her, bringing feeling back into her fingers.

“No,” Nesta insisted. “Don’t you get it? I don’t have anything of my own, not really.” She couldn’t mask the bitterness anymore, couldn’t push it down. “Everything I have gets taken from me.”

Her life, her apartment, even the damned sword that she Made unwittingly… all of it gone. Loss after loss after loss, and things might have been different, she thought, if she’d still had that apartment, at least. If she was still down there, living in the city, frequenting bars where there was music and noise and life. Up at the House was… quiet, so different from the taverns and the music in the bars. The life she had touched with her fingertips.

It was better this way, she knew. Now that the House was hers… she was better off, even if some small voice did whisper that it could all be rescinded at any time— was only whilst Rhysand allowed it, and who knew how long his benevolence towards her would last now that they had an eternity to spend in each other’s lives? For now at least, she still fell asleep each night in Cassian’s arms, and she was better for it. 

But still… some small part of her missed who she was before. The girl from below the wall.

Not that anyone would ever understand if she were to admit it out loud.

After all, she might have been still grieving the girl from before - the Nesta Archeron that had died that night in the Cauldron - but nobody else had mourned her. Why would they? Immortality was in her grasp now, and wasn’t that a gift that most below the wall would have killed for? Nesta had her Valkyries, and a strength of her own, that nobody could take away.

And yet.

Cassian’s heartbeat stuttered.

“You have me,” he whispered.

It was a soft admission, borne of such tenderness and vulnerability that Nesta’s heart ached. Silence hung between them for a moment, and when she looked at him, she was stunned for a moment that, yes, she got to call him hers. His hair was soaked from the snow, idle curls falling into his face, and Nesta couldn’t resist the need to reach up and brush the hair back from his brow. He caught her hand, caged it against his lips as he pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. Not tender or gentle this time, but with enough grit and determination that she blinked.

“You have me,” he repeated, his voice growing stronger. “And you’re right. I should have cared more about everything you had before. Of course I should.”

“When do I get to have something of my own, Cassian?” Nesta asked, her voice hoarse. Even him— even though she could never, would never, say it aloud… he didn’t feel like hers, sometimes. Not entirely. She shook her head, forced that particular thought away. “Something I can keep?”

Forcefully, he shook his head. Like he read in her eyes all the things she didn’t say, his eyes turned hard, like flint. Her hand dropped from his lips, but Cassian didn’t let her go. Instead he wound his fingers through hers, casting another swift glance towards the house before meeting her gaze again. Those eyes softened, his lips parting as he loosed a breath.

“I am yours,” he said gently, “and they won’t take anything from you again. I swear it.” His lip curled as his brows lowered. “It ends tonight. The comments, the insults hiding behind gifts. It ends.”

Nesta flicked her eyes to the sky, watched the snowfall beginning to ease.

“I liked that apartment you know,” she said slowly. She didn’t know why she’d been thinking of it. Perhaps it was the Solstice dragging up the memories, or the fact that when she looked out across the city, she could almost see the building her sister had replaced her entire apartment block with, like it had been a stain on the skyline. “It wasn’t much, but it was mine.”

Cassian was silent, his eyes sharp. He hadn’t liked the apartment much either, but she suspected his disdain had more to do with the fact that the windows never closed properly and there was a gap large enough for a grown man’s hand to fit between the door and the floorboards. 

“They took it from me,” she whispered, casting her eyes back to the horizon. To that new building made of shiny white stone that they’d put up to house those displaced by the war. Never mind that they’d displaced Nesta to do it. 

Gods, when she looked out at all those glittering lights…

Her heart ached for everything she’d almost had, all the paths she might have taken. Time— it was all she had really needed. The time and the space and the grace to figure herself out. They hadn’t allowed it her, had taken everything from her instead, and yes, it had turned out alright in the end but… 

Who might she have been, if she had been allowed her time to grieve?

What might that Nesta Archeron have looked like, if she had been allowed to heal properly, at her own pace? If she hadn’t had fae customs and fae celebrations thrust on her when she was still trying to figure out how to breathe in this new land and this new body? After all… you don’t heal a broken bone by putting weight on it.

She shook her head, shaking the thoughts away. Suddenly, warm arms came around her. Cassian crushed her to his chest, his fingers burying themselves in her braid as he engulfed her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For all of it.”

And though it didn’t change anything, Nesta hadn’t realised how much she’d needed somebody - anybody -  to say those words to her. Pain racketed through her chest, her throat closing as tears lined her eyes. It was all she’d really needed— just somebody to acknowledge all that had been done to her and offer an apology, some kind of condolence.

Cassian held her there, unmoving, his hand running up and down her spine. Nesta said nothing. Couldn’t. His heart was a steady drum beneath her cheek, beating hard against his ribs, and though the air was cool and sharp, she could swear there was a hint of salt there too, like there was a single track of tears running silent down Cassian’s own cheek. Tears she couldn’t see, because he was holding her so tightly she could barely move. 

“Tell me,” he said softly. A plea, quiet and tentative. “Tell me what you used to do below the wall.”

Nesta hesiated.

“You don’t really care about all that,” she whispered. 

His hand smoothed another path down her back, but his hold loosened enough that she could tilt her head up— catch her gaze on his. Those eyes - those beautiful, burning pools of hazel - were firm when he looked down at her, and yes, tears were gathered there, like her pain had been a physical blow for him. 

“I do,” he countered, and there wasn’t a hint of a lie there, not an ounce of falsehood. “Anything important to you means the world to me.”

Nesta raised a single brow. Flatly, as if to test his resolve, she said, “We used to dance. Around a maypole.”

“What the fuck is a maypole?”

She smiled softly, huffing a gentle breath of a laugh.

The memory came back to her— of flowers woven through her hair and Elain’s laughter, high and melodic as she chose her favourite blooms - peonies, always peonies - and threaded them through her curls. That last dance, the last she was allowed before she lost her humanity, Nesta had danced with sprigs of lavender tucked into her braid. Her mother had long since stopped her attending the dances with her hair loose like Elain. Nesta had to act like a proper lady, and that meant dressing like one, even as she wove her way around that painted pole so tall it seemed to brush the surface of the clouds. It was a miracle her mother had never put a stop to it altogether; perhaps that was why Nesta had always treasured it so.

Wistfully she shook her head. Her mind turned to the ribbons they’d wind as they danced, and the bonfires that stretched always towards the sky, and the cider they’d be allowed just a single cup of as the sun started to go down. Her heart hurt— such a mortal feeling, for such achingly mortal memories.

She couldn’t find the words to describe it, but she didn’t need them. Whatever was written on her face, Cassian seemed to decipher it. Whatever rose-tinted feeling ran rampant through her chest, he seemed to feel it too. He let the silence stretch for just a moment more before,

“Show me.”

“Show you what?”

“The dances.”

“The maypole is something of a requirement first.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“Something else, then.” There was hope on his face, something beautiful. He clasped both of her hands in his— cradled her fingers with his. “A tradition of our own— maybe that’s what we need.” His hazel eyes sparked, and even the snow seemed to halt in the wake of his words. “Instead of expecting you to fall seamlessly in line with ours - with mine - maybe it’s time we had some of our own instead.”

Nesta blinked. Whatever she’d expected from him… it hadn’t been this.

“Like what?”

He grinned as he tipped his head to the sky and took a deep breath, drawing the winter night deep into his lungs. “Solstice has always been my favourite holiday. This… maypole was yours?”

“Mayday,” Nesta corrected, but nodded in confirmation anyway. Cassian hummed. 

“Then show me the dances,” he said again, his breath clouding the air between them. “Fuck the pole and the ribbons. Show me anyway.”

Nesta shook her head, bemused. But Cassian wasn’t joking— gods above, he was entirely serious as he drew a step away. She longed to weave her arm through his, but…

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Cassian tilted his head. “I want to know, sweetheart. I want to know everything.”

“Really?”

He nodded, his face earnest. And with that bemused smile still lingering on her face, Nesta let him draw away from her, to lift his arm and spin her beneath it, even as the snow continued to fall around them. She didn’t shiver; didn’t feel the cold anymore. In the silence - in the utter, utter silence - Cassian spun her, and though it was nothing like the dances she’d enjoyed before…

It meant more, somehow.

Cassian’s face was fixed on hers, and Nesta’s breath caught, her steps stumbling. Not once had she ever, ever, lost her footing during a dance but… just the sight of him, gazing at her with some precious combination of wonder and adoration, was enough to make her falter. Just the sight of him, enough to pin her in place. His expression had turned impossibly soft, and the bond between them felt like a living, breathing thing as their eyes met. It felt like the first time— it always felt like the first time, when he looked at her and sent a jolt down her spine that ricocheted, echoed throughout her entire body. He felt it too; she knew he did, when his wings shivered. Slowly, he took a step closer until his chest was flush against hers, his hands rising to cradle her face, fingers trailing lightly along her jaw.

“Our own traditions,” he murmured. 

His warmth was a welcome balm, and Nesta didn’t feign her smile this time as she reached up to cover one of his hands with her own. 

“To us, then,” she whispered.

He grinned at her, a sight so lovely she didn’t think she would ever forget it, nor ever tire of it.

“To us,” he echoed.

And when he lowered his face to hers and claimed her lips for his own at last, Nesta melted into him, feeling the words echoing in her blood, the only real thing she’d ever known.

To us.

Taglist: (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!) @asnowfern @podemechamardek @c-e-d-dreamer @lady-winter-sunrise @starryblueskies7 @melphss @sv0430 @that-little-red-head @misswonderflower @fwiggle @tanishab @xstarlightsupremex @burningsnowleopard @hiimheresworld @wannawriteyouabook @hereforthenessian @valkyriesupremacy @kale-theteaqueen @moodymelanist @talkfantasytome @pyxxie @jmoonjones @unlikelypersonalknight1

[keruimi]

The Love I Strived For

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x reader

Warning: Comfort, slight Angst

Note: No words, too proud of this. My haikyuu fan side is kicking again so I decided to look back at the character that snatched my heart. I Hope you all love this the way I did. 🤍

_____________________________

"If she just knows how lucky she is to be close with Sakusa-san"

"To be like her..."

"Can we blame him, she is talented like him."

"She is so lucky..."

"Can I just be her?"

Those were the whispers I always hear the times I walk down the hallways, no matter where I am.

Sakusa's friend

The Woman who was his only exception.

Those words fill my heart with bitterness.

Because of the word 'friend'

They were right, I am talented like him. I am the best setter in the country. I am beautiful. My grades are still stable.

But our relationship will always still be in the so-called friendship.

Love is not his first priority. He could careless about it.

But I started to love him. A great Ace with a humble personality.

He should ask himself why I can't stop loving him.

Love that bloomed when we first met in the youth center for aspiring volleyball players.

That was the start of our story, of our friendship.

But never our love story.

Because no matter how perfect I am, no matter how much we are perfect in the eyes of others, I knew that feeling of acknowledgement would only stay as friends.

I could never ask for more no matter how much I wanted to.

Sakusa Kiyoomi

He was perfect. He has everything I wanted in a partner who I can spend my life with.

He has looks, he is a great player, he is a hard worker, and no matter how great a player he is, he was never prideful about it.

I love everything about him.

But our moments are always like acquaintances. I could never pass that line no matter how many years it has already been.

"I want you to love me. And I'll prove why I'm worth it"

That was the promise I declared wholeheartedly in our elementary days.

But he still feels so distant to me.

He acknowledged me, my love and talent. But never love anything I offered to him.

How am I lucky?

When my efforts seem to go to waste.

How can he love me?

"Senpai" a first year member of our team called out for me when she started to notice I was zoning out that made me look at the match in front of me.

A match where he lost the chance of being a consecutive champion.

I felt tears build up from my eyes when I saw the school's male volleyball team lose the rights to fight for the spot in the championship.

I hate it.

"Senpai... Let's greet them"

She tugged my sleeves like she is urging me to walk to greet the boys and I let my feet follow them.

And standing in front of him feels oddly cold.

So close but feels so far.

Maybe because of the bitterness I felt for him. But I can't blame him especially when it never occurs to him for loving anyone at all.

Right now I don't have the right words to say to him.

"I'll bring the victory to you"

Until those words left my lips.

That is a promise.

I love how his eyes gaze on my own before he nods in acknowledgement and proceeds to go to the locker room to wash up.

I silently yearn the moment he would finally love my efforts. The time where he would realize I am really serious about pursuing him. The moment he will feel proud of me.

I want to see the time where he would smile at me.

Because I just didn't wish for it. I worked for it.

I put sweat and tears to practice. To be a better player, match to him.

I work hard just to be seen. And I would never let go of this chance now that I am in the National Stage.

I'll bring the trophy to him.

I can hear the cheers in the stadium the moment I arrive at the end of the second set with us being in the losing end.

Because my body suddenly shut down from the quarterfinals we won yesterday.

Now that we are in the semifinals, I would not let the same bad luck be the reason why Itachiyama lost.

I am the female volleyball team's setter, the mastermind of every play. I don't want to lose therefore I can't leave.

26-25

The other team won the first set and on the lead on the second set.

The pressure was intense.

Especially when the coach immediately entered me in the game as I stood at the back.

This is my last chance...

I can't give up.

I'm not like his other fans who just wish and dream. I worked hard for it until I was deserving of it.

At this time, I want to be known by the world.

That I am the woman he should be proud of.

Those thoughts made me snatch the second set we almost lost.

Because I promise...

And I didn't realize that the match had finally ended, giving us the ticket to fight for the championship.

The time has finally come...

This is the chance I needed...

"I'm so close. So close"

Yet the night before the final day, my fever spiked up that I can barely breathe.

That's the day where I need to decide whether to play or put my health first.

But it was my dream. Not only for him but for myself too.

That's why my fever was left untold to my team members. Was kept as a secret to the coach.

Because I need to be in the court. At this moment, I need to be there.

That's why no matter how warm it was, no matter how dizzy I got, I kept going without looking back.

Because I finally decided that I will clutch the gold medal.

For our school, for our team, for our hardwork, and for him.

Even if I badly want to end it. I need to keep holding on to it.

Keep surviving.

Until we finally manage to take the last set we need to win.

That was the only time I got to breathe.

I felt my team embrace as we all fell to the ground in happiness.

Tears spill in my eyes as I finally got to laugh genuinely.

I did it

We did it!

Until the numb feeling of my body reminded me of the thing I chose to ignore.

After a few moments of celebrating, we handshake with the other team and while heading to the bleachers to take our supporters.

I felt the captain's hand on my back.

"Thank you because you keep going" she whispered as a small smile lifted from my lips.

"I have no regrets"

We bowed and thanked our supporters as I heard their cheers.

We didn't disappoint our school.

I looked up and saw the male volleyball team looking at us.

While his gaze was focused on me. I felt tears build up from my eyes as I showed a smile.

I was so happy, so happy I did it.

My happiness was immeasurable when I saw how his eyes seemed to rise a little that made my tears fall from my eyes.

Did I do it?

Did I finally make him smile.

My happiness was cut off short when my vision turned black. My own body is finally giving up on me.

It finally reaches its limit.

I started to wake up when I felt the cold towel on my forehead.

And his presence was the one that greeted me.

My eyes looked around and I saw I was in my hotel room and he was the one beside me.

"I'm sick Sakusa..."

I managed to stutter out before I felt the tiredness in my body.

"I know" he stated before he poured me a glass of water and set it on the side table.

He took a hold of my hand before he made me sit up. "You should drink"

He told me as I held the towel in my forehead and took the glass of water he was offering to me.

I drink all of it before setting it on the side table.

"Why are you the one with me?" I asked him before I removed the towel first so I could tie my hair up.

"Should I leave?"

He asked that it made me stare at him and saw he was wearing his mask as usual that made me sigh.

"It's just unusual for a person like you" I mumble as he took the comb before I managed to reach it.

"Let me"

I froze as I felt him touch my hair.

"Your actions are making me have second thoughts if you are really the Sakusa I know"

"Kiyo" I heard him mutter that made my breath hitched from his words.

"This is the only thing I can do" he started as I cherish this moment he was combing my hair for me.

"For a woman who almost risks her life just to not disappoint me" My heart warmed from his words as I looked over him through the mirror.

And I saw how my eyes turned glossy at that moment.

"You did a very dangerous thing there that your fever spikes up to 40°C" he continued before he put my hair in a ponytail.

"Never do that again"

I smiled at his words as I just decided to lean on the headboard so I can have more time to talk to him properly.

"I told you didn't I?" I finally spoke up the moment he took a seat on the end of the bed near me.

"I want to be worthy of a man like you. I want to bring the gold to you" his eyes found mine as I lift a small smile.

"Did I manage that? Those were the questions that first popped into my mind the moment we finally won" I breathlessly mutter as I played with my hands but not breaking off the eye contact from him.

"But only Sakusa Kiyoomi can answer that"

I felt how his eyes gloss a little that made me take a hold of his hand.

"Did I finally become worthy of your love?"

"The world made me feel average no matter how great I was" he managed to utter as I felt his hand tighten his hold on mine.

"Only you made me feel special"

"So Thank you"

"I really love you Kiyo" I stated clearly as I saw how thankful he was from how he gazed at our hands holding each other's palm.

"You made me start to treasure someone like you, Y/n"

And I can finally say without any hesitation.

That the first chapter of our love story officially began.

At the End of Spring Interhigh

[evlia]

Buck x bucky roommates au where they have been living together for a year now and both of them are absolutely head over heels for each other but can’t admit their feelings in fear of ruining their perfect friendship. Even though at first sight gale thought it would be difficult to live with john, judging from his “vibrant” personality, it turned out to be the easiest thing in gale’s life. Never in his life has he felt so comfortable with another person. They fell into the routine of sharing a life with each other easily and it didn’t take long time for them to start falling for each other. A year after living together both of them are absolutely smitten and painfully in love but both of them just keep their mouths shut.

One of their favorite things is to watch movies together, curled up on the couch, snacks and drinks ready. It became their routine accidentally, when Gale couldn’t sleep and john woke up thirsty and found him on the couch watching some trash movie and instead of going back to bed, he took a seat across from him and nonchalantly said: “so what are we watching?” And he looked so soft, sleep still lingering on his puffy eyelids, dark curls sticking out everywhere that gale had to take few seconds to collect himself and remember what was he actually watching.

Second time they watched a movie together, Gale discovered that john just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He kept making comments about the plot, characters, kept looking at gale to make sure he was paying attention, kept smiling at him and kept trying to make him laugh. Gale thought he should be annoyed by it but actually he loved listening to john’s stupid comments.

One of those evenings gale just randomly puts on some romcom and john doesn’t object, they don’t really care whats on the screen anyway, as long as they watch it together.

“That’s so stupid?” John says and rolls his eyes at the screen.

“What is?” Gale indulges him.

“The whole friends with benefits thing, it never works”

“You think so?” Gale asks, carefully.

“I know so, you can’t be good friends, have good sex and not catch any feelings”

Gale just hums and doesn’t continue because it’s a dangerous topic.

Next time they watch a romcom, john decides to voice his opinions again.

“Jesus, he’s such an idiot” he huffs and folds his arms, annoyed.

“Why?” Gale can’t help but laugh at his annoyance at some movie character.

“Come on, if he really loves her that much he wouldn’t let such stupid thing get in their way”

“It’s easy to say that but you don’t know how you’d act if you were faced with that kind of situation”

“I know exactly how I would act” john sounds almost offended

“Oh really?”

“Absolutely! If I loved someone like that I wouldn’t let anything fuck with that, no matter the circumstances, I wouldn’t let them go”

He sounds so confident, passionate almost that gale has to look away, has to force himself to keep his eyes locked on the screen.

It happens many times, every time they watch a romantic movie, john always voices his thoughts about how he would not let them go, how he would not care about the consequences or social standards, how he wouldn’t let the love of his life push him away and it’s too much, listening to him talking about love like that , it’s too much. He keeps thinking about his words when the movie ends, when he goes to bed, when he wakes up and brushes his teeth, he keeps thinking about how he sounds and how he looks when he talks and gale can’t take it anymore.

So the next time john rolls his eyes and says “how can he not see it for god’s sake “ gale snaps.

“Realize what ?”

“That she loves him, she’s clearly in love with him, either he’s stupid or blind “

“And you would?”

“Would what?”

“You’d know? If someone was in love with you and tried to hide it, you’d still know?”

“Of course I would, you can’t hide something like that “

Gale feels himself losing control, feels crossing the line.

“Oh really?” He sounds harsh, bitter almost as he snaps his head towards john, looking at him with almost angry look on his face.

“Yes I…” john starts to say but Gale doesn’t let him continue, he’s too fed up with him

“So if someone was falling in love with you’d know? If someone couldn’t stop thinking about you, if someone spent nights trying to fight his desire for you, you’d know?”

“Gale…”

“ if that someone…” gale has to take a deep breath to continue, the way john is looking at him is making it almost impossible to form words. “If that someone had to sit there and pretend they weren’t crazy about you in fear of losing what you already had, you would know?”

The moment of bravery passes and gale almost runs away when he notices the look on john face change, the confusion melting into confidence

“And did you?”

“What?”

“Did you know, Gale?”

John turns towards him, grabbing the blanket around gale’s shoulders to tug him closer, eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips

“Did you notice, gale?”

“I’m either stupid or blind huh? Gale says and a smile curls over his face as john places his hand on his jaw and gets closer, lips brushing against gale’s when he says “we’re both so stupid “ and closes the remaining distance between them.

[one-chaotic-bee]

I NEED a Nightwing/Deathstroke/Talia comic

For some reason Dick, Slade, and Talia are forced to work together, maybe they’re all going after the leader of some criminal organization (for Dick because the evil boss man has expanded to Blüdhaven, the boss could be a ex-shadows that’s why Talia after him, and Slade is there because the boss has a hit out on him) and to take him down they need to work together.

This could have so many angles.

One, this is a team-up between three of the most dangerous people on the planet, so you know those fight scenes would be FIRE.

Second, just think about the character dynamics. Slade and Talia being bitter exes that both pretending to be over each other. Dick and Slade need to have the dynamic that they had in early 2000’s Nightwing comics (simultaneously hating and respecting each other while being comfortable enough together to do things like Slade leaving messages in the fogged up mirror while Dick’s taking a shower and Dick not even being phased when he walks into his apartment to find Slade chilling on his couch reading the newspaper)

But the real drama would be between Dick and Talia. They have so much potential, to list just a few:

Damian, they could talk about how Talia regrets the things she did to him and how she really does love him. While Dick could confess that no matter how much he love the kid, he still kinda resents that he had to give up his life and identity to raise a kid that should never have been his responsibility.

Bruce, they could both confess how Bruce has let them down over and over again. Talia could tell Dick about how hurt she was when she realized that Bruce would never love her how she loved him and how jealous she was Dick because she knew that Bruce would always love Dick more. And Dick could tell Talia about despite all love for him Bruce has, that hasn’t stopped Bruce from hurting him over and over again. He could tell allude to Spiral and how Bruce kicked him out of the manor multiple times. He could tell Talia that even though he acts like he’s over it, like none of it bothers him anymore, he’s not. He just pretends he is to keep the peace in his family. They could bound over the lesson that they both learned the hard way, they might be able to trust Bruce with their lives but they will never be able to trust him with their hearts.

Fathers, obviously Dick would unload about Bruce here too, but Talia could make things interesting be talking about Ra’s. Maybe despite how loyal she is to him, she resents never even having a chance at a normal life or Talia might have even been jealous not just of that Bruce loved Dick more but of the type of love that it was, a type that she never really got with a father like Ra’s. And if anyone could understand and sympathize with her it would be Dick Grayson.

Third, there could even be an element of comedy with three very different people being forced together. Dick would obviously have problems with the other two’s morals so working together would be difficult. And Talia and Slade could easily but heads over how Talia is loyal to her cause while Slade is only loyal to whoever pays him the most. So there would be plenty of bickering.

Not to mention how great it would be to remind people that Dick when shit hits the fan, he is probably the scariest person in this little team up. Like I can just imagine a scene where maybe they find a part of the organization that’s trafficking children and Dick just snaps. Talia’s like: “Should we stop him?” and Slade just leans against the wall and is like: “Nah, let him get it out of his system”. Meanwhile there are screams of pain from below while Dick just beats the shit out of them.

And of course there would be a creeping sense of dread for what happens when the mission is over. Throughout the story the characters are all bonding with one another but in the end only one of them can get what they want. Dick wants to bring the guy to justice, Talia wants to bring the guy to the league, and Slade just wants to kill him. So there would be the constant pressure that before the end of the mission they will have to betray one another. No matter how much they may have bonded throughout working together or how much respect they’ve gained for each other.

I need this to be a comic.

[hitchyboi]

🦴Fleeting Bliss🦴

FINISHED VERSION, Again very sorry to those that saw it before I finished it XD Accident

Nubbins let's himself try a favorite pass time of his twin and it doesn't go so well

Content Warning: Drug Use, Self Harm, Descriptions of gore and violence. Unhealthy family dynamics. Unwell mental health. The usual Sawyer Family Fun

Word Count: 4, 433

Dust covered boots trudged themselves up the stairs of an old farm house. Wooden slates creaking under the added weight threatening to snap, once white paint chipped away and yellowed with age. Nubbins cursed and grumbled to himself as he ascended the steps on a path to his room. Once he shouldered the door open he tossed the ratted pillowcase he used as a sack to the ground. Filled with new treasures and finds that once brought excitement now served as a downer that left a bitter taste in his mouth and caused another wave of pain to surge from the yellowing bruise covering his temple, just over his eyebrow.

Words echoed over and over in his head of the recent beating and berating by his older brother. Hog bitch. Dumbass. Rat bastard. A lowly no good waste of space... Another curse and kick that sent his door closed and he made his way towards the rat eaten mattress in his corner of the room. Falling onto the abused material Nubbins finally felt a scolding trail fall from his eye and down his cheek. Inhaling quickly with an attempt to prevent more from following he pulled a ball of matted racoon fur he kept by his pillow close to his chest. Pressing his face into the fur and welcoming the familiar scent of hot tar and decay. It was a recent find on one of his hitchhiking sprees, the coons' corpse was still fresh when Nubbins found it though rigor mortis had already set in. Giving the animal a permanent position of laying on its side as if merely resting for a moment rather then forever. Nubbins could feel his cheeks burning, blood bubbling under his skin and threatening to break it wide open. Eyes burning and throbbing with hot tears he finally relinquished his hold on with none to see. Buying his face further into his furry friend's body, small bones twisting under the tight grip of his lanky fingers. Dry fur tickling his nose and mixing with his scruff serving as his only form of comfort in the silent house.

Why did it matter so much to Drayton if he visited the graveyard? He needed more supplies for some of the bigger projects he planned on crafting. Those beeves don't even need their bones no more! Or their skin! But Nubbins had many uses for them, they'd just rot away or fall apart if he didn't collect them. They'd just be useless... like him...

A yell ripped itself from his throat as the words grew louder in his head. Pulling his legs up towards his chest, trapping the coon even closer, he tried to hide from it all. Hide from the words, the whispers. The disappointment. The beatings. The eyes, the eyes, how he hated the eyes. Always staring and always glaring. Always looking down on him, belittling him like an ant to be squashed. He wanted to turn those eyes into ones of fear, despair. Eyes that were looking at a nightmare, wet and bloodshot from crying. But there were no eyes for him to change, no victim to mock and torture. Just himself.

A snapping sound pulled Nubbins out of his thoughts, looking down he saw the now severed jaw of his furry friend loose in his hand. "No! No.. no no.. why?" He gasped and sat up, desperately trying to piece the jaw back into place. The detached lip falling back to his lap with each try. The burning in his face returned but from rage this time as the critter kept refusing to listen. Why would the critter choose now of all times to leave him as well? Leave him just like Bobby did when Drayton has to drag his wily ass back home after the first test. Leave him like Sissy did when she decided California was more her taste then home. Why couldn't just one person just stay?! The coon husk was thrown to the other side of the room, hitting the rotted wall with a heavy thud before sliding down to the floor. No doubt breaking more brittle bones. Nubbins glared at the darkened spot on the wall as his fingers twitched and danced, arm still held out in front of his body.

Heated brown eyes slowly trailed from the spot to one of the posters hung up close by. The bright colors and complex images serving as a more pleasant distraction then the dead animal he'd just thrown to his brothers side of the room. That's right.... Bobby came back... he came back in the end. And so did Sissy... they didn't leave him forever. Furrowed eyebrows slowly relaxed as he let his arm drop back to his side, observing the different decorations his brother had added to his corner. His bed has became more a nest of pillows and blankets, the wall was lined almost completely with different band posters he had acquired along with the addition of little colorful lights strung up here and there. They weren't overly harsh as most lights were to Nubbins, they were softer almost like the stars sitting up in the sky. His gaze soon landed on the ashtray kept near his bed with a few pre-rolled joints Bobby had excitedly talked about sneaking past Cook earlier that week. Nubbins has seen Bobby and Sissy smoke together quite a few times now, it was one of their favorite pass times. Even before they had left. Mention that it helps them to relax and Nubbins always enjoyed how giggly they tended to get not long after.

Springing off his mattress Nubbins quickly closed in on his target and grabbed one of the joints, head whipping around to check the closed door. Nancy had called with the news some of Johnny's victims were being a handful and needed assistance. Ending a beating short Drayton has brought Sissy, Bobby and Bubba with him. Forcing Nubbins to keep his ass at home or worse was to come. That.... meant Nubbins has some time to himself until they came back... and he really wanted to feel that level of enjoyment and rest he'd seen on his siblings faces. He didn't want to rot in his mattress is pain until morning again... not when he had an option now. Grabbing a sticker covered lighter and plopping his ass back onto the mattress, he lit the blunt.

Lifting it towards his lips, Nubbins inhaled. Smoke invaded his senses and burned his throat, ripping hacks and wheezes from his chest. Nose wriggling at the burning taste as his body doubled over, Bobby and Sissy made it look so easy. A few coughs here and there sure but they barely reacted otherwise. He could already hear Bobby's cackle at his pathetic attempt, through laughs he'd slap his back in an effort to help alleviate the wracks just past his ribs. Boney knuckles rap against his own chest instead as he straightened himself out, ridding himself from the worst of the coughing fit. Tongue running over cracked lips Nubbins looked back down towards the joint, eyes hardening with determination at the insulting object. He was gonna have a moment... a moment to relax and feel as happy as his siblings did.

It took a few more attempts before Nubbins was able to pull a hit without hacking up a lung. Pushing past the assaulting burn in his throat, like ashes coating the inside and relighting with each intake of oxygen. The bitter and earthy taste on his tongue was near retch pulling at first but grew more tolerable and then Nubbins finally felt a lightness. Like a rush of blood towards his head but instead of pooling and causing mind numbing headaches, the rush didn't stop. Didn't pool. Flowing up and past his head leaving him feeling lighter then ever before. Tipping his head back with shaking lips, Nubbins let the smoke flow back out. Watching the blurred lines float up towards the ceiling, swirling and dancing together at the same altitude he felt. Nubbins' head felt like it had been cracked open, skull split letting everything that's been locked inside and crammed together out. Emptied until there was nothing left but himself. Never had his mind felt so open. As the head rush plateaued he laid back fully on his bed, the soft fabric melting underneath his weight and cradling his body. Idly spinning the joint in his fingers a lopsided grin stretched across his cheeks, no wonder Sissy and Bobby enjoyed smoking so much. Nubbins normally would be pissed off at them for leaving him out but at the moment, he didn't care. He couldn't find a reason to care when he could lay here and continue feeling good instead. Eagerly lifting the joint back up to his lips, Nubbins inhaled more as his free hand slipped under his favorite loose shirt. Scratching the skin along his stomach lazily.

The bruising on his face long forgotten as he continued to watch the smoke dance around his room, moving like a waterfall in the wrong direction. Like how blood would pour out of a piggy's neck after he broke the skin with his pocket knife. Instead of painting the ground with a pretty shades, these flowed up towards the ceiling and probably past. Nancy always mentioned a place up in the sky, perhaps that's where they were going? What was that place again? Nancy always seemed to speak highly of it, something she rarely ever does bout anything. When was the last time Nancy said anything nice about them? About here? Sure she always feeds Johnny's damn ego, how 'perfect' and 'wonderful' her darling boy was. She never talks about home like she does about the sky place. Would she rather be up there rather then here? Grandpa wouldn't like that... should Nubbins wanna go there? He really don't wanna... He can't see how there'd be any pigs or beeves to toy with in the sky. No weird magical place in the sky could be as comfortable as his bed right in this moment. His body felt heavy, sinking further into a stained material as if trying to meld with it. The touch on his skin felt so soft and so comforting, Nubbins needed more of it.

Heaving himself back into a sitting position, Nubbins felt his body was lagging behind. Half a second behind his mind as he grasped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it off clumsily. Dropping the fabric to the side and eagerly diving back to the welcoming embrace of his bed. Wrapping his lanky limbs around one of the stray pillows still intact he had, nuzzling his face into the plush material. A pleasant tingle dancing across his skin from his face, down his arms and along his stomach. His skin felt alive and buzzing, not the usual energy that had him moving and bouncing but a kind he enjoyed just laying in. Laughter easily flowed out his mouth. Nubbins absolutely could get used to feeling like this, get addicted to it... who knew one person was able to feel so amazing. And all it took was smoking some weird plant? It pulled even more laughter from the depths of Nubbins' guts.

A burning licking at the tips of his fingers brought Nubbins' attention back to the joint, now barely a stump worth holding onto. When had he finished it? Blowing a raspberry at the brief disappointment he flicked the stub to a forgotten corner of the room. Aiming towards Bobby's side but he couldn't tell if his aim was successful or not. Sluggishly running a hand through his greasy strands his attention was attracted to the warm red glow of his dark room set up in the bathroom. Vision blurred as his body continued to move in slow motion, Nubbins could feel his heart pick up pace before he even was able to recognize what he was looking at.

Then his blood ran cold.

Eyes... the eyes were back. They were back and staring right down at him, blocking the comforting light and shrouding Nubbins in a thick shadow. It's inconsistent figure buzzing and pulsing like static as it stood at the end of his mattress. Its skin like a burlap sack filled with fleas all jumping underneath the surface, eager to get at his blood. Back pitched forward to loam over the young man. No sound escaped from either being. A bead of sweat dripped down Nubbins brow despite the goose pimples lining down his arms. Why was it here? Why now? Usually.... usually the didn't bother Nubbins until he was asleep. Was he asleep? When did he doze off? His head began to spin as his heart started pumping even faster. And yet... neither figure moved. A challenge to see which broke first. Which would cower and writhe under the pressure and everything was stacked against Nubbins. His throat started to tighten as he stared back into the figures gaze. Two white pinpricks being the only form able to fully solidify. He needed to get away... he didn't want to be stared at again. To be mocked and judged. Body now shaking and matching the pace of his heart Nubbins forced his body to move as quickly as he could. Throwing his blanket up at the figure and scrambling off his mattress and towards his dark room. Knees and palms scrapping against old splintered wood as he ducked inside the bathroom. Grasping onto the sides of the sink, the cold porcelain feeling like a shock to his burning skin. Desperately sucking in as much air he could now he was hidden from the figures' gaze. His chest heaving as he struggled to hold himself upright.

This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be scared... cowering. He was supposed to be happy. Enjoying a moment why... why couldn't those figures just give him one damn moment! Always lurking in the corner of his vision then disappearing when Nubbins brought attention to them. Like a cruel joke, a game to see how far they could push him. Grandma used to say they were spirits or such.. not meant to do harm but yet they consistently followed, stared, mocked. Tormenting him and enjoying the fool he'd make out of himself at their sights. Nubbins lifted his head to look at himself through the cracked mirror above his sink. In that moment Nubbins' blood turned to ice one more. Heart dropping to the pit of his stomach to be eaten away at by acid. His chest started to heave as his lungs tightened. Looking towards himself in the mirror all he could see were the hundreds of faces surrounding him. Their gazes locked on him much like the figure still lurking within his room. Turning to press his back against the sink he whipped his head around in an effort to find solace. Yet every wall was adorned with moving eyes that thrived in his panic. Pictures he had taken for his own pleasure taking a life of their own, to jeer at their creator. He could hear the maniacal laughter as their one still images followed him. Surrounded him.

His heart hammered in his chest, beating against ribs and threatening to broke them at any moment as his lungs desperately tried to work. Dropping to his knees Nubbins grasped at his chest as his bones tightened around the offending organs, caging them more and refusing their functions. Moist fingers clawed at his chest desperately as he felt the room start to spin around him. Too tight. His chest felt far too tight, how was he supposed to breathe? How was his heart supposed to beat? Every attempt to suck in air seemed to make his ribs squeeze harder. They needed room... He could feel bruises starting to form where his heart was fighting against bone. Skin was snagged by grimy nails as Nubbins slammed his head against the floor. Splitting angry red lines down the length of his chest. Yes... it was too tight inside and he needed air. One way or another, Nubbins needed air.

A wet sob played for his audience as Nubbins started to tear at his skin with fervor. Nails scraping away layers of skin, only growing more vicious once blood beaded to the surface. It wasn't enough. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes. It wasn't enough. With a down right feral snarl Nubbins tug his nails into his chest. Breaking past the skin the aiming deeper, pulling and tearing away at what he could. The sound of flesh tearing was dull to his ears, the blood that pooled onto the ground and seeped into his pants a mere afterthought. If a thought at all. He yelled. He yelled and cried until his throat ran raw, threatening to start bleeding and drown him. His body rocked with heaves as drool and bile fell from his lips adding to the stain pool beneath him. A muffled screech came from the confines of his room, the obstructed vowels vaguely resembling his name. The figure... it had to be the figure calling for him, trying to lure him back out. Panic flooded his veins at the implication, screwing his wet eyes shut with a cry. The tightness hasn't gotten any better, he couldn't dig his claws deep enough. He couldn't pull back enough meat to free his heart and lungs. Still they sat confined and strangled behind uneven bone. His arms burned with exhaustion as his body trembled like a possum soaked in the rain. A lightness pulled at Nubbins' head, lifting the pressure in his spine as his body collapsed. Darkness danced along the edges of his sight as he gazed out the doorway back into his room. The murmuring yelling was still droning in the back of his mind.

"Chop..." Nubbins weakly called as a new wave a tears coated his cheeks. The word breaking and barely audible from overworked cords. Vision blurring as familiar sneakers reached the doorframe.

~~

An irritated grunt was followed by the slam of the old wooden door as Chop returned home. Usually the young man enjoyed being drenched in the blood of an innocent victim, delightfully playing with them as they screamed and writhed under his hammer but today the bloodshed barely pulled forth more then a half energetic grin and occasional chuckle. The wellbeing of his twin was all he could focus on. Damn Cook didn't give him a moment to even check on him before dragging his ass to the truck. Chop made his displeasure very evident in hopes it would get him kicked to the curb. Luck just wasn't on the hippie's side this day as the rest of his siblings sat through his incessant complaints. When they made it to Nancy's he didn't waste time in wrapping the problem pigs up as quickly as he could. Nancy was pleasantly impressed with him yet he couldn't care less at the moment for his aunt's rare approval. He started walking. Down that dirt road back towards home with Drayton yelling at his heels for not helping with clean up.

Chop had only made it three steps into the house before he froze with his eyebrows jumping in concern. The house was quiet. A quiet house and Nubbins never coincided. Nubbins was just as loud and energetic as he was, being quiet never was a strong suit of theirs.

"N-Nubbins? Where... Where's ya at?" Chop called into the eerily still home. There was no reply, no response and that worried him more. Nubbins would avoid Drayton, avoid Nancy and sometimes Johnny if he was upset with him but Chop? Bobby? Nubbins never avoided him. Grabbing onto the railing Chop pulled himself up the stairs towards the second floor, knocking against the wall occasionally to announce his presence some more. Perhaps Nubbins was just invested in something and didn't hear him? Like one of his projects. He could faintly make out the sounds of movement coming from their shared bedroom, releasing some of the worry in his shoulders.

"Nubbins! What're ya so quiet for? House was to-to... well it was to yerself. I'da be... I'da be blasting some Iron Butterfly by now! Or.. or some Humble Pie! You know those guys... heh, well they're always good." Chop laughs as he shoulders their bedroom door open. His gummy grin slowly fell as he was met with the sight of an empty bedroom. The usual disheveled mess it's been with no twin in sight. A pungent order hung in the air, the sour skunk like scent mixed with smoke very familiar to the hippie. Blue eyes quickly clocking the roach that laid left on the ground between their mattresses.

"H-hey... hey Nubbins!" Chop called once more, the worry and concern remaking their home in his chest as he walked further into the room. Just barely catching a weak croak coming from the black room. Making a beeline towards the lone sign of life he crossed the threshold. Nubbins laid face down, barely conscious on the wooden slates, his face red and splotchy from obvious signs of crying. Making the birthmark painting the right side of his face almost unnoticeable. Blood and pile stained the ground around him with an arm outstretched towards the doorframe.

Cursing, Chop quickly dropped down to kneel next to him. Hooking his arms under Nubbins' and lifting his limp body up. A multitude of cuts littered the surface of his chest. Blood smeared across his flesh making it difficult to see how deep they went. Guilt starting to chew its way up as Chop propped his brother's body against the tub as gently as he could.

"N-now now, it'll ah... It'll be fine! Ol' Chop's gotcha now. Grandma 'n Grandpa shoulda- shoulda have something!" He gave a pat to his brothers shoulder, noticeably shakier than usual, before sprinting towards the neighboring bathroom. Ripping open the mirrored cabinet to rummage through the collection of poorly kept first aid. Chop winced slightly hearing the glass mirror slam into the wall, Grandpa surely woulda tan his hide if he were close by, that was a problem for later however. Grabbing the desired items Chop ran back to his brothers side and began dressing his wounds. If there was one thing Chop ever would be grateful about getting drafted... learning on the fly first aid came in handy. Some poking and prodding at the blood slick skin thankfully revealed the cuts weren't that bad. For Nubbins at least, little fucker's had plenty worse. Chop didn't even need to use the glue this time.

"Ya know! Heh, Johnny's in a.. in a lotta trouble now!" Chop laughed as he wrapped old bandages around Nubbins' chest, gauze placed firmly against the cuts as he glanced towards his brothers face. Eyelids drooped low but not fully closed as his gaze held a distant glaze. A nervous tongue swipe against his own lips Chop looked back to his task. "Nancy wasn't all happy with the girls he brought back this time. They was.. they was real squirmy too! You woulda had fun chasin' them! Couse she was being a.... a real bitch to us all night too! She- She tried snatching o' Sonny Bono here- Ha!" A small sound. So soft and quickly Chop almost missed it with his own presence but he saw the quick jump of his brother's chest. A small chuckle. Sure enough, distant eyes seemed as far this time as lips twitched to pull a weak grin.

"... Y-you look like an egg without him...."

A blink. And then another.

"I aint no egghead! Just cause.. Just cause I don't got my do no more! Oh! You hush up, r-ratface!" An unserious smack to the brunette's head followed before Chop hooked an arm under Nubbins' shoulder once more. Lifting his brother back to his feet and helping him out of the darkroom. Helping was an understatement. Chop practically dragged him back out as Nubbins' steps were still shaky and uneven. Leaning a majority of his body weight onto Chop which, admittedly, wasn't much. An occasional wince followed closely by a giggle escaped the younger twin as Chop helped him lay back down on his old mattress.

"Is Drayton still mad at me?" Nubbins' voice was a whisper, throat still raw. Chop ran a hand through his wig with a heavy breath, when wasn't Cook mad? Seemed like just breathing these days would set the old man off on any of their asses. Chop would say he was even worse than before he left, just when had he taken that turn? How long did Bubba and Nubbins have to deal with him before Chop came back? Grabbing the forgotten blanket off of the floor and chucking it back over onto Nubbins' curled up form he waved his hand dismissively.

"Probably more mad at a- at a me now." He couldn't quite tell how Nubbins felt with that reaction. Tired eyes stared off with a small hum in the back of his throat. No doubt exhausted from the episode he went through on his own.

"Y-ya know! Walking all the way back here gave me ah... a new idea! For a song! Thinking about calling it Wasteland! Cause like... cause there's no one on these roads, like a wasteland!" Chop grinned widely as he started talking about his newest idea. Turning back towards his side of the room and starting to arrange some things outside of Nubbins' vision. A small tired smile returned to Nubbins face as he listened as best he could, he really was trying but he couldn't deny how sluggish his body felt. How difficult generating enough energy to even blink, a sensation that always unnerved the always buzzing man but with Chops' eccentric ideas as a calming constant in the background. Nubbins felt more at ease.

"And then something like- Like ah... God! Where is god, where is god, where is- and it goes like that a few more times. Something like 8 or 9 times, yeah! Where is god, where is god, where is-" A snore breaking through and interrupting Chops' words redirected his attention towards Nubbins who now laid asleep. Finally at rest for the night. Walking over to his side Chop leaned over and softly placed the abandoned racoon carcass back in Nubbins' arms. Jaw now securely reattached with some safety pins and spare beads.

"I'll tell ya the rest in the morning."

Now... to find a hiding place for the rest of his joints.

(Credit goes to @cemetery-sunset for the headcanon of Nubbins collecting and using animal/human corpses as stuffed animals basically.

Also I pretty heavily referenced my own experiences with sleep paralysis hallucinations for Nubbins' episode. I may have needed to project just a lil bit)

[sorcerous-caress]

I literally love these responses so much……may I request some fluff/angst?

maybe it could be something like what each of the companions are like when they’re sad/when they cry. And what they would act like around tav. Particularly minthy shart or Karlach cuz they’re my favs but anyone else you want too

I love love love angst

How they act when they're sad

[ Bg3, Angst, nb!reader ]

[I went the full angst route, hope you like it anon]

Minthara

Sadness doesn't last long in her. It always gets transformed into anger, rage, bitterness, or contempt. Sadness is wielded like a sword, sharpened edges, and a leathery grip.

She is aware of what she's doing, of what she's fueling.

It's what helped her survive, what made her as strong-willed as she is. She saw her sisters fall to their agony, their sadness consuming their minds as Lolth giggled at the chaos their madness invited.

She swore not to fall, never to let it consume her. Survival is above all.

If you entrust her with your sadness, she will acknowledge the amount of vulnerability you've willingly showed her. She will remember it and feel greatly touched by your deep trust in her.

But all she can offer to quell your misery is the venom to poison your enemies with, to steer your hands towards the responsible necks and stand behind your back as your finger digs into their flesh, choking all those who wronged you.

Shadowheart

She was taught to indulge in her sadness, to stretch it and bury herself inside it. To let it fester and grow.

Taught that only Shar herself can calm that storm, only by darkness can you veil the wounds this cruel world left on you.

To forget is to be free, and true freedom is to become a child of the night.

She prays, whenever there's a burning in her throat, she kneels and prays to the cruel yet loving goddess, the only mother she has known.

Her faith is enough, she repeats, her faith will guide her, her faith will comfort her.

Her faith is all she has, it has to be enough. She can't afford it not being enough.

Answered or not, her prayers ease her mind in a way, make her feel less of a monster.

She can teach you, if you ever feel the need to confess and be cleansed of all these sour emotions swirling inside, she can teach and guide you.

Karlach

She hugs her teddybear. Cradling the small soft plush into her chest, against her metallic heart and squeezing.

Despite her size, she felt the smallest she had ever been. The world was too big, too harsh and too cruel. Full of betrayals and mistrust, full of disdain for her and for everything she has been forced to do.

Her tail wraps around her as she curls around herself on her bed, it gets too much at times. She wants to scream, yell at how unfair this is, how her own heart was stolen from her, the heart her own mother gave her. They took it.

She's still a person, no matter how much of a murdering tool they tried to make her, no matter how many parts they replaced and how many battles they threw her in. She is still a person goddammit, and she deserves to be treated like a person.

Even her tears cease to exist for more than mere seconds before they evaporate from the heat of her skin. Evidence of her sadness erased from the world, she doesn't even get to cry in peace, can she?

She craddles the teddybear closer, closing her eyes and surrendering to the world for just a second.

Whenever you're down, she lends her teddybear to you, it smells just like her. She can't hug you herself so this is the most she can offer, she is truly sorry soldier.

[perictione00]

Oops!...I Did It Again

Ch 1: It's Complicated

Pairing: Nanami Kento x reader

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts/behaviour (please do not read if things like this are triggering for you).

Synopsis: When life was throwing you uncountable curveballs, an unexpected reunion with your high school friend helped you dodge every single one of them. Coping mechanisms leave you both in a complicated situationship. So what happens when one of you ends up catching feelings? The cliche or the unexpected?

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

You wonder what your life would've been like if your parents were still alive. Maybe you would have stayed a child for a little longer, enjoyed your life a little longer, without execrating every bitter incident that landed on your lap, and maybe you wouldn't be standing on the edge of a rooftop, drunk, contemplating your next move. It could be so easy to just stop everything and not feel anything any longer. You could be free from all the burden that you've been carrying; you won't have to worry about the deadlines, the debt, the rent, or your sister's school fee. Oh yeah, there it is—the reason you question your decisions whenever you find yourself on the rooftop. You really do love her; you act brave for her sake, and she's your motivation, yet sometimes it all feels so worthless. It doesn't matter when nobody acknowledges your hard work, but it hurts like hell when she doesn't. You try to understand that she's in her rebellious phase and that she's still young; however, you envy her for having the audacity to even disregard you in the first place because you expect her of all people to recognize the effort you put in. Why do you have to grow up and she gets to stay a child, a brat?

"What are you waiting for?", you almost lost your balance as you heard his voice. You slowly turned, only to see a blonde-haired guy with an obviously expensive-looking formal suit. "So you're drunk this time?", he continued as he walked in your direction.

"Heyaaaa, Mr. Richie Rich, what took you sooo loooooong, I missed you shhoooo muuchhh", you weren't sober enough to know how drunk you sounded, but Nanami was. He took your hand with caution as you climbed down the edge. The dark circles under your eyes gave away the reason for your current state. It was evident that you had been overworking yourself for the past few days. You barely had time for yourself, and you had requested Nanami to pick up your sister from her tennis classes twice this week. He was actually shocked to find you a bit too early at the office today as well, and although he wanted to question it, he knew better. There were already way too many rumors about you circulating in the office; he didn't want to add one more by holding a conversation with you.

"Let's go, I'll make dinner", he said as he collected the files and your heels that decorated the rooftop floor.

Nanami closed the door of his apartment as you staggered your way to the very comfortable-looking couch. He knew that you would fall asleep on the couch and that it would be such a pain to wake you up, but the peacefulness on your face changed his mind. This was basically the story of every other weekend, and it was painfully obvious how you both lacked a social life. However, he would rather spend his weekends with you than hold conversations with the people in his company; they were all...tiring and he felt at ease with you, maybe because you both attended the same high school and were part of the same circle. So here he was, almost done heating the leftover miso soup, searing chicken, and preparing parsley sauce to go with it.

Now comes the hard part: waking you up. He remembers that one time, when you had asked him to choose a pokemon that came to his mind when he thought of you, he also remembers how he had immediately answered Snorlax and how, surprisingly, you weren't even offended and instead tried to justify its life style. Of course you didn't need to know that he found Snorlax the cutest of all pokemon.

After 10 minutes of diligence, you were finally awake, cranky but awake at last. He led you to the dining table and served you the miso soup which tasted like heaven. The tofu literally melted in your mouth and the brothy texture was to die for, you could feel yourself sobering. While you were enamored with the taste of the food, Nanami was secretly anticipating your unusual way of appreciating his food, which you did.

"Oh I could just marry you right now", you announced as you pecked his lips, catching him off guard.

To say that Nanami was flustered would be an understatement. The tips of his ears were as red as an apple, and his serious guy exterior was on the verge of breaking. He knew that for you, it wasn't anything unusual because of the peculiar relationship you shared with him; however, actions and words like these never failed to ignite his heart with a hopeful fire. But he couldn't allow himself to give into this fantasy, so he maintained his calm appearance and continued savoring the tender chicken, glancing your way with every bite.

2 years ago

Resigning from a company that contributed to a major part of your income was a big decision, but after working overtime for almost a month and not getting a penny for it, that was your limit. You tried complaining only to find out that some legal document under the company's contract deprived you of many rights that were meant for your protection against exploitation. You seriously should've read it all instead of jumping on the opportunity. And with that, you were left with a series of unpaid bills and your unemployed ass. It was hard to find a great job in a short time period, so you went on for various job interviews and took on multiple part-time jobs that paid enough to keep you going for 4 months. It was during this time that you regretted giving up on your previous job, as the list of redirected emails to inform you that your interest was appreciated but another candidate was chosen for the job was taking a toll on you.

In all honesty, your confidence had hit rock bottom. You really thought you were something, that you stood a chance, only to discover how ignorant you were. It was scary—the prices of basic amenities, the rent, your sister's education, and her growing demands. Falling into a cycle of self-hatred, you slowly forgot about yourself, your needs, and your health; life became all about work. If you wanted to exist in the world, you had to be stable economically; money's everything, and you felt utterly useless. What were you even doing? What were you doing with your life? Did you not have any aspirations? Were you nothing but a fucking coward who gave up the moment things got hard? At the young age of 24, you were having an existential crisis. You were comparing yourself to every person your age who had accomplished more than you ever could, and there was no end to it. Though the vicious cycle did come to an end the day you came across a former classmate Nanami Kento while on a grocery run.

"Oh, I think you dropped th-,", Nanami stopped mid-sentence as he stood astonished, looking at the woman who had dropped her cereal box.

"Nanami! Is that you?", you asked in shock.

Let's just say that the grocery run took way longer than it should have as you both dropped by a cafe to catch up. It was refreshing talking about random things to someone your age, someone you knew. You had to admit that Nanami had changed, not only looking more approachable, but it seemed like he finally had no issue talking to people, you were happy for him, and since you wanted to keep it that way, you kept yourself from inquiring about his job. After a good two hours, you exchanged numbers and bid each other farewell. It turned out to be a great day, as that very day, you were offered a job at a MNC with phenomenal pay, but here's the catch: as you went through the documentation process, you learned that the position of secretary was offered to you. That was shocking, as your credentials and experience were suited more for the marketing department, and you were concerned about the legitimacy of the offer because no one pays that much to a secretary; however, beggars can't be choosers, so you accepted the offer right away.

On your joining day, the morning routine started earlier than usual, as you wanted everything to be perfect, from your fit to your timing. After having breakfast with your sister, you left for work, reaching ahead of time to leave a good impression. The building seemed fancy, with a sweet receptionist who directed you to your new boss, warning you not to enter his office until he called for you. That was weird, but maybe it was because your boss was busy. And it turned out that he was actually busy...fucking a woman, who came out of his office with disheveled hair. It was after you waited for a long time that he called you inside.

He was on his cellphone when you entered the office, wearing a tasteful tuxedo with a matching watch that went well with his blonde hair, leaning back on his chair, ignoring your presence. As you were about to introduce yourself, he raised his index finger to his lips, saying, "Shhh...you must be the new one. I'm Naoya Zenin, head of the consulting department and you must call me Sir."

Ch 2

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