#come to find out (literally just a month ago) that apparently depression has been in the mix for a while too so.

[coconut-cluster]

not having energy to write is so real, i feel like the pandemic drained all my motivation. my heart goes out to you from one writer-in-theory to another

fr, that and just putting SO much weight on getting good feedback when posting my writing online. by the time I kinda stopped posting as much, it had gotten to the point that I would actually have anxiety attacks if I didn’t get a certain amount of likes/reblogs after posting stories. prioritizing praise over enjoyment will kill passion so hard!! im taking a creative writing class at my uni this fall to try and bring the lil spark back and I’m actually terrified but I’ve been putting it off for too long lol. all the love and good vibes to burnt out artists of the world 💚💚💚

[scary-grace]

apparently it's not enough for me to roast the main character of BNHA or write so many fixits, I have to take it super literally and also give two middle fingers way, way up to a famous Ursula LeGuin parable by posting this self-indulgent miss-the-point thing. Omelas AU, for child abuse and neglect, hopeful ending, Oboro Shirakumo POV.

one who walks

Why did he have to look?

There’s no thought Oboro has right now, no thought he’s had for the past six months, that feels good, but that one feels worse than all the rest – the wish that he had let the knowledge be enough, that he’d managed to grasp it the way his best friends had, that he’d been outraged and betrayed and depressed and eventually resigned. Shouta and Hizashi reacted normally, the way most people react when they find out the truth. Neither of them wanted to look. But Oboro looked. Why did he have to look?

Oboro can kick himself about that from here to the end of time, and it won’t change anything. Oboro looked, and looking has consequences. For him. For everybody.

The city streets are empty at this time of night, but even if they weren’t, nobody would ask Oboro where he’s going. Nobody in Musutafu questions where anyone else is going, except to ask if they want company for the walk. Everybody’s going somewhere with purpose, or just to admire the view, and no one in Musutafu has bad intentions. Oboro never wondered why that was until six months ago. Never wondered why the things that went wrong in other places – crime, sickness, hatred, murder – never go wrong here. He just thought Musutafu was special, that the people who live here are special, too. And they are. Just not for the reason Oboro thought.

A trade, is how they framed it, when they sat Oboro and Hizashi and Shouta down to tell them why Musutafu is so peaceful, so prosperous, so perfect. You have to give something if you want to get something in return. Oboro and his friends know how trades work. They trade things all the time. They nodded, and Principal Nedzu explained what the whole city traded – and trades every day – so they can keep being happy and safe and free forever. Oboro didn’t get it at first. He could tell that Shouta didn’t, either, but Hizashi picked it up fast, and Hizashi got mad. A kid, he repeated. We can only live like this because you’re torturing a kid.

In exchange for Musutafu’s prosperity, they give up one person – a little kid, locked away beneath the city, left alone and unhappy and forgotten. Always hungry, never spoken to, never cared for. One person’s suffering in exchange for the happiness of six hundred thousand. No matter how many times Nedzu explained, it didn’t sink in – not for Oboro, at least. Hizashi had already gotten up and left, slamming the door so hard that picture frames fell off the wall and shattered on the floor. Shouta sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, and Oboro kept asking questions. The same questions over and over again, hoping the answer would change.

It never changed, and finally, Nedzu steepled his paws together and sat forward in his chair. Perhaps, Shirakumo, it would help if you could see.

No, Oboro should have said. I don’t need to see. I get it. I’m not as smart as my friends are. It takes time for stuff to sink in. Give me a second, or a minute – maybe a week – and it’ll all make sense. I’ll take your word for it. I don’t need to see. Yes.

Most people don’t go and look, but it’s not unheard of. And it’s not unheard of for people to be tormented by what they see. Some people have such a hard time with it that they leave Musutafu and never look back, never to be seen again, headed off into the darkness for parts unknown. Oboro’s never known anyone who left, but he always knows when someone’s gone. The whole city seems dimmer, somehow. It takes a while for the light to come back.

Oboro’s thought about leaving. There have been days in the last six months where he’s wanted nothing more than to get up and run. But he looked, and he saw, and that means he can’t just leave. Just leaving doesn’t fix anything. Knowing what’s happening and leaving is the same thing as staying, when it comes down to it. For Oboro to clear his conscience, there’s only one thing to do.

He knows that Musutafu is perfect, peaceful, that there’s no such thing as bad intentions or hidden evil, but it still surprises him that there are no guards outside the building that holds the sacrifice. Everybody knows where it is. Everybody knows exactly what goes on here and what the consequences for changing it are, and they haven’t even set a watch. Oboro knows why, and knowing why makes his jaw clench and his vision blur. They don’t need guards. They don’t think anybody would really do it.

The doors are unlocked, too. Oboro slips inside, his hands shaking, his legs leaden. He made this same walk six months ago, behind Principal Nedzu, still believing somewhere deep down that it was a joke. Just like before, it’s the smell that alerts him that something’s wrong.

Nothing decays in Musutafu. Nothing rots. No one leaves a mess uncleaned long enough for it to mold, or an injury untended long enough for maggots to set in, but the stench that emanates from the storage room at the bottom of the stairs is unmistakable. Six months ago and now, Oboro recoils from it, some instinct yanking at him to get away. He holds his ground. As terrible as this is, it’s nothing compared to what’s going on behind that door.

Nedzu explained it again as he and Oboro stood before the open door, as Oboro froze in horror, too numb and distant even to cry. In exchange for Musutafu’s peace and joy in a dark and dangerous world, something had to be given up – one child, not locked up as a baby but imprisoned once they’re old enough to understand what’s being taken from them, neglected and forgotten forever. Barely fed. Oboro asked about that as he looked in at the kid, whose limbs were stick-thin, whose face was hollow instead of round and healthy. Never cleaned up or tended to or comforted. That wasn’t allowed, Nedzu made it clear. Even being kind for a second would ruin everything.

The kid in the storage room didn’t ask for comfort. It cringed away from the open door at first, then snarled in anger, then cringed away again. Oboro asked if it was a boy or a girl, and Nedzu said it didn’t matter. He asked what its name was, and Nedzu said that didn’t matter, either. Oboro asked what would happen when the kid died, because he couldn’t imagine anybody surviving like this for the kind of long life the people of Musutafu have.

And that was when Nedzu said it. The thing that made Oboro’s head swim and his skin prickle, the thing that clenched his hands into fists at his sides and closed his throat so he couldn’t scream. When it dies, another will be chosen, he said. Sometimes one must be sacrificed for the good of all.

But it isn’t for the good of all. Oboro sees the storage room, the neglected kid, every time he closes his eyes – but when he opens them and looks around, he sees people he didn’t see before. People Musutafu ignores. People who look different or see things differently, people their perfect city doesn’t have room for. Kids, mostly, in families that look perfect from the outside. Oboro wonders how many of them grow up and walk away forever.

Would this be okay if it actually worked? Would Oboro find it easier to swallow, easier to ignore the way Shouta ignores it, the way Hizashi convinces himself, that Musutafu being the way it is justifies this? No, Oboro thinks as he stands in front of the door and lifts the key off the hook beside it. Even if it worked. If it’s built on something like this, it’s not worth it at all.

As he fits the key into the lock, Oboro wonders if he’s being selfish. He’s wondered that a lot since this idea sunk its claws into his head. If he shouldn’t take his guilt and horror as another sacrifice for the good of all, something he can and should bear so the rest of the city can live in peace. He hates reading, and he’s not as smart as Hizashi, but he went straight to the library and read everything he could find about morality, about ethics, about anything. Almost everything he could find said he was wrong.

There was one thing, though. Something old, something stuffed away at the back of a pile of books. Whoever saves one life saves the world entire. Oboro thinks about that, reminds himself of it. One life versus hundreds of thousands is the wrong way to look at it. It’s one life. One life, and Oboro can save it. He unlocks the door, kneels down so he won’t block out the light, and holds out his open hand.

The ground shakes ever so slightly beneath Oboro’s feet, not an earthquake or a foreshock – just a warning. Stop while you still can. Go no further. Oboro’s skin crawls, and his nose wrinkles at the smell leaking out of the storage room. He leaves his hand extended and speaks. “Hi,” he says. The ground rattles again, harder this time, and an odd, wavery sound drifts out of the darkness. “I’m Oboro. You might not remember me, but I was here before.”

There’s that wavery sound again. Nedzu called it whining, said that it was all that was left of the kid’s ability to speak after years down here, but Oboro doesn’t think that’s right. It sounds like sighing, or sobbing, quiet and plaintive. “I was here before,” Oboro says again. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I just – I’m sorry. But I’m here. I’m here to help.”

Nothing moves in the storage room. The smell covers Oboro like a shroud, making his eyes sting. All he can hear is the kid’s breathing, faster and shallower than before. What does help even mean to them? “You never should have wound up in here. Nobody should,” Oboro says. “I’m here to take you away.”

Even when Oboro was standing here last time, asking questions that couldn’t be answered the way he needed them to be, he had this thought in the back of his mind. The thought of coming here, doing this. So he was careful with what he asked, and Principal Nedzu explained in detail about how even if someone was to take the child out of the room and care for them again, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. It had been in there too long, and something had been wrong with it from the start. It would never speak, never function normally. It must have grown used to its surroundings. It’s scared of people, scared of the light. Why would it want to leave? That’s where it belongs.

It isn’t, Oboro said. You put it there. You made it this way.

Indeed, Nedzu says. There was regret on his face, but not guilt. In any case, it’s too late.

Oboro doesn’t buy that. Not for a second. He leaves his hand extended, ignoring the low rumble from below the surface that rattles his bones. “I’m here to take you away,” he says again, and a small hand emerges from the darkness to brush against his.

Maybe the rattling isn’t some warning to Oboro from the universe. Maybe it’s just his own rage, because the hand fumbling awkwardly against his isn’t whole. It’s missing its index and middle fingers. All that’s left are two stumps barely protruding above the knuckles. Whatever they’ve been doing to this kid isn’t bad enough. They had to chop off the kid’s fingers, too. Oboro’s limbs might be humming with fury, but the kid’s hand is shaking like a leaf in the wind, its arm too weak to support it. The kid makes a weak attempt to hold onto Oboro’s hand, but loses their grip.

Oboro catches their hand in both of his. “Okay,” he says, steadying his voice with an effort. “Can you come out? Do you need me to help you?”

The kid doesn’t answer, but the hand caught between Oboro’s goes tense. Another hand emerges from the darkness, this one missing just the index finger, and with Oboro as an anchor, the kid pulls themselves halfway out of the storage room and into the light.

Their hair is long and matted, their eyes squeezed shut. They smell awful. Their skin is scratched raw all over their body, and there are sores on their feet and legs. Oboro feels a surge of disgust and hates himself for it. If the kid is filthy and starving and smells awful and can’t speak, it’s because they were made to be that way. It’s not their fault, and it’s not their fault no one’s helped them. Oboro doesn’t get to be grossed out. If he thinks it’s gross, he can do something about it.

But first he has to get the kid out of this building. “These stairs are kind of tall, so I’m going to carry you up them. Is that okay?” When the kid doesn’t respond, Oboro reaches for them, and when they don’t flinch, he scoops them into his arms. They weigh next to nothing. It feels like Oboro’s carrying a bundle of dry twigs. “Okay. Let’s go.”

There aren’t many lights on in Musutafu at this hour, but Oboro can see them flickering. He wonders if they always do that, or if it’s something new, something that’s only happening because he broke the rule and rescued the kid. But he hasn’t rescued the kid yet. They’re still inside the city. Someone could still stop him. Oboro picks up the pace, but the faster he walks, the more the kid’s arms and legs flop bonelessly, their head jarring with every step. They can’t even hold their head up. That’s how weak they are.

Oboro can fix that, though. He calls up his quirk, shaping the softest cloud he can manage, and settles the kid in the middle of it, bundling them up tight. The kid blinks up at Oboro through their matted hair. Their eyes are crimson, and too large in their hollow face. “That’s better, right?” Oboro asks, trying to keep his voice encouraging. “We’re just going to walk for a little bit. Just until morning, and when we stop, I’ll help you get cleaned up and find you some clothes and some food. How does that sound?”

Blink. Blink. “Okay,” Oboro says. He picks up the pace again. “We’ve got a little ways to go. Let me know if you need anything. If not, just enjoy the ride.”

He sounds confident, like he actually knows what he’s doing or where he’s going once he passes Musutafu’s borders, like there’s not panic scratching at him, growing stronger with every step. Oboro came prepared to help. He has a backpack full of food and medicine and clean clothes for the kid, and he knows how to defend himself as well as anybody. Better than some, maybe, because he’s taller than most people with the strength to match. It’s not about defending himself. It’s about everything else. Not knowing where he’s going. Not knowing what’s out there. Maybe knowing how to take care of someone but not knowing how to heal them. Having to do all of it alone.

Oboro would have brought Hizashi and Shouta with him, if he could. He spent four months trying to explain, trying to get them to go and see, pointing out all the other things he could see now, too. But nothing he said worked. Nothing he said could convince Shouta to look, or get Hizashi to look past his anger long enough to turn it into something to act on. Eventually Oboro had to stop trying to talk to them about it. If he kept talking, they might guess what he was planning. They might try to stop him. Oboro couldn’t let that happen.

But that means they’ll wake up tomorrow in whatever’s left of Musutafu, and Oboro won’t be there. He won’t have a chance to explain, and he’ll never see them again. If there’s anything Oboro knows about the ones who walk away from Musutafu, it’s that they don’t come back.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

It’s that anniversary. Exactly five years ago that they first announced lockdowns. And I’m in the same spot that I was in five years ago. The same spot literally – not figuratively. Lots has changed, figuratively. But physically, I’m back at my grandparents’ house on the East Coast, where I was when the first lockdown got announced. In 2020, I’d meant to come here just for a short visit, and ended up staying for several months, due to travel being unsafe.

I often say that my current Britcom obsession started in the first lockdown. I say “current” because my dad did raise me on old British sitcoms (Yes Minister, Fawlty Towers, Monty Python, Blackadder, Ripping Yarns, Fry and Laurie, Mr. Bean, mainly) when I was a kid, and The Thick of It has been my favourite show since it came out, I’ve been listening to The News Quiz/Now Show since 2009, I grew up hearing old Goon Show episodes and Beyond the Fringe sketches on my dad’s CDs in the car, Britcom as a whole was not new to me in 2020. But March 2020 was when I first watched Taskmaster, and then became so deeply obsessed with seeing more of all those people, that I ended up where I am now. I remember, when I watched s01e01 of Taskmaster for the first time, in March 2020, I thought it was odd/interesting to see so many unfamiliar faces in a British comedy show. This whole “Britcom” thing that I think I know about, because I grew up watching every episode of Fawlty Towers over and over until I’d memorized every single line… could it be that there have been new comedians with British accents since then, and I don’t know about them?

Who the fuck were all these other people? Walking around as though they were British comedians, when I already knew about British comedians, they were people named Peter Cook and Armando Iannucci, and it had never occurred to me to find out if there might be any more recent ones. Even though I was regularly listening to The News Quiz, and liked a lot of the more recent people on there, but it had somehow never occurred to me to wonder what else those people might do. God, was I ever in for a shock when I got to season 5, and learned that apparently Nish Kumar’s an idiot in real life.

Anyway. I often say that my current Britcom obsession came out during lockdown, which I think implies that it came about because of lockdown. But it didn’t. It stumbled upon Taskmaster about five days before lockdowns were announced. Became utterly obsessed, but knew I wouldn’t be able to watch it all, because I was on a short vacation at my grandparents’ house on the East Coast, before having to get home in time to go coach the national championships, and then start working on the post-season plan, and that doesn’t leave me a lot of time for media consumption (also I guess I had a job and had gone back to college at the time, but those were both online, didn’t take up much time). But that first episode intrigued me. I was confused and left cold until Romesh walked straight into the room and immediately threw the watermelon on the floor. At that point, I laughed so hard that my mother and grandmother, who were on the other side of this house, called out to me to see if I was okay. I said I was fine. And I knew I had to see everything that every person involved in this had ever done.

So I thought I’d see if I could make time in my schedule to get into this show. A couple of days later, I went out for dinner with my family for my mother’s birthday, which was March 12. We drove 30 minutes to the nearest town, and went to a nice restaurant, and celebrated. During dinner, the talk turned to all the news of how this new virus might ruin all our lives. Listening to that talk made me anxious, so I went outside to walk by the ocean until my family was done with that depressing conversation, and we could go back to the house.

The next day, March 13, they announced lockdowns across the board. The national championships, which I’d needed to get home and coach, got canceled. The provincial borders got closed, so my mother and I could no longer drive home that weekend, and ended up staying an extra eight weeks. The fucking world ended, and that felt like too big a thing for me to process at the time, but what I could process was – well, at least I’ll have time to watch that new show Taskmaster now. So I didn’t discover Taskmaster because of lockdown. But lockdown is the reason why it was able to take over my life, first with watching the rest of that show, then with watching every single episode of several other long-running panel shows (WILTY, 8 Out of 10 Cats, Catsdown, Mock the Week, QI, Buzzcocks from Amstell era onward, Big Fat Quizzes) because I wanted to see more of all those people, also watching a whole lot of more recent British sitcoms and shorter-running panel shows, then eventually finding my way to radio/podcasts, becoming obsessed with The Bugle, decided I’d better get into this Kitson guy that all my favourite comedians venerate, and finding that I actually enjoy stand-up a lot more than comedy TV shows, and now I’m here. Also I started a blog, in August 2020, because I became genuinely worried that I’d come out of the pandemic with no friends left, if I kept annoying my friends with infodumping about Britcom, instead of finding people on the internet who actually care about it (I mean, I did end up coming out of the pandemic with far fewer friends than I had when I started, but that was for other reasons, such as I quit our sport because everyone else spent their lockdowns getting super into Joe Rogan/Jordan Peterson instead of getting into Britcom like I did, also I turned 30 and apparently everyone stops having friends after that anyway).

Anyway. It’s interesting to be back in this house, on the 5-year anniversary. Today is March 12, my mother’s birthday again, five years later. She’s back home this time, I called her a couple of times today and sent her lots of pictures and wished her a happy birthday. I’m staying in the same bedroom where I stayed in March 2020, where I first watched Taskmaster and Romesh threw the watermelon on the floor and my mother had to check and make sure I was all right because I laughed so hard that I sounded like I was dying.

This trip is very different from that one. It’s just my dad and I here, this time. My grandparents aren’t here anymore, because they moved into a care home a couple of years ago. But we’ve not sold their house yet, because my parents are trying to work out whether they can massively rearrange all their financial plans in order to keep this amazing house in the family. A house where I’ve had the enormous privilege to visit once or twice a year since I was a small child, out in a rural East Coast community right on the ocean, which my grandparents had built back in 1992, when I was 2 years old.

My mom’s not on this trip, because she had to stay home and take care of things, so I had to wish her a happy birthday a lot over the phone. The house is different, obviously, without my grandparents living here. I’m a different person. John Prine died. That’s weirdly still something I remember, from early in the pandemic, as the moment when I felt like the world was really ending. COVID wasn’t some abstract thing. It killed a legend.

A good friend of mine died in 2021. Sean Lock died a few months later, not all that long after I'd finished watching every single episode of 8 Out of 10 Cats and Catsdown. I mourned Sean Lock as though I'd lost a close friend, partly because spending so many months locked inside watching him on TV for hundreds of hours at a time made me feel that parasocial false sense of knowing him, but mainly because I hadn't processed my real-life friend's death and that seemed like a more possible way to confront the concept.

I’m sitting here, in the TV room, at midnight between March 12 and March 13, my dad’s gone to bed, the house is big and eerie and empty. We’re only here for five days this time, because I have to get home by next week, to go back to work (I work in a school now, which is off this week for March break, that’s why I could come here). I mean, I assume so. The last time I was in this house on March 12, I thought I had to be home from stuff too. Then nationals got cancelled. I assume my work next week won’t get cancelled, though. You have to operate under assumptions like that, or you can’t get through life.

My base assumptions have changed in the last five years. Before the first lockdown, I had this basic sense that the world will probably fundamentally go on. That the stories on the news of events big enough to make someone’s life drastically different than it was before – those are things that happen to other people. I have the enormous privilege of living in a stable society, and society will keep being there. That’s what I thought, pre-2020. It’s hard to remember, now, how it felt to think that way. One way the pandemic affected my anxiety is I don’t have that basic trust in the longevity of society anymore. It’s hard for me to invest in things the way I used to, because I don’t expect anything to last.

And I do realize it’s tiresome for someone as privileged as I am to say “something bad happened in my life and now I don’t trust that everything will be fine anymore”. When a massive number of people in the world have spent their whole lives in war zones, or in regions that are constantly politically/socially unstable, living with famine or colonization or environmental disaster or all those things from which I’ve been insulated by sheer chance. I got to spend the first 29 years of my life thinking the society around me would probably remain basically stable – that’s pretty lucky.

[jaiyemourningstar91]

DONE

Since coming out to two of my, sort of life long friends--two guys who have literally become brother's to me--saved me from self non-existing...you name it. Been there with me through all my ups and downs in life, especially my adult life...all the heartbreaks, depression, etc etc---BUT. Since, coming out to them as queer (a pandemic as I consider myself *pansexual + demisexual*) and becoming more open with them about myself, my beliefs, sexuality, etc. They've kinda been acting different. More judgmental than usual.

Like we built part of our brotherhood based in hard hitting roastings and what have you. No punches pulled at times. So, when I say things are different, this goes beyond all that. And I don't know, maybe it has something to do with us all getting older. We're collectively in or around mid 30s. Life has changed for us in different ways, yet, also remained the same. As our trio has seen them both become rather successful at life and having built lives full of experiences I have never been close to. Traveling to foreign countries, marriage, successful carries, financial stability, decent family, houses with land attached, you know, the finer things in life. As best as one can get in this economy at least...

But me, well, I've always been the overweight loser of the group. Always punching upward trying to break my glass ceiling. Cool, calm, and collected. Gentle giant who always tries to be selfless. Do the right things. You name it. But, in the end, life happens. I've been through the shittiest things. All the bad luck. Everything that could go wrong, has. Bout all that hasn't happened is my own premature burial. I'm at yet another low point having lost my car out of nowhere due to engine failure. Overnight, mind you. No warning signs or anything. Lost a decent paying job, now working only making 11.50 an our at a dollar store. Management at that, which really is a just a glorified cashier to be honest. I was walking to and from, but thankfully I get rides now. Befriended by some people who apparently thought I am a "foodie" because of my weight or me simply saying I enjoy Chinese food? Whatever the case may be, I am thankful for the rides, but I also felt a little insulted. I don't even eat like that. Hell, some days I have to remind myself to. ANYWAY, sidetracked. Back to what this is about.

SO. Today, my 'brothers', well one of them insists I call him. Urgent matters. I'm like, I kinda feel like I know, but BOY did I not know the details exactly until I called.

According to them, they have spoken with their respective spouses, without my knowledge, and decided that I have two options. To move in with one of the two, leave the life I am currently working on, INCLUDING abandoning the love of life, my adopted children (doggos and cats), the friends i have made recently, my job I just started a few months ago, and my roommate too. Like everything I've known after breaking up with my toxic 13 year relationship last year. Scrap it all to apparently come live with either of them and basically pursue the same exact professions they are doing. One is a truck driver. Other is someone who works with mentally challenged children. One I can live rent free until I'm on my feet. The other, I'll have to do things, which weren't disclosed but I am assuming help around house, rent, bills, or something as I find work out there which is like 4 hours away from here. The other is about 2. But yeah...

And the reasoning...

Basically they are tired of me constantly failing at life and not being at the level they have made it to. Saying they think I'm never gonna make it without them at this point. I'll be homeless in my 60s, granted I'll make it that far. No retirement plans. Want me to break up with my boyfriend, without giving me any reasoning behind that by the way. Just straight said, break up, didn't even have the respect to use the right pronouns too, which pissed me the fuck off because I have told them to do so several times now and clearly they aren't taking shit seriously! Like I am really fucking shitty that two people who have been like brothers to me have basically said I'm hopeless, you'll never get anywhere in life unless you pick a path like this some red pill blue pill scenario. And then insinuate that the offer has an expiration as if I'm gonna be left in the fucking dust if I don't accept. Telling me there are no excuses not to pick one of their paths as if my current life has no value at all. As if don't have love here. People who depend on me. Animals too. My own ambitions set out and things I am working towards. Like fuck all that I guess, just so they can turn me into whatever the fuck they are now.

Don't get me wrong. I can see some of the sentiment, but it is the way they come across and the stipulations attached. Like what the actual fuck? And overall, the way they seem to see me now since coming out in general. Like I'm "one of them" which I caught one of them saying before in our group chat, which honestly, these days I hardly pay attention to because most times its just them chatting about all the stuff they do that I can't relate to anyway.

But gawd damn man. I'm baffled and I really think I just need to cut out the new cancer. Cold turkey. The disrespect is real. Sure, they got decent paying jobs, but trust, what goes on in they homes and all the BS they talk about ain't something I want to be around. One married with 6 kids that ain't even his, Grown at that and apparently tearing his new 300k house apart. Go figure. The other has a GF who loves him to death. Brought him into her home. Allowed him to be there while he works on his career. She makes 6 figures a year. Done got him in the same profession. Yet, he saying the moment he gets to where he wants to be, he's just gonna leave her? Really? And also apparently, she got tons of issues too. Like why would I leave the peace I have here?

I have someone in my life for ounce who isn't ripping my heart apart. I have pets. PETS! All my life I thought I was too allergic but turns out, take some allergy pills and I'm mostly ok if I am medicated. Like my life could be better with a better job and a car. Which are things that are on the horizon. It's not hopeless here. A work in progress, yes. But not something to just toss into the fucking void.

AAAAANNNNDDDDD where in the god damn FUCK was this sort of assistance when I NEEEEEDDED IT MOST!!!! I was literally about to be living out of my FUCKING CAR before I moved in where I am now, and neither one of those FUCKERS offered for me to move in or anything! One offered me to take over his apartment he was moving out of, which found out I couldn't offered anyway. That was it. Like...wtf man. All the sudden NOW, you want to be here for me to that degree and then shit on my life and basically say I'll never amount to anything if I don't accept. Homeless at 60. Wow. Fuck me getting a better job, a car, maybe even becoming a published writer, or anything else. As if this economy gonna be any better at that. It is only getting worse. We all gonna end up fucked. Even they still struggling themselves. One too many elaborate trips out the state has them crumbling.

I'm just appalled at this today. Heated. The delivery. The timing. The circumstance. The ultimatum. How I am being made to feel...The shit hurts. Now I gotta take the blade to another connection in my life and sever it. Because I don't want people in my life who apparently don't believe in me. That is the last thing I need. I am trying so fucking hard to turn things around again. It took me 9 of 13 years to finally end a depressive toxic cycle from my ex, and I lost everything because of it. My house, my car, my FUCKING kids! All because I didn't want to continue being with a cheater, a liar, and manipulative bitch! And now, after over 20years, I have to end a brotherhood.

This is why I am introverted and don't make friends anymore. This is why I don't care to date even though I am in an open relationship. People really just end up showing me they ugliness. And I am left hurt. Fuck the sentiment man. Call me worthless, like I haven't come back from the depths of suicidal depression to still be here on my own for the most fucking part. They came in with an assist, but I wouldn't went through with the shit anyway. My kids needed me. They act like they so set for life but they both secretly miserable with their lives and not where they want to be. They can deny that shit all they want to.

The audacity man. I've been through too much and come back from even more, to be considered hopeless.

One these days I'm gonna make it. And when hands are out stretched towards me, they will get nothing. I had always planned to give back to them. Fuck em now. I'll show you worthless.

[mangodestroyer]

I'm so sorry to hear that about your friend! These relationships can be so damaging. And they're surprisingly common, I've come to find. I've been looking at other people's stories on forums and whatnot, and it's jarring to see how awful some people can be.

Sometimes, I feel like I lucked out a little with my ex, when it comes to toxic relationships anyway. Some people's exes are so much worse, and I don't think I would have survived such abuse if my relationship affected me like it has. I may have had intimacy withheld, which really sucks and destroys your confidence when you partner makes it seem like they want those things, but not with you. But some people have the opposite problem, which is so much worse imo. Some people are experiencing SA on the regular and it's depressing af to read about it. Some people are being put in insanely dangerous situations for the sake of torment or being physically abused. It's like some people just exist to cause suffering.

Some people also can't catch a break after they leave the relationship. So far, my ex hasn't even tried to contact me since breaking up with her eight months ago. Some people's abusive exes try to trick them into dating them again, or stalk them, or smear them and isolate their friends and family from them. Apparently, this is called hoovering and it sounds like a fucking nightmare in some cases. Sometimes, it's just some annoying word salad apologies and, "Hey, can we get back together?" Sometimes, it's legal battles to consume so much time and money. Sometimes, it's straight up stalking. And that stalking can lead to someone getting seriously hurt. I seriously hope people are right and my ex does not even care enough about me anymore to do that. Probably never cared that much about me in the first place, as that is what she accused everyone, literally EVERYONE of doing to her. Her friends? Her previous exes? Her family? Me? We all never cared about her, just used her, etc. And everyone just leaves her. Yes, she has been very traumatized growing up. After meeting her family and knowing what dysfunction they had going on, my guess is that they were extremely cold to her and so she learned that people are cold and uncaring. And so thinks everyone is like that and chooses to behave that way herself. Even though I hate her now, I can't help but feel sad thinking about that.

I've been practicing autonomy, via a trauma therapist's suggestions. I've been watching a psychologist who studies toxic relationships and her advice has been a great help! She not only helped me sort out my current relationship, but also some "ancient wounds", as she calls them (childhood trauma that may make someone susceptible). My family was verbally abusive. I had to put up with a hell brother and not get listened to about it. My mom used to be very mean with me (but she isn't anymore). I got bullied a lot in school. I am also neurodivergent. I have social communication disorder and might also be autistic. So I was taught that my neurodiversity is rude and unpleasant and deserving of mockery and needed to go away. It's well known at this point that behavioral therapies from my day, and days previous, teach children to have weak boundaries and put other people's needs before their own. Probably doesn't help that people with social difficulties were once thought to have no empathy, and the myth still persists. Most of us do, in fact, have empathy. Unless we have some other condition that makes us not have empathy. What we actually lack is cognitive empathy. We struggle to read others, and sometimes, we may not fully understand if something we do is hurtful, nor can we always predict that such will be the outcome. But we feel bad when we are made aware that we did cause harm. Your childhood can really tell a lot about your current behavioral patterns. I realize now that I tend to doubt myself, assume I'm far worse than I actually am, and maybe was a little too quick to give my emotional energy to people who claimed to be misunderstood and lonely, when, as it turns out, some people cause their own problems in life. Which always seemed cold to me when people said that. But... it's true.

Like I've said, I've been studying the signs quite a bit. What patterns to look out for. Ofc, no one is perfect. People act out sometimes. They do things that are hurtful without meaning to. You just need to get a feel for what genuine remorse is, as well as intent. My ex was cold and didn't seem all that bothered if I was upset with something. She straight up told me to knock it off when I said part of my body felt numb while we were in the crowded streets of Boston and that I needed to sit down somewhere with less people (I felt like I was going to start crying, I later found out that these were symptoms of a panic attack). She VERY reluctantly did so but then later acted like the trip was a disaster because of it. And before that she was telling me to stop saying my left side feels tingly because she asked if I was allergic to the food we ate and I'd said no. I feel like... literally anyone else in my life (except my brother) would have been very concerned. Jfc, my parents would have been getting me medical attention if they heard I was going numb! Even if I wasn't allergic. My childhood friend likely would have realized it was anxiety and gotten me out of that situation. But for ex? Ig it was me making shit up.

And I felt guilty for letting myself get so anxious like that. My ex still wanted to visit crowded places afterwards and I tried and tried and tried to find a compromise for that. Looking back, it almost feels like she wanted to do things she knew I wouldn't enjoy.

Another one is if you get into an argument with someone and they just seem so obsessed with "winning." Good lord, both my ex roommate and my brother are obsessed with causing fights. And they feel so satisfied when they say things to put you down/make you feel stupid/get you riled up. They both have that "smirk." My brother loved seeing my cry. My roommate really wanted to believe I was suicidal and sometimes laughed when things weren't going well for me (while pretending to be such a sweet person in front of others). Told me I'd be doing myself and others a favor if I died, but always in roundabout ways. I will say, at least my ex wasn't sadistic. My roommate and brother are definitely sadists, and abuser's with sadistic tendencies are just pure evil. They were easier for me to figure out, but it was hell dealing with them. Normal, healthy individuals argue when they're dissatisfied, but want to find a solution/closure and communicate their feelings. They don't want to see someone else suffer for their own entertainment. I've been getting better at detecting ill faith arguments and discussions. Learning not to personalize it and grey rocking are the best tips for this kind of behavior. For now, it seems like I've found a way to shut my brother down. The way he acts around me now feels so different. All of a sudden, he acts a lot more respectful and whatnot. Probably figured out that I finally learned his game and don't tolerate his shit. Probably also helps that I've sharpened my social skills quite a bit and gained "status." He's not a threat to me anymore and I so wish I learned the power of the grey rock sooner.

Again, I'm sorry for going on and on about it. Like I said, figuring this shit out has been life changing. I'm pretty much hyperfixated on it at this point (for once, a hyperfixation that is actually very useful). It's changing the way people interact with me and everything. I'm having a lot more positive interactions. People are starting to invite me places. People actually want to talk to me now. I'm less likely to get shit from people overall (still happens tho). I notice a lot more people smiling at me. Maybe it's because on top of learning toxic behaviors, I looked inwards and changed some of my own bad/detrimental behavioral patterns. Oh, yes. I have my bad days. But I still changed. I'm just not used to all of this. It feels like I entered a different life or something.

My girlfriend made me watch Our Flag Means Death so now I’m making her watch Good Omens

tag yourself who is the good omens gf and who is the our flag means death gf

[honeypiehotchner]

My Deep Blue Love (Tom Hiddleston x Fem!Reader) -- Soulmate AU one shot

This was 100% born out of boredom and loneliness and those damn Soulmate AU POV Tiktoks that I have seen practically 24/7 for the past WEEK on my fyp

(I’m not sure if I’ll do a part 2, rn I have no plans for it)

quick note on the technicality of this one: you lose all ability to see colors when you turn 12 and you don’t regain the ability until you meet your soulmate. but! you have to meet them in person and it has to be a mutual eye contact. pictures/videos of them don’t work, and if you just saw the back of their head or something in person, that doesn’t work either. it’s all about the shared eye contact babeyyy

small disclaimer: Brie Larson is mentioned in here and she has a wife, but that is very much only in this fic, and as far as i know Brie doesn’t have a wife irl lol (i also don’t know if she’s spoken about her sexuality at all so what i’m saying is take it with a grain of salt ok)

Summary: Everyone around you is meeting their soulmate, but you still see in black and white. You’re ready to give up, and basically have, when you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Warnings: None! Just a bit of angst, lots of fluff toward the end 

You knock on your mom’s bedroom door at 4:58am. She’s already awake, sitting up in bed, ushering you over.

With tears in your eyes, you crawl onto her bed, snuggling close to her chest.

“I don’t want to lose my colors,” you whimper.

“I know, baby,” she whispers, kissing the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

You were born 12 years ago on this day at 5:08am, so in a few short minutes, when you officially turn 12 years old, all color will drain from your life.

Or the colors could stay, but that’s only if you’ve somehow already met your soulmate. And that’s rare, nearly impossible.

You squeeze your eyes shut at 5:07 and you don’t open them again until 5:10.

The colors are gone.

+++

twenty years later

You sigh heavily as you receive yet another wedding invite. You are invited to witness the official beginning of Olivia and Jeffrey’s lives together as husband and wife, soulmates for all of time.

The glitter sticks to your fingertips, tiny black dots against your skin. Your friend told you it’s gold. You barely remember what that looks like.

Lately it seems like everyone has been meeting their soulmate. Just yesterday, you were having coffee with a friend when she looked up at the girl sitting behind you, and boom.

“It’s like the world just exploded,” she had said. Colors were everywhere. She immediately left you to go talk to the girl.

You don’t blame her for that. If you had met your soulmate, you probably would’ve done the same thing. But you can’t say for sure because you don’t know.

You wouldn’t be so cynical of it all if your boyfriend of five years didn’t meet his soulmate while the two of you were out at dinner. You wish you could say that he was faking it. But it was clear from his face (and the girl’s) that he wasn’t kidding. It was real. He had met his soulmate, and it wasn’t you.

It’s never you.

You’ve had guys cut off dates before they even start, all because they didn’t see colors when they laid their eyes on you. They refuse to even be friends with you.

All anyone is doing anymore is searching for a soulmate and it’s exhausting when none of them are yours. When all of your friends see color now. When everyone assures you that it’ll happen soon. What does soon even mean?

You grab your ice cream from the freezer and fall onto the couch, flicking to whatever channel has late night shows that aren’t complete garbage.

As usual, you find yourself watching a talk show, and tonight Tom Hiddleston is one of the guests.

You’re sort of familiar with him from a few movies, but other than that, you hardly know anything about him.

“So, Tom, we’ve all been wondering what’s going on with you and Brie Larson?”

“Brie?” Tom asks, clearly shocked to hear this question. “We’re just good friends, that’s all.”

“Oh, she doesn’t make you see any colors?”

“Ah, no, actually, she does not,” Tom chuckles, but doesn’t sound sad at all, surprisingly. “Her wife does that for her, not me, I’m afraid.”

“Oh really?” The host brushes past the mention of Brie’s wife and keeps the focus on Tom, of course. “So is that true, you still don’t see color?”

Your ears perk up at the mention of someone else not seeing in color. It’s rare for anyone to talk about this on television. Most celebrities don’t talk about whether or not they’ve found their soulmate, but more often than not, those that have are quite loud about it.

“Yes, that’s true,” Tom answers. “I still see the world in a lovely black and white.”

You snort, harshly jabbing your spoon into your ice cream. Lovely. Yeah, right.

“Do you really think it’s nice? Do you not miss the colors?” The host asks.

“No, no, I do. I do,” Tom admits. “But I like to think I’ll see them when the time is right.”

You groan, going to Google to look up his age. And when you see he’s 40, you groan even louder. He’s older than you and he still hasn’t met his soulmate. That’s just depressing. How can he sound so optimistic?

“Alright, well, if there’s one thing you wish you could tell your soulmate, what would it be? Maybe they’re watching right now, you never know.”

Tom smiles wide. “Maybe, maybe, um… Oh, so many things,” Tom exhales deeply. “I guess I could be cliché and say I can’t wait to meet them and wait for me, but I think I want to say… I think I want to say I understand. It is frustrating, still seeing in black and white, but our paths will cross soon, I’m sure of it. Until then, my eyes are blue.”

Blue. Blue.

You roll your eyes. You don’t even remember what the color looks like.

+++

seven months later

“I am not going to a movie premiere. You’re insane!”

“Please!” Your friend, Catherine, cries. “You’ll love it, I swear.”

You glare at her over your coffee. “That just makes it sound like you have a trick up your sleeve.”

“I don’t,” she says. “I just want you to take advantage of this and come with us! When will you ever have the chance to go to a movie premiere again?”

She has a point. Dammit. “Touché. How did you get tickets, anyway? Please tell me you didn’t spend thousands for this.” You wouldn’t put it past her, even though you tell her not to every time before she does something like this.

“God, no, Joe surprised me with them earlier. He said he went to school with the lead.”

“Oh. Cool. Who?”

“Tom Hiddleston, I think. Have you heard of him? He’s British, but that’s about all I know. Joe just said they ran into each other the other day and reconnected.”

You stop halfway through a sip of coffee, careful to not choke on it. Slowly, you nod. “Yeah. I...I’ve seen him in a couple things.”

“Apparently, he hasn’t met his soulmate either…” Catherine trails away, raising her eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes. “I heard,” you set your cup down. “He’s probably met them by now though since he blasted it on television like that.”

“Or he’s still searching and you’re still being too cynical.”

“You’re probably right,” you chuckle.

“Sooo, you’ll come?”

You sigh heavily. “As long as you help me pick something to wear.”

+++

“I’m regretting letting you talk me into this already,” you mutter when you nearly trip in your heels.

“Oh, hush,” Catherine swats your arm. “It’s an excuse to get dressed up and look hot for no reason. Take it.”

“Fine.”

Catherine’s soulmate, Joe, was whisked away almost as soon as the three of you stepped inside the venue by some director (you think), but he promised to return in a few minutes. Catherine told him not to worry. She’s used to him being dragged away for conversation. You can see from her face that she’s more proud of him than anything, and not at all annoyed.

Currently, you and Catherine are standing near the small bar, waiting for them to announce that it’s time to take your seats. You desperately want a drink, but part of you knows it would be a bad idea.

One glass of wine can’t hurt, though. Maybe it’ll take your mind off the pain in your feet.

You peel away from Catherine when you see Joe coming back, and you flag the bartender down quickly.

After ordering a glass of white wine, you wait patiently, wishing you had chosen a dress with sleeves. It’s fucking cold in here.

“Darling, you’re shivering, are you alright?”

Your head turns toward the smooth voice, face set and mind trying to decipher whether or not it was a sincere or creepy comment when the world quite literally explodes.

There, standing beside you, concern written all over his face, is Tom Hiddleston. Only now the concern has washed away into awe when your eyes lock with his.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, stumbling even though he’s standing in place.

“Blue,” you murmur. “Your eyes are blue.” Without even thinking or asking, your hand lifts to cup his cheek, and then you pull back, “Shit, sorry—”

But he grabs your wrist gently, placing your palm on his cheek. “It’s alright.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I thought you didn’t exist,” you whisper in reply. But here he is. His eyes are blue, his lips are pink, he has tiny brown freckles all over his rosy cheeks. You look back to his eyes, narrowing your own. “You liar. Your eyes have green in them, too.”

“Do they really?” Tom chuckles. “I never would’ve known.”

“That’s why you have me,” you tease, and you don’t know where any of this is coming from, yet it doesn’t feel like you’re pretending. It feels like you’re finally yourself.

His other hand tangles with yours as he nods. “That’s why I have you, indeed.”

At this time, the lights in the theatre begin lightly flashing, signaling that it’s time for everyone to begin making their way to their seats.

But neither you or Tom move one inch.

The only issue is people are beginning to stare.

You notice it first, so you slowly pull your hand from his cheek. This movement shocks him back to reality, too, and he blinks a few times, yet he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“I, um, I have to make a speech,” he says. “But then I can come back to you. Will you save me a seat?”

“Don’t you have to sit up front?”

He nods. “I do, but—”

“Then I’ll come with you.” You aren’t sure if it’s the fact that he hasn’t let go of your hand yet, or if it’s because you’ve been waiting so long that now you don’t want him to be further than an arms length away from you, but you mean what you say.

“Are you sure?” He asks, but you both need to make a decision quickly because you can see someone waving from the wings, most likely trying to get Tom’s attention.

“I’m sure.”

He doesn’t question it, in fact, he grins, and brings your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “Let’s go, then.”

[fangurk]

She’s Always There (Paul Lahote x Reader)

Key:

Y/n: Your Name

Y/l/n: Your Last Name

Y/n/n: Your Nickname

Y/e/c: Your Eye Color

Y/h/c: Your Hair Color

Prompt Given To Me By @ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhghhhh.tumblr.com: hey!! so the reason I'm messaging is because I wanted to request something but can't fit it all into an ask lmao. anyways could i please request a Paul Lahote x reader where the reader has been super close to the whole pack for years and has been Paul's imprint but doesn't know it (bc Sam thought it would be best to keep u away from it all) and they decide to finally tell you about being shapeshifters and being Paul's imprint and you're so mad about them not telling u earlier and there's a huge argument and they and Paul tries to calm you down but you say stuff like 'leave me alone' and things like that and it sounds like you're rejecting him/the bond in ur angry breakdown. anyways Paul is heartbroken and can't get out of bed or eat or anything so the guys finally convince you to come back bc they and Paul need you and it's just the reader cuddling with him and getting him out of bed to take a shower and eat and he realizes that you're not going anywhere and it's just like healing the imprint bond? sorry for this WALL of text, I've just had this idea stuck in my head for a while lol. if you don't want to do it, that's completely fine!! thank you for your time ♡

ok so my guy,, bc this fic has been stuck in my head for a bit, some scenes have developed? so idk i hope this isn't too much, but if u do write it, would u be willing to add like some angst to it, obvi, and maybe a scene/part lol where when the reader tries to get him to shower (bc the misinterpreted rejection made him like super depressed and he just felt low about himself) he won't shower, because he doesn't want to come out and the reader is gone. so either they shower together (not smutty just angst&fluff) or she sits like in the bathroom while he showers LOL. and when he feels a bit better, they go down to eat and he's touching some part of her at all times. if this is too much to like,, include then that's a-okay. i just need to get this OUT of my MIND ugh lmao!/!

Reader Gender: Female

Summary: The Reader has been friends with most of the pack members for her whole life. Which is why, after months of silence and strange changes, she was willing to let them back into her life— until she finds out she’s been told lies that leave her in danger, of course. After a big freak out and two weeks of avoiding them, the boys come begging for her help; it turns out that Paul has some wolf-y claim on her, and whatever she said to him has left him worse for wear...

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Nudity, Angst, and Cursing.

A/n: this is literally like a whole novel I’m so sorry I got carried away. this is kinda based on a lot of fics I read where the imprint has the potential to really hurt people and I named Paul’s dad.

Word Count: 2.9k+

“The legends are real!?”

Y/n Y/l/n hasn’t ever been so disturbed in her entire life.

After weeks of radio silence, Sam Uley’s little ‘gang’, mostly consisting of people she’d known since childhood, had slowly trickled back into her life. What started as a grocery run with Paul or a movie with Jared had turned into big bonfire parties including Jacob Black and his gaggle.

But that was months ago. Months. And now, as she sits by a fire, surrounded on either side by them, they decide to tell her their little secret?

“Y/n.” Sam says as she abruptly stands, eyes stern and hand raised placatingly.

His actions only served to upset her more and her skin bristles with irritation. Sam was acting as if she, a human surrounded by shape shifters, was the unstable one. As if she could do any damage to things built to kill vampires.

“Don’t you dare, Sam.” She clenches her fists, glaring right back at him. “It’s been months- months- and you’re telling me now?”

“It’s not exactly an easy thing to bring up.” He reasons, voice a little less demanding. “We all wanted to be sure that you were ready to know.”

“Ready?!” Y/n laughs mirthlessly, y/e/c eyes wide with disbelief, “When was I supposed to be ready Sam? W-when one of you gored me? When a cold one ripped me apart?”

Her hands shake as she puts them on her forehead, blinking back tears. Growing up all she’d ever heard were stories of humans getting dragged into fights between wolf and vampire, and she couldn’t bring herself to look Emily in the eye because it was suddenly apparent that wolves alone could hurt people too.

It was so bad, whatever happened to Emily, that they said a bear mauled her— Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“It’s not like that, Y/n/n.” Embry chimes in, reaching out to grab his friend's arm.

She yanks her body out of the way and gathers her belongings quickly.

“What is it like then, Call?” She holds her bag to her heaving chest, “because it seems to me that you all have the ability to turn into giant, slobbery freaks that are built for killing vampires and, after completely dropping me for weeks, you decided to keep it secret from me for months. Did it even occur to you that I would’ve been better off knowing right off the bat?!”

No one says anything. Eight shifters and two of their girlfriends sit there, just staring at her like she was speaking a different language.

“You know,” Y/n has to clear her throat to steady her wavering voice, “had you guys really been souped-up on drugs like everyone says, maybe I could’ve handled the lying. But my life was clearly potentially in danger, and you let me hang around without saying anything. I- God I don’t want to see you people right now.”

She leaves with that, stepping over logs and storming back down the beach with determination. Faintly over the roar of her heartbeat, she can hear someone scrambling to stand behind her.

“Wait!— shit, sorry-” Paul grunts, jogging to catch up with her- “Y/n-“

With an unusual gentleness, his warm hand wrapped around her forearm. For a moment, deep in the back of her mind, a foreign feeling tells her to stop, to listen; but that small voice is quickly smothered by the rational part of her brain, and she wrenches her arm from his grip.

“Don’t touch me!” She snaps, lowering her voice, “Leave me alone- I need to be alone.”

Paul stands there, dumbstruck, an unreadable look in his eyes as she walks away. And he’d continue to stand there, looking like a kicked puppy long after her retreating form became a blur amongst the darkness of the beach.

“Paul?” Sam is hesitant, hand hovering over the younger boy’s shoulder a minute before he touches him, “You okay?”

Shrugging his leader’s arm off his shoulder, Paul sighs. “No...I...I’m just gonna head home.”

Instead of going in the directions of the cars, the wolf stalks off toward the woods; Emily stands from her seat, wrapping her sweater more around herself as she watches Paul leave. Concern is written all over her features.

“He’ll be fine, Em,” He pulls her in for a hug, “it’ll all work out eventually.”

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Y/n does a good job of avoiding them for a while.

She turns her phone off a few days in and avoids going to First Beach, even when Washington gets a rare, warm summer feel. Books that have sat long forgotten on her shelves get read and TV shows she���s always meant to catch up on get watched; it’s boring and she runs out of options, at one point thinking of dying her hair y/f/c just to spice things up, but it allows her to think. (Or at least it allows this strange little voice in the back of her head to tell her that she needs to go back to them.)

The next time she sees any of the boys is exactly two weeks after the bonfire incident.

She’s curled up on her couch, picking at some of the Clearwaters’ fish fry and barely watching an episode of ANTM, when a fist comes banging down on her door. Turning off the TV, she tiptoes to the window, peeking under the curtain as carefully as she can.

As she expected, Jared Cameron and Embry Call are on her porch, the former standing in front of her door with his hip cocked, the other rooting around in her mother’s plants for something. Cringing, she hopes if she’s quiet enough that they’ll just go away.

Her front door opens within minutes, however, and she realizes her hoping is fruitless.

Should’ve known you can’t hide from wolves, she can’t help but think bitterly.

“Y/n?” Jared calls out through the house, “we know you’re here.”

“Yeah, and you guys should probably move your spare key,” Embry tacks on, flicking the light switch to the living room up, “I've known you forever and it’s still in the same place.”

From her spot by the window, the y/h/c haired girl glares at the two boys, arms crossed over her chest. Embry gives her a lopsided grin and holds the key out to her, his bud plopping down on the couch and pulling her abandoned plate into his lap.

Y/n extends a hand to take the key.

“Has it really been in the same place?” She sounds a little more defeated than she’d like.

“Yeah, it’s always been in your mother’s cornflower pot.”

“That’s...kinda sad.” She wrinkles her nose, pocketing the key with the intention to hide it better later, “but uh, I’ve been ignoring you for two weeks for a reason. Peacefully breaking into my house kinda furthers my need for space.”

Embry scratches the back of his neck.

“Well,” He says, “we need you to come back, man. Paul won’t talk to anyone- Sam doesn’t know if he’s eating, and he won’t even get out of bed for patrol! He needs his imprint-”

“His what?” She cocks her head to the side and Jared snorts from the couch.

“She left before we got there, nimrod,” Jared mocks through a mouthful of food, “she doesn’t know what an imprint is.”

He lets out an indignant “Hey!” as Y/n walks by, snatching her plate back from him on her way to the kitchen. Embry chases after her, a grumpy Jared jumping up from the couch to follow.

“You’re his imprint— you’re basically his soulmate!”

“Really?” She says warily, sealing the fish and putting it back in the fridge.

Both boys nod clumsily.

“You remember a few weeks ago when you saw each other for the first time again and he kinda just stood there like an idiot while you talked?”

“Yeah? Oh!-” She brings her hands up to her mouth, brows furrowed as she recalls.

It was exactly Jared had said. She and Paul had seen one another for the first time in a long time and the minute her y/e/c eyes looked into his, it was like he’d been struck dumb.

Embry gives her an encouraging look, “An imprint is...It's not like love at first sight, really. It's more like… gravity moves… suddenly. It's not the earth holding you here anymore, she does… You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, or a friend. When you snapped at him last week he thought you were rejecting him….”

A part of her thought about how absurd it was that he knew that whole speech. But the bigger part of her came to a realization that made her stomach churn.

“So he's all depressed… because… of me?” She whispers, leaning back on the counter.

Embry, always a rather sympathetic person, opens his mouth to comfort her, but Jared cuts him off.

“Basically. So are you going to come with us so we can help Paul or are you going to continue being petty?”

In any other circumstance, Y/n probably would’ve thrown something at her for calling her petty. She felt she was completely justified in her actions. A part of her wonders if she can really believe them— they’d spent months lying to her after all. But a larger part thinks about Paul, curled up in his bed, slowly desecrating because he thinks she rejected him.

If it were really all some ploy to get her to listen to them, then she’d at least be the person who chose the well-being of her friend over a petty disagreement.

“I’m coming.” She affirms, pushing herself off the counter, and letting the boys lead her to the car.

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

Jared and Embry drop her off in front of the Lahote household. They tell her something but she can’t really hear them over her heartbeat, she doesn’t even know they’re gone until it’s too late to turn back.

Getting into the house wasn’t the hard part. Paul’s father, Cyrus, had been leaving as she arrived, and, after he watched her stare at the house with a fearful expression for a few minutes, he happily let her in. The hard part was willing her legs to take her up the stairs to Paul’s room, and then it was opening his bedroom door.

Y/n has known Paul since they were eight, but she was afraid of him until they were eleven. He wasn’t mean, per se, but his anger made him do mean things; she wasn’t entirely happy with puberty and it’s monthly gifts, but whatever it did to make her suddenly un-afraid of him she was grateful for. But now, standing in front of his bedroom door, she had a nagging fear that Paul would revert to that eight year old boy who threw lunch boxes and twisted arms behind backs until people cried.

The door creaks slightly as she struggles to push it open.

His room is almost completely dark except for the light coming from the hallway behind her. Trash and dirty clothes have formed a compact layer on his bedroom floor, foot sized holes leading up to the twin sized bed in the corner. On the bed, amongst the blankets she’s sure he doesn’t need, is Paul— or at least, a Paul sized lump.

As gross as it is, she’s kind of relieved he’s been eating.

“Paul?” She whispers tentatively, stepping toward the bed.

The lump flinches and turns toward her.

“Y/n?”

If the room and the description of his state weren’t heartbreaking enough, his voice definitely was. Hollow, rough, and small, everything it never was, everything Paul wasn’t.

“Is that you?”

“Yeah...it’s me..”

She carefully steps over to the bed, and Paul slowly sits up, pushing his blankets to the side. There’s a beat of silence as she stands between his legs, his reluctant hands coming to rest on her waist after a minute. Y/n let’s him have another to gather his thoughts.

“You really came…” Tears well up in his eyes and loops his arms around her back.

She runs a hand through his hair. “I did, and I’m so sorry, if I had known—”

Paul nuzzles her stomach, “S’fine, you didn’t know, and you’re here now.”

There’s a sort of cute, euphoria lacing his voice and he’s visibly much more relaxed.

“Just don’t ever say that again…”

“I won’t, I promise.”

She’s surprised when he manhandles her into his lap, but she doesn’t really mind. He’s warm and strangely familiar and something about it just— clicks.

“When was the last time you spent, I dunno, a minute or two out of your room?” Y/n asks softly, y/e/c eyes glancing about the room.

The shifter’s only response is a shrug, too busy nosing around her neck with vigor. When he finds a certain spot, it makes her squeak, and this seems to excite him like a puppy finding out its favorite toy makes noise.

“You need to bathe, eat something substantial,” She intertwines their fingers, “and the...pack...they’re really worried about you— are you even listening to me?”

He looks up at her then and flashes her a sheepish smile, answering her question. Pursing her lips, she pulls his arms from around her.

“C’mon, Paul.” She stands up and takes his hand. “We’re gonna get you cleaned up.”

She moves toward the door, urging him forward, only to be jerked to a stop as he stays put. He looks a little distressed when she turns back to him, brows furrowed, almost like he’s in pain.

“Paul?”

He grunts, jaw clenched as the cogs turn in his head. Y/n cocks her head and reaches out for his other hand. It felt like some sort of supernatural intuition, one she’ll blame on the imprint and ask Emily about later.

“Paul, hon, why won’t you come shower?”

“I’m afraid you'll leave,” He says bashfully, “it’s stupid, I know, but part of me is afraid you’ll leave while I’m in the shower.”

Y/n couldn’t help but feel a little heartbroken at his confession. Paul was part wolf, and part of being part wolf was imprinting— she almost wishes she’d have stayed long enough to listen, or been able to focus as the boys debriefed her on the ride over because only being able to speculate how much she’d actually hurt him was eating her alive. He wouldn’t even shower, something he desperately needed to do, because of what she’d said.

Taking a deep breath, she barely registers the words she’s about to say.

“I’ll wait with you, I’ll sit on the toilet, you’ll see me there.”

And true to her word, Y/n does sit on the toilet while Paul showers, reading the information on soap bottles to distract herself from the fact that he was there next to her, very naked. Occasionally he asks her what she’s doing, and she reads the ingredients out loud to the best of her ability, and he laughs a little— she tries to hide her smile, but she was too happy he was laughing.

She closes her eyes when he gets out, letting him dry himself off and pull on some clean shorts. He throws the wet towel at her when he’s done, eliciting a “Hey!” that makes him laugh again.

Now that he’s clean, the two of them descend into his quiet house. Y/n navigates the kitchen, her wolf attached to her hip and being less than helpful, and makes them both something to eat— he doesn’t do much more than stand behind her, wrapped around her, making her life more difficult.

“I’m so happy you came back.” He says, watching her work.

“I was always going to.” Y/n responds, her voice sure and steady.

They talk as they eat, sitting across from one another at the too big table in the Lahote household. Talk about how this was going to work, admitting feelings that always lingered, and everything in between; she hooks her leg around his, watching him scarf down his meal with a wrinkled nose and fondness glittering in her y/e/c eyes.

He’s...gross...but he’s hers, she’s kind of stuck with him.

A date is planned. An actual date.

Paul promises to take her to the local diner (and to wear a shirt, for once.)

“I’ve been saving up for something like this.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and you can get that dessert you like.”

Y/n laughs softly, but heat spreads up her neck and settles in her ears and cheeks. It’d been a long time since that had been her favorite food, but it was the thought that counted...

When Cyrus Lahote returns from work later that night his son and the Y/l/n girl are awkwardly situated on his couch— him on his back, snoring, her lying on top of him, face tucked into his neck, also fast asleep. The older man turns off the TV and tosses a blanket over the pair, ascending up the stairs with a smile on his face.

Y/n Y/l/n was trustworthy. She’s always there when Paul is in a rut too big for him to handle...

[writingsbychlo]

put her together again (02)

word count; 6241

summary; mitch realises just how literal your instructions an be taken, and teh extent of your trauma, before helping you get over a major breakthrough.

notes; pretty major stuff in this part, so I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing about it. I know we’re moving quiet fast through the time spaces right now, but that’s kinda’ just the way it has to go.

warnings; reference to abuse, reference to brainwashing, reference to injury.

Following a rocky introduction to his life, the ripples you caused seemed to smooth out fairly easily after that. Mitch found himself acting less and less like you were a baby in need of protection, and instead, you had become more like a simple accessory to his life. You reminded him of a cat, you didn’t really talk to him, but you simply coexisted, moving around the shared space and living together without ever having to talk.

You no longer sat in silence and sulked in your room, though, because he’d managed to coax you out. Simple tasks and basic chores meant you were pulling your weight around the house, and he definitely notice that you’d occasionally things would be in slightly different places, objects cleaned an inspected while he wasn’t looking, as you learned your whereabouts. Books to read, paper and pencils to draw with, anything he could think of to try and get a little information of you, because talking never worked.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying, this wasn’t exactly his ideal assignment, a year out of action as he babysat a moody assassin wasn’t something he thought he’d be spending his life doing, and so he was determined to try and make breakthroughs with you and learn as much about you as he possibly could, because the sooner you started talking and making progress, the sooner you’d be off of his hands. He just had to ensure you were stable and functional enough to undergo whatever therapy and rigorous interviewing it was that Irene had lined up for you.

You’d had a few conversations with him, which were mostly one-sided as he spoke and you stared at him with that same blank look, and over what had been almost a month now, Mitch had flittered through a range of emotion. Confusion, concern, anger, irritation, helplessness, and now back to confusion. This confusion, however, was mixed with some form of sadness and pity for you, the broken-toy vibe that you gave off made him permanently feel depressed and exhausted himself, and he was grateful for the reprieve when you seemed to perk up - even just a little bit - while reading of drawing.

The books were mostly just everything that he had around at the time, and you must’ve read everything on his shelves at least twice right now, even the ones written in Arabic that he’d forgotten he’d ever owned, which had lead to an interesting discovery that you apparently knew five languages fluently, and had a reasonable understanding of a further three. You were still icy and cold with him, and so he gave up on trying to ask you what the drawings meant, encouraging you to just draw whatever came to your mind when you picked up a pencil, most of your doodles and scribbles meaning nothing to him, but he faxed copies of them all over to Irene, and saved them in a folder when you were done with them.

The most startling thing he had learned, though, was just how young you’d been when you were taken.

A simple series of questions he’d asked you one day over dinner, stemming from his desperate attempt to find out more about you at the beginning o week two, an answer that had shaken him to his very core and sent his insides twisting in disgust and sadness for you, and his appetite had quickly drained after hearing your response. All he had asked was how old you were, how long you’d been doing this, and you had seemed entirely unaffected when you’d answered.

“Unit eight has been active for twenty years, six months and eight days - and has been in service for eleven years, three months and seventeen days.”

He remembered Irene saying that the agents were taken young, but that was younger than anybody could even remember, your life was based entirely on the way you’d been raised, on being grown and shaped into a weapon for a company that would use you until you died. You had no childhood, no young adulthood, you had nothing but the memories of a cell and an abuser, and even he had a childhood he could look back on before his own parents had passed away.

You weren’t a puzzle, you were like a broken glass, shattered on the floor and chipped, but it was his job to put you back together again. You’d never be whole, never the way you were before, you’d be splintered and cracked, but you’d no longer be shattered, and he was determined to achieve that for you.

Setting your mind up to do something productive seemed to be the best way to make progress with you, and he began to notice a steady pattern of what made you seem like you were on the verge of a breakthrough, and what made you seem like you were closing back in on yourself.

When you used shades of blue in your artwork, you seemed to be denoting happier scenes, things like snow and food, or simple sketches of what you were seeing around his home, and Mitch had decided that blue must be your favourite colour, even if you didn’t know it yourself, because you gravitated towards blue things. You liked to sit at the end of the couch with the blue cushion, and you favourite the deep navy hoodie he’d given to you, and the blue body wash in the bathroom seemed to be used up far more quickly than the yellow or red one, even though it had no scent other than sea salt, and the other two had a fruit essence that he’d originally thought you’d enjoy upon purchase.

Reds and purples seemed to donate darker times, the tips of the pencils often broken and in need of sharpening, and he had to buy those far more often than any others, because you pressed down harder into the paper, scribbling aggressively as you drew cages and corridors, until dark images with barely any white paper left revealed were created, and these must’ve been colours associated with things that hurt you in the past. Blue brought you calmness and serenity, and even made you more open to answering his questions or listening to him talk at dinner, but red and purples made your mood turn sour, and on those nights a palpable tension shrouding in darkness would often hang over the room.

You liked it when you were able to read sci-fi books, he’d noticed because his one copy of that genre on the bookshelf had never been put back after it had been picked up, always seeming to follow you around the house, even if you were on other books at the time. Mitch figured you liked to escape into another world, that you just wanted to get away from the life that you actually lived to find a better one, and he wasn’t entirely sure he blamed you. He was taking notes, jotting it down, the way you favoured certain things over another, and the way you scowled when he turned the vacuum on, but liked to sit in the laundry room when the washer was on, even though it was a little broken and rattled. The clock that clicked loudly with every second that passed was something he often found you sitting near on the bad days, your fingers twitching in time with the clicks, and he’d be damned if he said he didn’t find it at least the littlest bit endearing that you were able to search and find comfort in somewhere that was probably unfamiliar and rather scary to you.

The weeks passed on and on, your walls crumbling bit by bit as you seemed to grow more comfortable around him, choosing to sit with him on the couch when you ate dinner in the living room instead of at the table, and you had even begun to mimic some of his actions, taking on basic responsibilities around the house. You washed up, and unpacked the shopping when he brought things back, and he knew you tidied your room, because while you kept the door shut to him, he would occasionally catch a glimpse inside, and it was always spotless.

Luckily for Mitch, he’d managed to wrangle himself a few moments free at the end of each week. He set you off with a few hours worth of tasks each Friday, before slipping out to the coffee shop to get himself a well deserved hot drink and moment of quiet, before doing stopping by at the gym, and then going on to do some shopping. 

From midday until five PM every Friday afternoon, Mitch got a little bit of freedom to himself, but as of two days ago, that had gone too, Irene telling him he was to come in and start giving her actual reports on how you were doing. 

He wasn’t ready for the earlier rise this morning, and apparently, it had been a bad day. You’d spent the night screaming as you dreamt until the early hours, and so he’d only had a few moments of sleep, barely scraping himself out of bed in the morning. You’d been a challenge, to say the least, unwilling to leave your room after the awful dreams you’d had, until he’d shouted at you to come out and eat, a thing he was feeling guilty for now as you’d trudged from the room with your head hung low, and refused to meet his eye as he rushed around to get ready. 

He felt guilty about a lot of things that had happened this morning, the most important of which being the fact that he had completely forgotten to go through the list of tasks with you, which he had spent an hour and a half making for you last night as he sat in the home office, his face popped up on his hand as he leaned over the desk and started at the sheet of paper, while trying to think of ways to help you without seeming like he was taking advantage of you to do household jobs, or patronising you by treating you like an incompetent child. He had rushed out before giving you the list, the paper sitting on his desk still, the office in which you never entered, the door closed from his exit last night, and he was genuinely convened that he would come home and find you still sitting at the kitchen table, legs numb and body aching from holding yourself upright for almost five hours, a dish still sitting in front of you and hours wasted once again. 

He had realised this about thirty minutes into a meeting with Irene, one that had gone on for a further two hours, and then Stan had caught him in the corridor to discuss the upkeep on his training, before demanding a sparring session, which had taken up another hour of his time, and despite how much he knew he needed to get home to you, the two of you were rapidly running out of food, and so he was certain he needed to make at least a bare minimum shopping trip. 

And so over four hours later, with shopping bags in hand a twisting feeling in his gut, Mitch was trudging his way back up the stairs to his apartment and rifling through his pockets to find his keys, only to remember after five whole minutes, that they were clasped between his teeth. It had been a long fuckin’ day.

Muscles aching, stomach rumbling, and silence meeting him when he opened the door, Mitch let out a deep sigh as he saw you. 

It was out of relief, his lips flicking up at the sides as he realised at least one thing had gone right today. Your hair was still a little wet and your clothes were changed, clearly, you had showered, and you were peering at him over the edge of your book, face stoic and blank as you looked at him, and he kicked the door shut, moving around the room to place the bags down on the kitchen counter.

Your pencil set was out on the coffee table too, a new drawing facing upwards, this one decorated with splotches of greens and blues, a house in the foreground and a sunny day, signs along the road and toys in the garden, and it was possibly the most detailed drawing you’d done yet, similar to the line sketch you’d done a few weeks ago, the comparison in his mind flashing up as a green flag. 

“I was worried that you’d stay in that chair all day, I’m glad to see that you haven’t.”

It had almost seemed like you’d shrugged, closing the book you were reading and sitting up to look at him over the edge of the couch as he put away all the food and supplies he’d bought for you both. “Based on previous assignments, it was logical that the handler would be satisfied with the unit’s task choices.”

He stilled, mulling it all over in his mind. 

On the one hand, he was incredibly happy to see that you were gaining your ability to come up with ideas for yourself, even if you were doing it to please other people. It was the first time you’d gained a little individuality, choosing what you wanted to do from a list of ‘approved’ tasks, and just like that, he realised you’d made a pretty impressive breakthrough.

On the other hand, though, you saw him as your new handler, and that made him feel like yous aw him as a possible threat and someone who might hurt you, and he certainly never wanted you to feel like that. He wanted you to be safe with him, he wanted you to trust him and open up, not see him as someone who’d hurt you.

He finished tidying away, leaving out some pasta and basic ingredients for mac and cheese on the counter, and you were still sitting on the couch, watching him move around and waiting to be told what to do now that he was back. 

“I think we should have a schedule, y’know? We can make a routine, then you don’t have to wait for me to tell you what to do.”

“Differing to the current routine?”

If he wasn’t mistaken, there was almost a hint of judgement and sass in your voice, spoken to him like he was just supposed to know that, and he placed his hands flat on the counter, raising his brows at you. “We already have a routine?”

You fixed him with a look that he couldn't quite decipher, before getting up and walking past him, disappearing into your room for only a moment, before re-emerging, a sheet of paper clasped in your hands. 

Handwritten in the pencils you had scattered around, a pang shot through his chest as he got a glimpse of your writing, something that was unique to you, and so, in turn, felt so personal and special in a way that he couldn't quite place, but deeply appreciated. Taking a seat at the table, you pushed it towards him, head bowed down to look at the slightly stained wood, and he didn’t like standing above you, forcing you to see him as a superior, so he sat down opposite you.

Picking it up, his eyes scanned along it, taking in each and every note you had written, timeframes jotted down alongside tasks and notes, and a lot of things suddenly began to come to light about the way you acted, and when you wouldn't inevitably emerge from your bedroom, before retreating back into it. You stuck to this timetable like your life depended on it, and he was certain that at a time it had, but not anymore, and so making a routine wasn’t the direction to go in. He didn’t need to reinforce that behaviour, he needed to break you out of it. 

Your entire life up until now had been based on punishments and time frames, and so what you needed were reward and spontaneity, to show you that you still had an entire life to live, if you could just let him free you from the box you’d been forced into. Mealtimes, work out schedules, study breaks, there was no free time, your day was filled with waiting on handler tasks and basic upkeep from the moment you got up to the moment you went to bed, and he shook his head in distaste, turning it back to you.

“Do you want to go for a walk? It’s a little late, but it’s not too cold tonight.”

“Exercise is scheduled between 10 AM and 3 PM every day.” He felt his head tip to the side a little as he studied you, licking over his lower lip and bringing it to sit clenched between his teeth as he nodded. 

“I saw that, but I was thinking we could make an exception.”

“Is this an assignment?” You were pulling the paper closer to yourself, but looking up at him now, meeting his eye as you waited for an answer. 

“No, it’s not an assignment, it’s fun.”

“Fun?” You echoed him, and he grinned a little as he watched you, and there was no doubt that there was judgement in your tone this time, a slight underlay of confused mocking, and while it wasn’t quite the emotions he wanted you t greet him with, it was more than the monotone and clipped sentences that he’d been awarded so far.

“Okay, so that’s a no on the walk then, but we will come back to that.” You raised a single brow at him, and the entirety of his bad day seemed to pale into insignificance as the first semblance of a personality from you dripped in, and it turns out, you were rather sassy. “You did good today, and everyone loves pasta, so how about you let me set us off some mac and cheese, and then we can rework this routine a bit, okay?”

“Command understood.”

You sat back in the chair, giving him a curt nod and crossing your arms over your chest as you waited.  “Not a command, okay? Just a suggestion, something to be done, but I’m not commanding you.”

Your mouth opened, before you paused for a second, and he watched carefully, before you swallowed, bringing your gaze up to his own boldly. “Understood.”

“Progress.”

That statement was more for himself than for you, and he pulled out an oven dish and the jar of sauce he had, beginning to measure up pasta quantities as he prepared the meal for you both to share. During that time, he’d heard you get up, anew piece of paper being fetched and your pencil case, bringing them both back to your seat and spilling the wooden sticks out over the surface. 

He had watched on in interest as he poured you both a glass of water while you arranged the colours to your liking, perfect rows in colour order, and you seemed satisfied with your job, folding your hands into your lap as you waited on him to join you. Pulling out a chair beside you instead of opposite you, your body stiffened slightly beside his own, but you didn’t flinch away or move, and so he decided to take that as a good sign. The original schedule sat by it for comparison, one you’d work through every day, and he hovered his hands over the lines of pencils, waiting for your approval on the act, and you offered him a curt nod to allow him to pick one up. 

The first action he took was to write times along the side, knowing that he couldn't snap you out of it too much, he didn’t want to startle you or make you panic and curl back in n yourself, not when you were taking so many steps forward now, and so he wrote the times from morning to evening all the way along the side, and drew lines to match each one, before picking up two new colours of pencils. 

“I’ll be green, and you’ll be blue, okay?”

You nodded, leaning in a little as you watched him transfer some of the events and items across onto the new sheet, using the blue pencil first as you changed some things around. Breakfast was at ten o’clock instead of eight, and you would only work out for one hour a day instead of a killer five hours every day. Dinner would be at five, and you had no commitments after that, but you had household jobs scheduled at four just before you ate. 

Then, he moved onto himself, adding in green in the filler hours, such as his office work and his own workout, and he made a mental note to show you his home gym, so that you didn’t feel like you had to be locked away in your room. He also put in the time for showers and personal grooming, which was optional depending on the day, before he let out a proud sound, and presented it to you for approval. 

“There are empty spaces. Units must not be left without tasks.”

“You won’t be left without things to do.” He turned, tapping the tip of your nose with a pencil and your face screwed up at the ticklish touch, before resetting to the blank expression he was oh-so-familiar with. “Those are called free time, or downtime. Time to relax, and do whatever you want to do. Like read, or draw, or whatever.”

You only nodded, seeming suspicious of the idea, but you didn’t argue and so he was happy with that, because he had the chance to help you discover who you wanted to be, and who you were when you weren’t under anybody’s control except your own. 

“How about we say that once a week, we’ll go for a walk after dark? Just around the block, but it’ll do you good to get some fresh air.” You gave him your confirmation, and he felt like tonight you’d taken more steps in the last hour that you had in the previous six weeks of living together. Pushing his chair back, you flinched a little at the wood on the tiles, and with a mumbled apology under his breath, before he was rearranging the things pinned up on the fridge to make space for the sheet. “How about we keep this out here, where we can both see it, yeah?”

Your response game after a moment’s deliberation, but you were tucking your hands into the sleeves of the sweater in a way that made you look adorable as you let a little of you defences down again, seemingly without realising you’d done it, using his clothing like a suit of armour as you shielded yourself within them; “That would be acceptable.”

“Great. Now, it’s pasta time.” 

You didn’t fight him on that, but he did hear you sniff the air as he opened the oven, and Mitch smirked to himself as he pulled the tray out and up onto the surface, bubbling cheese sauce and steaming pasta, and he fished around for two dishes and a serving spoon with which to sort the meal with. 

Grabbing at forks and covering up the leftovers but leaving it out in case you wanted more, he placed the dish down before you, taking a seat beside you and while you didn’t say the words ‘thank you’, he saw what was most definitely a grateful look in your eyes, and he ducked his head, stirring his food around and stabbing at his pasta, shoving hot food into his mouth. He was slightly startled, to say the least, when you started a conversation, never having optionally chosen to be the first to talk before, and he looked up at you expectantly as soon as he heard your intake of breath;

“What are the recommended ‘free time’ activities?”

The routine seemed to work for you, it opened you up a little more to him and made it easier for the two of you to bond, but he quickly realised that having you sound when you had no idea what to do was slightly less functional. 

You now seemed to follow him around like a lost puppy, and you still didn’t talk as much, so he didn’t mind having you around, but he felt sorry for you. You would sit and just keep him company silently as he did his office work, for hours at a time, or slink away to workout and take a shower before returning. Every book he had was now rearranged on the shelves, and you were running out of paper, beginning to sketch the same things over and over again because you had nothing else to do, and he quickly realised that his apartment was nowhere near as entertaining as he thought it was. 

Sometimes, the two of you would watch a movie in the evening, but the television gave you headaches after too long, not that you ever voiced the pain but he could tell from the way you’d squint and rub at your eyes, getting a little cranky before going to bed and rubbing your temples. That meant you still needed an adjustment period to screens, not to mention that you had no idea how to operate much technology, and so he was left to occupy you with more basic forms of entertainment. 

Your personality had been developing, though, coming through in dribs and drabs. You had favourites in the books now, a stack that you would go back over every day, whereas certain genres had been delegated back to the shoves to never again be touched, and he flicked through them one day before you got up, smiling to himself a little at the idea that science-fiction and fantasy were your favourites.

Following that discovery, he’d got a library card, making room on one of his Friday afternoons out to go to the building and browse the aisles, checking out ten new books following those genres to surprise you with, and you’d all but bounced in your spot as you stood before him, eyes wide and slightly sparkling as he handed them over to you. That day you did thank him, looking him in the eye as you said those words, and the locked eyes felt almost too intense for him to handle, you didn’t shy away or duck your head in respect of authority when he didn’t turn away either, heat crawling along his cheeks before you’d chosen to look down at the new books he’d given you. 

He found in meals that you would eat anything you were given, despite his insistence that if you particularly liked something or didn’t like something, then you should speak up so he knew what to get, but you ate anything he gave you. 

He picked up on the fact that you ate chicken at twice the speed you ate lamb, and that you’d had seconds of the beef stew and mashed potato he’d made one night, and you always pushed broccoli onto a fork with other food to eat it, but were happy to eat carrots and peas without having to accompany them with something else. Cheesecake was nice for dessert, but only if it had the lemon swirls, not the strawberry ones, and you preferred brownies to cookies. 

Despite all his studying of you, he knew you were studying and learning him just as much in response. When he did the laundry, you’d fold it so he didn’t have to, and when he was cooking, you’d set the table. He’d watched you go around the entire apartment with a fine-tooth comb one day, checking everything and learning their places, memorising where it would all go and the positioning of things, finally accepting the environment as your own. You knew which side of the table he liked to sit on and which was his favourite chair, never sitting in it or disturbing his routine, and you’d grown to knocking on the office door before entering to sit with him quietly instead of just barging in and starling him if the world had slipped away around him as he drowned in mission reports and debriefing statements. 

It was odd, to learn someone so well, to become so in tune with another person when they hardly spoke to you, and to know someone so well when they barely knew themselves. It was hard to talk to you, you didn’t even know your name, but he knew of your childhood trauma at the hands of kidnappers, and you lived with him but couldn't remember your own house while growing up. Having another person in his life was something that Mitch had expected to hate, but as the ‘end of your third-month’ marker of slightly uneasy but otherwise reasonably acceptable cohabitation came around, he found that he rather enjoyed having your presence. 

The large space felt more welcoming now, and knowing he had someone to come home to and sit with as he ate his meals or watched his movies made the long days feel a little shorter, and the stressful workload feel a little more bearable, even if it was only a temporary fixture, but Mitch was making the most of it while it lasted.

“I’m home!” Mitch had to resist the urge to add the word ‘honey’ onto the beginning there, his eyes rolling at himself as he grinned at the joke in his mind, waiting expectantly with the bags at the door as he tried to kick off his shoes, but you didn’t come to greet him.

Lately, he’d been able to trust you alone enough to go out more, and so he was given a little more freedom, the alone time seeming to give you a chance to develop your own mind a little more too, making more and more little breakthroughs each day. You normally came to find him after he arrived home, padding through the house to greet him at the door, even if you didn’t say anything, you’d offer him a nod of the head and take some of the bags from his hands if he had any.

You didn't come to find him though, concern and fear racing through his veins as he listened to the eerie silence in the house, and he left the bags abandoned on the kitchen table as he checked through the house, ensuring security and safety. He found you in your bed, curled up under your covers with the blanket lifted over your head, despite the fact that the chart you’d made to give you a routine stated that you’d be reading one of the more informative books you owned right now.

He knocked on the door, your body not moving out from under the blanket, but you shuffled a little, and he chuckled, making his way across the room. Peeling the blanket back from over your head, the teasing smile on his face dropping as he took in red puffy eyes and wet cheeks, a distressed look on your face as you curled into your pillow a little more, backing away from him across the bed as your body closed in on yourself.

“What happened?”

You didn't reply, barely moving, and he settled down on the floor, kneeling before you as his knees brushed the carpet, placing his forearms flat on the edge of the mattress and balancing his chin on top of them. You peeked up at him a little, and his heart broke a little bit as you brought up one sweater covered hand to wipe at your face. It was the first real emotion he’d seen from you, he expected things like a smile or an angry outburst, but he’d never expected to see tears, and right now you looked like you were walking the line between distressed and utterly terrified.

“Wanna’ tell me what’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath, sniffling a little before pushing yourself to sit up, smoothing your hair back out of your face and crossing your legs, trying to gain a little bit of composure again, before taking a deep and raspy breath, coughing to clear your throat before you spoke. “Unit eight has another title.”

His brows furrowed, your voice barely above a whisper and cracking at the end, and he echoed the words back to you in confusion. “Another title?”

“(Y/N).”

He mulled the name over a little, letting it rattle around inside his head before realising exactly what it meant, and he felt his own face light up as you continued to stare at him with a cross of horror and despair. “That’s amazing! Why do you look so sad? That’s your name.”

You just played with your hands in your lap, taking your gaze away from his as your head dropped down, and he let out a low sigh. Lifting his body up from the floor, he was soon to find his seat on the mattress instead, back pressing to the wall as he sat beside you, keeping his gaze fixed on you.

“Can I call you that? (Y/N)?”

“It would be acceptable.” The words were hardly audible, but you were at least accepting your name now, and he was psyched just to have something to refer to you as, because up until now, it had been extremely difficult just to get your attention.

He never wanted to call you ‘unit eight’ and he didn’t want to startle you by touching you out of the blue, knowing that you were still jumpy and stiff even when he just got a little too close without warning, but this was major progress. Your arm brushed against his as you shuffled, and you moved in a little closer to him, not quite leaning your head on his shoulder but your cheek brushed the curve of his arm, seeking out comfort as you cleared your skin of tears, and he remained still, allowing you to do so.

He knew it would take you a while to actually settle into the name, to get used to hearing it and remembering that it was you, in order to reply to the name and become familiar with it. He dared to reach out a hand, placing it over your clothed knee and squeezing comfortingly as you settled into the realisation that you weren't just a unit, you were a person with a name, and he couldn't really imagine how you were feeling, but he could empathise.

“Well, for the record, I think it’s a lovely name, and I think it suits you.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded his head, tipping it to the side to rest on your own, and he could feel the slight tension of your body, freezing up for a moment, before you accepted the physical touch, and it was all symbols of how well you were settling into your new life.  “How about we make some dinner? Do you want to come and cook with me? I bet you’re starving, right now. You made a pretty big breakthrough.”

You merely nodded, letting him guide you up from the bed slowly as you stretched out muscles and joints that must've been locked up for a while. He waited as you straightened out the sheets, wandering away to the kitchen to give you that moment of space, and you joined him only a few minutes later, opening up the fridge and having a look through, before pulling out a packet of chicken breasts and looking up at him hopefully.

“Chicken and potatoes? I have that broccoli you like.”

“That would be nice.”

The two of you worked in harmony, side by side as he stood over the hob, creating a seasoning for the chicken and frying it up, and you expertly chopped potatoes and vegetables with a kind of precision and speed that he knew was a skill gained from your years in captivity, but it was still incredible to watch, dicing everything up small and making it look so easy. You had ended up choosing mashed potatoes over boiled, and he worked carefully to ensure there were no lumps and that it was smooth, while you set the table, and he plates up two dishes of hot and delicious food for you both, humming to a song under his breath.

You had poured drinks, laying them out too, before going to take a stand beside him, staring at both of the plates, and leaning in a little as he practically watched the cogs work in your mind, and he waited patiently, brows raised, for whatever it was you were thinking about and trying to work out how to say. “Is this one.. um, this one is mine?”

He paused, lifted up the spoon he’s dished out the mash with to lick it clean, but couldn't help the large grin that plastered across his face. Mine.

Your name made you acknowledge yourself as something other than another person’s plaything and machine, and he nodded, letting out a breathy laugh as you claimed something as your own, as a person capable of having possessions.

“Yeah. Yeah, that one is yours.”

[redsector-a]

AO3 Ask Game

I was tagged by @themarshalstale which, thank you so much! I feel like I always get missed on these (I know why, it’s been 84 years since I published anything but still). 1. How many works do you have on ao3?

46 it seems. Which...look I’m slow man so that’s not surprising. lol Also crippling depression does not make for much production, at least for me.

2. What’s your current AO3 wordcount?

309662 according to the stats.

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

So do I could only AO3 or in like life? lol I suppose it should only be on AO3 since this is an AO3 ask game. Hrm. Basically AO3 can be summed up as: Marvel (in several iterations - all Avengers related) Torchwood Highlander But isn’t it more fun to consider my entire fandom life, which, I’m sorry, I’m old so...yeah. Not all of this is was published and beyond that a lot is not available anymore...which is likely for the best. Highlander Star Wars Babylon 5 Ronin Warriors/Samurai Troopers Marvel (again, several iterations also of note Avengers and X-Men both count) Torchwood Star Trek LOTR Stargate (SG-1, SGA) Mortal Kombat I dabbled with the idea of Potter fic but never got past the ideas stage.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1: You rearrange me till I’m sane Clint finds himself spiraling into a deep depression after the Battle of New York...until the Winter Soldier ends up saving him and inadvertently giving him a new purpose – to save the man that the Soldier had once been – Bucky Barnes. Not one to be outdone, the Soldier decides that his new mission is to ensure that Clint remains alive himself. Protecting a blonde man with a self-destructive streak is somehow very familiar to him. Through the back and forth of who is saving whom they cross the country and learn more about themselves and each other – and perhaps find a reason for living. 2: Five Dates Bucky Didn’t Realize He Was on And the One He Planned Himself To say that Bucky was surprised when Clint kissed him was an understatement. But it was nothing compared to the shock he felt when he learned they'd been dating for months without him realizing it.Clint gets whisked away for a mission before they have time to talk and Bucky is left to figure things out on his own - hindsight being 20/20 he can't help but wonder how he missed things the first go around.

3: Puck Luck Bucky Barnes is used to the ups and downs of an NHL season. He's used to the unpredictability of the game, knows that bounces don't always go your way, but that doesn't make a broken hand in the final third of the season any easier to deal with. Especially not when he ends up with an impromptu roommate/personal assistant in the form of one Clint Barton - his agent, Natalia Romanova's (rather attractive) friend he hadn't known existed before his injury.

It's just for six to eight weeks - what could possibly happen in that span of time?

4: Loose Lips Launch Ships

Based on the following prompt: “We go to school together and I think you’re cute and apparently you’re also the pizza delivery guy and my little sibling opened the door screaming hey sibling! you know that kid you’re in love with? you really weren’t kidding when you said his jawline could cut steel holy shit-” Bucky is the pizza delivery guy. Clint's younger (foster) brother has a big mouth.

5: Indelible Bucky Barnes has a pretty decent life – a good job, good friends, a cat that adores him - but something is missing. He’s always found body art to be beautiful and inspiring, and on a whim (and with the hope that maybe he can find what he’s missing) he decides to take the plunge and get a tattoo. That's how he meets Clint Barton. Clint's talented and compassionate and there is an instant spark between the two of them. It's not long before Bucky finds himself wondering and wanting more from the relationship despite the ghosts of the past that crop back up. Because Clint makes him feel normal in a way he truly hasn't for years...

(this was pre-Alpine so I was totally chuffed when canon confirmed Bucky’s status as a crazy cat lady (affectionate).

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

I really really really want to do it but I often times don’t end up doing it. There are a few reasons. First, I am akwward AF and bad at interaction adn I feel like just saying thank you would be...not enough? Second - I often times tend to like...turtle (aka retreat into myself) when life gets Too Hard/Busy which happens a lot to me (sigh) and then I miss the vague window in my mind in which it would be okay to respond and then it’s even more weird. I do love and cherish all of them. Like there was one months ago that made me go “hmm...I didn’t think I was going to do a sequel to that fic (You rearrange me till I’m sane), timestamp glimpses sure but a sequel hadn’t come to mind” but then the comment made me think! So...who knows? lol Anyway, I literally have been rereading some in an effort to try and get myself going again. Know that if you have commented, I love you.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

At the moment? Probably: Look at you look at me Bucky's in love with Clint - problem is he's really not supposed to be. For Winterhawk Week 2019 - Forbidden Love (I really don’t want to give away the spin in the fic but...if you’re familiar with the Secret Avengers Vol 2 run circa 2013ish (aka when SHIELD initially ‘took control of the team’) that’s a bit of a hint as to the spin). Were it done, Torch Song would be up there. ;) Torch Song Clint is sent back in time, via an alien device, to 1938. While he tries to figure out how to get back home, he takes up singing and entertaining to make ends meet and does his best to not disrupt the timeline.Then he meets a 21 year old Bucky Barnes. --- A torch song is a sentimental love song, typically one in which the singer laments an unrequited or lost love, either where one party is oblivious to the existence of the other, where one party has moved on, or where a romantic affair has affected the relationship.

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written?

Does *wanting* to write crossovers count? lol I want, so badly, to do more crossovers and fusions (which...are kinda deeper versions of crossovers in a way). The only one I do have posted is a crossover between Highlander and Torchwood -

The Immortal Mr. Jones A series of vignettes (some long, some short) in the life of the newly immortal Ianto Jones. My most ambitions project that I have been working on since late 2011/early 2012 is a fusion of the Avengers with Stephen King’s the Stand. I will get that done at some point *shakes fist*  The Stand, for those who don’t know it, is an epic 1000+ page novel about a flu epidemic (I know) that wipes out over 99% of the population and then two figures representing Good and Evil pull the survivors in two directions for a showdown. So basically it’s a non-powered modern AU set in that universe. It’s a passion and comfort project. lol

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yes. Well, minor bitching back when I was in a prior fandom because I tagged a pairing in a fic but it was pre-slash and not labeled as pre-slash. I got hate on...I think it was Torch Song? And I’ve gotten hate on tumblr re me and my fic in general as well. Fandom! *jazz hands* Oh! And I’ve also been hit by those reviewers within Winterhawk (among general Clint pairings actually) who like rate you on either number scales or the “meh” scale. Which isn’t hate exactly but...it’s passive aggressive bullshit because I can’t believe none of them realize at this point that the authors can see their bookmarks - you know?

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. Do I write it well? I have no idea. lol

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. Well...there was, I think, one of those reposting sites that had a few fics on it but I don’t think it was being passed off as someone else’s? I can’t quite recall. It’s why I have a note on AO3 about reposting my work anyway.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not entirely, but sort of. Let me explain - I am part of a PBEM game; which for those unfamiliar since it’s a term that was most heavily in use 15-20 years ago, in which you basically do a round robin type writing thing but rather than everyone writing the same characters you write your own characters and you play off what other people have done. Another way of looking at it is  it’s basically DnD without dice and written down rather than done out loud. You also don’t have to all be around at the same time. It’s a lot of fun and yes I have been in it for 20 years even though there aren’t many of us left but they are some of my dearest friends and fabulous writers. Wins all around.  One of the other writers and I have actually toyed with the idea of doing a co-written fic actually, mostly because we work super well together and keep getting ideas for things but can’t really do them as rpgs since the pbem style isn’t used much anymore.

12. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Winterhawk probably. Though, let’s be real - Han & Leia are epic and amazing as are John & Delenn (from Babylon 5).

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Does wanting to expand The Black Stallion books as a wee child count? lol Not much of that was written save for world building ideas but there was a great oral tradition of telling stories to my friends. Otherwise...maybe a tie between Star Wars and Highlander. Star Wars was a love since I was super young but the writing bug didn’t hit me until around the same time Highlander was a thing as well.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? You rearrange me till I’m sane for sure. Though Torch Song, if it were finished, would be tied I imagine (I suck at picking favorites). Honorable mention to Puck Luck and Indelible. Tagging: I have seen this like a million times (okay 5) so I feel like everyone has been tagged already that I know. But...I guess... @vexbatch @crazycatt71 @heartonfirewrites and @disruptedvice sorry if anyone has been tagged before.

[aliendes]

Natural Borns - Chapter Five

Banner made by @thebannershop​

​Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, future smut - NSFW due to darker themes

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: mentions of sex in exchange for favors but it doesn’t actually happen, mentions of suicide, anxiety, and depression. Mentions of alcohol, tobacco, and drug use. Mentions of prescription drugs and medical stuff like blood. Insinuations of poly relationships, if this make you uncomfortable, this will be a reoccurring theme for the rest of the series. The boys love each other, that’s the point of this story. Mentions of skipping meals? If that’s a warning.  Warnings will be different for each chapter from here on out. 

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 4.2k ~ 

A/N: I’m really excited for this chapter! This is Yoongi’s backstory! Yay!! There is also some juicy info in this chapter that will be explored in the next one. Also, you guys voted for smut with romantic relationships, so please note that for the rest of the series, there will be smut, poly relationships, etc. If this makes you uncomfortable, I totally understand. If you want to be added/removed from the taglist please send me an ask! Enjoy!!

xx Des

Updated: 8/15/2020

As the day went on, and the sun started to set beyond the hills, your mind was plagued with the thoughts that this was all a horrible, horrible idea.  

After you stormed out of the warehouse, the remaining four men in Yoongi’s room continued to argue about whether or not it would be a good idea to let you help with their plan. Seokjin and Jungkook were firmly against it. They felt enchanted by your personality and something about you was captivating to them. Hoseok and Yoongi were both incredibly unsure of your place in this family, not yet trusting of you. Yoongi obviously felt an attraction to you, but he wasn’t entirely sure it was anything beyond physical at this point. Though, he knew if he let it, it would fester into something much, much stronger. Whenever you were present he could feel himself start to slip. The cold exterior he always made a show of keeping up, crumbling to ash in his hands. He can’t deny the way his heart clenched in his chest when you ran out of the room. He wanted to run after you, tell you that he wouldn’t make you do anything you weren’t comfortable with. But he held himself back. He’s had plenty of practice holding himself back and not allowing his emotions to crack his icy walls. 

Namjoon was Yoongi’s first friend in the facility. They were both ‘bought’ from their mothers when they were teenagers, and since they were similar in age, they roomed together at Big Hit. Namjoon had already been at the lab for a few months before Yoongi showed up, disheveled and scared. Unlike Namjoon, Yoongi had a very hard time coping with the fact that he now had to live in a cramped room with another boy, be poked and prodded and experimented on. 

Namjoon had lived a pretty sheltered life, and didn’t have too many friends growing up. Yoongi was the complete opposite. He was seen as the ‘bad boy’ in his high school, always getting the girls because of his unusual good looks, smoking cigarettes behind the school, and causing trouble in his classes. He liked to think he had a lot of friends, but most of them were deadbeats who only hung around him because he stole cigarettes and alcohol from his mom’s boyfriends. Regardless, he enjoyed being out of the house and living his life the way he wanted to. When he was brought to Big Hit, all of that changed. His freedoms were stripped from him, even basic human needs were stripped from him. They would often go days without eating, only being given water, told that they had to ‘fast’ in order for certain experiments to work, or for certain blood work to be done. All of the torture they endured was ‘in the name of science’. Or so they were told. 

Yoongi went through the stages of grief pretty quickly in the lab. When he first arrived, he was extremely upset, in denial that any of that was actually happening to him. He would tell Namjoon that his mom would come get him any minute now, and all of this would be some horrible joke she played on him to get him back on the straight and narrow, get him to stop skipping school and drinking. After a few days went by, he realized she wasn’t coming, and anger quickly took over him. Yoongi attempted to break down the door in his and Namjoon’s tiny room, to no avail. Eventually the guards sedated him and Namjoon had to look after him for two days while he sweated out the medication, shaking and dehydrated from lack of fluids. After that happened, he started to bargain with the guards or the doctors that would come take him into exam rooms, telling them he would do anything for them to release him, even resorting to offering favors in exchange for freedom. He never followed through with any of his offers, but he would later hate himself for stooping that low. 

After a few weeks of this, Yoongi eventually developed severe depression, even being put on suicide watch at one point. After spending so much time together in their tiny dorm, Namjoon started to really care for the older boy and was extremely distraught over his behavior. He would tell Yoongi that everything would be ok, and one day they would get out of there. Some nights it got so bad Namjoon would slip into Yoongi’s bed and hold him close while he sobbed or when he woke up from nightmares. 

Yoongi would sleep away days at a time, not eating or drinking water. Namjoon would have to force water down his throat when he was getting delirious and having horrible migraines that prevented him from moving around too much. Namjoon would lay with him while he shook from dehydration mixed with the meds they gave him. Yoongi lost his will to live, lost his will to do anything but accept what the lab was doing to him. There was nothing he could do about it, and while Namjoon had remained optimistic about their future, Yoongi accepted their fate and allowed the doctors and technicians to do whatever they wanted with him. He became a shell of his former self, not getting out of bed unless carried by Namjoon or the technicians, staring at the wall for hours on end, and only speaking when he was forced by the doctors. Namjoon cried for his friend, only wanting to help, wanting to get him out of there. 

That was why Namjoon came up with the escape plan. One night, after Yoongi had been at the facility for nearly a year, Namjoon woke him up in the early hours of the morning. Apparently, the younger had been learning the rotations of the technicians and the guards when he was being moved from room to room. He would also listen in on their conversations while he was being given meds or having his blood drawn in the exam room, which was right next to the guard room. He didn’t tell Yoongi what he was doing because he didn’t want anyone to overhear them and ruin his plan, so Yoongi was completely shocked to learn he had all of this planned out.

Namjoon said that the guards would be on break in the guard room around 3:30 AM, and at 3:40 AM the technician on duty would rotate with the morning shift, who comes in at 3:45 AM and the guards would end their break around the same time, giving them a five minute window to get out of their rooms and down a hallway that led to the elevators. They both knew that this hallway led away from the exam rooms, and therefore, away from the guards. Yoongi was even more shocked when Namjoon pulled a keycard out of his back pocket that he took off one of the guards earlier when he was being given medication. That keycard would allow them to get onto the elevator and, hopefully, escape this place. 

Given all the things that could’ve gone wrong, Namjoon and Yoongi’s escape went relatively seamlessly, and once they were out of that God forsaken place, they moved from place to place together, sleeping on the streets, abandoned houses, and homeless shelters, until they met Seokjin and Jungkook. Two men who were at one point, also housed at Big Hit, but released for different reasons. They would later meet the others and form the family they know and love today. Yoongi was thankful for the six men, living with them, and growing with them. They had a shared traumatic experience that they helped each other through, leaned on each other, and eventually developed a bond that they never expected.

Even after all these years, Yoongi still admired Namjoon and was beyond thankful for him for being there through his darkest times. Quite literally keeping him alive in the facility when he had given up trying. He owed Namjoon his life and respected him more than anyone on this planet. He never wanted to disappoint him and has been helping him find other natural borns to further his vision of equality, even if he didn’t always want to. Yoongi would much rather it just be the seven of them for the rest of their lives, but he understood why Namjoon pushed for this, why he stood up for others that couldn’t stand up for themselves. It was one of the many reasons he admired the man. 

That is exactly why Yoongi is currently standing outside the warehouse, back against the large metal door you had run out of earlier today. The sun had set over an hour ago, meaning you had been gone most of the day. The others would have panicked by now, had it not been for Hoseok alerting them of your whereabouts. They were all shocked when Hobi had come into Yoongi’s room a few hours ago, letting them all know he had been watching you from the second floor, sitting on a rock down by the quarry. Jungkook and Seokjin had both wanted to go to you, but Namjoon talked them down, telling them you needed time to process everything that had happened to you. You were dealing with a lot, even now, and you didn’t even have the full story. They knew Namjoon’s words were true, having gone through something similar themselves. Though, they couldn’t imagine how you were feeling, having to suddenly leave your family with little explanation. 

It was only after Namjoon pulled Yoongi aside in the hallway, telling him again he needed to fix this, apologize to you, even if he didn’t want to. He needed to make sure you stayed with them because if you didn’t, you’d be in more danger than you realized. Yoongi would never let Namjoon down, and so, he made his way down to the water to make good on his promise to fix this. 

You were vaguely aware that the sun had set a while ago, sat on a rock, knees pulled to your chest, and face resting upon your crossed arms. You weren’t sobbing anymore, just a few stray tears falling every now and then. You were sure your face was red and swollen with how much crying you’ve done today. 

The sound of the ripples on the water, the wind slowly blowing the trees around you, and the sound of chirping crickets was helping you relax, but with nightfall, brought cooler temperatures. Even though it was summer, it was still a bit chilly at night with how much humidity was in the air. Being right next to water wasn’t helping either. Just as a chill ran down your spine, causing you to shiver violently, you felt something warm being draped over your shoulder.

You startled, head snapping up at the new presence beside you, causing you to let out a curse as you nearly fell backwards. As you righted yourself, you were met with a pair of nearly black eyes that you least expected to see right now. “You’re shivering,” Yoongi coldly stated, face emotionless as he looked down at your pathetic state.

Way to state the obvious, you thought. But truthfully, you were thankful for the warmth of the leather jacket he had wrapped you in. You audibly gulped, looking up at him with eyes as wide as they could go, considering how puffy they were. “T- th- thanks…” you trailed off quietly, grabbing the sides of the jacket to pull it closer to you. You hadn’t realized just how cold you were. 

“You coming back up?”

You mulled over his question for a moment. You were cold. And hungry. And completely and utterly exhausted and probably dehydrated with the river of tears you’ve cried today. Yet, you didn’t feel all that welcome in their ‘home’ and you were unsure if you really wanted to go back. Yoongi seemed to notice your hesitancy, taking the opportunity to say what he had practiced all the way down here. Talking wasn’t his strong suit. “They’re really worried about you, you know,” he uttered, softer than before, but still monotone.

Is that what he came all the way down here to tell you? You furrowed your brows at him, “They can come down here if they want,” you were pretty sure your brazen attitude was stemming from your emotional state and the chilly breeze, “they didn’t have to send you.”

Yoongi pursed his lips into a thin line, biting his tongue from saying what he really wanted to say, you think I want to be here? Instead, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose and let out a long sigh. When he opened his eyes, he saw you still staring at him, daring him to say something. He liked it, the fire in you. You seemed like a shy girl, timid even. He hoped you still had that fire after you learned what a horrible, unjust world you all live in. 

Yoongi sat down on the rock next to you, not asking first, just making room for himself. You quickly scooted over, not feeling incredibly comfortable with him yet. “I’m sorry,” he began, staring down at his lap, “I was being unfair.” It almost sounded like the words were forced, like he didn’t really mean them, or want to say them, but you still took some comfort in the fact he was at least apologizing to you. Not that you thought he owed you an apology, but it still felt nice.

“No, you aren’t being unfair,” you murmured, looking out at the now cerulean blue water, “I’m sorry. Sorry I’m here.”

You sounded so small, so defeated. You reminded Yoongi of how he felt when he was first taken from his family. Scared, alone. Something in him wanted to reach out to you, comfort you, and he almost did, stopping his hand midair before it could reach your arm. You noticed his movement out of the corner of your eye and before he could retract his hand, you flinched. Actually flinched away from him. It was slight, but it still took Yoongi by surprise, jaw hanging slack, eyes widening at your apparent fear. Of him. Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever felt shittier in his life. Was he so cold someone was actually afraid he’d hurt them? He’s never hurt anyone in his life. Sure, he was a ‘bad boy’, broke his fair share of laws, but he has never, ever, hurt another person. 

“YN -”, he retracted his hand immediately, bringing it behind his back, wanting to hide the offending appendage, “I - wh -” he wasn’t even sure how to finish his sentence. He watched you pull your knees closer to your chest and lay your forehead on them, letting out a breath you had been holding. You didn’t look scared, you looked exasperated, and he wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better at all. 

You didn’t actually think Yoongi would hurt you, you’ve just been so used to people treating you however they want, especially in high school. Boys would push you around in the hallways, girls would pull your hair in class and steal your backpack from under the lunch table. After high school, men would pull on your skirts or dresses at the market while you tried to sell flowers with a smile plastered on your face, which inevitably caused you to throw away any clothes that weren’t pants and baggy shirts. You were relatively afraid of people, and even though you trusted the men who took you in and have been helping you, you still didn’t know Yoongi, or the type of person he was. Now you felt remorse at the look on his face when you flinched away. He looks honestly heartbroken, regret written all over his features. You shook your head back and forth, forehead rubbing against your linen covered knees. 

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed quietly, not daring to look back at the blonde next to you.

Yoongi’s heart broke further at the sound, “Can I touch you?” 

Though you were shocked at Yoongi’s sudden query, you didn’t lift your head. Slowly, you nodded up and down, hoping he could see it. Now that you were expecting the movement, you didn’t startle as Yoongi scooted closer to you on the rock and gently, softly, ran a large, warm hand up and down your spine. Yoongi inwardly noted that your bones were perhaps sticking out a little too far, that maybe you’ve skipped one too many meals lately. Or maybe, you didn’t have access to them. He wasn’t sure. He had no idea what kind of home you lived in. He had limited information, and most of it was about your father. That thought made him remember something, “Pearl?” Yoongi whispered cautiously, not sure how you would react to him having this knowledge. Hoping that you would find some sort of comfort in it, since your friends and mother called you that. 

You immediately stopped sniffling, body going stiff as a board. You sat up abruptly and looked Yoongi dead in the eyes, “What did you call me?” He could see the red rims of your swollen eyes, dried tear tracks being covered by new ones and another piece of his heart cracked off, swallowed by the ocean of his chest.

“Pearl,” he uttered again, a little more confidently, “isn’t that your nickname?”

“H-how?” You stuttered, staring into his vast ocean eyes. They held more emotion than you were accustomed to, coming from him. You gently shook your head back and forth to dislodge the tears that were gathering at the corners. 

Yoongi visibly blushed at your question, quickly avoiding your gaze and turning his head to the side and removing his hand from your back. You momentarily missed the warmth. He looked like he was gazing out at the water, but you could tell he was embarrassed. You narrowed your eyes at him. What was he hiding? “Yoongi?” You sniffled again, which caught his attention. He bit his cheek and looked at you through his lashes.

“I- I’m sorry.”

You were even more confused now. “For?”

“Everything,” he let out an exasperated sigh, “for yelling at you last night, for acting like sending you to Big Hit was a good idea, and…” he trailed off. You waited a moment, tears forgotten as you listened to the man be sincere for the first time since you met him, “for going through your phone.” His words were quiet, so quiet you almost asked him to repeat himself, but after a moment realization hit you.

“Y- you went through my phone?” Long gone was the remorse you felt for leaving your friends, the sorrow you felt at possibly losing your family. In its place, was anger. An ugly, red monster that was brewing in your chest. A part of you knew it was irrational, but the other part knew that he wouldn’t be ashamed if he didn’t feel like he did something wrong. This man, who yelled at you, made you feel small, made you think you didn’t matter… had invaded your privacy. Namjoon promised he would shut off service to your phone, making it untraceable. He promised it would be safe in their hands. You wouldn’t let your mind trace this back to Namjoon, no. He did nothing wrong. You were angry at the blonde sitting in front of you, wide-eyed with a mouth shaped like an “o”. 

He shook himself out of the momentary shock at your reaction, “Y- yes,” he dragged out before quickly adding, “and I’m so sorry YN, really I am. It was wrong of me, and I know that. I know that! I just…”

You cut him off before he could finish that thought, “If you knew it was wrong, why did you do it?”

There was a deep ‘v’ forming on your forehead. The face you wore didn’t resemble someone who was angry, more concerned. Or disappointed. Yeah, that was the right word, Yoongi thought. He felt small in this moment, like he was a child being scolded for stealing cookies. He sighed and looked down at his hands folded in his lap.

“I was scared,” was all he could come up with at the moment, feeling so incredibly guilty and having no other way to express it to you.

“Scared?” You scoffed, he hasn’t been acting very scared. In fact, it seemed more like he was putting on a tough guy persona to try and scare you. “Of what, exactly?” You were feeling brazened now, these boys were really bringing out the sides of you, weren’t they?

A beat passed before Yoongi uttered, “Of losing my soulmates.”

The anger you were feeling just moments ago, dissipated in tiny fractures until all that was left in its wake was empathy for the man sitting across from you. For the first time since you met him, you felt like you saw Yoongi’s rock solid wall, crack slightly. His expression was still blank, like usual, but there was something in his eyes that was calling out to you, for help. He was just like the others. Scared, alone, worried. He found a home in these men, his best friends, maybe even his lovers. Something you were just starting to realize you might be finding in them, too. You were all alike, in some way or another. All felt like you didn’t belong, and here, with each other, you did belong. If you could feel that, you can’t imagine what Yoongi must feel for the others, having spent so much time with them. 

You look away from Yoongi’s eyes, staring out at the water like he had been moments ago, cracking under the pressure of his intense gaze. Biting your lip to keep the dam from breaking again you whisper, “I shouldn’t be here.”

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he heard you correctly, but after a moment realized what you had meant by that. “That’s not what I meant, YN,” he sighed and ran a hand down his face, “really, it’s not.”

“No, I know, Yoongi,” you started, not turning to look at him just yet, “I’ve been thinking about it all day. I don’t want to walk in here and ruin what you guys have, get in the way of your friendships, or relationships,” you blushed at the insinuation, “I should go home. We don’t even know if my parents know anything, or if they even planned on giving me to Big Hit. I’m an adult, I can make my own decisions, they know that.”

Yoongi started to panic, not just because he knew Seokjin and Jungkook would be crushed if you chose to leave, but because he knew you didn’t know the whole truth. Should he tell you? Namjoon would kill him. He didn’t want to disappoint his best friend, his savior, his love. But, he also didn’t want to possibly endanger you by allowing you to return home. He was already starting to care deeply for you and was terrified of the possibility of you getting hurt. “YN -” he started before sucking his lips between his teeth, contemplating his next words. At his silence, you removed your gaze from the quarry and turned towards the nervous looking man. He was wringing his wrist between the fingers of his other hand, a nervous tick. 

You looked at him expectantly through long lashes, eyes still red rimmed from crying away most of the day. Yoongi still thought you looked ethereal, especially with the way the moon was reflecting in your eyes. It was like he could see the entire galaxy staring back at him, and it made him feel things he didn’t want to feel right now. Not when he was about to break your heart.

“YN I, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back. I know you don’t trust me,” he rushed out, making sure you weren’t going to cut him off again, “just let me explain why I’m saying this. I haven’t made the greatest impression on you, and for that I really am sorry. Like I said, I was scared. That’s not an excuse to treat someone poorly, but I hope you can understand that I love the others more than I love myself.”

Your eyes softened at his confession. You could see the love they shared for each other, but hearing him say it really solidified your observations. “Namjoon isn’t telling you the whole truth,” he noticed your eyes go wide, at mentally slapped himself for the poor choice of words before quickly saying, “it’s not what you think! You are like us. You are different. And you are in danger. But Namjoon knew if he told you just how much danger you were in, you probably wouldn’t trust him. He’s not a bad guy, in fact, he’s the exact opposite. He’s saved my life once before and I’m positive he’d do the same for you.”

If you weren’t confused before, you sure as hell are now. They were lying to you? “YN, your parents,” he let out another sigh hating the words he was about to say, “they are the ones lying to you. Hyunwoo and your father weren’t classmates. They worked together,” he felt like a traitor, like he was letting Namjoon down, “he’s a beneficiary of Big Hit. They’re already paying for you.”

To be continued... 

taglist:  @minifruity​  @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz​ @chim-possible​ @kooksremedy @irishhbamb​ @sugashaye​ @lovelyseomin​ 

copyright 2020 aliendes

[artificialqueens]

Taste Your Beating Heart (Taywhora) - Holtzmanns

word count: 3142 | read on ao3

What do you get when a vampire wrestling with a morality crisis or two bumps into a student protecting herself with a pocketknife in one hand and a Percy Pig bag in the other? Quite the late night encounter, that’s what.

AN: Thank you all so much for the love on my first two taywhora fics! This one is slightly insane and popped into my head fully formed somehow. Thank you Writ for betaing and always helping me bounce ideas around and thank you Pop for taking out anything too North American sounding. Enjoy! Title from Howl by Florence + the Machine.

Tayce deserves a little treat.

It’s been a few months, anyway, since her last one. A girl’s got cravings.

The vegan selection just doesn’t do it for her after a while. She doesn’t get how Bimini sustains themselves on only ethically sourced blood.

Being a vampire in the twenty-first century brings its own unique set of challenges, that’s for sure.

It had been easier in the 1800s, before fingerprinting and DNA evidence existed and Tayce could get her blood and dispose of the bodies without a care in the world. Now, though? She has to be careful. Murder is apparently now much more trackable in today’s society.

The audacity of it all, really.

But Tayce is careful. She’s adapted with the times, perfected her strategies of getting rid of bodies that she’s fed from without leaving nary a trace. She hasn’t had any fingers pointed in her direction yet, and it’s probably for the best, to stay under the radar.

Plus, she does feel a little bad once she’s done with a body and effectively offed someone. Just a little.

So really, every few months is perfectly reasonable.

She’ll look for someone pretty today. Someone who she can enjoy. No one too old for a human, not when the blood gets a little stale by the time they’re in their eighties. Someone who’s hopefully better than her last human snack, when she had to go for a bloke that was trying to catcall her. Then again, bearing her fangs had never felt so satisfying as it did right then.

Tonight, she’ll go for someone a bit more delicate. There’s a head of white blond curls farther down the street, ducking towards an alleyway a block or so down, and Tayce can feel the excitement run through her veins because she’s perfect. An easy, discrete target.

Tayce speeds up her pace until she can practically smell the girl’s blood as she gets closer, and the girl is still in the alleyway and Tayce can’t sense anyone else near her and really, she can’t ask for an easier catch. She flips her hair over her shoulder before turning the corner, her steps light enough not to make a sound before-

“Oh, hello! Didn’t see you there!”

Tayce freezes in her tracks when the girl’s suddenly turned around, a curious look on her face, and shit, Tayce usually gets close enough to bite their neck before being noticed just a second too late.

“Just trying to look for a snack for my walk. I’ve got half a bag of percies left somewhere in my bag. Food for the road, y’know?”

The girl’s rummaging around in her bag again and this is it, the perfect timing and Tayce can finally have a good meal for the first time in months, none of that vegan shit, but-

The girl looks up again, a triumphant grin on her face with an empty looking bag of Percy Pigs in hand.

“Success. There’s only one left in here, though. Sad. I’d give you one if I had more. You want half of this one? Not too fun to be out walking so late,” the girl shrugs as she opens the package.

Tayce manages to shake her head through her own disbelief, mostly at herself because this really is the perfect time to just strike , but the girl’s trying to pull the gummy in half and it really is a sight to see.

“I’m vegan,” Tayce mutters, because really, watching the girl try to break the gummy in two is a little ridiculous, when Tayce can’t even eat it.

She wants her own snack, which, for some godforsaken reason, she hasn’t even tried to go for yet.

“Suit yourself,” the girl shrugs before tossing the gummy candy into her mouth. “What did you say your name was again?”

Tayce pauses. “I didn’t.”

It’s starting to get truly silly at this point. On Tayce’s other hunts the human would be long departed, and Tayce’s cravings satisfied. But here she is now, standing in an alley with her human target munching on a bloody Percy Pig and looking adorable while doing it.

Unbelievable.

The girl, for her part, looks completely unfazed. “I’m Aurora. Not the princess. Though I would be in a jacket like yours, though, it’s absolutely beautiful. Where’d you get that from?”

“Huh?” Tayce blinks, before realizing Aurora (she never learns her targets’ names, Christ) is looking at her with an expectant look on her face. “Oh. A friend made it back in the day.”

Back in 1865. Not that the human needs to know that.

“The lace trim. My god. Stunning,” The girl is gushing, getting closer to her and reaching for the jacket, and really, Tayce should just go for it, have her snack with a bite to the neck but it’s strangely fascinating, the way the girl’s fingers graze against the jacket.

Maybe the girl can live for five more minutes or so. Tayce isn’t that hungry. But only because Tayce likes to watch humans in their natural habitats.

“She’s a good designer,” Tayce gets out, and there’s a voice in her brain yelling at her for wasting her time, conversing with a human, but really, as much as she hates to admit it, it’s a little fun.

In a strange, morbid sort of manner.

“She really is,” Aurora murmurs. “She got an insta or anything? She take any commissions? I’d love something like this.”

“Not sure. I’d look but my phone is dead, sorry.”

Christ. Tayce is really out here entertaining this woman’s interest. Coming up with a cover story for the fact that Ellie made this centuries ago.

But who knows, maybe Ellie does take requests. Not that she would from a human.

“Shame. I’ll definitely have to look around for something similar, because it’s to die for.”

“To die for, indeed,” Tayce murmurs, and she can almost hear the girl’s heart pumping and pumping and finally, she can have a worthy midnight snack, one who tastes as good as she looks.

She takes a step closer, but then the girl’s brushing past her out of the alleyway and waving at her cheerily with her bag slung over her shoulder. “I better get going. Lovely to meet you, though! Toodles!”

“Toodles?” Tayce mutters under her breath, because honestly, it sounds like something she’d say herself.

The girl’s walking away and Tayce is too caught up in the shine of her hair under the streetlights to go after her.

Besides, the girl says words like toodles. She deserves to live another night just for that.

Tayce sighs as she watches the girl walk away. It’s like catching and releasing a perfectly good fish, really. Rather stupid. But hey, she can find another target, it’s not an impossible task.

She doesn’t have to look very far, because there’s a man by the closest corner, and he’s watching Aurora on the other side of the street, and Tayce has to wrinkle her nose when she notices the look on the man’s face.

Leering. Hungry.

Yeah, it’s fine when Tayce does it, but for a man like this? Who certainly doesn’t have good intentions?

Well, Tayce will just have to take care of it.

His blood is tangy, not at all satisfying in the way that Tayce had hoped for when starting her hunt earlier tonight. But he will have to do.

Tayce will wait a few more months before another good snack, like she’s used to. In the meantime, it’s back to sipping through a straw from blood bank bags. Not her favourite type of beverage.

Tayce makes it to two months before she starts to get the itch for another hunt. It’s not that the bagged blood isn’t satisfying, because it is. It keeps her from being hungry. But bloody hell, does she need a drink that’s a little more fresh.

Cara snorts from her spot on the couch when Tayce ties her hair back, slips a jacket over her shoulders. “You always make it such an event, and for what? You could just do it every day like the rest of us.”

“Excuse me for trying to be a good person,” Tayce grumbles, bending down to tie the laces of her trainers. “I don’t want to hurt humans that much.”

“Only every couple months. How nice of you.”

“The bagged blood isn’t so bad, y’know,” Tayce starts, picking up her keys. “Perfectly reasonable for any vampire to sustain themselves on.”

Cara makes a face. “Yeah. Any depressed vampire who hates everything and everything.”

“Bimini does it all the time. We both could be more like them. Do some good in the world.”

“Some good in the world? Honey, I’m here for both a good time and a long time. Seeing the humans suffer provides some entertainment, at least,” Cara grins, and Tayce can’t help but snort.

“You’re an absolute beast. Both figuratively and literally.”

Cara waves when Tayce reaches for the door. “Get home safe! Don’t let the humans hit you with a morality crisis on your way home.”

Tayce wonders, as she heads out onto the street, how easy it would be to have Cara’s mentality. To not care about the chaos she creates, to eat however she wants.

A tiny, tiny little part in her brain does care, though. About how the families of her meals react to their loved one going missing. How they search and search for answers.

Can’t be very nice.

But then again, Tayce does have cravings. Indulging every few months can’t be that bad, can it? Not when it cancels out.

The city is really nice, late at night. Tayce doesn’t have much to fear, not when she can decimate any men that saunter her way with rather insidious agendas. She can enjoy the crisp air and focus, really focus, on the scents around her, perhaps something human that’ll lead to a nice meal that she can enjoy, and-

Oh, no. Tayce knows that smell.

“Hey, you! I know you!”

That voice. Tayce certainly knows that voice.

Aurora’s hair is dark brown now, but Tayce would recognize that grin anywhere, when it lights up her face like that. She’s got a messenger bag on her shoulder, and, oh, of course. A Percy Pig bag in hand.

Naturally.

“What you doing out, so late at night? There are monsters lurking out yer in the dark, you know,” Tayce purrs, and wants to kick herself for it when the girl’s eyes light up at her voice.

She needs to stop egging this on. Interacting with the girl the first time and letting her go was already dangerous enough as it is.

But still, it’s interesting to see her again. Someone who was almost prey.

“Oh, no. I’m prepared,” Aurora says while reaching into her pocket, her voice incredibly self assured for someone so scrawny. “See?”

The pocket knife between Aurora’s fingers is tiny, and one that Tayce would easily be able to bend in half in her palm. It’s cute in a way, if she’s being honest.

Tayce plasters on the best poker face that she can, never mind that Cara’s made fun of her lack of acting skills in the past. “Very fierce and intimidating. I’m terrified.”

Aurora shrugs. “Since pepper spray and tasers are banned, this is the best I’ve got. I did Google, just in case.”

“What you out so late for, anyway, missy?” Tayce can’t help the question slipping from her mouth, ignoring the voice in her head that’s shouting at her to stop talking, to not dig herself into a deeper hole with this girl.

But Tayce can’t help it, she’s curious. This is the second time she’s seen this girl out so late, entirely too cheery for one, two, in the morning. It does beg the question.

“I’m a fashion student, and I intern at Vivienne Westwood. With all the deadlines? Late nights at the studio are my best friend.” Aurora grins, and Tayce can see from the excitement on her features just how proud she is of herself.

Tayce should have known, really, from Aurora’s obsession with her jacket the last time they met.

“Well, well, well, baby, look at you. A girl on the job,” Tayce murmurs, and she’s not sure if she’s imagining the girl absolutely basking in the phrase.

Aurora does seem easily pleased.

“What about you? What you out so late for?” Aurora asks, genuine curiosity on her face.

Tayce pauses, pursing her lips together to keep her smile from spreading. “You could say I fancied a late night snack.”

She can almost hear her own stomach rumbling. She’s practically starving at this hour of the night.

“Yeah? I get you there girl, honestly. My favourite spot’s this kebab shop down the road from-” Aurora pauses, her eyes squinting as her head tilts slightly. “Huh.”

“What?” Tayce raises an eyebrow, because Aurora’s eyebrows are already high on her forehead and she looks a little too interested in examining Tayce’s face.

“You…nevermind,” Aurora mumbles, and Tayce can sense the way her heart is beating just a little bit faster in her chest.

She’s nervous. A first. But why?

“You notice something?”

The air feels just a little bit more charged once Tayce asks the question, because Aurora’s eyes are widening and her eyes keep flicking down towards Tayce’s mouth and oh, maybe it’s because Tayce has gone and smiled.

Fully smiled.

Fangs out.

Oops.

“Where’d you get those from?” Aurora breathes out the question, the heave in her chest visible, and fuck it.

Tayce has come out to roam the streets tonight for a singular purpose, anyway.

She takes a step towards Aurora, getting in her space and crowding her until the backs of her shoulders are up against the wall, and the blood pumping in her veins is almost tantalizing.

Getting to know her snacks before indulging seems to have been a great idea.

“Where do you think?”

The question hangs in the air, almost pausing time around them for a millisecond before Tayce reaches down, circling Aurora’s wrists with her grip before pulling them up overhead, against the wall. Keeping her in place. Not that Aurora would be able to outrun her, anyway.

“Oh,” Aurora gasps, and her pupils are blown and her lips slightly parted and she’s not scared, she’s…

For a lack of better wording, the girl looks rather turned on.

“Do you like that, baby?” Tayce shifts her position so that she’s holding Aurora’s wrists with one hand, bringing her other so that she can run her fingers through Aurora’s hair, before tilting her face up by her chin.

Aurora’s pliant, leaning into her touch, and it’s almost intoxicating, in a way. The way she’s got Aurora trapped, but also how Aurora’s letting her.

As if she has a choice.

Not that Aurora looks particularly worried, for her situation. “Are we about to kiss? Are you going to lean in, or is this more of a thing where we both initiate it, or…”

Bold. But it’s an invitation for Tayce to play with her food just a little more.

“You do know that I could kill you any second now? You’re on a very slippery slope, girl.”

“Kinky,” Aurora squeaks out, and Tayce can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

“Drain your blood, and all that. Suck you dry.”

“Hot. Take me out first though, yeah? Treat a girl nice before draining her life force?”

Aurora’s batting her eyes, a contrast from the bead of sweat at her temple, the speeding up of her heart. She’s a fight or flight response wrapped up in a false sense of bravado, making the game just a little more intoxicating.

So Tayce grins, stepping in just a little bit closer to Aurora, her lips near her ear so that she can whisper in a way that’ll make the hair on Aurora’s skin stand on end. “Oh, she’s negotiating. She has demands.”

“What, afraid you won’t be able to satisfy them?” Aurora’s response is immediate despite the way she’s squirming in Tayce’s grip, and Tayce doesn’t miss the way her thighs press together.

Tayce has experimented in a multitude of ways during her immortal lifespan, but this? A human pressed up against a wall, inches away from her fangs while pretending to be completely unfazed? Tayce is enjoying it more than she wants to admit.

The girl’s face takes on a simper, the corners of her lips curling upwards, despite remaining trapped in Tayce’s grip. “Y’know what? I think you’re scared to do it. You’ve been hesitating this entire time for a reason, haven’t you? You can’t bear to kill me. I’m too pretty, aren’t I?”

“Don’t play with fire, baby.”

“Prove it, then. Do it, yeah? If you’re going to. Don’t keep a girl waiting,” Aurora breathes out, her breath hitching in her throat and Tayce pauses, her eyes flicking from the girl’s eyes to her lips to her neck and-

She decides. Albeit a second too late.

Because Aurora’s leaning forward and kissing her before she can strike.

There’s no way in hell she can tell Cara about this, the fact that she’s kissing a fucking human while she can still smell her blood pumping, and Tayce is hungry, damn it, she can feel her stomach rumbling as she weaves a hand into Aurora’s hair.

Aurora licks into her mouth, her wrists straining against Tayce’s grip as she whines and Christ, it’s been too long since Tayce has done this. Any self respecting person would not feel as affected as she is, or find it as dizzying or want more. Because Tayce needs more, wants more, from this human whose hips are pushing forward to grind against hers.

Aurora bites at her bottom lip and Tayce can’t help but smirk as she pulls back from the kiss, because Aurora’s breaths are coming out in pants and she looks as dazed as Tayce feels. “Looks like I’m not the only one who likes to bite.”

“Enough incentive to keep me around, yeah?” Aurora murmurs, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and Tayce hates how much the sight of it is absolutely doing it for her. “You going to whisk me back to your Dracula castle, or not?”

“Your survival instincts are incredibly slutty,” Tayce snorts as she lets Aurora’s wrists go.

Aurora wastes no time, her fingers grabbing Tayce’s belt loops to pull her closer. “Not difficult when the creatures of the night turn out to be hot as you are.”

Tayce can’t help but ghost her lips over Aurora’s, grinning when Aurora lets out a small gasp. “Y'know, you’re the only human to successfully whore their way out of being killed. I’m impressed.”

“Now, you know they don’t call me A’whora for nothing.”

“Pardon? They call you what?”

[kiarcheo]

A Whole New World    2/10

Jane and Kat find out there is more to each other…and to the new world they have found themselves in.

Read on Ao3 too

AN: I have seen Anne’s date of birth ranging from 1501 to 1507, and Jane’s between 1504 and 1509. For the sake of this story I consider Anne born in 1501 and consequently dying at 35, and Jane being born in 1508 and dying at 28.

Kat came back at 18 and Jane at 22, Anna, Cathy and Anne in their late twenties, and Catalina in her early thirties.

                               ——————————————–

It becomes a regular thing. Sometimes it’s a museum Kat has already visited, sometimes a new one on the list she keeps of places she wants to see. They often make a day of it, treating themselves to lunch (usually at Jane’s initiative, since Kat tends to forego eating in favour of whatever has caught her interest), exploring parts of the city unknown to them.

One evening, close to dusk, they are walking through an empty park when Kat stops. ‘Have you ever wanted to try them out?’

‘Try what?’ Jane follows the direction of Kat’s gaze. ‘That?’

‘They look like fun.’

‘They are for children.’

‘Who said that? Besides, there are no children around...’  Kat trails off, eyebrow raised waiting for a response.

‘You know what? Why not?’

Kat lets out a small squeal before grabbing Jane’s hand and dragging her towards the playground.

‘Remember when you said “who said that they are just for children”?’ Jane asks as they are sitting on the platform, feet dangling down, recovering their breath and cooling down.

‘You mean, like, half an hour ago?’

‘Smartass.’ Jane gives her a look, before pointing to a sign. ‘Children’s Play Area. Only children under the age of 12 may use this play area.’

‘Well, technically we haven’t been back for that long?’

Jane shakes her head amused. Kat is so cheeky and she would have never guessed before spending so much time with her.

‘So what was your favourite part?’ she asks after a bout of silence. That is another thing that changed. Before, silent moments were much more common and awkward, now their quiet spells are rarer and yet infinitely more comfortable.

‘You falling off those.’ Kat motions with her head towards the monkey bars, getting a glare in response. ‘What about yours?’

‘The slides, I’d say.’

‘Yeah, they are nice. But too short, don’t you think?’

‘I know, right? By the time you pick up speed, you’re already at the end,’ Jane agrees. ‘They should make them longer. Adult-sized.’

‘Wait!’ Kat whips out her phone. ‘Let me...’

And Jane lets her. She has learnt that Kat's curiosity is insatiable. If she stumbles upon something she doesn’t know or doesn’t understand…she has to look it up. So many times, when their fellow queens mention (usually complain, actually) that Kat is always glued to her phone, Jane has been tempted to tell them that most of the time she is learning something new...but if Kat had not told them – not even if she would probably spare herself their scolding – then it’s not her place to tell them.

‘They exist!’ Kat exclaims angling the screen towards Jane. ‘Look! They even have playgrounds for adults!’

They look together at the photos for a while before Kat taps on a Wikipedia link, her first port of call every time. ‘Amusement parks,’ she starts to read the entry aloud before being interrupted by a text notification popping up on the screen.

Kat groans as she reads it.

‘What?’

‘Curfew,’ Kat sighs. ‘Apparently it’s late and they are wondering why I’m not home yet.’ She knows it’s because they care but... ‘Did you get one too?’

Jane checks her phone. ‘No.’

Kat sighs again. ‘One dies young once and she is forever treated like a baby.’ She notices the look Jane is sending her. ‘Please don’t start.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘I can't make a joke that everyone freaks out thinking I’m depressed or having a breakdown or a flashback or something.’

Jane remembers clearly one of those occasions. They had been discussing nightmares and how everyone seemed to have them except Kat, who had commented that perhaps losing her head had meant losing everything that had been inside that too. She also remembers very clearly thinking that the reactions had been a bit disproportionate compared to Kat’s offhand tone and casual demeanour.

‘Sometimes a girl just wants to be self-deprecating. Or joke about her own death without being psychoanalysed and having people wanting to talk about your trauma.’

‘I get it. I said once that I had no time with Edward. I was just...stating a fact. I was not looking for pity or anything. But they tripped over themselves to reassure me that I was still his mother – which of course! – and that I’m still a mother now. And honestly. One has a child once and she is forever just a mother in everyone’s eyes. Don’t get me wrong. I wish I could have seen Edward grow up. Wish I could have been his mother. Properly. But I wasn’t. And out of all of us, I’m the one who had less time with children. Besides you, I was the youngest one to die. So I have no idea why everyone thinks of me as this motherly figure?’

Aware that she has been ranting, Jane chances a look at Kat, who has a peculiar expression on her face.

‘What?’ she asks, feeling self-conscious.

‘I’m just thinking how happy I am that you joined me that day at the museum.’

That had been the true start of their relationship, despite having lived together for many months prior to that.

‘You mean you're happy I caught you sneaking out?’

Jane knows what she means, though. They would have never thought, and even less found, they had so many things in common. Or that they could get along so well and have so much fun together.

‘I was not sneaking out.’

Jane merely looks at her.

‘I thought nobody was home. It was just out of habit.’

‘So all the other times you sneaked out.’

Kat doesn’t reply, knowing Jane is doing it just to annoy her. They had a similar talk the second time they went to a museum together, Jane asking why they were sort of hiding their trip. It was not that Kat thought they would stop her if they knew she was going out. But she just didn’t want to deal with their questions. About where she was going, why, why she was going alone, when she was coming back...Just easier to leave without them knowing and then simply tell them she had been out if they asked having noticed she had not been home. In their defence, they knew better than to pry and as long as she was home safely, they would let it go despite being curious.

/

‘I know you’re the one in charge of our museum days,’ Jane starts, ‘but I wanted to run an idea by you.’

‘Of course we can go to a museum of your choice. You don’t need to ask permission or whatever.’

‘Wait before agreeing.’

‘Is it the Tower?’ Kat winces with a grimace, trying to think of places still standing that Jane might be wary of asking her to visit.

Jane stops rummaging in her bag, her head shooting up. ‘What the fuck, Katherine??’

The younger girl is so lost in unpleasant memories that she doesn't even react to Jane’s swearing nor her full naming her. ‘Hampton Court?’

‘Why would I ever do something like that?’ Jane recoils. ‘God, no! The Clink.’

‘As-’

‘The prison! Not the-’

‘Brothels?’ Kat completes, eyebrow raised in amusement. Then she nods, almost to herself. The area had been known for two main things…the prison and for allowing usually forbidden activities.

‘Yes. I mean, they made a prison museum. You know I like true crime and–’

Yes. That had been a surprise. When Kat had asked if there was something she particularly enjoyed reading and learning about, like she loved history, that had definitely not been the answer she had expected. Jane must have known that, considering how much she hummed and hawed before caving after Kat had called bullshit – literally – on her non-committal answer.

‘–I think I’d like to– but I don’t want to, like, trigger you?’

‘What’s inside, exactly?’

Jane finally finds what she has been looking for in her bag and hands her a leaflet.

‘You know what?’ Kat takes a look at it. ‘We can go and you can...scout it out?’ She doesn’t see anything upsetting in the pictures, but there will be so much more in the museum that they can show in a single leaflet. ‘You can take a look before me and if you think there is something that might…disturb me, you tell me and I’ll skip that room?’

‘Really?’

‘I mean, you know I'm not too fussed about death and stuff like that as long as it’s not too bloody. Or neck-related.’

She is not too keen on watching documentaries with Jane, but she doesn’t mind listening to her talking about them. Or about whatever serial killer or unsolved crime she is currently reading about.

‘Thank you.’ Jane squeezes her arm, hoping Kat knows it’s not about agreeing to her request, but for her trust. ‘On an unrelated note...food?’

Jane’s constant preoccupation with food is another thing put down to her supposedly maternal instinct, a desire to make sure everyone is well-fed. The truth is…Jane loves eating. Being able to enjoy doing so without the ever-present worry of looking unladylike. Discovering new foods. She doesn’t eat a lot, but she needs to eat often, or she becomes…hangry, it’s what Kat called it. And it is only polite to ask if the others are feeling peckish too and want to join her. Moreover, she knows it’s one thing she can’t rely on Kat for, seeing as she is prone to skip meals if there is anything else she deems more important or interesting.  

‘Do you think Catalina would consider this as traditional local food or...?’ Jane wonders aloud as she dips the churro in the plastic pot holding the chocolate sauce.

‘Possibly? Even if they were not invented by Spanish shepherds but brought by the Portuguese from China like some say, I think everyone agrees that by the 16th century they existed in Spain. And look, Romans had fried pastry, so, if not exactly that, something similar. And naturally cacao came to Europe after the Spanish invaded the Americas, so it arrived in Spain first, although if it was just after Cortés, Catalina would have been already in England…so she might have never tried churros with chocolate? Not sure when they started to combine the two, to be honest…’ Kat trails off. ‘What?’

‘Next person who says you’re stupid, I’ll deck them.’

Kat chuckles, bumping her hip into hers. ‘I appreciate the offer.’

‘It’s not an offer, it’s a promise.’

.

‘Ever thought about getting a car?’ Jane asks after they have been walking for a while.

‘Why? Tired? But not really. Honestly just the idea of getting into one and driving it myself is kind of terrifying.’

Jane nods. It sounds a bit like airplanes for her. It still boggles her mind that humans can fly. And she knows they are mostly safe and all, but it doesn’t mean she is keen on trying them out for herself.

‘I thought about getting a bicycle and learning how to ride,’ Kat continues.

‘Why don’t you?’

‘Yeah, and where would I hide it?’

‘Why would you need to hide it?’ Jane is puzzled enough to ignore Kat’s tone verging on the sarcastic rhetorical question inflection that usually implies someone had just asked a very stupid question.

‘With the potential of me getting hurt? Straying away, getting lost, or whatever? I don’t know if you have noticed, but the others tend to be a bit overprotective.’

And a bit is a euphemism. Don’t get her wrong. It is nice to have people caring and worrying about her. But she spent a lifetime fending for herself. And yes, she had her struggles, and the end might have been inglorious, but Anne wound up the same way and yet nobody questions her…or her capabilities. And okay, that might have something to do with age, but nobody cared about that before, and she had been a bloody queen (and quite a successful one, if she says so herself, at least before her past caught up with her)! Still, she doesn’t want to think how worse it would be if she had come back younger than she had been at the time of her death like the others did.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Jane asks, realising she is miles away, lost in thoughts.

‘How weird it would be if we had come back the same age we died. Well, besides me, obviously.’ She hopes she’ll be there to see it in person, but she can’t really think about Catalina as a 50-years-old woman or Anna in her forties. ‘And about how there is a fine line between heart-warming care and overbearing concern.’

Because, back to the point, she might have been more or less successful, but she is used to rely just on herself and getting by, not to have four other women, Jane to a lesser extent, being overly concerned about her. For certain matters, at least. Because for other things they seem perfectly happy to…perhaps not ignore her, but surely leave her to her own devices, without trying to get her involved. And she is often more than content with it, she will admit that…except that often it also leads to remarks about how she spends all her time at home, always in front a screen, and perhaps she should go out more? And then instead of standing up all night on her phone, she would tire herself out and sleep?

‘So you don’t want to check this out?’

Kat had not even realised they were walking past a sporting goods store.

‘Look! You could easily hide that.’ Jane points out to a small, colourful, tricycle, clearly meant for children.

‘Ah ah. Very funny.’ Sarcasm is heavy in Kat’s voice, but she follows her in.

‘What about this?’

‘A unicycle? Really? Have you ever seen one of those around, in public?’

Jane takes a moment to think about it. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘Exactly. Because they belong in the circus.’

‘One might say our house is a circus.’ They certainly have some chaotic days.

‘And you a clown.’

Jane gasps in mock offence. ‘I miss the days when you were afraid of me.’

‘I was never afraid of you. I was indifferent. And thought you were a stuck-up bore. Also, I know you don’t miss it.’

‘True,’ Jane admits easily. ‘Joking aside. We could put them in the shed?’

She had said once that she didn’t mind taking care of the garden and suddenly she had been left in charge of it, gardening apparently a passion of hers she didn’t even know she had. She supposes that it was deemed an appropriate hobby for boring old plain Jane (and yes, the fact that it is her actual name and not just a phrase in her case does not escape her), just like embroidery. She enjoys both of them, sure, but she is fairly confident the others think that’s all she does, no other interests – oh wait, there is cooking, or at least making sure that everyone is eating too! – which is something she tries not to dwell on too much because that’s frankly a bit (or a lot, depending on how she feels on the day) insulting.

‘We? Them?’ Kat raises an eyebrow. ‘But yes, we could store them there, but not really hide them if anyone happens to look inside. And certainly not two of them.’

Still, they continue to peruse the store.

‘What about these?’ Jane calls Kat’s attention, holding a pair of rollerblades up. ‘I’ve seen kids with them, can’t be that hard, can it?’ she continues once the girl comes over, looking interested.

‘Shoes on wheels? We’re so gonna die.’

Jane starts to put them back, slightly dejected, but Kat snatches them up. ‘Let’s do this.’

‘Yeah?’ She looks at her, tentative grin on her face.

Kat nods with gleeful smile. ‘Absolutely.’

[sunshinejins]

if i was dying on my knees (you’d be the one to rescue me)

(title from brother by kodaline)

so, hi!  jatp has reignited my desire to write again and this time i think i might actually finish a whole fic.  so uh, here it is :) please let me know if you like it, I’ll hopefully update asap, but i’m in uni so asap may be in like two weeks.  unless people really like it.  then, probably sooner lmao.

pairing: julie molina x luke patterson

fandom: julie and the phantoms

warnings: death bc rose, and i swear once but other than that i think nothing else?

Julie didn’t want to be frustrated, she really didn’t.  In fact, she wanted to be sad, mourning, depressed, or literally anything other than slightly pissed off all the time.  It’s incredibly exhausting to be angry all the time, and she felt like being sad would at least give her blood a break from simmering.

But her mom died.  And apparently her body only knows how to process grief by developing a rather annoying tendency to be irritated constantly.

She tries to forget it though.  Instead of wallowing in the negative feelings that cloud her family in the months following Rose Molina’s death, she throws herself into distractions.  She gets a job at a coffee shop near the USC campus and puts almost all her effort into becoming a top employee.  Her grades don’t drop because thankfully her professors seemed to all inherently understand that she just couldn’t sing anymore.  Like at all.

The world kept spinning.  Julie could only hope to hold on.

That’s how she ended up, six months later, complaining over a milk frother about her very well-intentioned best friend to the only person she knew would listen.

“Flynn just doesn’t understand,” Julie moans, shutting off the machine and dumping the contents unceremoniously into a to-go cup.  Her coworker, Allison, raises an eyebrow and swipes a rag at the milk spill that pools under the cup.

“Did she try to get you to sing again?”

“Surprise karaoke night with her girlfriend and a couple kids from class.  Her intentions were pure though so I don’t even know why I’m upset.” Julie shoves a lid onto the cup and slides it across the counter to a pre-occupied businessman who doesn’t notice the extra milk soaked into the bottom.  Allison nods thoughtfully and starts dumping coffee beans into the espresso machine.  Julie watches her with slight awe.  Allison was one of those people that terrified Julie when she met her; everything about her felt polished and put together down to the blunt cut of her pale blonde hair and the curve of her smirk when she smiled.  Soon enough, Julie discovered that she was as warm as any of her other friends, but it had taken a lot of closing shifts and smoothie runs to come to that conclusion.

Allison sets down the bag of coffee beans and gives Julie one of her solemn looks; it’s the sort of look where Julie thinks Allison could probably read her mind if she tried hard enough.

“Maybe they’re going about it wrong.  You haven’t been around music properly in what?  A year?  What if you just need to sit and listen to music again to just get you used to the environment?” Julie thinks for a moment.  Allison raises a fair point, and it’s the complete opposite tactic that everyone else has been trying, which has been to shove music in front of her to sing and give her expectant and hopeful looks. It’s a trial run.  Something casual.

“Where would I go?” Allison smiles a bit and passes Julie a container of oat milk to put away.

“There’s a bar off Sunset that’s hosting an open mic tonight.  Very relaxed and casual vibes.  I could pick you up from your apartment and take you.  We haven’t hung out since that movie night a while ago.”  Julie hesitates.  It’s not that she’s opposed to spending a night with Allison, but a small part of her feels like she’s cheating on her current circle of emotional support humans by agreeing to go. Not that her dad or Carlos or Tia would mind, but Flynn would possibly take offence and that alone stalled Julie for longer than she realized. Allison clocks the look on her face and amends the statement.

“Flynn is obviously welcome too.”

A mind reader, Julie swears. 

“Hell yeah. Let’s do this.”

***

Julie’s feeling significantly less optimistic when Allison’s car has been driven away by the valet and herself, Flynn, and Allison are all standing in line outside the club. Julie can feel the bass of the songs playing more than she can hear them, but the proximity of music is enough to make her palms sweat. Other than the music the coffee shop plays and the strains of country she hears through Carlos’ wall, Julie hasn’t heard proper music since Tia Victoria sang “Amazing Grace” for her mother’s funeral. Flynn notices her nervous look. 

“Chill, Jules. It’s all very chill. We’re just gonna listen to a couple bands.” 

“Flynn’s right. And if at any point you want to bail, we can go get soft pretzels.” 

“But we should try and stay for the whole thing!”

“However, we’re also going to respect you if you can’t do that,” Allison punctuates this sentence with a meaningful eyebrow raise and Flynn nods vigorously. Julie swallows and tries to mimic the courage she had a few hours ago.  The bartender scrutinizes their IDs for a moment before allowing them to sweep into the bar and Julie’s jaw nearly drops at the volume of people contained inside.  Nearly every seat is filled, and the standing areas are packed with people all jamming to the band onstage that’s currently playing what Julie has to admit is a pretty kick ass cover of “Somebody Told Me” by The Killers.  

Allison somehow discovers a table near the edge of the bar, and disappears off to get them drinks.  Flynn’s rocking out already, and Julie feels a few of the nerves in her stomach even out as the realization that she doesn’t have to sing sinks into her bones.  Allison was right, unsurprisingly.  If she focuses hard enough, she can even push out the memories of coming to these sorts of open nights with her mom.  Flynn shoots her a large and grateful grin and Julie lets herself smile back.  She’s taking a step.  She’s doing it.

Allison returns as the band switches and a new band begins to play a hyped up cover of “Africa” by Toto.  The three girls lapse into quiet appreciation of the music, with Flynn singing along to every song played, Allison bobbing her head to herself and occasionally letting out a few notes in her vocal range, and Julie just quietly appreciating the fact that she doesn’t feel like throwing up.

It’s all very casual, just like her friends said.

Until it’s not.

As the third band of the night begins their last song, Julie retreats to find the bathroom.  It’s hidden nearly backstage, and she’s just about to make it to the door when she hears the panicked shouts of someone from near the curtain which separates the small backstage from the actual performing area.

“Dude, I cannot believe he bailed on us.”

“Are you really surprised?  Bobby was a piece of shit.”

“Hey, he didn’t use to be!”

“Calm down, Reg.  You know he’s been treating us like garbage ever since that record label thought he had a ‘marketable voice’ or whatever they said.”

“Guys he bailed on us, what are we supposed to do?”

Julie, despite all the “stranger danger” lessons running through her brain, backed up far enough to see into the backstage area.  Three guys stood there, two with a guitar and a bass each and one with drumsticks he was nervously twirling.  The one with the guitar had his face buried in his hands and kept swearing heavily under his breath.  The other two seemed frozen in their own panic as well.  Guitar Player removed his hands from his face and Julie caught a glimpse of worried hazel eyes and dark curls.  Bass Player opened his arms and Guitar Player tumbled into them for a hug while Drum Player rubbed his back.  The three guys looked absolutely wrecked.

Here’s the thing: Julie had an uncontrollable urge to help people.  It’s how she got roped into half of Flynn’s schemes, how she ended up teaching Carlos all of his second grade science curriculum herself, and how she somehow became the unofficial backbone of her family after her mom died.  Seeing three guys utterly wrecked because, presumably, their fourth bandmate had bailed on them?  It activated that uncontrollable urge deep in her stomach.

Here’s another thing: Julie hasn’t played music or sang in six months.  She’s had no desire to, and every time she’s tried, the distinct urge to throw up overtook her.  Tonight was supposed to be the baby step that showed her whether or not music was something she could seriously consider again; whether or not she could feel that itch to perform anymore.

“Hey, do you guys need a fourth?”

She felt the itch.  

The three guys looked up in varying levels of shock.  Drum Player recovered first, and stepped towards her hesitantly, wringing his pink hoodie as he did.

“Um, what?”

“It sounded like someone bailed on you.  I can play.  If you need it.”  Guitar Player recovers next and nearly bounds over to her in barely contained excitement.

“You can play rhythm guitar?”

“No,” the three boys deflate, “I can play piano though.”  Guitar Player tilts his head to the side as though playing a melody through in his head.  He turns back to the other two.

“Bright could fit piano.”

“We never wrote the music for a piano component,” Drum Player wrinkles his nose.

“I did,” Guitar Player admits.  The other two don’t look phased, though Bass Player does raise an eyebrow.  “I was bored!”

“Okay, but we don’t want to put you out,” Drum Player turns back to Julie and she swallows.  

“No, I offered.  Let me see the music.”

“Okay, but you have like ten minutes!” Bass Player finally chips in with a surprisingly cheerful tone.  Guitar Player hands Julie what looks like a piece of notebook paper and her eyes skim the words and notes.  It’s feasible for sure, but she can feel the nerves prickling at her stomach.  Guitar Player leans into her space and she clocks how ridiculously attractive he is up close.  He gives her a smile.

“We alternative verses like this, see?  And I don’t know your range, but we can figure that out on the go.”  Julie gives him a small smile.

“Somewhere between mezzo-soprano and soprano.”

“We can work with that.” Guitar Player seems to vibrate with energy.  “Are you sure you wanna do this?”

“No pressure,” Bass Player adds.

“Like seriously, none.  We can just go home and cry,” Drum Player says.  Julie isn’t sure.  She really isn’t.  In fact, she’s pretty sure she should just run away and hope she never sees these guys again.

“I’m sure.”

Well, that’s that.

Guitar Player sends her a smile that looks genuinely like someone has funnelled sunlight into his body and Julie feels the nerves lift for half a second.  Then, they’re called to the stage and all of a sudden she feels like she could puke all over again.  Guitar Player grabs her hand and squeezes it.

“You got this.”

Julie files out with the rest of the band and she’s extremely grateful her friends aren’t sitting in her direct line of sight.  The piano is definitely worn out from use, but her fingers settle naturally on the keys and Julie tries to focus on the budding itch to perform in her stomach rather than the urge to throw up.  She’s supposed to start this song.  This song that she became aware of ten minutes earlier.  She catches Guitar Player’s eye and he nods encouragingly.

She presses down on the keys and opens her mouth. 

Sometimes I think I'm falling down

I wanna cry, I'm calling out

For one more try to feel alive

And when I feel lost and alone

I know that I can make it home

Fight through the dark and find the spark

[gumnut-logic]

The Tattoo (Part Ten, Bit 1)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven - Bit 1| Bit 2 | Part Eight - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Part Nine | Part Ten - Bit 1

Writing this is hard. I have been trying to write this for a good chunk of the day and it is very, very slow. So I’ve only managed a bit rather than the whole chapter (which according to my now scribbled down notes, is going to be bigger than I expected, of course ::headdesk:: )

This is for @vegetacide​ because it is her fault ::hugs her:: Many thanks to @vegetacide​ and @scribbles97​ for the read throughs and cheerleading :D

I feel I need to re-iterate that this is a ‘what if’ fic. In no way do I think Virgil has this tattoo, but what if he did? A chance to explore the repercussions.

Warnings on this fic now include ‘self harm’. Please take note. It is not graphic, but the concept is there, so be aware. I am so mean to my boi ::whines::

Despite all of the above, I hope you enjoy this fic.

Oh, and apparently, despite being a Virgil whump fic in inspiration, this has become a Scott fic in execution. I should know better - you break a brother, it takes down Scotty big time. Sorry, Scooter.

-o-o-o-

Scott was up far too early that morning. His sleep had been broken by memories he hadn’t let surface for a long time. There was guilt with that. Perhaps he hadn’t been paying enough attention to his younger brother’s mental health. Perhaps he had once again fallen for the illusion that Virgil was the rock of the family.

Perhaps Virgil’s accident was just a convenient reminder of what could have happened if he hadn’t found his brother that night.

It was too early to go for a run. Too dark unless he wanted to accidentally step off a cliff he didn’t see coming. So, he was left to his thoughts sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a coffee, staring out into the darkness.

Virgil was his second in command. He always had been. He was aware that his brother wasn’t like him, wasn’t military minded, but their differences only made them a stronger team. Virgil saw what he missed, he stood in for younger brothers and took Scott on when he needed to, just like any formal second in command would.

The man was calm, solid and as stubborn as a mule when he needed to be. Scott loved him for it.

So, it had been unexpected to find him shattered and bleeding, both mentally and literally that night so long ago.

Scott had known it had been a bad day, that they had lost more lives. He had been there when Virgil’s shoulder had been reset that first time he dislocated it. Had seen the stitches in his back.

What he hadn’t seen was the last straw, the moment when losing so much had finally broken his brother.

He was ashamed to admit that it was chance that he had been down by the beach hut. He hadn’t even gone looking for Virgil.

But he found him.

Curled up on a rock at the edge of the lagoon, he had obviously come out here in an attempt to seek solace. But he hadn’t found it.

The sound of Virgil sobbing in absolute anguish was a sound that haunted him to this day.

The sight of him tearing at his bandages, hooking stitches with his nails, and the blood on his hands...

There had been yelling and fear and tears. Scott had ended up with wet shoes and a brother in his arms desperately clinging, broken and staining his shirt in more ways than one.

The cover up and promises had been quick and hard. A trip to the mainland, hurried security checks for professionals... Kyrano kept so many secrets.

There had been long weeks where Virgil had been off rota supposedly for his injuries, but more so for his mental health.

Keeping worried younger brothers in the dark had been hell. But Virgil insisted. He couldn’t show weakness. Couldn’t break in front of his little brothers.

And Scott understood. He so understood.

Looking back now, it was obvious that John knew something was up. The man was their comms specialist and there was no doubt there was nothing John couldn’t find out if he wanted to know.

Eventually, Virgil had returned to the Island, apparently as healthy and as strong as ever. But Scott had seen the cracks and now could see the hastily plastered walls and his brother’s struggle to keep it all together. The next time they lost someone, the eldest desperately hunted down his brother terrified what he would find.

The lagoon was windy that day, its usual calm tossed by an ocean breeze strong enough to churn up waves to crash against the shore.

Virgil was sitting on the same rocks, staring out across the churned surface. His brother was composed. No sign of the broken man he had found here months earlier. But Virgil appeared to have been expecting him.

His hand twitched against his now healed shoulder. Scott had seen the scars that had formed there. The claw of his brother’s own hand left tracks in his skin.

“Virg?”

That hand spasmed and, for a second, clawed at the cloth of Virgil’s t-shirt.

“I need something.” His fingers twitched. “I need to remember them. To honour them.” Wide, sad, dark eyes turned to face Scott. “I need to feel something other than this.”

His nails dented his shoulder and Scott skipped across rocks to grab at that hand, grasping it gently in both of his, holding it close to his heart as Virgil instinctively tried to pull away. “Virg.”

Those eyes wouldn’t look at him.

“Virg, Peter said it would take time.” Peter was the professional trusted with his brother’s mental health.

His brother stilled. “Time.” His sigh was pain-filled. “Time to forget.” A whole shift in Virgil’s posture as he looked up, depression replaced by defiance. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to dismiss their lives. My failures. They deserve more!”

“Virg-“

“Do you want to forget Mom?” A swallow. “Or Dad? Grandpa?”

Scott’s fingers twitched around his brother’s. “No. Of course not. Virg-“

Virgil retrieved his hand, pulling away gently.

It returned to that shoulder and Scott’s heart clenched.

“I want to remember them.” His fingers twitched against his shirt and Scott fought the urge to grab his hand again.

A wave reached up and soaked his shoes with saltwater. “Fine. But I’m not risking you. We will find a way.” Strategy. There was a solution, he just had to find it.

He didn’t find it.

Virgil did.

And Scott still wasn’t convinced it was a good idea.

But from that first day, that first drop of ink to stain Virgil’s skin, it had worked.

The design had been Virgil’s own. A mix of defiance and the Tracy coat of arms, echoing the plaque their grandmother had stuck up on the wall in the main corridor of the villa the day they had moved in.

The fact it was a bird of prey, thunderbird or not, was eerily appropriate.

The axe just chilled Scott.

But his brother now felt those upraised dates on his back whenever his hand reached for that shoulder and whatever reaction he had, it helped.

Scott closed his eyes and let his head fall into his hand. He had been so scared, so terrified he was going to lose...

Virgil was more than his brother.

He couldn’t do this without him.

He didn’t want to do this without him.

It felt selfish, like he had patched his brother up and thrown him back to work, but it wasn’t.

It wasn’t.

The hand on his shoulder startled him enough that coffee spilt all over the table. “Shit.”

A hurried right of his mug and he clambered out of his seat only to collide with his father. “Dad!”

His father stumbled and Scott grabbed him. “Heh, didn’t mean to startle you.” His smile was unsure.

“’S okay, Dad.” He ushered him to a chair. “Sit down while I grab a cloth and clean up this mess.”

There was a frown eyeing him, but Scott ignored it, using the coffee dripping onto the floor as an excuse to not answer the question left unspoken. He managed to kill several moments doing just that, ending up at the sink rinsing the cloth now stained with coffee. His back to his father, he took another moment to gather himself.

He knew what was coming.

“Son?”

He closed his eyes.

The clunk of that damned walking stick on the flagstones had him spinning and holding up a hand. “Sit down, Dad.” Grabbing at straws. “You want a coffee?” Not waiting for an answer, Scott began prepping exactly that, his fingers prodding Virgil’s coffee machine.

“Scott. Sit down.”

He looked up to find his father’s sad eyes beckoning.

A swallow and Scott turned to face the inevitable.

-o-o-o-

TBC

[supertransural]

supernatural made me realize a bunch of shit about myself, specifically identity and it’s part of the reasons why i think it’s an inherently queer story.

allow me to clarify. once upon a time, 6 years ago, i found supernatural. back then i was mostly in the closet, even to myself. i’d gotten to that point of “hah wouldn’t it be nice to be like guys on tv and kiss the pretty girls” but not much further than that, because in most of the movies i had watched with my parents, the personality of the guy wasn’t really explored in the way supernatural (mostly unintentionally ngl) does with its characters.

so picture a teen, finding my first tv show to watch alone, being able to think my very own comments about it and not fear any repercussions from those thoughts because hey, i’m alone in my room i can think what i like about what i’m seeing. and feeling.

and here enters dean. complicated, comes from a rough childhood, parental expectations weighing so heavy on him it’s bleeding through his smiles, has a brother he feels is his duty to protect, is stuck in a loop of denial repression depression sublimation denial repression depression sublimation den-

you get the gist. i related to that guy. and then here he goes getting bi-coded (didn’t know what that was at the time but looking back, i could sure as hell feel it) and then kissing girls on screen, despite his wavering self-confidence. little ol’ gay me was like “yoooo i relate to this character on most of his character points, do i also relate to like..... wanting to do what he does??? do i wanna kiss other girls????”. fast forward one season and i’ve already figured out i was maybe bi. literally thanks to season 1 dean.

so, having figured out this “minor” aspect of myself, i went on youtube to find some other people like me and try to see if i was right to be homophobic towards myself or not. figured out, hey uh, definitely not. so you can also add “it ended up making me try to put a stop to my internalized homophobia” on the list of things that shitpost of a show helped me with.

i went back to the show for another season, relating even more to dean, and “blah blah blah queer coded character blah blah blah gay me could feel it before i knew what it was blah blah blah happy gay stuff”. several seasons passed by before anything new came up on my “hm this show rly out here bringing out all the queer aspects of myself huh” journey, but anyways i was still slowly but surely thinking holy shit i wanna be this goddamn man i want to be dean.

then comes season 4, walzing into my questioning little heart. oof ok, this season hit ALL the right spots for me. because i could feel what was going on between cas and dean and even though everything was still blurry as fuck, the parallel between sam/ruby and dean/cas was clear as day. and i was like “oh so you’re saying there’s a love here and it’s like that tarnished love between sam and ruby and it’s forbidden so that’s why we’re not seeing it and it’s like... gay”. so it made me realize “holy shit, i wanna see more gay content, and it’s ok to want that.”

then cas became another extremely relatable character, because i just kept thinking “he doesn’t really have a gender the same way other humans do” and i shit you not, he started me questioning my own gender. because again, a relatable character that you somewhat identify with that makes you ask questions about their identity INEVITABLY makes you ask questions about yourself. queue me going on youtube yet again to understand this shit a little better. i went through a few months of thinking “maybe i’m nb”, joined a few more gay communities on the internet, started learning about lgbtq+ things, watched a few more gay shows, and basically just grew a little more into my queerness.

fasforward several seasons, a couple gap years where i stopped watching it, and you’ll get to me a year ago. i thought i was a gay woman, fairly happy in that mental space and identity. but then. the whole “i wanna be dean” thing came up a lot again. because he just kept on being more and more visibly queer coded as i kept on learning more about this shit.

lo and behold, i jumped straight into the idea i was trans. and wouldya look at dat, i was right. quarantine happened, so i had to get even more of my interactions through online platforms, and quite obviously hovered around the gayer ones, or at least the lgbtq+ sides of them. and as i kept watching the show on and off, binging the first seasons for the 4th time, i kept learning more and more about myself. and those acts of gay frenzy were always started by seeing something relatable or strange in that show and looking it up. like, legitimately every time.

i found this community on tumblr a few weeks ago because i was tired of having my own little hypotheticals in my head and not knowing if anyone agreed, and the more i’ve been here the more i’ve learned about myself. the more i’ve let go of a lot of internalized hatred. the more i’ve been really ok with myself, as a trans guy. BUT ITS NOT FINISHED YET.

because, as we all know, it is common understanding here that dean is bi. WELL, i’ve been re-binging the show with that mindset finally clear in my head, and the “haha dean relatable lol” thing came up again, except it was really a “haha dean (who is bi) super relatable lol” thing now. so i paused, yet again, to think about that a little more. AND FIGURED OUT I WASNT STRAIGHT, IM BI AS FUCK.

that happened 1 month ago. i thought i’d grown fully into my queer self, that i’d gone through enough realizations and coming outs (to friends only, god forbid i come out to my parents (unfortunately quite literally god forbid lmao) before i’m out of here) for a lifetime. but apparently not. AND IT WAS STILL BECAUSE OF SUPERNATURAL. destiel and trans!dean fics helped with my internalized transphobia and homophobia, they helped with acceptance of those parts of myself. something that helped was also seeing the fact that shipping two guys in a tv show wasn’t just “being greedy with my grubby little gay hands” and wanting to think of a character as trans wasn’t just “being delusional and ridiculous”. and reading fics wasn’t cringy, it was nice and comforting.

so to try and sum up this unhinged gay rant, what i meant by my initial statement is this.

looking back on this entire self-discovery journey that i went on, it really felt like i was in the impala with the boys, except i was on a different kind of route (just picture this giant road painted in rainbow colors with baby driving at 80mph on it, that’s what it felt like). i grew with those characters, but most importantly i grew THANKS to those characters. their story was queer enough to make me, a fairly homophobic, traditional, conservative kid into a lib trans bi dude. and not in a “i got converted by the fandoms” way. i found the fandom waaaaayyyyyyyy later. i stumbled upon the fandoms looking for answers about this gayass goddamn show that i could FEEL was like me but couldn’t verbalize yet.

their story felt like a queer self discovery story and i could already see that before i went on it myself. no other shows have ever done that for me, and i’ve watched shows that had lgbtq+ characters in them, scripted gay scenes, not just subtext but text. and they still didn’t do that for me.

so this is why this show is so meaningful to be, and incidentally so very gay. like genuinely.

[in-tua-deep]

tua rewatch with the roommate

Episode five

Oh fuck the “I found you. all your bodies.” scene

“We died?” “Horribly.” throwback to the ben convo o o f

“If perfectly arranged under rubble and otherwise unharmed counts as ‘horribly”’  - roommate

I like that Diego says he’s going to kill Hazel and Cha-Cha like it’s a challenge?? lol five doesn’t care if they live or die he only cares if u do you big dumbass

“Well I know none of the main characters die bc there’s a season 2... and i’m pretty sure they’re all in s2... like all of the family?”

I mean luther is kind of valid for being frustrated that five didn’t share about the apocalypse but also like,,, the first person five told about it (Vanya) suggested he might be insane. so. i can understand some reluctance on his part on top of the whole “the last time my siblings fought this the Whole World Died Including Them i would like them as far away from apocalypse stuff as possible”

okay okay so five says “they turned me into the perfect instrument” so do y’all think that implies experimentation like in the comics or ????

all i can think about during the kennedy scene though is my high school history teacher. he went over the assassination in intimate detail and i’m pretty sure he was writing a book about it and everything. mr. hansen if you’re out there - 

i like feral beard five more than mustache five tbh if i’m picking 

“Someone ELSE shot the president? Was he supposed to shoot kennedy or was he supposed to kill the person who shot kennedy?” - Roommate

love that five tells luther to grow up over murder,,, though to be valid pretty sure they did actually murder people as kids SO. grow down?

fuck i love mary,, will you love me like you loved me in the january rain??? just shoot me in the heart

GOD rob is such a good actor

“wait a second... how is he wearing pants?” oh roommate you have a big storm coming

i have some serious questions about the commission and their methods of communication. where do?? the tubes come from? where do they go after?

Allison: i have a bad feeling [about leonard]

where are these instincts for everything else tho??? her marriage?

“Vanya. she really is trying to look out for you. i really would trust her. you could invite her to come along so she can see he’s perfectly fine??” - Roommate, whose instincts regarding not trusting leonard-harold are spot on

apparently my roommate knows people who put salt in their coffee. i have. so many questions.

“That’s suspicious?? that’s suspicious right?? did he do that? is he a secret serial killer? is he a FUCKING secret serial killer?” roommate when they talk about helen cho going missing

“What do you mean stop showing up it’s been like. a day” - I mean. the roommate has a point. 

Klaus’s depression bath is a mood :(

did klaus put eye shadow on before his bath or did he get his hands on eye shadow in vietnam?? the questions that will never be answered

Five is so enthusiastic about having someone who understands... he doesn’t even notice absolutely Not Being In The Mood,, klaus is grieving and five is just like !!! where did you go!!!! like it was a vacation

klaus: yeah i’m ten months older now. when i’m done being depressed i will lord that over diego for the rest of our natural lives.

does five write in all caps all the time?? why? 

roommate: I wonder what the upper size limit on the knives her can use. like is it machete length? forearm length? what are the limits on his powers. if he sharpened a very sharp mechanical pencil could he use it? if he sharpened a piece of the chandelier? at what point does something become a knife?

me: could he hurl mia (my cat)? mia and her knife feet?

allison also writes in all caps to write leonard’s address

we stan agnes and hazel in this household

“I never said we didn’t !! i just thought she was just a random extra in the first episode and every time we cut away i think that’s the last we’ve seen of her” - roommate because i keep saying that this is an agnes stan household

“OH THERE’S THE PATCHWORK COAT i was afraid it didn’t come back” - okay though good question he definitely didn’t have the coat on the bus. what is it with klaus and his magically appearing coat????

oh :(  oh klaus :(  every time klaus is sad i am also sad :(

honestly a family conversation IS the threat in this family

god though this random vet in this bar is actually an asshole though like. klaus doesn’t owe him shit. klaus served. he’s clearly having a moment with the photo. that could have been a family member or something who died i don’t even know

agnes: i’m a twitcher :)

“like a twitch streamer?” -Roommate

PLEASE give me twitch streamer!Agnes au

look i just enjoy hazel and agnes

roommate: honey you’re too young for her

me: NO DON’T BE MEAN TO THEM,,, agnes deserves a boytoy

“does diego drive a manual?” my roommate once again focusing on things that i do not

five: i have to find the people whose deaths could save the timeline

my roommate: is it agnes?? is he going to kill agnes????

i’m still laughing about that fact that luther is holding dolores.... over the fire escape... she couldn’t drop that far lads

luther’s dumb sometimes but he does have some nice heart to hearts with his brother,,,, honestly he and five get along pretty well in the early episodes. kindred spirits. body dysmorphia and isolation squad.

my roommate has to keep remembering social media doesn’t exist in this universe

i am still confused as to why

that won’t stop me from giving everyone iphones and youtube accounts in my aus though

diego can curve ANYTHING he throws, usually knives, according to cha-cha’s research. but that doesn’t explain the spoilers i have seen about s2 sO

Klaus: You also told me that licking a nine volt battery would give me pubes

HOW DID I FORGET THAT LINE

oh diego got a bullet graze forgot about that as well?? does he ever get like. medical attention for that? diego?????

it really has been like. maybe two days since helen cho died. is no one??? concerned????? they just immediately jump into replacing her??????????????????? hellO? 

“very clear camera angles to show that this actress did not actually play the violin for this role” - i mean that’s fair but ellen is trying rip

me: who’s your favorite character so far?  roommate: that’s a tricky question. klaus is very entertaining to watch. allison is the most reasonable and i’m very interested to know, well, she seems like the best combination of reasonable and has the least selfish intentions. diego and luther i feel like are both good in a bland way in that they’re both doing good in the best way they can which usually involves punching people. five is fun. five is very fun. five is as fun to watch as klaus, they’re both very fun actors to watch on screen. they’re more expressive than diego and luther tend to be.  me: so which is your favorite?????  roommate: first instinct says allison, though she probably has the least dynamic or interesting arc so far

are hazel and cha-cha the best because their victims never see them coming?? like. they aren’t really THAT competent.

“I do LOVE the aesthetic of an ice cream truck playing ride of the valkyries” - my roommate is valid

“LOVE the hypersaturated background in this scene. it’s more fun that having it be desaturated.”

five looks so baby in this scene with the handler :(

still unsure where five got that handgun but i’m vibing

hate when she touches his face !! awful!!!

the handler’s little “all of them??” like yeAH ALL OF THEM even though they irritate the living FUCK out of each other. siblings man

ben gets shotgun for the getaway !!! go ben!

“I’m starting to think... given how space and reality seemed to be warping during her playing... that her medication... isn’t for anxiety...” - oh, oh roommate

ah i blocked out the leonard vanya make out as well

“DIDN’T YOU MEET HIM TWO DAYS AGO?” - yeah i feel u roommate

yup there’s helen’s body

“CSI call crime scene investigation - that’s going to start to smell real soon”

pogo: and you understand that the children can never know

me: actually pogo fuck you

and that’s episode 5 everyone thank you and goodnight

episode six

i do love a good flashback to klaus

klaus: sees a shirtless soldier and instantly falls in love

they don’T EVEN QUESTION HIM just “KATZ GET THIS MAN A PAIR OF PANTS” and they go with it?? he just APPEARED and they don’t even care

klaus was really just vibing in the 60s huh

wait this is like 1962 or 63 right

when does s2 take place?? also the 60s right???

didn’t kennedy die in 1963 i feel like what i know about s2 contradicts that date but i could have sworn they said a round trip to 1963??????

luther is SUCH A MOOD in the family briefing.

“aww he’s a bad liar” - roommate

“I realize that [the umbrella] was necessary for the title drop but where the fuck did that come from”

@ the handler please stop touching five,,, but also five has such. non reactions to her touching him. which worries me. like she grabs his shoulder walking alongside him and he doesn’t even look at her

why are there gas masks in the briefcase room...

can you IMAGINE if your boss toted a child into the room and introduced him as the Legendary Time Travelling Assassin that the whole office had a betting pool over who would die that one time and is Definitely approaching 60 not 13... and then called him LEADERSHIP MATERIAL. implying that this child will probably get a promotion before you do?? can you IMAGINE?

“again... two days ago...” roommate about leonard and vanya

vanya really chose literally just the worst time to come back to the academy huh

okay but vanya going off?? valid, but also,, i mean. it IS their dads fault that they don’t have any relationship with vanya?

luther: it’s about the moon  roommate: critical role moon theory

hey like. how did the family get together in the first timeline holy fuck. it’s hard enough to get them together when they Literally Know The World Is Going To End

so remember diego getting grazed with a bullet yeah well he has a sling on now which makes sense!! and yet. when five got grazed by a bullet he SLAPS A BANDAID ON IT. someone please address this.

five is such an asshole coworker i love it

i wonder if dot is a mother. or just a nice coworker. she keeps trying to talk to him and invite him to lunch aww

i wonder if it’s purposeful on the handler’s part to call him “mr. five” instead of “mr. hargreeves” to like... further isolate him from his family? by removing his last name they’re sort of removing his ties to his siblings considering it’s not like they’re related by blood

forgot how much i hate the bathroom scene !! wow !! hate it so much!!! there’s so many violations of social etiquette in such a short scene! it’s so deeply uncomfortable!

luther: stop it pogo! you know everything our dad did

i am remembering once again how much i hate pogo all over again!! reginald literally locked klaus in a mausoleum!! he abused the kids! pogo didn’t even speak up about sending luther to the MOON,,, oh luther :(

he just learned his dad exiled him for no reason he has lots of rights his entire world view was just shattered wow i am like infinitely more sympathetic to luther on the second watch

“I knew allison and luther was a thing. you told me allison and luther was a weird thing. still not a fan.” - my very valid roommate

they could have made the fort so much more sibling-y instead of romantic and it would have been so much better honestly

oh dave :(

“I wonder who her primary care physician is and if she can find out what that medication was...” roommate i wish i knew

“I’m trying to decide if he knew ahead to time to try and get at her specifically or like... i don’t know when he took the figurine I was like ‘doesn’t he own an antique shop is he there to steal antiques from the family home’.” roommate on leonard

forgot the handler gifted five a suit. also don’t like that. don’t like her talk about his body and everything either.

“is it too much to ask to give him two outfits? one he can wear now and one with the new body?” - roommate

honestly with hazel’s talk on budget cuts i’m not surprised he only gets one suit

STOP TOUCHING HIS FACE,,,, HANDLER. STOP TOUCHING HIS FACE

five and his sweet tooth. don’t take the candy five. come on. what did your father TEACH YOU. honestly reggie probably was like “let them get kidnapped it will probably teach them a life lesson”

“there were like... villages that needed rebuilding after disasters. he could have been sending these packages to legit lunar research facilities. legit facilities would have adored to have that information.” 

okay but people KNEW he was on the moon. cha-cha mentioned it. it was in vanya’s book. why were scientists not knocking down reginald’s door demanding the research??? if i was a moon scientist i would have the mansion staked out trying to demand info jesus

“love his eye fluttering in the way of ‘oh shit i got something in my eye i can’t break character scene is still going scene is stILL GOING’“ - hilarious observations from the allison luther fort scene 2.0: grown up version that gets erased

did they just leave the fort up all those years. did no one USE the green house??? did grace lovingly work around it all that time?

oh :(  dave :(

grace is capable of lying and pogo is a shadowy motherfucker

“okay now that they’re actually putting it into the plot i understand why you don’t think he’s trustworthy but you really got on my back about that”

in my defense i just hate him tbh i did not like him when he first showed up and i never particularly liked him tbh

allison: i think you’re the only person who knows who i am and likes me anyway

me, remembering the theory that allison rumored luther to love her: HMMMMMM

okay but i think the luther and allison dance scene is fucking HILARIOUS. absolutely ridiculous. i mean i hate that it’s incest but also the fucking LIGHTS DESCENDING. the RANDOM WARDROBE CHANGE. 

roommate likes the green underskirt thing under allison’s random dance dress

are they just doing this in public???

ugh. the kiss. ugh. erased that from my memory as well

“they clearly want romance in this show but they painted themselves into a corner with the siblings thing” - roommate

five and his fucking STAPLERS isn’t this the second time he’s knocked someone out with a stapler?? the bank robber and now gloria??

five please your siblings were finally doing some decent work on their own issues :/

five is the kind of dramatic as fuck entrances 

“love how he just grabs [allison’s] coffee. kid needs a coffee after all that.” - roommate

five actually does a good job of rallying the siblings though?? they just broke the fuck up in the og timeline

“something tells me that harold jenkins might be leonard”

oh roommate

episode seven

uh oh harold was born

i feel vaguely bad for him

“me the night before a convention” - roommate on harold’s tape and cosplay and everything

okay but how did reginald even KNOW harold jenkins had no powers?? did he? keep tabs on all the forty some kids not just the seven he kept?

but also why the fuck are these people laughing at An Actual Child fuck all of them honestly

“did HE kill hargreeves?? I mean. he’s got motive.” - roommate

harold really said “i think my superpower is actually this hammer motherfucker”

how did he get twelve years?? was he tried as an adult?? was he in juvie? how old WAS he

twelve years ago... they’re 29 soooo seventeen? he did NOT look seventeen? he was NOT seventeen in that flashback what???

roommate theorizes that harold ran off after the murder and committed petty crimes until caught and tried for murder when he was seventeen so was maybe 13 in the flashback

okay so i looked up the timeline and he got out in 2014 or something so he was like 13 in the flashback which makes SO much more sense honestly but also what the FUCK was he doing for five years

“he’s actually laying out all the facts as he knows them and I appreciate that.” -roommate about five briefing the team

five?? the only member of the family with communication skills? it’s? somehow more likely than you think?

“allison’s pants that she’s wearing now are the most perfectly tailored things i’ve ever seen. not even a wrinkle when she’s standing still. do you know how hard that is to do?” again my roommate noticing the things i absolutely do not

five. five. you have a GUT WOUND and also jumped a BUNCH OF TIMES. you are not blinking into the police station and getting the file. you need some SLEEP. and REST. and WOUND CARE FIVE FOR FUCK’S SAKE. you still have a GUNSHOT GRAZE on your upper arm and a SLICE on your wrist from DIGGING OUT A TRACKER. FIVE.

diego wants to be batman SO BAD.

five crossing his arms and Not Uncrossing Them because he’s literally HOLDING HIMSELF TOGETHER.

wow luther is really handling this so much worse in this timeline rip

luther is losing validity points for CHOKING KLAUS i knew this happened but i didn’t remember how awful it was !!! bad and terrible! and luther is very drunk and very sad and very angry. oh. he’s saying he never left the house and never had friends for nothing :(

klaus had the realization that reggie was an asshole YEARS ago and he’s just kind of like “aww. luther :(” 

klaus is trying so hard

“Klaus has had the most heart to hearts with the most siblings honestly.” - roommate

allison at the beginning making her laugh in the office with the EYES, five on the steps of meritech, diego after the vet bar, luther on the couch...

wow cha cha really thought hazel was talking about how meaningful his partnership was with her when he was talking about agNES

five limping up the lawn and staggering up the stairs and clinging to the rails baBY SIT DOWN. YOU ARE BLEEDING.

“inspiring leadership” “one of the greats” what a sibling moment honestly.

five really said “i think i will pass the fuck out now”

five really said “hey i am literally willing to die for this mission because this mission is the safety and lives of my entire family and i love you guys :(”

except he doesn’t because five is decent at information sharing but getting feelings out of him feels like pulling teeth at times smh

is leonard trying to vicariously live his “normal child born on the umbrella academy day discovers they have had powers the WHOLE TIME” dream through vanya??

we yell about how leonard and vanya have known each other for like a week but i mean same for hazel and agnes!! he’s literally asking her to run away with him and she says yes !!!!! agnes is here for the romantic adventure with this man she’s really living her first hot girl summer and living for it

“she’s having her own little rom com! she thinks she’s living in a rom com not a dark sci fi!” - roommate accurate as usual

she just called ben the emotional support ghost and i mean... she ain’t wrong

honestly klaus should have just left luther to his rave, he didn’t get to party in his teens or during his college years or anything

i do appreciate the viking yell of “B R O T H E R” that luther greets klaus with though because that’s exactly how i greet my own siblings whenever i see them

oh klaus :(

oh klaus :(

he’s having war flashbacks, cravings, is in withdrawal, AND experiencing sensory overload while reliving one of the more traumatizing moment of his life

oh klaus :(

five in a bed for the second time of the season which is nice for him. if only the first time wasn’t because he passed out drunk and the second time wasn’t because of a whole shrapnel wound. i am now that captain of the Let Five Sleep brigade holy SHIT like at least they imply that the others sleep five is just feral and ready to go at all times

are the police allowed to just. remove someone’s arm sling? is that permitted? his arm could be fucked up? i mean. it is? he was shot?

“I saw everything my brothers and sister could do ruin their lives” VANYA some REALIZATION up in here,,,, admitting that the umbrella academy wasn’t exactly a desirable place to be is actually some real growth for her and leonard just fucking shuts her down? fuck that man

VANYA SEE THE RED FLAGS FOR WHAT THEY ARE COME ON

oh klaus :(  oh luther :(  oh :(

“love his corset side pants, like benedict from violet evergarden” - on the topic of Klaus’s pants

“I made everyone else so I must have made you” says god except for the fact that the kids just... surprise popped up instead of coming about the natural way. maybe god DIDN’T made them????????

oh klaus :(  prepare for disappointment :(

oh i didn’t notice the photos of the umbrella academy in the barbershop the first time i watched this

so klaus gives an age for the mausoleum... thirteen... do you think that was before or after five left? statistically it’s probably after bc it was only a couple of months after they turned thirteen that five vanished

Klaus’s “we were just kids” breaks my heart every time

if i was one of reggie’s kids i would have just not gone to the funeral. rip to the hargreeves kids but i’m different

he doesn’t even call klaus klaus in death, he still calls klaus number four. fuck that man.

“i was gonna say i’d have been very very surprised if they kept him dead” - roommate on klaus waking up

“Five bucks says he set these guys up to try and get something out of her” - the roommate being very perceptive

cha cha is VERY rude to my girl agnes

honestly why DIDN’T hazel just kill cha cha after her whole speech and threats about killing agnes slowly in front of him???? like he literally watched her try to kill him as well

why wasn’t diego arrested in the original day that wasn’t actually?? he was being considered already. he still left the house, albeit with grace instead of allison. why wasn’t he arrested then???????? 

roommate thinks it’s interesting how committed the show is to their old timey shit. she used a nicer words like anachronisms but the point is: w h y

are these episodes even longer than i remember?? holy SHIT