#has such a storied history of being sick and injured and hospitalized. i know he showers twice a day minimum. he washed his hair with hand

[gontagokuhara]

me putting komaeda puppet inside a pillowcase because i need to wash him (he fucking Stinks) knowing that this is just like when the serial killer shoved him in a trash bag

[xoteajays]

If I do decide to watch DTC again before the movie is removed, then I might just only watch the scenes with Rascals and Daruma because I prefer them over those Sannoh boys. That's the only why I'll watch.

But I might rewatch the movies again though.. Same. I do have lots of characters I understand, but some of them are a bit complicated so it would help if I had a better grasp on them when trying to write them.

~

Yes! Horror, thrillers, sometimes even action movies are so fact paced that it might be a bit difficult to watch and read at the same time. So.. Like as an example. Hospital scenes. If there is a character who is just dying in a hospital, surgery, something like that. Then I could say that scene is so fast paced that I can barely read the subtitles so I actually have to rewatch that scene a few times to see what was said.

~

Who knows? That could be a headcanon. Because Murayama seems like he might have some disability, like an attention disorder. But that might be because he never seems to pay attention in school though.

~

Mugen and Sannoh have the most backstory. And even the Amamiya brothers to some extent since their history is intertwined with Mugen and Sannoh. The criminal gangs - Kuryu, Warriors and Doubt - have a lot less background then the other SWORD gangs.

And exactly! More backstory for Rascals. Which we mentioned before too. So you already know what backstories I want for the Rascals.

Bratty Hyuga being babysat by Kato, causing trouble everywhere he's going. The violence. The crimes. How they meet their gang members. I mean.. You already know how Hyuga met Sakyo and Ukyo, but not a lot of their members either. Same with the White Rascals.

And Rude Boys. How did they perfect the parkour sport? Did they get injured trying this, did anyone die? Well.. Maybe. Depends. But still.

Even though there is enough story for Oya, you know more about the story after the events rather than before those events. So more story.

"Characters are there for me to go ‘yoink!’ and then make them my own." But isn't that every character in existence. Major and minor.

~

To be fair. The people of Nameless City were abused and abandoned by people who should have cared for them - their biological families - so I don't blame him for having an attitude with "outsiders" who really aren't their family. But, when Takeshi learns to trust the other SWORD gangs, I see being more nice when he's more comfortable around lots of those characters. Maybe that's just how I see his character though.

~

None of them knew the crystals were toxic chemicals formed into the stones. Like Eri for example. Do you think she was sick before or after she's wore that crystal necklace that Smoky gave her? The chemicals seeping into her every time she wore the necklace. Maybe my idea?

But yeah.. They only tried helping Smoky in their own way.

A little insane? He's completely insane. Hyuga's the most aggressive, the most violent, SWORD leader out of those five. Murayama is kinda unhinged, but in a childish way. And the most unhinged you would be seeing of Rocky was back in season one - which I might the unhinged violence they had back there (so I might be keeping that in my story).

But that's what is so funny. Hyuga has fought and killed people, then he owns a gambling business, and even smokes drugs (is it drugs) so many times. Yet they complain that he's sitting on his car. Seriously?

Though.. that's so funny.. They're being picky over the most attractive men in the SWORD district. Thinking this scene over made me think.. In the show. When Junko was upset that her friends went dating (and without her), he went to a bar where she met the Masaki brother. And he walked away from her for being way too aggressive towards him.

~

I'm an overthinker so I tend to overthink about everything in my mind all the time. An abstract thinker who finds a way to connect the dots.

I don't know why. But, with foreign fandoms (like Asian fandoms), I'm always liking the concept of the main original character being foreign for a few reasons. Well.. That could be open to interpretation. But still. If there character is foreign, they'd have absolutely no connections to any other characters in the plot. They are too removed from everyone and everything, so what would help if they were introduced as people who aren't involved. I don't know. I've always loved the thought to any characters being foreign - even if they're only American. So if or when I do write for foreign fandoms, you might see that frequently which is a repetitive theme people might hate. But I enjoy the concept to that. And besides, quite a few of the celebrities in H&L are mixed ethnicity. So why not have other interracial characters and relationships.

Well.. When it comes to gangs like Kuryu, Warriors and Doubt. I doubt that I'd give any depth to Doubt because I hate that gang for reasons. But maybe for Kuryu and Warriors. Watch Mighty Warriors videos; Dream Boys, Good Life and Warriors Anthem (especially the last two videos). Because those videos could tell a story about them as a part of Kuryu now, after the events of the original movies. That's an idea.

That's what I was not sure. Because four characters are a lot, which is why I wasn't even sure if four characters enough or not. But I wouldn't want to many characters either. So if I ever did have more characters, I'd have send one or two more but even that seems too much. Since I would have five or six characters, which also means I would have one or two other characters to figure out. I know, I know... I keep saying it.

~

Okay. So.. I'll start with the orange character since I have most of her personality figured out. I have some of the blue character figured out. But I'm still trying to figure out my red character though, so not much is known about her yet because I'm being fickle about her personality for some reason. Maybe because she's red character? I don't know.

Orange:

Astrology - November 1997, I'm leaning more toward Scorpio for her Western sign and Ox is her Eastern sign. Not sure about the day yet.

MBTI - ESFP-A. (Which is funny since Cobra's personality is ISFP, so I guess they're opposites attract? That was completely unintentional.)

Temperament - Sanguine-Choleric blend.

Enneagram - Type Seven, 7w8.

Archetype - Don't know yet.

Blue:

Astrology - April 1997, I'm leaning more toward Aries for Western sign and Ox is her Eastern sign. Not sure about the day yet.

MBTI - Possibly ISFP-A. I don't know what connect she might have to Murayama yet, but his personality is ESTP if you were curious.

Temperament - Sanguine-Phlegmatic or Phlegmatic-Sanguine blend, I might have to reread which one is more accurate for her personality. I'm still figuring this out.

Enneagram - I'm still figuring this out.

Archetype - Don't know yet.

Red:

Astrology - October 1990, I'm leaning more toward Libra for Western sign and Goat/Sheep is her Eastern sign. Not sure about the day yet.

MBTI - I'm still figuring this out.

Temperament - I'm still figuring this out.

Enneagram - I'm still figuring this out.

Archetype - Don't know yet.

Obviously those characters are the ones I'm more concerned about in this moment. Since I'm still figuring them out. I'm a broken record.

But those are some of the personalities I've thought about. I'm listing the more known personality types, since I know you don't really know much about typing. I think.. I confused myself by wording it like this.

~

Definitely! Without spoiling the show. I'll keep this vague.. With how it ends, there's one of two outcomes, either it ends the way it is (which I wouldn't complain about) or they could possibly make other seasons. Because there hasn't been a mention if the show is continuing or not, hasn't been cancelled, or anything like that. So watch the soon. But it only has eight episodes in the first season when you decide to watch.

And I might have another show. Maybe. But this is a thriller, not some action series. More like a crime drama? But Extracurricular. A Korean crime drama series. And, same with this series, there hasn't been any mention if and when they decide to continue the show yet either.

i definitely already clicked through dtc just to watch the smg and babys scenes. half because i love ‘em, half to figure out which characters were which and match their names to their faces.

i have no problem rewatching the movies, but i do wish someone had compiled the scenes into separate videos on yt. like for each gang so i can just binge the specific characters instead.

~

east asians horror/thrillers are so good, but you really need to be able to pay attention to everything. like little things in the bg and the spooks and then also be reading the subtitles. korean/japanese/thai horror and thrillers hit different.

~

bratty shortass chaotic teenage hyuga and kato who is just. exhausted. he loves hyuga, but he’s also like. please. just chill for like one minute. STOP BITING.

i love the aesthetic of parkour and freerunning but also it is. terrifying. i’d love a scene of the guys like recounting their pasts while teaching some of the younger kids some easy parkour tricks. flashbacks of smokey giving some wisdom that they give to the kids too. gimme scenes of takeshi learning to take over the leader role after smokey’s death.

i will always take more murayama scenes. i don’t care what it is. anything.

writers put their pretty canon characters on my screen and i go ‘thanks, i’ll be taking that’.

~

takeshi’ll be actually nice to them eventually, but he definitely starts off with thin-veiled attitude and vague politeness for the sake of the alliance. he’s half-way into an eyeroll when he remembers he’s a leader now and not off in the back with the rest of the boys.

~

i think wearing the crystal was what made eri sick. especially since it was right up against her skin and she likely never took it off since it was her ‘treasure’.

they didn’t even mention the amamiya brothers in the complaining, though they’d probably complain about hiroto being quiet and masaki being kind of a dork. masaki lost his bike, a girl he was flirting with, and hiroto all in the span of like two minutes. loserfail dork behaviour (affectionate).

~

i got a lil spiderweb brain, just weaving stuff together and then at some point going ‘oh shit a plot point/theme/idea that ties everything together!’.

opposite that, i really like weaving my ocs into the plot and with other characters. like ‘these ones are friends’ or ‘these ones have history with each other’ or ‘these ones hate each other’. some i like to make completely new, but i do enjoy intertwining them in like they’ve been there the whole time.

i watched the last one with the mighty warriors remeeting up with ryu and becoming the new kuryu and have some plans to weave it into ryuko’s story (since ryu is still chasing her even after the original kuryu fall).

~

as a late-90s-born scorpio, i approve! (im an october scorpio tho and i think? an infp?) i think an opposite’s attract relationship with cobra works. he needs the little push of someone bit less quiet.

i really should take a deeper read into personality types, i think it’d be interesting to try and figure them out but i also have. So Many ocs. mbti or enneagrams and archetypes i think would be cool to look into.

~

i hope they don’t cancel it because it does look good, but it is netflix and they love to just. get rid of stuff that people enjoy. doesnt look like a show about wlw tho so it’ll probably be fine, all the shade to netflix.

i think i’ve seen extracurricular while clicking through stuff but i don’t remember if i saved it onto any of my lists.

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

[luna-jaden-shadow]

Oblivious

Request - Ok bish, I got some fun ones for you. So. You know the thing with the UA traitor? Wellllll how about a Bakugou x reader where the reader confronted the traitor first and got absolutely destroyed and since she’s not there for multiple days people start to think she’s the traitor until Aizawa comes in and says “oh yeah forgot to mention but your classmate is in the hospital” and Bakugou has that moment of like oh shit. She might die 

Fluff & Angst

Warning - Anime Spoilers, Injury, Cursing,

Pairing - Bakugou X Fem!Reader

For the sake of the story the reader’s quirk is explosion gas (like the zippleback from httyd)

-><-

-><-

Where is she?

Bakugou can’t help but wonder as he walks into the classroom, staring at your desk that rests beside his. This marks a week that you weren’t here before him, or at all for that matter. Every other day in the school year you made it your goal to beat him to the classroom, something about soaking up the good energy before he trashed it. That had him nearly kicking your ass. Naturally due to your quirk similarities the two of you gravitated towards each other out of pure curiosity over the school year.

A few whispers fill the classroom as he takes his seat, feet kicked up on the desk top just for the sake of getting something out of Iida today. He glances down to his phone, still waiting for some kind of message from you but still find nothing but spam memes from Kaminari and Kirishima who smicker when they notice him looking at it. Surely if something bad happened you would tell him, right?

She’s probably sick.

He comes to the conclusion, setting down his phone on the desk. It’s a logical reason for you to not be in. You’re just too sick to get out of bed and show up, and to message him, and to answer his calls. He’s just convincing himself at this point. Things around the school have been hard since the attack on the camp and since he was kidnapped. Everyone’s currently in the process of moving out of home and into the dorms at UA.

Rumors about a traitor have been floating around the school when it was pointed out that no one but a select few knew about where the camp was. “What if she was the traitor and she was caught?” Came the questioning voice of Mineta, catching Bakugou’s attention. The blond looks over his shoulder at the purple perv that he’d give anything to punt out of the room. In frustration his palms crackle, a venting method when he gets worked up. “I mean she’s not here right? And I’m pretty sure they were talking about cracking down on the traitor.” A few students mutter in agreement with the short grape. 

She can’t be a traitor.

Bakugou growls, slamming his hands on the table top, the soft cracking of his palms is muffled by the hard surface. The room falls quiet at his outburst, looking towards the explosive blond. Red eyes scan over the room, catching with the few people who know you personally who had been trying to argue with the point that Mineta had brought up. “Y/n’s not a traitor.” He snaps, glaring harshly at Mineta, who shrinks easily under his gaze. 

For just a moment, his eyes meet the green ones of Deku, who nods in agreement, not wanting to stir up the agitated teen. “He’s right, she’s not. Why else would she have gone with us to rescue him?” The memory pulls at his mind of when he saw the rag tag group and their half-assed way of rescuing him. 

The door to the class opens and Aizawa walks in, pausing to observe the tension that the class is basically suffocating in. His eyes lock on Bakugou, who’s still standing with his hands pressed to the desk. “Bakugou, sit down.” He instructs, taking his place at the front of the room. The rest of the students follow suit and take their seats, keeping quiet in front of the underground hero. He squints at the class, trying to figure out what’s wrong before his eyes latch onto the empty seat at the front of the class then back at the class. 

The students watch him, confusion written on their faces when he sighs, pushing a strand of hair back out of his face. Iida raises his hand on the other side of the room, “if everything okay Mr. Aizawa?” He questions when called on by the teacher. The attention for a moment shifts to Iida then back to their overly tired teacher. 

Aizawa rubs his eye, looking down at the paper on the podium. “As you all have heard UA has been cracking down on a traitor in the school.” He starts, clearly reading off of the paper. “A student here at UA that you all know as Y/n L/n has been hand selected to help in this investigation.” Glances are shared among the students, a few pointed glares at those who had accused you of being the traitor. “This investigation proved successful in locating the traitor.” He looks up from the paper, gesturing to the empty desk. “As you can see Y/n is not here and has not been here for the last week. We wanted to get all the details before saying anything but she go into a fight with the traitor when accusing them and is currently being treated at the hospital.”

Bakugou felt his heart skip a beat and stop completely, his burning gaze flickering to your unoccupied desk. While he knew you couldn’t have been the traitor the truth seemed to hurt a little more. Knowing that you were hurt and couldn’t reach out about it was unnerving and made him anxious about your well-being. “Can we see her?” It was Kaminari who voiced the question plaguing Bakugou’s mind. 

Aizawa observes the class, taking note of the student’s reactions to the news, he knew it would hit the class. “On your own time. She’s only taking one person at a time. She made it clear that before anyone she would like to see Bakugou. I believe her words were ‘there’s too much good energy’.” A smile pulls at Bakugou’s face, which he masks with the click of his tongue.

After school Bakugou didn’t bother wasting any time, making a b-line to the hospital where you were. He’s lead up to your room though for a minute he just stands outside the door, unable to knock in the fear of what you might look like at the moment. Were you badly injured? Covered in bandages that leaves you looking like Aizawa after the USJ attack? 

Taking in a deep breath, Bakugou reaches up and knocks on the door. A soft, “come in” can be heard front he other side, prompting him to opening the door. There, sitting in the hospital bed is you, smiling at him with a wave of a bandaged up arm. “Hey Kat!” Bakugou closes the door behind him before walking over to the bed. “Sorry about not texting, kinda broke my phone.” You give a shy smile, watching as he stops right at the side of your bed. “You okay Kat?”

Bakugou stares at you, tracing the bandages on you with his eyes before sighing. “You had me worried idiot.” He flicks your forehead, watching you scrunch up your face in reaction and lean back in the bed. “Thought you were sick and dying.” He admits, watching you smile gesturing for him to sit down in the chair beside your bed. 

You gasp, placing your hand over your chest with a smirk. “Is the Katsuki Bakugou concerned about me?” You lean over a bit, watching him scoff and push you back with his hand on your forehead. “Joking. Joking.” You raise your hands in defense. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you.” You say after a few moments of silence between you two. 

Bakugou stares at you for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s fine. Just. Maybe at least clue me in.” You smile, nodding as he sets his hand on your covered leg. It was moments like these that he lives for, the moments behind closed doors with just the two of you. That’s how he knew you weren’t the traitor.

Tag(s) :

@histories-and-mystery​

[t0wnspersonb]

Don’t Hold Back (Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader)

Anonymous said:

Hi there 🦋anon here! Would It be posible to request a scenario in which iwizumi s/o is an ice skater and she has a pretty bad fall during a competition resulting in her getting her ankle pretty bad injured and has a result is not allowed to skate for months. As a consequence she starts doubting her abilities for sports, she is scared of junping and making figures and tries to hide it from him until one day she collapses unable to hold it back anymore but iwa is still there for her? Please!

~~~

Word Count: 2,171

~~~

I apologize if this is absolute shit anon and that it took so long for me to write it😭😭😭 I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything new so I apologize for that too! I’ll hopefully be updating more, I’m finally looking through my inbox and seeing what I want to write. I’ll be doing two more requests before I close it. I have a couple more stories I want to get out. I will let you guys know when I’ll be taking more requests! I hope you guys like this one and please give me some feedback:)

~~~

“Does that hurt?” the doctor looked at you expectantly, carefully rotating your ankle.

 You shook your head.

 “Good. It looks like the physical therapy has paid off. I was worried that the surgeries weren’t -”

 You had stopped listening at that point, your eyes trained on the window behind the doctor. A brightly colored butterfly floated effortlessly in the wind, its wings beating softly as it fluttered about.

 That was how you were on the ice; it was effortless, elegant, beautiful, it was everything that butterfly was… until you ruined it all.

 Six months.

 You haven't skated in six months.

 All because of your ruined ankle.

 After three surgeries, countless hours of physical therapy, heartache, and far too many tears, you were finally at this moment.

 So then why did you feel so incredibly empty?

 Why weren’t you excited?

 “- with the right precautions and easing your way back in, I don’t see why you can’t begin skating.” the doctor finished, giving you an encouraging smile. 

 “O-Oh. Really?” you stuttered out nervously.

 “Of course. But like I said, you need to ease your way in, I don’t recommend doing any competitions just yet. But an hour or two on the ice won’t hurt.” He said thoughtfully.

 You simply nodded.

 The rest of the checkup finished in a blur and you found yourself walking on the sidewalk, deep in thought.

 It was wintertime, your hands were stuffed deep into your coat pockets as you trudged through the snow.

 Normally you loved this kind of weather, but recently… recently the gloomy weather seemed to seep into your very being, leaving you exhausted and cold.

 “Hey.” a familiar voice called out, you looked up to see Iwaizumi leaning against the entrance to the park you were planning to go to. A place you often frequented when you wanted to be alone, when you wanted to think.

 “Hi.” you said quietly, walking towards the tall ace. Iwaizumi didn’t say anything as you pressed your head into his chest, nor did he make any movement to pull you closer.

 You guys just stood there.

 “Why didn’t you text me back? I was going to pick you up from the hospital.” he finally said once you pulled away.

 You guys began making your way into the park, sitting down on the swings.

 “I’m sorry.” You said softly, eyes casting up to the dark sky. It was snowing again, meaning that you should head home soon. “I didn’t even bother looking at my phone. Too much on my mind.”

 “Well what did the doctor say?” he asked, his gloved hands holding onto the chains linked to the seat.

 “Said I could start skating again. Slowly. No competitions for a while.” You said, frowning slightly.

 “That’s good though. You haven’t been on the ice in months.” Iwaizumi said pointedly.

 “Yeah. It just seems weird… like it’s been years rather than months.” You sighed.

 You felt a gloved hand gently pull a strand of hair away from your face. Iwaizumi gazed at you with a soft expression.

 “Well don’t push yourself. We don’t need you falling again and breaking your ass or something.” he said, smirking as you laughed at his statement.

 “Or something.” You repeated, eyes glancing down at your snow-covered shoes now. 

 “Shut up.” he rolled his eyes, tousling your hair, causing you to pout and push at him. “It’s going to be fine. You need to calm down. I better get going, Crappykawa wants everyone to meet up for practice early today.” 

 He stood up, dusting the snow off his pants before he grabbed the chains right above your hands, he leaned down closer to your face.

 “Kiss me.” he demanded, staring into your blushing face, while you wanted to blame it on the freezing weather, both of you knew exactly why you were blushing.

 “This is a public place.” you countered back, your heart racing in your chest at his demand, and how close he was to you.

 All thoughts of skating and your injury went out of your mind, and all you could think about was Iwaizumi now.

 The sly bastard.

 He knew you too well.

 “And?” he scoffed, carefully grabbing your chin. “You’re my girlfriend. It’s not like that’s indecent.”

 Before you could counter his lips were already on yours. They were cold and slightly chapped, but his mouth fitted against yours perfectly. He angled your face up more, causing the kiss to deepen.

 Your hands gripped at the front of his coat, either to pull him closer or to shove him away, you weren’t sure. But the kiss ended far too soon for your liking.

 “Get home safe. I’ll call you after practice.” he said huskily, pressing his lips to your forehead briefly before pulling away completely.

 That man was incredibly infuriating. 

 But you loved him anyway.

 It was like fate the way you guys ended up dating. Your friend had dragged you to one of Aoba Johsai’s games, she was crazy over their captain and had hoped to talk to him afterwards.

 But you were completely disinterested, you couldn’t care less about the sport, or any sport for that matter. If it didn’t involve figure skating, it didn’t matter to you.

 And then you saw him play.

 You were always a sucker for muscular ruffians. It was his arms that drew you in.

 When the team won, you and your friend found yourself in front of the captain of the team and captain muscles.

 Once you laughed at his ridiculous comments aimed at Oikawa, the rest was history. You guys hit it off instantly and soon began dating.

 You thought that it was going to be hard at first, considering how busy you guys were, but it worked out somehow.

 You appreciated all the effort and support he put in the relationship. Iwaizumi was your rock, a constant comfort in your life.

 You knew that he was worried about you, ever since your injury you knew you were being distant but… you couldn’t help it. You also didn’t mean to either. It just happened.

 Figure skating was your entire life, something that you’ve done since you were little. You were damn good at it too. It was the competition right before nationals when you injured your ankle.

 You were crushed.

 It was a simple mistake too. A jump that caused your complete downfall. 

 You didn’t want to skate anymore. You didn’t want to taste that humiliating defeat again, you didn’t want to feel powerless anymore. You remembered the comments, the circling doubt that after you healed, you wouldn’t be in the top anymore.

 You hated it all.

 So then why were you here?

 You stared at the rink, the ice was smooth and ready to be used… but… you felt sick to your stomach.

 It had been several weeks since the doctor’s visit. 

 You wanted to get out of the house for a bit and then you found yourself here, at the skating rink. Where you had spent countless hours and countless days practicing.

 But it was now or, never right?

 You had to find out. This was the moment that was going to determine if you were going to continue skating.

 Carefully you set yourself on the ice. Your lower lip ached from the way you were biting it so hard. 

 Then you started to move, gliding against the ice easily, like a fish in water. 

 It felt familiar. 

 It felt good.

 It felt free.

 You felt truly free in this moment, your eyes slipping shut as you moved around.

 Maybe… maybe you could still do this. Your heart has never felt lighter until now.

 This was what you were missing. 

 Feeling a bit more confident, you decided to try a triple Salchow. 

 Your form was wonderful, the spins were graceful… but then. Fuck. You panicked when it came to the landing which caused you to fall on your bad ankle.

 You could feel your lower lip quiver as you stared at your hands placed on the ice. Your ankle throbbed in pain for a moment before subsiding.

 But your heart was throbbing in pain now. 

 You couldn’t do it. 

 You failed.

 Again.

 Frustration and anger gripped at your heart; tears were now falling onto the ice below you. 

 You screamed, your hand balling up into a fist, your knuckles slamming down into the ice as you cried out in anger.

 You didn’t even notice the pain in your hand now, nor the blood dripping down your fingers when your skin split. 

 “Y/n!” a strong familiar hand grabbed your bloody fist, preventing you from hurting yourself further.

 You looked up into familiar dark eyes. Iwaizumi was staring at you in worry. 

 “What are you doing?” he scolded, tenderly uncurling your fist, assessing the damage. “You idiot! Look at your hand! Why would you do this to yourself?”

 “I can’t do this anymore.” you whispered angrily, wiping at your eyes with your good hand.

 “What are you talking about?” He frowned.

 “I can’t skate anymore Hajime!” You wailed out, the emotions you were suppressing, the emotions you kept hidden from him, came bursting out. “I can’t do this! I’m not good anymore! I failed! I can’t jump! How can I be a figure skater when I can’t jump!? I’m a failure!”

 “SHUT UP!” Iwaizumi roared, causing your hysterical words to die down. Was he… was he actually mad at you right now?

 “You’re being stupid.” he scowled, his eyes gazing at you with intensity. “Of course, you can’t jump right now. You just got the okay from your doctor to start skating again! You shouldn’t even be trying to jump right now!”

 You sniffed softly, remaining silent as he continued to scold you. 

 “You were supposed to ease into it! If you mess up your ankle again you definitely won’t be able to skate anymore, is that what you want!?”

 “How can I start skating again when I know I’ll just fail! How can I start skating again when everyone in the competition believes that I can’t make it!?” you snapped back, tears welling up in your eyes again.

 Iwaizumi’s angry expression melted into something incredibly soft as he stared at your tearstained face. 

 “What are you talking about babe?” he cupped your jaw carefully, gently titling your face up so he could look at you properly. “You’re not a failure. No one is doubting your abilities but yourself.” his rough fingers wiped at your tears softly. “So, what that you injured yourself? Accidents like that happen all the time. Look at Shittykawa and his knee. An injury isn’t a reflection of what you’re capable of. Everyone knows that you’re an amazing figure skater. Everyone is waiting for you to get back on the ice. But you can’t rush it.”

 His eyes softened further as he took in your beautiful face. “You need to take things slow; I won’t let you injure yourself again. I definitely won’t let you quit either. Besides you really think that I would be dating you if you weren’t an incredible athlete? I don’t date losers babe.” he teased, smiling once you began giggling softly at his statement.

 He pulled you into a gentle hug, his muscular arms securing around your shoulders easily, pulling you against his chest.

 Your fingers gripped at the sides of his jacket, burying your face into his warm chest. His familiar cologne filled your nose, easing the tightness in your chest and filling you with warmth.

 “Don’t hide your feelings from me.” he mumbled, a soft blush coating his cheeks as he stared off towards the far wall. “I want you to tell me these things. Don’t keep me in the dark, I can’t be a good boyfriend if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you.”

 He grabbed your shoulders, carefully pushing you away so he could stare at you once more. “Rely on me more.”

 You stared at him in awe. Your heart thumping in your chest pleasantly. Iwaizumi was the epitome of your ideal man. You loved him completely.

 “You’re so manly Haji.” You blurted out, red rushing to your cheeks at your confession.

 “S-Shut up stupid!” he scowled, looking away from you. He liked that though, he liked that a lot, fuck why were you so cute?

 You couldn’t help but reach up, softly pecking his flushed cheek. He looked at you in shock until he grabbed your face, his mouth pressing against yours in a searing kiss.

 The kiss spoke volumes in how you guys felt about each other. The admiration of each other's strengths, the mutual adoration and love you guys shared. It was all said in that kiss.

 “That’s disgusting Iwa-chan! Other people use this rink!” a familiar voice called out. 

 The kiss ended all too soon, and your sweet boyfriend turned incredibly angry.

 “Shut the hell up Shittykawa! You’re such a crappy guy! At least I have a girlfriend!” he snapped angrily. 

 “That’s mean Iwa-chan!” 

 “Go die!”

 He was definitely the man of your dreams.

[pizza-soup]

Sorry I've been missing in action.

Long story short I got very injured at the labs, but I've been making a fast recovery. For the more detailed, graphic version, you can read below. Warning: Mention of hospital, blood, car accident.

As I mentioned, I got really injured at work beginning on February 21 at around 9 PM. It was during a routine check at some of the sites, one in particular needed our higher clearance because there had been a breach at a fence that past week, so I, and two other guards went to check out any tampering of the fence again. They say it might be vandals but a lot of them say it was some kind of large animal. The road to those sites are a single path through the woods, lit with a few lights, no curves, just a flat road with a hill on one side. It hadn't snowed that week either, so no fear of ice or anything. It was just a routine jeep trek.

It happened so fast. Our vehicle was knocked over, I'm not even sure how, but we were rolling in the dark down a hill, hitting trees. I remember the shouting, holding fast, and the glass. I remember crawling toward a tree and trying to sit up against it or maybe I was put there by the other guard, Dolores, I remember her telling me to stay awake. I asked her if I was dreaming. It didn't feel real. I asked what was happening to me because I couldn't move right, everything felt so slow and muffled. I passed out by the time they got us into the medical ward. I don't remember them putting me in a gown or putting in an IV. I woke up later, I buzzed the call button out of fear and pain. My whole left side was throbbing. A nurse was relieved I finally came to. She gave me pain meds and called the doctor in.

I was told there had been an accident, that much I already knew, but no one was killed, just injured. I lost a lot of blood, my uniform was soaked in it and they had to cut it off me. Part of the metal from the door frame folded in and pieced my left shoulder and I had minor cuts on my hands and arms from the glass. My blood pressure dropped so low they were scared my heart might've stopped. I was given blood, hooked up to a lot of things and I would have to stay under watch for a few days. There was a lot of tests they needed to do to figure out just how bad my injuries were.

For the next few days I was just sleeping, I couldn't sit up without feeling dizzy. I had to lay semi flat, my blood pressure was still very low. My left side was still throbbing and the stitches itched. A lot of bruises developed from being tossed around like I was, mostly on my arms because I was shielding my face and head. My minor glass cuts stung while batheing. Nurses came in every few hours to check my vitals, help me use the restroom, shower, help me eat, ect. I got so tired from the smallest things. I couldn't call anyone, my phone was in my locker. I finally got someone to help me call my brother to tell him what happened. My brother was naturally scared, he thought something happened to me and he was sad to know he was right. He wanted to see me, but he couldn't, I was in the medical ward on lab property. He wanted to call our mom to tell her but I told him to wait, there was a possibility that I might be transferred to a local hospital where they can visit me, and I didn't want her panicking and trying to drive up here in bad weather. It's best she waited til things cleared up.

After the first week I was transferred to a local hospital after getting a bunch of tests done. No brain trauma, no broken bones, no blood sugar issues or thyroid problems. I could sit up in bed by then and eat on my own. I still couldn't walk very well without feeling really dizzy, again, low blood pressure. A lot of minor bruises were fading away. I never had my anemia officially confirmed, but they confirmed it and had me take daily iron and placed on a blood building diet in the new hospital. I was tested for covid, I came out clear.

My brother and mom visited me daily, and the other doctor said I was recovering really quickly, that gave us a lot of hope. I could be out of there by a few days, though my blood pressure was worrying her. Seems it wasn't so much the blood loss, but that it might have been an underlying condition already linked to my untreated anemia. She would get the in-house dietitian to include a bit more natural sea salt to my iron rich diet, as well as tell me what I should eat at home and that I need to drink a lot more water than I normally did. This is a problem I've had for awhile, I forget to drink enough water. The doctor warned me I better remedy that immediately especially with low BP. My mom was already taking notes. She really wanted to just take me home already. I really liked her being there, I'm not that shy about my body, but I honestly felt better having my mom bathe me and comb my hair instead of strangers doing that. She was also a lot more gentle around my stitches and bruises.

Eventually I did come home, I still needed a lot of rest and help getting out of bed. I had to fight the urge to clean house, help with groceries, ect. I'm so used to being self sufficient. I felt so frustrated that just walking around the room would tire me out, when I'd hike for miles just a few months ago. I was tired of sleeping and sitting down. But there wasn't much else I could do. I did a lot of origami, my bro got me a coloring book, I watched a lot of movies, took my iron -which is nasty btw-, ate meals that were saltier than I normally would prepare but my taste buds would have to adjust. I was happy my new diet included a lot of fish though.

I did have some close calls. I really thought I could stand up in the shower instead of sitting, and wound up calling for my mom to help me up after collapsing. I collapsed again when I was trying to cook dinner for myself. My face, according to my mom, was drained of color and my breathing was shallow. I felt so dizzy and nauseated. She nearly wanted to call the hospital again. My bro said I was pushing myself too hard and I always had a problem with not asking for help. That I needed to learn to stop being so damn stubborn and rest. To anyone else, that sounds harsh, but he knows me way too well, probably better than our mom. I do have that problem, I do push myself too much. After that, I decided to be more patient with myself. I was sick and might be sick for awhile.

This week I'm doing a lot better. I can do my daily things now, I even went to get groceries and take a little walk to the river. But I can't over do it, I can't stand up or walk for too long, and I can't lift anything heavy, otherwise I get bouts of dizziness and need to sit down. The pain isn't as bad on my back anymore though it's still very sore, my arms, especially my left side, have a dull pain. I can't sleep on my back and left side, only my right and on my stomach. A lot of the cuts on the back of my arms and hands have scabbed over, minor bruises are gone but major ones on my shoulder and neck are still pretty dark and tender. I'm still finding glue spots on my chest and stomach from the medical tape and the EKG patches they put on me, but a bit of lotion is taking it off. My stitching, according to my mom, is definitely going to leave a pretty bad scar above my shoulder blade, but it's fine. My body has a lot of scars here and there from close calls, but I consider them ' Marks of Life'. They're proof I survived and thrived.

It'll take time for me to really feel like I'm back to normal. My mom refuses to go back home until I make a full recovery. She hasn't tended to me like this for a long time, mainly because I rarely get sick. I trait from my dad's side. We don't get colds or flus for years, no history of cancer, heart issues or diabetes, and his family usually remain active to their elderly years, not to mention our graceful aging. My dad used to say it was our native blood, we're just built tougher. The only thing that could kill us is getting injured like this. God, he'd be so worried about me though. I remember how he'd fuss over me when I skinned my knee as a child or got my allergies. If he was alive, he'd probably refuse to let me do anything out of bed, but then that's exactly what I should be doing anyway.

I got a report on the other guards health yesterday. Dolores and Elijah. She was the least hurt out of all of us, just a dislocated arm, mild whiplash, and some really bad glass cuts on her chest and arms, she's home recovering with her husband and kids. Elijah was the driver and got knocked unconscious with a bad concussion, his entire left arm was sliced by glass and metal, he lost a lot of blood like me and is recovering just as slow as I am. He opted to stay in the lab medical ward because he doubts his roommate can care for him at home, he's on a lot of pain meds, so he sounded distant on the phone. I think out of all of us, he's going to take the most time to recover. I told him I'd pray for him and if he wants, I can visit. He appreciated that a lot. I thanked Dolores for helping us that night, she was the one trying her best to keep us alive and sent the distress signal on our ARK devices so they could find us in the dark. Without her, I think we would've bled to death.

God, it feels like a distant nightmare. I still can't figure out how we were knocked off the road like that. Something hit us out there and it was strong. I felt the impact in the backseat, but I didn't see it. Dolores says it looked like a bear, but bears aren't that strong. Eli says he saw horns, so maybe a bison. Bison are that strong, especially against a little jeep. The incident is still under investigation. The lab is also very concerned about how this happened. It's possible the same thing that hit us, has been tampering with the fence.

One less thing to worry about is the hospital bill, the accident happened on lab grounds, everything is taken care of through them, probably because they don't want to get sued. They are giving us another two weeks before we report back in to the doctor for another round of tests and physical tests, as well as check to see if my stitches were still secure. Our return to work solely depends on our results, we may not be able to come back until late April. They really want to be sure we're okay. Because I'm an 'Ophanim' aka Tier 3 guard, I'll also be given a mental test before being hooked back into Selene. They just want to be sure there's no cognition issues and I can sync properly to her. I may have to do a refresher since I've been away for so long, but I'll worry about that when it comes.

Well, if you read this far, thanks. I hope I didn't scare you all too much. I am doing a lot a better though, I promise. I'm getting stronger everyday, though activity on this blog will be slow. Send me some prayers, good vibes, whatever. I'd really appreciate anything. Hope you've had a good month, better than mine hopefully.

[hoe-for-yukhei]

Clean Freak Idol BF taeyong — Soloist [fem] reader

Everybody knows the tea between 10th floor and 5th floor.

Then there's Taeyong.

"We are here because we want to talk about the most awaited collaboration of the most iconic ship in the kpop industry, before we talk about your new mini album 'NO HISTORY' let me ask you guys a question first. The whole world knew you two used to date, isn't it awkward to work with each other?"

Man, what is this girl saying?

Taeyong and I stared at each other and laughed.

"Hahahahaha what are you guys laughing about? hahahaha"

The audacity to ask us.

Before inviting guests into your show, please dig some information about them.

"No hahaha sorry it's just so funny. Such a ridiculous question."

Taeyong stopped you for saying anything blunt, you have this image that you're straightforward and blunt, and to others they see it as rude.

You're not doing it for clout or to be savage wannabe, that's just who you are.

"No, we didn't broke up, we just lived apart. We moved out of our dorms and shared an apartment. But we didn't take it well so we moved back in."

Really taeyong? We didn't BROKE UP? interesting..

"Why? What didn't work out for the two of you?"

Oh let me tell you the story.

"Taeyong what are you doing? Stop covering your face! smile!"

"Eh-Andwae! I just woke up!"

What is he talking about?

Bare faced Taeyong is art.

Everyone who gets to see him fresh out of bed is so blessed, this would add 10,000,000+ on your lifespan.

"Oppa you stopped eating, Isn't the dish good?"

"Yes it's good! You should try that side dish too! I was just thinking about something."

Here we go again.

Taeyong is zoning out lately, I thought he's worrying about the NCT comeback, yearbook and all but turns out he isn't.

"What is it? Tell me hmm?"

"I was thinking, since we're already dating for 5 years why won't we live together already? I mean we're already in the right age and all."

Hmm I haven't thought about that.

"Why? Aren't you happy here with the members? And besides you have the whole room to yourself it's just like having your own house. Why need one?"

"Of course I'm happy. We grew up together and I treat them as biological brothers.. it's not about them. I want to start a life with you.. but if you don't want to then fine with me.."

"What do you mean I don't want to? I would love to move in with you. But heads up honey I'm a living mess. It will drive you nuts clean freak."

Everyone knows he's a clean freak. Aesthetic, spotless, and organized. He can't stand dirt. He's the type of guy who always bathe unlike jungwoo, the guy who would always wear gloves when handling food and dishes unlike jaehyun and yuta who uhh never you know what,he has sheets on his bed (and it's white as fuck no creases and lints jaehyun has been slapped hard),the guy who gets cranky when his clothes are not handled right so he ends up doing laundry everyday, he's also the guy who praises febreeze. Febreeze is his life,addiction,religion and many more.

Yes he loves febreeze more than me.

2 years went by like a bliss. Everything's good.

Actually too good.

We spent happy days together loving each other more as time passes by until he can't take it all anymore.

He knelt to the ground and pulled a ring and said 

"Marry me y/n."

"T-taeyong.."

"I know I know.. but please hear me out. y/n we spent 7 years together full of love,laughs,and cries. I know you're finally going to have your debut next week and can't be seen in a relationship for like 2 years, but I can't take it anymore I don't want to lose you..this industry is fucked up y/n.Just please promise me you'll hold on to me.. to us.."

"Of course. You're my rod in this dark world without you I'll be lost. I'll forever hold on you. But you sure this isn't an engagement ring?"

"*sighs; you know it's not. I really want to but I already know the answer after I proposed for you like 3 times already. You're not yet ready.. but I'll wait."

"I'm sorry taeyong–"

"No don't say sorry I understand"

You were both in the right age but still young to marry.. and both of your careers are not helping.

NCT PROJECT again. You're happy for Taeyong, he really likes it whenever the whole 23 of them perform together.

But also pitied him.

"What is wrong with you two?! I expected better than this. You better composed some good ones or I'll give back the job to  composers."

"No sir, I really want to participate again in composing I can give you a better one—"

"Then do it. I want it done by next week. I only let you boys play composer and lyricist again because the crowd wants to. You get me Johnny? Taeyong?"

It's the 6th time this week. You always pass by the room because it's in the same way of the recording studio. He was getting yelled at again.

And again.

And again. 

Taeyong's been stressed for the whole 2months. Johnny and he were told they could participate in producing the album.

At last they can express themselves.

Johnny really wants to write songs but never given the opportunity to. So Johnny and he are working hard. Knowing SM they're controlling as ever this means it's a one and only lifetime opportunity. 

His dog died. His best friend and buddy.

The warm condolences of his fans comforted him. He's thankful to have them.

Y/n's first ever single is coming out. You have been pretty busy too. Recordings, photoshoots,MV filming etc. And SM and fans are breathing down your neck everytime you move.

Some anti spread fake rumors about you. Usually you'll ignore it but right now is different. Being new to this industry brought pressure to you and you don't know what to do but just cry..

You saw a cat. You always love cats, they calm you down. It gives comfort to you. You decided to bring it home to your shared space with taeyong.

You did him a favor and put a little spice in his composition then while drinking your hot chocolate you were called by your mother leaving the cat,the chocolate and the house you hurried to the hospital.

Stressed ate taeyong. He's frustrated at the moment he wants to shout and cry his heart out.

The 8th song they made just got rejected. again.

It's the last draw and they can't participate in writing on the album anymore. Mark, xiaojun and taeil got injured while practicing,the new choreographer is a dick. A stubborn stylist doesn't follow anyone's instruction causing jaehyun to be called out because of his hair and the management wants them to do nothing. Some anti is making fun of his dog's death and a sasaeng is following him right now.

The house is where he rests,it's his favorite place .

But now it isn't.

The house is a fucking mess.

Dishes on sink

Furs on sofas and floor

Chocolate drink spilled on the carpeted floor of his work space.

The computer is on

Somebody touched his music

The air smelled like a stray dog or cat

Shits on his pile of clothes and a cat is napping on the end of the bed.

Lee. Taeyong. Mad.

He's angry asf.

"Oh hey taeyong you are home?? How was your da-"

"What is that?"

"A cat?"

"and that?"

"My drink.."

"That?"

"Dishe–okay what is your point?"

"Nothing.  Just you being a pig."

"Wh-what?.."

"You're disgusting. Be ashamed of yourself y/n can't believe a woman doesn't know how to take care of a house."

"What's wrong with you?! That's so sexist!"

"What's wrong with me?! Your stupid new cat shitted on my clothes! The house is shit! Everything's shit! Even you! You messed up my song!"

"Taeyong calm down there was an emergency and about your song i-"

"shut up y/n! I'm tired! The last thing I want to see is a dumpsite! I have to keep up shits at work and I have to keep up with your everyday shits too?! I'm so sick! It looks like the house isn't the only one that needs cleaning. My life too.. I can't believe I put up with a garab6e like you. You should've been taken out a long time ago—"

"The only shit here is you."

You took your new cat and went.

Your grandmother died. That's the emergency.

It's heartbreaking and with taeyong earlier the last hanging piece of your heart shattered completely.

You went back to your own place, you ask hae-un a friend of yours who's a model under the same entertainment to get all your stuff in your house. 

She came back with seong-hyun his boyfriend carrying boxes and bags.

"Y/n.. take a break..I'm here for you."

"He wants to talk to you y/n. he said he was—"

"SEONG-HYUN!STOP!"

"okay.. I understand. Everything will be fine y/n hae-un and I will never leave you. We'll get through this together just like the old days.."

"Thank-you.."

Hae-un take care of your things at work. You decided to wake up from the slump and change labels,made depression your motivation, you skyrocketed. Soon after many articles about you were made.

“솔로이스트 Y/N L/N은 왜 SM 엔터테인먼트를 떠났을까?”

(Why did Soloist Y/N L/N leave SM entertainment?)

"할머니의 갑작스러운 죽음으로 솔로이스트 Y/N이 망했다. '나는 망연자실했다. 어떻게 해야 할지..' "

(Soloist Y/N went hiatus due to Grandmother's sudden death

"I was devastated. I don't know to do..")

"솔로 퀸 Y/N L/N 7년 동안 NCT 이태용과 데이트 했었다고?!"

(SOLO QUEEN Y/N L/N USED TO DATE NCT LEE TAEYONG FOR 7 YEARS?!)

"엘, 채널, 헤르메스 뉴 앰배서더, 모델 Y/N L/N. 그녀가 어떻게 도망가는지 지켜봐."

(ELLE, Channel, Hermes New ambassador and model Y/N L/N. Watch how she rules the runway)

P-NATION의 솔로퀸 Y/N L/N이 NCT 김도영, 루카스 웡과 함께 메디컬 로맨스 드라마 '더 터치 오브 유어'로 데뷔한다.

(P-NATION's Solo Queen Y/N L/N, will debut as an Actress in a Medical romance Kdrama "The touch of you" with NCT Kim Doyoung and Lucas Wong)

You have so many projects going on. Actually you were not ready for this. At SM you’re only an underrated singer who mostly writes others songs instead of doing yours. What can you do? It’s the higher ups orders.

Haeun recommended PNATION this is where you really felt like you’re an artist and family rather. Of Course you love your sunbaes and colleagues. It's just that SM restricts everyone and they try to shape them into KPOP robots that everyone will buy. 

You love all of your projects well..except one.

"P-NATION의 솔로퀸 Y/N L/N이 전 남자친구 NCT 이태용과 함께 새 미니 앨범 'NO History'를 발매한다!"

(P-NATION's Solo Queen Y/N L/N will release her new album "NO HISTORY" with ex-boyfriend NCT Lee Taeyong!)

Oh great…

You haven't 

Communicated with Taeyong since you left the house.

You actually avoided him.

Taeyong would straight up walk to you when on stage such as Music Bank, Inkigayo, Mama etc. But you always find a way to avoid the guy.

The fans ship you guys after finding out your 7year relationship with him. You were chill with it but you always reminded your fans that you're not together anymore theyy should snap back to reality.

Y/N doesn't like the reality now.

His ex boyfriend is in front of him doing arrangements eating Sweet Potato cubes from Starbucks and guess what.

He's formal and silent asf.

Like you guys didn't date and almost got married.

There were 5 songs in the Mini Album

Ethereal

Seoulite

Letters on the floor

Sunset 

DOUCHEBAG

The title track is Ethereal. You have to dance to that sexy love hoe song. Produced and composed by yours truly.

You just sat on your swivel chair discussing with the other producer while Taeyong wrinkles his forehead seeing the album content.

Track 6. "DOUCHEBAG"

Who The fuck would name their song douchebag?

Taeyong is confused but at the same time a little hope and warm blooms at his heart. Thinking DOUCHEBAG is all about him. Little did he know it's a diss track about MNET.

Don't worry taeyong douchebag may not be about you but most of the songs are.

He's keeping his distance letting you adjust to him..but that doesn't look like it to Y/N.

The audacity of this guy to ignore me. Bitch.

It's noon and you haven't eaten breakfast yet. Taeyong comes to your side to invite you to lunch until he is cut off by a high pitch squeal of yours.

" y/n ssi—"

"DOIEEEEEEEEEEEEE~"

"Hahahahahah calm down, you miss me that much?"

"YEAH!"

It's Doyoung.

He knows you have a few modeling projects with doyoung and an ongoing drama but he didn't know you two were this close.

You smooch your face on doyoung's face and smile brightly at him.

Ah he hates it.

"Hahahahahah enough y/n I'm here for hyung. Hyung do you want to go grab lunch?"

"Ani. Doyoung-ah i’m not hungry. Comeback next time."

"I'll come with you oppa."

“YAH!”

Taeyong stood up.

Oppa was the last straw for him. You don’t call anyone oppa.

Let alone smooch your face to someone’s chest.

You’re that brat girl who only warms up at him. 

Only him.

Doyoung and Y/N were surprised by Taeyong’s sudden actions.

Why is he angry? Did you guys do something wrong?

“Taeyong-ssi, gwaenchana? Is there something wrong?”

Taeyong suddenly realized what he did. So foolish of him. Now he looks like an ex-boyfriend who’s jealous of his ex’s friend.

He isn’t like that. He just wants closure with you.

We’ll look into that later.

“‘Y-YAH! What are you guys doing there? I thought we were going to eat?’ that’s what i’m trying to say.”

“Ahhhh~”

You and Doyoung just nodded, you thought you guys did something wrong to upset him hahaha.

Taeyong is literally speaking in small fonts as he says his excuse. As stupid as it sounds. You two believed him. Thank god phew.

You survived your 1 month with Taeyong. And for guys who dated for 7 years you two were awkward as fuck. It’s like the first time all over again. Calling each other with Honorifics and bowing whenever you two meet at the hallways, Just keeping it civil. But you gotta admit it to yourself, you start to warm up again to Taeyong these past few weeks. Dyed his hair black, and has that boyfriend material aura again.

YOU ARE A HUGE SIMP Y/N L/N.

Taeyong is planning something to win you back . He just woke up and realized ‘What if I show her again why she fell for me in the first place?’

He’s doing simple things to get close to you again. Your heart beats fast whenever he comes close.

“Jduigywfwygf Lee Taeyong i swear to god you-”

“I am what?

“You Scared me! Stop doing that! Why are you even here? I won’t record today. I'm going to learn the choreo.”

“Me too.”

“What?”

“What?”

Our Choreographer came and hell he was teaching us some sexy ass moves. I didn’t even know Taeyong was supposed to dance with me too. I suddenly have  flashbacks to Hyuna unnie and E’dawn sunbae’s Cage Dance Performance.

“One, Two, Step, Three, Step, Four”

“Y/N what are you doing? You missed the step.”

“I did?”

“Yes, It’s the 5th time already. Taeyong teach her. I’m going to take a break”

Y/N is very tense. He felt it. Especially whenever you two grind and to that one part where you kneel in front of him.

“You’re stiff and tense right now. How about you take a break?”

“Omg! Finally!”

“You left your body while we're dancing. Something wrong?”

“Nah I just feel Awkward and all. Knowing our history and everything.”

“Why would you?”

“It’s just you know uhmm.. I don’t know how to explain but you get what I mean.”

“Then Let’s be friends again! So it wouldn’t be awkward.”

He’s just waiting for you to open the topic. That’s all it takes to get Taeyong creep back to your heart. You don’t know if befriending your ex is good or what but it’s nice to have him back. It’s like normal. The teasings, hugs, and laughter are back. It’s like when you two were still together minus the label of course.

Since you two were close again why not invite him to your shoot? Besides Doyoung and Winwin are there.

Taeyong internally passed out when you invited him. He’s so happy for you. The dream of you being an actor never left his mind. Now he gets to see it with front-viewed seats, until that scene comes up.

Myeorin’s starts to tear up. He run after Haju and  hugged him behind. “H-haju you don’t have to..” 

The man just kept a blank face but you can see he’s having a hard time letting go.

“Go. I want you to be happy. You love him Myeorin”

“H-haju no! I love you!”

“You know you don’t. You're just stuck in our past memories.”

Haju breaks free from Myeorin’s hug, he cups her face and their foreheads touch each other while sobbing.

“I still want to live in that past. With you haju.”

He stared into Myeorin’s eyes and landed a soft peck at her temple.

“‘The beautiful journey of today can only begin when we learn to let go of yesterday.’ The person who taught me doesn't apply it to herself. Pabo. Go, you have  no time left i heard he’s leaving”

Myeorin realizes Haju’s words and runs to chase the one  that she truly loves. “Do Hyejeong you bitch you didn’t tell me you’re leaving”

The Set changes and moves to a different venue.

Myeorin stands outside of Hyejeong’s penthouse sobbing. He erratically rang the bell 30th time already and no one’s answering. 

A Janitor saw Myeorin and confronted her.

“Miss Myeorin! What are you doing there?”

“Ahjussi *sniffs* have you seen Hyejong?”

“Ah! sir Hyejong?  He just left a while ago carrying his personal belongings. Why?”

Myeorin just stared at Mr.Kang and suddenly wailed.

“Ah-Uh M-miss did I do something wrong?”

Myeorin just missed Hyejeong. Knowing him  he wouldn’t come back ever again.

“What are you crying at you brat? You’re causing a scene in my property.”

“Hye-Hyejong!” Upon hearing that cold voice she stood up and faced Hyejeong with swollen, teary eyes, and a dripping nose.

“Sir Hyejong I promised I didn’t make her cry! She just suddenly weeps when I said-”

“It’s okay Mr. Kang I know. No need to clean here anymore. you can rest now. And you brat go inside.”

The two of them went inside. Hyejeong comfortably sat on his aesthetically white L-shaped sofa in front of his Floor to ceiling big windows. While Myeorin stands there dumbfounded.

“I-I thought you’re leaving…”

“Well yeah I am until Professor Shin said I have to cover his surgery tomorrow because his wife is in labor.”

“So you’re not leaving anymore?”

“I still am.”

Confused about Hyejeongs statement, creases were formed at her temples. She extended both of her hands trying to block the huge door. The lad just lowkey snickered at her actions.

“What do you mean?! No! nuh uh you won’t leave this place over my dead body.”

“”Why Won’t I leave?”

“Because I love you.”

Hyejong suddenly stopped sipping his drink and just stared at her with those big bunny-like eyes.

“What?”

“Do Hyejong Saranghae.”

He rose from the chair and met her body.

“You lose.”

“I don't careabout the bet anymoret. I love you.”

Hyejeong's mind left the earth. His lips unconsciously guided him to  Myeorin’s plump, soft, pinkish lips. It tasted like pure heaven.

“CUT!”

Taeyong got startled at the director’s cue. No thoughts, mind empty, just watching his love of his life kissing his best friend. He knew it’s part of their work and he’s proud of the both of them  but a part of him just aches knowing you’re single and doyoung single, you might fall for his kisses that used to be his.

“Y/N! Focus!”

“You okay?”

“Yeah just out of character.”

Y/N didn’t know the kissing scene and suggestive scenes are the ones that they'll be filming today. It’s supposed to be Next week! Now she felt odd knowing Taeyong’s here. She turned to Taeyong’s space, seeing him sending her a death glare while eating sweet potato chews.

“KISSING SCENE TAKE 2”

“KISSING SCENE TAKE 3”

“TAKE 6”

“TAKE 12”

The number of takes irked taeyong. Was he invited here just to suffer? Finally you guys nailed the scene. He thought it’s over yet there’s more to come.

Myeorin and Hyejeong were intoxicated with each other. A peck on the lips results in a very deep passionate one. Hyejong carried her in his arms, not letting go of her tasty lips together and they traveled towards the bedroom.

Taeyong stormed off the set. Right in front of my Sweet potato chews he said.

“Taeyong! Where are you going?”

“Don’t follow me. I’ll go home now.”

“What? why? I brought you here. I thought we were going to have ice cream after this?

“EAT ICE CREAM WITH ‘HYEJONG’ INSTEAD hmp.”

He mimicked her voice. Taeyong tried to look angry. But in Y/N’s eyes he’s a baby pouting.

“H-Hyejong? Who is that?”

“Duh? Doyoung?”

“Why would i eat ice cream with him?”

“Yeah right. Why would you guys eat ice cream if you two can just suck each other’s faces off.”

“OMG HAHAHAHAHA ARE YOU JEALOUS?”

“No! Why would I?”

“Hmm..”

“Fine I am! You said today’s going to be fun. Yeah fun for you you kissed doyoung 17 times.”

You grinned like a mad man  at his accusation even though you’re guilty of it. It’s just so cute you can’t help but to..

 “Why would you do that?! You kissed another guy then you kiss me? Don’t give me false hope Y/N.”

“Okay.. I won’t kiss you anymore. You said it yourself.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just that it’s giving me false hope..”

“About what?”

“About you. About us being together again. So don’t kiss me i you don’t mean i-”

Yeah you kissed your ex. He needs to shut up.

“Do you still love me?

“Of course. I have always been Taeyong.”

Cut the chase and hide and seek. You  won’t deny your feelings anymore. The feeling of missing him, his warmth, and love. You won’t deny it all again.

You two left the Area hand in hand, talking while having a little stroll.

“Hey I have a question?”

“What is it?

“Did you change your perfume?”

“Yeah. It’s Yves Saint Laurent’s  Black Opium”

“I like the old one better.”

“What smell do you love the most? Me or Febreeze? ”

“Definitely Febreeze.”

The sound of your laughs and voices faints as you two went back to the set

"If you were to pick what is your favorite song in this album? And What part of it makes you like it?"

The Interviewer  asks.

You picked up your mic and said

 “Ethereal. I like the pre chorus part the

 i can't wait to see him next

and witness his ethereal glow

he is my darling

and nothing or no one

could ever come between

bonded for life

he is my king. 

It just reminded me of someone. Someone I missed..” The crowd goes wild, they're squealing and most of them are screaming Lee Taeyong!

Taeyong goes shy.. He can’t believe you wrote him that song when he asked you who’s your inspiration you just said ‘my grandma why?’ now he knows.

He Throws you a ‘you’re hiding it from me’ look while you just replied a simple wink.

“Okay, Let’s get back to the unanswered question.. What didn't work out for the two of you?”

You two stared at each other's eyes knowing the answer.

Once again you grabbed your mic and said

“Let’s just say he’s a major clean freak.”

[betterthebest]

Here We Go Again | An MJF fanfiction

Not requested. Bella was a teen wrestler working in the Indy circuit until an injury cost her her short career. She and MJF were friends turned lovers, turned strangers and friends again. What happens when she joins AEW to lead a faction with her ex? Will their history jeopardize their rekindled friendship?

This is an alternate universe where MJF didn’t earn a spot in the inner circle. This first part is a flashback, the second will be present time. Hope you all enjoy my original story!

_______________________________________________

Part 1: A flashback

Spring 2015 After three years of friendship Max and I became a couple. I wasn’t sure about him at first, our friendship was pretty strong. On our 4th date he asked where this was going. My mind was made up when he visited me in the hospital after I got sick. He was the only one to come see me and spend time with me even though I looked like crap and hadn’t been able to shower in a day. This is when I felt it was true. He really cared.

We established a relationship. And for a year and five months, we were going strong. On our six month anniversary we had a match against each other at one of the promotions we worked. That was the night I told him I loved him. After our match we went back to the hotel. I was supposed to stay with a female wrestler friend of mine, but I lied to my parents. They know Max and like him, but if my dad found out we shared a hotel room, I’d be in major trouble. We laid in bed, my head resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. We were silent, enjoying each other’s company. He ran his fingertips up and down my arm softly. We haven’t been intimate, only kissing. I wanted to wait for the right time and he never pushed it. I think he was waiting for me to initiate. He’s usually bold and brash, but with me, he can be soft and sweet.  I looked up at him and smiled. “Max?” “Yes,” he smiled back.  “I think I might... L you.” I couldn’t say the word. I was too nervous that he wouldn’t feel the same. Is it too early? Will he think I’m crazy?  “Well, I L you too. I mean love.” He smirked. I let out a small giggle. Max placed two fingers under my chin and brought me closer. “Say it,” he said softly. He brushed his lips against mine. “I love you Max.” With each syllable my lips touched his. “I love you too,” he kissed me. As the kiss grew more passionate we entangled our bodies together. That night was our first time together. We both had a little experience, but that made this even better. There were a couple of awkward moments, but it was a perfect night. 

2016 came and we were stronger than ever. We travelled to shows together and spent most of our time with each other. We never got tired of each other. In March we started doing tag team matches at one promotion out of the three or four we were a part of. For the next three months, we worked as a tag. Our last tag match was the day before our 1 year anniversary. We won the match and celebrated that night in New York City. He took me to an amazing restaurant and then went back to his family home in Long Island. We spent the night together since his parents and sisters were out of town for the weekend. That day was one of my favorite days spent with Max. That was a day I would cherish for a very long time. A memory that in August, would seem like a lifetime ago. 

August 2nd 2016 was the worst day of my life. The day everything changed. I got badly injured to my neck that almost paralyzed me. That night Max was the main event. When he saw how I wasn’t even moving in the ring, he ran out and kneeled by my side. “Medic, Medic. NOW!” He called out.  “Baby, are you okay? Please be okay. Move your leg, please.” I couldn’t speak, the shock settled in. Shooting pain rain up my spine. I moved my leg slightly, but that sent another shooting pain up my body. The medics came into the ring and carefully strapped me onto a stretcher. Max abandoned his match to go with me to the hospital. “Get back here Friedman.” I heard the promoter shouting.  “I don’t care Frank, I’m going with her. You saw what the fuck happened.” His words spit absolute venom. “Please be okay” I heard his voice shaking and then my vision went blank. On the ride to the hospital I went in and out of consciousness. I could see Max on the side by the paramedic with his hands in his hair. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes. We finally arrived at the hospital. I don’t even know how long it took. I was taken in to the emergency room. Max stood by my side. The EMT told him to go out into the waiting room and call my family. First he grabbed my hand softly, “everything will be okay.” I still couldn’t speak in fear that I would hurt myself more.  I got tests done and had to get emergency surgery. I wasn’t sure if it was the same night, or the next day that my surgery was finished. I woke up when it was light outside. My parents and Max were in the room talking. My eyes fluttered open slowly. “Bella!” Max smiled. My mom came over to me and grabbed my hand. “How are you feeling?” She sounded like she was about to cry.  “I’m okay.” I looked down to see my neck brace. I moved my legs and this time there was no pain. I tried to move my head, but it was uncomfortable. The neck brace limited me obviously. After a few minutes of talking to my mom a doctor came in the room. “Bella, hello. I’m your surgeon Dr. Marley. How are you?” I answered the same as I did for my mom. I wasn’t feeling okay, but I wasn’t feeling terrible either. “Now it will take a couple months of recovery. You only have to wear the neck brace for six weeks, so until the second week of September. You need physical therapy three times a week for the next six weeks as well. I will advise you to take a walk through the hallways once I leave...” He talked more. I listened, but I didn’t really hear what he was saying. That was until he said four words that broke me down. “You shouldn’t wrestle again.” I couldn’t help but cry. “No no no no no no” I said softly. Max grabbed my hand and squeezed a little. “It’s going to be okay.” He ran his thumb across my knuckle. That did nothing to comfort me, I was too distraught. My dream is ruined and I’m only 18.  The doctor and my parents went into the hall to talk. “Didn’t you hear Maxwell, I’m done for?” It wasn’t going to be okay.  “Babe” was all he could say.  “This is just not fair Max.” I cried again. I don’t remember anything except crying all day. For a week I was in the hospital. Many wrestling friends came to visit. After each one I cried, reminding me of what I’m losing. I tried for the next month to go to Max’s local shows. This time he travelled more often as he gained some popularity. The first week of October Max came back from a different state after being away that last week. It was a nice day in New York so we decided to meet up at a park near where I live. It’s been a couple weeks since I got my neck brace off. I had to wear some other device a few times a day. It kept my neck in alignment and gave me regular massages to my neck and shoulder. We sat on the park bench for a while in silence. Max was the first one to speak. “How are you?” I shrugged, “I guess I’m okay.” He grabbed my hand, “how are you, really?” That caught me off guard. He knew exactly when I had a lot on my mind. My brown eyes looked into his. “I’m miserable Max. Nothing is going right. I don’t get to see my boyfriend anymore, I feel numb. Wrestling has been my life. Since I was 9 I dreamed of it. I was always told that I was too fragile and too soft. Now Max... I’m lost. I feel fragile and soft. I can’t believe this is happening to me.” I wanted it so badly to be a dream. Maybe I would wake up on the day of a show and be able to perform. Max took a deep breath as if he was the one doing the rambling. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked at his face. He had sadness in his eyes, he looked defeated. “I don’t want to hold you back.”  “What? Bella, you’re not...”  “Oh come on Max, I’m a mess. You don’t deserve a burden of a girlfriend.” “You’re not a burden, I love you.” “I love you too Max, but being around wrestling makes me feel like shit. I can’t even talk to my friends. Britt called the other day and I declined the call. And she’s been my close friend for a year.” “What about me? Where does that leave me?” He asked firmly.  “I want to be with you, but it hurts so bad.” I cried. Tears spilled like a waterfall, my vision was blurry. “I-I want you to be happy.” I had to take a break. “And I promise you won’t be happy with me around.” “You’re being selfish now.” He stood up. “Maybe so, but I need to look out for me.” “Let me take care of you Bella. I’m happy with you.” “I don’t even feel like myself. Everything has changed.” I rubbed my neck, feeling the scar in the back. “I love you Max and that’s why I have to let you go.” He stood there staring at me. “If that’s what you want. You need to heal, just know I’m always here for you.” He leaned in and kissed me for the last time. We made the kiss last a minute, knowing it won’t happen again. It hurt, everything hurt. This was the correct decision, right?

For the next few years I lived a normal life. I had a decent job and a close family. I never met anyone close to Max. Meaningless hookups just went on to fill an empty void. I wasn’t sure if it was a wrestling void or one because of Max. We didn’t talk originally for two months after our breakup. I didn’t talk to any of my wrestling friends for more months after that. The only person I talked to was Britt Baker and it wasn’t often at all. It wasn’t until 4 years later that I could watch wrestling again. The what ifs played in my head. It took a while and through therapy, I got over that. It was a year since AEW was established that I started watching. I saw many familiar faces and had to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t able to join them. I had to accept my new life, one that I didn’t plan.

[allforhader]

All He Wanted

Barry Berkman x (F) Reader

Requested by @designersophisticate

Warnings: Langauge, Injury

Part 1 | Part 2

He hates hospitals.

He told me he had Fuches? Was that his name? Patch him up every time he got hurt...

To avoid being admitted or something.

I...never really understood it for his predicament. I did for others. But he’s a hitman, that’s not written anywhere besides Fuches mind right? Right...?

I wish I didn’t wake up today...

A nightmare should stay away from reality.

Y/N patiently waited in the living room flipping through one of Barry’s scripts. Her phone started ringing and the number was unrecognizable, knowing her husband’s line of work, she didn’t know if she should trust it. But it could be anything, so flip a coin or take a Chance nonsense. She picked it up immediately answering and everything around her went dark.

“Is this Mrs. Berkman?”

“Y-Yes?”

“This is one of your husband’s doctor. He came into the ER with a GSW.”

“I-...Uh shit uh...which hospital?” Y/N asks as she quickly grabs her coat and keys on the way out of their home.

The silence became too real. Nothing was audible and everything was pure silence...

Y/N walks into the ER seeing the commotion happening and many different cliental flooding in and out of one specific trauma room. Her heart dropped and she felt sick. A nurse approached her carefully resting her hand on Y/N’s arm to catch her attention and the silence became loud screaming commotion.

“Who are you looking for?”

“I’m sorry..Uh Barry Berkman. My husband”

“Oh okay um ma’am I’m going to have to take you to the waiting room-“

“No. I’m going to see my husband-“

“Ma’am they are currently-“

“Shut up. He’s my husband and he’s fucking hurt. You don’t get to stand in my fucking way” Y/N snaps at the nurse before maneuvering around her and heading toward the trauma room.

“Barry, this is going to be painful” His doctor states prepping him for a chest tube as the resident puts up the scans pointing out the two bullets. “Shit. Get the pressuring dressing secured while I start. This is going to hurt sir so it’s appropriate to scream at this—moment” he makes the incision before shoving a tube in.

Once stepping in, the silence returned except for the excruciating hollers coming form Barry when they inserting a chest tube right in front of Y/N. The lead doctor on the case saw Y/N and immediately got angry at the nurse that let her in.

“Mrs. Berkman-“

“Wh-What—“ Barry tried to move but the pain in his chest was overwhelming and the resident was pushing a mild sedative to calm him down when Y/N took his hand into hers.

“Barry...I-I...I’m right here..” Y/N frowns feeling the tears start to build up in the corner of her eyes.

“Ma’am, we are going to take your husband into surgery”

“C...Can I just get a minute?”

“Ma’am he has a bullet in his chest and we need to do exploratory surgery very likely even heart surgery—he doesn’t have much-“

“P-Please..just” Barry interrupts watching his doctor order more morphine. “One minute”

“Prep the OR, and have the orderly on standby when their done” The doctor states before giving the two the room.

Barry squeezed her hand looking at her ball right in front of him. He hated it when she cries because it usually meant something around his doing.

When he told her he was a hitman

The time he had to leave for a few months

Countless times of him coming home injured

But now, he can die.

She’s allowed to cry.

“Baby...” Barry frowns trying his best to keep his attention on her even if the pain has its moments.

“B-Barry...you c-can’t die...you can’t” Y/N cries feeling Barry’s hand shake in hers. “Just...p-please”

“Y/N...Hm—“ He jolts a bit taking a deep breath. “I...had a hit..”

“Barry I don’t want to-“

“Please...just” Every time the pain kicked every chance it did, Barry squeezed her hand and Y/N didn’t have the words to respond anymore.

“...I can’t lose you”

“Y/N...I didn’t...m-mean for i-i-it to ba-backfire.....” His voice cracked as he tries to tell her what happened but honestly...it’s all white noise for the most part.

“Baby...p-please look at me” Barry frowns watching Y/N wipe away a few of the running tears before looking down at him. “If-...If I make it..”

“You have to...d-dont say if..”

“If..I make it...I promise...t-this h-hitman life” He felt her hold onto his hand like its the end of the world. “is over...I-I promise...”

Y/N was about to say something when she saw there orderly walk in ready to take him to the OR. She leans over to Barry’s ear telling him something which brought up a lot of emotions between them both. Y/N retracts herself from his side so they could take him and her face burned at that point from all the crying.

“I love you Barry...”

“I-..I love you so much” Barry states as he rolled away not seeing her in his sight.

When Barry arrived into the OR he watches his doctor approach the table.

“Doc...”

“Barry we are going to have you count back by 8-“

“I-I better make it”

“You will.”

Barry frowns looking up at the ceiling.

-Hour 1-

Y/N hated waiting. She fucking always hated it. She brought her knees to her chest hugging them, waiting...

He better make it. He better make it.

The repeating phrase in her head was interrupted when the person she called finally came.

Sally. The two got close when she was told that Sally was Barry’s acting partner. There was a history but when it ended, it didn’t interfere with their friendship.

“Sweetheart what happened?” Sally frowns hugging Y/N when she got up.

“He...” Y/N started to cry all over again. “He was mugged...” she had to lie since she’s the only one that knows what he really does.

“Oh hun...”

-Hour 2-

The nurse walks away from Y/N after informing that they needed to call in the on call cardio surgeon since the surgery became more complicated.

“He’s going to make it. He’ll make it” Sally reassures wrapping an arm around Y/N.

Y/N turns around finding the others from their acting class including Gene which made her give a look at Sally.

“What? They would’ve wanted to be here to support you through this. So I called them”

“Sally-“

“Y/N Sally told us”

“Honey I’m so sorry”

“Barry’s a strong guy he’ll make it”

“We’re here for you for everything”

They were all nice to Y/N when she waited, but the feeling of wanting to be alone became overwhelming. She sat down thinking to herself as those around her comforted her.

-Hour 4-

Gene sat beside Y/N as his students talked amongst each other of the multiple outcomes that may or may not happen. He looks over to see Y/N shaking in her seat from her anxiety. She wanted Barry.

“Come on” He assures getting up from his seat and Y/N follows him.

The two stood outside taking in the actual silence of the night and Y/N couldn’t take it.

“FOR FUCK SAKE” She yells off the top of her lungs kneeling down curling up feeling the dam break.

“Y/N...”

“He can’t die...he can’t die....I love him. He’s the...t-the love of my life...h-h-he can’t die” She cries hugging herself feeling Gene rest a hand on her back kneeling beside her.

“He’s not going to die. You can’t think with that mindset”

“B-But h-h-he got shot...t-then it involved his heart? He can die-“

“Y/N. He’s been through a lot. I know you know that. He’s fought a lot of battles. Not to be literal with that but it’s true. He’s going to be fine. He has you waiting. He wouldn’t leave you behind like this. He loves you too much. Trust me”

“H-He...”

“Barry loves you with all his being Y/N. He literally doesn’t shut up about you. He loves you. You love him. He’ll pull through. You two’s story doesn’t end here” Gene states and Y/N felt better slightly but still needed a moment.

Once Y/N walks back inside with Gene following shortly behind. He advises everyone to go home to leave Y/N alone for the remainder of time waiting for the next update. And of course. They listened.

Soon a nurse led Y/N to Barry’s ICU room where he’ll be for the next couple of days. She stopped at the door looking at the wires and tubing attached and in her husband making her heartbeat faster than it should. His doctor walks in beside her to give her an update when he gave her a minute realizing she’s panicking internally at the sight leaving her body shaking.

“Mrs. Berkman...?”

“I-Uh yes...yes?”

“He made it through surgery. There was a tear in his aorta that occurred during surgery after the amount of stress his body endured. Our cardio surgeon repaired the tear and he’s stable. There wasn’t any other major injury besides what I’ve already said. Minor internal bleeding which was taken care of. He’ll be in the ICU until he’s off vent”

“C-Can I um...t-touch him...? Hold his hand...?”

“Carefully but yes” He reassures watching Y/N make her way beside Barry’s bed taking his hand carefully. “When he’s transferred into a patient room is when we can have a cot placed for you to sleep with him during the night. But for now-“

“Um. I know...I know what to do” Y/N frowns annoyed that he’s covering everything now when all she cares about is that.

He made it. He made it through.

...

A few days went by...

Y/N walks into the hospital after her shift, she hated having to go home to an empty bed and be in that personal silence for a while. But if it means Barry is recovering safely away from everything, then it’s fine.

As she makes her way to the ICU she found Barry’s room empty. Making her anxiety kick in.

“Um. Nurse?” Y/N walks over to the ICU nurse’s station catching the nurse’s attention. “Where’s Barry Berkman?”

“Ma’am he’s been moved”

Y/N started laughing nervously as her mind already started to wander. She pinches the back of her neck to personally bring her back.

“Um where?”

“Would you like me to escort you Mrs?”

“Yes...”

Following the nurse into the area where most patient rooms are set. Her anxiety settled seeing Barry’s doctor walk out of a room carrying a grin.

“Mrs. Berkman, just the person I was looking for”

Y/N gave him a confused look before walking over and seeing Barry sitting up in his hospital bed with no vent and the chest tube finally out. She walks in ignoring anything the doctor said carefully sitting on the side of his bed catching all of his attention. Barry started to cry when Y/N has been, he rests his hand on her thigh feeling hers rest on top of it.

“I-I wasn’t going to leave you alone...”

“Thank god you didn’t...”

Barry moves his hand reaching when he shouldn’t be as Y/N brought herself closer feeling his hand rest on her stomach. He couldn’t help but break down into more tears thinking he could’ve died and missed a whole other chapter in his life. Y/N moved his arm before carefully placing herself beside him in the bed resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are you going to keep your promise...?”

“I’m not missing anymore of my life with you, I’m keeping it” Barry rests his head against hers. “You and our future together is all I wanted. I’m not letting anything...interfere with that again”

[elisaenglish]

Art and the Human Spirit: Olivia Laing on What the Lives of Great Artists Reveal About Vulnerability, Love, Loneliness, Resistance, and Our Search for Meaning

“We’re so often told that art can’t really change anything. But… it shapes our ethical landscapes; it opens us to the interior lives of others. It is a training ground for possibility. It makes plain inequalities, and it offers other ways of living.”

The composite creation of a doctor, a philosopher, a poet, and a sculptor, the word empathy in the modern sense only came into use at the dawn of the twentieth century as a term for the imaginative act of projecting yourself into a work of art, into a world of feeling and experience other than your own. It vesselled in language that peculiar, ineffable way art has of bringing you closer to yourself by taking you out of yourself — its singular power to furnish, Iris Murdoch’s exquisite phrasing, “an occasion for unselfing.” And yet this notion cinches the central paradox of art: Every artist makes what they make with the whole of who they are — with the totality of experiences, beliefs, impressions, obsessions, childhood confusions, heartbreaks, inner conflicts, and contradictions that constellate a self. To be an artist is to put this combinatorial self in the service of furnishing occasions for unselfing in others.

That may be why the lives of artists have such singular allure as case studies and models of turning the confusion, complexity, and uncertainty of life into something beautiful and lasting — something that harmonises the disquietude and dissonance of living.

In Funny Weather: Art in an Emergency (public library), Olivia Laing — one of the handful of living writers whose mind and prose I enjoy commensurately with the Whitmans and the Woolfs of yore — occasions a rare gift of unselfing through the lives and worlds of painters, poets, filmmakers, novelists, and musicians who have imprinted culture in a profound way while living largely outside the standards and stabilities of society, embodying of James Baldwin’s piecing insight that “a society must assume that it is stable, but the artist must know, and he must let us know, that there is nothing stable under heaven.”

Punctuating these biographical sketches laced with larger questions about art and the human spirit are Laing’s personal essays reflecting, through the lens of her own lived experience, on existential questions of freedom, desire, loneliness, queerness, democracy, rebellion, abandonment, and the myriad vulnerable tendrils of aliveness that make life worth living.

What emerges is a case for art as a truly human endeavour, made by human beings with bodies and identities and beliefs often at odds with the collective imperative; art as “a zone of both enchantment and resistance,” art as sentinel and witness of “how truth is made, diagramming the stages of its construction, or as it may be dissolution,” art as “a direct response to the paucity and hostility of the culture at large,” art as a buoy for loneliness and a fulcrum for empathy.

Laing writes:

“Empathy is not something that happens to us when we read Dickens. It’s work. What art does is provide material with which to think: new registers, new spaces. After that, friend, it’s up to you.

I don’t think art has a duty to be beautiful or uplifting, and some of the work I’m most drawn to refuses to traffic in either of those qualities. What I care about more… are the ways in which it’s concerned with resistance and repair.”

A writer — a good writer — cannot write about art without writing about those who make it, about the lives of artists as the crucible of their creative contribution, about the delicate, triumphant art of living as a body in the world and a soul outside standard society. Olivia Laing is an excellent writer. Out of lives as varied as those of Basquiat and Agnes Martin, Derek Jarman and Georgia O’Keeffe, David Bowie and Joseph Cornell, she constructs an orrery of art as a cosmos of human connection and a sensemaking mechanism for living.

In a sentiment to which I relate in my own approach to historical lives, Laing frames her method of inquiry:

“I’m going as a scout, hunting for resources and ideas that might be liberating or sustaining now, and in the future. What drives all these essays is a long-standing interest in how a person can be free, and especially in how to find a freedom that is shareable, and not dependent upon the oppression or exclusion of other people.

[…]

We’re so often told that art can’t really change anything. But I think it can. It shapes our ethical landscapes; it opens us to the interior lives of others. It is a training ground for possibility. It makes plain inequalities, and it offers other ways of living.”

Throughout these short, scrumptiously insightful and sensitive essays, Laing draws on the lives of artists — the wildly uneven topographies of wildly diverse interior worlds — to contour new landscapes of possibility for life itself, as we each live it, around and through and with art. In the essay about Georgia O’Keeffe — who revolutionised modern art while living alone and impoverished in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the world’s first global war — Laing observes:

“How do you make the most of what’s inside you, your talents and desires, when they slam you up against a wall of prejudice, of limiting beliefs about what a woman must be and an artist can do?

[…]

From the beginning, New Mexico represented salvation, though not in the wooden sense of the hill-dominating crosses she so often painted. O’Keeffe’s salvation was earthy, even pagan, comprised of the cold-water pleasure of working unceasingly at what you love, burning anxiety away beneath the desert sun.”

In an essay about another artist — the painter Chantal Joffe, for whom Laing sat — she echoes Jackson Pollock’s’s observation that “every good artist paints what he is,” and writes:

“You can’t paint reality: you can only paint your own place in it, the view from your eyes, as manifested by your own hands.

A painting betrays fantasies and feelings, it bestows beauty or takes it away; eventually, it supplants the body in history. A painting is full of desire and love, or greed, or hate. It radiates moods, just like people.

[…]

Paint as fur, as velvet, as brocade, as hair. Paint as a way of entering and becoming someone else. Paint as a device for stopping time.”

In another essay, Laing offers an exquisite counterpoint to the barbed-wire fencing off of identities that has increasingly made the free reach of human connection — that raw material and final product of all art — dangerous and damnable in a culture bristling with ready indignations and antagonisms:

“A writer I was on a panel with said, and I’m paraphrasing here, that it is no longer desirable to write about the lives of other people or experiences one hasn’t had. I didn’t agree. I think writing about other people, making art about other people, is both dangerous and necessary. There are moral lines. There are limits to the known. But there’s a difference between respecting people’s right to tell or not tell their own stories and refusing to look at all.

[…]

It depends whether you believe that we exist primarily as categories of people, who cannot communicate across our differences, or whether you think we have a common life, an obligation to regard and learn about each other.”

In a sense, the entire book is a quiet manifesto for unselfing through the art we make and the art we cherish — a subtle and steadfast act of resistance to the attrition of human connection under the cultural forces of self-righteousness and sanctimonious othering, a stance against those fashionable and corrosive forces that so often indict as appropriation the mere act of learning beautiful things from each other.

In another essay — about Ali Smith, the subject to whom Laing feels, or at least reads, the closest — she quotes a kindred sentiment of Smith’s:

“Art is one of the prime ways we have of opening ourselves and going beyond ourselves. That’s what art is, it’s the product of the human being in the world and imagination, all coming together. The irrepressibility of the life in the works, regardless of the times, the histories, the life stories, it’s like being given the world, its darks and lights. At which point we can go about the darks and lights with our imagination energised.”

Among the subjects of a subset of essays Laing aptly categorises as “love letters” is John Berger, whose lovely notion of “hospitality” radiates from Laing’s own work — a notion she defines as “a capacity to enlarge and open, a corrective to the overwhelming political imperative, in ascendance once again this decade, to wall off, separate and reject.” She reflects on being stopped up short by Berger’s embodiment of such hospitality when she saw him speak at the British Library at the end of his long, intellectually generous life:

“It struck me then how rare it is to see a writer on stage actually thinking, and how glib and polished most speakers are. For Berger, thought was work, as taxing and rewarding as physical labour, a bringing of something real into the world. You have to strive and sweat; the act is urgent but might also fail.

He talked that evening about hospitality. It was such a Bergerish notion. Hospitality: the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors or strangers, a word that shares its origin with hospital, a place to treat sick or injured people. This impetus towards kindness and care for the sick and strange, the vulnerable and dispossessed is everywhere in Berger’s work, the sprawling orchard of words he planted and tended over the decades.

[…]

Art he saw as a communal and vital possession, to be written about with sensual exactness… Capitalism, he wrote in Ways of Seeing, survives by forcing the majority to define their own interests as narrowly as possible. It was narrowness he set himself against, the toxic impulse to wall in or wall off. Be generous to the strange, be open to difference, cross-pollinate freely. He put his faith in the people, the whole host of us.”

In a superb 2015 essay titled “The Future of Loneliness” — an essay that bloomed into a book a year later, the splendid and unclassifiable book that first enchanted me with Laing’s writing and the mind from which it springs — she considers how technology is mediating our already uneasy relationship to loneliness, and how art redeems the simulacra of belonging with which social media entrap us in this Stockholm syndrome of self-regard. In a passage of chillingly intimate resonance to all of us alive in the age of screens and selfies and the vacant, addictive affirmation of people we have never dined with tapping heart- and thumb-shaped icons on cold LED screens, she writes:

“Loneliness centres around the act of being seen. When a person is lonely, they long to be witnessed, accepted, desired, at the same time as becoming intensely wary of exposure. According to research carried out over the past decade at the University of Chicago, the feeling of loneliness triggers what psychologists term hypervigilance for social threat. In this state, which is entered into unknowingly, the individual becomes hyperalert to rejection, becoming inclined to perceive their social interactions as tinged with hostility or scorn. The result of this shift in perception is a vicious circle of withdrawal, in which the lonely person becomes increasingly suspicious, intensifying their sense of isolation.

This is where online engagement seems to exercise its special charm. Hidden behind a computer screen, the lonely person has control. They can search for company without the danger of being revealed or found wanting. They can reach out or they can hide; they can lurk and they can show themselves, safe from the humiliation of face-to-face rejection. The screen acts as a kind of protective membrane, a scrim that permits invisibility and also transformation. You can filter your image, concealing unattractive elements, and you can emerge enhanced: an online avatar designed to attract likes. But now a problem arises, for the contact this produces is not quite the same thing as intimacy. Curating a perfected self might win followers or Facebook friends, but it will not necessarily cure loneliness, since the cure for loneliness is not being looked at, but being seen and accepted as a whole person: ugly, unhappy and awkward as well as radiant and selfie-ready.”

Having met with Ryan Trecartin — “a baby-faced thirty-four-year-old” of whom I had never heard (saying more about my odd nineteenth-century life than about his art) but whose early-twenty-first-century films about the lurid and discomposing thrill of digital culture prompted The New Yorker to describe him as “the most consequential artist to have emerged since the nineteen-eighties” — Laing reflects:

“My own understanding of loneliness relied on a belief in solid, separate selves that he saw as hopelessly outmoded. In his world view, everyone was perpetually slipping into each other, passing through perpetual cycles of transformation; no longer separate, but interspersed. Perhaps he was right. We aren’t as solid as we once thought. We’re embodied but we’re also networks, expanding out into empty space, living on inside machines and in other people’s heads, memories and data streams as well as flesh. We’re being watched and we do not have control. We long for contact and it makes us afraid. But as long as we’re still capable of feeling and expressing vulnerability, intimacy stands a chance.”

Vulnerability — which Laing unfussily terms “the necessary condition of love” — is indeed the bellowing undertone of these essays: vulnerability as frisson and function of art, of life itself, of the atavistic impulse for transmuting living into meaning that we call art.

Complement the thoroughly symphonic Funny Weather with Paul Klee on creativity and why an artist is like a tree, Kafka on why we make art, Egon Schiele on why visionary artists tend to come from the minority, and Virginia Woolf’s garden epiphany about what it means to be an artist — which remains, for me, the single most beautiful and penetrating thing ever written on the subject — then revisit Laing on life, loss, and the wisdom of rivers.

Source: Maria Popova, brainpickings.org (25th February 2021)

[justdyingslowly]

1. Name justdyingslowly obviously come on

2. Nationality Australian

3. Age 22

4. Birthday nnnah dont feel like it

5. Zodiac sign (or your primal zodiac sign) Libra/Scorpio cusp

6. Gender wamon

7. Sexuality very very hetero

8. Your looks (add a picture or describe yourself) androgenous

9. What do you/did you study? Psychology (focus on sexology) and art.

10. What’s your current job like?/What job would you like to have? I am disabled you think I can work ha sexologist would be awesome. When I was a kid I wanted to be a fireman but Australias always burning

-

11. Your birth order head first

12. How many siblings do you have? 1

13. Do you have good relations with your family? yeah dads finally out of his abusive relationship, nearing age 70 and his emotions and his sexuality are finally opening up for the first time and that makes me SO happy.

14. How many friends do you have? what kind of fucked up question is this.

15. Your relationship status relationshipped. Fiance? got the marriage papers in a drawer somewhere with the car rego but can’t be fucked filling them?

16. What do you look for in a SO? empathetic, mature, calm. Always open to discussion. Prefers to be blunt rather than secretive. Emotional age over 14 (incredibly fucking rare apparently). Puts an importance on context and understanding other views above all else.

17. Do you have a crush? Hellll yeah Crush on my partner and got a crush on a mutual friend of ours who don’t even know hes cute af hehe one day partners gonna accidentally spill the beans and embarrass me coz hes shit with secrets RIP me.

18. When did you have your first kiss? You think I can remember this bullshit? Its not that big a deal

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands? One night stand sex almost exclusively sucks. Just. SUCKS. Because neither of you know what the other likes and it ends up being an awkward mix of trying to please yourself while trying to also be considerate.

20. What are your deal breakers? Plugging your ears to anything that feels gross, uncomfortable or disagrees with you. How can you grow as a person without introspection? How can you mold what you think and believe without taking in other arguments and comparing them to your beliefs to see how they stack up? Its pathetic.

-

21. How was your day? cute mutual friend had a fall this morning and were both worried about him. His back is bad and he’s getting a little older, he can’t be getting dizzy and having falls like that. other than that im anxious about seeing my gastro. He’s lovely but... specialists are specialists. Good at knowing what they know but not always great at listening.

22. Favourite food & drink you think im allowed to eat or drink? water and... foods a touchy subject.

23. What position do you sleep in? Usually on my side with a body pillow to grip so I don’t end up choking my partner in his sleep.

24. What was your last dream about? uuhhh...going to italy and being unable to get into this tiny basket boat properly.

25. Your fears does PTSD to medical shit count haha

26. Your dreams ... going to italy and being unable to get into a tiny basket boat thingy?

27. Your goals - get some sort of diagnosis eventually. Its been 3 years of trying and im tired. - get back to studying art part time for my bachelors. - pass JLPT N3. - go back to university for psychology. - do the dishes when I get home.

28. Any pets? two budgies. we also take care of any orphaned or injured birds.

29. What are your hobbies? feeling nauseous drawing writing a little bit im making a little gameboy game in C atm too

30. Any cool places in your area? i live next to a national park with waterfalls and koalas and emus and stuff

31. What was your last awkward situation? mutual friend made a comment on his chest i playfully smacked it (related to the comment) it was surprisingly hard “O-oh wow, thats... I didnt expect that” my partner laughed at me. it was awful.

32. What is your last regret? getting embarrassed at friends pecs stop making me think about it 33. Language/s you can speak english. N4 Japanese.

34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? (Zodiac, tarot, etc.) of course not what the fuck

35. Have any quirks? Quirkless. I do wiggle when im happy though apparently.

36. Your pet peeves open doors.

37. Ideal vacation spend a months chilling in an old japanese house in autumn hokkaido oooooof that sounds nice

38. Any scars? internal? yes

39. What does your last text message say? peepee poopoo ustinky

40. Last 5 things from your search history how do i find this

41. What’s your [device] background? Sam Porter Bridges walkin around Sam Porter Bridges cuddling BB-28 Louise while he sleeps my chicken

42. What do you daydream about? all might

43. Describe your dream home an old japanese house in autumn hokkaido oooooof that sounds nice

44. What’s your religion/Your thought about religion its a comforting thought having a parent-figure who cares about you and looks after all the big things you can’t manage yourself, but institutionalizing it runs a severe risk of becoming harmful cults. And it often does.

45. Your personality type me

46. The most dangerous thing you’ve done i saw the lost bunny that was on all the posters in the neighbourhood looked thin and patchy so i grabbed him to take him home. im allergic. sent me to hospital and I almost died.

47. Are you happy with your current life? feeling sick sucks and partners having a depressive episode but things are pretty good

48. Some things you’ve tried in your life living

-

49. What does your wardrobe consist of? blacks, reds, whites and pinks

50. Favourite colour to wear? at the moment pink. Red is always comforting though.

51. How would you describe your style? mix between lazy alternative punk, teenager with band shirts and harajuku peach kawaii uwu

52. Are you happy with your current looks? kinda wish i was a bit shorter but what can you do

53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be? bit shorter

54. Any tattoos or piercings? lol no PTSD

55. Do you get complimented often? by who? partner constantly, family haha are you kidding im australian so a friend’s version of showing affection is calling you a cunt and slapping your ass in public

56. Favourite aesthetic? all might

57. A popular trend that you dislike blocking because you disagree or find them distasteful. Ignoring all context to opposing thoughts and arguments. taking a personal feeling of disgust to mean something is evil. Blocking your ears to anything that isn’t a circlejerk of what you already think - and trying to isolate anyone who even just listens to something other then the noise of your sloppy dicks to have a thought of their own.

-

58. Songs you’re currently obsessed with? The Machine by Low Roar

59. Song you normally wouldn’t admit you like. why wouldnt i admit i like a song

60. Favourite genre? probably enka haha

61. Favourite artist/band/genre? probably enka haha oh and tatsuro yamashita

62. Hated popular songs/artists? why the hell would I hate something like a song? I hate aspects of the music industry as a whole I guess?

63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5 which playlist they aren’t all together in one place

64. Can you sing or play any instruments? piano, saxophone... uh... partners good at making music and playing shakuhachi

65. Do you like karaoke? no.

66. Own any albums? yes? many?

67. Do you listen to radio? What stations? no. but triple J, ABC Jazz and Classical. sometimes they even play final fantasy and JRPG music on classical which is pretty neat. -

68. Favourite movie/series? can i make this about games because then the answer is Metal Gear Solid

69. Favourite genre of movies/books/etc ...shounen?

70. Your fictional crush/es if they’re over 40yrs old, male and happy and bubbily or grumpy and sad then there’s a big ol fat chance I wanna bone. Solid Snake from MGS4, All Might and pretty much anyone drawn by Tarou Madoromi.

71. Which fictional character is you? uh

72. Are you a shipper? List your otps, if so what does this even mean what language is this

73. Favourite greek god? idk hades seems chill

74. A legend from where you live that you like the story of Tjilbruke is funny and good. all Kaurna stories are good.

75. Do you like art? What’s your favourite work or artist? im in a big egon schiele mood atm.

76. Can you share your other social media? no i am incapable

77. Favourite youtubers? many

78. Favourite platform? not too high up. actually i like being a little lower than ground level in corners.

79. How much time do you spend on the internet? too much

80. What video games have you played? Which one’s your favourite? look i just want to say that MGS4 is the best one in the series and Death Stranding is phenomenally engaging.

81. Your favourite books (manga also counts) these are all so goddamn definitive how can I pick? Oh wait the answer is One Piece

82. Do you play board/card games? I play DnD atm and know 15 yr old rules to Yugioh

83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema? that shit dosn’t happen here

84. Favourite holiday golden week coz its a week also easter because thats when all the glucose based sweets come back

85. Are you into dramas? what kind

-

86. Would you use death note, if you had one? no. thats called being a murderer.

87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to? chill people out a bit. when people feel unsafe they get really depenfive and territorial and block their ears to everything, making in-and-out groups for themsevles that end up putting them in more harm.

88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse? im disabled with a disabled partner. we arent funny sure we can survive normal everyday life when society is angled so sharply against us.

89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be? id like to be a mimi spirit

90. What would you want to happen to you after your death? spooky time

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick? toshinori yagi

92. Who would you switch your life with for a week? anyone healthy

93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo that cursed one with the intense eyes and the hand

94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true im me im not me im pee

-

95. Cold or hot? cold.

96. Be a hero or be a villain? both are distasteful ideas in reality

97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme? i can’t do either partner speak sin bad puns and its hell, these both sound about equal

98. Shapeshifting or controlling time? shapeshifting. controlling time is eithe rmanipulative or lonely. shapeshifing is every other superpower at once.

99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death? both are deeply upsetting ideas

100. ….. or …..? jiji or ossan? generally Jiji, but ossans can be lovely too.

[missjosie27]

Year 2 Part 3: A Bit of Transfiguration

Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait on the update. This is the next part of the story I am currently writing and I hope you all continue to enjoy!

The next day proved difficult to focus on Transfiguration with Ben in the Hospital Wing. Though David, Penny, and Tonks had been sworn to secrecy, somehow rumor still spread around the school of his absence. Not to mention he wasn’t sure if he was going to avoid punishment for being caught after hours, however, he was pretty sure Merula hadn’t let the general populace that he had beat her again in a duel.

Despite these distractions, he still managed to be only one of two students (the other was a red haired Ravenclaw girl he didn’t know) to properly transfigure his porcupine into a pincushion, much to the delight of Professor McGonagall.

“Very good, Mr. Grant,” she praised after asking him to perform the spell for her. “You are quite the natural in this subject. Five points to Gryffindor.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Indeed, you are one of the more gifted students at Transfiguration I’ve seen in some time,” she added. “If you are interested, we may explore more advanced lessons.”

“I’ll consider it for sure.”

McGonagall gave a curt nod. “Alright, that’s enough for today. Class dismissed.”

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws began shuffling out and for a moment David thought he had successfully avoided the subject of last night. Alas, he was wrong.

“Mr. Grant, do stay. There is a matter we need to discuss.”

Rowan gave him an encouraging look to try and make him feel better, but though his head of house was fairer than Snape he knew she would not let him off easy. Running a hand through his dark brown hair, he decided it was best to face the music.

He walked over to her desk while the others vacated the room and soon he was staring face to face into her stern, gray eyes.

“You wanted to see me Professor?”

“Yes, Grant. It is in regard to last night, your friend Mr. Ben Copper.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is he okay?”

“At the moment, he is being well cared for by Madam Pomfrey and is no immediate danger. However, his memory is quite spotty, and he does not remember how or when he became trapped in this cursed ice. Rest assured, he is fine and will make a full recovery.”

That at least, was a huge relief off of his mind.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Indeed, I thought it best you ought to know personally given how close you two are.”

“Soooo….I’m not being punished?”

David hadn’t wanted to push his luck but a part of him couldn’t help popping the question. Better safe than sorry.

“Your heroism in discovering Mr. Copper in the nick of time has warranted a pass for now. But I warn you, I will not overlook future violations of curfew. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied eagerly, hardly daring to believe his good fortune.

“Very good,” and suddenly her eyes were full of concern and sympathy. “Though he is fairing well, I daresay he’ll need his friends after such an ordeal. Do see to it to pay him a visit.”

“I will, professor.”

“Good. Let us speak no more of this.”

Rowan was waiting for him outside when he finally exited the classroom.

“What did she say?” he asked with anticipation.

“She let me off the hook for now. Definitely her way of saying ‘thank you’ for finding Ben when we did.”

“I’m sure glad you found him,” Rowan agreed. “I think it explains why he was acting so oddly. You know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“He must have been searching for the vaults himself,” he theorized as they traveled up the stairs towards the Great Hall. “You know that ice only affects you if you touch it. Somehow, he broke through that door again.”

“You don’t know that,” David tried to ease his best friend. “He’s not exactly in a good state right now. Let’s just see how he’s doing before jumping to any conclusions.”

“Alright. It’s just…after that note from ‘R’ or whoever…it’s freaky that someone or something could be watching us…”

“I know. But for now, let’s just pay him a visit before History of Magic. Give him some company.”

Rowan nodded and they climbed another flight of stairs before entering the main ward of the Hospital Wing. It was quite spacious and very tidy, with windows to allow those unfortunate enough to find themselves sick or injured. The ceilings were high and each bed was surrounded by a curtain to allow for privacy if desired. Madam Pomfrey ran a tight ship and was usually not keen on people distracting or distressing her patients, however, she was also quite kind and was usually accommodating within limits.

Today, only two other students were in her care so being able to see their friend was not an otherworldly request.

“Hello, Madam Pomfrey,” David greeted as she approached them. “How’s Ben? Is alright?”

“I believe so,” she said, causing both boys to inwardly sigh in relief. “I’ve certainly seen worse in my time here at Hogwarts, but his memory is rather erratic.”

“May we see him?”

“You may although I must insist you not stay long. He’s still in a minor state of delirium and I don’t want him to get too excited.”

“We’re just here to check in on him. Don’t worry, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Very well, he’ll be waiting for you. Third bed on the right.”

Privately, David could only wonder ‘delirium’ meant in Ben’s current condition. Did he go crazy? Perhaps confounded? That was always a possibility. Of course, at this point, almost anything was.

“Hey, mate,” he said as casually as he could upon reaching his bed, making minor observations along the way. Judging by his physical appearance, there was nothing out of the ordinary. The blue in his face was completely gone and he was certainly no longer shivering. However, Madam Pomfrey had not been lying when she stated he was in a nervous state of mind.

“Hey, Dave, Rowan.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Better but not great. Madam Pomfrey says that a few more pepperup potions should be enough to get rid of the cold, but I’m still sore.”

Though he claimed to be okay, his face told a different story. In truth the second year Gryffindor looked quite shaken.

“Anything we can do to cheer you up?” Rowan asked.

“Just seeing a friendly face is enough. Madam Pomfrey has been really helpful but she’s also kind of strict.”

“I would know,” David nodded. “She almost made me miss the feast last year after the werewolf debacle.”

“Not going to lie, kind of glad I missed that.”

David laughed but he and Rowan both knew that getting to the bottom of the ordeal was equally important.

“Ben, we have to ask, what happened?”

Placing his hand on his head in frustration, he let out a confused groan.

“I feel like I’m losing it.”

“You mean you have no idea what you’ve been doing the past couple days, or how you became stuck in the cursed ice?”

“None, at all. I can’t remember a thing,” came the sad reply. “Madam Pomfrey says she thinks it has something to with the ice but there’s no way to know for sure.”

David and Rowan looked at each other, the latter nodding at the former, who pulled out the letter they found on his person at the time of his discovery.

“This was a note we picked up off the floor after we found you. Do you recognize it?”

He proceeded to read aloud the message from ‘R’ but again it drew a blank.

“I’m sorry, guys, but I don’t know how that got into my pocket or who ‘R’ is.”

“You must remember something,” Rowan pressed him. “Try and think. We need to know who this person is.”

Again, Ben shook his head.

“It’s too difficult right now. All I can really recall is preparing to get on the train and then it’s completely blank after that…almost like I was floating aimlessly or something…cursed vaults…ice everywhere….”

It was then that David knew they weren’t going to get much else out of him as Ben lay back down on the bed, still muttering to himself quietly. Evidently, Madam Pomfrey thought so as well because not a second later they were being escorted out of the Hospital Wing.

“He needs his rest, dears. When he’s ready I’ll be sure to let Professor McGonagall know so she may inform you all. Good day.”

As the doors slammed shut, David began to muse to himself as they headed down for lunch.

“He seems fine enough,” he said to Rowan, who began pulling out several books from his satchel. “But if he can’t remember anything, how are we supposed to know who’s behind this or what’s going on with the vaults?”

“We don’t know enough about ‘R’ to get any closer to finding who they are,” Rowan said, flipping through pages. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still investigate ourselves. Remember the message we found last year about the hidden staircase? I have a feeling that might be our next lead.”

“The ice knight stands guard past the vanished stairs,” David echoed the deciphered message from the previous year.

“Exactly. Probably guarded by more than a few vanishing and concealment spells.”

“So how do we get in?”

“Easy,” Rowan said, plopping down on the table and serving himself a sandwich with chips. “I’m willing to bet that hidden staircase is in the same corridor as where the ice originates. We find the vault, break the curse, and gather more information. But first, I suggest not going there for the time being.”

“Agreed.”

“At least, not until we learn more complicated magic. The Revealing spell for one thing.”

David began munching relentlessly (he always had an appetite for food despite his wiry build).

“We don’t learn that in Transfiguration until fifth year.”

“I know, that’s why we need to learn it.”

He chuckled.

“I suppose you’ve read the entire curriculum already, Rowan?”

“Close, I’ve already looked into our N.E.W.T. level coursework actually. This doesn’t quite fall under that category but as you said, it’s advanced magic for someone our age.”

“Well, lucky for both of us, I’m quite good at Transfiguration,” David said through a mouth full of chips. “And a certain someone just offered me advanced lessons.”

He swallowed and gave a large belch, which caused a passerby Jae to laugh, and a few of the girls to give disgusted looks their way.

Rowan laughed, as he showed the deciphered message to him once more in his book.

“I think you’re onto something there, Dave. Get a basic understanding of vanishing and revealing spells, and we can check out that corridor once more.”

“Agreed. I think it’s time I pay our head of house another visit.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day, following Herbology, David stopped by the Transfiguration room, where Professor McGonagall had just finished teaching one of her classes.

“Professor? I hope this isn’t a bad time,” he said peeking through the doorway.

“Mr. Grant. No, not at all. I was just finishing up teaching the fifth year Gryffindors. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Stepping inside the classroom, David got straight to the point, not wanting to waste anyone’s time.

“I thought about your offer for advanced lessons and I’ve decided to accept.”

Waving her wand, McGonagall sent a handful of her papers back into her desk before addressing him.

“I am certainly glad to hear it. It may take some time to find a consistent schedule, but I have some free time this Thursday after dinner if you are interested.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“We can start off with some spells and motions normally reserved for third years and go from there. Does that sound agreeable?”

David was afraid she might say that. While under normal circumstances, he would have been more than happy to leave the planning of the lessons up to her, he had to insist upon learning something far more specific and at the same time not tipping his sharp head of house to his real intentions.

“Actually, professor, I was wondering if we might start off with something more advanced. Specifically, revealing and vanishing spells?”

As predicted, McGonagall’s eyebrows furrowed at the request.

“Those two particular techniques are not taught until O.W.L. year, Mr. Grant. They are also quite difficult to master for those much older than you. I am not certain that is the best place to start.”

“I understand. But for me, those are the ones I’m really focused on.”

“And why should a second year be so heavily interested in those specific areas of Transfiguration?”

He knew it was coming. David was well aware Minerva McGonagall was no fool and would not hesitate to glean the truth from him if necessary. His next answer had to be extra careful.

“I want to challenge myself, Professor,” he said with a straight face. “You said yourself I’m gifted at this. Let me test my abilities under your supervision.”

After a few seconds deliberation in which David could feel a trickle of sweat go down his back, McGonagall relented.

“Very well. We will not immediately jump into the spells you have mentioned but I do promise that eventually we will reach that point and devote significant time to their mastery.”

That was all he wanted to hear.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“You are welcome. I shall see you this Thursday at seven pm.”

Walking out of the classroom, a renewed sense of purpose filled David Grant. The vault would have to wait awhile yet, but this was a start. With any luck, he could break this curse and discover more clues about his brother and ‘R’ in little time.

[fanficsbytoast]

Mischief Tango Chapter 3

After Tyler Cowie has a disastrous run-in with the Tesseract, she has to team up with the god (or sometimes goddess) of mischief to get rid of her new powers. Or at least, that’s plan.

Warnings for story: M Language, T violence, T sex

Warnings for chapter: M language, T drinking

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

The Uber was there in ten minutes, which is actually really good for an Uber. I kept my jacket against the injured man’s stomach to hide the light of his…magic, I guess, and I tried my best to support him as we staggered towards the car. He was barely awake enough to stand.         The driver gawked at me from the open window. She didn’t think I was kidnapping this guy, did she?         I did my best to awkwardly grin. “He’s, uh, drunk! Really drunk!”         “Drunk? He looks half-dead.”         “I know, right? Worst first date ever.”         I don’t think she believed me, but I opened the door and let the guy drop onto the seat. He didn’t move. I grabbed the shoulders of his jacket and tried to shove him back. Jeez, he weighed a ton! The whole car shook under his weight!         “Come on!” I hissed at him. “Wake up! You’ve got to scoot over!”         He didn’t respond. Giving up, I shoved his legs into the vehicle, shut the door, and then ran around the car to get in on the other side.         I just hoped the guy didn’t die. He had helped me, and plus, I really would prefer it if I got out of this mess without anyone dying. No one deserved death.         Okay, except that Nazi guy from that dream I’d had. Was it even a dream? And why the heck was I dreaming about Nazis? I’d slept through history class almost every day in school! I barely knew the first thing about WWI! Or…was that WWII?         Maybe those Blue Meanie monsters from the alley just made me think of human monsters.         And anyway, was it even normal for people for people to dream when they were knocked out?         The wounded man slumped over in his seat and squashed me against the door. I pushed him off, but he ended up flopping over into the next seat.         “Are you sure he’s all right?” asked the driver. I hadn’t even asked for her name.         “Um, yeah,” I said, but she had to know better. We both looked awful after being attacked by those monsters. “He just drank way too much, uh…” What was an alcoholic drink? “….rum.”         “Rum? How much?”         “Like a whole bottle.”         The lady turned around to stare at me again. “A whole bottle?”         Um, oops. I laughed. “Yeah, I know, right? Ballsy. And just plain dumb, because he clearly couldn’t handle it.”         “The bloke should be dead right now, that’s what!”         This…was not going well. “Well, maybe it wasn’t a whole bottle. I told him he should go to the hospital, but he said he’d be fine.”         The car rolled forward again, and the lady turned back around. “If he gets much worse, I’d take him there anyway.”         “I don’t know how much worse he can get,” I muttered.         The driver said nothing, but then she changed the subject. “You’re American?”         “Yeah, I just moved here a few months ago.” I glanced at the guy and where he was now drooling against the window. “We…just started dating. He said he liked to drink, but I didn’t think he meant…well…this much.”         When we finally reached the apartment complex, I thanked the driver and then struggled to get the guy out of the back seat. I grabbed his arm, but he wouldn’t budge. Right. He was huge (well, he didn’t look it), and now he was out cold. I yanked and pulled, summoning all the strength I could.         The guy was suddenly weightless, flying out of the car and then landing on top of me. I would have squealed if he wasn’t crushing my lungs.         What the heck? How’d I pull that guy out like that? An adrenaline rush? And JEEZ! He weighed as much as a small car!         Not that I’d ever been stuck under a car before.         The driver ended up getting out to help me. Between the two of us, we hauled him across the parking lot and up to the front door. After I unlocked the door, we took him inside and dumped him on the couch, then put him on his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit.         Of course, as far as I knew, he wasn’t going to throw up, but I wanted to make sure the driver didn’t think I was making this all up and trying to kidnap him or something.         I took out my phone and mentioned something about calling his roommate to come and get him, and that seemed to convince her that I wasn’t just some psycho. She left.         I slumped to the floor and just sat there, shivering as the cold finally got to my wet skin.         So I had been dumped, nearly killed by alien monsters, blown up by some glowing box, and now I had dragged this creepy guy into my appartment, all in the course of one night?         Wow. I’d achieved a whole new level of crazy.         Not knowing what else to do, I just got up and went to take a shower. After I was done, I stepped out into the living room in my pajamas. The guy was still unconscious. He looked awful, his clothes bloody and damp and his face all clammy. I wasn’t sure what I could do for him, though.         I went back into my room and got a couple of blankets, a pair of very stretchy pants, and an oversized t-shirt of mine. It wasn’t until I was back in the living room and pulling his coat off that I thought about what I was doing.         I mean, even if it was to save my life, I wouldn’t be too happy about somebody undressing me while I was unconscious. But it wasn’t like I could ask him, and I didn’t know if he was immune to getting sick or not. For all I knew, aliens could be really sensitive to Earth diseases.         “Okay, Mister, I’m really sorry about this, but I don’t want you getting pneumonia.”         I averted my gaze, and after a good ten grueling minutes of trying my best to not look at him, I somehow got him into the pajamas.         I’m serious—I really didn’t see that much. But I did catch a glimpse of pale scars all over his chest.         If he had murdered someone, they must have put up a fight.         After throwing a blanket over him, I gathered up his stuff, went outside, and hauled it all down to the laundry mat on the first floor. After I threw it in the washer, I trudged back to my appartment. I could see the clock on the stove from where I was standing.         It was almost one-o’clock in the morning.         For the first time tonight, I realized that I was exhausted.  I still wasn’t sure what to do about the guy on my couch, but I was too tired to figure that out right now. So I went back to my room, turned off the lights, and curled up in my bed under my blankets.         One last, fleeting thought of whether or not there was a murderer in my living room ran through my mind. Then, somehow, I was fast asleep.

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness..

Chapter 30

Harry was woken by Ginny and Hermione showing up with food the next morning. Fleur was allowed to leave on the conditions that she was being transferred into the care of her family's healer. Her burns had been bad and were only partially healed but her family wanted to get her back to France. Harry bid her a fond farewell and wondered if he'd ever see her again.

Hermione and Ginny were eventually joined by Ron but none of them could stay very long since they all had exams to attend. Harry was a little annoyed that he was missing his transfiguration exam, even if he didn't need to take it. As soon as he was done with lunch Harry pulled out his bag and made it look like he was sorting through books to read. He wrapped his entire bag up in his invisibility cloak, making it disappear entirely. He sat and waited for Moody to show up and open the door to the hospital wing and as soon as the man did, Harry got up, telling Madam Pomfrey he was just going to use the loo.

He disappeared inside, wrapped the invisibility cloak around himself, activated the map and smiled at the second Harry Potter dot currently standing directly outside the door to the bathroom. His future self must have followed 'Moody' into the hospital wing.

Relieved that he wasn't going to have any trouble with his plan he opened the door to the loo and quickly slipped out. His other self slipped inside and Harry quickly hurried out of the hospital wing while his other self stepped out of the bathroom, sans invisibility cloak and returning to his bed. Harry caught a glimpse of himself as he darted out the open door and felt a shudder down his spine. It was never wise to see yourself when messing with time. There were horror stories about people going mad from it. Harry really wasn't sure why a person would go crazy from seeing themselves, especially if they completely understood why and how, and were even expecting it, but he still felt a weird quiver in his magic so he figured that there was probably just some weird magical law about time-travel that just made the whole thing a big no-no.

Twenty minutes later and Harry was limping his way up the stairs in the manor and feeling quite a bit out of breath. He had to admit that the damn spider's poison had left him feeling a bit weak. Just as Harry reached the top of the stairs, he heard the door to the study open and there stood a scowling Tom. Harry ducked his head instinctively but looked up at the Dark Lord through his long eyelashes with an innocent smile.

"Stupid foolish brat."

"I won, didn't I?"

"Have you seen what the papers are saying about the task yet?"

Harry blinked. He hadn't thought about that. "No, but it's probably all lies."

"It damn well better be," Tom growled.

Harry continued to make his way over to Tom, trying his best to minimize his limp but Tom noticed.

"Well they clearly got one thing right. You broke your ankle," Tom said crossing his arms over his chest and giving Harry an angry glare.

"S'not broken anymore. Promfrey healed it up rather nicely. It's only a little sore now," Harry mumbled defensively and looking away.

Tom scoffed and walked over, bending low and wrapping his arm under Harry's armpit and supporting his weight as he led Harry into the study. Harry was rather startled by the gesture but greedily leaned into the older man's side, soaking up the soft warmth of such physical contact. Once inside, Tom pulled out his wand and directed his chair out from behind his desk to the open section of the room and then transfiguring it into a couch. He sat down and pulled Harry onto it, laying him down with his head in Tom's lap. They had only assumed this position on the chaise lounge in the library before, but the arrangement was familiar enough that Harry quickly eased into a comfortable position and raised his injured ankle up onto the opposite armrest of the couch. He sighed happily, enjoying the arrangement greatly.

As was usual, Tom's fingers instantly found their way into Harry's hair.

"You worried me, do you realize that you stupid boy?" Tom said coldly, but Harry could hear something deeper behind the words and they caused a strange warm fluttering to fill his chest.

"Sorry," Harry apologized quietly, but he couldn't refrain from smiling through the words. "It wasn't all that bad. I'm sure that whatever the Prophet said was grossly exaggerated."

"It said that you managed to break your ankle after a battle with a giant acromantula that managed to bite you and then fall on you, crushing you beneath it."

"It didn't bite me so much as one of it's pincers scratched down my side while it fell beside me," Harry said.

"I'm sure," Tom said sarcastically and Harry could tell from the tone of the man's voice that he was probably rolling his eyes.

"I wouldn't of had so much trouble with the stupid spider if it weren't for the damn aggressive weeds in the hedges. The taratal vines grabbed hold of my ankles when I was busy shooting off the acromantula's legs and dug their nasty little barbs in. Tripped me and made me lose my opportunity to properly dodge. I had everything under control until that. It was a stupid little mistake and I know I was an idiot for not realizing what was happening sooner, but I still made it out of there fine in the end and I won with a record breaking time. I completed that maze faster than anyone ever has in the history of the Tri-Wizard tournament. I think that's gotta be worth something."

"It said that you appeared at the entrance to the maze unconscious and hanging onto the cup portkey," Tom said accusingly. "Making it out unconscious is hardly making it out fine in the end."

"I knew the cup was a portkey that would get me to the judges and thus, a healer. I think I did pretty good. I could have passed out before getting to the blasted cup and then the stupid taratal vines would have tried to pull me into the hedge and eat me or something."

Tom made a displeased growling noise in his throat and Harry felt Tom's fingers tighten in his hair for a moment. Finally he heaved a sigh and resumed gently massaging Harry's scalp.

"We have things to discuss."

"Right," Harry said nodding his head slightly in the other wizard's lap.

"Did you ever come up with an alias to use for the summer?"

"I did, actually!" Harry said, his voice perking up. "I was thinking Evan Harris."

"Evan Harris?"

"Yeah, with the last name as Harris, if anyone slips up and calls me Harry in the presence of any of the Death Eaters, they'll think that I was just called 'Harris' and not pay it any mind."

"That's good... I like it. And Harris is a very common name. There are a number of pureblood lines with that name. None are very well connected or have any significant standing, but that only makes it easier for you to disappear into the background without any proper proof of your identify. Very good, Harry."

Harry grinned widely at the praise.

"And Evan?" Tom asked.

"My mum's maiden name. Evans. It isn't too obvious is it?"

"Obvious would have been you going by James or Jim."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, I figured out right away that using my middle name was out. When Evan occurred to me, I realized I really liked the idea. I mean, me liking it doesn't even really have much to do with it being based of my mum's last name – I actually just really like the name. I think I can be comfortable with going by that name."

"Mm," Tom made an acknowledging sound in his throat and nodded his head. "Evan... I believe I can get accustomed to that. You realize that I will have to use the name most of the summer, correct?"

"Oh yeah, I get that. I think I prefer it. I kind of like the idea of not being Harry Potter for a while."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I mean... Harry Potter isn't really even me. Harry Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived. The Gryffindor Golden-boy. Dumbledore's man. I hate that. I mean, it's like Harry Potter is a character in the wizarding world's favorite fairy tale and they all have these irritating expectations about me. All that rubbish in the tabloids is just another level to it. People don't give a damn about me, they just want to know more about the story of Harry-bloody-Potter. I'm sick of Harry Potter," Harry finished with a disgruntled sigh.

"And you think becoming Evan Harris will help?"

"Did becoming Voldemort and throwing away Tom Riddle help you?"

"Point taken. I suppose I cannot fault you for wanting to create a new identity for yourself. Would you prefer me to start using Evan even in private now?"

"You can call me whatever you like in private. I really don't mind what you want to call me. You know me. You know the real me, so when you call me Harry I'm not Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived. I'm just... Harry. But I think it might be nice to be Evan too... In any case, you let me call you Tom, and I love that you let me do that. It just feels... significant," Harry said trailing off in a whisper. "So whatever you like calling me, is fine with me."

There was silence for a minute and Harry wondered if he'd made a mistake voicing his inner thoughts.

"It is significant, pet," Tom said finally and Harry smiled at both the admission as well as the pet name. Tom was doing it more and more lately and Harry found that he really loved it.

They were quiet for another long minute before Tom spoke again. "Tonight I will be calling the Death Eaters at midnight. I would like for you to be here an hour early. Their marks will direct them into the entry hall since that is the only place within the manor wards that will accept their apparition travel. I want you to help guide them into the ballroom as they arrive."

"Alright," Harry agreed easily.

Tom pulled out his wand and with a flick a box floated over from the desk and levitated in the air before them. Tom removed his hands and Harry got the message that he was to sit up. He shifted his legs down and sat up beside Tom on the couch. The older man leaned back and his arm stretched along the back of the couch, stretching out behind Harry. Harry plucked the box from the air and opened it. Inside were what appeared to be fine pitch black robes. He pulled them out and found a chrome silver mask with etched designs into it, laying on the bottom.

He felt his heart stop for a moment before suddenly speeding up tremendously.

It was his Death Eater uniform.

The mask was different though. It was unlike any Death Eater mask he had ever seen before. Instead of a full face mask, it was a Venetian half mask. It only covered the upper half of his face and had a ridge for his nose. It was also silver instead of the bone white masks that he had seen at the Quidditch World Cup the previous fall.

Granted, every Death Eater mask he had seen was slightly unique, but they had all been full-face masks, and they had all been white. He'd never seen one that only covered part of the face. This would leave the lower half of his face completely unobstructed.

"It's beautiful," Harry whispered without even realizing he'd spoken. He looked up and met Tom's eyes. "It's different though."

"You are not merely a Death Eater. Even Evan Harris will not simply be one of my followers," Tom said.

Harry frowned, not quite understanding. "What do you mean?"

"You are to be known as my personal assistant and my... apprentice. The others will be made aware of your special position and rank tonight at the gathering."

Harry gaped at him, too stunned and overwhelmed to know what to say.

"You have done much for me Harry. Your services, loyalty, and sacrifices will be properly rewarded."

"Just being here with you is reward enough," Harry whispered shaking his head.

"And that is just one more reason..." Tom trailed off as his free hand came up and brushed lightly against Harry's cheek. Harry's eyes closed and he tilted his head into the touch, sighing contently.

"Tonight, my return will finally be known by all of my followers. Tonight I take the first step towards rebuilding my army, taking control of the magical world, and working towards my task, and you will be at my side."

Harry let out a shuddering breath as he tried to wrap his mind around that full enormity of that statement and what all it might mean. It filled him with such a powerful emotion and he wanted nothing more than to kiss one of those long slender fingers that were currently caressing the side of his face.

Instead, the next thing either of them knew, their lips were pressed together and they were both grabbing and pulling at each other, trying to get closer.

Heavy shallow breaths, swollen lips, marked flesh and tousled hair was followed by Harry feeling Tom's strong hands grabbing hold of his hips and pulling him up to straddle the older wizard's lap as he remained seated on the couch. Gasping breaths, keening whimpers, and long low moans escaped them as the two began to desperately writhe against each other. Robes were suddenly being desperately removed and buttons were undone as frustrating cloth was shoved to the side. Whispered pleas and names were panted and rhythmically called out as flesh was grasped in a warm, long-fingered hand, and hair was roughly pulled by the other.

Through his heavy lust-filled haze Harry managed to dig into Tom's trousers, grasping hold of the other man's length for the first time. The noise that escaped Tom's throat was euphoria to the younger wizard's ears and he knew in that moment that he could live his entire life with no other goal than to hear that sound again and again and be a happy man.

Harry came hard, panting heated breaths against Tom's neck and holding onto the older wizard as if his life depended on it. The other man quickly followed, muffling his own pleasured grunts in Harry's hair. He had never felt so drawn to one person; so in-tune and connected to one person before. So understood and so cared for. This man cared about him. Worried about him when he was hurt. This man wanted Harry to stand by his side while he conquered the world.

As he held onto Tom, slowly coming down from his euphoric high one thought kept echoing through Harry's mind and it almost gave him pause.

I'm falling in love with you, Tom...

But he couldn't say it. He couldn't say the words because he was just too afraid. Too afraid of breaking his perfect weird thing with Tom. He wouldn't be the one to screw this up. He needed it too badly. He needed Tom. So instead he clung to Tom harder, slowly letting his breathing calm to a normal rate.

The two eventually parted and Tom spelled them clean with a simple flick of his wand. They spent a bit more time discussing plans for that evening and it was decided that Harry would leave his Death Eater robes in the manor. He would put them on when he arrived that evening.

Tom helped Harry down the stairs, frowning at Harry's limp and eventually spelling Harry's ankle numb for him. He escorted Harry to the time-turner room and they shared one last passionate kiss before Harry disappeared inside.

– –

Harry was greatly relieved to find himself released from Madam Pomfrey's evil clutches that even for dinner. His limp was almost gone now and he didn't feel nearly as light-headed as he had earlier. A few extra hours and a few more potions had done him a world of good.

He walked into the Great Hall and the room fell silent for a moment before the entirety of the Gryffindor table began to applaud. Harry stood there, blinking in shock for a minute, trying to figure out what the hell this was all about. The Ravenclaws applauded and Harry saw the Hufflepuffs grudgingly joining in. The Slytherins were clearly above such actions, and in fact, several were sneering at him. It finally registered in Harry's brain that this was because he was now the Tri-Wizard Champion and had won the cup for Hogwarts.

He couldn't help but snort at the show of support the school was now so enthusiastic to show him when they had all utterly shunned him when he had first been forced into this ridiculous circus. He made his way over and sat down on an open bench beside Hermione and across from Ron. Ginny came over and sat down on Harry's other side, beaming at him enthusiastically.

"So Madam Pomfrey let you out early?" Ginny exclaimed.

Harry just looked at them all slightly blankly, still a bit unsure how to react to all of this. "Er, yeah. She let me out." He glanced around at the eager Gryffindors who were all looking at him with a level of pride and smugness that made him want to curse the lot of them.

"So Harry, is it true that you fought against a giant acromantula?" Seamus Finnigan exclaimed from down the table.

"Yes..." Harry said slowly, looking at Seamus funny.

"Is it true that you killed it?"

"Yes, I killed it," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"How?" Seamus exclaimed.

"I stuck my wand into its head and hit it with a point-blank blasting curse," Harry said slowly in a tone one would use explaining something to a child.

"You got close enough to stick your wand in it's head?" Dean yelped.

"Well this was after I'd cut off most of its legs and it fell to the ground."

"You cut off its legs?" a fifth year down the table gasped. "How?"

"A severing curse," Harry said in a very slow, condescending tone."

"What – diffindo? Diffindo cut through an acromantula's legs?" Another older Gryffindor said.

"No, not diffindo."

"What then?" the same boy asked, as if he couldn't imagine what other spell Harry could has possibly used.

"Uh, I think I used concisus on the spider's legs," Harry said with an exasperated sigh. This was getting old. He wondered if he'd even be able to eat.

"How the bloody hell did you learn concisus?" the boy exclaimed.

"Language!" a female 6th year prefect scolded him, but then looked at Harry with obvious curiosity.

"Er... a book?" Harry asked giving them a look that said 'duh'.

This continued for several annoyingly long minutes before Harry finally had enough and made it none-too-clear that he would rather be eating right then than speaking to any of them, any longer.

As the meal drew to a close Dumbledore stood from his chair and called the hall to attention.

"Attention, everyone! As I'm sure you are all well aware of now, the final task of the Tri-Wazard Tournament was held yesterday evening. Three of the four champions had to be taken directly to the hospital wing after exiting the maze, so no proper awards ceremony could be held during the actual event. And while young Miss Delacour is now resting at home in France, we do have the other three competitors here with us tonight, so we ought to take advantage of what we've got.

"Prior to last nights task, Mr. Harry Potter was in first place with a total of 88 points, Cedric Diggory was in second place with 76 points, Viktor Krum was in third place with 72 points, and finally Fleur Delacour was in fourth place with 60 points. Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory were both rendered unconscious and defeated by the foes within the maze and received ten points each for surviving for as long as they did, despite the dangers. Viktor Krum survived the maze and escaped with minimal injury and through the use of impressive spellwork. For his efforts the judges awarded him 40 points.

"And finally, finishing in first place after most skillfully dispatching a nest of young acromantula, a full-grown blast ended skrewt, anti-gravity mist, solving the sphinx's puzzle, and battling a full-grown giant acromantula, and coming to the end of the maze in record breaking time, Harry Potter was awarded a full 50 points!"

The hall burst into cheers, although Harry once again noted the lack of any enthusiasm from the Slytherin table. Although now that he looked closely he realized that Draco was looking at him with a rather odd look. It certainly wasn't loathing, that was for sure. Harry still didn't know if Draco had told his father about Harry's switch in loyalties, although he supposed he might learn about that tonight.

"Thus the standing leaves Mr. Harry Potter in first place with 138 points and the winner of the Tri-Wizard Cup!" Dumbledore called out, grinning and twinkling madly as the hall erupted in another round of cheering.

Harry suddenly realized he was being beckoned up to the front and gave a grudging sigh before standing up and plastering a gracious smile on his face. He walked to the head table and was presented with the cup and a heavy sack full of galleons from Ludo Bagman who seemed to by eyeing the money bag with hungry eyes. Harry held it tightly and kept his eye trained on the man. He also decided to make sure he counted the money before he handed it over to the Weasley twins.

Harry thanked the headmasters and Ludo Bagman and was grateful when he was able to escape the spotlight without having to do some sort of public speaking.

Harry left the Great Hall feeling burned out and irritated with all his new-found fans. Their two-faced-ness only stoked his anger. Did they honestly think that he would so easily forget how they had all treated him when this whole mess had started?

He stayed in the common room for as long as he could stand, but the admirers just kept coming and he eventually escaped up to his dorm room, claiming fatigue from his injuries. At 10:30 Harry secured his curtains around his bed and slipped down into the common room under his cloak. Invisibly slipping out the portrait hole without anyone noticing it opening and then closing was accomplished with a few silent notice-me-not charms.

He made his way down through the school, across the grounds and it was just after 11pm when he activated his portkey and reappeared in Riddle Manor. He could feel Tom's magical energy emanating from the ballroom on the first floor but he went upstairs to the study to collect his robes and mask first. He entered the room and picked the box up off a side table where he'd left it earlier in the day. He smiled to himself at the memory of their earlier escapades and had to squish the images out of his mind as he felt a shudder of desire surge through him. He slipped on the black robes and then slipped the glamor ring onto his left index finger and felt as the illusion took over his form. It was a strange magical effect. The illusion was semi-corporeal. He could feel the changes if he touched his face. He could even run his hands through the long blond hair that now hung from his head. But since he was keyed into his own appearance, if he looked in a mirror, he only saw his normal reflection staring back at him.

Finally he reached down into the bottom of the box and pulled out the silver-chrome half-mask and held it in his hands. It was really quite beautiful. He thought so at least. It had some simple flowing lines etched into its flawless metal surface from each side of the bridge of his nose up over his eyebrows.

Harry conjured a standing mirror with a flick of his cypress wand – his holly wand was carefully stowed inside his bag behind Tom's desk – and he came to stand before the mirror. Slowly, Harry rose the mask and applied it to his face. The masks had a magical sort of sticking charm applied to them that would prevent them being removed by anyone other than the wizard themselves, and the Dark Lord, so all he had to do was place it there and it was secured.

He stared into the mirror, mesmerized by what he saw there. He was still seeing himself, rather than his blond glamored appearance. After a moment of looking at himself in the mirror he pulled the hood of his fine black cloak up over his head, shrouding his face in darkness. The light caught off the chrome mask though, and made it that much more ethereal to see.

He shuddered in perverse pleasure at the sight. He felt powerful and dangerous. He felt like a force to be reckoned with. A force to be feared.

Harry made his way down the stairs and straight to the ballroom. Tom was there – or rather, Voldemort was there. He had already transformed and was standing there in the center of the room in all of his bone-white, hairless and scaled, serpentine glory. The man always felt overwhelming with parselmagic in this form and Harry felt himself grow slightly lightheaded from the power. It was intoxicating and he felt the most insane urge to kiss the man.

He was endlessly relieved that he was still able to be attracted to the man, even in this form, although it did make him wonder if there was something wrong with him. Because – honestly – Voldemort did appear entirely monstrous and frightening like this. There was nothing about him that should be considered attractive by anyone who was sane. Well, maybe his power. But being attracted to his power wasn't quite the same. Harry still felt attracted to him. To Voldemort. To Tom. Harry really couldn't find any logical way to describe what he was feeling, so he gave it up as a bad job and shoved the thoughts from his mind.

Tom was distracted with preparing for the gathering. He'd acquired two more house elves in the last week and they had been working with Mixey to get the manor in spotless condition, and had begun to work their way through the grounds. But that would be a lengthy and on-going process, and it wasn't like any of the Death Eaters would be seeing the grounds tonight anyway.

Harry stood in the ballroom, observing and lending aid whenever Voldemort required it. The Dark Lord spoke, mostly to himself, as he planned over certain things aloud, and Harry added in his opinions when it seemed appropriate. Voldemort didn't give much outward hint to it, but Harry could tell that the Dark Lord appreciated him being there.

Barty arrived at 11:30pm and by 11:45 he had returned entirely to himself and completely discarded the 'Moody' persona and all of it's paraphernalia. He had been confused as to who Harry was and it took Harry a moment before he remembered he had the glamor ring on. He chuckled and keyed Barty into his ring allowing the other man to see his true self. Voldemort also took that opportunity to inform Barty that Harry would be known as Evan Harris from here on out in the presence of any other Death Eaters.

At 11:50 Voldemort drew his yew wand and pressed it to Barty's left forearm, calling his Death Eaters to him for the first time since his return. Barty's flinched minutely and Harry could see beads of sweat upon his brow from pain, but the main smirked triumphantly despite it. Harry felt the leather cuff on his left arm warm up and was suddenly filled with an image of the manor's entry hall. He gasped a bit in surprise but then grinned widely up at Voldemort, who was secretly smirking right at him.

Harry hadn't been sure if his cuff portkey would really be activated along with all of the other normal marks, but found he really liked the idea that it did.

Harry knew what his expected task was and with a quick bow of his head he left the ballroom to wait in the entry hall to greet the Death Eaters as they arrived.

Harry stood there, leaning casually against the archway that lead from the entry hall to the long hall that lead to the ballroom. A few minutes passed before the first sound of apparition popped into the entry hall. The man standing there was already dressed in black Death Eater robes and a white full-face mask that had dark lines carved into it giving the shape the cheek bones and upper teeth of a skull. The person blinked at him in surprise and Harry gave the man a curt nod.

A moment later they were joined by another man. This one's mask was decorated in a fashion that reminded Harry of the restraint masks that were used in muggle asylums with only a small hole for the mouth filled with vertical lines to prevent anything large from entering it. Again, Harry gave the masked man a curt nod as he looked at Harry with a sign of surprise. The two men then looked at each other for the briefest of moment, silently acknowledging each other.

A second later the entry hall was filled with another two pops and two more black robed figures were suddenly there. Again, each one had a unique mask as their only distinguishing feature.

"The entry hall will get crowded quickly, you may start making your way towards the ballroom," Harry said suddenly, causing all of the men to focus on him. There was another pop and a fifth man entered the room. Harry jerked his head towards the archway. "Through there, to the left, down to the end and through the large double-doors. I'm sure you all will recognize the magical signature enough to know where to go."

The group shared a look before silently walking past Harry and through the archway.

After another five had gathered Harry repeated his instructions, sending them on their way. Six more after that arrived almost at the same time and he sent them to follow the last batch. Four more a moment later, and then an additional seven filled the entry hall in the span of ten seconds. Harry was glad he was clearing out the entry hall as fast as he was or else people would have started falling over each other. More and more came and he was impressed by the turnout, but these people had had months of warning.

Finally, at 12:05, Harry called one of the new house elves, a young male named Kibby and had him stay there for any who arrived especially late. He suspected Snape would be the only one he would encounter. Anyone stupid enough to be list late wouldn't be showing up at all. Harry briskly strode down the hall and entered the ballroom.

Voldemort had erected himself an elaborately molded silver, emerald and malachite throne atop a stone dais. As Harry walked in, what looked to be the last of the procession was crawling back from the Dark Lord on their knees and then standing to their feet.

Kissing his robes, Harry realized suddenly. He wondered if he should do it too. Tom hadn't mentioned any such thing, and he didn't mind doing it in the least...

"Ah, my dear Harrissss... come here and join uss," Voldemort said inclining his head and showing the barest hint of an upturned mouth. A small smirk stole its way onto Harry's lips but he mastered his expression and briskly walked across the large space to stand beside Voldemort and knelt down.

"My Lord," Harry said with honest reverence in his voice and a bow of his head.

"Stand, Harrissss and join my other Death Eaterss. You rightful spot is in the front row."

Harry quickly stood and walked over to stand in an opening towards the center of the smaller line that made up the front row. Behind it was a wider curved line that was extending all around Voldemort in a large semi-circle. Harry noticed out of the corner of his left eye that long platinum blond wisps were escaping the black hood of the man beside him and smirked to himself having a pretty good idea of exactly who he was standing beside.

Slowly, Voldemort stood to his feet and stepped down off the dais as he swept the crowd with his piercing red eyes. "Twenty-seven..." he began in a deadly quiet voice. "Twenty-seven of my followers who remained faithful and returned to me when called."

He paused and narrowed his eyes at many of those in the crowd. "Or have you? You have all returned to me now that I am restored to my full power, but not one of you sought me out!" He spat in an quiet angry hiss. "Thirteen yearsss, I was left to wander and not one of you came to my aid..." his voice trailed off and Harry could feel a shudder of fear run through the crowd and he felt a shudder of excitement and eager anticipation crawl up his spine.

"Please, my Lord! Forgive us!" one man from the front row called out as he threw himself onto the floor at the Dark Lord's feet.

"Forgive?" Voldemort's voice went high and angry and his wand was out faster than the eye could register. The next few seconds was filled with the tortured wailing of the masked man's screams as the Dark Lord cast a crucio on him.

Harry realized his voice had become fast and shallow with excitement and a mad grin had spread across his lips as he watched the man writhe, and felt Voldemort's powerful, intoxicating magic, fill the room with such a sudden fervor. The screaming ceased and Harry quickly blinked and masked away his emotions, trying to force himself under control.

"Forgive?" Voldemort hissed in a deadly whisper, speaking into the suddenly thick silence. "For now I may forgive but I will not forget," he spat. "Thirteen years you all lived comfortable lives after publicly denying your allegiance to me. Pleading coercion, mind control, and innocence. You spent your lives in comfort, hiding amongst our enemies and watching as they slowly destroyed our world with their ignorant philosophies and morals. All the while, I was left as little more than a specter, trapped and unable to save myself."

Suddenly the door opened and several heads turned to look at it out of instinct. Harry was sure that many of them were also curious to see who had the gall to show up several minutes late.

"Ah, Severus," Voldemort said, raising a single hand and beckoning Snape forward.

Snape took several steps forward and fell to one knee and bowing his head. "My Lord."

"Rise, Severus," Voldemort said and Snape stood to his feet, several feet from the Dark Lord. "I am to assume that all went as planned?"

"Yes, my Lord. It was just as you anticipated."

"Good. Go to the front line."

"Yes, my Lord," Snape said again as he bowed his head briefly and took a few steps back until he came to stand in a space cleared to Harry's right side.

"Please, my Lord!" the Death Eater directly to Harry's left who he was now positive was Lucius Malfoy, said. "We all want to know. How did this miracle come to pass? What happened to you and where have you been all these long years?"

"Where have I been?" Voldemort sneered quietly. "I have been but an echo of my former self. Stripped of my body and my power. Capable of nothing more than possessing the simple creatures I encountered. I whiled away months and then years in a dark little hole, deep in the Albanian forests. Unable to wield a wand or perform the magic necessary to restore myself, I waited. Waited and hoped for one of my faithful followers to seek me out, but none came." Voldemort's hard cold eyes swept the group again with angry accusation burning through them.

"Why, I asked myself, would none return to my side? Surely they knew better than to actually believe me gone. My followers, who knew of the enumerable steps I had taken to guarantee my continued existence. I, who have gone further on the path to immortality than any other before me! Surely they knew better than to think me gone?

"If not that, than perhaps they had chosen to side with my enemies? To stand at the side of the Light sided sycophants? Perhaps they chose to stand with Dumbledore?"

At this Harry could feel an aura of disagreement and several shifted as if they wished to argue against the assumption, but did not have the guts or the idiocy to speak out of turn..

"Than perhaps they believed that I had actually been vanquished? Destroyed by the child hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived?" Voldemort continued on, glaring at the gathered men with narrowed eyes.

"Do you all wish to know what actually took place that night, more than thirteen years ago?" He asked raising a single hairless eyebrow, questioningly. The group shifted and murmured very quietly under their voices, but none spoke above a whisper.

"It was the magic of dear Lily Potter that did it," He said in a soft voice and Harry saw Voldemort's eyes travel to Snape. "It was requested that I allow Lily Potter to live. It was a request that I saw no reason to deny since the man who requested it had served me well and done me a tremendous service. So when I went to the Potter's home that night, I easily dispatched of James Potter and then followed Lily Potter up to the young Harry's nursery. I gave the woman the option to flee. She did not need to die, and I did not wish to kill her. Little did I know, this would be my final downfall. You see, young, innocent, Light, Lily Potter was secretly a practitioner of the Blood Magics and had enacted a pact with ancient magics I had not anticipated.

"When Lily refused to move aside and died by my hand when it was not necessary, she sacrificed her life in exchange for her son's. It created a protection powerful enough to deflect the majority of the force behind my killing curse. Young, fifteen month old Harry Potter was merely scarred while my very soul was ripped from my body and cast to the abyss. However it was clear that at least one of my experiments into the nature of immortality had worked because I was not dead, when I surely should have been. So you see, my followers, Harry Potter did not vanquish me. He didnothing. He was merely a baby, and nothing more. It was Lily Potter who brought about my temporary fall, and she is dead."

Harry was surprised by how utterly unaffected he was by listening to these words spoken to such a crowd, but it was clear by the short moment when he and Voldemort's eyes locked, that the Dark Lord actually harbored the briefest concern for Harry. The concern behind the man's eyes would have gone unseen by anyone else, but Harry saw it, and he returned a soft, reassuring smile that was banished a moment later behind a blank mask.

Voldemort instantly continued, refocusing on his gathered Death Eaters. "The Boy-Who-Lived is a fairytale. He is a fantasy character, created by the Light, and told to their children as a bedtime story to give them false hope. He does not exist. Some of you are aware that there was a prophecy that I had been pursuing in regards to the Potters. They had gone into hiding and were under Dumbledore's protection because a Seer had claimed that their child would be born with the power to vanquish me."

He paused and the room shifted with anxious anticipation.

"It was all a lie," Voldemort sneered. "The entire thing was concocted by Dumbledore in an elaborate plan to try and have me destroy myself. The Prophecy claiming my fall at the hands of Harry Potter is a lie."

Hushed murmurs broke out but were instantly silenced with a sharp look from the Dark Lord.

"What of Harry Potter, my Lord?" Lucius asked, and Harry could detect that there was something more to that question than was actually spoken. Snape glanced past Harry's position, and looking towards Lucius Malfoy for a moment before looking forward again. Harry knew that neither of them knew who he was and he fought to keep a smirk off his l lips.

"Ah, yes. Potter," Voldemort began slowly. "It is good that you ask, Lucius. This is a matter that I feel is of the utmost importance to discuss with you all tonight. Harry Potter," he began slowly, leaving a pause for dramatic effect, "is not to be touched. Under no circumstances should any of you approach him. Under no circumstances should any of you attack him. I have plans already set in motion regarding Harry Potter and I do not want any of you messing them up by interfering.

"Should I, at any point, learn that one of you was responsible for harming or attacking Potter, without my direct instruction, you will be punished most severely," Voldemort hissed threateningly and his eyes flared with a bright flash of blood red. The gathered crowd shuddered.

"Now back to more pressing matters. As you can all see, I have been back for some time now. I have been making preparations slowly and quietly. My miraculous return, as you asked, dear Lucius, is the result of three faithful followers. Wormtail, step forward!"

Wormtail flinched from his place at the far end of the first row and took a few quivering steps forward as he bowed his head.

"Wormtail was the only one of you to seek me out. He came to me, finding me as I drifted deep in the forests of Albania. It was through his initial aid that I was able to begin setting my plans in motion. But even Wormtail did not seek me out due to loyalty. No. Wormtail came to me seeking protection from those he had chosen to betray. He came to me out of fear." Wormtail flinched again and Harry could hear the lumpy man whimpering under his breath.

"Step back, Wormtail," Voldemort said with an air of disgust to it. "Barty!"

Barty stepped forward from his place four to Harry's right, tall and proud. "Now young Barty Crouch here is a truly faithful follower. He went to Azkaban rather than deny me as his master and Lord. He suffered there for over a year before he was secretly broken out by his dearly departed daddy," Voldemort finished in a mocking tone. "He suffered for a decade but freed himself and came to my aid. He has served me well this last year and has done much for me. He will be rewarded appropriately."

"Thank you, my Lord," Barty said bowing his head low before standing straight and taking a step back into the line.

"And finally, I would like to introduce you all to someone new. Someone who has proven himself loyal and valuable to me in ways that no one else could accomplish. Someone who has done for me things that no one else could possibly do and who has proven himself to me fully and completely.He is young still, but you all will show him the proper ressspect!" Voldemort said in a fierce voice before pausing to trail his eyes across the crowd.

"Evan, step forward," Voldemort commanded at last and Harry took several steps forward, coming to stand directly before the Dark Lord. "I wish to now introduce you all to my apprentissss; Evan Harris." Voldemort reached out and grasped Harry's shoulder, turning him to face the crowd. Harry easily spun around and bowed his head for a moment before standing tall again and looking out over them all.

It was clear that they were all stunned by the pronouncement, and Harry couldn't fully hide the slightly smug smirk that graced his lips as he looked out over the gathered group of Death Eaters.

"Evan will be living here in the manor for the next few months. He will be working as a personal assistant to me as well as attending to additional tasks. If there is any point that you come to the manor to deliver a report or other intelligence and I am indisposed, but Evan is available, you may leave the information with him and he shall make sure that I receive it quickly. Now..." Voldemort paused again, looking over the crowd and placing a hand on Harry's shoulder to indicate that he should return to the line. Harry quickly turned to face the Dark Lord again, bowed his head and took two steps backwards to resume his position in line.

"Quite a few of you have managed to gain positions within the Ministry. For this I am pleased. I wish for you all to prepare as much information about your department, work, the people who you work with, and those who you have influence over and bring it back to me. I will meet with each of you individually to discuss what you bring me.

"Much time has been wasted. While I was left to wander the abyss, the Light has been growing and growing in power. Passing legislation and establishing new departments that weaken the foundation of our society and leave us vulnerable to the muggles. The egregious actions of those idiots who have come into power must be rectified!" he hissed. "We must act swiftly, but we must act in secret until everything has been properly prepared for. This is a war that will initially be waged in the shadows, but once we are ready, we shall take control swiftly and secure it within an iron grasp!

"Our mission is paramount! The wizarding world is in more danger than they realize and it is not by our hands that they shall fall, but by their own! They are slowly destroying themselves and they are taking us with them. We shall all perish by their idiotic governing, when the muggles become aware and decide to act against us. We must gain control of the Ministry and the Wizengamot, and finally we must take Hogwarts. A new day is dawning, my faithful followers. With you by my side, I shall lead our world and restore the great glory to our society!"

The meeting went on for quite a while. Harry was eventually summoned to sit on the stone dais beside Voldemort's throne and to take directed notes. He quickly conjured parchment and a quill and began to note down each of the specific things that Voldemort would lean over and quietly speak to him to, as the Dark Lord discussed things and questioned different Death Eaters individually. Mostly the notes were reminders of things to investigate or to prepare, and objects that would be useful to crafted to serve specific spying purposes.

The back row was dismissed first after they had each been briefly debriefed and then assigned specific tasks. That then left what Harry figured was Voldemort's Inner Circle to stand before him. More things were discussed and more tasks were dolled out. Each person present was expected to prepare several reports on various intelligences and bring them back later. As Harry sat there, scribbling away on the rolls of parchment before him, he noticed several people in front of him eyeing him speculatively, and several eyeing him with contempt. It was clear that there were those among the Inner Circle who were less than pleased with some young unknown coming in out of no where and suddenly being assigned the title of 'Apprentice'. The idea of the Dark Lord taking on an apprentice at all was unheard of and had undoubtedly left quite a few of them bewildered.

The only person among the crowd who was currently keyed into Harry's glamor, besides Voldemort of course, was Barty. Even Wormtail was ignorant to Harry's true identity.

One by one, as the night wore on, the Inner Circle Death Eaters were dismissed until there was only Lucius, Snape, and Barty left standing in the line. Wormtail had long since been sent off to his room. At some point during the lengthy debriefing Nagini had come into the room and she was currently stretched along the base of the throne at Voldemort's feet.

The Dark Lord had just finished giving Lucius his final assignment and it would be the most obvious moment for Lucius to leave, but it was obvious that he was itching to ask another question and yet unsure if he should.

Voldemort smirked at the man's hesitation. "Was there something else you wished to speak to me about, Lucius?"

"I heard a... curious rumor, my Lord," Lucius said, bowing his head lightly and chancing a quick glance towards Snape and Barty.

"Did you now? About what?"

"About Harry Potter, my Lord," Lucius said, once again glancing towards the other two in the room and lingering most suspiciously on 'Evan Harris' sitting on the dais. "Perhaps we could discuss it in private when you are done with the others?"

"That will not be necessary, Lucius. Everyone else that still remains in this room is already aware of that which you are asking about," Voldemort said with a light air of amusement. The startled surprise in Malfoy's unobscured eyes caused Harry to duck his head to hide his smirk. He apparently didn't hide it well enough since Lucius was now glaring down at him.

"I am to assume that your son Draco probably made suggestions to you that Harry Potter said something to him that would suggest that the Boy-Who-Lived had become the Boy-Who-Switched-Sides?" Voldemort asked airily.

"Yes my Lord. I had my doubts to it's validity though. I suspected that Potter might be trying to trick Draco into admitting things he would be best served not admitting to someone like Potter. However Potter mentioned the date of March 20th, suggesting to Draco that on that date my mark would have reacted. It did of course – am I to assume that was the night of your full resurrection, my Lord?"

"That is correct."

"When Draco asked Potter how he knew such a thing, he said it was because he was there for the resurrection..." Lucius said, letting the sentence trail off into an unspoken question.

"He was," Voldemort confirmed easily. Lucius blinked and it was clear, even with the mask, that the man was stunned.

"He... was?"

"Potter has aligned himself with me. He played a crucial role in the ritual that restored my body and magical powers. He is secretly working against Dumbledore, and his switch in alliances must be kept secret at all costs."

"Yes, my Lord!" Lucius said, only barely recovering from his shock. His lips wavered a few times as if he were searching searching for words to speak, but unsure how to properly voice his questions without getting cursed. "H-how..."

"How did Harry Potter end up coming to my side?" Voldemort asked with a slight smirk gracing his lipless face.

"I must admit, my Lord, that I am also desperate to understand how this came to pass," Snape said from Lucius's right.

"Didn't Potter explain it to you when he first approached you for me?" Voldemort asked airily and Lucius's eyes widened behind his mask and darted over to Snape with shock.

"He... did," Snape said slowly. "He said that the reason his name was initially put into the cup for the tournament was your doing. The original plan was to abduct him during the final task and forcefully using his blood in a ritual to restore your body."

"That is correct."

"However he said that through the course of the year he came to several realizations, as well as discovering your plans."

"Again, correct. The realization that the prophecy was false, and that it was an elaborately constructed scheme by Dumbledore in an attempt to destroy me made it obvious that there was no legitimate reason for the two of us to continue attempting to kill each other. We both came to the realization that our efforts could be much better put to use working together to take down our common enemy – Albus Dumbledore."

"Harry Potter considers Dumbledore an enemy?" Lucius asked disbelievingly.

"We are all fully aware of the levels of duplicity that the man is capable of. He is also remarkably skilled at deceiving those around him. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, Harry Potter has had a bit of an awakening, and has learned to see the old man's deceit for what it is. He came to me of his own free will, with absolutely no coercion. He is loyal to me and has served me well so far.

"It is true that he made mistakes, but he was young and being played by a master manipulator. During his first year, when he prevented my acquisition of the philosopher's stone, he had no idea it was even I who was after it, and he was only acting because Dumbledore had secretly directed him to. In his second year, again, his actions cost me an extremely valuable object, and resulted in the death of a thousand-year-old basilisk, however, again – he was merely being used by the old man. He was an extension of Dumbledore's hand. He was being used. I do not blame him for his actions. He was young, naive, and he had been tricked.

"He has repented for his actions against me, I have forgiven him his past misdeeds and he has moved beyond those I have committed against him and come to terms with working under me. He has since proven himself dependable and devoted to me and our cause. I do not question his loyalties to me. You, however, have left me with my doubts."

"M-my Lord! I have only ever devoted myself to the dark cause! I have always and forever been loyal to you first! I –"

"You discarded a powerful magical artifact that was both precious and irreplaceable, for your own personal gain," Voldemort interjected with a harsh, angry, sneer.

"That muggle-loving fool Weasley was trying to push through legislature that would greatly hinder our cause, my Lord. I only ever wished –"

"To humiliate him and discredit him. Yes, I saw that much for myself, Lucius. Whether or not your actions actually had any effect on the bill failing to go through, however, is debatable. I can approve of the goal, however, I left that artifact with you with the expectation that you would guard it with your very life, and instead, you let it fall into the hands of light wizards. Your actions resulted in the diary's destruction, and for that, you will repay me."

Lucius's eyes were filled with barely concealed terror and he quickly shook his head before bowing low. "Y-yes, my Lord."

"Now, Lucius," Voldemort said sitting up straighter in his throne and calling the elder Malfoy to his full attention. "The school term is as good as over, but during the next school year I will be requiring your son's assistance with Potter."

"Of course, my Lord. Whatever you need."

"Bring him here to the manor during the summer so that I may speak with him."

Harry could see the discomfort in Lucius's posture but the man tried to mask it well. "Yes my Lord. I will bring him."

"Good. That is all Lucius. I expect the report from you within a week."

"Yes my Lord," Lucius said as he dipped to one knee and bowed before standing and preparing to leave. Harry wondered how many times that evening he had heard the phrase 'yes, my lord'.

"Evan, escort Lucius to the entry hall and wait for me in the study," Voldemort said then, pulling Harry out of his musings. Harry nodded his head and began to stand up. He had been expecting this. Snape and Barty would finish their Hogwarts debrief, and receive any end-of-term instructions now and Harry would be filled in later.

He rolled up the scrolls he had taken his notes on and tucked them under his arm. He stepped down off the dais and strolled over to Lucius's side. The pair quickly left the room, leaving Voldemort alone with Snape and Barty.

Harry and Lucius walked down the long hall in silence at first, but the silence was broken by Lucius.

"I must admit that my curiosity is beyond peaked about you," he said in a calm conversational voice.

"Oh? And what about me would inspire such curiosity?"

"I don't think I have ever heard of the Dark Lord taking on an apprentice. It is absolutely unheard of."

"Ah, that."

"Yes, that." Lucius said shortly and finally turning his head and giving Harry a sharp look. Harry smirked back causing the elder Malfoy's eyes to narrow.

"It is a position that I somehow slipped into my fluke. I was not seeking out the position, but the Dark Lord desired to teach me."

"He desired to teach you?" Lucius remarked disbelievingly.

"There is much about me that goes unseen," Harry said, grinning back.

"I would assume as much if you were able to catch the attention of the Dark Lord," Lucius said coming to a stop now in the entry hall and giving Harry a long look over. Not that there was a lot of look at since they were both covered head to toe in black robes. Although Lucius's eyes did linger longer of Harry's half-exposed face. The elder Malfoy was clearly intrigued by the unique mask, but didn't remark on it.

"Evan Harris, was it?" Lucius asked, conversationally.

"That's right."

"You wouldn't be related to the Tutshill Harris's or perhaps the Portree Harris's?"

Harry just gave the other man a small smirk and remained silent.

"Hm," Lucius huffed quietly before pulling his cloak around him better. "Well I suppose I shall be off."

"I suppose you shall. If you come to the manor often this summer, we shall probably see much of each other."

Lucius rose a single eyebrow before narrowing his eyes. He gave a curt nod before apparating away. Harry smirked and chuckled lightly under his breath before turning and heading up the stairs to wait in the study.

[kmorelikegay]

wheels of fate

It had been Misaki, of all people, to insist on the deep blue wheelchair.

(Or, selected moments from Saruhiko and Misaki's life together after Saruhiko is seriously injured.)

A fic with the worst title in recorded history, written for @sarumifest 2019, day 8: Free day. Also on Ao3.

It had been Misaki, of all people, to insist on the deep blue wheelchair.

Saruhiko hadn’t cared, had maybe even been leaning toward red (call him a masochist, but he had wanted it to hurt a little, a constant reminder of how he’d almost lost everything – and also, maybe, he associated red with good memories and life and – )

Misaki, though, had insisted, and so here he was, freshly discharged from the hospital and blinking in the too-bright sunlight. It’s Thursday morning, and Misaki should be working at his part-time job at the bookstore near Homra (the irony of which isn’t lost on either of them), but instead he’s here, proudly wheeling Saruhiko out the glass front doors of the building where he’s spent the better part of a month, and Saruhiko can feel his smile even facing the opposite direction.

It’s contagious, and he allows himself a small grin despite the residual aches in his body. They are moving back in together, after all.

~

The day of the accident had been excruciating, both emotionally and physically.

Saruhiko is reluctant to even call it an accident, since his actions had been backed by deep and unhesitating purpose. When he threw himself between Misaki and what had turned out to be three bullets coming his way he was driven by the need to repent, to prove himself worthy of Misaki’s time and love, but mostly by desperation to protect.

The bullets, shot from the weapon concealed from their combined clans by a violent and powerful post-Slate Strain until it was too late, would have hit Misaki somewhere around his stomach and lower chest. It would likely have been fatal. In the moment, Saruhiko had calculated this, made the assessment that three bullets to his lower back (due to their height difference) would be far better than three to Misaki’s midsection, and this cold logic had almost been enough to distract from the near-paralyzing fear he’d felt when he recognized what had been about to occur.

They had been hanging out more since the destruction of the Slate, talking and gaming and rebuilding, even opened a joint savings account they’ve both been depositing into whenever they can, even talked about getting a place together. The warmth that flooded him when he was around Misaki had never faltered, just changed shape over the years, through their friendship and separation and reconciliation, so Saruhiko is familiar enough with what it means when his chest tightens up and his fingers tremble at the mere thought of Misaki’s smile, to say nothing of its physical presence. Their relationship is different this time around, and so the warmth has shifted a little bit again, but mostly it’s intensified, spread through his entire being until sometimes when Misaki’s around he quite literally cannot see or feel anything other than him.

He has lived with that feeling for the better part of his life; he doesn’t know what he’d do without it. That was the thought racing through his mind as he shielded Misaki’s body with his own, his momentum throwing them both to the ground where he’d cupped the back of Misaki’s head in one hand to cushion it. Just as he calculated, two bullets hit his lower back as he fell, one on each side of his spine and the other in his left thigh.

He doesn’t remember much after that – he’d confirmed Misaki’s safety, the relief from his assessment temporarily cushioning the pain of his condition, and then mostly what he remembers is Misaki’s panicked cries and the pain in his back. (He later learned he’d also broken the fingers of one hand from the impact of Misaki’s head, but that couldn’t have mattered to him less – Misaki was safe, Misaki was alive, Misaki was still warm and bright and red.)

As he’d laid on the sun-heated asphalt in a pain-induced daze, his view of the sun blocked every so often by the desperate bustle around him and by Misaki’s figure and Misaki’s fingers wrapped tight around one of his hands, he slowly started to accept another realization: he had been shot once in the leg, but couldn’t feel any pain radiating from that wound.

He figures the others figured it out at some point, when they tried to lift him and his legs proved to be no help at all, but some time later (minutes or hours or weeks, Saruhiko hadn’t known how much time passed) when they arrived at the hospital (Misaki always at his side, that he does remember), the prognosis had become clear: at least temporary paralysis from the waist down, with possibility of recovery through an ambitious new physical therapy program.

With possibility of permanency, in other words.

Saruhiko had stared at the doctor after he was told this, not feeling one way or another about it, still nearly numb with relief at Misaki’s safety even days after the injury. Misaki, though, had broken down, sobs wracking his exhausted body as he collapsed over Saruhiko’s chest on his hospital bed. For the first time, he had thought beyond his in-the-moment justifications of his actions to how Misaki must feel: his best friend paralyzed from saving him, and he must be blaming himself.

Saruhiko had wrapped his arms around Misaki’s heaving body, then, wrapped trembling fingers around his jaw to force eye contact, and told him, “Don’t,” with all the feeling he could muster, “blame yourself.” Misaki had teared up even more, Saruhiko’s fingers trying to catch his tears as they fell, and they had laid like that for hours or eons, processing and reflecting and bathing in each other.

Saruhiko thinks later that that’s the longest they’ve ever continuously touched each other, and again finds it difficult to regret what he had done.

~

Misaki stayed with him at the hospital for every moment of the first two weeks he’s there. He has to go back to work after that, but he doesn’t stop visiting, comes by every afternoon he can and always brings a co-op game for them to try or a new dish he’s testing out (“since you must be sick of hospital food, Saruhiko”). They still touch a lot, mostly initiated by Misaki, as if he needs to reach out and touch to confirm Saruhiko is really there every few seconds or else he might disappear.

Saruhiko knows how he feels, wants to do the same but is prevented from following through by the ever-present insecurity in the back of his mind telling him his touch isn’t wanted. This feeling is being slowly quieted, however, the more Misaki shows up, the more he stays, the more they touch, the more he insists they move in together when Saruhiko is released, the more Saruhiko catches him staring out the wide hospital window at the city far below with something quiet and melancholy and regretful and fond and determined in his eyes.

~

Misaki doesn’t stop visiting him after he’s released from the hospital. They do move back in together, find a place midway between their workplaces, a two-bedroom with reasonable rent and all the utilities except for Internet included. There’s no washer or dryer in the unit but neither of them particularly care, too wrapped up in excitement and each other to give a damn about walking a couple blocks to the coin-operated laundromat.

It’s amazing, if Saruhiko’s honest (which he is trying to be, at least to Misaki – he deserves that much, after all he’s put him through), but it doesn’t end there. Misaki comes to Scepter 4 at least a couple times a week now, bringing him lunch or sodas to share or sometimes just news about his day – some customer talked back to him and he gave them the what-for, and boisterous stories like that. Saruhiko grows to depend on those visits. They give him strength to get through the day, help him do his job without snapping at everyone who stares at his wheelchair, make him fall so much fucking harder for Misaki than he even thought was possible.

Half their clan members think they’ve started dating. The other half thinks they have been for years. Saruhiko finds himself wishing they were right every time he sees Misaki smile.

~

He had been baffled, at first, why Munakata would possibly want a paralyzed clan member on his special forces squad.

He’d assumed, when he’d recovered enough from the pain and drugs to assume anything, that he would be slowly phased out of Scepter 4 and encouraged to find more appropriate work either outside the special police or elsewhere altogether. When he’d brought it up to Munakata, however, during one of his several visits to the hospital, the Captain had looked as close to surprised as Saruhiko had ever seen him look before calmly explaining that Saruhiko would be expected to return to his regular duties, with field time obviously reduced as appropriate, assuming he desired such a thing. He did, of course, just hadn’t wanted to ask for it and especially hadn’t wanted to be a burden, but Munakata says it like it’s obvious, like it’s logical, and so Saruhiko finds himself with another reason to make his recovery as quick as possible.

(When he’d revealed this insecurity to Misaki – well, more like his friend had forced it out of him, but semantics – Misaki had also looked surprised, but recovered quickly to spout his usual, “But you’re amazing, Saruhiko!” He’d been so sincere, eyes so bright, that Saruhiko had almost believed him, and either way he’d been too busy trying to keep the color off his cheeks to respond.)

His second day back (after a somewhat miserable first day of accepting condolences, glaring at stares, and answering questions), there’s an attack on the Scepter 4 mainframe by an unknown foreign source. Munakata requests he take command of a small team to secure the mainframe and track and neutralize the breach, and so Saruhiko is immediately able to put his skills to use again. He feels more validated at work after that, as if he’s still actually useful. If he felt like admitting it (which he doesn’t), he might even be thankful his mental state is improving now thanks to the people around him, because dealing with half-body paralysis even a year ago might have done him in.

(He thinks of Misaki’s smile again, and immediately feels better. That dumb face must be better than any pain killer his doctor could give him for it to make him feel this way, this much.)

~

Misaki has been acting a little…strange, since they moved back in together.

Sometimes he helps with Saruhiko’s morning routine, which has become somewhat longer since the injury. Saruhiko doesn’t really need help but never says this out loud because Misaki helping mostly involves a lot of touching – from supporting him as he rolls out of bed and into his wheelchair, to wrestling with sweaters and pants as he helps dress him. Every time they touch or make eye contact Misaki will freeze, stare, turn red with embarrassment (or could it be…?). He never runs, though, like Saruhiko probably would if his legs still obeyed him, just lets the moment swallow them both.

He doesn’t know what it means but seeing Misaki make faces like that just for him…it definitely isn’t bad. He thinks he could get used to it, even addicted, if Misaki doesn’t stop.

~

He had never realized how naturally wheelchair-friendly the Homra bar was until…yeah.

He visits Misaki there now, sometimes, when he has a day off and feels well enough to roll the few blocks to his old clan headquarters. The front door is right at street level, and the strip of wood on the floor supporting the base of the door is low enough he barely even feels the bump as he rolls over it. (Scepter 4, between its size and the sheer number of stairs connecting its different divisions, was decidedly not wheelchair friendly, something he’d obviously taken for granted before.) Homra, by contrast, is almost nice, almost makes him feel like nothing is different about him since he can get around the bar nearly as easily as if he could walk.

The atmosphere itself, too, is less uncomfortable than he thinks it should be, given everything he put everyone there through. Kusanagi, he thinks, probably understands why he did what he did, probably even knows of his…feelings for Misaki. It had really been Anna he’d been worried about – though she probably understands those things too, he thought she would have a far more difficult time forgiving him for how much he hurt Misaki.

On his fifth or so visit to the bar – enough visits in he’s started to lose count of the number – Misaki is running a little late, kept for an hour or so of overtime at the bookstore, and Anna is the only one there, sitting on the couch immortalized in Saruhiko’s memory as the one that supported Suoh Mikoto’s weight as he napped. He had been about to turn around and wait outside, but Anna had gestured to the empty spot across the table from the couch, and Saruhiko had reluctantly rolled over.

Their conversation had been short but poignant: Anna asking how he was feeling, if anything still hurt, and giving him knowing looks when he lied and said everything was healed even though he knew she hadn’t just been referring to his recent injury. Her pointed, unsettling gaze had forced a quiet apology out of him – an apology for hurting Misaki, mostly, but also for waiting so long to apologize in the first place. She had stared at him some more, then reached out for his hand to unclench it from the arm of his wheelchair and take it in both of hers. “It’s alright,” she’d told him. “Saruhiko hurt Misaki, but Saruhiko was hurting because of Misaki, too.” She was right, but he’d never considered he wasn’t the only one in the wrong, and to hear it laid out so simply by a child had been a little jarring. She had added something about how they were rebuilding their relationship now and so wasn’t it all worth it in the end just as Misaki had stumbled in, breathless and sweaty from having run from work, but snippets from their discussion echoed in Saruhiko’s brain for days afterward.

Visiting Homra, in short, becomes a comfortable part of his routine – if you subtract Kusanagi’s knowing gazes at the two of them and the fact that even the more idiotic members clearly know more than they should about their relationship.

~

Misaki has been trying to teach him skateboarding tricks. It’s cute to see him try to figure out how to adapt the tricks he knows to a wheelchair. Misaki’s thinking face has always been cute, and seeing that combined with the sweat-slicked hair sticking to that face tends to do things to Saruhiko’s chest.

Misaki mostly fails, most of the tricks lost in translation (or in technology?) between his board and Saruhiko’s chair, but Saruhiko leaves the skatepark after their second or third attempt knowing how to do a wheelie on both his back and front wheels (“we’ll try the side ones next time, Saruhiko!”), and even if he hadn’t, Misaki’s blinding smile was worth the sweat and embarrassment.

~

They stumble back in from the skatepark grinning, Misaki wheeling him into their first-floor apartment and kicking the door closed behind them. Saruhiko can’t keep the smile off his face, a rare thing for him (though more and more common these days), and it’s still plastered to his face stubbornly when Misaki goes to help lift him off the chair and into a kitchen stool, arms under Saruhiko’s armpits to support him and Saruhiko’s arms around his waist. Except when he’s sitting there on the stool, arms still wrapped around Misaki and legs parted to accommodate him, Misaki doesn’t move like usual, doesn’t look away, doesn’t stop smiling, just lets his lips slip into something softer and impossibly fond and even before he whispers his name Saruhiko already can’t breathe. His hands tighten reflexively on Misaki’s hips, grasping for dear life and breath coming in warm pants as Misaki’s eyes drop to watch his mouth for a moment before leaning in.

Their eyes meet, Misaki closer than he’s maybe ever been, and there’s a question there, one that’s almost impossible for Saruhiko to process given what he knows about himself, and it’s there all the same, and his answer is clear. He says Misaki’s name, too, almost against the smaller man’s mouth, and leans down the close all but an inch of the remaining distance between them.

Misaki, as Misaki does, takes care of the rest, and from there Saruhiko’s heart outpaces any of Misaki’s skateboarding tricks.

His lips are warm and a little salty-damp from sweat, and they taste like history and home in Saruhiko’s mouth, which parts to let Misaki’s questing tongue inside. Misaki wouldn’t be Misaki if that didn’t embarrass him, though, and he pulls back a moment later, panting and flushed and if Saruhiko wasn’t equal parts turned on and fucking in love before then he is now. Misaki’s taken care of everything else; he isn’t going to let him beat him to a confession this time.

“Misaki,” he starts, voice much shakier and gruff than he’d like, and then realizes he has no idea what to say, how to convey how much he’s feeling. Misaki’s no help at all, his fingers tracing Saruhiko’s jawline and making their way to his lips, all the time wearing an impossibly loving smile that Saruhiko really doesn’t know what to do with.

He’s willing to try, though – for Misaki, it’s been proven by now, he would do anything. “Misaki – “ tell him, tell him – “Misaki, I…I want – this, want you…I’ve always – ”

Misaki kisses him again before he can finish, and Saruhiko groans into his mouth, grasping at Misaki’s shoulders and hair, weaving fingers into the red locks and holding on as he kisses him like he means it because he’s never meant anything more. It’s his tongue that seeks out Misaki’s lips this time, and Misaki accommodates him, gasping out half-finished confessions between partings of their mouths, and they pour love into each other like that for long seconds, minutes, eons.

By the time they part Saruhiko feels like he might explode – and, god, more parts of him than one agree; he’s so hard he could come just from thinking – and it gets even worse when he sees everything he’s feeling reflected back at him from Misaki’s tender gaze. Misaki’s fingers are around his neck, tracing the lines of it down to his chest, and while Saruhiko’s distracted with that Misaki manages a quiet but fervent, “I‘m in love with you, Saruhiko.”

Saruhiko’s fingers clench at Misaki’s hips again, and he drops his head to rest against Misaki’s as they stare at each other. He has never felt so much. Knowing it is shared is almost enough to completely fucking break him. He had never dared to think, never expected, never hoped, and yet here Misaki is, telling him he’s been loved since the beginning, and Saruhiko’s at a total loss. What do you say to someone who’s stood by you, saved you more times than they know, made and remade you and made you fall in love everyday for the better part of your life?

Saruhiko doesn’t know. Maybe no one does. His answer lies in action, and so he breathes in Misaki’s air, holds him so close their shared body heat has nowhere to escape, and presses their mouths together again softly.

When they part again, Saruhiko finds the breath to say, “Me, too,” and then “Misaki,” and then they’re lost in the press of lips and tongue again and there’s no breath left for anything else. 

He hadn’t known this much feeling was possible for one person. He never wants it to stop.

(Some time later, Misaki, hands questing down toward his hips, pulls back from their kiss just far enough to ask, “So, when they say ‘paralyzed from the waist down,’ does that mean…?” His blush does nothing to cover his pointed glance down Saruhiko’s body, and Saruhiko gasps as the implication registers, yanking Misaki’s mouth back to his before suggesting he find out for himself.)

(The next time Misaki visits him at Scepter 4, he surprises him with a pointed but soft kiss on the lips before handing over his bento. Saruhiko can’t even be annoyed at the clapping and congratulations that follows him around the rest of the day.

If he believed in useless things like fate, he would maybe think he and Misaki were meant to be.)

[pestopascal]

retribution spoilers. alt version of smth i wrote with how villainstep is revealed. 2.1k

It hurts. It fucking hurts and you’re barely holding your side together. Overestimated again, got too cocky. Fucking mob. Fucking knives.

You’re practically crawling up the stairs by the time you get to your apartment. Mind working overtime, trying to keep the curious thoughts away. Like hammers, shattering the questions. Probably too harsh for the neighbours, but you’re mad. Mad and hurt and bleeding out on your doorstep. 

Fuck’s sake. No getting the key in your door, the jiggle of the handle failing you as you slump down. You can work out how much blood you’ve lost easily, like it’s so simple for the practical side to take over. Numbers, that’s all it is. Close to critical. 

You’d tell that part of your brain to shut up and just bleed, but there’s a shadow in the hallway. “Logan?” 

“Whose askin’?” Slurred speech? Check. This was almost embarrassing.

Ortega is looking down at you. Hah, that’s a new one. But his face is all weird, like he might just cry. You missed it the first time, anyway. Better add this one to the history books.

He’s saying something. Like hospital, and hands not sure where to touch. You can only shake your head, no, no hospitals, don’t. Before you let go. You have to, after all. This body wasn’t doing much good just laying there.

“Don’t do anything.”

Evan isn’t as quick as you’d like, but you’re barely settled in the skin before you’re out the door. Taking the steps two at a time, you can hear Ortega’s voice, and how it carries. Whatever you managed to tell the neighbours seems to have held up, and you slap the phone out of his hand.

You know what he’s going to do. Let you continue to bleed, as he’s pinned you against the wall. It smells like ozone, and the mood whiplash was even doing your head in (and you can’t even read him). The look on his face says a lot. Recognises you. Not quite fitting all the pieces together, but you can see the way the puzzle shifts, turning, trying to get it right. 

“Let me go.” Evan’s voice doesn’t have the bite Logan’s does.

But Ortega’s is all bite, all bark. “No.” If anything, for good measure, he pushes you harder against the wall.

“I’ll die.”

And you don’t look at him. You look at Logan, at you, the slow shallow breaths. Getting close now. Good thing you’re a regene, because you’re sure the average human would’ve been dead before they got the building door open by now.

His fingers go slack. Lost a piece of the puzzle, but you’re able to pry him off in his confusion. “Get me up, I’ll get the door.”

No time to wait. Turning the key, you make a face at the blood (something to clean off later, fan-fucking-tastic), and hold the door open. Expectant. “Hurry up.”

Ortega is stuck. Staring. 

“Fuck’s sake, Ricardo. I’m going to die. Again.”

Emphasis seems to kick something in him into gear. Not that his mind seems to be with him, as his movement turns almost robotic. Barely inside the door, he’s carried you. Logan. Don’t get confused now. You grab the first aid kit, not thinking about it. No time for tarp. No time for whiskey.

“Move.”

He’s hovering. Mouthing. Questions that just aren’t loud enough, but you get the gist of it. You don’t want to, but well. It was bound to happen in some way. 

“Call Daniel.”

You’re cleaning and stitching and it’s rhythmic by this stage. Just another scar to add to the rest. Probably could do this in your sleep by this point, but Evan’s hands are remarkably clinical, whereas Logan’s, yours, are hard and flat and unsure. You hate stitching yourself in that body.

Ortega finally seems to snap to it. Not quite wanting to get to where he wants, because you turn then. Hold him with a glare that he recognised. “Call. Daniel.”

You’ll have to call Mortum, too. Reschedule that meeting for today. Stashed the goods nearby, but you knew you should’ve gone as Anima. Should’ve just put the mask on and got the job done quick and easy. Fucking cocky asshole.

So many things to think about, as you seal the wound. Pat some gauze and bandages over it. Like it was merely a little nick, nothing too serious. Pulse was weak but with some rest, your body would get there. Tank built, meant to last, no matter how beaten and bruised it got. 

Rocking back on your heels, you notice that Ortega has hung up. Or been hung up on. You can’t be too sure, because he’s trying to lean over you again. Trying to intimidate you.

“What?” you ask, flatly, because not today, Ricardo. Not now. 

“Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

A muscle in your cheek twitches. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Not the right thing to say, of course not, but you’re sitting between him and Logan. You’re the one holding the needles and just saved their, your, life. Perhaps he knew you could just as easily take it away.

(again)

With some great strain, Ortega mumbles out a: “Please.” Oh, no, not happy, not at all. 

A gamble. Ortega could reduce Evan to nothingness, before you even had time to jump. Not a fair fight, but Daniel was on his way. And he knew. Knew things that would make Ricardo sick. You shouldn’t be proud of yourself for that, for cutting him out of the picture. Ortega would understand, you know he would — even in his own way.

This was how it was going to be. “I got injured and needed a hand.”

“You’re not—” cuts himself off, a little noise of frustration leaving him. “That’s not you.”

“No? Are you sure about that?”

Daniel shouldn’t be too far. You can see the way Ortega frowns. He wasn’t always one for keeping his cool. Did seven years finally change that?

“Logan can’t do that.”

You feel your brows raised, amused. “Can’t I?”

“Stop talking like you’re her!”

Nope, you roll your eyes. He’s pulling the right threads. You know he is. And he just doesn’t want to admit it. “Thought you didn’t know where I live. Been following me, huh?”

Ortega doesn’t answer, and that was fine. You’re fine with just teasing out the answers. Letting him work it out. There’s a knock at the window, and you step over Logan like it’s nothing. Stronger breathing now, everything kicking in well and good. Safe for another day.

Daniel is pale when you let him in. Looking between you and Logan, you can see it on his face. Disapproval. No, you didn’t call him in. You didn’t need his help. Besides, having the Rangers’ golden boy being your backup would’ve made things worse. You can work with stab wounds, not bullet holes.

“I’ve stitched it up. I’ll live.”

It’s amusing, how Daniel seems to ignore Ortega. Hovers over you, checking for more damage. Not so subtly trying to cover your side. Oh, of course. You have to look at Ortega then. Had he not noticed? Incredible, for one whole moment, you had forgotten the tattoos. 

“What happened?”

“Got jumped. One guy got a good swipe in, but there probably isn’t much left of him now.” You do have some regrets about how you snapped at the pain. Literally biting at it, until the underling had been gripping his brain, screaming just as much as you had. “Whoops.”

“Logan…” a soft chide, but Daniel looks at Ortega. Then you. “Uh. Evan.” Embarrassment colours him. 

“You knew?”

Ortega is up, pissed off. “What the hell, Daniel?”

Holding his hands up, Daniel stands. “Hang on. It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“But you knew something?!”

“Leave him out of this, Ortega, Jesus.”

“You… shut up! Who are you? Evan? Someone else?” Oh, he was getting it now. Eyes flicking between the three of you. Not quite resting on Anima, but he knew something was there. Maybe he still thought you were connected to Hollow Ground (hah!).

“Logan. Technically.”

“She’s there.”

“No, I’m here.” You have to applaud yourself at maintaining your calm. Or was it Evan’s? Able to be so collected, even in the face of Ortega. Daniel had put himself between the two of you, subtly. Three of you, you should say, with how he had taken precautions to shield Logan’s body. 

Your body. Come on. Get it right.

“You’re not that kind of telepath. No one is.”

“Stop being so small minded, Ricardo.” God, since when was he so slow on the uptake. You’d seen his pinboard, with all the threads and photos. A habit you had even picked up from him, to get the bigger picture. And you had seen Evan’s photo in amongst it all, even when you’re sure you weren’t supposed to. 

This must’ve really been throwing him for a loop.

“You said you’re… surface level.” He trails, voice failing him. Bigger picture. Understanding. Threads linking.

“I lied, Jesus, what are you? Who are you?” You can’t help the laugh. “I had to.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Uh, yes, I did. Would you have believed me, at all? Ever? If I said that I can possess bodies?”

Daniel backs off, just a little. He noted the shift too. The way Ortega turns inwards, deflating. His fire wasn't being fanned anymore, and the immediate threat was passing. Looking at you, Daniel nods once, and picks Logan up. Whisking her away, into the bedroom, his feet never once touching the ground. 

From where you stand, you can see the way he sets you down, carefully, taking mind to assess the damage. That makes you smile, gently, until you see Ortega shift in your peripherals. 

“Tell me everything.”

Frowning, you can’t stop the way you snip out a “No.” Solid and whole. 

“Yes.”

You make a face. “No way.”

What was it about Evan that made you snappier? Unafraid. You know if you were Logan, you would be shrinking, trying to hide behind the mask. Calm and cavalier. Those feelings were not your friends right now, instead it was the way you ball your fists, wanting to knock Ortega’s head in. Not wanting to spell it out for him. It didn’t feel right in this body, anyway. Something about saying it out loud, made it sound fake, storybook, when Evan’s voice emphasised the Farm. The tank. 

Daniel had received the tidbits, in both ways. Where it felt easier, sometimes, as Evan. Realising it as a casual observer, like the weather over tea and biscuits. Most times it was Logan, in the quiet. Singular sentences. Stories told because of tender questions asked about one particular scar.

Ortega was the bull in the antique shop. Knocking around your perfect little landscape, opening all the doors. You wanted to clam up, kick him out. But it was far too late now. There was no touching his mind, not like this. 

Well, not like you had ever been able to, anyway. Whatever comfort the static had been was just plain irritating now. Evan just wanted to shut him down.

“I don’t understand.”

Daniel opens his mouth, to speak. Decides against it. Maybe you should’ve been in Logan, to read his mind. This was a turning point, surely. But you can’t make out what he was trying to say, from the way he raises his brows.

“I don’t understand, Evan, or Logan, or whatever the fuck your name is. What is this?!” Ortega’s voice pitches, and you wonder if you should’ve checked for insulation. No way to let the downstairs neighbours know that they might have Charge drop in on them.

“I don’t… I don’t get it.” At the drop in his voice, you feel your heart tug. Defeat. Was that really defeat?

“You do.” You’ve seen the threads. How it all ties together. You don’t want to say those words, so all you can do is nudge him. 

“Why?”

And that was the million dollar question wasn’t it? You don’t answer. Just kick aside the first aid kit, ignoring the way that the blood has completely ruined the rug, and reach for Daniel. He takes Evan by the hand carefully, understanding. But you hold Ortega’s gaze.

Until there’s the pull. The snap. Logan doesn’t want to wake up. Doesn’t want to breathe. She’s tired and sore and the stitches are fresh. But you call from the other room. A soft hiss of “Ricardo”, that gets the quick steps into the room. He’s looking, at you, back at Evan, at Daniel. Back at you.

Seeing, not believing. Oh well. Had to start somewhere.