#have a BOB's knife pointer maybe..

[autistickfigure]

YOU CAN MAKE THE PINBORD BIGGER I CAN PUT SO MUCH crap DO you like the color of the BOB? Let's think about this

[carnivorousyandeere]

Tasha Intro

CW: murder, implications of gore

Tasha is a little taller than Mehri at around 5’7.5” inches or 232 cm. She’s also big-boned and curvy, so that even might make her seem a little taller than she actually is. She has pale grey/blue eyes, cool-toned pale skin, and straight greyish-blonde hair cut in a short bob. Her nose is aquiline like her gf Varsha’s. She’s also got some sparse, extremely faint freckles, moles, and birth-marks.

Tasha’s style is the same between her interior design work and personal wardrobe— minimalistic. Much of her wardrobe consists of clean lines, straight cuts, and small or classic patterns, although she is also drawn to some small frills and more feminine details as well. Most of her clothes are black, white, and grey, although khaki and some softer, muted colors can be found too. Not quite pastels, but almost there.

As stated in the whole pack’s intro, she’s hyper-organized, health-conscious, loves routines, and is actually a pretty sociable person. Being so neat and opposed to any form of mess or chaos, Tasha gets stressed out by some of the other cats’ antics, but can always go to her own room or even Mehri’s room for a little while to relax. None of the others, even Memphis, will mess with the stuff in her room so it never gets disorganized. She wouldn’t get angry if they did, they just don’t want to make her cry.

Tasha genuinely enjoys cleaning and organizing things— her collections, the kitchen cabinets, or her closet. She has a fairly sizable knife collection. Tasha’s also a real sports girlie; she loves running, doing yoga, and playing softball herself, as well as watching Tai play basketball, and watching pretty much any sport on t.v. with Tai. They probably have a great time preparing football watch parties together 🥰

Tasha and Mehri can often spend time together by practicing yoga together, as well as just cuddling, napping, and watching Mehri’s fish swim in their tanks.

Tasha and Varsha were childhood friends, who became high school sweethearts, and then grew into real lovers. Varsha can bring Tasha out of her comfort zone like no other, and they have a way of playfully teasing each other without crossing boundaries and going too far.

Tasha was the most skeptical of Memphis at the start, but all his greasy little ass had to do was lay sleepily against her chest while purring and wrapping his hands around her back to make biscuits on her back rolls and she was just as suckered as the other three 😭. His penchant for chaos still stresses her out a little, though, so they might not hang out as much as some of the other potential duos in the pack.

Tasha is really only interested in cat toys, laser pointers, and roughhousing when she’s had catnip; you can practically see the blue of her eyes being swallowed by her pupils as she prepares to pounce at whoever she thinks will play with her at that point (usually Memphis, sometimes Varsha or Tai, maybe you~?). Other than that, one of her more cat-like traits is a fascination with just watching fish swim, something she can share with Mehri. Other than catnip-induced zoomies, she’s not the most stereotypically cat-like out of the group, although if you startle her you might catch a bit of a hiss— before she’s blushing and covering her mouth, coughing to cover up the noise.

Tasha is very protective and caring for their Darling, almost smothering in the amount of attention she wants to give. She becomes incredibly touchy and cuddly, and most definitely wants to feed you by hand and pamper you however else she can think to.

Tasha may actually be one of the most protective werecats towards their shared Darling. Tasha may not be as quick to jealousy and anger as Memphis, but when that jealousy reaches a breaking point, she is just as vicious as him, if not more so. Tasha’s rages can lead to black-out, brutal attacks on anyone who threatens to harm you or take you away from the pack.

Tasha typically plays as a Cleric, as she enjoys the support role and ✨aesthetic✨ of it all. Tasha also has the unfortunate and impossible urge to reign in the rest of the party’s chaos and try to “keep them on track.” Obviously a losing battle, but she’s a pretty good sport about it honestly 😂😭

[meirathinks]

you can tell something that sounds like it

Suguru Geto x reader.

warnings: it’s angst :(( maybe some grammar mistakes? 

geto has never lied to you. You tell yourself that he does. 

(based off the song happy news for sadness)

                                      ╬╬═════════════╬╬

He can never tell the truth.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never—

At least, that’s what you told yourself. You'd repeat it over and over, the sick mantra failing to provide any sort of comfort. The dread had slithered from the end of your tongue to the base of your throat and finally cemented itself behind your ribcage: snuggly against your heart.

I.

At first, Geto's presence was warm. His fingertips would dance along your jawline after particularly draining missions, butterfly kisses and the soft flutter of your pulse would follow shortly after. You would look at him with so much endearment. Doe eyes casting a hazy look in his direction while he continued to exchange soft touches for attention.

It was springtime; the nights were supposed to be frosted over. But, as your eyesight shifted from the condensation on the window accentuated by the soft glow of the lamp in Suguru's dorm, you noticed that you'd trade anything to forever feel the way you're feeling now. Geto held himself in a unique way, he was strong, but it differed from Gojo's arrogance. Geto was one of the strongest but he hardly paraded that fact; he instead used that fact to make you feel safe.

You hummed against his throat at the thought, Geto is your protector.

He breathed into your forehead pressing phantom kisses into your skin while sitting on his bed with you. You leaned into his chest while recovering from the latest mission, civilians were injured but none were killed. Still, Geto was ashamed that non-sorcerers had to be involved in such dangerous affairs in the first place.

You can never tell the truth,

but you can tell something that sounds like it

He moved to tug tightly at your hair, urging you to look up at him. His slightly swollen lips parted and shut as if looking for the appropriate thing to say. Geto relented, choosing to ignore the seeds of doubt threatening to be sown.

"You know, I won't let anyone hurt you." His calloused hand moved to squeeze your arm, the condensation dripped down the window.

Suguru is strong. He is your protector.

II.

Geto left. And all that replaced him was the wide-eyed gaze only piteous adults knew. Gentle squeezes on your shoulder and whispering that followed wherever you went.

You were ashamed. His promises that had once left you satisfied had proven to be hollow. His righteousness never wavered.

A voice had tugged at the corner of your mind the day you heard of what had happened in the village. Geto was good, he wanted to see people safe; if you had the chance to confront him you knew he wouldn’t change. 

The drip, drip, drip, of your bathroom faucet, prompted you to focus on your reflection above the sink. Hot tears made their way down your cheeks, laboured breaths reverberated in the small space.

Geto would hug you, he'd tell you everything was okay.

Then he'd say he'd protect you.

You smiled at the thought of his domesticity, imagining his hand holding yours, missing the way his thumb would draw circles on the back of your hand.

The faucet continued to drip as you met your own gaze once again.

Dread filled your lungs

Geto killed 100s of people.

Geto always lies.

III.

There was a sharp pound at your door; hollow and calculated. Confusion invaded your senses, today was your day off, no one came to visit you anymore.

Nostalgia racked your body. Back in high school, your dorm was always unlocked, a sort of safe space for your classmates to come and go. Jujutsu tech was a warzone plagued with hopeless violence and your room seemed to be representative of the humanity of your colleagues. Neutral, kind, loving.

Gojo never knocked.

Shoko knocked three times.

And Geto was always four.

Another knock could be heard at your door.

You laughed at yourself for the little piece of hope you had felt. At the fact that you longed to see a murderer again. Maybe it would be Gojo instead? Willfully eating a candy bar while he waited impatiently outside the door of your home.

But Gojo never knocks.

A pounding could be heard at your door once more.

Your spirits lifted— Shoko had come to visit! You had missed her presence and humour, in a way, her spiral was worse than Geto’s. Everyone was convinced that the dark circles under her eyes were going to become a long-term predicament. But, when confronted about her exhaustiveness, a half-drunk Ieiri would always comment on how she was too busy to rest. Nonetheless, Shoko was the only other sorcerer who knew your address.

But no one ever visits.

One more knock.

Your blood ran cold, leaving an icy residue in your veins, your heart was beating in your throat. The absence of the knock hung in the air, your anxiety, your insecurity, your deep-rooted hope that he'd come back to explain had buzzed in its place.

You got up to walk to your door, as your hand lifted to unlock it, you waited.

Just one more. I need to prove it.

Suguru knocked one final time, you opened it as quickly as he expected you would. You wanted him to see the shame that ran deep in your eyes. Though, you hadn't felt the way that you were required to feel as a jujutsu sorcerer.

He met your gaze. You felt your heartbeat hiccup. Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt some sort of emotion bubble up at the base of your chest. Fear, disgust, hope.

"It's been 4 years, Geto."

Suguru grinned softly, a shiny film had covered his eyes. He took a gentle breath.

"Have I mentioned how I've thought about you every day for four years?"

IV.

In his final days at Jujutsu Tech, Geto was a shell of himself. Though he'd always eat the food you presented him in an attempt to curb your worries, you knew his appetite ran thin when he was left to his own devices.

Now, as he stood in your home's kitchen expertly cooking dinner for the both of you for what seemed the umpteenth time, you noticed how much he looked like himself. His hair was as gorgeous as ever (though admittedly longer), he still closed his eyes when he smiled, he still ran his thumb against the back of your hand when he held it.

Yet, he seemed so much happier.

At first, this had prompted anger. Someone like him didn't deserve to feel the joy he displayed.

Geto was a criminal, after all.

The hands of a criminal would cup your cheek and run up and down your back. His criminal voice would hum soft tunes to you in between philosophical conversations in the later hours of the night. His criminal eyes would cast the softest, most loving gaze in your direction. Geto's criminal, cold-blooded, self would whisper I love you over and over again into the crook of your neck until he fell asleep.

And you allowed him to.

You allowed him to look at the civilians with a horrifying disgust, one that sharply contrasted with his previous drive to protect everyone. You watched as his endearing expression would turn to a scowl whenever he talked about them. He'd use a distasteful nickname for non-sorcerers.

"Dirty Monkeys."

You had made sure your voice had matched the iciness of his own as you responded, "Don't use that phrase near me again."

He made a clear effort to exclude all ideological rhetoric from your conversations soon after.

The same voice that pestered you that there was still hope for Suguru had turned against him. It was ironic more than anything, the both of you could never win this sick and twisted game.

The slam of a knife against a chopping board had woken you up from your daydream. You looked up. Eyes scanning the figure of the criminal you had come to love. It was an illicit romance, one between a Jujutsu sorcerer and a cursed user. A romance between two people with differing beliefs.

You took a deep breath, the knife on the chopping board slowed as Getou turned to look at you. His brows were furrowed.

"Is everything okay?"

Your lips formed a tight-lipped smile, tears brimmed your eyes as you looked up to his face from your spot on the kitchen counter.

"Suguru," you swallowed, "we were never supposed to last this long, you know."

You watched his throat bob.

"I'm well aware."

You smiled up at him, a genuine one, twinged with melancholy, "Then you'll understand why I'm asking you to leave."

He nodded silently inching closer to your sitting figure. His hot breath tickled your face, testing the waters. You didn't know what to expect out of the kiss at this moment Maybe rough? Like the late nights you'd spend together after he practically barrelled through the front door, fuming about the day he had just had. Or passionate? You imagined a kiss with sloppy whispers and late apologies said in between the moments you took to catch your breath.

He grabbed your chin in his pointer finger and thumb, he urged your teary eyes to look into his. His lips met yours and he was not passionate, nor was he rough. You didn't see stars, you only felt him.

Geto was soft.

He pulled away, his eyes avoided your own as he breathed softly while taking in your figure one last time.

A sigh could be heard while he moved to the coat rack near your front door. You continued to sit stupidly on the kitchen counter, watching the abandoned knife and vegetables lay limp against the wood of the chopping board.

You heard the shifting of fabric as Geto maneuvered his coat on, "Call me if you need anything."

Suguru's eyes were downcast as he continued, "I love you."

You felt your throat go dry as it bobbed; Suguru closed the door as softly as he could on his way out.

You can never tell the truth,

but you can tell something that sounds like it

You never called him.

V.

Gojo leaned against the wall of the hallways in Jujutsu tech, as he awaited your response.

He quickly grew impatient.

"I said I killed him." You hummed in response, you'd like to imagine that you looked indifferent. You wouldn't let yourself cry, not in front of Gojo, not because of Suguru.

"He had it coming." You willed yourself to say.

As you turned to continue your journey down the hallway, Gojo beckoned you to turn around with a scoff.

"One more thing," He lifted his blindfold to meet your eyes.

"He told me he loved you."

You let out a dry laugh, your fingernails were digging crescents into your palms, "Of course he did."

You walked down the empty hallway, leaving Gojo to his own thoughts. Heavy breaths could be heard as you attempted to calm yourself down. Why would Geto say that?

Then you remembered.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never tell the truth.

He can never—

[blackstarising]

precipice, a buckysarah fic | also on ao3

bucky and sarah spend saturday mornings together on the wilson's back porch. neither remembers when this became a habit.

She’s awake for a few moments before she hears it, the creaking, through the open window. It’s not loud, of course, it’s never loud, Daddy had dutifully oiled the swing’s joints to make sure that wouldn’t happen, but age had touched it just enough that, nowadays, you’d know if someone was sitting there.

Sarah sits up, and rubs the sleep from her eyes. The thick, summer air fills her lungs, the same that coats her forehead in a sheen of sweat. Lingering tension from melts from her shoulders. Unconsciously, she brushes the dog tags nestled inside of her shirt.

He’s okay. Thank God.

A familiar electric buzz runs up the back of her spine as she pads past the boys’ rooms and tiptoes down the stairs. Months ago, that buzz would have prompted her toss her bonnet onto her bed, to swiftly change into jeans and a somewhat presentable T-shirt, even though Saturday mornings before 8 were, by law, designated as Sarah Time.

And then, three weeks ago, the last time she’d seen him in person, she’d raced down the stairs to get AJ’s stuffed toy (some Minecraft thing? Sarah could never keep track) that he’d accidentally left outside before he woke up, cheesy printed pajamas and all. He hadn’t flinched.

He could fit into Sarah Time, she’d decided, right then and there. Lizzo’s “Cuz I Love You” was left on repeat on her phone for her the rest of the day.

So she slips downstairs, ‘Bad Mama Jama’ shirt and all. Coffee steeps. Two mugs are produced, lactose-free milk dumped into each, and a sizable glop of honey into hers.

After all this time, his breath still catches a little when he sees her come out the back door. The humidity that sticks to Bucky’s skin like a stifling coat makes her skin shimmer in the faint sunlight. She yawns, her nose wrinkling just enough that it’s painfully cute, and then she relaxes, still sleepy but serene as she presses the hot mug into his right hand.

“Hey.” He greets her.

“Hey.” Her smile grows. “You’re back.”

“I am. With cinnamon rolls.” Sure enough, a paper bag rests next to the swing. He pats his left side, and she obliges. Their thighs touch plainly this time.

She takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Hope you haven’t been sitting here all night. Where’s Sam?”

“About an hour, and still in DC. Captain America business, and all that.”

“And what? No Winter Soldier business?”

Bucky shrugs. “I like the quiet.” Her quiet. Or maybe just her and the boys, though the boys weren’t that quiet. And ‘like’ was too weak a word at this point, probably.

She takes another sip of coffee, strangely proud. He does too, if only to silence the annoyingly insistent voice in the back of his head nagging him to just put his arm around her shoulder already.

“Still not sure about this fancy milk, though.”

“You mean milk that me and the kids can actually digest?” Sarah knows damn well he can’t taste the difference. “Well, I have bad news for you about oat milk. And soy milk." She grins wickedly. "And don't forget rice milk-”

“None of which belong in coffee.” After nearly a century of identities and missions she’s not sure if she ever wants to hear about, his Brooklyn accent is faint, but he still stretches out the caw in ‘coffee’. How mortifying it is, the way she perks up when that grit bleeds out.

He brushes the bright blue hem of her bonnet. “Is this new?”

She shakes her head and pulls it off. Dark braids tumble down her shoulders. These ones are new, he notices - they’re tighter at the root, and shimmer with oil that smells of roses. “Found out AJ stuffed it in the couch cushions a month ago. I just happened to stick my hand down there yesterday. I do not know what it is about him and that damn couch.” She snickers. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find a signed check for a million dollars down there one day.”

He chuckles, and gives the ground a little kick the start the swing going again. “Did he get his new glasses yet? Last time I was here, he was saying that he didn’t want to see the optometrist again.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the...” Sarah makes a motion with a finger, like she’s pressing a button. “There’s a little gun they use. They blow a puff of air onto your eyeball.”

Bucky recoils a little. “They what?”

“It’s supposed to measure it for the prescription. They tried to do it on me before they did his. I thought it was supposed to be just like a little breeze, but it bounces off your eye.” She pauses and scratches her head. “I may have hollered-”

“Ha! I bet he took that well.”

“I had to get him on my lap to calm down.” She sighs and pouts, just a little. “At least he still wants to be held. Cass makes me drop him off a block away from school now.”

Cass is indeed growing. Overnight, he’s shot up like a reed so that he’s just as high as Bucky’s shoulders. His normally smooth skin is interrupted by a few bumps, and his voice bounces around in pitch like an untuned clarinet. Something in his chest twinges when he considers it, how time marches forward. How, very soon, the collective wide-eyed innocence of the boys will harden into adulthood.

Her gaze falls to his left hand. The fingers curl and flex. She still remembers the first time she’d looked at his arm, really looked at it, the dark plates molding and shifting. It’d been the second time they’d shared this same porch, waiting for Sam to bring back the boys from fishing.

I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Sarah, he’d said suddenly, catching her gaze. His voice had been heavy, but clear. Dark blue eyes filled with regret. I’ve hurt people. Killed people. I didn’t have a choice, but, with you and- here, she’d held her breath as his Adam’s apple bobbed, how quickly he’d blinked - and the boys, I...I don’t want- I need you to know all of me. Who I’ve been. Who I am. And then you can decide. But you can’t do that if I’m not honest.

She doesn’t remember what she’d said after. She does remember watching him get into the truck so Sam could take him to the airport. How he’d paused when he’d opened the door, and turned towards her, eyes wide. Vulnerable. How she’d smiled at him, and waved, maybe a bit too cheesily, like it’d been the easiest thing in the world, because despite it all, oddly, she hadn’t been afraid. How the widest grin had broken out on his face and something deep inside her chest that had been closed had burst open for the first time since she’d lost Andrew. And she remembers watching the truck pull out of the drive as her heart filled to such a capacity that her chest hurt, and the second they’d disappeared over the hill she’d promptly burst into tears, well, really, half laughing and half sobbing, because how the hell was she supposed to know she could find that feeling again?

It’s only when she sees his jaw clench that she finally notices the cut, long and fading pink against his chiseled cheekbones. Maybe she’s getting too used to them - he’s always injured in some way when he gets back.

He can see that familiar softening in her eyes as she catches sight of the gash. Well, it had been a gash just an hour before, the result of catching a thrown knife on his cheek before he’d caught the hilt. But what’s about to happen next will play like clockwork.

First, she’s going to try to get a closer look. Her index and pointer finger come up just under his chin, tilting his head to the side. His skin tingles, the electricity of her concern rushing through him.

Then, she’ll hum. She’s never chastised him, though he wouldn’t know what there’d be to say if she tried. But that hum says more than enough.

“Hmm.”

In the moment, she doesn’t feel herself cupping his face with both hands, it just sort of happens. Her throat dries instantly as the stubble brushes in her palms.

He can’t breathe, but every single muscle in his body relaxes. He sinks into her touch.

“Y- you should see the other guy,” he manages to get out. There’s a faint memory that breaks to the surface, the docks in New York, 1940-something, 1943? A date whose name has been lost to time, the last date he’d ever go on. Soft hands cupping his face, just like this, and warm, pleading ruby-red lips crashing dully into his, a whisper to not forget her.

Sarah’s tongue darts between her lips. Both thumbs rub small circles into his cheeks. It wasn’t a question of if he wanted to kiss her, no. When has a day gone by that he hasn’t thought of kissing her? How is it that it’s never happened, but he can see it, clear as crystal, and hold it in his mind’s eye. How can he already feel her warm and flush and present and breathless and real against him?

Very slowly, she comes back to herself, and her face immediately flushes with a sharper heat. Her hands awkwardly drop from his face. She tries to think of something, anything, to interrupt the silence (to explain herself?), but every word that comes to mind sticks helplessly in her throat and she just can’t stand it because she’s the same, she’s exactly the same as she’d been at 17, leg jiggling and sweating and staring a hole right through the back of Andrew’s head in AP Calculus.

(She’d never wanted to punch Sam so bad back then when he’d had the audacity to say well, just tell him, already. The audacity of him, to think things were so simple.)

She leans back, scooting just a hair away this time. The crest of the sun beams through the trees, painfully bright. Her pulse is louder now. She’s looking at the small grove so intently she doesn’t even register the weight gently settle on her left shoulder at first. It only clicks when she feels the cool metal of his thumb brush up and down her bicep. Their eyes lock, brown against against blue.

He’s still smiling, and she, she realizes, is too.

So she melts into him. She melts into him, her ear landing over his chest, her arm wrapping around the small of his back. She sighs into the muted whoosh whoosh whoosh of his heartbeat, the cotton of his shirt, and the faint smell of spearmint on his breath. Another kick of her foot and they’re swinging yet again, back and forth, back and forth. The sun pulls itself up ever higher and higher.

The light starts to burn his cheek. “The boys’ll be up soon,” he murmurs into her hair.

She snuggles deeper into him. “Mmm.”

They’re on the precipice of something, this, they both know. They're inching closer and closer, and one day they’ll step off, and she’ll kiss him full on the mouth and whenever he’ll come back to the house he’ll be coming back home and whenever they go anywhere they’ll stick each others hand in their back pockets in that particular way that teenagers do that let everyone know that they’re each others and there’s nothing they can do about it.

One day. But for now, this is more than enough.

They like the quiet.

[pluviophile-imagines]

Shiggy hand 🕴🕴

I gotchu anon

You think, maybe, that you’re being a little heavy-handed (pun absolutely not intended, but hilarious nonetheless).

Really, it’s the oldest trick in the book. You used to scoff and roll your eyes at the girls who would do it with their crushes in high school—oh, if they could see you now, a secret villain trying to make a pass at your infamous boss.

To be fair, Shigaraki’s hands are quite nice, large and slightly veiny but in a nice way, with long fingers that aren’t quite spindly or skeletal but just thick enough. They’re deadly, though; if his touch were less lethal you’d have done this weeks ago. Instead, it’s taken days of planning with Magne and Toga to get a solid plan in the works. But you’re certain it’ll be worth it—it’s an investment, a present you’re hoping both you and he will be thankful for in the future.

Magne informs you as you walk into the bar tonight that the package you ordered had arrived, and that Toga had already delivered it to Shigaraki. He’s not out in the main area with the others, but he’ll make his entrance now that you’ve arrived. You’re pretty sure past the first week of joining up he’d never missed a single day you’d visited (and to be fair, that could be written off as simply being a good leader, considering your appearances are a lot more rare than those of your other associates save perhaps for Dabi, but you like to think he wants to be around you).

Sure enough, not even three minutes after you make yourself comfortable at a small table in the corner away from where everyone else is sitting, Shigaraki stalks into the bar with a small package held in one hand, pinky up like always; you’ve always found that cute.

“What’s that?” You try to act coy as he comes to find a chair across the table you’re seated at. You’re pretty sure he knows you’re behind this; he’s not a fool, and Toga’s not the quietest of your colleagues (though none of them are exactly quiet right now as they greet their leader quite loudly and he solidly ignores them in favor of, well, you).

“Toga gave it to me.” He’s willing to play along at least, and you’re fairly certain that’s a good sign. Occasionally when you set him up like this he’ll be a bit more amused. If anything, he looks more nervous; he’s not wearing Father, but he’s keeping his head low, letting his hair drape over and provide some cover for his crimson eyes.

Five fingers brush against the shipping envelope, quick and efficient, no need for a knife. A single sealed package is left on the table in the dusty remains. He picks it up, two fingers raised this time, and inspects it.

“She said they were anti-fouling gloves.”

“Artists use them.” You lean forward, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and looking up at your boss through your eyelashes. “They reduce smudging for traditional mediums, friction with tablets…”

They’re black, made of nylon, covering his pinky and ring finger and velcroing around the wrist. Costing less than $10, you’d actually gotten three pairs, because you’re pretty sure there’ll be a bit of a learning curve getting them on.

“You seem to know an awful lot about a present Toga got me.”

He definitely knows you’re behind this, then, but still no clear indication of if he’s put two-and-two together as to why, or even if he’s more excited or nervous for what you have planned.

Instead of getting yourself worked up thinking about that, you reach forward and gently take the packaged gloves from his hands, busying yourself with opening them.

“I think they’ll suit you.” It’s a bit of a struggle; kind of embarrassing, but you play it off by ignoring it as you take out your pocket knife and cut the package entirely, leaving you with a pair of identical black swaths of fabric. “There we go.”

You don’t allow yourself to hesitate or give him a chance to take them from your hand. Dropping on, you reach forward to take hold of his left wrist, pulling it towards you so that you hold his hand over the table right between the pair of you.

Shigaraki’s hands are weapons, this you know; you’ve seen him in action plenty of times between sparring and watching the news. You’ve never quite had the chance to touch them like this—actually, now that you think of it, you don’t know if you’ve ever really touched them at all. He’s not the most tactile person; even when you’ve sparred with him he hasn’t bothered to help you up.

This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have thought you could get away with it.

But when you pause halfway to pulling the glove over his fingers, he doesn’t let you retreat. His free hand comes up, three fingers holding you hostage so you can’t set down the glove.

Your breath hitches. You glance up to see him staring at you, face no longer hidden behind that blue hair and eyes locked on yours, and the intense look in those irises makes your heart beat a little faster. You can’t quite place what emotion he’s trying to get across, something like anxiety or anticipation or excitement. He doesn’t say anything, but the message is loud and clear: don’t stop. Keep going.

So you do.

You pull the glove all the way onto his wrist and velcro it closed. His gaze moves to it now, and you watch as he slowly moves to plant four fingers onto the top of the table, then solidly presses his thumb down. Nothing happens. There’s a little hint of a smile that quirks his mouth as his eyes dart back up to you, then immediately to where your own hands lay laced together on the table before you.

That’s enough of an invitation, you decide. You lift your right hand just as Shigaraki removes his left from the table—you’re pretty sure he’s caught on—and raise it so that it hovers, almost touching.

Then you press your palm to his, fingers bowed back so they still don’t touch. He’s warmer than you expected; you’re not sure why you expected his hands to be cold, but somehow you did, and it’s a pleasant surprise that they’re not.

His eyes never leave where your hands touch, anchored there, but you’re captivated by his face. You watch his Adam’s apple bob with a swallow and decide to go further.

One by one, you press your fingertips to his (or rather, as much as you can, because his are long and on a notable few yours don’t quite reach), pinky and then ring, followed by middle and pointer, and then thumb. Still gauging his reaction, you let your fingers rest fully, hand entirely pressed flush to his.

You hear him sigh; a quiet sound, one you’re pretty sure you weren’t meant to hear but cherish nonetheless. He’s stark still, stiff and unmoving, and you’re floored by how much you like this simple touch.

Is it intimate? You can’t really tell. It’s strange; you’re pretty sure those high school girls who flirt this way aren’t this stunned by it, but to be fair none of them are doing it to an S-class villain whose hand could kill them with a simple slip-up. Your heart is beating fast; you wonder, fleetingly, stupidly, if he can hear it. Now that your fingertips are also pressed against his, his warmth is more obvious, sending gooseflesh rising up your arms.

It’s dumb, you think, insecurity sinking into you. Shigaraki probably thinks you’re a fucking airhead. But the words come automatically; you’re possessed by the spirit of those little high school girls you used to envy as a first year and they spill out as if drilled into your mind.

“Wow. Your hands are so big compared to mine…”

Behind you, all the way at the other side of the bar, Dabi lets out an emphatic groan. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You whip around towards him, shooting him a glare and flipping him the bird to get a lazy eye roll in response. Ordinarily you’d get at least a little huff of laughter from Shigaraki for that, but he stays uncharacteristically silent, which pulls your attention solidly away from Dabi and back to the man you really want to be talking to because damn if that didn’t make you all the more insecure.

You’re not sure if you’ve given Shigaraki or yourself too much credit, but this was clearly a bad idea. Either you’re too awkward to pull this off or he’s too awkward to pick up your signals. Maybe it’s a mixture of both. Either way, you can feel your face burning.

You move to pull away, removing your palm just barely, but Shigaraki’s hand stops you. It follows, as if desperate to keep you there, and in the same motion his fingers shift.

He moves them to the right just slightly, aligning with the gaps between yours, and then tentatively threads both of your fingers together, resting the pads of his on the back of your hand.

Your gaze shoots up from your now linked hands to his face. His Adam’s apple bobs again. He might not have Father to cover him, but he’s tipped his head further downward so that curtain of pale blue hair shields his whole face from you—you can’t tell if he’s still staring at your joined hands or if he’s moved on, but you’re decently certain he’s still looking at you.

“I can’t wear them often or I’ll get out of practice going without them, and I can’t risk that,” he says softly, almost reverently; you get the feeling he might be talking about you. His head tilts up slightly and you decide, quite suddenly, that you’re very glad he’s been covering his face. He’s giving you a look that takes your breath away. The way his red eyes are wide and blown and soft like a villain’s should never be is not something you think you want anyone else to see. It’s yours; you want to keep it all to yourself.

He gives a little squeeze and you swallow thickly as his mouth quirks up, just barely. “But maybe I’ll keep them on just a bit longer.”

[cellard0ors]

Fic: the beginning is the end is the beginning

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Buzzfeed Unsolved, Godzilla: King of the Monsters

Pairing: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej

Warning: Apocalyptic!End!Of!The!World stuff, mentions of dead people, mass suicides

Summary:  The Titans have returned. The world has ended. The Ghoul Boys are still here.

Notes:   HO-KAY. This is dedicated to @theawfuledges, who has always been super sweet, super supportive, and who had a bad day a while back and deserved something then but I. Take. FOREVER.

Inspired by this sorta-not-really-prompt-post and also the fact that @theawfuledges seems to also enjoy Godzilla. This is the Shyan!Godzilla!AU NO one asked for and probably NO one will care about - but! I had fun writing it enough that I’d consider coming back to it at some point - I mean, why not, amiright?

Anyway - excuse all my philosophizing about the end of the world via Titans and enjoy…

AO3 Link

They’ve been walking through the wasteland for almost an hour now and Shane can still feel Ryan’s eyes on his back. He ignores it, as he’s been ignoring it. He’s even whistled a tuneless song on and off during their walk, just to rub it in. A sort of reminder that he’s oblivious and doesn’t know Ryan’s trying to burn a hole through him. I mean, he does know, but it’s just…it’s too funny.

Ryan is always too funny when’s worked up into a snit. No, not funny…cute. Something Shane probably shouldn’t think about, but think he does. The best way to try to not think about it? Antagonize the little guy. So antagonize he does, finally stopping in their rambles to squat down at a larger than usual rock he’s kicked at.

It didn’t make him stumble exactly, but it caught his attention enough to make him stop and bend down. He tosses the smooth white stone around in one palm, grinning, “Well, well, well…ain’t you a nifty lookin’ fella…”

He stands back up, fully aware that Ryan has stopped a few feet behind him and is still glaring. Hell, he’s probably reached seething at this point. Balled up fists shaking at his sides and the mere idea of that imagery – the utter adorableness of it – breaks Shane’s resolve, “What?”

“Really?!” Ryan finally explodes and his voice cracks over the word and Jesus, the guy is too goddamn precious for words, “A rock?! That’s what catches your attention?!”

“Sure! This baby could be a geode! Just need to crack ‘er open and see if she sparkles!” Shane returns as he waggles the stone in Ryan’s direction, lips curled in a devious smile. He finally turns to look behind him and see Ryan and oh, no.

Shane wants to press a hand to his heart. Ryan has moved beyond cute, beyond adorable, beyond precious. He’s reached that level where it takes all of Shane’s willpower not to dart right over and kiss the breath out of him as Ryan cries, “I’ve been shooting death daggers at you for over an hour now!”

“Have you?”

“Yes, you monumental jackass! And I know you know it!”

Shane can only chuckle and Ryan frantically waves his arms about, “It’s been weeks now and we still have yet to talk about it! We just go out for recons, talk banal shit, and you – you stop for a fucking pebble instead of doing what you should do!”

Shane merely raises his eyebrows, that question enough and Ryan comes closer, breath all huffy and puffy and the perfect representation of a temper tantrum in human form, “Which is give me the world’s biggest fucking apology!”

“…for?”

“FOR?!” Another word cracked by hysteria, “Being right! Monsters exist! Or is this-” Ryan yet again waves about, waves around at the miles and miles of baked, orange earth and uprooted, long dead trees. The rubble of buildings long since lost, the endless expanse of nothing but baseless destruction – “-not proof enough for you?!”

Shane just dips the rock in Ryan’s direction like it’s the tip of a pointer, “Never said monsters weren’t real. I said ghosts weren’t,” he draws the rock back and continues walking, voice very sage, “And that continues to be a fact." He turns away and starts walking again, "Now the Titans? Oh man, those boys are flesh and blood. Meat and bone. Just like Bigfoot and hey, do you think-?”

“…stop it…”

Shane turns to look at him again even as he continues walking backwards, “-Bigfoot is a Titan?”

Ryan only stops to pinch the bridge of his nose. His earlier anger has finally spooled out of him thanks to his outburst, leaving only his normal Shane-oriented exhaustion, “I mean, he’s no Godzilla or Gidroah-”

“Ghidorah.”

“Hmm?”

Ryan’s tone is bone weary, “You said it wrong. It’s Ghidorah.”

Shane just waves a hand like it’s no big deal and Ryan stands up a little taller, clearly offended by the gesture. Perfectionist. Shane is pretty sure his smile is never going to leave, “Whatever. But Bigfoot…he can hang with the big boys, right?”

“I don’t think Bigfoot is capable of leveling Los Angeles which, news flash, is what happened when Godzilla and the other Titans trampled through!”

“It was their world first, pal,” is his amicable response, “We just have to do our best to live with it.”

Ryan looks less than pleased at that revelation and Shane can’t blame him. Still…

Finally Shane sobers, stopping to look at Ryan with all due seriousness, “Ryan…”

He doesn’t say any more. He doesn’t have to. Ryan just gives his own subdued head bob because, well, it’s the truth. They do have to do their best to live with it. What else can they do? They have no power over creatures taller than skyscrapers. Ancient beasts on par with living gods. The human race did what it could. It wasn’t enough. But – to be fair – what could they do?

Humanity always likes to think of itself as the top tier – nothing bigger, nothing brighter, nothing stronger. And within the span of a few weeks that was proven horribly untrue. Frankly, Shane always knew it would be – humility is something every living being should possess and a lot of humanity lost that long ago – but frankly, he’d been banking on aliens.

Not big ol’ monsters.

Regardless, they are where they are. In a world where massive creatures walk the earth and humans have been knocked down several pegs. Pegs that have to scurry out shelter and he and Ryan found it. They reach it now – an underground bunker dug deep into the earth by god knows who.

The first time they’d found the little hide-ho they’d intended to merely use it for one night, sure that the original owners would appear. But they didn’t. Night after night passed and no one came to claim the bunker – so Shane decided they should claim it for themselves. Hell, they took a bridge from a Goatman and made it their own – why not a bunker?

Hence why it’s colorful name –  ‘The Goatman’s Bunker’. He’d even made a sign to that effect once they’d managed to scrounge up some paper and workable pens. Funny the things you find littered amongst the refuse. Like his cool new rock – which he now sets alongside other treasures he’s found in their travels. A kid’s beat up plastic car, a broken snow globe, a crushed cup advertising Disneyland (long since gone – a collectible now!), and other debris he found of interest.

Ryan takes off his backpack and reaches inside, digging out various goodies they scavenged today. Dented bottles of water (always a god send), band-aids, several tin cans of vegetables and meats, scraped bottles with unreadable labels and anything else he could shove in.

They’re both pretty sure they’d come across the ruins of some pharmacy today – maybe a CVS or Walgreens or something – but neither could be certain. But there had certainly been a nicer haul than usual. Some days they walked out into the wasteland and found nothing for miles but old car parts and the occasionally, questionable collection of garbage.

Sometimes…sometimes they found worse things…

Both of them tried their best not to think of those things. Awful, sad things. Dead things. Crushed things. They had a radio in the bunker and there was the occasional chatter, but mostly? Mostly the world was silent. Funny how quickly a world, its people, its governments – could fall apart in the face of something it couldn’t understand.

There was word of massive suicide sites. Places where religious fanatics scrambled, unable to comprehend a world in which something their God couldn’t have possibly made appeared. There was word of places where ground born militias formed. People bloodthirsty for revenge, willing to do whatever they have to, to fight back, to rage against the sky – against forces beyond their control. There has been a lot of different word…but nothing that really concerns the two of them.

At least not for now.

For now?

For now the Ghoul Boys have their Goatman’s Bunker and a questionable collection of cans that will provide tonight’s sustenance.

What Shane wouldn’t give for a can opener. He’s gotten pretty good at stabbing cans open with the knife he has, but sometimes tiny metal shavings still end up in their meals. Tonight is no exception. He stabs away at a few cans, digs out what he can on to broken plates they’d found. Broken, a little chipped – but surprisingly in pretty good condition.

The food, however, is mush. Shane scoops up a bit with his fingers and licks at it, wincing as the taste, “Think this is chickpeas…or maybe hominy…”

“Those two things are very different.”

“Oh, sorry Paul Prudhomme – what’s your expansive palate telling you?”

Ryan’s nose wrinkles even as he takes his own bite, “Um…peaches?”

“Pe-?” Shane can’t even finish, laughing, because this sure as shit isn’t peaches. As is his way, Ryan looks charmingly flummoxed, “I taste something sweet, you dipshit!”

“Well, you did just stick your fingers in your mouth, didn’t you?” Shane teases and he knows it’s on the edge of a flirt and dammit, bad idea, Shane, bad idea…

Again – as is his way – Ryan ignores it. Shane releases the breath he isn’t even aware he’s holding. Good. Ryan shouldn’t respond. Good. And yet…

Shane takes another bite of his ‘dinner’ and it’s as questionable as the last. Maybe even more so, given their last interaction. This is not the time. This is SO not the time. The world’s ended. Or, well, the world as they knew it. Now is not the time to put the moves on Ryan. It wasn’t before. It isn’t now. When will it ever-?

Never, his thoughts whisper, and Shane feels his face fall, feels an uncharacteristic moroseness take him. He polishes off what last few bites he can manage, even though he’s not hungry, and then he rubs his hands clean on the material of his dirty jeans. Not the most hygienic, true – but they can’t waste water.

He can always find some stream tomorrow – do a better job then. Say what you will about the Titans, but their returns had brought some worth while things. California was flusher with fresh streams than ever before. Glowing green plant life – plant life that, before – would have scorched – now flourishes here. It’s as if the arrival of these creatures changed the very exosphere.

He wonders how global warming looks now. Have they caused a monumental shift in it? Probably. If anything has the power to, they probably do. Fuck, they can probably grow back icebergs or something. Create new fossil fuels. God – or heh, Godzilla – knows what. Once feeling his hands are sufficiently clean, he sighs and looks over at Ryan who has started in on again on his torn, dog-eared novel.

“Thinking I’m going to hit the hay.”

Ryan blinks, “Already?”

He just shrugs, “Long day.”

“Yeah,” Ryan admits softly and Shane goes over to his sleeping bag. It’s funny, but in as much as things changed, some have stayed the same. Sleeping together in a dirty, gross shit holes? Just like old times. Except no one’s filming with plans to upload it to the internet later.

The internet. Man. Talk about something to miss. The whole world at your fingertips. Although, in a way, they now have that albeit in a much more literal sense. Shane snuggles deep into his bag and falls to sleep far quicker than he thought he would.

Ryan, for his part, continues to idly pick through his uncovered novel. It’s a pretty decent tale. Romance. Big shocker. The world is over and all he can find in the remains are old bodice rippers. But a book is a book – entertainment is pretty goddamn scarce these days. He’ll take what he can get. True, he wants to click on the radio – see if there’s any good word, any good news – but he doesn’t want to disturb Shane.

…even if the bastard won’t admit he’s wrong. And yeah, the Titans aren’t ghosts. But they are real. So, if they’re real – it’s not much of a stretch to think the same thing of ghosts.

…probably a lot more ghosts now…what with all the…

Ryan can’t even coherently string it all together. All the lives lost. Too many to even begin to contemplate. A planetwide event, a tragedy beyond bearing. And here the two of them are. Holed up in their little bunker, trying to live the best lives they can. Ryan’s a few more pages in when he hears that familiar hum.

His mouth twitches, unable to resist the smile forming.

Ha-hum. Ha-hum. Ha-Hum.

The sound Shane makes while he sleeps. The soft hum of his breathing. Ryan can’t even count how many times he’s fallen asleep to that sound. Clung to it when they were shooting in creepy locations. He never slept well in supposedly haunted locations…but he always slept a little better when they shared space. When he hears those sounds.

Ha-hum. Ha-hum. Ha-Hum.

Like the bastard laughs in his sleep. Although, the sound isn’t quite like a laugh. It just…it has that same warm sound, that rewarding quality his laughter carries. Affable, irresistible, rich and…Ryan looks down at the words on the pages of the book before him, feels his cheeks heat. He’s been reading far too much of this mushy shit. It’s messing with his thoughts. He closes the book and contemplates his options.

Sleep is probably the best among them. He looks to Shane again. Long limbs all akimbo – awkward. He fits within his cocoon and yet not. Ridiculous – those stork legs, those string bean arms…

…how would those arms feel wrapped around-?

Ryan literally tosses his book aside. All your fault, he thinks at it, even as he stands up rolls his shoulders. Okay. Calm on. Relax. Don’t be stupid. Just go to sleep.

He climbs into his own bag, which isn’t far from Shane’s. He dampens their lanterns and it’s dark, cool, quiet. He’s almost asleep when he hears it. A deep, hefty rumble. Like thunder, but worse. Far worse. Worse because no storm has this feeling behind it. This pure, volatile energy.

He sits up, his breath catching. It’s far off in the distance, but it doesn’t matter. He knows what it is. It’s one of them. His heart leaps into his throat and fear throttles him so roughly that at first he can’t move – eyes watering as the sound grows in strength.

…boom…boom…Boom…BOOM!

The last makes the ground shake and he hates the goddamn squeak that leaves him as he physical jolts. Shane (sonofabitch!) is still asleep and Jesus Christ, does this fucker sleep through everything?! Ryan rolls his bag hard to one side, closer to Shane, knocking him with enough force that Shane wakes, voice groggy with sleep, “…izzat?”

“They’re coming! They’re coming!” Ryan wishes he didn’t sound so whiny and high pitched and frantic. For fuck’s sake – he’s a grown man! But the sound of those…footsteps…

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The ground beneath them shakes violently. Ryan’s experienced earthquakes before (California born and raised) but this is beyond that. This is as if the planet itself is coming apart. Shane sits up, even as Ryan shushes at him, tugs at him – as if somehow Shane’s sitting up, underground, in the dark, can signal the Titans above them.

Shane tilts his head this way and that – clearly doing his best to listen. To pinpoint. And then he slowly turns back to Ryan, “Hey, hey…shush, shush…they’re moving away…”

Ryan’s eyes hurt from being open so wide. Ryan’s chest hurts because his heart is beating so fast. Ryan’s…hurt. He hurts and hurts and suddenly he’s in Shane’s arms. Shane is cuddling him close, “Ry? Ryan, buddy, come on…come on! Calm down, calm down. Breathe…”

…he can’t…Ryan can’t…

“You can,” Shane intones firmly and Ryan realizes he’s said something to that effect aloud, “Ryan, breathe.”

Ryan drags in one loud, long shuddering breath. Then another. Then another. His mind briefly flickers over all he’s lost. All they’ve lost. All the friends, all the family, all the people…the world…

His wide eyes fill. Blink. Shed some tears, there and gone, and he’s still breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He curls forward some, relaxes, and he’s in Shane’s arms and they’re not quite as string bean as he thought. They have strength and weight and long fingers are stroking through his sweat damp, dark hair. Soothing it back from his forehead.

Ryan lets out a jittery wheeze, “Sorry…must think I’m a dumb ass.”

“No.”

“Shane…”

“Ryan, you’re not a dumb ass because you’re afraid.”

“You’re not.”

“Shows what you know.”

“Shane…”

“Ryan,” Now it’s Shane’s turn to sound bone weary, “We played up that shit for the show. You know that. Being scared of heroin needles and avocado pits and…and you know,” he says it so firmly, with such deep assurance that – even in the darkness of the bunker – Ryan knows he’s looking directly into his eyes, “You know I’m just as human as everybody else. That I get afraid. That I am afraid.”

“Yeah?” Ryan asks and he can’t see the nod, but he knows he gets it. And Shane’s right. Of course he’s right. Ryan knows he’s right. Shane’s not any more of a dumb ass than he is. They have every right to be afraid. Everyone in the world currently is. It’s all changing. It’s all becoming new. So new that to-to be afraid of other things? Silly things? Well, that would be what would make him a dumb ass, right?

And it’s this thought that leads Ryan to ask, “Can I kiss you?”

Two little balls of heat form right on the apples of his cheeks, lighting zipping up and down his spine because – holy shit – did he just say that out loud? And he can’t really see Shane in the cool darkness of the bunker. Their lanterns are out, but he can feel him. Sense him. He’s…close.

And then Shane answers.

“I don’t know…can you?”

It takes Ryan a moment to digest this response. And when he does? He fishes out his flat pillow and hopes it hits hard as he smacks right across Shane’s face, “Fuck you! You-!”

The curse is said without any real heat, but it can’t be helped, because, well – goddammit! So Ryan plans to keep on pummeling Shane until he somehow dies from pillow pummeling only for Shane to stop him. He manages to catch his pillow and stall his movements as he grunts out, “No! Hey! S-sorry, look-! I just-! I just couldn’t help myself, y’know?”

“Oh, do I?!”

“Yeah, man I mean – it was right there!” Shane damn near pleads with him, clearly feeling the opportunity was too good to pass up, “Besides, it was…it was too damned much. You asking like that…all hat in hand…”

Ryan’s struggles with the pillow cease as Shane comes…closer. He can feel him closer. The heat of him, the rush of air on his lips in the dark as Shane talks that his breathe caresses Ryan’s mouth, “But you can, Ryan.”

The last is said with such intensity that Ryan’s whole body shakes harder than when the Titans walked near them. His heart booms louder than their steps. He feels Shane hovering so close, “…I’ve wanted you to.”

A thick, noisy swallow and a very cracking, very insecure, “Yeah?”

“Mmm. Been waiting for you to.”

“R-really?”

A soft scoff, “No, actually – never thought you were interested. Never thought I’d be so lucky. But goddamn Ryan, if you are? You can kiss me and then some.”

That’s all the incentive Ryan needs. He charges forward and yes – kissing in the dark when you’re not quite sure where the other person is? Awkward. WEIRD. Ryan’s lips sort of miss Shane’s and there’s a laugh and a snort and a lot of fumbling in the pitch black dark.

But then?

Oh, then.

Then there’s lips meeting and Ryan’s thoughts splinter, his veins ignite and he’s kissing Shane. Their tongues are tangling, lips playing along one another and suddenly the world isn’t over. It’s just beginning.

[katrinawritesthings]

Junghee/Taeyeon; Fucktown Academy (Part 1/4): PG-13

so hey au where tae goes to a school for Troublemaker Kids (tm) and jung’s the new nanogirl that tae has to show around and it’s just jung never shutting up and tae barely ever talking and both of them being Real Gay

“If we go back here,” Taeyeon mumbles, sticking her hand through the gap between the fence and the gate to finegle the latch open. She shoulders the gate open and tugs Junghee through it and onto the little dirt path that winds away from the library and into the little ravine behind the school. “We’ll go behind the prep dorms and wind up at the observatory.” She points lazily into the distance where they can’t see the top of the building over the rocks.

“Are we allowed to be back here?” Junghee asks as she fits the latch back into place.

“No,” Taeyeon says, and tugs Junghee forward.

ao3

1-2-3-4

What Taeyeon loves the most about her butterfly knife is that the tip of the blade is the perfect shape and size for picking grunk out from under her fingernails. She lies on her bed, one leg bent at the knee and the other crossed over it, foot bobbing lazily in the air, as she works a little speck of dirt away from her pinky. The metallic mint green of it is a nice color too and she’s glad she spent the extra money for that. She rubs the dirt off of the blade with her thumb before wiggling it gently back under her pinky nail to pick out another.

Outside, the sun lowers orange and heavy through her window, warming her skin but thankfully not shining in her eyes. She got in trouble for moving her bed to just the right position to attain that feat, but no one ever actually made her move it back, so. She’s the winner here.

Her pinky nail is getting a little too long, she thinks, so after she finishes cleaning under it she turns her knife and uses it to cut it down to a better size. She flicks the clipped nail in the general direction of her garbage can and holds her pinky close to her face to inspect it better. Yeah. Looks g--

“Taeyeon.” A sharp knock on her door and a sharper voice make her look up. Her knife is flicked closed and slotted into her long sleeve before the dorm leader opens the door without waiting for permission and barges in like usual.

Unlike usual, she’s followed by another person, someone with dark brown eyes and a long brown ponytail and warm golden skin. They have on casual clothes, ripped skinny jeans and a grungy band tshirt, but over their shoulder is a bag and over their arm is a set of school clothes. Taeyeon looks them up and down quietly once before looking back to the authority figure in the room.

“This is Junghee,” she says, placing a hand on Junghee’s shoulder that looks entirely unwanted if the quick scowl Junghee sends her is any indicator. “She’s your new roommate. Be nice. Show her around. And--” she gives Taeyeon a hard, warning look--”Don’t scare this one away.” And then she’s gone, walking back outside and closing the door behind her. Taeyeon snorts at her back. She didn’t scare her old roommates away. They were just too neurotypical for her.

“Hi,” Junghee says, and Taeyeon looks back to her. She doesn’t look scared, or intimidated; just annoyed and grumpy to be here, an emotion that Taeyeon can relate to.

“Hey,” she says, and slips her knife back out of her sleeve. She flips it open to continue doing her nails, foot starting to bob in the air again automatically. “Just throw all my shit on your bed at the end of mine, I’ll clean it up later,” she says, gesturing with her knife to the pile of clothes she’d been throwing on the spare bed on the other side of her room since her last roommate moved out. “Welcome to Fucktown Academy,” she adds in a mumble, remembering the order to be nice. Junghee’s soft snort is barely audible.

“They allow switchblades in Fucktown Academy?” she asks. When Taeyeon glances at her she’s shrugging her bag off of her shoulder and onto her new bed. She looks back to her nails.

“It’s a gravity knife,” she says, “and no.” She shaves off a little extra nail from her pointer finger. “Why, you gonna tell on me?” she asks. She really doesn’t care if Junghee does or not. She has her usual hiding spots for when teachers come snooping in her business. A soft flump at her feet makes her glance up again at the pile of clothes that now sits there.

“I don’t know, are you in here for stabbing someone?” Junghee asks. She’s already turned back to fix her bedsheets out and pick up her pillow to inspect. Taeyeon watches her for another few seconds before focusing on her nails and snorting softly.

“This isn’t jail,” she says. No need to talk like it is. This time Junghee scoffs, yanks the zipper of her bag with a little more force than Taeyeon thinks is usual.

“No, it’s where rich parents send their rulebreaking kids when they’ve gotten into too much trouble and no other schools will take them anymore,” she mutters. “They can act like it’s some regular fancy private school but we all know. It’s like they think we don’t know how to research the shit they’re sending us to. It’s like they don’t care that we know that they’re just dumping us here so they don’t have to deal with us anymore.” Taeyeon hums shortly as she contemplates the length of her middle fingernail. She’s not too far off, honestly.

“You know how fucked up it is, to even have schools like this, by the way?” Junghee adds. Taeyeon hears her pulling stuff out of her bag and tossing it all onto her bed. “Like, just to pile a bunch of troubled kids together and act like fancy uniforms and a prestigious name and constant discipline for the tiniest infractions is the key to ‘fixing’ us instead of, oh, I don’t know, personal attention for each individual child and actually taking the time to understand the reasoning behind their behavior? Not to even fucking mention the disproportionate race populations--you know half these kids wouldn’t be here if they were white--or the higher ratio of neurodivergent and queer and, just, you know, oppressed kids? This whole place is fucked up, don’t get me started.”

Taeyeon hums again as she carefully carves little nicks in her nail to make it pointy like shark teeth. She thought Junghee already had started. So far her first impression of her new roommate is talkative.

“Like, the only reason this place isn’t full of poor kids too is because the school is more interested in taking in money than actually helping the students, and--”

“I’m not in here for stabbing anyone,” Taeyeon says blandly. She glances up to gauge how Junghee feels about being interrupted. She’s glancing back at Taeyeon, just a regular searching look instead of a pissed and offended one. Nice.

“I don’t care about your knife then,” Junghee tells her. She turns back to her bag to keep unpacking her stuff. Taeyeon looks back to her business as well. That’s also nice.

“So what are you in here for then, fellow delinquent?” she asks. Junghee snorts as she pulls out a whole ass pillow from her bag, pink and fluffy, and drops it on top of the school one.

“Forty-seven different reasons, give or take,” she says. “Do you want the long version or the short version?” She glances over her shoulder after she asks to look at Taeyeon like she’s waiting for an answer. Taemin feels like she’ll wind up getting a long story either way, so she shrugs and taps her spiky nail against her thumb to see how it feels.

“Long,” she shrugs. Why not. Junghee nods and moves to start organizing her desk in the corner of the room.

“So the first time I got suspended, I was seven,” she says, pulling out a Sailor Moon figure and placing casually it on the desk. “I don’t really remember all of the details, but. It was Friday, right , during arts and crafts time, and my fucko teacher was being a real shit and--okay, lemme explain him first, actually, it’ll make more sense.”

~

“And then again in second grade, in the third school, like, there was the most awful little goblin boy, his name was Andrew. And every day, every fucking day he would touch me, because I had to walk passed his desk to get to my desk, right. And I told him every time to get his ugly goblin hands off of me, but of course he didn’t listen, because of course his shitty parents didn’t teach him basic respect, and when I told the teacher she just said that he liked me, to which I replied, “alright then, I guess you won’t mind if I grab your ass every time you walk by me, right?” Which, on top of all the other shit--this was like a month in, remember, so I was already considered a mouthy little shit by the teachers at this school too--got me suspended. And you might be thinking, like, ‘Junghee, why did you threaten the teacher instead of threatening the boy?’ And to which I would say, that I did threaten the boy, when I got back from my suspension, because obviously my teacher wasn’t going to do shit. And then after me warning him for three days--which was honestly a really fucking impressive amount of time to restrain myself--I punched him in the mouth and broke two of his teeth. And of course they didn’t care that it was self-defense. So that’s how I got expelled a third time.”

Junghee has a really pretty profile.

Taeyeon sits with her head in her hand, her fingers stimming with the short hairs of her wavy blonde undercut, her elbow propped up on the desk, and just watches Junghee talk, mildly interested. Junghee is looking down at her literature work, scribbling her way through worksheets and vocab shit without breaking stride in her story. Her nose is soft and round, her lips thick and plush, her jaw sharp and square, her eyelashes long and delicate, her ponytail draped soft and long over her shoulder. There’s something about her face, maybe something in her makeup or her lotion, that makes her skin have the faintest glitter. As she speaks, sometimes, her mouth moves in just the right way that a particular little speck of glitter on her cheek twinkles at Taeyeon.

“Probably wouldn’t have been expelled if it wasn’t right after I got back from being suspended,” she’s saying, a contemplative little puff to her lips. “But, you know. Whatever.” She shrugs and flips her pencil around to erase something. “So then I was schoolless for a while, but not as long as the last time before my parents found me a new place. So, this is still second grade, and I didn’t get expelled again yet, but--”

She’s cut off by the bell ringing to end the class. Taeyeon glances at the clock as she stands up and pulls her bag over her shoulder. Neat. Junghee takes more time to get up because she has to shove all of her work into her bag first, but when she finally stands up, she looks expectantly at Taeyeon.

“Where now, boss?” she asks. Taeyeon snorts at the new title, but reaches to tug once on Junghee’s sleeve to get her to follow.

“Nowhere,” she says. “Lit class is last on Mondays. Now I go back to the dorm and chill.” She gestures blandly in the direction of the dorm rooms as they leave the classroom, then looks at Junghee out of the corner of her eye. “Unless you want a tour of the school,” she adds. That should probably be included in the whole “show her around” thing that she’s supposed to be doing. At the suggestion, though, Junghee scrunches her nose.

“That’ll be so much work,” she mumbles. “I’m tired. Give me a tour on the weekend or something.” She stops at a vending machine in the hallway to get a water bottle. Taeyeon takes it from her hand after she takes her first drink and has a sip for herself, then hits four of the buttons on the machine and kicks it on the left side, then collects the four quarters that tinkle into the change slot, and hands it all back. Junghee takes another drink and pockets the change without commenting on her hacking skills or the theft.

“Anyway,” she says after swallowing. “So second grade, fourth school. By now I’m realizing that all schools are the same bullshit. Kinda early I guess, but we already know I was a cynical little eight year old.”

“Mmhmm,” Taeyeon hums. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her slacks as they leave the school building. Her fingers play with the half stick of chalk she snapped and stole from math class earlier. The teacher hasn’t said anything but she knows that he knows that someone is fucking with him.

Junghee keeps talking as they walk across the campus to the dorms, and then as they enter the dorms, and then when Taeyeon flops and melts into her bed. Junghee sits on her own bed and pulls out a notebook that Taeyeon didn’t see her using in any of their classes earlier. It looks like there's just short lines of words written, crossed out, and heavily edited; poetry or something. Taeyeon isn’t sure how Junghee plans to write some artsy shit while also telling her life story, but she doesn’t seem to find it difficult at all.

“And it’s like, yeah, I was right, but also, like, I didn’t start to grasp the concept of picking my battles until, like, sophomore year, so,” she says as she reads over what she has written down. Taeyeon closes her eyes and runs her spiky nail back and forth over the pad of her thumb in a very nice new stim as she listens.

And listens, and listens, and listens some more. Junghee can really go on for a while. Taeyeon is impressed; she can’t hold a conversation for more than half an hour without getting a sore throat. Half the time she can’t even talk.

When the sun starts going down she yawns and turns to her side to watch Junghee speak instead of keeping her eyes closed or staring at the ceiling like usual. She’s speaking through a bitten lip as she focuses on her work. Her left hand writes out words and her right plays with her long ponytail. She twists it through her fingers, brushes it slowly, plays with the ends. Taeyeon watches her hair shift and move against her hand in a daze. It looks really soft.

“So, I’m coming up on the end of second grade in this school relatively okay, but, like--”

“Can I play with your hair?” Taeyeon asks. Junghee pauses and looks up; after a few moments, Taeyeon flicks her gaze from her ponytail to her nose and back to pretend to make eye contact for a second. She’s found that that helps in asking for permission for things. After another moment, Junghee shrugs.

“Sure, but you come over here,” she says, pointing at Taeyeon and then to the bed. “I’m not moving.”

“Okay,” Taeyeon mumbles. She takes a deep breath, rolls herself off of the bed, catches herself before she falls all the way, and straightens up with a stretch and a yawn. Digging in her desk drawers first, she pushes aside her collection of color-organized paper hole punch holes and grabs her secret packet of cookies. Then she shuffles over to Junghee’s bed and gets on.

“They let you stash food in here?” Junghee asks, frowning at her cookies. “Sit behind me,” she adds, scooting forward a little.

“No,” Taeyeon says, and offers Junghee a cookie as she wiggles behind her, legs on either side of her hips. “Gonna tell on me?” she asks.

“No,” Junghee says around her cookie. She leans back against Taeyeon, nuzzles into her neck, breathes deep, and lets out a relaxed breath. “So, anyway, I make it to the end of the year fine, but everyone knows I’m loud and feisty or whatever, so everyone’s, like, pre wary of me going into third grade,” she says. Taeyeon thinks it’s rad how she can just pick up where she left off with no problem.

She picks up Junghee’s ponytail and tugs it gently from in front of her to more of the side, where she can run her fingers through its length and appreciate the softness. It’s a relaxing movement for her arm as well and she breathes easy, closing her eyes again and resting her cheek on the top of Junghee’s head. When she’s done with her snack she slips her other arm around Junghee’s waist to hold her close for comfort. This is so nice.

And it’s even nicer when, half an hour later, Junghee reaches behind herself during in her story of her fifth expulsion to tug her hair bobble off. She spreads her fingers to slide it down to bracelet her wrist and then goes back to her writing. Taeyeon at first pouts at the loss of the easy access, but once she threads her fingers all the way through Junghee’s hair a few times, she discovers a very familiar scratchy sensation.

“Oh my god, you have an undercut,” she breathes. Immediately her palm is against the back of Junghee’s head, fingers rubbing the short hairs gently and making her whole hand all tingly. This is incredibly nice. Junghee hums a small noise of agreement in the middle of her story and keeps going.

~

The bustle and chatter of the cafeteria hurts Taeyeon’s head, but she has a headphone in her right ear and she’s leaning the other side of her head against Junghee’s, so it’s not too overwhelming yet. She can handle it. And Junghee asked her to bring her to the school queers, so she brought Junghee to the school queers. The good ones anyway; the ones that haven’t been assholes to her.  Eunsook, Gwi, and Minjung, all in their usual little circle table in the corner of the room, accepted them into their little group easily. Now Junghee sits and munches her way through an ugly school lunch while she talks to her new friends.

Taeyeon already ate during their second class so she just chills, eyes closed, one hand stimming with her spiky nail and the other stimming with Junghee’s undercut. She thinks it’s very nice of Junghee to let her keep doing this near constantly over the passed three days.

The other three asked for the short version of how Junghee got here, which, like Taeyeon expected, is still pretty long. Lunch is almost over and she hasn’t even gotten from her first expulsion to where she was with Taeyeon somewhere in the middle of fourth grade. Taeyeon is only half listening to the review of the story because it helps her keep her mind off of the rest of the noise in the room.

“Did you ever think, like, maybe you should keep your mouth shut?” Minjung asks lazily. “So you wouldn’t get in trouble?”

“No,” Junghee says promptly. “Anyway, so then I told her that she shouldn’t be in charge of children if she didn’t know how to talk to them like they were human beings instead of, like, animals, and maybe she should go be a vet instead since she seemed more qualified for it, which as you can imagine didn’t go down too well with the literal principal, so.” When she shifts to get more comfortable on the bench her thigh rubs and presses against Taeyeon’s. Taeyeon blinks her eyes open sleepily to look down at where their sides are pressed together. Hmm. That’s warm and good.

“Please tell me the rest of the school found out you said that and--”

“Can I hold you in my lap?” Taeyeon asks, tapping the back of Junghee’s head lightly to get her attention.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Gwi snaps. Taeyeon glances up at their little frown, shrugs, and looks back to nudge Junghee’s head with her nose.

“You’re warm,” she murmurs.

“Sure,” Junghee says. She slips her bag off of her lap and moves to sit on top of Taeyeon’s thighs, wiggling to get comfortable as Taeyeon wraps her arms snug around her and fits her chin on her shoulder. Her weight is a heavy pressure that makes Taeyeon feel warm on the inside. Nice.

“I always knew you were a giant lesbian too,” Eunsook says fondly. Taeyeon snorts without looking up.

“Of course I’m a fucking lesbian, have you seen me?” she asks. She doesn’t know what kind of not lesbian would wear as much denim and plaid as she does, or go to the lengths to modify a school uniform to include so much denim and plaid. Plus all the other smaller shit she’s sure Eunsook just picked up on because she also knows the lesbian code.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Junghee says, snapping her fingers. She sounds like she has a broad smirk on her lips as she says, “One time I got expelled because I was talking about my gaydar and then when a cishet tried to straightsplain to me why gaydar is a bad thing I corrected her so thoroughly she ran to the teacher and told them the big mean lesbian--I’m pan--was harassing her.” She finds Taeyeon’s hand on her stomach and lifts it up to the back of her head; Taeyeon rubs her thumb over her undercut again immediately. She guesses Junghee likes it too, then. Rad. “But that was, like, two years ago,” Junghee adds. “Back to third grade.”

Without Junghee’s head to muffle the cafeteria noise, Taeyeon pulls out her other earbud and wiggles it into her left ear. From there, Junghee’s voice is just a quiet murmur and Taeyeon dozes off easily until she’s poked awake for their last class.

~

“And then here behind the--hup--library,” Taeyeon says, getting her hands on the cracked low wall and hoisting herself up. She drops back down in the dirt on the other side and turns to watch Junghee follow and hold her hand as she hops down. “If you hop that wall and follow that little path right, you’ll wind up hopping another wall and landing in the ugly little lawn gnome habitat the preps have set up by their dorms.” She scrunches her nose in distaste. Like it wasn’t ugly enough that they have a lawn for no reason, they had to populate it with expensive ass high quality gnomes instead of cheap funny ones. A double waste.

“Lawns are such classist trash,” Junghee says as she fixes the school hoodie that she borrowed from Taeyeon around her waist. She said she would give it back once she got around to buying one herself from the school shop, but Taeyeon doesn’t mind. Her entire wardrobe is just hoodies, binders, and jeans. It’s not like she doesn’t have a bunch to spare. And it was one of the hoodies she hadn’t gotten around to sewing weights into yet so she wasn’t going to wear it any time soon anyway. She hums in agreement of Junghee’s continued little grumbles about lawns and slips her arm around her shoulders to tug her forward and to the chain link fence that encloses this little area.

“If we go back here,” she mumbles, sticking her hand through the gap between the fence and the gate to finegle the latch open. She shoulders the gate open and tugs Junghee through it and onto the little dirt path that winds away from the library and into the little ravine behind the school. “We’ll go behind the prep dorms and wind up at the observatory.” She points lazily into the distance where they can’t see the top of the building over the rocks.

“Are we allowed to be back here?” Junghee asks as she fits the latch back into place.

“No,” Taeyeon says, and tugs Junghee forward.

“Thought so,” Junghee mutters, and follows. “This wasn’t what I meant when I asked for a tour, you know. You’re not in here for trespassing, are you?” she asks.

“No,” Taeyeon says again.

“Mm,” Junghee hums, and then, “Where was I?” she asks.

“Fifth grade, school one, suspension one,” Taeyeon says.

“Right,” Junghee says. “So, like, I didn’t get expelled, yet, but that was the first time I got suspended at this school, so I had the reputation and the warning, you know? Though this wasn’t like a bad reputation or anything, like, everyone knew it was just a technicality, and like, the rubber chicken thing was awesome, so. I’m good so far.” The sun peeps at them through thin layers of clouds, too covered up to be warm but not covered enough to stop shining into Taeyeon’s eyes if she looks the wrong way. Inconvenient.

She slips her hand up to rub Junghee’s undercut again. She couldn’t do this yesterday because yesterday Junghee decided to spend her Friday night doing whatever it is that the queers do on Friday nights. Taeyeon saw them chilling outside the music store when she biked over to the town to grab the week’s new comic book releases, so she guesses it was that. She’s glad they had a nice time.

This is a nice time too, just walking through the ravine with a cute nanogirl under her arm. Taeyeon should do this more often. Maybe when it gets warmer. For now, she yawns into the back of her hand and stares at their feet as they kick up little poofs of dirt.

“What’s through that tunnel there?”

“What’s what?” Taeyeon asks. She looks up, confused, at Junghee, who’s looking at her, also confused. Junghee points behind her.

“The t--”

“Oh, the tunnel, yeah,” Taeyeon says as her processing catches up. She knows what Junghee meant, yeah. The little walkway in the rocks behind her that’s only blocked off by an easily hoppable fence and a vandalized “keep out” sign. She glances at it as they pass. “It goes to a path from the train tracks to almost all the way around the school,” she says, pointing a vague circle in the air. “It ends at that dirt path by the parking lot. Also it branches off again to a secret little beach, but sand puts me into sensory hell, so.” They’re not going there. Junghee hums shortly at her answer. Taeyeon doesn’t know what that means but she also feels like she doesn’t really have to, so. Whatever.

“Oh, wait,” she says suddenly, stopping short. That reminds her. “Here,” she says. She pulls Junghee to a small tree and sits down with her back against it. “Here,” she says again, and fumbles in her bag for the snacks she brought. “Hungry.” She’s not actually hungry, she thinks, but she can never really tell what the fuck her tummy wants from her so she finds it’s easier to just eat something every few hours anyway. She pulls out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then holds out her bag.

“Oh, sure, thanks,” Junghee says. She sits cross legged across from Taeyeon and takes an apple and the bag of peanut butter cracker sandwiches. “Do the staff know about the secret beach?” she asks. Taeyeon pauses for a moment, thinking, and then shrugs. She’s sure some of the older staff do but she doesn’t know how much this year’s round of prefects and new teachers know. Junghee shrugs back at her and leans back on one hand to look around.

“This is so plant gay,” she mumbles. She reaches into her own bag and pulls out her notebook. Flipping it open to a green little tab, she finds a fresh page and starts writing. Taeyeon reads “plant gay and pb&j” upside down and nods. That’s gonna be a song about her all right. As she writes and eats, Junghee continues on with her life story. Taeyeon is again impressed with how well she can multitask. She can barely eat and pay attention at the same time, but she does her best because so far tiny fifth grade Junghee is turning out to be a real crackerjack.

[darui]

|rette mich| chapter six

Rating: MA Story Summary: Forcing Jean and Eren to be roommates for four months could be a bad thing. Or it could result in the both of them saving each other from themselves.

Chapter Summary: He and Jean weren’t exactly the closest and probably weren’t going to be for a very long time, but Eren refused to give up on that. Whether that happened in months or years, he was willing to go for it. 

previous chapter or this chapter on AO3  

Eren yawned for the third time in a row, making his chest hurt, his ears pop, and tears suddenly wet his eyes. He rolled over on the couch, looking at the television but not really watching the rerun of a child’s television show he used to enjoy when he was a kid. It was one in the morning, and Eren was trying his best to stay awake so he could talk to and apologize to Jean. After his talk with Armin and some quiet time that consisted of talking to himself while he ate a nonsensically large sized Caesar salad with potato soup, Eren decided Jean and him couldn’t backtrack in the little progress they had as friends.

He and Jean weren’t exactly the closest and probably weren’t going to be for a very long time, but Eren refused to give up on that. Largely in part, it was because he wanted to fight for Jean. Fighting for Jean really meant that Eren wanted to get to know Jean and gain his trust so much so that Jean saw him as a potential love interest. Whether that happened in months or years, he was willing to go for it. There was still only one problem with that, going for it was scary.

He was Eren Jaeger, so he shouldn’t be afraid of going for it, but in this case, he actually was. He’d done and said tons of questionable shit in his life, all without thought and with quick abandon, but entering a relationship with a childhood crush wasn’t something one doesn’t without thought. Especially if that crush is a spitfire like himself with obvious walls that were meant to keep people out of his business.

That part of Jean made sense to him. He had his own walls and things he wanted to keep to himself. Life was hard, people went through shit, and sharing that stuff with people other than yourself was nearly impossible. He pushed back memories from his childhood all the time, and he knew that wasn’t making his life any better, but it was a hell of a lot easier. Plus, he had no idea went Jean went through. If Armin hadn’t reminded him, he would’ve forgotten that Jean wasn’t in the states for a couple of school years. That didn’t necessarily mean anything since life happens and people move around, but Jean obviously came back different.

Jean was almost as boisterously eccentric and as loud as Eren was when they both showed their true colors. But after a couple years in France and wherever the fuck he went, he was different. If Eren knew Marco was Jean’s best friend before, it was evident more than ever when he came back and really only associated with him. When Jean started opening up to Bertolt and the others, it was obvious that he was a changed man. Jean was noticeably thinner and taller, but that was expected thanks to puberty, and yet his demeanor was suddenly more reserved. 

It was never really brought up, but Eren wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize the fact that his crush was noticeably different. What aspects he was different in, he wasn’t exactly sure, but he wanted to find out so that they could be on better terms. And pushing Jean's antidepressant use and having him overhear Eren having sex with Reiner was definitely a path to them not being on good terms or not being on terms at all. They were only living together for another three months, where a lot could happen and couldn’t happen if the proper moves weren’t made.

Eren chewed his lip, incorrectly ripping off a piece of skin that resulted in slight bleeding. He sucked his teeth in annoyance, still chewing on his lip in another section since bad habits were impossible to stop. He then decided to get a snack of some sort, his soup and salad dinner not being enough to ease the hunger from his stomach for a whole night. After a couple of steps to the kitchen, he opened the pantry and then the fridge, thinking of all the possible concoctions that’d result in a satisfying snack.

In the midst of his thought process, Eren remembered that he bought fresh bread, which meant a sandwich was in order. Luncheon meat wasn’t exactly something they kept in the house, so it meant that he was forced to eat a peanut butter and jelly. Unfortunately, Jean was the one that last assured him that there was PB&J making things in the house, so he was incredibly irritated when he saw that all they had was crunchy peanut butter and some type of strawberry spread. Of course, Eren would normally eat those things, but like the PB&J lover he was, he wanted options. This meant no options.

Eren rolled his eyes, going forth with making the sandwich. It was when he was done making the first sandwich, that he heard Jean walk in through the front door. Eren looked at the clock built into the oven, the time was half past one in the morning. He pressed his lips into a line while he set up another two slices of bread for his next sandwich, wondering if now was really the time to try and talk to Jean when their fight was hours ago.

He didn’t have much time to give it thought because Jean was walking into the kitchen, a plastic bag in hand and a bored look on his face. Jean’s face quickly morphed from disinterest to mild alarm at seeing Eren awake and in the kitchen. Eren noticed Jean’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed, evidently trying to find words upon running into him so early in the morning.

Eren decided to fracture the awkward silence for them. “I stayed up late, so I could talk to you,” Eren began, sticking the knife in the peanut butter, “I’m sorry for earlier. I probably shouldn’t have said anything at all. You’re right, I should mind my business.”

Jean took in his words, setting down his plastic bag and taking a seat at the eat-in kitchen island. He wore a look of mild surprise after Eren finished his statement. “Um, I’m sorry too,” he admitted, trying his best to meet Eren’s eyes through his confession. “And you were obviously worried about me and trying to be a friend, so you don’t have to mind your business. I was being a jackass.”

“It’s fine, I get it. We’re not cool like that, so I have no right to talk about shit I don’t know about.” Eren said, going back to making his sandwich. 

Jean shrugged, feeling sheepish at the situation. “Look, we’ll just keep apologizing back and forth. We’re just not used to each other, and we always aggravate each other for no reason, so we just have to do better at trying to become friends and learn how to approach each other.”

Eren nodded, licking a smear of strawberry spread off his pointer finger. “Agreed,” he replied, gently placing his two slices of bread together to finish the sandwich. “But, I’m still sorry about the Reiner thing.”

Jean gave Eren a quizzical look. “Are you apologizing for having sex with your friend?”

“No!” Eren countered, “I’m apologizing because I probably put you in a weird position. You know, with Bertolt being your close friend and all.”

“Yeah, you kinda did,” Jean mumbled, watching Eren put away everything he used. “But it’s not your fault. You’re single, Reiner’s single, and people like to have sex. You can do whatever you want. Plus, it’s still none of my business.”

Eren frowned to himself, washing off the knife he used placing it back in the utensil drawer. He wished Jean sounded more upset about it. “I guess,” he said, picking up his sandwich. “It doesn’t matter though. I’m done with that hooking up shit anyway.”

Jean’s eyebrows rose in interest, leaning back in the chair. “What, you’re trying to settle down or something?”

Eren made sure to chew his bite of sandwich a little longer than necessary, trying to figure out how he wanted to respond. “No, not exactly. I’m just interested in someone, and satisfying my libido with Reiner isn’t gonna help that situation.”

“That’s understandable,” Jean said, placing his elbow on the counter and resting his face against his palm. “Do I know the guy you’re interested in?”

Eren and Jean’s eye contact suddenly felt heavy, Eren being the first one to look away so he could reach for his cup of milk. “Maybe, it’s a small world,” he answered after a sip. “Why do you wanna know?”

“I just wanted to tease you in case he was out of your league.” Jean quipped with a smile.

Eren paused mid-bite, narrowing his eyes at Jean’s smug expression, but also at himself. He wanted to kiss that look off Jean’s face. “Oh please, no one’s out of my league. Especially not him. He’d be honored to have me, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

Jean listened with a smile, taking in the view of Eren finishing off his sandwich. “If you say so Jaeger,” he said, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. “Normally I’d stay up and prove you wrong, but I’m going to bed. I have to see my mom tomorrow.” He finished while standing up.

Eren nodded, after polishing off the rest of his milk. “Oh alright, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jean replied after placing his plastic bag in the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Eren responded, watching Jean retreat to his room.

After a while, Eren smiled. Not only satisfied by how their conversation went but content with where their relationship was possibly headed.

    Jean wasn’t happy. Unsurprisingly, his mom was the cause of that. He usually enjoyed his Sunday’s, sticking to a routine by doing last minute homework, reading articles, doing laundry, straightening up his room and bathroom, and even catching up on television shows that he missed throughout the week. Now, he was at his mom’s dining room table waiting for her to bring out dessert after a foreseen omurice lunch. He enjoyed his favorite childhood meal, tasting as palatable as it did when he was a kid. He didn’t let the memories of himself being a chubby kid at the eat-in kitchen table practically begging for it after school overwhelm him. But now that dessert was on its way, he couldn’t help but feel perturbed, and suddenly want to scrub his toilet and vacuum the whole condo instead. 

He already knew what dessert it was since he smelt it upon entering the house, a French apple pie. Jean hated how he could practically taste it on his tongue, the tender spiced apples and the buttery yet sweet streusel topping. It was usually accompanied with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, the warmth of the pie and the cold of the ice cream tantalizing his taste buds. Sweets were his thing as a kid and the memories of the holiday season were affiliated with the pie, but that wasn���t the reason why he was uneasy about her bringing it out.

The pie itself wasn’t even a trigger food of his. It was just that he knew what was coming next, a discussion or mediation of some sort. His mother made that pie when he was a kid and wanted to inform him that his parents were getting a divorce. As the food-engrossed kid that he was, he listened but didn’t really care. Especially since his father wasn’t that great to him anyway, having made offhanded and hurtful comments about his weight and not really paying much attention to him.

Then, it happened again after he graduated high school. After relatives from France were on planes to head back home and they cleaned up the house, she took out a pie. Even though Jean was still in his anorexia stage, he decided to appease her that day and eat a piece rather than chew it for the flavor and spit it into a trash can. When he was halfway through his slice, and taking a sip of water with bites to make himself feel fuller, she placed a brochure for an eating disorder rehabilitation center in front of him.

It stung. He knew that he was lying to his mother in the first place about doing better with his eating disorder after she found out about his bulimia. Anorexia wasn’t exactly an upgrade, but he considered it one. Less lying about why he was in the bathroom for long periods of time, why he bought a lot of and carried around mints and mouthwash, and the overall gross feeling he felt after purposely making himself sick by triggering his gag reflex. Starving himself to the point of light headedness and immense hunger pains was a lot simpler, but obviously not unnoticeable from his mother.

Jean immediately got mad at her that day, the two of them having a small shouting match over his health and what he was doing to himself. She gave him an ultimatum that night, go to the rehab center or she wasn’t going to pay for the parts of University that his scholarship didn’t cover and his car. Of course, he chose to go to the center and have financial stability, but that didn’t stop him from purposely sticking his fingers down his throat to rid his system of the pie. He did it out of spite to his mother and as a form of self-punishment, wondering why he thought it was okay to eat something as sugary and fattening as a slice of pie after a glance in the mirror.

Obviously, his mother only used that pie to confront him about dismal situations only twice in his life, but Jean also knew the sayings third time’s the charm and old habits die hard. So, as he watched her cut the pie, cutting an obviously large slice for himself coexisting with a plentiful scoop of vanilla ice cream, he knew that his mom was about to say something upsetting and most likely irritating.

She sat down across from him at the table with a smile, a spoon in her hand about to dig into her culinary creation. “Go on ahead Jean-bo, taste it and tell me what you think. I haven’t made it in so long, I wasn’t sure if it tastes like it used to.”

Jean hid his expression at her mentioning that she hadn’t made it in a long time, meaning that he wasn’t being over speculative to the situation. Nevertheless, he dug his spoon into the beginning of the slice, admiring the perfectly placed apple slices and browned streusel on his spoon. He sampled it, the flavors melding together perfectly on his tongue. It was as precise as he remembered it to be. 

“It’s good ma,” he said, digging his spoon back into the slice. “You could never mess this up.”

“Thank you,” she replied, reaching for her tea cup. “Thank you for visiting me too. I know life is busy with school and having to move somewhere else.”

Jean shrugged, chewing his bite of the pie while reaching for his vanilla ice cream. “It’s no problem. I needed a mental break from all of it anyway.”

She nodded, setting her cup back down. “You said you’re living with Eren now? How is he? You guys don’t fight anymore, right?”

He let the cool vanilla dissipate on his tongue before he answered. “Yes, I’m living with him. He’s fine, still in school and stuff. And kinda, we don’t put our hands on each other anymore, but we still disagree from time to time.”

“Oh, well, that’s understandable. I’m sure you two will like each other better by the time you guys move out and back into your old places in a couple of months.”

He nodded, dreading that this small talk was leading up to something. “Yeah, it is, what it is.”

She gave Jean a small smile, enjoying the presence of her son and him eating her food again. “You know Jean-bo, you look really good. It looks like you’re finally putting weight on again. I was beginning to worry that rehab center didn’t work.”

Jean’s chewing slowed, looking at his mother and trying to hide his vexation. Bam, there it is. He remained silent, deciding to finish off the rest of his dessert out of courtesy.

She continued talking after a bite of pie. “The center was sending out letters for after patient check-ups, newsletters, and outside center group meetings to connect with others from the program. I thought you’d be interested.”

He downed the rest of his milk, giving her a vacant look from across the table. He set the glass down a little too hard against the hard wood, the noise causing his mother look at him worriedly. “Jean-bo, is everything alright?”

Jean sighed while leaning back in his chair, trying to quell the myriad of emotions seething through him. “Did you think I was interested because you thought I was starving myself again?” He asked, folding his arms. “Was this visit supposed to be an inspection of whether I’d started eating again and gotten fat, or if I’d lost more weight and back to my old ways? Because you could’ve just asked me over the phone, I didn’t have to visit for this.”

She briefly pressed her lips into a line, taken back by her son’s reaction. “I was just checking on you Jean-bo. I know recovery is a long road for something like this, and I was just worried. I wanted to see how you were doing. It’s easy to lie over the phone. I had to see for myself.”

He knew she was right about the last part. He would’ve lied about how he was doing. Technically, he still was. He skipped breakfast so he could eat this lunch, and his dinner was probably going to be small and low-calorie. Relapse was the norm in eating disorder recovery, not to mention it was supposed to be a five to seven-year path to normal eating habits. He’d only been recovering for a few years and relapsed more times than he could count. So, his mother was accurate in her proposition, but she didn’t have to go about it this way.

“Look ma, I’m doing well enough that I don’t need to go back to rehab. You said it yourself, I gained weight,” Jean said, internally cringing at his last words. “I’ll take the rehab center stuff back with me if that makes you feel better.”

“Please,” she said, reaching beneath her table placemat to pull out a couple of letters. “You look fine and gained weight, but I know when it comes to eating disorders it’s not that easy to spot. Especially after what happened in high school, I just want to be vigilant about this.”

Jean squirmed in his seat at the words weight and gain. It was starting to overwhelm him. Not to mention the way his mother pulled out those letters irritated him, showing that she was planning to ambush him about something all along. “I gotta go,” he said, standing up. “I told Marco I’d help him with something.” He lied, before kissing his mother on the cheek.

“Don’t you want to take some food or even offer some to Eren?”

He quickly shook his head, reaching into his pocket for his car keys. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough. “No ma, I’m fine and he’s fine. I’ll try to visit sooner alright.”

She stood up, giving Jean a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. “Okay, just visit before your birthday.”

“Okay,” Jean mumbled, returning his mother’s hug before hustling his way out the front door with the letters stuffed in his jacket pocket.

He drove home in silence, feeling the weight of the letters in his pocket while biting the skin off of his lips. He was so zoned out that he barely remembered his drive home, fumbling with his keys once at the door more than necessary. It didn’t make it any easier that his hands were sweaty, his heart rate climbing, and the food that he ate earlier suddenly feeling uneasy in his stomach. Jean recognized this behavior, he was having a panic attack.

He hadn’t had one in years, but his mother brought him back to his old mental space. He was afraid of being overweight again. He knew he had gained weight from when he left the rehabilitation center, but he did his best not to think about it. Currently, his clothes still fit, his body looked slender, and face still held it’s angular, jawline rather than an added roundness. He wasn’t fat, but the idea of it happening again because he gained a little weight petrified him.

Once he was able to get inside, he made a beeline for his room, shutting the door and locking it just in case Eren was around. Jean sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over with his face in his hands while he tried his best to calm down. He took rhythmic deep breaths, trying to relax his whole body in order to gain his composure. He then tried to focus on something else, searching for things that made him happy or entertained him.

His mind fleeted over a couple of memories of him and Marco, the time he bought his car, the relief he felt moving out the house, and a couple days ago to when he and Eren had a good time hanging out. Little by little his heart rate descended, his breathing evened out, the feelings of dread vacated his body, and his sweat dried on his skin, causing him to shiver.

Jean sucked in one deep breath, running both hands through his hair. “Fuck.” He said, his own voice sounding foreign to him.

He sat up straight, suddenly make eye contact with his reflection in the mirror across from his bed. He then thickly swallowed, his mouth feeling dry but he stood up, walking towards the image casting back at him. Jean looked himself over from head to toe, knowing what he was about to do next was going to be bad for his health. But he was mentally ill, so he didn’t care.

He slowly stripped, taking off an article of clothing one after the other. It wasn’t until he was completely naked did he look in the mirror again. He looked thin, a couple of his ribs apparent through his pale skin and upper torso obviously lacking in muscle definition. He ignored his genitals and looked at his thighs, equally as muscle deficient and soft looking. Jean turned around, looking at his back with his visible spinal cord and modest butt.

He frowned at his appearance, pinching himself all over, grabbing loose skin in between his fingers and cringing at every inch of it. He felt disgusted with himself, disappointed with not only his failure at recovery but also at gaining weight. He felt large. He felt like the kid from high school, his clothes suffocating him, feeling the public’s eye on his every move since his weight was socially unacceptable, and just wanting to disappear into the seclusion of his room, with tears running down his cheeks and binge food by his side.

Before Jean knew it, he was crying. His cheeks wet, the saliva in his mouth thick, and his nose building with mucus. Through his tears, he grabbed a roll of toilet paper, trying to wipe his tears as fast as they were falling and climbed into bed. He put his television on, using it as background noise while he wiped his tears and gradually fell asleep.

     Eren sipped at his chocolate banana protein shake, feeling the muscles in his arms twitch while he kept the cup at his lips. He and Reiner met up at the gym to work out, Eren lifting weights while Reiner did cardio. All throughout his workout, Eren was trying think of ways how to bring up the fact that Jean knew about their hook up from a few days ago. He also thought about not telling Reiner at all, considering Jean obviously wasn’t going to tell anyone and hadn’t even told Bertolt. Plus, he wasn’t even sure if Reiner would really even care since it wasn’t like they were hiding their hook ups, but they also weren’t spreading the word either. 

He frowned to himself, his shake cup condensating in his hand. He wiped the collected droplets from his hand off on his pants after he set the cup down on the living room table. They were at Reiner and Bertolt’s place, with Reiner sitting next to him, obviously enthralled with a timed cooking show.

“Can you believe that dude actually thought he was going to make a successful bread pudding in thirty minutes?” Reiner said after a swallow of his own shake. “He definitely got beat by that girl and her deconstructed lemon bars.”

Eren nodded, folding his arms as he sank further into the couch to get comfortable. “Well, if he pulled it off, he would’ve been able to redeem himself for his overcooked strip steak.”

“That was honestly unredeemable,” Reiner remarked, his drink straw resting against his lips. “Plus, he basically set himself up for failure with his Asian fusion tacos from the appetizer round. He shouldn’t even be here right now in the final round.”

“Agreed,” Eren mumbled, losing interest in the show and feeling distracted by what he wanted to say. He grabbed his protein shake again, wrapping his lips around the straw while he watched commercials dance across the screen. After the break, the show returned, the judges making their choice after deliberating dishes from the current round and the last.

Reiner pumped his fist in the air when it was announced that the girl won. “Finally, the system prevails. Sometimes I’ll watch these cooking competition shows and they’ll get it completely wrong. But I also can’t taste the food, so I can’t judge.”

“Obviously. Not to mention you practically just cook chicken breasts, vegetables, and sometimes rice if your carbing up.”

“Glad you know me so well,” Reiner said, giving Eren a nudge with his shoulder and a smile. “But, since I know you so well, tell me what’s up. It looks like you’re thinking a little too hard. I wouldn’t want you to short-circuit.”

“Shut up,” Eren countered, nudging Reiner back. He then swallowed, deciding it was now or never. “I have something I need to tell you. It’s not terrible news or anything, but I just think you should know.”

Reiner’s eyebrows rose in interest at Eren’s words. “Alright, shoot.”

“It turns out Jean overheard us having sex the other day. He stopped by to get his textbook or something, and yeah.” Eren explained, watching Reiner for his reaction.

“Oh,” Reiner began, obviously taken aback by the news, “that’s not good. Do you know if he told anyone?”

“No, but he wouldn’t do that,” Eren answered with confidence. “Jean’s not like that. Plus, he would’ve done it already if he wanted to. Has Bertolt been acting strange or something?”

“No,” Reiner quickly assured, “it’s just that people aren’t usually good at keeping things like that secret. How’d it come up?”

Eren instantly grew sheepish, mentally recalling his and Jean’s fight. “I was in his business when I shouldn’t have been. In turn, he threw my business, which was me and you fucking, in my face. So, yeah.”

 “Oh, well, how do you feel about Jean knowing about us? I know you’d rather him not know at all.”

Eren let out an aggravated sigh, his frown deepening. “I feel shitty about it. Like, if me and him ever got together, it’d be different if we talked about past sexual partners or whatever. But, for him to over hear us when that was our last hook up sucks.”

Reiner hummed in understanding. “It does. It’s pretty fucked up, not gonna lie. Sorry.” He finished, giving Eren a sympathetic look.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing I can do about it now,” Eren replied, watching the next episode of the cooking show begin. “Anyway, are we still having that party at my place for Ymir tomorrow?”

“Oh yeah, shit, I guess so,” Reiner said after downing the rest of his protein shake. “Why does she think she always needs a welcome back get together? We get it, you’re in the Navy, you periodically visit, and you’ll most likely come back again in a few to several months.”

“Let her have it. I’m sure it gets boring working for your country. Besides, it gives our whole circle a chance to reconnect. That’s something we never really do anymore since we’re about to be in our third years in university.” Eren reassured.

“I guess so,” Reiner mumbled, becoming engrossed with the television show again. “Did you mention it to Jean?”

Eren rolled his eyes, realizing that’s what he forgot to do today. “Shit, no. I mean, I don’t think he’ll care since he doesn’t have class the next day after the get together anyway, but he can be difficult sometimes so who knows.”

“I think he’ll be cool. I’ll send a reminder text to everyone else while you talk it over with him.” Reiner suggested, resting his hands behind his head. 

Eren nodded, taking a sip of his drink. “I guess that sounds good,” he responded, looking down at his watch, noticing that it was getting late. “I think I’m gonna head home now. I wanna run it past Jean sooner rather than later.”

“Sure, just let me know what’s up,” Reiner called from the couch, watching Eren turn the front door knob. “See ya later.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eren called back, giving him a wave with the back of his hand.

Once he got to the car, he sighed in relief. Telling Reiner about the fact that Jean knew about them was one more thing checked off his list. On his way home, Eren pondered how he was going to bring up the party to Jean. He knew that Jean hated last minute shit, and not just because Jean had told him verbatim he hated last minute shit. It was obvious in the way that Jean planned a lot of his stuff, his planner looking well mapped out and devised. Not to mention he was a man of routine, so this party was going to definitely disrupt that.

Eren frowned the minute he stood outside his front door, knowing that Jean was home and he had to bring up the topic sooner rather than later. Upon opening the front door, the smell of florally scented cleaner and other disinfectants hit his nose. Jean was staying true to routine as predicted, cleaning up on a Sunday. Eren took his shoes off near the door, noticing the vacuumed lines on the floor.

He walked to the kitchen where Jean came into eye view and was washing dishes. Jean looked over his shoulder when he noticed Eren’s presence behind him, placing a mug on the drying rack on the other side of the sink.

“Hey,” Jean said, turning his focus back to the dishes.

“Hey,” Eren responded, setting his protein shake cup on the counter with his keys. “Um, are you busy right now? I wanted to run something by you.”

Jean shook his head in a negatory manner, running a soaped sponge over a plate. “What’s up?”

Eren took a seat at the eat-in kitchen island. “Remember that get together for Ymir we’re supposed to be having? I forgot that I agreed weeks ago that we could have it over here when we first moved in. So, do you mind?”

“No, it’s fine. The party would find its way over here somehow, so might as well just have it here.” Jean assured, cutting off the sink water and squeezing out the remaining liquid from the sponge. “It’s tomorrow, right? Why have a party on a Monday though?”

“I think that was Ymir’s decision. She wanted the party at the beginning of the week so it could be her kick-off to being back in town. You know how over the top she can be. Plus, she plans to spend most of her days with Historia, so after this, we’re pretty much not gonna see her often.”

Jean nodded in understanding, drying his hands with a towel. He folded it up and laid it down next to the sink on the counter. He turned around to face Eren, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter. “Well, I finish classes in the afternoon tomorrow, so I guess I can help set up or whatever.”

Eren took in Jean’s appearance, noticing that he evidently looked a little off. He could easily put his finger on it, noticing that Jean was more covered up more than usual, long-sleeved shirt and long sweat pants. The heat was running in the condo since the winter weather made a quick return from its warm yet cool days to full blown chilly, so his attire wasn’t necessarily strange. Eren just thought it was strange to clean in, given how quickly someone could overheat while doing a whole bunch of house work.

What worried him the most was how puffy Jean’s eyes looked, showing the obvious signs of earlier crying. Eren was immediately befuddled when he noticed it, mentally noting that today was the day that Jean visited his mother. Familial meetings didn’t always go well and he knew Jean and his mother didn’t have the best relationship, but he was curious as to how their meeting could result in Jean’s tears.

Eren swiftly wanted to jump into friend mode and ask Jean to open up but he was able to refrain himself, their altercation from a day ago still fresh in his mind. He laced his fingers together instead, leaning back in his chair to appear nonchalant. “That’s fine, but you don’t have to. I’m sure I can get Armin, Mikasa, and Reiner or whatever to help out. Especially since you cleaned up and everything."

Jean had folded his arms, perceptive to the way Eren took in his appearance. He brushed it off, feeling more comfortable that Eren didn’t pester him like last time. “Alright,” he began, pushing his hip off the counter to stand up straight, “I’m gonna go do some homework and then go to bed, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eren looked at the oven clock past Jean, seeing that is was still moderately early, the clock just striking seven. He ignored it, knowing that Jean probably felt shitty and wanted to go to bed early. “Did you eat dinner already?”

“Yes,” Jean lied, walking out the kitchen. “Don’t make too much of a mess making yours.” He reminded Eren from the hallway.

Eren made a face at Jean’s back, but he understood since it was obvious Jean worked hard. “Goodnight!” Eren called from his seat in the kitchen.

“Night!” Jean answered, closing his room door immediately after.

Eren propped his elbow on the counter, resting his face against his palm in thought. He wanted to seriously be there for Jean, but it seemed like a daunting task every time the two of them came into contact. The idea that the two of them one day would be able to talk about their feelings and problems to each other was nowhere within reach. It was the most apparent when Jean quickly left, the two of them acknowledging Jean’s puffy eyes and pale skin, yet both completely overlooking it in order to avoid the conflict a confrontation would bring.

It severely bothered Eren since it was obvious that Jean was going through something. It wasn’t like Jean was the most put together person that never seemed to be going through something, but with Jean being the slight pretty boy that he was, when he looked hellish it meant something. Whether or not Eren was ever going to find out what that something was, was a mystery. But it was only a matter of time before Eren’s friend mode mixed with crush mode overcame him and he was begging Jean to let down his personal walls and let him into his life.

He wasn’t exactly certain how, but he sure as hell knew he wasn’t a quitter, and he wasn’t afraid of trying and failing. Eren wasn’t marked by Jean as a suicidal bastard for nothing. He figured it was time to live up to the title.

[belladonnachaos]

Mind Games

Day 7: Write a story. This doesn’t have to be about Jack. Put out something you’re really proud about and we can all healthily criticize each other and give pointers. This is day is for acknowledging your strengths and weaknesses and helping others in their work. A day for a writing community!

AN: So I wrote this a while ago, like two years almost, but I am so proud of it and its one of my favorites. So here you go, enjoy another great big helping of angst. 

Warnings: Mental illness, death, killings, murder, very sad and creepy.

……………………I don’t quite feel like myself…….RUN……anymore,

wanna play……….HELP ME……Chaos wants to play with you………

SAVE YOURSELVES RUN……….Wanna play……………..

3rd Person POV:

  Mark was cleaning the house for his mom while she was out shopping for some last ingredients for the family dinner with friends they were having that Friday. Wade and Molly were also coming over that evening to play video games with him and his brother, Bob wasn’t coming until later in the next week to record some videos and just hang out before Mark had to head back to L.A. Mark headed to the kitchen to put some dishes away and wash the dirty one from that morning’s breakfast. After finishing the dishes Mark went to the living room to set up his play station so that they could play GTA and then maybe just maybe some evil within just for the scares. He knew that some snacks should also be put out, but that I’ll have to wait till his mom came back to see if she brought back some chips.    Mark then went to his bedroom to change out of his pj’s and into some fresh clothes. Once he was change he went to the living room to pick up some fruit to eat. He was thinking of going outside with his brother to play with the dogs as well when his brother came inside. They were talking and catching up on each other life when suddenly ‘He grabbed the closest object to him at the figure in front of him, warm blood splattering everywhere including him’    Mark gasped at the sudden vision he had that went away as quickly as it came. What was that about, his brother looked at him confused and worried but Mark wave it off it was nothing. They kept on talking about life and then the conversation went to their jobs online where things were going amazing for the both of them. Mark had just gotten three million subscribers and Tom had gotten his Web comic to expand even more than it had reaching two million people reading it. They were amazed that they could have gotten this far in life especially something on the internet.    Mark himself was even more amazed with how many people thought his videos were worth it to be subscribed to. Soon both brothers heard the front door jingle and open signally their mom was back, they both then race other to her so that they could help her the bags. As Mark headed to the kitchen with two bag in hand he glanced to the stove when he had another “vision”. ‘Screams could be hear as he pushed their face into the burning stove, the smell of burning human flesh hung in the air. Out of the corner of his eye he could see another figure getting up so he dropped the person he had and went after the one getting up. An evil smirk graced his handsome features, a large kitchen knife within his hand.’   Mark was shocked at what he was seeing, it left him horrified at what his mind was making him see, what where this, dreams, visions, past memories what he couldn’t make any sense of what was going on. He collected himself before his brother and mother came back. He went back for another few bags and when they where all in the house they started to put away the food in the fridge and cupboards. After that was done Mark excused himself to his room so that he could check his twitter and YouTube channel to see any tweets and if the two video uploaded. When he got to his laptop, chaos was all that he saw. The two video DID NOT UPLOAD which made everyone freak about him, whether he was ok, other just demanded that he upload now, other had decide to talk shit about him and other still plain told him he sucked in keeping up and they were going to see other people for game play. Many even went to say that he didn’t deserve the three million subs he had. They hurt him deeply, people saying he didn’t deserve anything at all and that he shouldn’t be doing YouTube in the first place.   All the voices in his heads that previously lived in his head along with others that had moved in as he gained and gained more subscribers. “GET AWAY ME PLEASE DON’T HURT ME PLEASE, AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH”. Mark’s eyes widens at what he heard, it sounded familiar but with so much pain and fear infused within it. What could cause a person to be so scared so in fear that in leaked into their voice. The thoughts and voices keep on creating chaos within his mind. He keep on doubting himself and all he could think of now was making videos, making everything perfect, making everything just right, just the way he wanted it to be.   He couldn’t let anything ruin everything he worked hard for, it got destroyed once and that devastated him. He couldn’t let it be ruin he couldn’t, he had to make it perfect he had to, he had to, it was all to be perfect, just perfect, just like he wanted it to be. No one could get in his way no one, no one, no one, no one, no one, no- then Mark was being dragged to the living room by his best friend Wade who had just arrived with Molly in tow. He wanted to show him something but Mark just wanted to make video the most perfect videos for his subs, he couldn’t stop he couldn’t he needed to make videos. So he excused himself to the kitchen to calm down, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, it was his mom asking what was wrong. Mark was freaking out inside, he need to upload he needed everyone to shut up and leave him alone. Mark grabbed the closest thing to him and swung at the person behind him, a gurgling noise and warm blood splattered everywhere was left. A scream behind had him for turning around to see a screaming Molly, and shocked Wade. He pushed Wade into the wall and grabbed Molly pushing her into the stove turning it on burning her to shut up her screaming.   Hands grabbed him pulling away whatever objects that where in his hands so he wouldn’t hurt himself nor the hands holding him. A hand was finally able to expose his inside elbow to sedate him so he would calm down. He stopped screaming and failing around until he was limp in the nurses hands. They took him away from the special room that was made just for him. The mess within the room was horrifying to see, a recreated death scene, showing how much destruction he caused that day. Today however was worse, probably cause it the two year anniversary of the tragedy. The two men behind the two way windows gave it one more glance and walked away.   The younger of the men had a horrified look, 'was this what his friend was reduced to, not knowing anything or remember what he did.’ Jack felt sorry for him to be trapped within his own mind not know the world was different than what he though to be real.   Jack turned to the doctor and ask him “what exactly happened that day and how did he get caught?” The doctor looked at Mark’s chart sighing before explaining “he suddenly just snapped too much stress, too much was expected of him, he had too high expectations of himself. When those high expectations he had for himself and those made by other weren’t reach at all was the tipping point. Combined with his depression it just caused a psychotic break. He wanted as perfect as possible for his channel it seem unfortunately they were in his way of his success. He needed to get rid of them one way or another so he did, brutally.   The first person was his mom, the closet when he snapped, got a knife to the neck slashing through it and killing her. He was then surprised by his best friend and his girlfriend knocking out his friend briefly against the wall, which gave him time to burn the poor girl’s face. Her left cheek area had second degree burns leaving her with a marred scar from her chin to below her eye. His friend was stabbed five times, however he made. His brother, well he wasn’t as lucky, he was caught by Mark dialing 911 which later got Mark contained. His brother was found with his hands stabbed multiple times, his face slashed and he was stabbed in the chest, he bleed to death. Outside they found the bodies of four dogs belonging to the family, each had their bellies slashed, paws removed, snouts broken and crushed. He was found in his room mumbling and twitching cover in blood from head to toe. He smelled like burning flesh, coppery iron scent of blood and had a knife in his hand.”   Once the doctor had finish talking Jack took a moment to recover and process everything hat he was told, Mark did all of this he snapped killed his whole family, hurt his best friend, deformed his best friend’s girlfriend and is stuck in his own mind.   “Will he ever get better, will he ever be conscious about what he did or will he stay like this,” Jack asked worried about his friend’s future if he had any. “Unfortunately no he won’t be back to his old self, it even unlikely for his mind to snap him back to the real world. If it did Mark would most likely died of the guilt, stress and shock of what he did. He’s doom to forever live in his mind. He actually has had hallucinations of him gaining more subscribers, meeting you, conventions and other stuff. I’m sorry but would never ever be the same.” The doctor left Jack alone in the hallway, Jack glanced at the other room that seem to look like his own recording room back in LA, and the next room showed Mark deep in a drug induced sleep. “Goodbye Mark,” with that Jack left ed his broken friend.   Jack was standing in front of three tombstones, he looked at them in somber sadness, to have this family ripped part by tragedy,the doctor though that maybe Mark’s dad death had started to slowly break him with the loss of his first channel being the first breaking point. He set the flowers in his hands on each of the tombstones, one for each of them Mark’s parents and his brother. With that Jack walked away leaving behind tragedy and sadness and leaving with knowledge about what happened that faithful September morning.

AN:This is a repost of the original post I created. I’m reposting so that it can be in the tag and not be lost. It’s one of my favorite pieces and I hope you guys enjoyed it.

[flauntpage]

Sixers Draft Prospects: Mikal Bridges, Miles Bridges, Jevon Carter

I wanted to roll out a preview series for the NBA draft but didn’t think it made sense to do 30 different stories for 30 different players.

Nor would it make sense to preview Luka Doncic or Mo Bamba or DeAndre Ayton or any of the top-five types who certainly won’t be on the board when the Sixers pick at 10, 26, 38, 39, 56, or 60.

So I thought it might be better to go two or three guys at a time, maybe look at a couple who could be available in the first round, then throw in a second-round sleeper type who might be a “value pick” later in the draft, as Mike Mayock would say.

Following that format, let’s start it off with the clubhouse leader and sentimental favorite:

Mikal Bridges (Villanova)

I wrote a bit about the Villanova guard/forward back in April.

There’s a lot to like. The Great Valley alum is a two-time national champion, a proven winner who has been a key component for an elite program.

He’s 6’7″, a versatile athlete with a 7’2″ wingspan. Bridges really is an excellent defender, a Robert Covington type on the wing who does a lot of different things defensively in that Swiss-army knife fashion that Brett Brown and the Sixers value highly. The main difference between Covington and Bridges is probably size, as Covington has about two inches and 5-10 pounds on the soon-to-be NBA rookie. You saw Cov switch onto both shooting guards and power forwards last season but some scouts wonder if Bridges has the frame to be able to slide down on a 6’10” 4-man. On the flip side, he might operate a little better in 1v1 situations and keep quicker guys in front of him at the point of attack more effectively than Cov does.

In the clip below, he easily switches two dribble hand-offs then blocks the shot when the opponent tries to drive the rim:

That’s exactly what Brown is looking for from his perimeter defenders.

It’s similar on a play like this, where he just fluidly steps over a screen, slides with a center, cuts off a drive, then slides back to the arc again:

It’s just really smooth stuff, and it was fun to watch when he was on his game.

Offensively, Bridges shot an excellent 51.4% this season and hit three pointers at a 43.5% mark, though his overall FG% was actually down a bit from the season prior, where he went 54.9% overall but only hit at 39.5% from three. He took on a much bigger role in the Villanova offense this season, which isn’t what he’ll be required to do in the NBA. He’ll be a ‘three and D’ guy, asked to defend and catch and shoot and knock down some open looks, which will definitely come in a high-tempo Sixers type of offense.

He would get plenty looks like this if he played alongside T.J. McConnell:

Point guard under the rim, Bridges slides on the perimeter and knocks down the open look. He’ll get those kick outs from Simmons driving or McConnell mashing, very similar to the type of catch and shoots Covington gets.

As far as weaknesses, he’s not really the tightest dribbler out there. Some of his drives are loose and he would just use his greater athleticism to punk lesser college players. He won’t be able to cheat that in the NBA. And he doesn’t put up a ton of assists, but I’m not sure you’d expect him to. I don’t think his shot diversity is very expansive and he’s not going to dribble and pull-up at a high percentage, but again, you won’t need him to. His NBA role is going to be 3 and D with a high ceiling to evolve into a more well-rounded player.

Miles Bridges (Michigan State)

The other Bridges is a 6’6″ tweener from Michigan State. He’s not really a shooting guard but he’s not really a small forward either.

The good thing is that it doesn’t really matter in the modern day NBA, where positionless basketball is the norm. Look no further than the Golden State Warriors, or your Sixers, who feature a 7’2″ three-point shooting center and 6’10” point guard with limited range.

Like Mikal, this Bridges is a two-way wing with athleticism, it just comes in a different form. Miles is about 6’6″, 230 pounds and it comes with a ton of explosiveness. Jae Crowder has a similar build, as did Shawn Marion. I’ve heard comparisons of all sorts, that Bridges is a more athletic P.J. Tucker, he’s Tobias Harris or Draymond Green or what Josh Smith could have/should have been.

He averaged 17/7/3 this past season at MSU on these shooting numbers:

Mikal is the better pure shooter of the two and played three years of college ball, but Miles is younger and a little stockier and really does a nice job of getting to the rim. His highlight-reel is littered with two-footed takeoffs, some nice moves against defensive mismatches, and some thirsty rebounding for a wing who mostly played as a 4 in college:

Looking through the “weaknesses” half of that video, it seems like Bridges settles for some bad shots and takes some tough jumpers when he doesn’t have to. There are some of those aforementioned mismatches where he could use his athleticism to work smaller players, but I saw some unnecessary three pointers and a lack of ability to push into the post or beat down smaller guys. He has some decent vision but can get wild with passes and turn the ball over. It doesn’t look like he has much of a mid-range game, which is fine, because it’s the same thing as Mikal – he’s really not going to be asked to do that at the next level.

Defensively, he does a lot of great things on the perimeter. It’s weird, he sort of reminds me a bit of Justin Anderson, just the way he’s built and the fact that he’s left handed. He moves his feet, slides, switches, and contests a lot of shots.

This video is in French, but you don’t need to speak the language to appreciate it. Just click play and let it roll:

Combing through draft reports and social media and looking for comparisons between the two players, it feels to me like people see Miles Bridges as the more explosive player with room to improve offensively, while Mikal Bridges has the higher floor right now. I’d honestly say that both have a relatively high ceiling, but I think there are fewer question marks with with the translation of Mikal’s game to the NBA level. Specific to Philly, If Mikal is getting the Covington/Otto Porter/Tony Snell comparisons, that feels like it’s more compatible with what the Sixers are doing. Miles going #9 to New York would be interesting with David Fizdale running the show up there this year.

Bottom line, I don’t think you can go wrong with either Bridges if they’re available at #10 overall.

Jevon Carter (West Virginia)

Here’s the thing; Jevon isn’t first-round talent and the Sixers are set at point guard with Ben Simmons, T.J. McConnell, and whatever Markelle Fultz becomes. So why would I waste time talking about him?

Well, having watched Carter for four years at West Virginia, he really is the prototypical Brett Brown and Philly type of guy. He plays ferocious perimeter defense and regularly locked horns with the best Big 12 scorers, guys like Trae Young and Devonte’ Graham.

The thing with WVU players is that they come out of college with a typically narrow skill set because of Bob Huggins’ highly-specialized system. Full court press doesn’t translate to the NBA, right? Nobody presses in the NBA. Similarly, you could be the best 1-3-1 rim protector in America, but no NBA team is playing 1-3-1 zone. And because Huggins’ system is defense-first with a deep rotation, the development of polished offensive players really is not a thing in Morgantown, not since the last wave of John Beilein recruits came through.

Still, the Sixers value defense first, so Carter comes into the NBA as an incredibly experienced 1v1 guy, one of the best in the country. That’s the base. Then you can work with 17.3 points per game on 42.2% shooting a 39.3 mark from three:

Those raw numbers are probably good enough to develop a second-unit shooting guard. One of Marco Belinelli’s issues was that he couldn’t defend a lick in the postseason. And there’s no guarantee that he comes back, right? So who scores points for the second team? Does Anderson or Timothe Luwawu-Cabarrot take a step forward? Furkan Korkmaz? If you have T.J. McConnell running the second team point, with Carter at the two and one of the Bridges at the 3 in a smallish type of look (or Covington if he loses his starting job), then I think you could do much, much worse. That backcourt combination of McConnell/Carter is defensively ferocious and infinitely coachable.

I think Fran Fraschilla is pretty on-point with this write-up, which compares Carter to Patrick Beverly and notes that his ball-handling skills need work and that he is not necessarily an explosive offensive player:

Jevon Carter: Coaching staff will love this guy’s energy/attitude. Started to “rise” in win vs. Missouri. “Rose” higher on Jan.6th vs.Oklahoma. Looks like he’s still “rising.” pic.twitter.com/NdcyVhZ8eG

— Fran Fraschilla (@franfraschilla) May 22, 2018

I’ve seen Carter all over the place in different mocks, one that had him as high as 32. Most people see him as a late second-rounder. I don’t know if he’d be there at 56, but players have completely fallen off the draft board plenty of times before.

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[thevalicemultiverse]

Things You Need To Know About: The Inevitable High School AU

Tag: ~V: Inevitable High School

Premise: Ah, the drama of high school. The cliques ruling the social scene; the daily struggle with homework and studies; the thrills and chills of navigating dating. Victor Van Dort’s just trying to keep on the sidelines and do his own thing, but it can be tough when you’re well-known as the richest boy in school – and one of the dorkiest. But on the other hand, he’s not the only “weird” kid out there, and this Alice Liddell does seem nice…

This AU is -- well, look at what I called it. XD But in truth it's kind of an amalgamation of three different High School AUs I've considered and played around with:

One on my Secundus Victor's old solo account, Butterfly Boy, where Victor was still mad sciencey, he was just being so as a modern-day high school senior (with his own apartment no less -- well, his and Alice's)

A Carrie-based AU idea, Prom Scream Queen, where Alice has the ability to make people see things based on her hallucinations, and she and Victor become a couple just in time to go to prom together -- which, given that it's based on Carrie, doesn't go exactly well for them (although this AU has a much smaller body count due to Alice's ability being illusions and her not actually wanting anyone (except a certain doctor at the end) to die)

An AU that started out as based on the movie The Faculty but kind of evolved into "can I adapt at least part of the plots of Alice: Madness Returns/Otherlands, the first Back To The Future, Portal 2, and Corpse Bride into a multifandom high school setting?" called Fandom High (answer: I can, and can even throw in some extra strangeness to ensure all my mains get a happy ending)

For this AU, I'm borrowing the most from Fandom High -- Victor is a modern-day student at Frances Dommartin Memorial High School in the town of Riverside, having moved there with his family from Burtonsville shortly before he started high school. The Van Dorts are still the richest family for miles around thanks to their fish-canning business, and have a mansion in the best neighborhood. Victor gets driven to school daily by Mayhew in the family Rolls Royce, and always has the latest in electronics. Being the wealthiest boy in school hasn't done much for Victor's social life, however -- thanks to him being shy and kind of clumsy when nervous, most people see him as a total dork, either to be bullied or ignored completely. Those who do pay attention to him are generally just interested if they can get money or an invite to his house so they can life the rich life vicariously through him. Victor weathers it the best he can, keeping to the edges of the social scene and concentrating on his artwork, his music, his butterflies, and those few people he knows like him for who he is -- Victoria Everglot, Emily Cartwell, and Alice Liddell. There's no overarching plot here, like with some of my more story-based AUs -- just a teenager trying to survive (and maybe even have a successful relationship) until graduation and college.

This verse has two distinct time periods/locations threads can be set in:

The New Kid In Town: Victor's freshman and sophomore years in Fandom High. Starts out his first couple of months as the shortest kid in school -- but by the time he's fifteen, he's hit his adult height of 6-foot-3 and is instead the tallest. He's still adjusting to living in a new town (in a new country, no less) and going to a new school, and wouldn't mind someone giving him a few pointers on how to handle this "high school" business. Someone who isn't just interested in seeing if he's got the latest gaming consoles as well as the latest iPhone, please.

Bob Cordry For Class President: Victor's junior and senior years in Fandom High. He's gotten the hang of his classes, but not really the social scene -- but that's okay, he's never been the most social of people anyway. Still, his mother keeps pestering him that he needs to mingle more, and it would be nice to ask a girl out on his own. . .he should probably start by making more friends, though. So hello, how are you, do you need any help with the math homework?

Common NPCs:

Alice Liddell (Bob Cordry For Class President)

Victoria Everglot (throughout)

Emily Cartwell (throughout)

Shipping: Okay, this one needs a bit of explanation. Victor's romantic life runs thusly, at least for the NPC cast:

Pre-Junior year: Victor's not really that interested in dating, finding the whole process kind of intimidating, while Nell pushes him regularly toward Victoria Everglot

Junior year: Victor and Victoria, having gotten friendly from all the forced interaction, decide to give dating a shot. It actually goes pretty well -- up until Victor finds another acquaintance, Emily Cartwell, crying in the music room thanks to a rough break-up with her old boyfriend Barkis. Victor, feeling bad, asks her if she wants to go out somewhere later in the week. He means it in terms of friendshippy hanging out, but Emily misinterprets it as a romantic date and promptly starts rebounding onto him. The date goes well until Victor lets slip that he thinks they're just friends -- Emily calls him a liar and storms off. Baffled, Victor visits her house later, and over a little apologetic piano playing, manages to clear up the misunderstanding. He also says he wouldn't mind dating her romantically, he just has to make sure Victoria's okay with it first. Emily's game, so Victor goes to talk to Victoria at lunch the next day -- only to find Barkis trying to put the moves on her as he tells her Victor cheated on her with Emily. Victor and Emily both confront him to explain what really happened, and Barkis pulls a knife on Victor -- Victor somehow manages to disarm him with a fork, and the four end up in the principal's office. Barkis is expelled, and Victor, Victoria, and Emily all take a quick break from the whole dating scene. Victor does end up going on a few more dates with both girls. . .but as Victoria and Emily grow to be friends, they realize they're a little more attracted to each other. And so poor Victor ends up with "the guy who turns girls gay" tacked on after his name (even though Victor himself is happy for his friends).

Senior year: Victor meets Alice and finally discovers the joys of a long-term girlfriend.

So yeah. Since I'll probably default to senior year in most of his threads, the main ship is still Victor/Alice, but he's basically open to romantic interaction with Alices, Victorias, and Emilys, depending on time period. (Though of course I'm open to threads where he knows a PC Alice earlier. . .)

NPC Ships: Victoria Everglot/Emily Cartwell

Important Facts:

For my own personal ease in RPing, Riverside is a town in New England that all the characters have immigrated to. The high school setting and schedule is going to be based on what I personally knew growing up in RI.

Victor's class schedule always includes art and music classes, natch. They're his best subjects, and he also does decently at math and science (particularly biology, and especially anything relating to lepidoptery). He's okay in English -- he likes reading, but he finds the written word a bit harder to tame than his artwork. History is also a little hit and miss. Generally, though he's a pretty solid "high Bs/low As" student.

NPC Victoria's family moved to Riverside shortly before the Van Dorts did (Victor quietly thinks his mother specifically picked the town so she could try pushing them together). The Everglots live in a much more modest house a few neighborhoods over from the Van Dorts, having had to downsize from the mansion in Burtonsville thanks to the reduced family fortunes. While Maudeline is disdainful of the Van Dorts for their lack of breeding, she grudgingly tolerated Nell's attempts to get Victor and Victoria together because she hoped there might be a little financial benefit in it for them. She was less than understanding when Victoria and Emily started dating. Not that Victoria cares all that much -- she's quite happy with Emily, thank you very much.

NPC Emily is alive at the same time as everyone else in this AU -- she and her father moved to Riverside not long after the death of her mother. They live in the same neighborhood as the Everglots, though in a somewhat nicer house. She dated local "bad boy" Barkis Bittern for a while, until she discovered him rooting through her mother's jewelry for stuff to sell. They had a big fight, and Emily kicked him out, which led to her crying jag in the music room and her rather disastrous brief semi-relationship with Victor. The more open dating between him and Victoria afterward helped her realize she was biromantic but lesbian, and she's currently happily entangled with Victoria. Fortunately her father is much more understanding than Victoria's parents!

NPC Alice still suffered the terrible fire that killed her family, and still spent years in Rutledge as a result. Bumby takes her in a little earlier, though, and moves them to Riverside when the local police start sniffing a little too curiously into his orphanage for his tastes. Alice doesn't exactly like him, but it's not until her senior year in high school that she realizes just who he is and confronts him, managing to finally get him jailed for his crimes against her and the other children under his care. Nan Sharpe, who moved to Riverside years ago looking for work and is now the world's most embarrassing health teacher, takes her in so she can finish the year and get her own place. Alice takes medications to help stop her Wonderland hallucinations taking over her brain, though she's still pretty prone to daydreaming. And she doesn't tolerate bullies -- she met Victor when she punched someone menacing him in the face.

While the mains are all CB or AMA characters, this is definitely a multifandom school. My current minor NPCs from other fandoms are Vice Principal Gerald Strickland; school newspaper columnist Edna Strickland; janitor Wheatley Wilco, and gym teacher Chell Johnson. So yeah, definitely feel free to pop in, even if you're from another verse!

This verse is open to everyone!