#how much people did he ate throughout his entire life??

[eldrichfuck666]

Btw!! Ansel is technically cannibalistic and his love language is poetry and biting, eating flesh as a form of... burying his lover in his DNA and blood (although he's not human, he's a god, so.. but still, he "posseses" a human body, which means that yeah, he's cannibal!), as well as Lucinda — do you know what she did after Karina died?? ;) I bet you can guess it! Burying someone inside your body, your blood and DNA is much better than giving their body to the soil and ground. It may sound truly dark, but it seemed far more respectful for her. She wanted to leave something in memory of her lover. Can you blame her?? Also! Demonic nun (Cordelia) is cannibal too, which is pretty obvious, I think?..

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hello! Hope you're okay :D

First your writeing it's so good and i love it, and this is mu first time asking you for a request :)

So idk if you aleady did this, i don't remember reading it but i wanted to know how do you think Damian would react when he finally meet his brothers partner?

When JASON borough you home, Damian wasn’t certain whether he was seeing the same perpetually annoying Jason, especially when he watched him look at you as though you were the only one in the room.

It was something completely new, for as long as Damian could remember Jason was a man who held great resentment and anger within himself, which often resulted in making him prone to rash decisions and act out on his self destructive tendencies. So seeing him smile with you, laugh with you, joke with you was a side to him that only Dick had told him stories about.

Damian wasn’t fond of trusting anyone outside of his own family, but he’d be stupid to not see that you were an extremely positive influence on Jason, and soon found himself hoping that his brother wouldn’t be the one to fuck this up via self sabotage. However he didn’t have to fear that being the case when he saw the way Jason seemed more at peace by your side then he ever did in his entire life, his shoulders were no longer hunched and the furrow in his brow was less prominent, his jaw was no longer clenched and is more relaxed.

It was as though Damian was looking at a completely different person and he couldn’t help but find himself being thankful to you for having such unwavering patience with Jason and secretly hopes that you continue to do so for the nearby future. Damian could clearly see that you helped Jason through the moments that he wouldn’t dare bring up to his own family and while that hurt, he’s glad that Jason wasn’t alone with his thoughts anymore and was able to carve out a future with you.

‘They’re good for you Todd.’ Damian said once you were out of earshot.

‘I’ve known that since the moment they didn’t shy away from my scars and brokenness.’ Jason told his little brother.

‘You’re not broken.’ Damian corrected as he saw the look upon Jason’s face as he looks at you play with Titus, ‘ you’re healing.’

When TIM brought you home Damian didn’t know that he even got a partner, he didn’t bother to think that Tim was capable of engaging in a romantic relationship with anyone, given how co-dependant he was with that stupid laptop of his.

Damian understood that Tim and himself didn’t have the best of relationship, it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly ideal for two people who were meant to be considered ‘siblings’, but Damian didn’t want him to be mistreated by anyone regardless.

So when he began to take notice how you took care of Tim without it being overbearing or controlling in the slightest, you made sure he ate properly and took adequate rest whilst letting him uphold his responsibilities. You trusted Tim to take care of himself when you knew you were out of your element and he trusted you to keep ahold of his heart no matter what, and Damian could see that in the way you would boast about Tim as though he was gods gift to humanity; Which to you he very much was with a side order of sarcastic wit.

You reminded Tim that he was more then what he could give to other people, a lesson that Damian truly believed Tim needed to learn and if he learnt that through your relationship then that was good enough for him.

‘I didn’t know you were capable of being in a relationship.’ Damian told Tim and he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘Thanks Damian, much appreciated.’ He said sarcastically.

‘You didn’t let me finished Drake,’ Damian told him before continuing, ‘however I’m…glad that you found someone who makes you sees your worth.’

Tim smiled softly. ‘Thanks Damian.’

When DICK brought you home, Damian was quick to follow you throughout your visit to the manor in hopes of getting a good gauge of your character, he valued Dick as his brother and wasn’t just about let him date anyone he decided to pick up from the side of the street one day on a whim.

Damian wasn’t exactly trusting towards you at first -despite the many stories Dick had told him about you- genuinely thinking that by next week Dick would’ve dumped you and bring home another one of his short lived romances, and seeing as how commitment wasn’t exactly a thing Dick was well known for. So he wasn’t expecting much to come out of your visit but when he saw just how happy Dick was with you, holding your hand, practically glued to your side and just acting like an human version of a puppy dog whenever he was with you it was almost sickening; well it was but you get the point.

Not once did Damian see Dick’s adoring eyes wander from you, he was completely entranced by anything and everything you said as though it was gospel. You both were the epitome of lovesick and Damian didn’t know whether he should be happy that it seems as though Dick found someone whom he could be genuine with and no be judged, or be grossed out by how much pda you do.

It was a tossup between the two but Damian found himself gaining some form of respect for you throughout the day and soon would in your corner for most of your playful disagreements.

‘Oh come on Damian, you’ve barely known my partner for a day and now all of a sudden your pally pally?’ Dick whines as Damian stood by your side.

‘So? It’s obvious they’re the one in charge of this relationship.’ Damian replied and you could’ve busted out laughing at Dick’s expression afterwards.

[disillusioneddanny]

If It Makes You Happy (then why the hell are you so sad?)

Tim took a bite of his ravioli and looked around the table at his family. It was Sunday dinner. A monthly tradition where every member of the family adopted or otherwise came to spend a few hours together. It didn’t matter who was arguing with whom, or how estranged from the family you were at the time. You still had to attend the monthly family dinner. However, there were times when Tim wondered if anyone would notice if he stopped attending. If he no longer came to the dinners where he sat mostly unnoticed by the rest of his family. Where he typically sat in silence, having not uttered a single word throughout the entire event. Would they ever realize he was gone? Did they even realize he was there in the first place? 

A part of Tim truly doubted it, if he was being completely honest with himself. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to share with the family his upcoming exhibit. 

Tim was in his fourth year of college. Where he was getting a degree in Art, Technology, and Culture. It was a major that allowed Tim to immerse himself in photography, video art, creative coding, and so much more. He had gotten to work in traditional analog and digital photography. Played around with film and art in ways he had never thought of before while also learning about cultural theory, the expression of ideas, and cultural practices which gave him the chance to truly discover himself. It was the first time he had ever chosen something for himself. 

His entire life he had been groomed to run a business. To at first take over Drake Industries one day and then later Wayne Enterprises where he was unfortunately CEO. But then he had learned about the ATC program at Gotham University and he had fallen in love with it.  He had always been obsessed with photography and even film later on as he grew older and spent his days alone in dusty old Drake Manor. And he had always loved to learn about cultures, he ate up the stories from his parents and their trips abroad. Had spent countless nights watching the people of Gotham and how they did things, and had absorbed it all like a sponge to make up for the fact that he was just a lonely boy living in a manor by himself. 

Even when he had joined the Bats and had made his tiny little place with them, he still fell back on his love for learning about others and his desire to tell their stories. It had just become an intrinsic part of Timothy Drake. 

And now here he was, slowly creeping to the finish line. He had his senior showcase coming up. A requirement for all students who were receiving a bachelor of fine arts. He was to show off all of his best work from the last four years. It was a chance for him to show everything he had learned, and to display his work with pride. 

He had toyed with the idea of inviting everyone to it. To let them see the love that Tim had cultivated over the last four years. He was set to graduate in just a few months and the pride he felt for himself was tremendous. And if Tim invited the Wayne family to his senior showcase, then maybe they could come to his college graduation and share the achievement with them then too. 

It was a big time in Tim’s life and he wanted to share it with them. 

He listened as a lull came in the conversation and carefully cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the others. 

“I have a senior showcase this weekend for my BFA. It’s at six in the evening in the Wayne Arts Center on Gotham Campus. I would be happy to see you all there,” he said hesitantly, eyes firmly trained on his plate of food. 

“That sounds nice, Tim. I’ll try to be there,” Bruce said politely before going back to his conversation with Jason and Dick. Tim felt eyes on him, though, and slowly looked up to find his little brother giving him a curious look. 

“What?” He asked, still trying to calm his heart just a bit. He still wasn’t sure why he came to these things, why he was even here. Just talking to the Waynes gave him anxiety. Just being here reminded him how much he didn’t belong. How other he was compared to the rest of the kids that Bruce had adopted? 

Damian tilted his head to the side. “I was not aware that you were getting your Bachelor's in Fine Arts. Will you tell me about your degree program? I have been thinking about getting an Art History degree but have been torn between that and a business degree.”

Tim gave him a small smile and rested his chin on his hand as he started to tell Damian all about his degree and how he was enjoying the program at Gotham University. The rest of the family went on to their own conversations while Damian listened with rapt attention to Tim describing the ATC program at Gotham U. 

The rest of the week was a whirlwind as he prepared for his senior showcase, he had sent out invitations to everyone he wanted to come see his work. The Team had already made a reservation to take Tim to lunch before the showcase before helping him get everything ready. And as the day came to be, they had made good on their word, taking him to his favorite Vietnamese restaurant in Gotham before taking him to the gallery. He blushed as he listened to his three best friend gush over his artwork, as they listened to him explain each piece. They asked questions and made remarks about what their favorite pieces were and even tried to buy a few pieces only for Tim to promise to give each of them prints of his photos. 

The three had left with quick goodbyes, each one giving Tim a hug and congratulating him before they made their way from the gallery. The rest of the evening dragged on as people came by and asked Tim about his photos and the small films that played on the movie screen on one wall. He smiled and explained each photo to anyone who asked. He had wanted to showcase his vigilante photos of the bats and birds but it had been too much of a risk to do so. 

Instead he had shown off his photos that showcased all of his favorite parts of Gotham. From the beautiful gothic architecture, the gargoyles that looked out over the city. He showed the photos from the last time Ivy had thrown a fit in Robinson Park and covered the entirety of the grounds with flowers. He showed the pictures of community from Crime Alley and the beauty of the strength of Gothamites who had managed to survive the worst of the worst. 

He also featured pictures of his family, of Dick hanging from a chandelier, of Damian training Titus to do a trick. He had a picture of Bruce, Alfred, and Jason sitting side by side as they each read a different book. One showed Cass as she posed for the camera in her favorite ballet form. They were some of his most treasured memories, there for everyone to see and enjoy. Tucker between the one of Damian and the one of Dick was a photo of Tim. He had taken forever to set up the camera and get the timer right. Alfred had simply chuckled the entire time as he continued to offer to take the picture for Tim but no one was meant to be behind the camera for that picture. It was the only family portrait of his entire family. Cass, Damian, Tim, Dick, Jason, Bruce, Alfred, they all sat smushed into a single couch together, wide smiles and laughs on each of their faces as Tim beamed from the far side, leaning into Alfred’s side. 

The gallery was meant to showcase culture that was important to Tim. To showcase the life that he loved and treasured. And even if he never felt like he quite fit in the Wayne Family, even though he knew that he was the expendable one, the replacement, he still treasured his family. It was why he had invited them, he had wanted them to see just how important they were to Tim. And maybe they would realize he was important to them too.

Only, the rest of the evening seemed to drag on, and not a single person from his family ever stepped through the door. He waited, shoulders tensed and smile polite. Every bit the gentleman that Janet Drake had trained him to be as he stood with his hands clasped in front of him. He kept glancing at the clock, waiting for Bruce or Dick or someone to walk through the doors, to say hello and look at all the work that Tim had put in the last four years in college. The hours ticked by until it was nearing ten pm and the gallery started to clear out, custodians came in and started to clean up around him. 

Tim cast one final look at the doors before he turned to his photos and started to take one off of the wall. 

“Master Timothy! I am so sorry that we are late,” a voice said and Tim quickly to find Alfred and Damian walking through the doors of the gallery. A small smile spread on Tim’s face as Damian bound forward. 

“I apologize,” Damian said softly, staring up at Tim with disgruntled eyes. “I got into an argument with Father and then Titus scared Alfred the Cat and we spent the last three hours searching for that blasted cat and when we realized the time we came straight here,” he said. “What did the others think of your exhibit?”

Tim’s smile fell and he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “They uh, they didn’t show up,” he said quietly. “But if you’d like, you guys are the last ones to show up. I’d love to show you everything.”

Alfred’s face fell at that as he stepped forward and clasped a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “That is their loss, my dear boy. I would love to see your work,” he said. Before he could stop himself, Tim pulled Alfred in for a tight hug, burying his face in the old butler’s chest as he held him close. 

“Thank you,” he whispered before pulling away. He glanced down at Damian and smiled. “How about I show you my work and then if my advisor is still here you can meet her and talk to her about the ATC program.”

The fourteen-year-old nodded his head once. “I would appreciate that,” he said before grabbing Tim’s hand hesitantly. He followed quietly as Tim showed them his pictures of Gotham, explaining the stories behind each one before he showed them his favorite pictures. His pictures of home and both men let out soft gasps as they looked at them. 

“Master Timothy, these are beautiful,” Alfred said, stepping forward to take in the picture of him, Bruce, and Jason. 

“The lighting for this is amazing, I did not know that I even smiled like that,” Damian said softly as he took in the picture of him smiling at Titus. 

“Oh Tim,” Alfred said quietly, losing all strict politeness that Alfred held so dear to his heart as he took in the family portrait. “This is amazing, Timothy. So absolutely perfect. I remember when you took this photograph. It was right after Thanksgiving dinner last year.”

“I was so irritated, Todd had gotten mashed potatoes in my hair,” Damian said with a huff, a small smile tugged on his face. 

“I did not even realize that Master Richard and Master Jason were hugging in this picture,” Alfred said, a soft smile sti on his face as he took in the way Dick had his arms wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, a wide smile on his face as he laughed at something Jason had said. A small smile sat on Jason’s face, his eyes brighter than Tim had seen since the older man had come back from the dead. 

Alfred tore his eyes from the picture. “How much?” he asked. 

Tim blinked. “What?”

“How much for the picture?” Alfred asked him, turning back to the family portrait. 

“For you?” Tim asked, blinking again in surprise. “Free of charge, considering it a thank you for coming to my senior showcase.”

“I would like this one of Titus and me,” Damian piped up. “It would be lovely on my desk in my bedroom.”

Tim sniffed, his chest tightening slightly. “I would be more than happy to give you both the original copies.”

“Timothy,” Alfred said, turning back to Tim, that soft, kind, smile on his face once again. “I am so incredibly proud of you.”

The vigilante’s eyes burned furiously. “I-I thank you,” he said, a soft sob slipped out of his mouth before small arms wrapped around him. Damian hugged him tight, his face pressed against Tim’s chest. 

“I am so sorry that our family forgot to come to your showcase, Timothy,” he said stiffly. “You are incredibly talented and it is their loss for missing out on this.”

Tim pressed a hand to Damian’s back, feeling tears building behind his eyes that threatened to spill over. “Thank you,” he whispered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before he looked around and spotted his advisor. “There’s Professor Maheshawen. She’s my advisor. We can go talk to her and you can ask your questions, okay?”

Damian nodded and pulled away carefully, smoothing down the front of his sweater before he followed after Tim to meet his professor. Leaving Alfred to continue staring at the pictures with a kind smile on his face.

Alfred Pennyworth looked at the smiles on his charges faces and let out a breath. One of these days, Bruce and the others would realize just how important Timothy was to their family, how he was the one who held them all together. He only hoped that they would not realize that lesson too late in life. At the very least, Damian was now starting to understand just how wonderful Timothy Drake was. 

[eternalera]

i think people are underestimating how exactly yuuji must've been feeling when megumi got possessed by sukuna cause like, everyone is underestimating yuuji's whole dynamic with megumi and how strong it is. like this is gonna be from a shipping stand point but like even then. its so prominent throughout the manga cause like

imagine you ate a crust dusty demon finger to save this one guy just because but then turns out you werent supposed to do that and now that you did youre gonna get executed but this guy asks his extremely powerful teacher (*cough* FATHER FIGURE *cough* sorry what?) to save your dumbass and then later on down the line you get killed at a detention center in front of him and learn that he didnt have a reason for saving you he just thought that you were a good person and because of that he didnt want you to die. it was ultimately selfish but it was part of the reason why you ended up living. THEN you get brought back to life and youre back together again and youre hanging out and having fun and then BOOM you learn he has a sister thats been in a coma for a while and because of something that sister may or may not be dead sooner or later. then you go to some bridge or smth to fight off curses and you find him SLEEPING on the ground with another crusty ass demon finger in his hand and you think hes almost DEAD. then later on you figure it out that 'hey everything started happening because i ate that finger' and the demon in your head laughs at you because of it but youre all like but dont tell the guy who saved me please and the guy who saved you tells yours lesbian bestie about the finger and goes 'btw dont tell him please' ANYWAYS stuff happens shibuya the demon inside you ends up basically nuking entire ENTIRE city (possibly more) and youre all depressed and you got a pep talk from the rock but that doesnt really help you and then some depressed emo ass kid was sent to kill you and skip forward and the same guy who saved you first then tells you not to take the blame for nuking the city all by yourself because he saved you and therefore he should also get some of the blame and he tells you how you shouldnt give up all by yourself. NOW TIMESKIP CAUSE THIS IS LONG anyways said guy has got attachment issues and doesnt wanna be separated from you and anyways NOW HES BEING POSSESSED BY THE DEMON THAT WAS IN YOU!!?!??!?

like i they went through ALL of that shit- i dont think people understand just how much these two went through together like. of course yuuji isnt giving up on him.

have you seen those two? they have attachment issues

[stxrvel]

closer

summary: reader has had many losses in her life, and when she meets Bucky she thinks she's found the one, until life proves otherwise.

pairing: bucky barnes x avenger!f!reader

words: 4k

warnings: some bad words and angst? also some miscommunication, past trauma, reader letting her past dominate her out of fear, a somewhat slow and indecisive Bucky, no happy ending.

note: i was in front of the computer all day thinking about what i could write, looking for information from everywhere, and this is what finally came out. it's almost three o'clock in the morning. i think i definitely write after midnight. let me know what you think of this piece, i'm not quite sure how it came out. i'll be happy to read your comments tomorrow, feedback is always appreciated! for now, i'm going to rest! love you all and thank you for reading!! <3

there's no part two

You were being indifferent. You were trying to be indifferent. Bucky would talk to you only to talk about the missions, about the objectives and about trivial things like the weather, and you were trying to be indifferent. You'd been on that mission for a week, and you were failing terribly. Sometimes you were so dry when you responded to him that he just frowned at you with a confused look on his face. It was awful. You had never been through so much grief than when he asked you if you were okay, in front of the rest of the group.

Maybe you should put that act aside and start dealing with what was really important.

You were in love with Bucky Barnes.

And well, that should be normal. Innocent. Warm. But the truth was, you were afraid to acknowledge those feelings. You wanted to forget them, reject them and never have them around again. Or maybe you could let them out. Let the receiver of the message know what was going on and maybe with the rejection you could move on. But no, you were too afraid. You had clung too tightly to people throughout your life and that had never ended well. And yet, despite all the sadness and disappointments, you were still walking through life with your heart in your hand.

Not learning from the mistakes of your past had led you to where you were. You always thought you were making the best decisions, you were guided by that feeling, but those decisions had led you down a lousy path.

Bucky was talking. His lips were moving and from his throat came the words you weren't hearing. It had become a habit to get so lost in your thoughts that you lost yourself entirely from reality. It had cost you a couple of wake-up calls before, and now, seeing Bucky's expression, it looked like you were going to get another one.

Many of those days, you wished you could go back to the way everything was in the beginning, before your heart and your loneliness intruded on the equation. When you shared pleasant chats with Bucky, when you were a perfect duo on missions, when you ate in silence in the big kitchen of the Complex, when he accompanied you in the evenings to watch movies.

Everything was so much easier when you stayed away from people sentimentally, when you didn't want to see them more often, when you didn't want to tell them every single thing that happened in your day, when your heart didn't race just because your looks collided, when you didn't openly want to have someone's company in the solitude of the nights. Your life was so much easier when you didn't compromise with your feelings, and life had shown you that. You had been living well for months, alone, even when you came to the team and a couple of months later everything was fine. You didn't really know at what point things started to deteriorate.

“That's it,” the man in front of the table dismissed the rest of the team and kept his gaze on yours, as if that way he could keep you sitting quietly. And it was working. You hated that it did.

When the last person left the room and it was just you and Bucky inside the room, it seemed like the walls got a lot smaller around you.

“Are you okay?” he was the first to speak.

“Yeah, sure, why?”

“It's seemed to me that you've been a little distracted these days.”

“No, no, not at all, I'm fine.”

“If you need to talk to someone…” Bucky paused, his gaze flitting across the place, and your heart leaping wildly in your chest, “…I think Sam's making small talk.”

Ah.

“Ah, I see,” you mused, trying to keep your tone normal, “Thank you.”

“Let me know when you do, and you'll be back in the field.”

“What?”

Bucky stopped at your exclamation, pausing halfway to the door. His brow was furrowed and you were sure his confused look matched yours.

“Didn't you hear everything I said earlier?”

You avoided his gaze. You had told him not long ago that you weren't being distracted and of course that lie was going to come back to you soon.

Bucky sighed, his shoulders languid at his sides. His medium-length hair fell over his eyes as he ducked his head, and with his right hand he rubbed his eyes. You missed when you allowed yourself to share smiles with him, which now seemed like distant memories from other lives.

Only when he looked at you again did you realize the weariness that dominated his face.

“You're not going on missions for a while,” he finally said, and you were about to protest when he added, “Direct order from Fury.”

“Bucky-”

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but I can't risk your safety or the safety of the team or the mission because you're not well now.”

“I'm fine. I swear!”

“You're not.”

You snort. “You only see a quarter of what I do on a daily basis.”

“And that's enough to know that Fury made the right decision.”

“What the hell do you people know about right decisions?” you muttered angrily to yourself, turning your head away.

“What did you just say?” Bucky turned back entirely, his face much more disgruntled than before.

Fuck. You'd forgotten he had good hearing.

“Just… Just leave it at that. It's okay. I'll let you know when I talk to Sam.”

You took a deep breath before standing up and matching the path of the man in front of you. His frown was still furrowed, his tense posture a clear indication that he wasn't exactly pleased with what you had said. You were close enough to catch the scent of his shampoo, but not too close to be able to decipher what was going through his head. You were never too close.

“Anything else to say?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, you couldn't decide if because of your closeness or because of how coarse your words came out, as they always did for the last couple of days.

“No.”

And without further ado, he left the room.

---

As much as you wanted to get back in the field, get back to having missions and serving for something on the team, you couldn't find the strength within yourself to talk to Sam. Maybe because he was an acquaintance and it would be weird to tell him everything you were carrying and then pretend nothing had happened. You were too self-aware to be able to do that. It also came into play that it had been almost years since you last came clean with someone, and that didn't really go well. Talking to Sam, at that time, for you, was not the solution.

Maybe the only solution was to sort out your feelings for Bucky. That was what kept you on edge. That was what made you question the life you had formed over the past few years. In any other situation or time in your life, surely a man would not move you so much; however, you knew you were facing a situation you could not repeat. That you did not want to repeat.

The stark reality of the feelings you had for him was like a dagger to the heart, because you felt you had finally found a place where you belonged, where you could be; you felt you had found a home. But it was hard to live in a place like that without making a sentimental commitment to the people around you, and you knew it. You'd only fallen easily for Bucky because…. fuck, he was so caring, so thoughtful, so kind. On the outside he looked like he wanted everyone around him to disappear, but it only took you a couple of chats to understand that he really did have a big, welcoming heart.

The reality of your feelings was the end of you, because it was something you couldn't afford. You couldn't go on living there if you didn't fix that soon. You couldn't risk it again.

“Hey.”

Speaking of…

“Hi.”

Your stoic reply made him turn his head.

You were in the kitchen, sunk deep in thought in a strange calm, when Bucky showed up after three days without seeing him. You knew they had been on a mission, Natasha had told you some things. Internally, you were glad to see that they had arrived without any complications. You were glad to see that Bucky was okay.

“How are you?”

“All good.”

“You sure?”

“Why do you ask?”

You turned your gaze from your now cold coffee to the clear eyes of the man who had pulled a bottle of water from the cooler.

“Just curious.”

Hold on. Don't see beyond what he shows you.

You sighed before replying, “If what you really want to know is if I've talked to Sam, the answer is no.”

“Why?”

You picked up the white cup in front of you and absentmindedly began stirring the liquid inside it.

“I don't think I'd feel comfortable talking to him.”

You felt Bucky move around the kitchen, until he came to the island where you were sitting and sat down across from you with his bottle. You looked up to meet his blue eyes focused directly into yours. He had such a deep gaze that, for a moment, you almost allowed yourself to think beyond what he was giving you. For a second, you felt like you were in a space that was too intimate.

“And who would you feel comfortable talking to?”

You.

You hated that you didn't even need less than a second to think about it. You had the answer so clear it hurt…..

“What?”

You looked at his eyes and raised eyebrows. Fuck.

“Did I say it out loud?”

“Yeah...”

You growled in frustration. You ran your hands through your hair as Bucky spoke again, “I didn't think you held me in such high regard.”

“Really?”

“You barely even look at me lately.”

That was true. But it was for your sake. It was all for your sake. Or at least that's what you wanted to convince yourself of. You'd rather think that than the fact that your limbs ached just from wanting to get closer to him in the middle of his everyday, when he came back injured from missions and you wanted to help him heal his wounds because you knew enough to be a nurse, or help him release tension when he got too stressed out because something went wrong on a mission or they lost track of someone. You just wanted to be a person who could be present in his life. Who could be close. Closer.

“It's because I'm going through something right now.”

“And that something is my fault?”

You pursed your lips. Maybe.

“No.”

Bucky let out a short laugh.

“Those eyes say otherwise.”

“Is there something pointed you want to know, Bucky?”

“Argh,” the man twisted his expression, as if in weariness, and turned his head away. “There's that coldness again.”

You hardened your gaze as much as you could, even though all you wanted to do was let go of the string of thoughts eating away at your head; even though you just wanted to use those arms as a sheet at night so you could sleep in a safe place.

“Okay. I'm sorry,” Bucky held up his hands, retracting under your gaze. “I'd like to know, if like you said you'd rather talk to me than Sam, what's been keeping you beside yourself the last few days?”

Mmm, tough question. You took a deep breath trying to think of a quick answer, but it was difficult having his watchful eye on every millimeter of your face. Would it be too bad to tell the truth? Your past experiences said yes, but… what if it was different with him? It had been too long, he could not be the same as the others…

You shouldn't, the rational part of your brain repeated alarmingly, but he seemed so willing to truly listen to you that you couldn't pass up the opportunity. You didn't want to.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was the end of your cycle of bad luck and bad death that had haunted and burdened you for as long as you could remember. Maybe Bucky was the start of something new.

At least you hoped so. You were trying to convince yourself.

“I do what I do because I've lost too many people to give up now. Fury found me in a pot, a city where there was nothing but chaos and hopelessness. I was trying to make things different, I wanted my hope to be enough to be able to remove the evil from the hearts of the people who hurt. But no, it was not enough. And I began to work alone because all the people who got too close to me died or decided to leave on their own, they abandoned me. I was too much to bear. The life I was leading was too much.

My mother died in a raid on my house. She was the first victim of my enemies' revenge. I thought that was enough pain a person could go through in a lifetime, but the deaths didn't stop. And sometimes I didn't know if it was worse that someone died because of me, or that my last memory of them was a look of contempt and their hateful words towards me like I was in some shit they didn't have to put up with or that I was draining their vitality, among many other things.

And the truth is, that has happened so many times that I don't even try to maintain relationships with people anymore. Any kind of relationship. And every time I feel like that's going to happen, I have to leave, because I can't stand the pain of a death or a disappointment anymore. When a person leaves, willingly or unwillingly, it's not something you get used to as time goes by. Loneliness is good, but too much of anything is bad. And even though after a while you long for the company, you know you can't risk it once again because everything is at stake. Those are already things that are way beyond me, that I wish I could control, but I can't.”

You loved and hated the way those words had rolled out of your mouth like butter. It had been a while since you had been that honest with someone, because that last person had walked out on you. After listening to you, after telling you that you could lean on their shoulder when you needed it, that person left as if they weren't breaking a promise; as if they hadn't taken a big chunk of your hope with them; as if they hadn't ripped out a little bit of that hope you still held in your heart.

And you hoped that with Bucky it would be different, because you believed that the two of you were meeting at a common ground through the darkness of your minds. From the beginning, Bucky had proven to be different. Even from before you suspected that he already knew what you had been through, because he often tiptoed around you. Bucky was not a distracted person, he was someone extremely intelligent and definitely someone who knew which people he could and could not relate to. He couldn't be the same as everyone else, because you knew he could understand you.

Or so you wanted to believe.

Bucky's eyes moved over the marble of the island, his lips half-opened and his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. You had been so sure about talking about it with him that you hadn't even given it a second thought, but if he went a few more seconds without responding, you would begin to regret it and devise an escape plan.

You wished you were a little closer to him so you could dare to ask what was going on in his head.

“Wow, that was…”

“Too much?”

“Deep, rather.”

You forced your lips into a smile, avoiding his clear eyes now that he had lifted his head and seemed to have organized his thoughts.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

“No. No, it's okay. You needed to get that out. Mmm, how do you feel now?”

You hated the way he seemed to be testing the waters when it came to addressing you after everything you just said. Before he was always sure of what he was saying. What could have changed so quickly? Could it be that you were really wrong? No, that couldn't be.

“Pretty much the same.”

“Oh, I see. But do you think you can improve from now on?”

“Well, it's a problem of years. I doubt I can solve much with a little talk.”

“Ah, yes, of course, you're right.”

Bucky folded his hands together on the countertop, his gaze now avoiding yours and entering a tense silence.

“So…” Bucky spoke a couple of seconds later, “…at this point you feel like that? Like you developed one of those relationships with someone and now you want to run away?”

“Yes,” you answered almost instantly, because there was no reason really to hide it. You had already been crudely honest, so what was the point in continuing to lie?

“With whom?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe we could find a solution.”

“I doubt it.”

You narrowed your eyes as Bucky pursed his lips. You'd been through too much throughout your life, and one thing you'd definitely learned was how to read people. With so many disappointments and betrayals, you had to learn to identify a person's true intentions, and nothing else screamed intentions more than body language. You could identify when someone was comfortable with you, when they trusted you, and also when they were uncomfortable with your presence.

“And I think you doubt it too,” you added, after a couple of seconds watching him.

“Why do you say that?”

“You don't need me to tell you who I was referring to. I think you already know.”

“What?”

“You can do with that information what you want. Time will give me the answer.”

“Y/N…”

You stood up and walked out of the kitchen as if you hadn't just opened your heart to that man, your brow raised and your breathing deep. It seemed that in the end you weren't close enough to know the truth, and you couldn't be close enough in the future either.

---

A week went by and time kept proving you right. Bucky took a mission the day after your talk and still hadn't returned. You had begun to worry, but you didn't dare ask anyone on the team. You couldn't afford to be so obvious at such critical times.

However, asking could give you the last piece of information you needed to make a decision.

Because you still had a little bit of hope. You still hoped that Bucky would appear through one of the doors of the Complex to tell you that he understood, that he appreciated your honesty, and that he could walk that long road with you. You still hoped you were wrong, because you couldn't have made such a big mistake again. You couldn't have opened the doors of your mind to someone who was going to leave you because it was too much.

But as the hours passed you only confirmed that you weren't good enough for someone to stay by your side. You just weren't enough, you weren't worth the effort. Not even for someone like Bucky, who was one of the kindest and most condescending person you had ever met.

So you'd read it all wrong, and even though you were honest, you couldn't even come up with an answer.

But you preferred to get the doubt out of your mind at once, even if it threw you overboard.

Wanda Maximoff was in the control room when you arrived. No one else was there.

“Hey.”

She flipped over the chair and returned your greeting with a small smile.

“What brings you here?”

“Do you know how Bucky's mission is going?”

“Bucky's?”

Wanda frowned and promptly moved across the room to one of the computers where she typed rapidly. You shifted your legs in anticipation, shifting your weight trying to cope with your nerves.

“Bucky is… on an indefinite.”

“Indefinite?”

“Yes, it says so plainly. It was with Sam and Natasha. We don't have a date yet.”

Wanda watched you over her shoulder, and your expression had to have told her something because she quickly got up from her chair with a frown.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you replied automatically, regaining power over your emotions. You sent her a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Wanda.”

You barely and paced for a few seconds with bated breath when you heard her call out to you.

When your eyes met hers, you didn't like what you saw at all.

“You're leaving?”

“Stay out of my head.”

You turned around and ran to your room.

Of course you did. Of course you were going to leave. What the fuck did you expect from the talk with Bucky? That you could suddenly have a happy ending with a person who seemed to care about you? You should never have taken that job in the first place. You always knew it was a big risk, but Fury assured you that you could continue working on your own without getting too involved with others. The problem was when you thought you were past the feelings stage, that you could surround yourself with people without getting involved.

How fucking wrong you were.

You didn't take long to pack a suitcase. You didn't bother to write a letter of resignation either. Before you took the job, you told the Director that you were likely to one day just leave. That you would disappear. And he agreed to that. So you weren't going to bother with goodbyes, with absolutely nothing. You were going to carry that suitcase to a cab and leave without looking back. Because that was what you always did, for your sake, because it was the right thing to do, because you couldn't afford to take risks after so much suffering.

At that moment, as you packed the few things you had, you felt every memory of every abandonment and death come back to your head, filling you with fear and insecurity. Of sadness and anger. You didn't know how you had allowed yourself to go so far when you knew you shouldn't have, that this life was not for you, that these feelings were not meant for you to experience, that you didn't deserve to have a life like this. You allowed yourself to dream, but at the end of the day it was just that, a dream.

When you left the Complex, you took a cab directly to the airport. On the way, you were tempted too many times to ask the driver to turn back, thinking that maybe it was a hasty decision, that maybe you should wait for him to come back. But an indefinite mission could last weeks, even months, and you couldn't be on tenterhooks for so long only to get the same old answer at the end. You didn't want to risk it. The cost was too high.

It was better to root out those feelings while they were still fresh, and never allow them to grow again.

---

Bucky returned from his mission two weeks later and the first thing he did was run around looking for you in every corner of the Complex until he decided to go to your room. Seeing the empty closets made his heart sink.

“She's gone,” a female voice spoke behind him.

Wanda was leaning against the door frame.

“She thought you weren't coming back and left.”

“No…”

“I know it was wrong for me to snoop around in her head, but I had a feeling that would happen. I thought I could avoid it. But her thoughts were too ingrained. She was fighting uncontainable fear. Nothing I would have said would have convinced her to stay.”

Bucky turned to look at the empty closets, not a hint that you had ever been there. If it weren't for Wanda, the man would already be thinking you were just a figment of his imagination.

“Sorry, Bucky.”

“Fuck. Damn it!”

Sitting on what had been your bed, Bucky kept thinking that the worst thing he could have done was to take that mission in Steve's stead, thinking he'd get there soon, thinking that way he could get his head together before talking to you again. But things got complicated and what was a two-day mission turned into a three-week mission.

Maybe he should have sought you out before he left instead of letting his thoughts eat away at him. Maybe he should have insisted a little more, should have come a little closer...

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): The Composer [28]

My favorite analogy to use in times of uncertainty comes from my dad. He once told me, "We're just two little frogs on a lone lily pad, floating down some hidden bayou in the swamps of New Orleans, Ducks. And that's okay, because at least we have each other."

It stuck with me throughout most of my life. When the depression was really rough, when the anxiety hit its peak, I'd scribble that line in notebooks. In pencil on my walls, erase the words when I felt whole again. Etch it onto my arm in pen, then scrub away at my skin for hours in the shower that same night.

For that reason, I feel like we can attach ourselves not only to people, but to words too. Which is why I find myself debating going and writing those words again and again and again in the emptiness of my apartment.

The week leading up to Ash's departure to Anaheim flew by. She and I unpacked, organized, and lazed about our home without seeing Sal, Larry, Todd, or Neil all that much.

That was fine, she and I preferred to figure things out on our own anyway.

The issue came with the moment Ash left in the early morning on Friday, after we'd had Sal and Larry over the night before.

I was left to my own devices, which meant all I could do was think about how much I've been drowning in myself. For months.

What's weighed on me most is Sal. I was never supposed to like him— it was never supposed to be more than simple attraction. I feel like I've failed myself and dragged Sal into something he wants nothing to do with. Feeling this way seems so cruel. He's his own person, he has his own shit to deal with. Why did I let it get this far?

For the entire day, I've sat here and told myself— scolded myself— that I need to calm things down and I need to get over this. Not just for me, but for him. Situationships, friends with benefits... those types of things do not end in relationships. They don't turn into happily ever afters. Me and Sal are nothing alike— I wouldn't even dare consider a relationship but if my feelings go far enough, I just might start to.

There needs to be some separation for myself. I need to put some distance, but I just don't want to. I genuinely like being around him.

Oh, this is such a clusterfuck.

I lay on me and Ash's couch, staring out of the huge windows that lead to the balcony as the sun goes down. It's evening. The silence is loud around me, messes with my senses. I keep thinking I see things out of the corner of my eye and every creak or crack of people moving around above or below me sets my heart racing.

Ash informed me that she'd be back by tomorrow morning, which is fine. I streamed for a few hours, ate dinner, then did some shopping to snuff out my Sal-centered thoughts, and then the unsettling quiet. I just didn't realize how anxious I'd get about being here alone once the moon took the sun's place in the sky. 

It's not my first time being alone. When I lived with dad, I was alone most of the time. But this apartment is still unfamiliar to me. Being in a new place that doesn't quite feel like a home yet is perturbing. 

The sky grows a little too dark for my liking, so I grab the remote and turn on the TV, flinching when the volume startles me. Anything to suffocate the silence that lurks around the dark corners of this room though.

I glance over my shoulder, making eye contact with the dark hallway that looks back at me. Shadows dance around the edges of the vignette, mocking my fear. I'm worried that if I watch for too long, I may really see something staring back.

And I thought my tiny, barely there feelings for Sal were scary. All that needs to be done to reset my mind is put me in an empty room, I guess.

Turning my gaze back to the TV, I try to focus on The Crow. All the gothic notes and emotional aspects try to distract me... but I quickly learn that even my favorite movie and Brandon Lee's ethereal beauty can't steal me from reality.

I'm restless. I can't stay here a moment longer.

Sighing, I sit up and gaze at the hardwood floor. Dad's not home-- I could go back to my old apartment, but that's a fifteen minute drive. That's a last resort. I would go to Todd and Neil's, but they're over in San Francisco to watch Todd's favorite musical. 

That leaves me with Larry. 

Can I bear to be in Sal's presence with all the turmoil in my head? I don't know, but I can't figure it out until I try. Not to mention, knowing him, he'll be locked up in his room anyway.

Me and Sal's conversation last week made me feel a bit more secure. I know things can continue the way they have been and I don't have to worry about anything else, I just have to work on getting past exactly how much I feel now. The fact that we had to had to have that conversation at all is embarrassing-- even if he told me that it was okay. It feels so stupid to me now that it's all over. It feels even more ridiculous that I apparently haven't learned a thing and still want to put distance between us.

I stand up and grab my keys from the kitchen counter before shutting off the TV. Then, I'm out the front door like a bat out of hell. The quiet was overpowering me-- having such a big place is so eerie when it's just me.

In my diluted panic, I make it to Sal and Larry's apartment in record time-- hoping and praying that they'll let me stay.

I pick up my pace once I reach their floor, bounding up to the door and knocking. Each corner feels like it's leering, hiding evil that lurks everywhere I go. It's unbearable and I just can't be alone.

That, or maybe some depraved part of me just wants to Sal.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I tap my foot against the carpeted floor and try to pretend that I've got it together. I do anything to get rid of the adrenaline rushing through me. Readjust my mask, pick at invisible lint on my shirt, crack all of my fingers, look up and down both sides of the hallway stretching around me. It feels like I wait for hours even though it's merely seconds until the door opens.

My eyes snap upward, gazing into the eyeholes of Sal's prosthetic. He holds it against his face with a hand, the straps dangling at the sides. It's clear I've caught him off guard.

"Vi?" He asks, tone suggesting he's both confused and alert by my sudden presence. I watch him glance down the hallway the same way I just did. 

When he looks back at me, he has an eyebrow raised inquisitively. 

"Uh," I choke out, remembering that I kind of have to tell him why I'm here. "Is Larry here? I wanted to hang out. The, um, silence is... loud." I rush to explain myself, knowing full well that I don't have to explain myself to anyone.

But Sal looks like he gets it though, his gaze softening in understanding as the words leave me. 

"Larry isn't here," He tells me forthright. My heart drops at the news. "He went to Anaheim with Ash. Didn't she tell you?"

I hum bashfully, embarrassed at myself and the circumstances as I shake my head.

"Sorry for bothering," I say with a sigh, trying to hype myself up to brave the quietude and darkness.

A beat of tense silence passes between us as I build up the mental strength, already feeling like I'm rotting in the lonely apartment back upstairs. 

Then, Sal mutters, "You can stay if you want, so long as you don't mind me practicing. And don't make me regret inviting you in."

I watch him watch me, both of us hesitant and unsure. But what's more unbearable than being around him (which hasn't been all too bad lately) is being alone.

I clear my throat lightly then look down at my feet, nodding. "Okay, thanks."

I may come to regret this.

Sal leads me into the apartment, his slightly taller figure blurring as I take in the living room and kitchen I helped unpack just a week ago now. To replace all the boxes and uncertainty is a kind of clean organization that I just know Larry had nothing to do with.

Sal spruced up. It's orderly, uncluttered, and so him. It works because Larry isn't much different.

The climbing living room walls have various band, tour, and festival posters, records, guitars, a bass, signed drum covers. It's a metal-head's dream. There's just a little touch that screams 'this-is-the-house-of-a-streamer,' which happens to be the multi-colored LED's on the ceiling. But I'll give them a pass for that one.

Regardless, it's nice. And the kitchen, while not completely decked out, is doctor's office-level pristine.

I purse my lips, feeling a little apprehensive. This might be the first time Sal and I have been in each other's presence without a plan for sex or something related to it. We're just... hanging out. It's weird, but I'm desperate enough to put up with it at this point. 

Sal's out of my way already, settled on one of the black sofa's with his flashy red guitar nestled on his lap and a laptop in front of him. Oh, and the prosthetic is gone.

My eyes train onto his pretty face. With all of this moving, I've hardly been able to see it. As crazy as it is, it's kind of been killing me. This recent revelation of mine has led to this insatiable urge to look at him constantly. I thought it was bad before, when this was all just a meaningless crush, but now...

I swallow past my raging thoughts. I've had enough to think about today.

Following Sal's lead, I plop down onto the adjacent, larger sofa-- right in the middle of it. I stare at the dark television and subtly gaze around the room in search of a remote. I'll be damned if I sit here with him in silence like this. Once again, I would much rather hot box in a car full of Larry's tamale farts.

Sal's head tilts upward in my peripheral so I look at him. He looks at me, his azure eyes surveying me before leaning over to a little table between the sofa's. He grabs a remote, then an Xbox controller and tosses them to me.

"You can play something if you want. Just switch to HDMI 2," he offers, turning his attention back to his guitar, strumming a quiet note. His brows furrow and he bites down on his bottom lip, shakes his head lightly. Those hypnotizing cerulean locks fall past his shoulders and shield his handsome face from me. His hair has grown in the past few months, hanging at least an inch past his shoulder by now--

--and that is not the point of why I'm here.

I murmur a quick thanks and lean over to grab the controllers, switching on the TV and finding my way to Sal and Larry's shared console.

There's a selection of games on here, some I've played, others that are on my TBP list (like TBR, but instead of to-be-read, it's to-be-played).

I hover around the Resident Evil 4 remake. For the past few weeks, I've been telling myself I'm saving up for it. I brought it up to Ash a couple days ago and she gave me a funny look then proceeded to remind me that, with my streaming career, I have around $4,000 in my bank account right now. I don't need to save for once, I can just get it.

Except I panicked and said I have to keep all my money in case of an emergency... so having disposable income is still new to me and I have no idea how to handle it.

I click on the game, biting down the excited grin that tries to build on my face.

I start a new game and nearly crap myself, doing my fangirl job by raving over the updated graphics and Leon's lore-accurate hair color.

For about an hour, Sal and I don't even spare glances at each other. It's nice, chill-- just two... acquaintances... in each other's presence without having to talk to enjoy their company. I play RE4 and he strums away on his guitar. A couple times, I become entranced by the melody he plays. Each time he plays longer, it starts to come together. Around the second time he played more than a couple notes, I realized he was composing. Creating a tune. Whatever you want to call it. 

While a musician myself, I've mostly worked on covers of songs. I've only tried to write my own music a couple times and even then, I realized it was tough work. Watching Sal now-- how long it takes him to come up with all the notes and lengths for just one chord-- I do not envy him, but I do admire him. He's putting a lot of work into it, clicking away on his laptop when he finds something he likes.

Each second of him working on his music steals me away from my game though. I start getting antsy, missing infected people even if they're right in front of me in the game. Hell, I walked Leon into a wall two minutes ago.

I grit my teeth as I navigate through the village, heart beating out of my chest with every corner I turn because a horde of zombies is going to be on me any second now.

I need to be prepared, need to get all of these questions out of my head.

"You're making a song?" I ask Sal, staring at the screen in front of me with my knees pulled up to my chest.

Sal hums in acknowledgment, distracted by whatever he's messing with on the computer. "Yea. Has to do with that Twitter leak." His voice is soft, hoarse. I'm shocked he even answered me with how focused he is.

Ah, yea. That leak. Ash and I didn't hear from Sal or Larry for two days after they rushed out of our apartment. When they finally popped up yesterday to help us with some more unpacking, they briefly mentioned something about 'damage control' and 'whistleblowing bastards.' Don't know how that has anything to do with whistleblowing, but those were Larry's words, of course.

I nod lightly, dragging Leon to a ladder. "I take it you don't want to give me the drama on that leak?" I guess, stealing a glance his way. Damn his pretty hair and equally as pretty face.

As I'm glancing, he shrugs, bright eyes darting across his laptop. The color of his irises is enhanced by the blue light of the screen-- I hate him. "There's not much drama to give," he murmurs, clicking on something. Then, he sits back, his eyes snapping to me. "The leak was the bridge to this song. I've been fixing it up and messing around with it. I had a producer with me a couple weeks ago, he took a picture of my screen. The back of my head was in it and it inevitably got out. What are people supposed to think when this is the title?"

He flips the laptop to me and I lean forward, squinting my eyes to look at the screen. There's a lot of graphing and multicolored lines that look overwhelming as hell-- but I focus in on the bold words at the top of all the mess. "DAC COLLAB."

I pinch my lips together in a guilty smile. "Ah, so that's the mess. That fucking sucks," I tell him as he pulls the laptop back to him.

Tongue in cheek, he tilts his head to the side as if to say 'whatever.' He at least seems unbothered by the whole thing now. "It is what it is. It's going to be released at some point anyway. North was going to make an announcement next month when we'd made a little more progress. Damn asshole at that studio just did the job for us, I guess." He seethes a bit on the last sentence, brows pinching together. 

I hum contemplatively, eyes trailing over his hands as they press into his guitar before I look back at my game. "I wouldn't let it bother you too much. You still get to make the song, still profit from it."

A tiny grin pulls at Sal's lips. "True," he says nonchalantly. 

Silence builds around us, our conversation having fallen off rather than ending. We're still learning. Awkward moments have to come along here and there.

Doesn't stop me from getting killed within the following moments though. I'm so stressed about making things work with him and me... I shouldn't have started the damn game. 

"I'll make you a deal," Sal suddenly pipes up when I get mauled a second time.

Growling frustratedly to myself, I pause the game and turn to him, waiting for him to continue.

He shakes his hair out of his face, letting me see all of him. He sets his elbows on his knees, showing off the veins in his forearms and the map of tattoos that trail up his skin just to disappear beneath the sleeves of his shirt. 

I take a fortifying breath.

"Come listen to this and I'll help you past this part." He juts his chin toward the TV before looking back at me.

I shrug. Why not?

"Okay," I accept his proposal, scooting down the sofa toward where he is. His tattooed fingers type away on the keyboard before he turns the laptop so we can both see the screen.

"My taste is a little harder than what Dark Autumn Complex usually puts out, but I think we're getting somewhere," he tells me and for a moment, I wonder why he's trying to explain the music to me before I've even heard it. Is he nervous?

I simply nod my head. If I say something, he may get even more freaked out. I'm fighting for my spot on earth right now, man.

He presses the space bar then leans back, letting me listen.

I flinch when I hear the opening-- he wasn't kidding. It's similar to what the band usually does, but there's something sinister and death-metal-ish about the instrumentals. Sal seems to have a lot of control over the sound here. The double electric guitar, and heavy bass from a literal bass but drums too says enough. It's veering off the path that DAC usually takes.

Just because it's a little different doesn't mean it isn't damn good though. It's really good. Sal's cooking up a five course meal on his laptop here.

"Life slips by In the blink of an eye, Dripping through the gaps In my hand which saps This eternal time lapse Of brutality.

Prophesy each of my regrets; My mistakes chosen by the oracle. A fool making bets With possibilities so rhetorical."

I grin at the lyrics, at the sound, everything. I look over at Sal and he has a little smile on his face too, his expression so heavenly when his eyes meet mine. 

"This is--" I start to say, but Sal cuts me off.

"Shut up. Listen," he whispers. So I do.

"An artist of malice-- My muse of persuasion. Drink from my crimson chalice, Submit to the composer's pervasion.

Aren't we friends? This anguish and me. Gaze through the rose-tinted lens, Ignore the razor blade's sharp plea."

I blink, the smile falling from my lips in record time. Just days ago, Sal asked me that question. 'Aren't we friends?' There have been so many coincidences with this band. So many, in fact, that I genuinely thought Sal and North were the same person at one time.

There's more to this than what I've been told.

"You work close with them, don't you?" I ask, tuning out the rest of the song for now. If he tries to shut me up again, I'll shove a finger down his throat.

Sal doesn't look at me as he chews on the inside of his cheek. And-- wait... is he... blushing?

"Caught that, huh?" He asks, pausing the song but still refusing to look at me.

My eyes widen at his admission. "What exactly do you do with them?" I ask quickly, leaning back a little bit as a thousand and one theories pop into my head. Is he going to tell me that he is North? That he's been hiding behind that name all this time?

And if he is, would I finally tell him that I'm Lexi? 

If North is Sal, a lot of things are going to change.

Sal's tongue swipes along his bottom lip. "I write every single one of their songs," he says, nodding to himself. "They put it together, make music with it."

Oh. I got ahead of myself again.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as my body suddenly grows warm with shame. It's time I put that theory to rest. 

I furrow my brows though, thinking back on the lyrics. "Look," I start warily, "I don't want to seem full of myself or crazy or anything, but I swear--"

Sal shakes his head, his dimple forming on his cheek as a bashful smile grows on his lips. "You're not crazy. I hate that you correlated it, but... there are a few lyrics inspired by some of our interactions. When things make an impact on me, I usually incorporate them into my songs." Now it's my turn to blush. I need a moment to process, but, fuck, Sal keeps going. "For example, 'Wherein Christine Daaè Becomes Her Own Phantom' is about Ash. And then a couple lines in some other songs, like the one you heard in this one and 'Falling through like fingers in fishnets---' those were about you."

I gape at him. This genius made of multitudes and art and misery and physics. I don't know what to say, so I stupidly spit out, "Ash has an entire song about her? You gonna write one about me?"

As soon as the words come out, I narrow my eyes and internally scold myself. Not the time to joke, y/n. Not at all.

Sal strums a note on his guitar, in a completely different world as he mumbles, "Who says I haven't already?"

My head snaps to him and a full on, rainbow infested panic attack starts up. He was so serious, ditched all of his reservations when he said that.

At my silence, Sal glances up inquisitively. He takes one look at my face and his eyes widen a fraction. "I'm joking. You aren't that important for me to write a whole song about. Don't take it so seriously."

Do I snap at him for that or feel relieved?

I choose to glare at him instead and switch the subject. "North has a really nice voice," I say a bit too cheerily. Sal notices and I watch him stifle a petty laugh. "It's very melodic, goes well with the band's sound."

"Don't tell him that," Sal snorts, something a bit bitter taking the place of his previous amusement. "His ego's already huge as is."

Ash had some serious heat on North, and now Sal's looking like he has some not-so-good opinions too. Is North really so shady? What is it that everyone's so on edge about?

I recall the time Ash went on a rampage about North incessantly flirting with me and how she mentioned that he isn't exactly known for being in relationships, that he may not be what he portrays himself as.

Sal seems to be pretty open tonight. Maybe I can finally start to understand what the issue is.

I open my mouth but fail to get a word out. I contemplate saying anything at all, nerves consuming me at the prospect. But North isn't here, it's not like he's going to find out we talked about him.

"Is he really..." I start softly. "Ash hinted that he may not be the best person?" I settle on, peeking at Sal through my lashes.

Sal watches me, eyebrows drawing together and jaw working as he searches for what to say. I wait patiently, happy that he's at least thinking about answering me.

"Are you considering cutting off our arrangement to be with him?" He asks genuinely, nothing but seriousness portrayed in his expression.

All the air leaves my body. I hadn't thought about ending things with Sal for that reason, not even once. Plus, North and I haven't talked in a while. After Ash freaked out, I pretty much put the situation on the back burner. "No," I reply quietly. "It's just curiosity at this point."

Sal's expression softens and he blinks at me, holds me in his gaze before sighing heavily. "Everyone has their own shit to work through. He's no different. He has a lot of baggage though, lot of issues. He's told me a thousand times before that he doesn't think he'd be able to handle a relationship because of his problems." He pauses, grimacing as he fights for the right words, clearly not wanting to disrespect is friend. "North is a bit of a hit or miss. I can't predict how he'd be with you." 

He sends me a devilish look, teeth on display in a stunning smile as he adds, "Definitely can't tell you if the sex is good or not. He wouldn't let me hit."

I shake my head at him and roll my eyes, a blush forming on my cheeks. "I did not ask for that last bit," I tell him pointedly.

Sal chuckles, standing up from his spot on the opposite sofa to sit beside me. I watch him with questioning eyes, my body falling into a frenzy because, oh God, Sal's close. Arms. Tattoos. Fingers. Neck. Face. Teeth. Mouth. Hair. Veins. Ravenous. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

Yikes.

He grabs the controller I'd been playing Resident Evil with and that's when I remember that other half of our last minute agreement.

"Figured I'd give you one last little push to keep fucking me and not him," he says as if that statement holds no weight, gesturing toward me with the controller.

I hate when he says 'fuck' because it's always so unironically seductive. I know he's just playing around, but that glint in his eyes and the smirk-like tilt of his lips tries to tell me otherwise.

I snatch the controller from him and unpause the game, grumbling, "I already said I'm not interested in him."

I walk through all the steps I'd already done, having to restart the entire village scene due to my repeated fuck up from last round.

Sal doesn't reply to me, he watches every move I make on the screen and I focus as best as I can. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself, but I get wrapped up in the same exact spot again, fighting off more of the infected than I can handle.

Leon's body drops to the ground again and I stomp down the overwhelming urge to walk through the TV screen and beat Leon's dead body myself.

"I see what the problem is," Sal pipes up beside me, his tone screaming 'Physics Graduate' with how... scientific he sounds. I bet he conjured up a fucking hypothesis for this. "Come here," he says, linking a finger through my belt loop and tugging me toward him.

I nearly choke on air when my shoulder squishes against his and he leans closer, grabbing my arm closest to him and pulling it so that I'm holding the controller between us.

He moves his hands so that they wrap around mine and over the controller. He can move my thumbs any way he wants with this position-- but now I'm suffering the consequences. His hands are rough and warm on me, his fingers callused and brushing over mine with a perfect plan set in place. I can hardly breathe because, technically, Sal's holding my hands right now. And my body is pressed to his. If he listens a little too hard, he'll hear my heart slamming in my chest.

My body is completely rigid against his. Sex doesn't even involve closeness like this. My entire brain has been completely detached and rewired in mere seconds. Everything I thought has been reversed and I could... totally bed him right here, maybe?

"Are you going to restart or do I have to do that for you too?" Sal rasps humorously. His voice is so near, so clear. I want to look over at him so bad, see the dimple on his cheek because I can hear his smile, but I keep a level head. My eyes stay trained on the TV as I press start.

After all, when a cool, slow-mo explosion happens in the movies, the protagonist never looks back to watch. 

I am the protagonist. I am the fucking protagonist. Iamthefuckingprotagonist.

"Okay, so this is where you're going wrong," Sal says in my ear, his tone suggesting he's much more focused now. His thumbs press into mine, moving Leon around the village much more easily than I could. Doesn't mean he's better than me, he just isn't running on fumes like I am. Sal fumes. I'm suffocating in him, it's all his fault. I am a good player, I swear I am.

I let him direct me, slowly beginning to relax in this soooo not-embrace. His arm, pressed against mine, acts as leverage for me to rest. He seems to lean against me more at some point too, the both of us more worried about getting Leon through the village than about how we slowly warm up to each other and this proximity.

"I don't know if we can get it with me guiding you like this," Sal says a tad urgently when the chase scene starts up, his thumbs working quickly with mine. At some point, I was able to start predicting what moves he'd make, so we seem to be more in sync now. "But we'll try. We have to get through the first wave, then we're going to shoot that damn church bell."

I furrow my brows. "Like the first game?" I gasp, "We can still do it here?"

Sal snorts, manipulating my fingers to shoot someone heading our way. "Of course we can. Watch and learn."

I do watch, and hell, I learn too. It takes maybe five minutes for Sal to get me through the part I'd been stuck on since I got here. The moment he gets the shot on the bell, it rings through the city and evokes deep satisfaction within me-- especially when all the citizens start piling at the church.

I smile at the screen, Sal's hands still wrapped around mine as the famed cut scene starts up.

"Where's everyone going? Bingo?"

This time I look at Sal because we said that line in unison. We said it together. At the same time. He looks back at me with wide eyes and an astonished grin, like he's barely holding back crazed excitement.

Something catches Sal's eye as we watch each other for a short moment, reveling in our shared interest and achievement. He looks up and past me, smile softening as he lets go of my hands. 

The controller is suddenly so heavy without him holding it up for me. It slowly drops to my lap as he stands, walking back over to his respective couch.

I swallow, biting down my yearning for his missing presence. He was warm, he was stable. And that admission only reinforces that fact that I really need to put some much needed distance between us before things get way too real.

I look down at my lap for a moment, reminding myself that everything's going it work itself out. It'll be okay.

Things go back to the way they were before we started conversing today. Sal plays his guitar and tweaks things on his laptop, I play Resident Evil. Only difference now is that we're both progressing through our tasks.

And you know what, it's really nice. I thought this would be a mistake, I thought this would make things so much worse-- well, things are worse, but not in the way I assumed it would be.

But I'm actually having fun. The best part is neither of us need to talk to enjoy ourselves right now. A dynamic like this one is rare.

"You need to go."

The words are abrupt, make me look up. Sal is placing his phone down beside him and pulling his guitar strap over his head. 

Is this some kind of prank? Is he just trying to get our old bickering going? I was just thinking about how nice things were and he cut it off like he read my mind. He had this icy monotone to his voice that I haven't heard in a long time.

With a wary smile, I try to play along. "You're stuck with me, buddy. You made the mistake of inviting me in."

"I'm serious, y/n. I need you to leave." He nearly cuts me off, the words rushing out in what almost sounds like a panic.

I look at him closer, leaning my head down a bit to peek past his curtain of hair. His face is so stone-like, one would think he had faced off with Medusa. My eyebrows pinch together as I finally click into the veiled tenseness around us, my realization making everything that much thicker. 

"Are-- are you okay?" I ask softly, a trickle of apprehension going down my spine. I don't know how to approach this. Clearly, something's wrong and he's trying to play it off. What do I do here? Things were going fine.

"Get out." The words are like a slap to the face, so aggressive and loud that I flinch, the controller tumbling off my lap and onto the floor.

My racing heart only increases its speed as I freeze up and just stare at him. I'm frightened, something I definitely don't want him to see but I can't help it, especially when he looks up at me with a glare so menacing-- the same glare that was always hidden by his prosthetic months ago. Until now.

I force myself to breathe and think.

Okay, he wants me gone. I can do that. All I have to do is walk out the door and I'll be out of his hair. Hell, he might even apologize about this later. My brain nags at me though, says that behind the anger in his expression is fear and sadness. Says that he doesn't need to be alone right now-- he needs someone.

This switch in him was so random, so fast. It feels wrong to think that I was the cause or that he's suddenly freaking out because I'm here. There's something deeper; the problem now is whether he'll let me find out what's going on or not. Should I even try?

Utterly split on what to do, I slowly stand to my feet, never breaking eye contact with him. His excruciating glower softens a little, showing off a glimmer of relief that further proves my thoughts.

I fight past the fear he suddenly evoked, overwhelmed by how pained he must be to have a sudden reaction like this. He helped me when I had a hard time, so shouldn't I do the same for him?

As if to confirm my thoughts, Gizmo comes veering into the room. He talks and talks, skittering over to Sal and climbing up his chest. That's when Sal finally looks away from me so he can run his tattooed hand over the cat's orange fur.

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. There is something wrong. Gizmo's presence says it all-- he did the same thing for me when I was anxious.

"Sal..." I say gently, hovering in my stance. I hold my hands to my chest, stuck on what decision to make. I don't know what to do. I'm torn between his wishes and mine. "Do you need to talk about something?"

"No," he bites out. "What I need is for you to get the fuck out." He gently moves Gizmo and stands up. I gulp, watching as that threatening aura of his grows closer and closer with each step he takes. I match his pace, taking steps backward. He herds me to the front door of his apartment, stopping when my back hits the doorknob.

I gasp at the feeling of metal digging into my lower back, using all my might not to back down and cower as Sal towers of me; every inch of his face curled with malice and rage and anguish. His dark brows are furrowed to hold up that glare of his, his light eyes darkened by the negativity roiling around in him. His marred lips set in a frown that just doesn't suit him at all. It's all so unlike him.

This isn't who I've come to know. No matter how scary he is, I just can't, in good conscience, leave him like this.

I take a shaky breath and stay stock still. Stand a bit taller to match his energy. I say a silent prayer that I don't end up on the evening news before I jump into the river crawling with snakes and alligators.

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you like this," I declare, making sure my voice is confident to show that I won't back down despite how unconfident I am.

He looks away, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as if to bite down his instinctual reaction before he addresses me again. 

He's trying. He's trying so hard not to scare me off for good-- that's why he wants me to leave now. I see it-- I see through him.

The gears work and click together in my mind. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to suffer with no one to hold him up when he's low. He's just so focused on boxing up his secrets, keeping them hidden from everyone that he won't rely on his only option. I really can't leave him now, can I?

"You can talk about it if you want, or you don't have to. But you don't have to be alone, whatever it is," I try to console him gently, moving to the side so he can see me in his peripheral. But my movement just makes him squeeze his eyes shut. My heart stutters upon realizing I'm not getting through to him, he isn't hearing me.

"Don't say that shit like you care!" he nearly explodes, voice rattling in my ears. "You don't understand anything. You don't know a thing about me."

He's looking at me again, desperation swimming in his ocean gaze, hiding away from the rage taking over his expression. His eyes rove over my face, sizing me up, waiting for the moment I bite back or walk away.

"I know I don't know anything," I tell him softly, making sure that my expression is open and, fuck, caring. Because I do care. "That's why I'm asking you to help me help you. However way is better."

"I don't want your fucking help," he hisses, eyes narrowing. "I don't want your fucking pity. I want you gone."

I open my mouth to passively fight him on that decision, but he interrupts me before I can even get a word out. "You can't spew this bullshit at me. Like you've lived a day in my life and you know what's it's like to be me. You don't, and you never will if it's up to me." With each word, pity, guilt, and anger builds within me. He's suffering and he won't let himself feel even an ounce of reprieve. Instead, he's trying to push everyone away. He's the type of asshole who probably thinks he deserves to be alone. "I don't want you here, nor do I need you here. Go coddle someone who needs it and get off my fucking case."

I clap back at him the moment he finishes. "Well, maybe you do need help! Maybe you do need my fucking pity! Have you thought about that?" I snap, gesturing to him with a hand. Why can't he just accept this? Get help? Let someone take it so he doesn't have to bear it all? "I don't need to be you to get it, Sal. I don't even need to be me to get it because I see it. You think you can hide it all, carry it all, but you clearly fucking cannot." I scrunch up my face to accentuate my words, trying to get it across to him through the parts of my face on display, the thing that supposedly captures his fascination so much. "It's seeping off of you like oil; doesn't even soak into you. You don't wear your heart on your sleeve, you wear your feelings. I don't know what the hell's going on, but it doesn't take a genius with an IQ higher than yours to see that you're in pain."

Sal doesn't let up that harsh scowl, but I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. And then he blinks. Then he's turning his back to me, walking away from me and toward the kitchen while running a hand down his face.

My heart physically feels as if it's cracking in two, but I grip onto the bit of clarity I have left after literally yelling in his face. I take a hesitant step toward him when his head tilts down, his hair falling around him.

I wet my lips, ponder what to say now. How to approach this with my fingers quaking as each quiet second passes.

"Let's..." I whisper, heaving a troubled sigh. "You don't have to tell me, but maybe talking about it will relieve you, even if just a little." I chew on the inside of my cheek, tiptoeing around the topic, making sure I'm gentle with him now that he's backed down. "And if you really don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. We can watch a movie, play a game. Whatever you want."

The tides are shifting. With each offer that leaves my mouth, something about us changes. With how much I live to loathe change, I find that I don't fear it the way I did before. Not if the change is with Sal. Not right now when this man is nearly falling apart in front of me and pretending that he isn't.

"I need--" his voice cracks and my heart does the same. He's holding himself together with wet glue right now. What the fuck is going on? "I need to talk to Ash," he tries again, his voice a little more stable this time, though still soft and reserved. "But I can't. She's busy."

I bite down on my bottom lip. I know he doesn't want to talk to me. He said it himself; he would never tell me his secrets. But I don't think either of us have much of a choice.

"I'm not Ash," I say delicately, taking one more step toward him. There's still so much distance between us, I don't know how to get to him. "But whatever you say will never leave this room. Once it's out, I'll forget it ever happened if that's what you want."

He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He's heavily contemplating, weighing his options. 

Still silent, he jumps into action, moving to a cabinet in the kitchen. He opens it, pulls out a can of peaches. I watch his every movement as he opens the can then grabs a fork from a drawer. 

I don't push him to speak, I let him figure out what he wants to do. He doesn't quite face me, but he turns so that his back leans against the counter, all while he bites into a colorful peach slice that's hanging from his fork.

He chews while staring unblinkingly at the emptiness in front of him.

"She messaged me."

My eyebrows draw together in confusion for a moment, but I think about what he's said before I ask him to be more specific. 

She. She. I only know of two women regarding Sal-- one being Ash, and the other...

I hold my breath as I realize. It's the woman who hurt him. I shift my weight, expression slackening as I try to find a solution for him. My mind starts swimming with ways to drag him from the depths of his agony. 

Ash told me that if I ever had strange messages and suspected it to be that woman, that I should let her know. And if this woman is harassing Sal, we could take it to police and maybe, hopefully, they could do something about it.

"And I don't know what to do," he continues helplessly, his sweet voice melodic with despair as he looks down at his can of peaches.

I watch him, collecting myself to approach him as rationally as possible. Then, I close the fated distance between us and walk over to him. I stand before him, about a foot of space between us. He doesn't look up.

"Here's what we can do," I start tenderly, trying to be as soft as possible while being a stable foothold he can use to climb out of this mess.  "You don't have to look at it again," I continue, my gaze never leaving him even though he's almost completely hidden from me. "If you trust me with it, I'll take your phone, log in, screenshot the message. Then, I'll block her-- no response because she does not deserve it. I'll send the screenshot to myself then send it to Ash from there. It'll be out of your hands at that point. Me and Ash will handle the rest." Me and Ash because I want to sink my fangs into this bitch too.

Sal sets the can on the counter beside him, rubs a hand across his forehead. His fringe is wild, his hair sticking up in different directions until he runs a hand through his hair, his black nails clashing against a sea of cerulean blue. "Okay," he says, the word so quiet and raspy that I nearly miss it.

I wait just a moment, eyes glued to him. "Okay," I repeat. "I'm going grab your phone."

I backtrack to the living room, picking his phone up from the couch where he'd left it. I flip it so that the screen is facing me and see an Instagram notification. I don't read it just yet, but I slide up on the lock so that he can type in his password. 

When I'm back in the kitchen, I stand in front of Sal and hand him the phone. Fork hanging from his mouth, he quickly types in his password then hands the device back to me. 

It's open to the message. I know I'm doing this for him, but I'm afraid to look too much in fear of seeing something he doesn't want me to see. The last thing I want to do is betray his trust when he's finally given it to me.

"Do you want me to read it or just get the job done?" I ask him. 

"Just read it. It's inevitable either way," he mutters dejectedly. That tone makes me frown worriedly. I'm already on the precipice of falling into complete heartbreak. His reaction certainly doesn't help. Still, I take the screenshot before glancing over the text:

@zoxbby112: 2 fucking years? sexual assault? you've got to be fucking joking you pathetic piece of shit. i TOLD you no one was going to believe your dumb ass and you still went and did it anyway. you're literally a dude, if you didn't want it you should've pushed me off or smth. everyone says no in the heat of the moment asshole. you liked it, you just need to play the victim since no one else is ever going to want you and that ugly fucking face. you're lucky i even still fucked you after getting that piece of plastic off you. fucked up my entire life. making yours a living hell is the only revenge i'm willing to get. 

I have to grip onto the counter to stop myself from crumbling to my knees upon realizing just how this woman hurt him. It was sexual assault. She assaulted him. 

"Oh, Sal..." The words slip past my lips, unbidden and broken as I take a shaky breath.

I blink past the sudden tears in my eyes and shake my head as I block her account then delete the message, navigating my way through his home screen and to discord. I send the message to myself then grab my own phone, making sure to save the screenshot. I go back to his, deleting the photo from our messages and his camera roll so he never has to see it again.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel. So much of me wants to be angry, but all I'm feeling is throbbing pain and overwhelming guilt. I feel like my organs are being harvested from my body, like my skin is slowly being peeled away from my bones. All because I have no idea what to do for him, I don't know how to make it better. I don't know how to fix it for him, and I don't think I can.

"I'm..." I start to say, my voice hoarse. 

"Please don't tell me you're sorry," he says quietly, stabbing his fork into another peach.

I tilt my head, biting my tongue as I place his phone down beside him. If I were in his situation, I wouldn't want to hear sorry's anymore either. God, more than anything I just wish I could go back in time and save him from that.

"You know," I say instead, so much emotion ravaging me whole that I don't know how to stay standing on my own. The only reason I'm still up is for him. "I don't know much about physics, but I did like biology. And something my teacher taught me is that skin renewal takes seven years. So in seven years, you'll have brand new skin, and, um, it won't be the same skin you had when..." I trail off, going completely blank while trying to give him something to look forward to. Everything is so pathetic that even my brain can't cooperate.

Sal's head snaps up to look at me like he actually understood what I was yapping about. His pretty blue eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he still looks at me, face completely expressionless.

I match his gaze, waiting for something. Anything. But then he cracks a pitiful smile, snorts softly-- shows me as much humor as he can muster up. Wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

I feel each of my damaged cells rebuilding themselves again at his shift in character. My heart beat becomes a little stronger, my breath more even and not so shallow with torturous anticipation. 

"My skin will be untouched in seven years," he laughs, albeit humorlessly, but it's something.

"Yea, that's what I was getting at," I confirm, rubbing my arms and looking down at my feet.

Still standing beside him, I glance up just as he bites off half the peach slice on his fork. He gazes back at me, his eyes bluer than any sky I've seen, expression softer than any lingering touch of his.

I feel heat gather along my cheeks when he tilts the fork toward me slowly, offering me the other half of the peach. He looks like a cornered bunny, giving the fox hovering around him a peace offering. It's an apology and a thank you, reinforcing the trust that I handled with as much care as possible. 

This fruit means something to him. I haven't an inkling of understanding on the offer, but if it matters to him then it matters to me.

I gently pluck the fork from his fingers, bite off the other half of the peach then hand the fork back.

Turning, I lean my back against the counter and stand beside him, both of us looking into the empty living room in front of us. We don't talk, we don't share a word. But we do pass that fork back and forth. He takes a bite of a peach, I finish it off. It goes like that until the can is empty, and then we both just kind of... stand there.

He pushes off the counter with a soft grunt, dumps the remaining syrup into the sink, washes it down the drain, then he walks over to me. He just stands there and looks down at me with the gentlest expression I've ever seen on him.

I stare back at him, dumbfounded as my mind races for explanations. So much is different now, I didn't think it could possibly change any more but I'm slowly learning that I keep severely underestimating Sal Fisher. Neither of us can make up excuses for this. 

I quickly fit the puzzle pieces together though and realize he's right in front of me because I'm blocking the trashcan. What only solidifies it is that a little upside down smile quirks his lips upon seeing me connect the dots. 

Now, we move the the awkward, embarrassment stage that comes with deep connection. Yea, making friends really sucks, especially when I want so much more than friends.

What?

The unwarranted thought flies out of my head as Sal braces a hand on the counter beside me when I don't move, caging me in as he bends forward. His face passes right beside mine and his hair brushes my cheek, making a chill run up my spine.

His body heat encases me like a warm duvet on the coldest of winter days, his scent wrapping around my soul, squeezing tight, comforting. He's so familiar now, it feels so normal being close to him like this. So much so that I ache to hold him right here for hours. Forever, even. 

Maybe it's the dim lights in the kitchen, the dark night filtering in from his balcony windows. But when he moves backward, he doesn't go far.

He hovers near me, his hand still pressed into the counter beside me. He's close, very close. Closer than he's ever been, I think. 

I map the curve of his lips, my eyes drifting to where the deep scars elongate and change the shape of his mouth, dragging up his cheek and to his eye-- the eye that I can clearly tell is a prosthetic now that he's so close. It looks so similar to his real eye that I genuinely couldn't tell the difference before. 

"You have freckles," I whisper upon noticing them, my voice barely above a whisper. Before I can stop myself, I lift a hand between us and gently run my fingertips over his skin, tracing every little light spot along his nose and cheeks. 

His eyes glance back and forth between mine in my peripheral vision and at the same time, a light pink dusts his cheeks that I'm so focused on. He swallows, licks his lips. Unable to form words.

He opens his mouth, almost like he's thinking of saying something, but he doesn't. He simply lets out a breath, delicately holds me in his gaze.

I let my hand drop between us, marveling at the feel of his soft skin beneath mine. I don't want to make him uncomfortable though, I'm already ogling him enough as it is.

At the realization that I really am looking at him so hard, I tilt my head down, dropping my gaze. After what that awful woman texted him tonight, I doubt he wants to be looked at like this. Picked apart, observed. The point of this is to help him, not point out everything he probably hates about himself. Though, there really is nothing to hate. The me from a couple months ago would passionately object to that statement, but that's past-me for a reason. 

Things change. I changed. Sal's changed.

My breath catches in my throat when his hand presses against my cheek, using the leverage to tilt my head up again. To look at him.

My heart leaps in my chest and I'm unable to breathe when I notice his dilated pupil, feel his thumb gently rubbing my along my jawline. His eyes track his digit's movements, but I can't even be bothered to look away from him. I'm bewitched by his fascination with me, haunted by the calm expression on his face, the wonder in his eyes.

His thumb drags down from my cheek and to my mouth, skimming over my top lip, then the bottom. I feel skittish, burning to move some part of my body to release the energy pent up inside me.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip, entranced by my own mouth.

And if he were to actually try to kiss me this time, I wouldn't stop him.

A low hum spreads throughout my entire body upon acknowledging our situation and the tension that's suddenly filled the air. It's a tingling in every limb, down my spine, up to the very tips of my fingers and toes. I feel him everywhere even though he's only touching my face. I can see him so well, so easily. The slightly darker shade of his left eye and the golden flecks of stardust in his right eye. Pretty. So pretty.

"So pretty," he murmurs my own thoughts. Something about the way he says it, so unguarded and adoring, makes me think I wasn't supposed to hear it.

I don't know how to reply or if I even should. I simply watch him like I have been all night, feeling oxygen and rationality leave me with each prolonged second of this somewhat embrace of ours. We've found ourselves like this more than once today, could we possibly escape it again?

I feel so light and heavy at the same time, thrumming with energy but weak. The feeling of his skin, so cool against my flushed skin, is enough to have my mind racing but to make my body completely freeze. I'm stuck. There's so much... so much that I want to do with the way he's looking at me this way, but I can't make myself do it.

I don't quite realize how close we've suddenly gotten until his nose bumps my mask's. A quiet gasp leaves me and his eyes dart up, gazing into mine.

He's fighting himself and I can tell, the quick scrunch of his eyebrows gives everything away.

Things are really about to change-- again. As if they hadn't already.

There's something startling about the way his eyebrows draw together again, but this time in a pleading way, like he's silently willing me with his mind to pull away from him. Begging me to put a stop to his internal madness. To change his mind. His doe eyes look a little scared and a little dedicated– two very different emotions that just so happen to go hand-in-hand for the moment. 

The way he's looking at me... it's been so long since anyone has looked so pleasurably torn up over wanting me so badly. And not in a lustful way, but in the way that forms bonds. Connects us so intimately without the goal of chasing an orgasm or being able to get something out of the situation. The way he's looking at me screams curiosity and a need to sate it so bad that he's not fighting the battle he wanted me to pull him away from moments ago. He's just slowly giving in and trying to convince himself that he's not.

I'm no better than him in this moment. My hands are balled into fists, my entire body frozen and awaiting whatever it is that's going to come next. My fingernails bite into my palms and my heart drums against my chest, wishing he'd move closer.

I didn't think it'd be this way. I didn't expect to crave him so badly, to miss the feeling of his lips on mine without ever having felt it before. It's excruciating to yearn for him in this new way and hope that he doesn't back out before I can even feel him.

As if he read my mind, he's moved so close that I can feel his breath on my chin, his top lip brush over mine.

I suck in a choking breath and hold it, praying this isn't all a dream.

"Aren't you scared?" He whispers quietly, his mouth skimming over mine with each syllable. His words echo in my mind, his tone caressing my thoughts, coercing me into falling into him and never getting up again.

"No," I whisper back, shutting my eyes and waiting. It's scarier to look at him and fear that he'll move away. Almost as if to lock him into place, I grip onto the hem of his shirt.

He goes quiet and I feel every one of my neurons lighting up with anticipation when his forehead presses against my mask's. 

"Push me away. Something," Sal whispers, the words so quiet and pained that I don't dare open my eyes to observe his current state. 

He knows. He knows this is exactly what he told me wouldn't happen, but now it's about to. And we should be realistic, think about the consequences but I don't want to. I just want to feel him, have him near. I want to be selfish.

I lick my lips, forgetting he's so close. My tongue swipes over his bottom lip and I hear it-- feel it when he steals a breath that tries to escape him.

"I can't," I answer him hoarsely, unable to raise my voice for him to hear me better as I squeeze the fabric of his shirt in my fist. Every bit of me aches to touch him, to feel his skin on mine but I can't muster up the courage, not when this entire situation is in his hands right now.

I won't choose for him today, not with what brought us to this. If he wants me, he can take me.

"Please." His word comes out in a broken whisper, so full of yearning that a little whimper escapes my mouth.

"Please," I mimic him, entranced by the featherlight brush of my lips over his. I can't keep doing this. I can't... "I can't think. Do it."

He lets out the most pitiful sigh I think I've ever heard in my life, and then leisurely presses his lips into mine. It's slow, soft, careful. He holds himself there, suffocates in the sensation just as I do.

Everything I thought I had lost so long ago comes rushing back into me. Excitement, life, a want for more than basic necessity. And for once, I don't feel bad. I don't feel guilty for wanting Sal as much as I do.

I place a hand on his stomach to remind myself that this kiss is real, that he's truly standing in front of me.

My touch was the trigger, I realize, when his other hand moves to my other cheek, pulls me closer to him. He tilts his head a bit as his jagged lips part against mine, softly welcoming the slanting of my mouth against his.

My throat feels as though it's clamped shut as I move a hand to grab onto the base of Sal's neck, my fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt. I'm completely enraptured by the feeling of his mouth on mine. I feel like I'm going to faint, my heart beating so quickly, so vigorously that I can hear my blood pulsing in my ears. There's so much emotion that I've bitten down and hidden for so long regarding Sal. It's all coming out now.

Our lips move slowly, passionately. There's no rush, no heat. It's just feeling. Every movement, every moment of his lips sliding so delicately against mine, every ragged breath, every tightening of his hands on my face or my fingers bunching into his shirt. The feeling of our noses occasionally brushing against each other, plastic against damaged skin, and his chin skimming over mine just a bit. It's beautiful and so passionately smothering. The quiet morphs to mimic the simultaneous quick pace of our heart beats.

I feel the rapid beating of his heart like a drum right in the center of my chest where we touch, becoming one despite the heavy, loathsome origin story we were granted with. I'm sure he can feel just how much he's affecting me, his hand drifting over my neck and two fingers pressing against my pulse point like he did the first time we were together.

As sadistic as he is, I think he's only checking because he can't tell where his heart beat begins and where mine ends. 

Sal's lips close over mine again, the feeling eliciting a shiver that threatens to take over my entire being. I return his kiss, desperate to be closer to him in any way possible while my hand trails from his shirt to his cheek, brushing over the soft, scarred skin. 

He presses me against the kitchen counter, his hands beginning to roam past my face and neck as things gravitate from sweet to intense.

Our kiss becomes aggressive, his teeth biting into my lips and quiet breaths and whimpers passing from him and to me. He makes me feel crazy, filling me with exhilaration that courses through my blood quicker than adrenaline ever possibly could. 

Sal moves backward and I move to follow, but then his lips leave mine. 

I open my eyes, blinking up at him with barely an inch of space between our faces. 

He stares at me, looking like I've just torn him to pieces and hid every bit of him away and now he has to play eternity-long hide-n-seek.

But beyond that, his lips are flushed and kissed, his cheeks tinged pink and hair a mess-- when did I touch his hair? His eyes look a little brighter though, a little less haunted.

"Uh," he voices shakily. "Heat of the moment?"

He doesn't even sound like he believes himself.

The statement still makes my hopes deflate dramatically though. I chew on the inside of my cheek and force myself to look him in the eye as I lie to his face. "Yea," I rasp, taken aback by the sound of my voice. "Yea."

He watches me closely, never moving farther nor closer. As the seconds pass, he seems to sober up, the terrified look in his eyes slowly fading away.

If he decides this was a one time thing, at least I got to taste him once. At least we got one moment, one kiss. It's what I wanted and it's what he wants. 

Sal interrupts my thoughts, whispering, "You know..." One of his hands painstakingly and slowly trails along my side, making my skin erupt with  goosebumps. "I think we're still in the heat of the moment," he continues darkly, gaze falling to my mouth.

I don't let shock take control, I only try to control the smile that tries to quirk my lips. "I think so too," I whisper back, looking down at his teeth that bite into his lower lip like he's barely holding himself back.

As soon as he hears my response, he doesn't bother holding back. He smashes his lips onto mine and engages the two of us in the same dangerous dance we made the mistake of beginning earlier.

-------

A/N::::: BEEN HOLDING THIS ONE IN THE DRAFTS FOR A WHILLLLLLEEEEE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY TIME-- LIKE I ACTUALLY CAN'T BELIEVE IT WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO WRITE AFTER THIS

jk >:3

yea so as much as i adore this chapter, it also scares me because i feel like it moves way too fast (totally hasn't been nearly thirty fucking chapters ahahhaha). so yea, PLEASE let me know how we feel about this and what could have been better!

psa: i'm going to be starting student teaching august 1st, and college has me going to lots of meetings which means things are about to get VERRRYYYY busy for me… busier than they've ever been :( but!! i think things will be okay. lately, i've been teaching myself to fight through the lack of motivation and write any time i get even an inkling of yearning for it. exactly why y'all got this chapter so soon, actually! i saw something about how stephen king writes 5,000 words a day and i've been building to that! so while i won't be able to freely write as much as i know i'll want to, i'll still be writing. you guys know the drill though, even if it takes me a month or two to get something out, WINTER BREAK IS IN DECEMBER WHICH MEANS I CAN BEAT Y'ALL UP WITH CHAPTERS!!!

as always, i love you all SO much. more than you'll ever know. things have been tough on my mental lately and i'm going to be going through a HUGE shift in my life, but… that's okay cuz I know I'll always have you guys. thank you for being the most stable, non-toxic, and reliable things in my life! y'all going in my will fr

have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night my babies <3

p.s. when i wrote this note, i had just posted this chapter to wattpad-- which was about a week ago. the huge shift in my life had involved a six year relationship that i ended yesterday. i am incredibly torn up and shaken by this, but i believe it needed to happen for my wellbeing as well as my growth as a person. I know it's not necessarily an important thing to add to this note, but i want to give a reason just in case this healing process causes a prolonged absence for me. i am completely dedicated to faceless fixation and even today i've thought about what i want to write next, but i need to put some focus on myself instead of running away from my problems. thank you guys for being wonderful, i love you all so much!! until next time <3

[dispadaferisce]

Thoughts on The Dead Three / Chosen

(Referring to Durge as 'he' because they were a transmasc in my playthrough)

Finally finished BG3 as a murder hobo Dark Urge developing a (admittedly questionable) conscience and rejecting Bhaal. I made all my companions take the "right" path in their stories, mainly because we couldn't ALL go to prison and I had dibs on the criminal record.

And of course I killed Ketheric in Act II because that's kind of required, but I played the role in Act III. Durge was pissed to find out Orin double crossed him, and first and foremost on his mind was offing her and taking back what was his. I teamed up with Gortash because, at the time, his deal suited me.

And it's so funny to me the way that played out, because all through Act III Durge is learning more about himself, everybody's trying to kill him, but ultimately Gortash is the one dude who keeps his word. Even I wasn't going to do that.

Like...yeah he sucks, but I AM THE VILLAIN. Bane suckered that human-trafficked orphan into being his Chosen and doing some pretty gnarly stuff in his name--with the aim of ultimate rule and tyranny--but I STARTED IT. DURGE IS SO MUCH WORSE THAN GORTASH.

It's arguable that the entire BG3 plot was initiated by Bhaal to bring about the end of life. Myrkul and Bane were blinded by greed and potential power and all three probably each intended to backstab the other two, but Bhaal was primed and ready to actually follow through. His Chosen was a Bhaalspawn, shaped from his own flesh and literally unable to deny the call to murder. Durge might have put Ketheric and Gortash at (tentative) ease with his ability to control himself, but Durge only controlled himself because Bhaal allowed it. At some point, he was absolutely going to rip out their throats with his teeth and feel nothing while doing it. And if he did feel something for Gortash, all the more powerful a sacrifice to his father when he killed him.

And the only reason the world didn't end was because Orin legitimately gave him brain damage. Orin, who fell for the "I can control myself" bait just as badly as Ketheric and Gortash, who thought her bloodkin was going soft. Durge played the part so well, even the next in line for Bhaal's chosen--who knew the plan!--fell for it.

How can I tell Durge's self-control was fake? Well, if you accept Bhaal but destroy the Netherbrain, at the end of the game you basically have two choices: kill yourself, or fall under the unshakeable control of your godly father. Durge is a Bhaalspawn, with all the inescapable murderous urges that entails. He is not his own person, he's in control only as long as it suits Bhaal to let him be. Once that control is taken away, Durge hunts down the other heroes he called friends and assumedly murders them in a fade-to-black.

Orin should have killed him, but his act offended her so much she knifed a hole in his head and shoved a mind flayer tadpole into it. She probably knew how they were inserted, but she shoved it in there with the intent of having it eat his brain, like it was that too-soft personality she wanted to kill instead of his body.

There are various notes, comments, and books/journals throughout the game that tell us Durge suffered severe damage to his brain because of how the tadpole was inserted, and Kressa Bonedaughter describes to us a physically broken Bhaalspawn overtaken by his nature and lacking his other faculties. Just completely feral. And these are Ketheric's people, Myrkul's rather than Bhaal's, so they're not going to recognize him. Instead, Kressa spends a few weeks literally pulling out his insides to play with until her man gets jealous and sends Durge out on the next Nautiloid.

I do believe Durge was tadpoled on the Nautiloid, just like the opening sequence plays out. I think the original one ate his brain and got removed, but the second was inserted the correct way. And while it couldn't regrow the brain tissue that was destroyed by the first, the second tadpole probably formed enough psychic and cranial connections during its natural settling to kick Durge's higher brain functions back on again.

And so he starts out, chunks of his brain literally gone and his memory with them. But the urges are still there, because he's a Bhaalspawn and they go beyond his personality and thoughts.

So Durge, who has no idea who he really is (or who he really was behind the mask he put up for the sake of The Plan), now has to rely on what other people tell him about himself. The companions whose approval and disapproval guide the player's actions are in turn guiding his and literally creating Durge's new personality and moral compass.

Astarion is telling him that power is safety and should be taken whenever possible. Gale is telling him power also corrupts, and there are dangerous consequences to doing that. Karlach is telling him never to make a deal with the devil because you'll lose everything. Wyll is telling him sometimes, you need to make those deals so save everyone else--but be very careful if you do. Shadowheart is telling him secrets and darkness are a priceless armor. Lae'zel is telling him that while some of his actions may be considered 'bad,' if they were truly righteous he would not need to hide them.

Different players will do different things with those influences depending on whether they (and in turn, their Durge) likes the companion or not, just like in real life. Some give in to the urges, some fight them, some stumble along somewhere in the middle.

Some Durges will leave Act II with a firmly rooted sense of self, and who you used to be no longer matters. You're going to kill the bad guys on sight and save the day (or take over the world). That's a completely valid course to take.

But for those who still aren't sure, once you get to Act III, Gortash and Orin tell you who you REALLY are. Or at least, who they believe you are, based on the act you played for them before.

Sure, you're a Bhaalspawn, but your murder is controlled. You can be trusted to plot with, you're reasonable and open to the tenets of Myrkul and Bane. Gortash, in particular, liked you quite a bit, enough to be happy to see you when you show up at his coronation. Enough to throw in his lot with you within ten seconds of seeing your face. He may not trust Bhaal, but he trusts you.

He trusted you enough to follow you into Hell to rob a devil. He trusted you enough to let you walk into his coronation, even knowing his steel watchers couldn't do jack shit against the man who KILLED THE PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF THE GOD MYRKUL.

Gortash is evil, but he's mortal evil. He has visions of a golden age throughout Faerun, one he's going to usher in by force because people can't be trusted to not ruin it. Gortash wants to rule, just like all the other despots in history. He wants to be a tyrant, to have absolute power through fear and violence.

(An absolute power, by the way, that there is no reason to believe he does not honestly want to share with Durge. If you don't kill Gortash and go with him to confront the brain, he's pretty much faithful to his word right up until his end. He goes with you, alone, and trusts you to hold up your part of the bargain.)

But you. Holy shit. You, the Dark Urge, are so much worse. It really hits when you finally visit the Temple of Bhaal to fight Orin.

Ketheric is a king in his castle, serving dark gods in the shadow-cursed lands for his own personal ends (resurrecting his daughter). Gortash is a black market arms dealer turned king, chasing power over others after a powerless youth.

Durge sleeps in an underground ossuary, just off the city sewer system, literally filled with aesthetic pools of blood. There are piles of rotting corpse parts just laying around in the temple and Undercity. Above ground, sure, he was an excellent assassin, but below ground he was a torturer. For his whole life, he was down here chopping people up and tossing their body parts around.

Like...can you imagine the smell? The overpowering stench of rot and death, the wet splotches of blood on pretty much everything, the constant sound of screams? It doesn't really matter if everyone thought Durge could control himself, this was the life he lived and the temple he was the lord of, he did a lot of torturing and killing in the pursuit of pretty much nothing except committing murder. He was a creature who thrived on the agony, torment, and ultimate death of people who may or may not have been perfectly innocent of any crime.

He was about the torment. He was about the pain, the suffering. The devil Raphael, son of Mephistopheles, says outright he admires Durge's work. As insight to that, if you break into the House of Hope, I think you can find Raphael's commentary on the fall of Karsis, where he talks about the absolute carnage and pain and blood and death that came with the cities falling from the skies, and how much he loved it. That's the guy Durge's normal Tuesday schedule impressed.

And Durge's part in the Absolute scam? Let it ride. Stand back, be agreeable, let the other two map out the path to glory. Because it didn't matter. Durge wasn't looking to rule, he wasn't looking for power. He was waiting in the wings until everything was in place, then he was going to kill the other two and take the stones. He was going to command the whole of the Sword Coast, eventually all of Faerun, to transform into mind flayers.

His goal wasn't just to kill everyone, it was to destroy their souls. Every last one, to deprive the other gods of their worshippers. The literal ultimate end of everything, his whole purpose was to be the last man standing and to then kill himself in Bhaal's name. This entire plot was started and orchestrated to end it all.

Depending on your decisions, this can still happen, I think. I know I got the option to dominate the brain and become The Absolute, which I didn't take so I don't know how it played out. But if you don't go that route, and you do stop the brain, well.

You're still the villain who started it all. You just follow a different death god in the end.

But you live to follow him, if you choose the 'good' ending. If you chose to defy Bhaal and to destroy the Netherbrain, you get a new lease on life. You not only get to ride triumphantly into the sunset with your romanced companion, you also get invited back in six months to meet with everyone and re-establish your ties, and most of the dialogue options (and Withers' words) indicate you get to keep your found family, too.

No other villain gets this. Ketheric fought you to the end, but even though you proved powerful enough to defeat an avatar of Myrkul, he's likely punished by his god after death for his failure. The same with Gortash; if you use Speak with Dead on his body, Gortash is gone and it's Bane who speaks to you through the corpse because Gortash is already busy being punished for failing.

Jergal/Withers knows who you are as soon as he sees you, but he won't tell you. If he did, if you knew you were Bhaal's chosen right away, you would go running straight to Moonrise Towers to demand your place back, and the world would end. Withers may not directly push you where he wants you, but he does manipulate you by keeping you surrounded by these outside influences for longer so you CAN develop an independent piece of yourself.

Jergal creates you anew, by helping you along a journey that will ultimately give you that independent bit of self that will allow you to choose. Not only choose, but continue to exist if your choice is to defy Bhaal. The other two Chosen don't get that option, they're steeped in their own horrors with no escape and no framework to make any other decisions than the ones they do.

Not you, though. You lucked out. Because your sister gave you brain damage.

[thatfanficauthor107]

KARASUNO THIRD YEAR ANGST HEADCANONS

TW: abuse, neglect, suicide attempt, self harm, depression, illness, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, alcoholism, drug abuse, death of loved ones, panic attacks

DAICHI: - his father is frankly an alcoholic and likely on types of drug more often than not. - he’s made it his job to keep the man away from his younger siblings, though that means that he takes far more punishments so they don’t have to - his father is lowkey abusive towards him, especially since he found out Daichi was queer (bisexual transmale) - mental health isn’t the best but he ignores that - has considered self harm multiple times and scares himself with how dark the thoughts get some nights - emotionally unavailable often, not at all connected with his feelings and emotions - was taught from a really young age that showing emotions (esp negative ones) showed weakness - his mother died when he was a kid, and his stepmother is either oblivious or ignores how his father treats him - he resents her for this although she’s never actually done anything directly to him - probably has undiagnosed AuDHD - doesn’t have many medical resources available for things like his asthma and his joint issues - doesn’t entirely understand Asahi’s anxiety as he was raised in a way that didn’t allow him to show any form of fear so he just pushes his own away - this has caused many arguments between the two because he just can’t understand Asahi’s point of view - ^^^ absolutely hates this - insomniac - doesn’t sleep well/at all for days on end and it really affects his mental health and mood, it’s more obvious to others than he realises - refuses to ask others for help or open up to them, even when he desperately needs it. suga had to force daichi to open up about sometimes the smallest things - skips meals often - doesn’t think he ‘needs’ them - ^^ his weight is one of his biggest insecurities - he had an eating disorder throughout part of junior hight - yui and hayato monitored what he ate for weeks after they found out

KOUSHI: - has two present parents but isn’t that close with them - his father cares more for his work than his family. his mother tries her hardest to be fair to them both but she fails often in koushi’s eyes - loves his younger brother but hates how he partially resents him for always being his parents favourite - his brother has a lot of medical issues so his mother always doted over him and left koushi in the care of his elderly grandmother - when his grandmother passed his parents hardly acknowledged it and he found that infuriating - used to overwork himself to be the top of his class in school to get his parents to notice him more (they never did) - continues to overwork himself throughout high school for any form of validation - always exerted himself in social situations and built a large social life for himself to avoid being at home and to not feel ignored - daichi and asahi were the first friends he made where he actually felt seen - his father is lowkey homophobic but only shows it behind closed doors in off-handed comments - ^^ his father cares about his reputation more than his family - his main worries and impacts on his mental health started during first year when he realised how bad Asahi and Daichi’s were - he was so scared over them hurting themselves or worse - genuinely didn’t know what to do and ended up having his first panic attack over it and several more

ASAHI: - his father passed in an accident before he was born, his mother passed away from an illness a few years later - was raised by his much older (by 11 years) sister - his sister doesn’t have any mental/mental health issues/disabilities. if their parents were still alive she would have been a glass child - often wanders what it would be like if he actually did have parents - absolutely hates mothers’/fathers’ day, and days at school where people bring in their parents. (always does something with his sister on mothers’ day without fail) - feels really guilty over how his sister had to raise him instead of living her years as a young adult - his sister works abroad most of the year, so he spends most of his time alone - was very lonely as a child - struggled to make friends his whole life, and was pretty severely bullied most of his life too - this bullying only stopped in highschool after Daichi and Suga ‘adopted’ him - ^^ this quickly turned into rumours rather than bullying - the rumours really get under his skin and affect how he sees himself (doesn’t like how he looks anymore, already low self worth plummeted) - used to self harm throughout the end of his junior high years and the beginning of high school. quitting was much harder than he had expected. - attempted in his first year at some point, everything just got too much for him and he needed it to stop. he overdosed on sleeping pills. It didn’t work, he woke up disoriented and sore hours later. He didn’t plan on telling anyone until Daichi and Suga forced him to open up. - the time he took off from volleyball he also took off from school in general. it was a longer depressive episode. - the comments he got after returning, even if they were just jokes, really got to him - to the point where he questioned coming back the next day or ever - he hates how daichi can’t understand his anxiety even though he knows it’s not daichi’s fault. he hates even more how there are some days he resents him for it

[someonexsomeone]

Dear Soulmate

Title: Dear Soulmate

Author: SomeonexSomeone

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing: Edward Cullen x np!Reader

Summary: Edward has a hard time expressing himself with words, so he turns to music instead.

Authors Note: Day 7!! Told you I would do it!! I had such a hard time writing this because, apperantly, i cannot think of the words that describe the feeling of love that completes you entire being the way Edward thinks about it. I mean...does it work that he can't express himself and neither can i? maybe?

There were many things to love about the vampire life that was bestowed upon Edward. First and foremost, the fear that consumed most of his teenage years was practically nonexistent anymore; it took many years for Carlisle to convince him not to wear his mask anymore when he was around people, and even more to show that Edward wouldn’t ever get sick again, despite every rational part of him denying it. The mindreading was hard to get used to, but it did allow him a unique type of freedom to explore the world without the slow caution that Carlisle and Esme had to. He had more time than he knew what to do with, all the hobbies and dreams he had as a kid suddenly being possible now that sleep wasn’t an issue. He didn’t have to give up as many aspects of his human life as he thought, especially things like his studies or music that reminded him so much of his mother.

His Mother…

With the positives, there was always, naturally, the things that made his life a living hell. The fear of outside forces on him were near eliminated, but going from prey to predator was difficult to handle. Things as simple as handshakes and opening doors became calculated, and the amount of walls and furniture he accidentally destroyed throughout his early years cost Carlisle a fortune to replace. His mindreading nearly broke his mind, especially when they first attempted to move into cities, too many voices swimming through his mind to even hear those speaking aloud. And their thoughts…Carlisle showed him that humanity was worth preserving, worth saving, but there were so many vile people all around, thinking unthinkable things and sometimes going as far as acting on them. He loathes to remember his ‘rebellious phase’, as Esme indeeringly calls it, as, for the first time since turning, he was able to do something about the voices. Even now, as he attributes those murders as the reason he’s able to manipulate his mindreading more like a radio than an onslaught of noise, he shudders at the memory of those final thoughts slowly fading away. 

And, time. He vaguely remembered sitting through his lessons as a human as lamenting the time passing so slowly he thought he would die of boredom. The flash of jealously is not uncommon when he thinks of those very human emotions he once had. The possibility of infinity is beyond what he ever could imagine, and the understanding he would remember every single detail of it drove him mad. Those human memories, those would cease to exist in only a few more years as they faded away, but his vampire memories would never go. And he would never stop making memories, or have things like sleep or becoming comatose as a buffer to slow the onslaught. He was desperate for the first year, writing every memory he could of his human life, especially those of his Mother, who, now, was no more than her favorite Edwardian dress and a silhouette. As he reread his journal over and over, the story became more and more like a novel he plucked from a library shelf, lost in time for a person he didn’t even recognize. He couldn’t attend school or play music, no matter how much he loved it, because the feeling that something or someone was missing ate him alive.

If Esme and Carlisle hadn’t been there to help him through these impossible feelings, he feared he never would have made it out the other side.

He could see how hard it was on his new parents to watch their son suffer at the hands of fate. Carlisle’s forgiveness when he returned burned through his nonbeating heart, and Esme’s relentless kindness balled guilt low in his gut. And, worst of all, he wanted to express his love for them, his thankfulness at their patience with him, but as eloquent as he was, there were never the right words to do it. Edward knew they knew his appreciativeness, but he always wished he could express it beyond his devotion to them.

The first time he sat at the piano after his mind accepted his new life, Edward nearly convulsed at the pure adoration in Esme’s thoughts. His fingers were clumsy, not quite used to the power and dexterity that vampirism brought to every part of his being, but the song was his Mother’s favorite, and his muscle memory was stronger than his recollective memory of her face. Too fast, then too slow, but Esme’s thoughts never faltered from their awe at the notes twinkling from within the wooden piano. Her thoughts made him smile so wide his cheeks ached. They ended up sitting together in the lounge for three days, Edward playing every song he could think of, Esme watching his every move and thinking of only her love of music and her new family. Carlisle liked to joked sometimes that, had he not finally returned home after a long weekend away, the two of them would have remained sitting in the lounge until the building collapsed around them. Though they hadn’t done another musical marathon since, Esme never failed to appear in the room when Edward played, her soothing thoughts weaving in time with the notes.

Then, that Christmas, Edward gifted Esme her very own song. If she could have wept, Edward had no doubt that she would have, instead pulling him into a hug so tight he was worried he would crack apart at the seams. She insisted he played it for her, and he did, everytime she even thought about it. 

From that Christmas on, Edward turned his unspeakable feelings into music. Everyone in his life had their own music journal, filled with notes and keys and rhythms that conveyed every feeling that Edward had ever felt. Esme’s journal was filled with the slow melodies of love, Carlisle’s contained the rhythmic beat of loyalty, and as more people joined their family, so too did their journals get filled with every song he created. Rosalie scoffed at the way her songs commanded attention, though her thoughts always betrayed her pride in being someone’s muse, and Emmett’s randy tunes always made him laugh. When Alice and Jasper joined them, Edward began to experiment in a collection of genre’s to convey Alice’s changing visions, and Jasper’s fluid tangle of emotions. Edward and Jasper grew exceptionally close then, Jasper finally having someone who could relate to his complex understanding of being, constantly assaulted by other’s emotions and not always knowing which were his true feelings, and finally having a way to express that to others in ways words failed him.

Then, there were the secret journals that were for his eyes only. Esme knew, of course, Edward trusted her with every part of his being, but he never dared show the vulnerability within those pages. He composed pieces for every deep feeling he had - resentment, fear, hope, envy, rage, happiness - just to be able to get rid of the knot of emotion that tangled itself inside him. His family was too close, to all knowing, to really keep private things truely private, but he appreciated the effort anyway. Jasper would always be able to tell what emotion he was using while composing, as Alice had the ability to see which piece Edward would start next. Carlisle had a look that, even without reading his mind, Edward knew meant that he knew exactly what each song was. Rose, even, afforded him some privacy, pulling Emmett out the door with her to go shopping when his verses would become too filled with emotion. He allowed her a couple snide remarks about it here and there as a thank you.

The most embarrassing of the collection, though, was the small black embossed one Esme had gifted him many years ago. It was a souvenir from their trip to Paris for one of their many honeymoons, the first time they left Edward alone to fend for himself. The cover was intricately detailed with the Lovers of Peynet, a story of love and peace that Esme fell in love with immediately. It was only fitting, then, that Edward used that journal to write his own complicated feelings of love. He was, after all, surrounded by it all the time.

Esme and Carlisle were so perfect for each other that Edward could never fathom the fact that both had relationships before. Esme’s compassion matched Carlisle’s perfectly, and Carlisle’s thoughts were only ever burning passion for his wife. Alice and Jasper moved with one another like no one else he had seen, adapting without needing to speak to always be there for one another. Jasper never seemed to need his empathy to be attuned to Alice, and Alice, in turn, worked patiently everyday to help Jasper untangle the twisted life he led before meeting her. Even Rose and Emmett worked! Emmett’s unwavering devotion and love for his Rose was unlike anything Edward had seen, rivaling those fake ties he witness between the Volturi in Carlisle’s memories. Rose, as standoffish as she seemed, cared for Emmett so deeply that they didn’t even have to be true mates to love as fiercely as the others. Choice, Destiny, Edward wanted any of it, to hold someone like Carlisle and Esme, to love like Rose and Emmett, to be understood like Alice and Jasper.

The pages of his book were filled endlessly with the different versions of love he both dreamed and attempted, but nothing ever came close to the feeling he got when he watched his family with their true loves. He always left them when the feeling got too much, bolting out the door as soon as Jasper was able to make the connection. In those instances, the only thing he would leave with was the clothes on his back, and the black embossed notebook in his hand.

The pieces, just as his thoughts, were complicated and unfinished. He tried more times than he could count to figure out the notes that most encapsulated his feelings, but it would always come up short. Melodies would stop midway, notes scattered like a puzzle waiting to be put together. More than a few times the notebook would end up thrown across the room, something Edward perfected in order to release some frustration in a human way. 

There was only one song finished in the entire book. The pages were flicked through so frequently that they were warped along the spine, and the ink rewritten so many times the pages were on the edge of ripping right through. Edward revisited this song whenever his thoughts became too repetitive, pretending they were written by someone else just to have something to relate to besides himself. There were no wishes written in the lines, only wonder, hope, at the thought of a mate, a soulmate, really existing out there for him. A vampire, a human, something else? Female, male, neither? What would they look like? How would they react to his mindreading? Who were they?

Edward had only played the song outloud a handful of times. The first was an accident. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he didn’t realize Esme had come into the room, watching him intently as he wiggled his fingers over the keys in order to play without making a sound. Her abrupt thoughts of curiosity allowed him just enough courage to gently play the piece for her. A passing thought of longing was all Esme had to do for Edward to stop abruptly, jumping from the bench and racing out the room without a word. After that, she didn’t ever push him to play it again, even going as far as chastising herself in her own thoughts when the thought crossed her mind. Edward smiled gratefully at her whenever it happened. The next time they had the house to themselves, Esme was privy to the song in it’s entirety, the melody soft and sweet. Her chin wobbled, and her eyes grew large, the signs Edward had come to associate with Esme crying without being able to. When it was just the two of them, she would often ask for him to play it for her again, and Edward loved her too much to deny her request.

After playing it for everyone but the person it was about, he found it strange, completely unbelievable, that he was now able to play it for the very person he wrote it for. You were sat beside him, awe in your face as his fingers tapped the keys to reveal the melancholic song. You were pressed so closely to him, the lines of your body curving into his. As his arm reached across you body to play the keys on your other side, you absentmindely rested your hand on it, reminding him of the times he took pretty girls for walks in the park during his human years. If he still had a working heart, he knew it would be beating out of his chest, but he didn’t need a heart to feel the sweet of adoration deep inside him whenever he looked at you. 

Even as the original song ended, his fingers continued as if reading from his black book, melodies mixing and unfinished songs melding together to try and show you just a smidge of the emotion swirling inside him. His very own notebook brought to completion as you sat there, switching between watching the way his hand glided elegantly across the keys and his face, which hadn’t taken a moments break from yours. He effortlessly leaned down everytime your eyes met, pressing his lips to yours, stealing your breath from your lungs, and replacing it with the melody of his love. 

A new song was already writing itself out in his mind; a rhythm based entirely around the way you looked at him, eyes wide and lips pouted, and the gratitude to whatever force brought you into his complicated existence. Yes, that would have to do for now. Just until, Edward decided, he could find some other way to express the irrationally wonderful love he had for you.

______________________________________________________________

masterlist  l What is Laufeyfest? l Laufeyfest masterlist

[justallihere]

AHHHHHHHHH

Before I get into my thoughts(I freaking LOVED this chapter): I hope you find this amusing. I took a post-work nap and was super excited to hopefully wake up to the new update... I then had a very strange dream involving me reading the new chapter but it took a very strange and morbid turn where a lot of people ended up dying in your fic? 💀 I was very confused 😭 bc at some point it wasn't even FW-related anymore, it just had the characters and they were all dying and then i was fighting for my life trying not to die???? I blame the mix of caffeine I had before my nap and my chronic pain. Safe to say i woke up sweating and very confused BUT i grabbed my phone and was very happy to see the notifications for the update.

Moving onto my thoughts (Alli, the way i was LITERALLY screaming throughout the entire chapter) Strap in for a LENGTHY ask. I just love you and this fic so much can you tell my parasocial relationship might be getting out of hand

Xaden woke up and was like "Where is my wife and why isn't she here and in bed with me so I can secretly cuddle and admire her beautiful face and hair 😞", man is whipped

Violet being very grouchy and uncomfortable bc she is in pain and probably didnt sleep well? Honestly so relatable bc i was like, same girlie same. I love how you continue to highlight how Violet deals with chronic pain and how people around her are stunned by how she continues to function (i.e Garrick) It's so realistic and I love it (looking at you RY, some days ppl can't just push through and put it inside a box all the damn time) Xaden is so in tune with her needs, he's frothing at the mouth for the chance to take care of her

“It’s called taking care of you. My sincerest apologies if you’re unfamiliar with the concept.” I FREAKING SCREECHED. The fact that Xaden verbalized this to Violet's face, it just shows how he is already starting to try to re-write the narrative between the two and their relationship

Even though you already gave us the snippet of the divorce convo, I still ate it up, I can't get enough of these two!!!!

Big brother Brennan coming in clutch and telling everyone that she can only stomach fruit so Violet doesn't have to do it herself!!!! wonderful detail and it shows Violet that Brennan cares and remembers. He's trying Violet!!!! But Violet still hasn't forgiven him and I am living for it. Make him suffer girlie

I am so honored that my comment has now contributed to this fic 😭. This will be my Roman Empire for a HOT second. Of course, Xaden was able to deduct that she's good with poisons, its only right 😌. I imagine this is the progression of Garrick's face during this (🤨🤯😧😳) and Brennan has the biggest internal grin 😭 I am a sucker for older siblings being proud of their baby siblings

DON'T PANIC, THE BOOK OF FABLES WAS MENTIONED. WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE REVEAL!!!!!!! Brennan is stirring the pot whether he knows it or not. I'm cackling manically for the havoc that is about to be unleashed on their poor souls.

Did Xaden want to wring Brennan's neck for talking about the wyvern? Or he is secretly happy that he didn't have to do it himself. I remember there was an ask about how in the contract Tyrrendor wasn't allowed to disclose that information to Violet?

freaking frack... Xaden taking care of Violet will always make me weak. The fact that Violet lets him???? Girlie deserves to be pampered after the absolute shit she has and will go through

“Have you ever considered that I like putting my hands on you?” Xaden asked.  -- I would fold so fast, Violet is so strong 🫡. Xaden is so in tune with her nonverbal cues. She doesn't have to say a word and he's ready to be at her service. Man is down BAD for his wife and I am fully supportive of men being absolute simps for their hot wives

the fact that we get the backstory to how Xaden learned to braid and how Sloane MADE him redo it until it was good???? *chefs kiss* Of course Brennan would do Sloane's hair. He needed it as much as Sloane needed someone to do it for her. I am SOBBING. How do you keep making me feel things Alli??? I DON'T DO FEELINGS!!!!!

Deigh feels like a pseudo uncle or older brother to Andarana and I am LIVING for it. Andarana's like "Mom and dad need to bone so I'll make Deigh hang out with me" 😭

Of course, Violet comes up with a new way to implement runes. THATS MY GIRL! You are a genius for thinking that!!! (unless that's canon then please ignore me. I think I've reached a point where fanfics almost become canon for FW and I can't differentiate them rn)

 "Disappointment washed over him, entirely illogical; he liked the sight of her wearing something that belonged to him." You poor soul Xaden. Its only downhill from here. Emotions are never logical smh

"For that alone, Xaden didn’t complain when he took the gloves, and Liam just grinned like he knew it." I bet Xaden would murder her brother if he wasn't important if it would ensure her laugh and smile like that

geez. if you read through all of this and still answer me, thank you 🖤🖤🖤🖤 (I'm re-reading this and realized I actually wrote an essay....) I hope you can rest up this weekend and take it easy!!!!

I also took a bomb nap before posting this chapter yesterday, I love that we were on the same page about it 🫶🏻 (also it’s not parasocial if it’s reciprocated, we’re besties now)

So many beautiful thoughts here thank you!!!!! Xaden is a simp and he and Brennan are NOT prepared for Violet to find out secrets and start demanding answers from them. They should be more scared than they are

I like to let Garrick learn some new scary fun fact about Violet every so often, it keeps him humble. He deserves to be scared of this woman half his size (and as soon as he figures out that keeping her happy means Xaden will do anything, he’ll take so much advantage of it. So will Mira when she starts spending more time with them).

Deigh has been roped into this strange little family and he’s like “okay this is fine I guess” because he respects Tairn and Sgaeyl and also likes Andarna but is a little scared of her at the same time

Honestly the runes in the book confuse the fuck out of me, I tried my best, I don’t think it’s canon but Violet strikes me as the type to have all these extravagant ideas about how to use them except she’s not good enough with them yet to do it herself so she asks Xaden who will do literally anything for her

[fractiflos]

To get some of the more obscure holders, how about headcanons for En? How he met Daigoro Banjo, how he obtained OFA, how he died, etc. Thank you!

YESSSSS! I HAVE SO MANY FOR EN! They're out of order, but I'm too excited to format it correctly. Sorry it got so long.

En was the youngest of 6 siblings. I have more on that here

All throughout high school he was made fun of for being short at 5'3 (160 cm) and would always say "just wait until I hit my growth spurt" and he did. He grew to the height of 5'6 (168 cm). Because of that, he always appreciates it when someone is shorter than him

This is part of the reason he became a babysitter, entertaining kids with his amazing art skills

His quirk first activated when he was in kindergarten. Back then, quirks didn't manifest until about 10, but he was under distress because all the other kids were making fun of him.

Part of the reason he fell in love with his girlfriend (Akane Akagi) is because she was shorter than he was. It's also why he likes their Ninth holder so much.

En just finished high school and had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He loved technology, so his siblings encouraged him to do something with computers, because that's where all the money's at. He wasn't sure and decided to take a jog in the park to take his mind off things where he ran into a villain. His quirk activated on accident, allowing the new hero Lariat to take him down. After, Lariat invited him to join the new program of underground heroes the government was starting.

However, back then, underground heroes were stereotyped as cowards in the hero business. You see, this was just when quirked people were starting to become a bigger part of the population. Limelight heroes had a very good chance of being mobbed for the reason that they had quirks, and because they weren't allowed to fight back, they had a very good chance of being killed. Meanwhile, nobody even knew underground heroes existed, allowing them to be able to live a normal life. En experienced some workplace bullying because of that.

Banjo was cool though, and taught him a lot. He also became good friends with other heroes, such as Crimson Riot. And remember that girlfriend I mentioned? Yeah, she also became an underground hero. Unfortunately, she died young after being hit by a drunk driver. En's coat is red to honor her.

Red coat, blue coat, purple coat. This all means one thing. En is Bi.

En met Nana after being invited to her wedding along with his brother, Tatsuo (who would become a manga artist). Also, this happens after Banjo's death.

He was invited because Tatsuo was originally going to bring his girlfriend, but they broke up and the bride said he could come, because he was poor and in need of some good wedding food. He fell asleep during the ceremony, but after, on his way to the bathroom, he heard her crying. As it turns out, Nana's mother-in-law was a bitch to her throughout her and her husband's entire relationship. She just didn't say anything because said in-law acted like the perfect angel in front of everyone else and she was worried she wouldn't be believed. En gave her a peptalk and was surprised to see one of the new heroes from the newly created Twilight division emerge from behind the door but shrugged it off.

It was a good wedding. He ate a bunch and went back to work. Only to run into Nana again along with the fast-rising limelighter Gran Torino. They were all assigned a case, where he found himself impressed at Nana's skills. He thought back to how they first met and decided it couldn't be a coincidence. He offered her his quirk and she accepted, even knowing that she would have to fight against AFO.

AFO tried to take his quirk for the second time in their last battle. En found one of his Nomu experiment factories and was told to destroy it along with some other heroes. He didn't mean to get into battle with AFO, but it was becoming clearer that it would be unavoidable so he made sure everyone got out safely before confronting the man. After failing to steal his quirk the second time, All For One killed him out of frustration. At least the factory ended up being destroyed.

En's fighting style consisted of sneaking up on people and knocking them out. His coat has a bunch of pockets where he keeps some of his weapons and support items. His support items consist of two types of smoke bombs that he fills up with his smoke.

One type of bomb is your regular smoke bomb that fills a place up with a ton of smoke, but adds a few compounds made to irritate the lungs, forcing people to cough without being able to suppress it. The other does the same thing, but releases the smoke slowly over time. While his smoke doesn't affect him (and he's built up a decent immunity to other types of smoke) he still has the high collar to help filter out irritants like that, as long-term exposure to those things can be dangerous.

His weapons of choice are daggers, hammer, and those little rope things you throw at people that wrap around their legs and tie them up.

He and Banjo had a special move where Banjo would wrap Blackwhip around him, and then swing him around, knocking him into the enemy. Like that one scene in that Spy Kids movie, I forgot the name of.

En likes your usual house pets, but his favorites are reptiles. He always wanted a pet chameleon, but didn't have the resources for it.

He loves barbecue and his favorite drink is fruit juice. Any type of fruit juice. His favorite alcohol is wine. His favorite dessert is ice cream, it doesn't matter what flavor, he loves ice cream.

En's favorite season is winter because he really likes to wear scarves and thick coats. And yes, he eats ice cream in winter.

[sanchoi21]

Intoxicating Violet

Fyodor Dostoyevsky bsd x reader

Waring: Its just comfort fic but may not be directly connected to the story line. It's only fluff but a bit mature. Image is from manga but eyes are painted by me.

You didn't know what to do, you were enchanted by him. From the smallest action he did for you, till his talks, his voice, or his ebony smooth hair, and ofcourse his enchanting violet eyes, you loved it all.

When the first time you two met, he was there standing alone in rain, with nothing shielding him from the divine showers of sky. Many people passed by him, but no one paid any heed. He looked sad, almost broken or perhaps lost in deep thought. You don't know what took over you, but you rushed towards him and shielded him with your red umbrella. After feeling the stoppage of downpour on his head, he lifted his gaze on you, those amethyst eyes, captivating yoi then and there. It was a unique colour, and you had never seen such beautiful eyes in your entire lifetime, but something dark and unsettling clouded those jewels. He blankly stared at you for a moment before asking, "Why? Why bother??" You couldn't help but feel a blush creep up your cheeks after hearing his deep voice, as if he wasn't handsome enough already. You simply replied, "I just wanted to, can't have you soak in rain, you might get sick." To tour reply he just chuckled a little and thanked you for your kindness, asking for your name.

And soon just like that, one meeting lead to another and he couldn't help but feel a lingering warmth everytime you two were together, initially he didn't realise what was this feeling, until one day when he saw you bleeding to death because someone had stabbed you thinking that you were the one who made them suffer, not knowing that they had got the wrong person.

As Fyodor saw you bleeding and unconscious, he couldn't help but panic to what might happen next, he needed you alive, he can't see you die not after all the deaths of his close ones he had experienced throughout the years. His mind was foggy as he waited for docter to treat you, he knew he had to take revenge on whoever hurted you like this, but his brain just wasn't functioning, he couldn't even figure out simple facts about the suspect which he can do in seconds on other normal days. He breathed a sigh of relief when doctor said that you are out of danger and that was the moment he realised, just how much you ate up his mind and thoughts, till the point to make him malfunction like that. His tough facade always crumpled when it came to you.

Days passed and he soon proposed you to marriage which you gladly agreed. After getting married life was good, infact felt like heaven, being beside Fyodor every single day filled you with joy. The only thing you didn't notice was that you never once got out of that house alone as he always insisted on following you just in case any trouble occurs. You didn't notice how one by one the people who hurt you, used to simply disappear from your life. You didn't notice how much deep you had fallen in love with him, till the point that maybe one day he might ask you to shot yourself, which you would do if he wanted. Being so much intoxicated by him, maybe wasn't good, but you didn't mind. You didn't mind his killings when he had shared about his work life and ultimate goal for those to you, you just wanted him safe. You really didn't care if he was a Devil disguised as an Angel, because only you knew that deep down he really was an Angel, a Lord who portrays himself as evil in order to lead people on the right path. Though his actions might be pure evil, but you knew the reasons behind those.

His touch was like fire on your heated skin, it's just like moth being attracted to the flame and going close to it, not knowing that one day it might be the reason for its death. You were the moth and he was the flame, despite being burned by him and his cold nature sometimes, you just couldn't get away. You were fully aware of the danger this man possessed but he was too sweet to get away from. He was like a drug to you, a drug which might harm you but feels just so good that you can never let go until you die. What can you do but just recieve love as he showered you with it, he never once hurted you or so he thought, but for him you were that flame for which he would sacrifice his everything, even himself. And who are you to deny the love of the Devil, when he was so sweet to you?

When one day he said that this might be the last time you see him, if he died, losing to Dazai, you broke down crying saying that, "Kill me first, it's better than seeing you die." To which he chuckled softly and pulled you close, patting your head, "Do you trust me?" Ofcourse you did, it was out of question but you still nodded. "Then till I come back, don't leave this house, don't believe if people tell you I died, I'll return back to you, I promise." Saying this he left, months passed which felt like millenniums, all these days you were alone, you felt empty inside still worried about him, but as he returned home, just as promised, though a bit injured, you hugged him tight never wanting to let go as he smiled down upon you.

This was your love, the love that you yearned for, just you didn't know that you will get it from such a dangerous man, but who are you to complain, when you will be cherishing it forever, just like he cherishes you.

[a-i-ngels]

The Night of the attack, he knew what he'd given up. As the village surrounded with blue fire and he threw his sorcer badge on the floor, taking the girls and leaving the place to burn behind him.

_______

Now here he was, standing opposite of his former best friend, soon to be ex girlfriend ,and shoko who was watching from the distance. He loved the two of you so much, and he knew you were confused and hurt but he made his choice and he finally felt good for the first time. This only causing Satoru to yell angrily at him as he tried to make sense of his action, you standing beside him, crying as you also tried to calm him down. Looking at his eyes, pleading with him as your heart broke further. He explained to the two of you what he wanted to do. He even held out his hand to you, asking you to join him, promising you that it will be ok. You walked up to him, hugging him as he wrapped his arms around you. Squeezing you as you gave your answer to him. As much as you loved him, you just couldn't do it, crying as he let go and you doing so too. You apologized to him as you cried even more, his face stayed calm throughout the entire ordeal. Walking back to Gojo as he continued to yell at him from where he was standing. Threatening him with hallow purple while Suguru contineud to talk to him. Eventually walking out on the both of you, even when you pleaded. Your heart twisting as you hugged Gojo and him doing the same to you. Both of you watching as he disappeared into the crowd around you.

Time went by, it was just you and Satoru now, both of you dealing with the hurt and betrayal of your partner and his best friend. Eventually having to move on as you both came to terms with him and began to exceed in your sorcerer careers. Little did you know that he was hurting just as much. He hoped atleast you would join him, but he knew you couldn't do it. The slaughter of people was too much for you. You were a healer after all, so of course you didn't. He thought, maybe if he showed the girls to you, it would've persuaded you but ultimately, he let it be.

-----

He would've loved it, seeing you with the girls, together like an unorthodox family. He wished you were with him atleast, he would've treated you good, loved you, cared for you more than he did before. He would've given you everything if it meant you were by his side. Thinking about your life together if you were still with him. Soon being pulled out of his thoughts as he was being called by his deciples. Passing by the girls and rubbing their heads as he did so, telling them to wait for him.

-----

More time passed and you and Gojo were finally grade 1 sorcerers, you also had a new addition to you by a boy named Megumi, who Gojo took in as a favor to someone he knew. He didn't say anything else as he bought him home one day. The three of you getting accustomed to each other. The both of you raising him as your own, becoming an official couple for your adopted son. Both of you feeling a pang of sadness as you continued your life.

One day, you all three decided to go out, eating out as a family would for once in celebration of megumi's birthday. As you three ate and chatted, your happy setting being watched from a distance. The two of you unaware of the black haired person watching his love and life atleast get the family he wished he would've had with you as he stared before disappearing into the city around him. The three of you inside, laughing at something Gojo said as you enjoyed the rest of your meal, happy at what you have in front of you.

The black haired man, looking back at the building one more time. Smiling at the direction, heart burning as he turned back around and continued walking. He wish he could tell you how much he loved you, how much he missed you. His eyes turning glossy as he continued his walk.

-----

He never meant for you to feel hurt, your face the day he walked away from you two burned in his brain. He knew you two were hurt, he remembered seeing you two on the street one day, about a year after he left. You looked good, Satoru too, both of you were holding hands, you were talking to him about something, him responding as you kept walking before the two of you stopped, he then pulled out a ring as you looked up at him, tears falling as you exclaimed your answer, hugging each other for a minute. An onlooker clapping at your engagement before continuing on. You seemed so happy, before you both hugged each other again. Your body shaking in his arms. He could see you were crying heavily now. Satoru also bringing his hand up to wipe his eyes as he held you.

---------

As he got home to his place, he sighed and went in, the girls greeting him as he entered, waiting for him as he took his shoes off and set them with the others. They then hugged him before looking at him. Asking if he was okay as he seemed a little distracted, his eyes still somewhat glossy. With a yes and a change of facial expression, they just looked at each other and shrugged before asking him if they can go to the market later for snacks. He promised them and with that they went to their room again. Hugging him again before walking off. He then made his way to his bedroom. Opening the drawer by his closet and pulling out a picture from under a couple of other things. He then laid down before staring at the photo. It was of you and him, you looking at the camera as he hugged you from behind with one hand and held it on his other hand, both of you smiling. That was the day you two started dating officially all those years ago. He laid there reminiscing about that day.

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

He invited you to his house for the first time, introducing you to his parents. You were shy but loving, thanking them and him for having you for the evening. Then going to his bedroom after, you spent the rest of the night talking and getting to know each other better. After a while of getting comfortable, he asked you to be his girlfriend. You practically jumped into his arms when you said yes. Kissing him for the first time and leaving him surprised before he grabbed your face to kiss you again. Enjoying the night , taking the photo before you had to go home again.

At the time, he originally printed two copies out, one for you and one for him. The night he set fire to the village, all his old belongings burnt along with the people and his parents. This copy appearing in his room one day after he left for a brief moment to take care of business outside of the city.

-----

He flipped this copy around to read the message written on the back, words he reads when he feels his emotions get the best of him.

Tears coming out before he held it to his chest and stared at the ceiling. Staring quietly as he closed his eyes as your entire history flashed through his mind.

He was happy that you were and that's all that mattered. Even if it meant never being able to love you again. He still atleast was better now and so were you. The words written on the back of the photo giving him that comfort he needed:

"I promise, i swear to you. I'll be okay, you're only the love of my life."

(I listened to Better Now by Post Malone while I wrote this. Enjoy!)

[tranzfalgar]

♡ YAMATO/TENZO HEADCANON ALPHABET ♡

he's just a sweetie and i wanted to add more depth to him character! i was inspired by the sfw and nsfw alphabets created by the-coldest-goodbye on tumblr, so i made my own prompt list!

warnings: spoilers (obvs), panic attacks, general trauma, weed, and scars

A = Affection (How used to affection are they? How do they react to it? How do they show affection?)

When he is first released from ROOT, he had no idea what affection was. He spent the first chunk of his life inside of a test tube, up until he was around six years old. He never knew the love of parents, or family, so when Kakashi first put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed reassuringly he was confused as to why he wanted to cry. It took him years to get used to simple touches or compliments. I think of him as being hypersensitive to touch, but also touch starved. He loves physical affection as a whole though! He just tenses up a little bit if it's sudden, and may cry. He still isn't too great with compliments or being cared for by others, as he gets too flustered and is unsure of what to do. He is working on it though! He shows affection mostly by protecting those he cares about. He has quite a bit of strength. I would go as far as calling him one of the strongest shinobi in Konoha. So, he uses this physical strength to show his affection. Yes, it's impractical, but it's what he is used to! He is learning to show affection in other ways, yet none of them have become a part of him just yet.

B = Beautiful (What do they find beautiful within their life? Or is there a lack of beauty in their mind?)

Yamato is a huge lover of plants, and nature as a whole. Even though he was forced into having wood release, he still finds the fact he can grow living things fascinating and beautiful. It also makes him feel very attached to nature, as he is able to help plants to grow and heal. This is one of the main reasons he has come to love his wood release. Whenever he is upset, he will wander into the forest and help suffering plants, and maybe even grow a few plants of his own throughout the forest. He listens to the birds chirp, the leaves flutter in the wind, everything. He does refuse to see beauty in himself, even though he is one using the wood release and creating all of these beautiful things which he adores so much.

C = Comfort (How do they like to be comforted? How do they comfort others close to them?)

He loves physical contact without having to communicate his emotions through words. He wants to be held while he works through his feelings within his own mind. Learning how to voice his feelings is something that Yamato has not done yet, since it's so complicated, but he still appreciates someone being there for him. This sentiment travels over to how he comforts others as well. He will simply hug them, letting them speak whatever is on their mind while he pats their back or rubs circles in their shoulders with his thumb.

D = Desire (What is something they really want? What are their hopes for the future?)

Yamato wants to feel like he belongs. Throughout his entire life, he never had anyone close to him. He never had a family, or a group of friends. Yet, that is all he could ever want. He had that for a couple of years when he and Kakashi were on team ro together. He felt like he had a group of friends. They always goofed around together in the little off-time they had, and ate together at meal time. They were a team until Kakashi was forced to leave the ANBU. He felt that family connection once again with team seven, but ever since the war ended, they haven't been sent on any missions, so he feels like he has drifted from them. What Yamato wants in the future is a family of his own. Whether this be with a woman and having a child, or simply adopting a child and raising them as his own, he just wants a tight bond with one or more people. He wants to belong, he wants to feel needed.

E = Education (Who and/or where did they learn most of what they know today? Did they go to school, have a mentor, etc.?)

As much as he hates to admit it, he was taught a lot of his physical skills by Danzo and the mountain of scrolls which he was given in order to learn wood release. No one else that was alive could use wood release besides him, so he was forced to rely on the scrolls written by the first hokage, Hashirama Senju. This lead Yamato to read books in order to learn new jutsu other than wood release, most of these books written by the first and second hokage. Later on, he was taught a lot about teamwork from team ro, but mainly from Kakashi. He was used to fighting alone, so he was forced to learn a whole new style of fighting in order to fight effectively alongside the rest of his ANBU team.

F = Fears (What are their greatest fears? Where do these fears come from, if anything?)

He is terrified of labs, science equipment, and confined spaces. All of these things link back to his time within Orochimaru's lab, and how it felt to be floating within his tube helplessly while everyone around him slowly passed away. If he steps foot within in any type of lab, he will start hyperventilating, unable to focus on his original purpose for being there. Due to this, Yamato has been banned from missions involving labs.

G = Gratitude (What things in their life are they thankful for?)

He is extremely thankful for the little things, such as his warm bed, fresh water, and shelter, as these are things that Yamato never thought he would have. He thanks the world constantly for these little things, as they mean so much to him. Yet, he is most grateful to Kakashi, as he was the first person to ever show him compassion, to teach him that there was still hope for him outside of ROOT, and for bringing him into the ANBU. Yamato has never said thank you to Kakashi out loud, since he is embarrassed by the idea, but he hopes that Kakashi knows.

H = Home (What location, feeling, or person(s) do they consider their home? How has this changed over the course of their life?)

He feels completely at home when he is within nature. As I mentioned, he loves to go on walks and help the plants that are struggling. This is when he feels the most at home. He never thought of home as a place, since he never really had his own place until he was in his twenties. This lead to him feeling more at home the more plants that are around him.

I = Insecurity (What are pieces of themselves they are insecure about, physical or mental?)

Physically, Yamato is very insecure of his eyes. It isn't something he considered until he was forced to remove the ANBU mask he wore for a good portion of his life. People will sometimes mention how his eyes creep them out, and it makes him really insecure. In a way, he kind of feels bad, since he doesn't want to scare people, but there is nothing he can do to change the way his face looks. Mentally, he is insecure about his lack of social skills. It is something he never really learned since he spent most of his childhood in ROOT or in a tube, so now that he is able to talk to others, he needs to learn how to interact with others since he never really learned in the first place.

J = Joke (Do they have a playful side and/or a sense of humor? If so what is it?)

Yamato has a really playful side, due to his lack of childhood. He likes to act like a kid sometimes, goofing off and pranking people, as it is very therapeutic for him. He doesn't like to mention this is why he acts silly sometimes, but there isn't really a need to. He tends to mirror the humor of those he is closest to, which is where his love for pranks came from. Him and Kakashi prank people all of the time, nearly all of their friends have felt the wrath of their pranks. The two of them just giggle as quietly as they can as they watch from a distance.

K = Kin (Who are those that are closest to them? Have they lost anyone they considered close to them?)

Kakashi is the closest person to him, and Yamato is nearly certain that this will remain the case for the rest of his life. Kakashi and him have stood side by side for years, and have saved each others lives more than either of them could count. Plus, Kakashi knows his full story, and understands some of the pain that he went through, since Kakashi had similar experiences.

L = Love (Do they believe in love? If so, do they have a crush on anyone/are they in a relationship?)

He does believe in love, yet this is a relatively new development. Since reconnecting with Kakashi after his departure from the ANBU, he felt new feelings whenever he was around Kakashi. He ended up in the library, scanning through book after book until he found out that yes, he had a crush on Kakashi. He has yet to say anything, and he is unsure if he ever will.

M = Marks (What are some unique marks they have on their skin, such as scars, birthmarks, or freckles?)

He has scars littering his entire body due to his line of work and the amount of dangerous missions he has been on throughout the course of his life. Yet, there's one super unique mark he has. It is a little birthmark behind his right ear, and Kakashi said he thinks it's shaped like a little flower. Yamato agrees.

N = Night (What time do they go to bed at night? How easily do they fall asleep? Do they have trouble sleeping?)

Yamato likes to get in bed early, as having a routine is ingrained into him, and it isn't something that he wants to get rid of. That doesn't mean that Yamato gets a lot of sleep, or that it is easy for him. It takes hours for him to fall asleep, he spends hours tossing and turning trying to find a comfortable position. He gets woken by any little noise in his early stages of sleep. Not only this, but Yamato frequently wakes up due to nightmares, even if he does manage to make it to a state of deep sleep. He also rarely falls back asleep after being woken up by these nightmares, and on these days he'll give up completely and go on walks until the sun is peaking over the horizon.

O = Open (How open are they about their feelings to others? How long did it take them to open up, if at all?)

Yamato wants to be more open. He wants to be able to tell others exactly how he's feeling, what he needs, what he wants, but he hasn't quite learned how to do this with words yet. Expressing emotions is very difficult, especially for Yamato. Currently, he writes stuff down on paper after thinking of the correct wording, before he brings the paper to the person he wants to know his feelings. He only does this with people he is really close to, and the only people who have gotten handwritten letters from Yamato are Kakashi, Naruto and Sai.

P = Patience (How patient are they? How quick are they to anger?)

He wishes he had the patience of the other sensei's, but it isn't something he can just will into his personality. He is extremely quick to get frustrated or upset, and he hates himself for it, but there is nothing that he can do about it. Though, he has mastered keeping these feelings in check, not letting himself yell or scream unless he thinks it's necessary.

Q = Quirks (What are little things they do that only those closest to them would know about?)

Yamato can turn different parts of his body into wood, and uses this little thing to alter his body to benefit himself in his everyday life. He will use wood style to make his legs wood, and he'll extend them so he can can reach the top shelf of his cabinet, he'll turn a finger into a wooden spoon to use while he's cooking, etc. It isn't something he does often, but if someone catches him, he'll get super embarrassed!

R = Resentment (Who or what do they hate? Why?)

He hates Danzo and Orochimaru. They were the two people who tore his childhood right from his hands. They turned him into a child weapon, ruining the life he could have had if they two of them hadn't stolen him from his mom when he was an infant. He finds himself hating Danzo more, simply because he saw how badly others were affected by his 'training' methods. Sai is one of the main examples of this. There were so many people who's childhoods were ruined by Danzo, and that fact pisses Yamato off more than he could ever put into words. He was so happy to find out Danzo died, and he may have cried a bit when he was left alone after the fact. No one would have to suffer at the hands of that horrible man anymore.

S = Style (What is their sense of style when it comes to clothing? How about home decoration?)

In regards to his clothing, he prefers to wear things he finds comfortable. He likes sweaters and sweatpants, and that is mostly what he will wear when he isn't in his jounin uniform. He has a bit of a texture thing, so if you try to put him in anything denim he will punch you! In regards to his home, it's very cozy and bright. There are plants all over the place, warm blankets, and pictures hung up on the wall. Anything to make the space feel like his. He spent most of his life in a bland bedroom with no personality, so he is finally letting himself create a comfortable space that feels like home.

T = Talk (How do they communicate with others? Is their voice loud or quiet? Do they have a large vocabulary?)

He is very expressive! He isn't great with words, and has a kind of limited vocabulary, so he uses his facial expressions to convey his thoughts or the tone of his words. He does this without thinking, and no one has thought to mention this fact to him, as most find it quite endearing.

U = Unity (How do they feel about teamwork? What is their role within a team setting?)

He works very well in a team, and he loves to do so! After working with team ro for years, and learning how to properly operate with others in a team from Kakashi, Yamato found he loved it a lot. He is willing to play nearly any role within a team, yet he tends to excel at leading a group.

V = Valuable (What are their most valuable items? Where did they get them from? Why are they so important?)

He doesn't get too attached to items, since he finds himself being more attached to people, but he can't help his connection to his head protector and jounin vest. His head protector has been something he's had since he was very young, and it makes him feel more comfortable and safe. Though, his connection to his jounin vest is more due to how it represents his connection with the rest of his team and Konoha.

W = Wild Card (A random headcanon about them!)

His full name is Yamato Senju. He chose to stick with the name Yamato since it makes him happy. Those who use that name for him are all extremely close to his heart, and he is more than happy to keep a name that has such good memories attached to it. He also chose to take the last name 'Senju' after it was suggested by the fifth hokage, since he never had a surname and she wanted to make a proper jounin file for him. Tsunade views him as a little brother.

X = X-Ray (What do they look like without clothing? What is their body type? How much muscle do they have?)

Yamato has a pear build, with smaller shoulders and larger hips. He has a very toned ass, yet it is still squishy and medium-sized. He has a little bit of extra fat around his love handles due to his larger hips. He has very toned thighs as well as back muscles. He has faint abs visible on his tummy, and an outie belly button. He is covered in scars, but the most apparent one is an X-shaped one over his left peck, which tore his left nipple. He has a bit of hair on his chest, but he prefers to shave it, since he hates how it feels on his shirt. His fingers are very calloused, as are his heels, no matter how much lotion he puts on them.

Y = Young (What were they like as a child? What was their childhood like for them?)

As stated many times throughout this post, Yamato had no childhood. Six years in a tube, followed by seven years in ROOT, and the rest was spent in the ANBU. He was treated as a weapon throughout his entire childhood, so he learned to act how everyone treated him. He acted as a simple killing machine until he met Kakashi when he was thirteen.

Z = Zooted (Do they partake in alcohol or drugs? If so, why?)

Yamato will dabble in a little bit of weed, simply because it would reduce the iron grip anxiety has on him for a little while. He would only use it occasionally when he is feeling particularly anxious. He'll get high and then sit down in a field and ground himself, and that typically makes him feel less anxious.

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tags @somethingclevermahogony, @elsie-writes, and @frostedlemonwriter!

Find the Word Tag

I'll do all these in one, why the fuck not?

My words: laugh, cozy, answer, entire, brown, fish, run, screech, down, drumming, intense, swallow, inspire

Your words: dwell, thick, circus, berry

Ok, Honor's Outcasts, let's do this. I just checked and I've got fish in there a total of 74 times, this is gonna be fun

. . . .

<Today's the first day of Jasartra Eim, so I planned on doing some meditation around the fifteenth hour. If you care to join me, we can check the traps afterwards.>

<It's not that long a ritual,> he added as Izjik grimaced.

It wasn't that she was opposed to religion. Hell, she found it beyond impressive that Sepo had kept his faith throughout the conflagration that was his life, even if it was a faith that had a history of drowning innocent people. But her record when it came to gods was... messy.

<I take it you'll pass. Sorry....> Sepo was well aware of what had landed her in the highest security oubliette Illaros had to offer.

"It's fine." She forced a laugh. "Meditation's just not really my thing."

.

Izjik now knew why Sepo always complained about their cozy tenement. He'd grown up in a place like this, hadn't he? In luxury. A single damn rug here made their rooms seem like a sty!

Where they weren't coveted with strange, gorgeous curtains, the marble blocks were a furor of swirling gold and white. Their steps echoed around the vast room, bouncing off of carved columns, only to be absorbed by the weird image-bearing cloths. The whole place smelled like the first breeze of a honeysuckle summer.

.

Undeta swept her hand back and forth, as if bored, though no such emotion showed in her eyes. "Yes, you've sung this song a hundred times. From the moment we picked you up at that dingy hovel you thought you could lie low in, you've been singing away like a little canary. Tell me, Tyche, did you think it would save you?"

Tyche looked away, not bothering to answer. She'd been a fool trying to play both sides. A greedy, grasping fool. She'd thought herself, if not able to play the game exactly, then able to at least cheat off of those who knew the rules. But little did she know, she'd never even realized what pieces the powers of the world were using.

.

Maybe Izjik should've been more curious about the occult cloud that had shaded her entire life, yet she couldn't quite bring herself to it. Never once had she wanted to learn more about End and what made her its flesh exactly. She'd get those answers, to find out what the sirens wanted with her at least, but damn if she wasn't scared of what they'd be.

.

Sepo had always been one of those people who looked like shit no matter how much they slept or ate, but under the gilded light, Izjik failed to hold in her shock at how wasted he seemed.

The man had practically aged ten years in three months - quite the feat for someone whose golk could live well over three centuries and not look a day over twenty-five. Sepo’s cheeks were nearly as sunked as they'd been when the pair had first met, and his eyes were ringed with shadow. At his temples, Izjik noticed several streaks of gray shining amidst the brown.

With a chuckle, Izjik poked at the side of his head.

"We match," she smiled, ruffling her own head of silver.

<Actually, this whole thing was just a plan to steal your look,> Sepo signed with a smirk. <I've decided gray is going to be my color from now on.>

.

Upon making his way over to the rest of the gaggle, Djek discovered them to be in full scheming mode. Which meant Sepo was plotting with Twenari in rapid-fire handsigns, while Izjik interjected with the occasional observation or revelation that something was stupid or the plan was terrible.

Surprisingly enough, the fish seemed to be acting perfectly civil around each other. They weren't back to their full swing, sibling-level banter, but they were at least speaking. Djek figured the pair wouldn't have lasted long in the Trench if they didn't know how to act professional in a time of crisis. Thank the gods for small mercies.

.

Fear now accompanying pain, the woman tore off a strip of her shirtsleeve and jammed it desperately against the wound, fresh needles of pain cropping up with the pressure.

How could she fix a gut wound? Panic mounting, Izjik recalled an instance from her childhood.

In her eleventh year, one of the hunters had run afoul of a tusked water deer during a patrol. It hadn't been a deep wound, the buck not being more than a little thing, but the puncture had been pretty close to where hers was now. Everyone had been sure brawny Raluheh would pull through. Five agonizing, rot-fulled days later, the enclave had been proven wrong.

.

"You- you're sparing me?" the siren coughed out.

Sepo gestured for him to go with a jerk of his chin.

"But what about our deal?" he whined. "You have no idea what I-"

Sepo cut off his complaints by shoving him towards the alley's exit.

"You little ingrate! You can't just expect me to leave without an answer!" Cintillios screeched.

Sepo shrugged, then brandished his dagger as if weighing it against the priest's freedom.

"You will give me an answer, you mute abomination! Even if I have to force it from your lips!"

.

Slipped inbetween Izjik’s arguments was a hard, dead silence.

"That doesn't mean I can't make my own calls!"

There was a hissed breath in response, then more silence.

"Like you would've done any different? Be honest!"

Breathe, breathe. In and out.

Twenari sighed, moving over to plop down onto their raggedy little settee. It wasn't like an argument was uncommon for the pair. Hell, she's heard them argue over the color of a woman's hat once. A woman, she might add, who'd been standing right next to then in a bank queue, and whose blushing face had perfectly complimented her obviously blue hat.

There'd been more serious discussions too, but when those had coma along, both seafolk seemed to rein it in a bit. Izjik’s voice lost its fiery indignation while Sepo toned down his typical vitriol.

That balance wasn't happening now. In fact, from what she could hear and deduce, the two were pulling out all the nasty, petty stops.

.

Twenari pawed at her eyes, knowing her life may depend on clearing them more quickly than her opponent. She spied a hazy shape before her, unrecognizable for a moment with its golden locks singed an ashen black. Tyche clawed at her own face, muscles tensed in pain. Twenari guessed the Ekektan was screaming. Only guessed though - all the girl could hear was an intense ringing.

.

A moment of silence followed in both rooms, the sort that felt painful to maintain, yet too awkward to break. However, Twenari hadn't gotten to where she was in life by listening to social cues. Swallowing, she screwed up her courage and stammered the question.

"Um, Djek, are you holding up ok?"

For a second, the Amaranthi's gap-toothed smile seemed frozen in place, shocked into a state of preservation while any happiness drained from his eyes.

"I, uh, I'm doing great. What are you talking about?" He chuckled unconvincingly. "You know me, heart of nails and all that."

Twenari didn't dignify that last part with any response more than a deadpan stare.

. . . .

And that's a wrap! Open tag because I'm tired :)

[feastingmaggots]

momentary bliss : ch. 5

TW; MAJOR ED MENTIONS

You know, he never did answer Stan’s question.

‘Have you been eating??’

And did it worry him? Yes. It did. A lot; actually.

He cared about his boyfriend so much more than he did about himself, and just the thought of him suffering like that internally killed him.

And he thought.

‘You know, maybe Kyle feels the same way about me.’

But he didn’t care. He didn’t matter as much as Kyle did.

Meanwhile, Kyle was busy in his head; counting and tracking his calories throughout the entire day. He made sure to eat breakfast, but skip lunch and dinner as to even out his calorie intake.

To make himself proud, he would wrap his pinky and thumb around his wrist and smile when they touched. The feeling of his stomach applauding him was better than any food tasted. He couldn’t explain it in words.

Seeing himself become thinner and thinner overtime boosted his own confidence by a million; Being able to see his own ribcage was satisfying in the oddest way possible. He couldn’t explain the euphoria he experienced whenever he lost weight.

It was such a delightful feeling. Yet he couldn’t share it with anybody.

Not even Stan. He would be too worried.

Nobody knew that his own way of eating wasn’t ‘unhealthy’, it was just.. different. Some would say he was sick in the head, others would say he had an eating disorder.

But Kyle said, it’s just dieting!

He’d always been a fairly skinny guy, he was never picked on for being overweight in any way shape or form, but it was just for his own personal image.

Also, it made him feel in control of at least one thing in his life.

He’d lost control of his intrusive thoughts, his temper, and basically his whole life. This style of control he had over himself helped him balance out the fact he didn’t feel as though he was in charge of anything in particular.

Nothing tasted as good as hunger felt.

He would wake up, examine his figure in the mirror, brush his teeth, go downstairs and skip breakfast. His excuse for doing so was that in the morning he was nauseous and food just made it worse.

Then he’d walk to school. Not without almost passing out at least twice though. The lack of nutrients and energy in his body wasn’t exactly the most healthy thing to live with; especially with how active he usually was.

When he was at school, he never ate. Never touched- never even looked at food. That was his rule. Don’t eat at school. No matter how hungry, no matter how tempted he was; Don’t.

Even when people came to check up on him.

‘Hey, I’ve noticed you don’t really eat a lot.. Are you doing alright?’

‘Do you need me to bring you something to eat?’

‘You feelin’ okay?’

Yes, no, yes.

These two answers were ones that he got used to repeatedly saying due the people asking him about it. Nobody needed to know. Nobody besides himself.

(nobody needs to know)

Then, he’d arrive home. His stomach screaming at him for something like always; but the screams were ignored. His body was a neglected crying child, and he was the parent.

His temptations almost took over some of the times, but he would just pinch himself in hopes of shooing them away.

(get out of my head)

(im finally in control of something for once and youre taking it away from me)

Sheila would make dinner. She would offer, Kyle would refuse. She would insist, he gave in. He asked to be excused, she excused him. She thinks he’s going to bed, he threw up all of the food out of his body and into the porcelain toilet bowl.

He would then proceed to lay down in his bed, curled up in the fetal position as he hugged his stomach. The growling went on and on for what seemed like hours before it finally subsided, leaving him with a mild feeling of bliss in how empty he felt.

His phone buzzed, but he didn’t hear it. He payed no attention to it. His attention was instead on the sound of cicadas outside his window. He rolled over to stare at the ceiling, his brain fuzzy as he began to grind his teeth together anxiously. Millions of thoughts raced in his brain yet he couldn’t seem to pinpoint even one.

Something that helped him was chewing gum. He would chew and chew and chew until it became the illusion of food. He would trick his mind into thinking he wasn’t hungry since he was just chewing something!

Gum was also handy because it had zero calories. He would chew gum for hours and hours until it lost all the flavor, and it just felt as though he was chewing rubber; and then he would chug ice cold water.

The cold water seeped down his throat, giving him a nice feeling from the lack of things he’d been swallowing recently..

…