#i did not know that a hypothetical situation could cause me so much distress

[killerqueenlux]

Thank you so much to my wonderful @tolerate-it-tomlinson 🤍🤍 for tag me in this to answer:

What would be your reaction if you met Louis on the street?

And well that's simple i clearly would DIE, yes just like that...

No seriously, I genuinely don't think my brain could compute the moment , if I manage to get past the initial shock i would probably start crying, in a ugly way, then i would start praying for me to understand his accent and that i wouldn't forget how to speak english.

I would love to tell him how much his music has change my life, that I have gone through very difficult things and he has given me the strength to always keep fighting and that he saved me in every way a person can be saved (yes, i indeed get that from Titanic but it's also very true) then i would continue crying

I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO ANSWER!! THE SIMPLE HYPOTHETICAL SCENARIO MAKES ME NERVOUS!!

Hahahahahah this was hilarious, I would like to see the reaction of @onlyforthekings @moonelust @marrltt @nico-cab @holyshit @tanktop-lou @aestheticlarrie @louisalwayswins @just-onemorequeer @pearlblue2 @eyessoblouis @tommoismyprince 💙💙💙

[roanniom]

This made my day seeing your requests open!!

I’d like to please request some hot dominat Clyde action. We all know he’s a softy, but we all also know he’s capable of being a big and scary if he needs to. Thoughts on Clyde protecting you from something and then still being riled up with you after, in all the best ways? :)

Hiya anon! I was happy to write this for you. Fun story, what Clyde does (re: the beer bottle) in this story is actually something a bar tender did when defending me from a creep back in my college bar hopping days lol. I WISH it was Clyde who had done it. I would have loved to thank him. 😉

Out of Trouble

Clyde Logan x Reader

Word Count: 2,730

Warnings: NSFW, PIV sex, possessiveness, dirty talk 

You reassess the situation you find yourself in – by no means an unfamiliar one, but definitely out of the norm these days and wholly unpleasant all the same. The man currently harassing you at the bar is clearly not a local. First of all, you don’t recognize the handsy son-of-a-bitch. And secondly, everyone in town knew that you were Clyde’s girl.

You two had only recently made things official, but in a way, hadn’t you always been Clyde’s girl? Your best friendship had always been tinged with a sweetness that surpassed the roles of mere pals. Sure there was flirting, how could you resist with the way a properly timed tease or suggestive comment could make Clyde blush and stammer as if on command? But even more prevalent, and more obvious to the patiently waiting members of the town, was the ownership you both had of one another. People knew better than to hassle either of you, verbally, hypothetically, or otherwise, in the presence of the other. You had Clyde’s back and he had yours, each of you displaying a possessiveness that made others smirk and roll their eyes while hiding their jealousy. You had what they did not, and now that the two of you were finally dating, envy was a common emotion amongst regular Duck Tape patrons.

Something this creep clearly was not privy to it would seem as he reached out to caress your forearm, an action which you flinch to avoid.

“Come on, baby. Let me buy you a fucking drink,” he was saying at this point. He was getting more forceful and though you had previously been courteous in your refusals, you realize that it might be time to fight back. He swayed on his barstool before continuing. “Stop being such a bitch. What could one drink hurt?”

“Every bone in yer fuckin’ body,” comes a low, deep growl that makes both you and the creep look up to the swinging door behind the bar. Your heart swells with relief and other, undefinable emotions as Clyde stalks up, his massive body an intimidating figure as it looms over the other, weasel-y man, threatening even with the bar between them.

“W-what’s your problem?” the creep practically squeaks before clearing his throat and jumping up, trying to draw himself up to his full height, which just comes across as laughable. Of course, next to Clyde, any height would be laughable.

“My problem is yer comin’ onto m’girl. That’s my problem.” His tone is deadly quiet. That’s your Clyde, soft spoken, even as his flesh hand clenches and murder simmers behind his eyes.

“Look, she was sitting here all alone. In my book that makes a bitch fair game - ” the creep begins, but he doesn’t get much farther with his misogynistic diatribe because Clyde reaches over, grabbing a nearby customer’s almost empty beer. Grasping the bottle around the neck, Clyde smashes the bottle down against the edge of the bar. The barrel shatters with a loud crash that silences the din of the room and causes the neck of every patron to whip around for the source of the sound. Clyde stands before the creep brandishing the remaining shards of the beer bottle like a shiv.

“Here’s what yer gonna do,” Clyde says calmly, the violence of his actions not succeeding in raising the volume of his voice. “Yer gonna apologize t’ the lil lady fer troublin’ her, understand?”

The creep stares at Clyde, wide-eyed and panicked before nodding and turning to you hastily.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking, sorry –”

“Good,” Clyde says, cutting the guy off so that he can no longer address you. You eye Clyde as he waves the shattered bottle menacingly. He’s never looked bigger. Never looked darker. Never looked hotter. When he speaks again his voice is even lower, if that’s possible. “Now yer gonna get the fuck outta my bar.”

The creep is gone in a matter of seconds, running out the front door so fast you almost imagine his skeleton being left on the bar stool in his wake like some frightened cartoon character. Before you can look back up at Clyde, his large hand is encircling your wrist and yanking you toward to door to the back of the bar. You let yourself be pulled, barely registering how the conversation kicks back in, customers already basking in the aftermath of Clyde’s rare emotional outburst.

Once the door to Clyde’s office is safely shut behind you, Clyde pushed you to sit down on his couch while he paces back and forth in front of you. You’re bewildered by this response, unsure if you should say something so you remain silent, watching him. After a moment Clyde yanks a hand through his hair forcefully. You swallow and decide to finally speak up.

“Are you okay, Clyde?”

“I’m NOT fuckin’ okay,” Clyde replies and you’re shocked at the way his voice raises with his words. You’re suddenly worried he’s gotten the wrong idea and you’re quick to fold your arms defensively across your chest, your own voice rising.

“Hey, if you’re mad at me you should know it’s not like I encouraged that asshole.”

Clyde is quick to round on you, looking panicked.

“I didn’t say ya did. I know ya wouldn’t…ya’d never…” Clyde trails off into a growl and resumes his pacing, flesh hand clenching and unclenching.

“It’s over, Clyde,” you soothe now, switching tactics and lowering your own defenses. He’s clearly distressed and you’re not sure how to calm him. “He’s not the first and probably won’t be the last guy to bother me.”

“That’s what’s killin’ me, darlin’. What if I hadn’t walked out? What if ya were alone an’ this happened?”

“I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know ya can,” Clyde says, voice more characteristically quiet now but frustration no less palpable as he waves his prosthetic arm distractedly. “I dunno what’s gotten intuh me. I saw him touch ya an’…an’…” Clyde reaches out and swipes across a table, throwing everything to the ground. His chest heaves with his outburst. Yours is rising and falling rapidly now, too, but for you its stemming from the realization that this man. This sweet, beautiful man is losing his cool over his desire to protect you. To defend you. You’re a modern woman. As you’d just told him, you can take care of yourself and you are very proud of that fact. But something about the dark look in his eye and the way his muscles shift tensely beneath his shirt and the way he stomps before you makes you feel like you want to disappear in his arms and never resurface.

“You’re a good man, Clyde,” you say softly. He shakes his head and gives a humorless laugh.

“Not tonight, I’m not, darlin’. Not with these thoughts. I haven’t felt this way since…”

“Overseas?” you ask. He nods, trying to take a deep breath but releasing an even angrier exhale.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. I can’t seem to calm down. I’m just so fuckin’ mad.”

You watch your big bear, usually so gentle, wrestle with his emotions before you. Immediately you have an idea, standing up and moving to him. Using one hand to peel open his fist and interlace your fingers. He grips you too tight but you just bite your lip. Your other hand slides over his bicep and shoulder, kneading into the tense muscles there as you press your face into his chest. His prosthetic arm winds around your waist, pulling you into his body naturally. This does nothing to slow his breathing, which picks up more speed. Feeling you against his body is reminding him of how small you are. How vulnerable. He feels another surge of rage and desperation course through his veins.

“I don’t know why I’m feelin’ this way,” he mumbles but you reach up and grab his face to force him to look at you.

“Feel whatever way you feel,” you reassure him. You lift up on your tiptoes to give him a kiss, but the force with which he responds steals your breath. His arms wind around your body and crush you to him as his tongue ruthlessly explores your mouth, as if searching for solace can only be done in the space where you are most conjoined. The aggression is dizzying and his fingers are bruising on your frame but you love it. Used to light touches, soft caresses, you feel a hunger burn beneath your skin, as if your every muscle is rejoicing at the deeper pressure, the deeper friction.

When Clyde finally pulls away you are winded and dazed, now breathing just as heavily. His eyes look no less wild but now there is a tinge of concern.

“M’sorry, darlin’. We should stop, ‘m too worked up. Can’t be sweet to ya the way ya like.” His words are husky and rushed but you’re just as rushed to shush him. You’re already working at his belt and pulling him back to the couch.

“I like you in whatever way you’ll have me, baby,” you mumbled against his flesh, kissing down his throat as you pull him down to the cushions. “Take it out on me.”

“What if I’m too rough with ya?” Clyde asks, but his hands are already ripping your shirt over your head and his mouth latches onto your throat, your collar bone, your breast through your bra.

“I want you to be rough with me, Clyde. I’ve wanted you to be rough with me since the moment you walked out and gave that asshole what-for.” You’re pressed down, back against the couch now, with your legs tight around the wide barrel of Clyde’s body.

“Did ya like that, darlin’? Yer Big Bear defending ya?” He’s no longer hesitant in his movements and no longer trying to stop himself. Instead he takes a handful of your ass, pulling your pelvis up off the couch so that your clothed pussy presses fully into his erect and waiting cock. You moan, both at the sensation and at him calling himself Big Bear for the first time. You’d only been dating for a few weeks and things were still new, including shyness around pet names. You’d called him Big Bear the night before in the teasing lead up to some love making and he’d only flushed and stammered in response, busying himself by burying his face between your thighs.

But right now he’s gazing down at your face with an air of intensity and you feel saliva pool in your mouth and wet slick your quivering heat.

“I liked my Big Bear defending me. So strong and big.” You say the last word as you close your hand around his enormous cock through his unzipped jeans. Clyde bucks into your hand and hums from where he’s suckling at the underside of one of your breasts, curved down into you despite your differences in height.

“Nobody else can have ya,” he grumbles before hoisting you higher on the couch so he can position his cock at your entrance. You gasp at the feeling of his member sliding between your folds, getting covered in your waiting slick.

“Nobody. Only you, Big Bear.” Before you can say anything else Clyde has speared into you in one swift motion and taken up an unforgiving pace. There was the aggression he’d been worried about and boy was it rough. You cling to him for dear life as he fucks you into the couch cushions. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your jaw goes slack.

It hurts – he’s much too big to be going this hard this fast – but his grip on you is so tight it melts your aching muscles. The desperation of his thrusts make you hiccup through your inhales and you feel surrounded. Crushed. Filled. All in the best way possible. You love the darling Clyde who coaxes your orgasms with caresses and honeyed words and languid strokes. But this Clyde – this is your Big Bear. His eyes drink in your bouncing breasts as he’s not able to clutch them with the way he has to support his own weight with his good arm. Your back arches deeper from the effects of a particularly deep thrust, bringing your chest up to press against his and he groans.

“This body. No wonder people’re comin’ on to ya, darlin’. This body’s too perfect,” he practically growls, burying his face into your throat. “Maybe I should just keep ya here on my cock. Stay inside ya. Keep me warm and keep ya outta trouble.”

You moan loudly as his dirty words are accentuated by a change in angle that lets him pound into a particularly sweet spot. Your walls pulse around him.

“Oh god. Oh Clyde.”

“Back to callin’ me Clyde already? Am I not bein’ rough enough for ya?” Clyde asks, biting down into the sensitive flesh of your throat. You cry out, hips gyrating against him, legs and walls clamping down around him with an unconscious need to keep him buried deep inside you.

“F-fuck, oh fuck me, Big Bear. I can take it!” you practically whine.

“Yes ya can. So good, takin’ yer Big Bear.” His trusts begin to bottom out harsher, faster. The pressure and the speed have pulled your muscles as taut as they can go and you know you’re seconds from snapping. It was all so sudden. You’re both so worked up, not only from the experience out in the bar, but from the headiness of being this way with one another for the first time. He may be the one pounding into you, but you’re giving as good as you’re getting, rolling your hips up to meet each thrust. Pulling him down into you and raking your fingernails up and down his back.

It’s desperate and needy and possessive – equally so. He is yours and you are his and ownership never tasted so sweet.

Just as you’re about the cum, Clyde seems to sense it and shoves your legs up by the back of the knee, ensuring his next few thrusts rub up against the spot inside you that makes your eyes cross and makes your moans turn into desperate whimpers. You have the vague thought that this proves how well Clyde has come to know your body, what a great student he is of your orgasm, just as said orgasm crashes over you.

You know for sure that the Duck Tape customers heard you. Your belief in your audience becomes even stronger when Clyde lets out a delicious moan as he cums, too, painting your insides with spend made just for you. You’re sweaty and it’s only 7 pm on a Tuesday. Clyde’s going to have to go back to tending bar and you’re going to have to slink out, so clearly ravaged and thoroughly fucked to the likely amusement of a roomful of people who’d been rooting for your coupling. You chuckle to yourself, as Clyde drops the weight of his whole body on you, crushing you. Those people outside definitely got a chance just now to hear your coupling firsthand.

“That…was amazing.” It comes out breathless, as though you’ve just run a marathon. And because you have the mass of a large man pressing you into the couch. When Clyde finally lifts his head from its resting place at your neck he looks sheepish and embarrassed and pleased and winded.

“’M sorry if I was too much for ya, darlin’. Once ya started touchin’ me I couldn’t think straight.”

You silence him with a kiss, grabbing his face to make it deep. When you pull away your smile is ear to ear.

“If you make me feel like that, baby, there’s absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

Clyde moves to pull out of you, his cum now seeping out around his softening cock, but you tighten your legs around him suddenly.

“What happened to staying inside me, mister?” you tease.

Clyde stands abruptly, pulling you up with him still seated in your dripping cunt. Your gasp and scramble to hold onto him. He takes a few playful steps towards the door and you swat at him.

“No, I think yer right, darlin’. What better way tuh make cocktails than with my lil cockwarmer?”

~*~

Tagging some lovely friends (please let me know if you would like to be tagged or untagged in the future!): @noocturnalchild @thedivinemissn @insufferablelust @historyandfandoms50 @lostinthedrive @thewilddingleberries @edencherries @mariesackler @safarigirlsp @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @paper-n-ashes @clydesfavoritegirl @wayward-rose @hopeamarsu @thegreenmatt @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @maybe-your-left @aliveandlonely @han-not-solo @morby @emeraldsiren20 @maryforyou @aloneandsleepless @jynzandtonic @renmaulxo @millenialcatlady @leather-flannel-liquor @soggywhore

[fanmoose12]

A scenario about an unlikely meeting between the three men, Moblit, Onyankopon and Flegel in a bar one day please. And how they realized that they share something in common: the fondness and affection towards a certain survey corps leader. After getting drunk, they start rumbling about how dense Hange is when it come to romance and how she unknowingly rejects their attempts to ask her for a date (for valentines). This three men end up declairing how much they care and treasure Hange.

Unknowingly for this trio, on the counter sits Levi and also... Hange. Who heard everything. Levi decided to be honest with his feelings as well. He also made sure Hange realized that he is her number one fan.

In Moblit's personal opinion, there was no better way to spend an evening after an exhausting week than in a small pub with a pint or two of cold, delicious beer.

As he took his first sip of the evening, swallowing the bitter liquid, his lips curled into a happy smile.

Truly... there was nothing better than this.

His bliss, unfortunately, was short-lived. He was only finishing his first pint, his eyes already looking for a waitress to ask for another, when a man with red slicked back hair joined him at the table. His appearance seemed overly familiar, but in the semi-darkness of the pub, discerning his features proved to be quite a task.

"Hey man," he clasped Moblit on the back, almost knocking the air out of him. "I know you, don't I? You're the guy who always follows Hange, right?" Ah, now, Moblit remembered where he had seen this man. "M-mobit."

"Moblit," he corrected. "Yes, that's me."

"I knew you were familiar!" the man guffawed. "Don't know if you remember me but I'm-"

"Flegel Reeves," Moblit smiled forcefully. He looked at the man closely, studying his face. He didn't seem that drunk. Then what did he want from him?

"You remember me! Sorry for forgetting your name," Flegel rubbed his neck, looking away in shame.

"It's okay," Moblit assured him. "We weren't properly introduced after all."

"Yeah, it was hell of a situation. Besides, with Hange-san around-"

"It's easy to get lost in her shadow," Moblit nodded.

"Hey!" Flegel protested. "I wasn't trying to-"

"Like I said, it's okay," Moblit's smile became warmer, as he saw how genuinely distressed Flegel was. "Do you need something? Is police causing you problems again?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I just- well, wanted to have some company? You know, beer tastes better if you drink it with a friend."

Friends? They weren't friends, they've met only a couple of times and barely exchanged more than a few words with each other. But, maybe, there was some truth to Flegel's words. Spending his Friday night, getting drunk in a pub all by himself sounded a little too depressing even for Moblit.

"So?" Flegel looked at him hopefully. "You don't mind keeping me company? If you don't, then the next round on me."

Well, that made all of Moblit's doubts disappear without a trace.

"Let's get the night started," he replied, earning a wide grin from Flegel.

***

"Can I sit here?" a couple of minutes later, Moblit and Flegel were approached by an unfamiliar, dark-skinned man. "I wouldn't like to impose, but all other tables are taken."

"Join ours then, friend!" Flegel exclaimed, slumming his hand on the table. "The more the merrier! I'm Flegel!"

"Moblit," he smiled, shaking the hand of the newcomer.

"Onyakopon," the man returned the smile easily, showing small dimples. Moblit frowned slightly, muttering the name under his breath. He'd heard it somewhere, he was sure. "Again, sorry for the intrusion."

"Don't you worry!" Flegel clasped his back and Onyakopon winced ever so slightly. Moblit gave him a sympathetic look. He knew from experience just how strong Flegel's arm was. "Just drink and relax!"

"Next round is on him," Moblit whispered to Onyakopon. "So drink as much as you want."

Onyakopon chuckled. "Seems like I've chosen the best table then."

***

"So," Flegel sat with his chin upon his hand, staring at Moblit with slightly unfocused eyes. "How is she doing?"

"She?" Moblit repeated, hiccuping.

"Yes, she. Your boss. Hange-san," his eyes lighted up as he pronounced her name. "How is she?"

"You know Hange-san?" Onyakopon jumped from his place on Moblit's shoulder.

"You know Hange-san?" Moblit and Flegel asked in unison.

"Our paths... crossed a few times. I worked with her, when she was studying abroad."

"I knew your name was familiar!" Moblit cried out triumphantly. "You're Onyakopon, the guy who helped Hange with her thesis!"

"She didn't really need my help..." Onyakopon smiled shyly. "With the exception of those times when she got lost in our campus. But we were good friends back during our collage days. How do you know Hange?"

"She helped me once," Flegel said. "And this guy," he gestured to Moblit. "Is her ever loyal assistant. Where Hange goes, he follows."

"It's not like that at all," Moblit mumbled into his drink.

"You work with Hange?" Onyakopon's eyes widened. "Oh, mate, I envy you so much! She's brilliant, isn't she?"

"She is," Moblit agreed with a soft smile.

"Hange is really one of a kind..." Flegel added, a dreamy look appearing on his face. " I say it warrants a toast!" he lifted his glass, Moblit and Onyakopon following after him. "To Hange!"

"The most extraordinary person I've seen!" Onyakopon declared.

"The kindest and most selfless person I've ever met." Moblit said.

"To Hange!" the three of them cried out together, clicking their glasses.

"We need more beer," Flegel announced, already calling the waitress.

Moblit and Onyakopon nodded in agreement.

***

Two rounds later, Moblit was sitting without a jacket and with two top buttons of his shirt undone. Onyakopon was leaning heavily on him, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. Out of the three of them, Flegel seemed the most sober, still sporting the same satisfied grin.

"Hey, Moblit," he kicked him under the table. "Have you ever- well," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "You know."

"I don't," Moblit shook his head, lifting the glass to his lips.

"Have you ever," Flegel began again, dragging the last word. "Thought about asking Hange out?"

Moblit chocked and then snorted, spluttering his drink all over the table. "What? Of course, not."

"Liar," Onyakopon hummed under his breath.

"I'm not!" Moblit protested, offended.

"What? You really have never thought about it? Never-never?" Flegel gawked. "Not even once? Not even hypothetically?"

Well, Moblit would be a liar if he claimed that he had never thought about it. And he would be a liar if he claimed he hadn't had a crush on Hange. But he knew Hange well enough to know that it was never meant to be.

"Hange-san and romance don't go together," he said, wiping the spot on his shirt he stained with spilled beer.

"Maybe, you're right," Onyakopon rubbed his chin. "I once asked her out to watch the fireworks. What could be more romantic, right?" Moblit and Flegel nodded in agreement. "She spent the whole evening, marvelling at the mechanics of said fireworks. It was interesting, endearing even, but," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think she ever realized it was a date."

Moblit and Flegel squeezed his shoulder in sympathy.

"I gave her flowers once. It was a really nice bouquet, I picked the rarest flowers I could find," Flegel said. "Hange really liked them, her smile was so wide! So pretty too!"

"She does have a pretty smile," Onyakopon agreed softly.

"And beautiful eyes," Moblit added.

"I thought she realised my intentions! She even offered go out for some coffee, I was sure it was a date. But Hange spent the whole time, gushing over the flowers. She gave me a full lecture on the reproductive process of each flower in the bouquet. And after she finished, she left with some short guy with the fiercest glare I've ever seen."

"Short guy?" Moblit stirred. "Levi?"

"Levi! I've heard of him!" Onyakopon nodded enthusiastically. "Hange talked a lot about him. Are they a thing then?"

"Hard to say," Moblit gloomily drunk from his glass. "Like, really, really hard to say. Hange is a bit of a weirdo, but Levi is even more so."

"Oh, tough," Flegel said. "But they look cute together."

"Yeah," Moblit smiled. "They really do."

"To Hange and that Levi fella then?" Onyakopon offered, raising his glass.

"To Hange and Levi!" Moblit and Onyakopon joyfully agreed.

***

Watching Hange hide her face in embarrassment put a smile on Levi's lips. Maybe, he should go and thank these men. Shake their hands, tell them how much he appreciated what they did. It was good to see Hange being flustered for a change.

And it felt good to know she was so adored by those around her. Hange needed all that reassurance and praise. And she more than deserved it.

"Don't you dare say even a single word," she hissed, raising her eyes to glare at him.

"I wasn't going to," Levi shrugged. "But you have lots of admirers, it seems."

"Shut up," Hange grumbled.

At the table at the opposite side of the pub, Onyakopon, Flegel and Moblit raised their glasses for yet another toast about Hange. Hange groaned, as her cheeks became even redder than before. Levi couldn't resist a chuckle.

"Maybe, I should go to them? Tell them that I've heard everything?"

"Don't," Levi shook his head, drinking from his glass. "You'll embarrass them to death."

"Speaking from experience?" Hange raised an eyebrow, smirking.

"What are you getting at, four-eyes? I never feel embarrassed," Levi easily retorted.

"Sure," Hange sang playfully. "Say," she elbowed him in the side. Levi didn't like the knowing look in her eyes one bit. "Are Moblit, Onyakopon and Flegel my only admirers?"

"Of course, not," he replied without missing a beat. Two could play this game. "I think Armin and Kirshtein are your secret fans as well. Probably the whole bunch of those brats adore you."

"Are they the only ones?" she repeated her question.

"Erwin and Mike like you too..."

"And?" Hange pressed. Levi was ready to crack, she could feel it.

Levi turned his face away, crossing hands on his chest. She was really going to make him spell it out, huh? What a bother.

"I like you too actually."

"Oh?" Hange kept her face neutral, feigning disinterest. "You do?"

"Yeah, even more than those losers over there."

"Really?"

"Uh huh, you can even say... I'm your number one fan."

"Levi!" Hange jumped onto him, almost knocking him off the chair. He caught himself at the last moment and already opened his mouth to scold her, but Hange kissed his cheek in that moment and all coherent thoughts left his head.

"I'm your number one fan too, shorty," she confessed, ruffling his hair. "Well, maybe after Eren," she added with a chuckle.

Levi pushed her off himself with an annoyed grunt. What a way to ruin the moment, he thought darkly. He was almost ready to confess.

Well, there would always be another time, he guessed.

He just had to hurry, so no members of Hange's fan club would beat him to it.

[unitchiefs-blackbirdphoenix]

You may have seen this going around but people are hating JJ for snapping at Reid in 10x11. Like maybe she shouldn’t of done that but she was having a literal breakdown and her ptsd affecting her a lot. Not to mention that Reid did the same when Emily asked if he was okay when he was going through his drug addiction and ptsd after Hankel but yet no one gives him hate for it. Emily also snapped at Garcia in 6x17 when Garcia checked up on her. They two were also going through a lot but people still defend them while JJ who also did the same as them gets the most hate (which doesn’t surprise me with this fandom). And at the end of 10x11 JJ thanked Reid for helping her and in a way apologised. Also Reid, Emily and Garcia didn’t take it personally when they were snapped at as they could tell something was going on. When you’re going through something especially trauma it’s possible you may end up snapping at someone and we shouldn’t give them hate for it.

Sorry for this rant, I’m just annoyed that people are hating on JJ for going through something traumatic

Hi thank you so much anon!

I don't know exactly what happened recently regarding this situation, but after reading this ask, I 100% agree with you! You are more than welcome to rant about this because I feel the same way. I think I have seen something like this in the past, and I still don't understand the JJ hate, which I will get at the end of the post under the cut. (I also apologize in advance if this is all over the place haha)

I think JJ has the right to feel the way she feels in 10x11. JJ probably thought Reid means well when he was asking if she was ok, but it also seemed very clear that she didn't want to talk about it. She also didn't want them to cause a scene in a place where it's public. Like you said, it seemed pretty similar to the scene about Reid getting mad at JJ for hiding the fact that Emily was still alive. He didn't get much hate as JJ did in that moment, too. Even people were blaming JJ for "hurting Reid's feelings" because she had to protect someone very close to her and the team. JJ already felt guilty having to lie to the team and while Hotch wasn't the target of Reid's anger, he still felt responsible for his actions and Reid's feelings. In fact, Hotch has made that clear for everyone to tell him how they felt about Emily's return. Even in 7x02, Hotch tells Reid if he is angry, Hotch is willing to take the blame for it and that he shouldn't be angry at JJ, in which Reid bitterly responds: "I can't. I didn't come crying to your house for 10 weeks." Hotch was guilty for hiding it from the team as well, and people have aimed their anger towards JJ because she "hurt Reid's feelings". It also didn't sit right with me when Reid implied that he was going to blame JJ for his hypothetical relapsing (that may be poor writing but it still doesn't sound right).

JJ was dealing with something traumatic to her, and so she deserved to feel frustrated, angry, etc. because it is difficult to keep all those emotions, especially negative ones, shoved into a box. Even though one pushes their emotions down, there is going to be a breaking point and all of whatever they have been feeling is going to burst out of the bottle sooner or later. That's the case with JJ. She wasn't mad that Reid was checking on her, she was only mad that it was at the wrong time. If it was at a time that was decent for them (aka when it's in a quiet place like at the end of 10x11), then JJ wouldn't mind as much. Over time, JJ has worked to push her emotions away because of everything that's happened to her. It becomes both better and worse for her coping. Better because she is able to get a task done fast. Worse because she isn't confronting her feelings, which is unhealthy. At the end of 10x11, JJ has thanked Reid for helping her and didn't seem too angry at him anymore, and in a way, has apologized. She felt somewhat relieved that she finally told someone about what she was going through (even though her trauma was still not entirely resolved, in my opinion).

I think you've made some interesting points using examples of other scenes that have characters snapping at someone else for getting them to open up about something troubling them. Derek and Emily have snapped at Garcia, who was checking up on them during a time of distress. Both of them know she meant no harm as well and they were both frustrated and stressed in those two times. Garcia understood and was only concerned about them. Same with Reid confronting JJ about her trauma. Or even Emily with Reid when he was taking dilaudid. They all were worried about each other and wanted to be there to support their friends.

People have different ways of coping with trauma and shouldn't be judged for it. It is a step forward to help them deal with it, and hopefully, make them feel safe and comfortable to talk about it.

Under the cut is how I feel about the JJ hate, so if you want to read that, feel free to do so.

This is something I needed to get off my chest. I'm already getting tired of seeing the JJ hate on some posts, here and on other social media platforms. Oddly enough back then, there wasn't this much hatred towards her character. Aside from the confession in later seasons, JJ has gotten a lot of hate now that the show's over. I have noticed the common thread of the hate being connected to Reid's character (note: I really don't want to get into some sort of hate discourse thing so please don't come at me for this).

I have seen fans say that JJ's the mean girl of the team because she is "mean to Reid" or because "Reid said so". I disagree with this whole notion because everyone has treated Reid the same way JJ has, and JJ wasn't super mean to him. I've always seen them interact like siblings, so they had that older sis teases little bro vibes to me. They both cared for each other, as seen numerous times on the show (this does not mean I ship them). In the scene where Reid thought JJ was a mean girl, she was defensive because she was hurt that someone close to her would think that lowly of her. Reid didn't even know that JJ was offended by that statement, so he just carried on with it.

People have also said that JJ is "too bland" or "too boring" of a character. I like to dig into little details of the show and/or the characters themselves, and learn why they are the way they are. People don't often see why JJ is the way she is like they do with other characters. To say that JJ's only trait is "being a mom" or "being too sensitive" is stupid. I agree that JJ's character was done dirty by the writers and producers, though. With everything that has happened to her, it explains why she is the person she is on the show. When JJ was younger, she didn't have any role model growing up besides Roslyn. She came from a broken family, who was often emotionally and physically distant from everything and everyone. Because of that, it shaped JJ into the person she is today. This is one of the reasons why she hates talking about her feelings and opening up because as her mom said, "Avoidance is what this family does best, anyhow." Her whole life, JJ pushes herself to work hard that she's never learned how to give herself a break, especially when her mental health is going bad. She needs someone to rely on and that she can trust to vent about anything she's having a hard time with.

Another thing people have to remember is that Reid and JJ are two completely different personalities and their own characters, so comparing them with each other or even pitting them against each other isn't going to make things better for many, and people will continue to fight about this.

Admittedly, this is one of the reasons why I don't join fandoms often because people are there to enjoy and share their interests with one another. I am aware that I have stated my opinions from time to time, but to waste all that energy continuously hating on something others like, is tiring. I like when people post things they like, instead of posting their absolute hatred on something that others enjoy often. I usually don’t interact with posts that have hate on something I like that I've seen and I try to filter that out. (I’m sorry if my wording doesn’t make sense here)

[pregnant-javert]

Since there are none I was wondering if you could do a mel/ruth smut fic around 1000 words?😭

Yoooooo...it’s a little less smut than I was anticipating...kind of focused more on the leadup than the actual thing, lol. Idk where it ended up going, but I hope y'all like it! Pre-canon comfort sex. Will post on AO3 as well. Under the cut ❤️

Ruth can sense something’s going on as soon as Melanie comes home. If slamming doors was possible on Snowpiercer, Ruth has no doubt she’d have done that—she stalks inside, throws her bag on the couch, changes out of her teals as if she can’t wait to get them off. Melanie’s not said anything, but Ruth can see the stress and despair clinging to her, refusing to go away. Ruth’s always been good at reading people and gauging their emotions. It was part of what made her so good at Hospitality. Melanie both loved and hated this quality, and she let Ruth know it. It’s as if a dark cloud is following her around—she keeps her head down, barely speaking beyond yes or no. Ruth wishes she could drag whatever was causing this distress out of Melanie, but she’d get there in her own time. No sense in forcing the matter. Ruth makes them dinner—it’s just goat butter on toast, but she’s tired from work, and Melanie doesn’t look interested in eating much anyway. They have it on the couch; Melanie curled up in the corner, wordlessly crunching through the toast. “I know you’re waiting,” she says sullenly once she’s finished, putting the plate on the coffee table. “For me to talk.”

Melanie’s right, but Ruth won’t say so. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” she says lightly, eating the last bite of toast. Really she wants Melanie to spill all her thoughts out, just so she could fix them, but that will never happen.

“I know, I know. You keep saying that. But I still feel bad not telling you.” Melanie sighs, cards her fingers roughly through her long black hair. She’s got dark circles under her eyes and her skin is more pallid than usual. Melanie often came home tired and stressed from work, but to Ruth this sounds like something more. “Did something happen?” Ruth asks.

“No, it’s just…everything is so fragile. Everyone is at each others’ throats, and it feels like Hospitality is the only thing holding things together.” Melanie brings her knees up to her chest, not meeting Ruth’s eye. She lets out a few tense breaths before continuing: “I go to the engine and think about the train derailing, then go to First Class and listen to them say I should disconnect the Tail. It could happen anytime. Order breaks down and we can’t bring it back.”

Ruth can barely give this hypothetical situation any thought. It scares her far too much; not just losing the train, but losing Melanie as well. With an effort, she keeps her voice steady. “Are you really worried about it?”

“Yeah,” Melanie says, then she dissolves into tears: huge choking sobs that sound like she’s been holding them back for a while. Ruth immediately gathers her up—Melanie struggles for a second, then she sags into her embrace. They stay like that for a while; Melanie crying, Ruth whispering reassurances to her. Eventually Melanie catches her breath and curls up against Ruth, seemingly spent. She’s still breathing raggedly, shaking a little. “I’m sorry,” she says in a small voice.

“Don’t. Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I wish I didn’t have to feel anything,” Melanie says, even quieter. “I wish I could just…turn my mind off for a while. Or forever.”

“Well…I can make you feel better,” Ruth says softly, her hand straying down. “Only if you want.”

“You don’t have to,” Melanie says dejectedly, wriggling a little away from Ruth. “You don’t have to step into this mire with me.”

“I want to help you,” Ruth says seriously. “If you want this, I’ll do it.” I’ll do anything for you, she nearly says, but it sounds way too intense, so she doesn’t. Melanie gives a sob, then she says, “Ruth, I…I just…go slow, okay?”

Ruth pushes her hand under Melanie’s sweatpants, feels the other woman shudder at the touch. She feels the warmth, the wetness. Ruth isn’t used to going slowly—all her other times were quick, discreet, snatches of pleasure caught in supply closets or a room in her motel. Melanie moans, her hips pressing up against Ruth’s hand. Everything’s heightened and drawn out with the slow pace. Ruth stays alert, ready to stop at any sign of unease from Melanie. She slows down even more, and Melanie whines. “I don’t have to keep going,” Ruth says quickly, her hand stilling, “if it’s not doing anythi—“

“No,” Melanie breathes. “No, don’t stop.”

“Okay. Okay.” Ruth goes back to it, working Melanie towards the point of release. Melanie’s breathing speeds up: she’s practically hyperventilating. She shifts on Ruth’s hand as if to keep her in place. Ruth feels her fingers getting slick—Melanie’s close. It will take virtually nothing for her to clear the gap.

“I don’t want this to end,” Melanie says roughly.

“Neither do I,” Ruth responds, “but you’re pretty close.” She flicks her fingernail—that’s all it takes—and Melanie’s back arches as she lets out a shuddering moan. All the tension melts away, and her body relaxes against Ruth’s. Ruth withdraws her hand, wipes it on her pants. Melanie’s giving off that warm exhausted glow. “Thanks,” she says sleepily. “It worked.”

“That’s good.” Ruth gets up, helps Melanie off the couch. “I’m sorry if it was a bit…unorthodox.”

“Ruth, the things I did…” Melanie gives a weak laugh as they climb into Ruth’s bed. “Makes this whole thing look positively tame in comparison.”

“Do I want to know what those things were?” Ruth asks, pulling the blankets up over them both.

“No, probably not,” Melanie says self-deprecatingly. “I’m serious. It didn’t solve all my problems, but…I feel a tiny bit better about it now.”

Ruth smiles mischievously. “Oh, really?”

“Sure. I know I can always come back here at the end of the day and be with you.” Melanie snuggles up to her, burying her face in Ruth’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Ruth presses a kiss to Melanie’s hair, breathing in the smell of lemongrass and engine oil. It smells like home.

[tthael]

I apologize if you’ve already written about this before, but one thing I’ve been wondering about your Indelicate version of Eddie is in regard to his occasional tendency toward more (for lack of a better/less serious-sounding term) “aggresive” actions (e.g., throwing the lotion bottle, throwing the water, etc.) directed toward Richie. I know it was hinted at that the urges to aggress may sometimes be/have been the result of repressed or misconstrued attraction, but I’m wondering if some of it is also a result of Eddie’s injury and the related feelings of a lack of control over his own body? Like hypothetically, if Eddie were never injured or if we fast-forward to him completely healed, do you think that moments like that would still happen? Or am I just really reading too much into the fic and making up this aspect of it? Hope that makes sense - I just love your characterization of Eddie and I want to make sure I’m understanding as much as I can!

I actually haven’t written about this before, and I think that it’s a good thing that I take the time to meditate on it now, because I don’t want the idea that throwing things at your romantic partner is, like, a good thing.

So a lot of my thoughts on Eddie’s aggression derive from two specific aspects of his portrayal. The first (chronologically in Eddie’s timeline) is the portrayal of Eddie as high-strung, snappy, and verbally combative in IT Chapter One (2017).  Within the last year and a half I saw a post that pointed out that some of Eddie’s aggression--especially in interacting with Richie--probably derives from the high-stress situations of a) being hunted by an alien clown demon and b) being abused at home. I had a college professor discussing a history and trauma class point out that, “Traumatized people don’t always behave well.” There are the usual caveats that explanations are not excuses; however, I think that the constant knowledge that he has to return to Sonia’s house and the persistent alarms telling him when he has to take medication, so that even when he’s apart from her he can’t get away from her interference, means that Eddie’s under high pressure. And then you get to the point where all of the children in Derry are being hunted by an actual monster, and it’s a wonder that Eddie behaves as well as he does, because I certainly wouldn’t.

I usually like to incorporate some of book!Eddie’s dreamy introspection into his internal narrative in Indelicate, and I think that some of his pressures are relaxing now that he’s a) no longer living in a house with Sonia, b) acting specifically in ways that maximize his own agency (going where he wants with whom he wants, eating what he wants, actively rejecting much of her influence). However, he’s still got a lot on his plate, and some habits die hard. This is why I have moments of Eddie waiting with the perfect snappy comeback on his tongue, and then stopping himself because he knows it’s something he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t actually want Richie to never talk again, he loves it when Richie talks, and he’s struggling towards sincerity. I personally have a lot of difficulty letting go of the put-down jokes in favor of being sincere with the people I love, so I thought I’d give Eddie several moments of consciously choosing to be honest and kind with Richie.

The second influence on Eddie’s relationship to physically “lashing out” is his introductory scene from IT (1986), where he’s leaving home and Myra is chasing after him demanding explanations and wailing about how terrified she is. I know that there are lots of analyses of this scene and thoughts on Myra versus Sonia, and I’m not interested in those right now; however, what caught my eye was that Eddie sees Myra’s distress and his first thought is something along the lines of “you might as well hit her”--not that he wants to hit her and he has nothing to lose, but that his causing her emotional distress is as bad as physically abusing his wife. (I can’t recall at the moment whether Eddie’s section comes before or after Bev’s introduction, but I want to say that it’s before, and I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Bev and Eddie’s very different home lives are contrasted.)

So I thought, that as a boy child without a father, raised and abused by his single mother--and considering his issues with (as I write it) suppressed gay feelings, and the sort of “glass closet” I write him with--Eddie’s concepts of masculinity are probably pretty toxic. I think that in order to maintain control over Eddie, Sonia probably got very emotionally manipulative when he resisted her at all, especially as he got older and taller and physically stronger than her, and that she probably cried out things like “Eddie, you’re hurting me, how can you hurt your mother like this?” and made Eddie feel like the abuser (which is, I’m given to understand, a frequent tactic of abusers: reversing the roles to make the victim feel apologetic and guilty). I’m specifically thinking of the way that Gillian Flynn writes manipulative white women who weaponize white women’s fragility--Adora in Sharp Objects, since that’s actually the only Gillian Flynn book I’ve read so far. I think that Eddie would be very conscious of what he perceives as his capacity to be an aggressor, and it would be one more way that Sonia could keep him docile.

Later, with Myra--and I’m writing Myra more sympathetically in Indelicate than I did in Things That Happen After Eddie Lives, so I’m not interested in getting into the “is Myra abusive?” conversation right now, because I’ve written her both ways--I think that Eddie likely had a sort of learned helplessness about his own agency with Sonia that he then transferred onto his relationship with Myra. In Indelicate, I write him with a lot of reluctance to volunteer any information towards her, or his emotional state, or to make any of his wishes known (frequently she shoots them down as too extravagant, the way that I talked about Eddie’s relationship to money and luxury and Myra refusing a larger bed).

I write Eddie as largely unaware of his attraction to men until his near-death-experience, but only because he did not allow himself to connect the dots between what he thought of as physical symptoms (tunnel vision on hot man in coffee shop = optic nerve impairment, see doctor); but I think that Eddie was profoundly aware of his unhappiness in his marriage and just tried to reason with himself that everyone felt like that, and everyone was miserable and suppressing their own wants and needs, because that’s just what marriage is, and any other approach to his marriage would make him abusive, so Eddie and Myra’s marriage was emotionally volatile and extremely stressful.

Which is to say that Indelicate Eddie is a powder keg when Richie gets to him.

Again, I don’t think that throwing things at your romantic partner is an acceptable mode of interaction and I don’t want any readers to get the idea that that’s the underlying message of Indelicate, because it’s not. The scene with the moisturizer is derived from something that happened to me years ago (I was Richie, the guy I had a crush on was Eddie) involving a wayward Frisbee; the scene where Eddie tries and fails to throw a drink at Richie is derived from an anecdote of the early days of my parents’ marriage (my mother was Eddie), one that my father’s coworkers and boss loved to talk about and his best friend still brings up when they hang out.

However, Eddie’s relationship to physicality is also deeply informed by a tumblr post I saw over a year ago that talked about how Eddie grew up being told that he was fragile and delicate and sickly, and how Richie did not give a shit about any of that and was more than willing to just grapple him. For this fic, I decided to lean into that idea: that Eddie longs to be treated as though he’s solid and healthy and strong, and he finds a lot of relief in Richie <i>not</i> treating him gently. But because Eddie is actually physically injured in Indelicate, Richie is being careful not to break him while also dealing with Eddie’s very real (and largely unvoiced) desire for physical contact. It’s not an accident that at the end of the chapter in which Richie and Eddie have a shouting match that Richie wrestles Eddie to the floor and pins him and blows a raspberry on his belly--which is incredibly juvenile at the same time that it’s a display of Richie’s physical capabilities and Eddie finds that bizarrely attractive.

So, on top of Eddie’s desire for physical contact, his extreme stressors, and his lifetime of maladaptive coping mechanisms--the other thing that I consider when I write his dynamic with Richie is that Richie is not physically intimidated by Eddie at all. This is not because Richie is stronger than Eddie (he is) or larger than Eddie (he is). This is because there was a time in which Richie and Eddie found it perfectly acceptable to grapple each other as a form of interactions, because Richie and Eddie have known each other since they were seven years old. I even like to think that at one point, Eddie was the taller of the two, because Richie hit a really ridiculous growth spurt somewhere around the start of puberty and Eddie was something of a “late-bloomer,” and Eddie silently seethed about it through their entire adolescence.

So when Richie and Eddie lash out at each other--largely Eddie, because I think Richie, with his fear of the werewolf and of losing control and hurting someone--they’re building on sort of a lifetime of informal physicality. Stitchy does something similar in their Richie/Eddie fic where elements of roleplay always appear in their romance, because they were kids who played pretend games together, and when you have a bond like that with someone, it does permanently shape what sort of interaction you do and do not find acceptable. I also included a flashback into childhood where Richie gets angry with Eddie and very deliberately and methodically pushes him down on the ground and Eddie cries, not because Richie physically hurt him (he didn’t), but because it wasn’t in good fun there, that was Richie deciding to throw him around because he knew it would upset him.

So there’s a lot going into Eddie’s physically aggressive responses in Indelicate--the toxic masculinity that dictates the way that men are allowed to express anger and the ways in which they are allowed to touch each other; the profound stress that Eddie has endured for his whole lifetime without getting many better coping mechanisms; the feeling of lack of control of his physical body; a regression to childhood habits; and a deep sense of relief that Richie (being big, strong, and a man) is not vulnerable to him in the way that Sonia convinced him she (and later Myra) were.

I hmm’d and haww’d over a scene in the most recent chapter in which Eddie strikes Richie with an open hand (it’s a little slap on the chest, and I wanted it to come across very like the sort of corrective smack to the back of the head that I can imagine any of the Losers issuing to Richie back in 1989 when he shoots off at the mouth), because that’s not something I’d be comfortable doing to a romantic partner myself. Richie thinks nothing of it and turns it into a dirty joke, but I do need to get more into Eddie’s decision to touch Richie in kind ways in direct refusal of that “you construct intricate rituals that allow you to touch other men” facet of toxic masculinity.

I know it’s a ridiculously long answer, but it’s a serious issue and I wanted to give it the greatest possible consideration instead of writing something flip. Because both the incidents you named (ones I didn’t even realize formed a pattern, to be honest) are drawn from real life, I can’t say that they’re moments that are influenced by Eddie’s physical disability, but I do think they’re more influenced by his emotional state. I also think that as some of his stressors come off his plate and he gets more comfortable having an adult relationship with Richie, he’s going to stop throwing things at him. I even had Eddie stop after throwing the water, not just because it was ridiculous but because he realized how out of line he was in that moment. Recognizing when you’re out of control in an argument is, I find, an important part of self-improvement; and learning to walk away or to reset is a valuable skill.

Thank you so much for reading!

[minnochu]

Lustrous (pt. 18)

Hybrid!Kook x Fem!Reader AU

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3 | Pt 4 | Pt 5 | Pt 6 | Pt 7 | Pt 8 | Pt 9 | Pt 10 | Pt 11 | Pt 12 | Pt 13 | Pt 14 | Pt 15 | Pt 16 | Pt 17 | Pt 18 | Pt 19 

Warning: A copious amount of dialogue :’) 

(A/n): Hope everyone’s doing well and staying safe and healthy! Just remember to stay humble and kind and take this time if you’re self-quarantining to practice self-love!! Hope you enjoy :’)

.

.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Namjoon asks when the whole pack has taken their seats at the dinner table the next morning, and the others notice one seat has yet to be filled. They look towards the hybrid in question, who averts his eyes.

“She left,” he muttered, swirling his chopsticks around in his bowl of fried rice.

The others grow alarmed at this. Jimin piping up from beside him, “What do you mean, she left?” 

The younger grows irate in result, his eyes glaring a bright blue at the other wolf, “She. Left.”

“And why didn’t you stop her?” Yoongi calmly interjected as Seokjin whispers a small spell to pull the two wolves’ chairs apart, “You were with her last night, weren’t you?”

He flinches at that, eyes dimming in result. It was true. There was no denying that fact.

The elder’s eyes narrow at the youngest pack member, “Stop being a fucking prick and explain to us why exactly the one person we need to protect is running away from us.”

Namjoon clears his throat as tension continues to rise, opening his eyes to flash his golden irises dangerously in warning at the pensive pack members, “I think we should eat first before the food gets cold, we’ll discuss this later.” His eyes briefly meets the youngest and the whole table settles down into a heavy silence. Jungkook’s shoulders sag as a result, clamping his mouth and turning his attention to his meal. Angry Namjoon was not one to mess with. 

The warlock releases a relieved sigh at the temporary cease fire and makes work to levitate dishes and food from the kitchen. He quietly prays he won’t have to clean up too much of a mess if anything escalates to anything more than a peaceful explanation. The aura surrounding the boys is turbulent, no doubt insinuating a quarrel when the food has finally been devoured.

“Gods help me,” the warlock sighs.

.

“Want to explain to me why you’re suddenly phasing into my attic at such a god awful hour?” Yahiko smiles softly as she sets down a blanket and pillows on your old bed. You ran to the one place you could only think of, your old home with the kitsune. You had crash landed, phasing in mid air before dropping with a loud thud on the wooden floor. The elderly woman had come rushing with her orbs flashing fiery orange, only to calm down when you came running into her arms.

She didn’t question it at first, welcoming you back into your old room with a mug of warm milk and honey, but you knew she would ask eventually.

“Don’t forget that I’m a kitsune, child,” she quirks a smile, “I may be over thousands of years older than you, but I still have a keen sense of smell.”

“And you reek,” she cackles, causing you to blush and smile in embarrassment. Dainty fingers push the locks of your hair behind your ear, “What troubles you? I smell distress and conflict within you.”

You mull over what to say first, about Jungkook, about your apparent feelings for him, about the Blackwells. 

“Is it that wolf-boy?” She muses nonchalantly, only speaking hypothetically, not expecting you to flinch from beside her, nearly sputtering and choking on the contents of your mug. “Oh, I’m correct?”

“There’s a lot on my mind right now,” You defend helplessly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Including that boy, no?”

Your shoulders sag in defeat, there was no denying it to her.

“It’s complicated…”

Yahiko makes a face, tapping the tip of your nose with her index finger, “You act like I had never dated a man before, (Y/n).”

“I, like many supernatural creatures, had a mate. He’s not here right now, but I assure you he’s watching over me,” She smiles softly, reminiscing her years with her fated, “He was a human, if you didn’t already connect the dots. I imprinted on him a long time ago, and the stupid man outgrew me.” The kitsune chuckled softly, glancing upward as if she could see his spirit watching her. 

“What was that like?” You ask tentatively, although it made you feel worse thinking about how this must be how Jungkook feels about Hyejin. The realization is a smack in the face, he must be hurting out of rejection from his fated.

Yahiko elbows you with a wry smile, “Your face is like an open book, child.”

“He was my world, to put it simply, losing him hurt. A lot. I wanted to die with him,” she says solemnly, “I wonder sometimes how I still do it when I still miss him very much.”

“How did you know he was yours? He was human right? He didn’t reject you for being a kitsune?” The elderly woman glances at you with amusement stretching her lips, causing you to clamp your mouth shut. As your cheeks burn from embarrassment, she can only laugh good naturedly at your curiosity. 

“You like that wolf very much, don’t you?” she sighs, “I must say, I have to apologize for rudely assuming that he’d hurt you based on the color of his true eyes. I hope he’s treating you well.”

Your silence proves her hypothesis correct, you like Jungkook, and that scares you. It hurts to know that he’ll only ever pine for Hyejin’s affection despite her obvious indifference towards him. 

“I was initially terrified, all the others in my family were mated to creatures of the same kind if not different types - such as the thunder kitsune - so then why was I different? We were taught to stay away from the humans… since at that time, the supernatural and the humans had not yet finalized the pact for peace and bounty hunters were much more prevalent than today. He was one of them.” She pauses to regard your gaping mouth, snickering when she taps your chin to shut it, “It felt like everything was just right when I met his gaze, but he didn’t know it then and tried to kill me. Of course, I overpowered him and let him go, but every time we encountered one another, we began to talk and understand the other and get to know one another as a living being. I told him about my family and showed off my powers” she emphasizes by holding out a dainty hand with her palm facing towards the ceiling and a spark of golden foxfire ignites abruptly from her fingertips, “In turn, he talked about his life, his fiance, his guilt for hunting my brethren when he realized we weren’t evil or to be feared of.”

“Fiance?!” You gasp as you watch the flames disperse and the light has died down from her hand.

“Yes, yes,” she frowns, “He had a fiance at the time, and it hurt, alot. Every time he brought her up, I wanted to change the subject, it filled me with envy and pain. Each time he said her name with that stupidly handsome smile on his face, it was like a sword twisting in my gut.”

“I thought I could’ve lived with the pain, or mate with a widow from another pack, but it wasn’t the same, and he saw that sadness in my eyes.”

“He confronted me about it, and I spilled. I told him about the imprinting, about my feelings. Gods that man was so infuriating, made me actually scared for my life if he were to be disgusted at my affections. Humans… they are quite fickle beings when it comes to love. Is this real? Is this your actual feelings, and not something forced upon you by the stars or your inner beast or what have you? I wondered those silly questions myself… but I wouldn’t have wanted any other man if suddenly the next day, I wasn’t bound by my imprintee.”

You wonder if that were the case with your friend. The idea of being imprinted on and its implications may have caused Hyejin to believe that Jungkook had no real affections for her. It wasn’t like she was chosen at random, you suppose, the stars saw it fit that the two were meant for each other, soulmates as you would put it. Fated for one another. So, why did she fear and hate him so much when he could be anything she wanted him to be. He would be at her every beck and call. 

Fuck. That hurt. 

You liked Jungkook. That revelation on the rooftop hurt. Finally you could put a name to the emotions you felt around the wolf-boy, but it didn’t lessen the pain of knowing he was meant for someone else, your closest and only friend made at school. At least… other than the boys. 

Yahiko saw it, she could feel the conflict dripping off of you in tangible waves. You didn’t know it, but she knew with the way Jungkook acted and looked at you the way he did. It reminded her of her own situation, she only hoped the whole ordeal would sort itself out quickly. Else you would spend years hurting each other. 

Children, she inwardly giggled at the coincidence of the predicament, if only they knew how to communicate properly. Although she couldn’t say much with the way she and her human mate had also suffered the same conflict. 

“Did he say so himself, that he imprinted on her?”

Um. Well. 

The way you hesitate speaks volumes. Now that she mentions it, he didn’t really deny it or confirm it.  The more he called you out for being nosy continually irritated you, why couldn’t he just give you a straight answer for once?

“Give the boy some time to sort out his feelings, my dear,” She sighs, “He’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”

“I’m not sure he’ll ever be,” you frown, “I don’t know what I’m waiting for, it seems like just last night I realized I… I like him… but who’s to say that he feels the same when he can barely open up to me, Hyejin pops up and he just stops functioning, and now!” You stammer your confession more lowly, barely above a whisper, with a beet red face. 

You freeze as the woman lays a gentle hand over yours. Then do you realize the way your lip had begun quivering.

“How am I supposed to face him?”

“You don’t,” Yahiko says after much silence, “Leave them alone long enough and he’ll sort out his feelings soon enough and give you a proper explanation.”

“Have some patience and get some sleep, you’re far too young to be looking so concerned like that.”

And that you do, finishing the rest of the milk she had brought up and shifting into your old bed. The kitsune leaves you with one last gentle caress of your head before she bids a good night. Morning comes and you have to force yourself to go to school, praying to whatever god there is that you don’t run into the boys. And you don’t, but Hyejin noticed the distance between you and the pack and has to put a stop to this nonsense.

“(Y/n), this needs to stop now, what’s going on?” 

Hyejin stops you from leaving school that day, dragging you to the nearest fast food chain for a much needed sit down and talk. It comes after first being bombarded by Jimin and Taehyung about your whereabouts and wellbeing, and finally when Jungkook confronts her. Nothing is ever that important for the subject of her hatred to talk to her himself. Perhaps there was more to the problem than just fixing your lost memories.

She sighs when you both get seated at a booth with your meals, pinching the bridge of her nose, “I think it’s badass that you’re a witch, but I’m really worried for you being away from the boys when you’ve got your whole family tree planning on killing you.”

You want to tell her, clamming up in the palms when your feelings for the wolf-boy are teetering on the tip of your tongue. Should you tell her? She was your friend. What was stopping you? Her past relationship with him? What if she still liked him? Was this going to ruin your friendship with her? 

“To be honest… I left to clear my head after finding out you and him dated before,” You blurt out, pursing your lips and expecting the worse. Silence is your answer, and when you peer over at your friend, she is blinking at you in evident surprise.

“How did you find out?” She starts off meekly, taking a generous swig from her soft drink, “I mean… Did he say anything?”

“Not really…” You wince, thinking about the time he forcibly shoved you from his head at the appearance of the girl in his memories, “It was only last night when he finally told me you both dated previously.”

The other exasperatedly exhales, her palm meeting her forehead, “That stupid dog.”

“You… You don’t like him still, do you?” You ask hesitantly, holding your breath in anticipation of her answer. Meanwhile, the other has to hold back her obnoxious cackle at that question, nearly spewing out her soda. Eyes softening, she cracks a small smile.

“You idiot.”

The reply astounds you, mouth opening and closing like a fish at the unexpected insult. 

“You know, you’re really dense you know that? Here I am, unable to believe the coincidence that you, my only friend at school, has fallen for Jeon Jungkook, and now you’re asking me if I still like him!”

“If you’re still wondering… No. I do not,” Hyejin snickers at your visible relief, “I think it’s really cute, your crush, but I still refuse to accept that it’s him.” 

The girl takes a french fry between her index and thumb, pointing the tip in your direction, “I probably do, deep down. Truth be told that I broke up with him out of fear. I knew he was a wolf, and kept that in mind, but I wasn’t expecting him to be a wolf and more. And like any other human, I ran.

“He was a cute boy in middle school, a grade above me, taller than most and very shy. He did everything and anything he could to catch my attention. The clumsy little idiot… we eventually dated, it continued into his first year in high school while I had one more year in middle school when I had come over to their cabin to hang with the pack. I had been helping out Seokjin with dinner when I dropped a plate, it shattered on the floor and over my bare foot, and my dumb self had attempted to pick up the larger pieces and nicked myself. Jungkook must’ve been hungry and went on a rampage... 

“He charged at me, eyes blue and gold, like I’d never seen them before. He was snapping at me, growling and breathing heavily… Couldn’t even speak coherently. The boys tried to tear him off me, but there really wasn’t a known way to calm him down… According to the boys, it was the first time he’d done something like that around them.”

Hyejin pauses, closing her eyes as the memories come rushing back of the terrible day, “I left that day with a disgusting scar, Seokjin wasn’t as proficient at healing at the time and could only close the wound long enough to get me to the hospital, but even the doctors could not get rid of the remnants of it.” Her hand grips at the hem of her uniform top before carefully pulling it up just enough to catch the sight of the fleshy tissue that runs jagged on her right abdomen. “I could not look him in the eye without seeing the deranged beast I saw that day, I left him soon after, crying and heartbroken, not because of relationship problems, but because I was scared… that he would someday kill me if he could just as easily lose control the way he did that day. I guess we just grew hateful of each other over time...”

Her eyes catch yours staring down at where her scar had been recovered by the top, and she quirks a small curl of her lips. Reaching over the table, she offers an open hand, to which you take gratefully with a meek smile in response, “You know… I’m surprised to hear you managed to calm him down…”

It makes sense, she thinks, after all, you didn’t know it yet who the hybrid truly imprinted on. 

“I think I’ve calmed down quite a bit… but seeing Jungkook full hybrid again at the cabin brought me back to middle school. It still haunts me, not as much as before… I used to get nightmares almost every other night. It’s at least once in a while now, I suppose.

“Which is why I always urged you to stay away from them. I didn’t want what happened that day, to eventually happen to you. You’re my only closest friend at school, I don’t want anything bad happening to you… I want to protect you (Y/n), but there’s only so much a human like me can do… Which is why I’m just a little grateful that you have Jungkook to protect you.”

The questions gnaws away at you. 

There was no harm in asking right? 

“You think Jeon Jungkook imprinted on me?” Hyejin nearly bursts into laughter, hopelessly trying to stifle the giggles with the back of her hand. Thankfully, she wasn’t too hung over having to remember and retell her relationship with Jungkook, but that didn’t warrant her nearly doubling over with tears in her eyes at your abrupt question. Your cheeks puff with a bright rosy hue at her reaction, suddenly feeling embarrassed for even asking. 

If only you knew, the girl thinks with a shake of her head.

“Dear God no, he did not, he’d have died by now just from me breaking up with him,” she muses with a wave of her hand, “That stupid dog just has a funny way of letting girls know his feelings.”

“So he does have an imprintee?” You ask expectantly, your heart in your throat at this point.

The look of determination and anticipation on your face is adorable, Hyejin thinks as she replies with a subtle shrug. 

“I think that’s something you need to wait for him to talk to you about.”

“For now, you both need to fucking make up before I do something about it.”

And that you do. 

You return to the cabin that night. Hyejin leaves you at the door with a comforting hug before she bids you good luck. Good luck and more is much needed when you sense the overwhelming bundle of aura sitting right on top of the roof. No one else but Jungkook had that much unrestrained magical aura, and you knew right away as soon as you came closer and closer to the house. Surely, he must’ve picked up on your scent as you phased onto the roof where the hybrid sat. 

He didn’t turn, nor did he make any indication in regard to your entrance. You knew he had been expecting you. So you take a seat beside him, pulling your knees close to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. 

“I’m still a little mad at you,” You whisper, your two index fingers twirling around one another. Glaring down at your feet, your hair falls down, casting a curtain on both sides and obscuring your vision of the hybrid beside you. “But… I should probably apologize for running away like a child… and that I shouldn’t be forcing you or expecting you to tell me anything like there’s any reason for me to know…”

Its silent between you both, and you wonder if he’s resorted to ignoring you or is just sleeping. When you turn slightly, you catch a glimpse of his side profile glaring up at the sky. His doe-like eyes are wide and reflect the colors of a galaxy. Dazzling azure with dozens of golden droplets like the stars. You have to fight the urge to reach over and touch him. You want to hug him, and tell him how you feel about him. But now wasn’t the time when you were so sure he only had eyes for Hyejin. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” He finally speaks, voice barely above a whisper that you have to lean towards him and strain your ears, “I’m afraid. And I don’t even trust myself. I’m just not ready yet.” 

He catches your eyes before you can look away, the corners of his lips stretching into a taut smile, the ends just barely curling upwards. 

“I’m sorry… just give me some time.”

“N-No, I understand and I’ll wait until you feel comfortable enough to open up to me,” You stammer, quite flustered with the sudden eye contact. His irises are glowing, shimmering under the moonlight so beautifully that it catches you off guard.

Despite your reply, you didn’t really understand. Was it not simple for him to just out right tell you that he had imprinted on someone else, or just straight up didn’t like you. You inwardly gasped, what if he knew of your feelings and was trying to prepare himself to reject you?

“If it makes you feel better,” he swallows, turning his head to look away, “I uh, I never imprinted on Hyejin.”

In contrast to your worrying thoughts, the relief that washes over you is massive. Your whole body physically relaxes and sags. Cheeks flushing, you thank any god out there that he was looking away.

“I-I see… I don’t think this is gonna make you feel better though…”

His neck cranes, glancing at you curiously.

“I talked to Hyejin,” you shrink in your spot, suddenly embarrassed and ashamed for going to her for information he wasn’t ready to spill.

“What did she say?”

“About what broke you two up.”

Silence. You wonder if maybe you spoke too much or should’ve waited for him to tell you. It feels like he’s growing increasingly distant from you. 

“I see…”

Should you apologize? The growing discomfort in your chest became unbearable. You shifted on the roof till, unsure of what to say to soothe the atmosphere between you both. He hates you, you conclude. 

“...So you know then?” He finally asks, “That I went berserk on her. Seokjin had me locked in my room with his perfect cube spell... In the whole chaos, other than Hyejin, I really hurt Yoongi bad. Jimin and Taehyung managed to get away with scratches, but Yoongi could only heal so much on his own with Seokjin-hyung’s help that we had to turn to admitting him to the hospital.

“You don’t understand how much I hated myself for that. I hurt my family, I hurt Hyejin too. Fast forward today, I ended up attacking you. I can’t forgive myself for hurting people I care about. 

“Why did I have to survive the transition? Why me and not Junghyun? Why did I have to be made into this hybrid that can barely control himself when he goes on a rampage?”

You interject at that, “But you did control yourself, Jungkook, you were able to come back to us after that fight with Minerva. You were able to handle yourself when we fought with those bounty hunters. I’ve seen you many times trying to keep yourself at bay, and you’re doing your best at figuring out how to take control of your genes. No one could ask for any more than you already do. It’s not your fault for going through such a cruel transition, and it’s also not your fault that as a result you couldn’t control yourself, but you’re making progress and that’s all that matters.

“I trust you Jungkook, I hope that makes you feel better. It doesn’t matter to me that you had to drink from my blood. It doesn’t matter to me that you attacked me that night. I’ve forgiven you. You just keep blaming yourself and I hate it.

“You don’t think I hate myself for having to be protected by you guys? We’ve had to fight off my reanimated mother, a vampire, and bounty hunters. You guys wouldn’t have to go through this if it wasn’t for me. I just barely regained my memories, sure I remember spells and skills I learned with my mother, but that shies in comparison to the little training I have in utilizing them in an actual situation, moreover the fact that I have zero self defense experience.

“Don’t you dare tell me that I don’t understand. You said it yourself! You and I… we’re the same. Outcasts. Mutants. I thought you cared for me…” Your voice trails off and silence settles between you both, not as pensive as it was before, but still awkward with more questions swirling between you. Shoulders slumping, you didn’t mean to mope, but you were still at a loss.

“I do care for you (Y/n), did you not just hear me say how much I hated myself for hurting you and everyone?” Jungkook sighs after much thought, reaching a hand towards you before regretfully retracting it. He knows he’ll want to do more than just hold your shoulder. “I cared for you from the very beginning, there would have been no reason for me to keep letting you hang around me or saving you from those wendigos, no matter how hard I tried to keep you from sticking close to me.”

The realization of his words clicks in his mind and he hissed, turning away with his hand covering his dreaded mouth. Darn him for succumbing to you, if you were able to connect the dots, that would have been him smacking you in the face with a sign that read “I LIKE YOU, MY DUMBASS IMPRINTED ON YOU” in large bold characters. Thankfully, you turn and smile softly at him. 

“Sorry, I… I just don’t want you to hate on yourself for hurting me when I’m fine really.”

Despite himself, he leans over and taps your forehead with his index finger, the force just enough to move your head backwards just slightly. 

“Then don’t hate yourself for being a burden to the pack, you’re not just a guest in our house now, you’re pretty much a pack member. The boys don’t treat you any differently than they would each other.”

Your cheeks burn, hand rising to brush over the spot on your forehead, the gesture was slight but it did well to make your heart beat wildly. With a pout, you mull over his words before scrunching your eyebrows and raising you head to glare at him, “What do you mean burden? I’m a burden?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, an action you catch as he turns his head away.

“Hey you! Answer me!”

.

.

LOL tell me why I totally forgot to put the tags.

Tags:

@twilight-loveer​ @reinyrei​  @mistytail​ @mygukandonlyficrecs​ @xanny91​ @unpocodesoledadywisky​ @xxqueenwxtchxx​ @lildemonangele​ @gukworld​ @sunnyoongles​ @serendipity-secrets​ @ilaria-np​ @jules-park​ @treetops68​ @mischiefmakerliesmith5​ @jeonkooksgirl​ @coffeeismylife28​ @nshitae​ @bookoffracturedescapes​ @ellsbells72​ @zamirayinyue13​ @hannahdearr​ @tiredjedi @sushibunn​ @perrshian​ @lovinggalaxies​ @ditttiii​ @cookies-are-done @mintyrae​

When like two of you I can’t tag for some reason asjfhksdjhg... anywho~ thank you thank you so much for all the replies on the last part!

[permian-tropos]

diary entry sort of thing. personal. content warnings under the cut 

cw: mentioned suicidality

I’m trying to look with a clearer head at like... how, if it is possible, to heal my passion and relationship to this fandom, and I keep going back to this really early incident that was an obvious bad omen.

Last summer I got in the habit of exercising and it was really fun, me and my brother were really building muscle and it felt great, and I actually got into Pathologic specifically because I put playthroughs on in the background. I’d be holding planks and trying to do dips while watching the funky plague game on my tiny iphone screen, it was pretty great. 

So I watched parts of playthroughs of both games, I’d already started consuming some fandom stuff, funny youtube memes mostly, and met a few people while poking around on tumblr and reddit, and the endorphins I got from exercise put a rosy tinge this experience. 

And then I saw the first thundercloud of discourse on a blog I was scrolling through, where someone was trying to stir up trouble against a particular content creator for associating with ~gross kink~ and there were several other gut punches when I saw people I recognized whose fanwork I’d begun to admire joining in. 

The next exercise day came around and in the middle of it I genuinely started crying from stress. If you think this is cringe then like... you’re wrong lol, people have feelings. But whatever. I was worried that the handful of friends I’d already made would abandon me if they found out I didn’t approve of policing ~gross kink~ and that I’d be dragged into a) admitting the dark kinks I do have and getting people to treat me like shit or b) hiding it but having to witness constant discussion of kinks that do squick me out, conducted in a manner to deliberately exacerbate the disgust, which is super awful for someone with anxiety and intrusive thoughts. Because that’s how these discourses always go. 

I couldn’t finish the day’s exercise routine because of the emotional distress and that was the last time I worked out. I couldn’t go back to it, the routine just fell apart. And that was probably quite bad for my long-term mental health. The discourse was kind of a hypervigilance trigger, where I couldn’t release pent up stress physically because my body feared it would leave me too exhausted to deal with the Looming Threat of social rejection or trying to figure out who was safe to interact with.

But with that in mind it especially sucked later on to have troubles with the people who sort of innocently advertised “safety” to me because the “safety” was only in the form of not being judged for your fiction, and for a collection of reasons it wasn’t safe for the problem of being neurotic in fandom. In letting out their frustrations with being treated badly, in trying to protect themselves in an unideal situation, even if they were being hyperbolic and didn’t intend to do anything untoward, people were communicating their own hypervigilance. It was clear that being in the fandom meant being scrutinized on all sides. Almost every conflict I got into was about this issue of keeping tabs on others, because I would be thinking, “oh god, if I wasn’t here in this conversation, people would be scrutinizing me, and some of the stuff they’re reacting badly to seems like stuff I could hypothetically say/do... maybe? I don’t know”. 

People found that I was triggering their neuroses by reacting badly, because now I was scrutinizing them back. Well, fuck me, if it isn’t my old friend the mortifying ordeal of being known. Plus, their perspective of “I genuinely feel unsafe” was being greeted with what seemed to be “don’t worry so much”, so that felt insulting. But it wasn’t really that I didn’t want people to worry or be upset about being wronged. It was that I had no way of communicating or fulfilling a need I had for a fandom space where none of this was necessary.

I didn’t want a choice of what to be neurotic about. I didn’t want to be neurotic at all. 

I said in a now deleted post that I regretted socializing at all, but the thing is that’s not true, I really did need to try to socialize. Except... well... this fandom was kind of a toxic fucking minefield (especially back then) and there was no way for me to engage with it without something going wrong.

That moment when I felt like I couldn’t exercise anymore because all my spare energy was inevitably going to go towards ruminating and fixating on how not to let things Go Wrong in some way... that wasn’t the point where things started to go bad because almost everything good came after that too. But it was still pretty indicative of the problem to come. 

In the end of summer 2020, after battling through the horror and ennui of the early pandemic which definitely was not easy, I was starting to find ways to be consistently happy, and briefly I was physically healthy, creatively inspired, eager to make friends. A year later, I took a long walk in the woods at night, heard a creaking tree branch, and imagined the sound was my body hanging from a noose. 

There’s no one cause for that. There’s other stuff I haven’t mentioned. This is hardly a full picture for anyone on the outside. I’m not assigning a villain, I’m just saying... yes, something obviously went wrong. 

It really didn’t have to be like this. But as a reassurance: yes, I’m well aware that the person I was a year ago would not want me to feel this way, and in a way I’m inviting them to come back from the past and take charge of how I’m going to care for myself moving forward. Maybe I’ll try working out. 

[skelligiri]

Obligatory lockdown fic

“Good night, angel.”

Click.

Aziraphale hung up the phone, and, with a hum and a spring in his step, went right back to baking. He had come across a carrot cake recipe in one of the oldest cookbooks in his collection earlier that day and busied himself with weighing Ingredients (the carrots miraculously fell out of the bag finely grated). But no matter how hard he tried to keep his mind focused and to not think of the phone conversation, he couldn’t suppress the desire to pick up the phone again as the night progressed. The print date of the book, which indicated that it had been printed shortly after the Reign of Terror, didn’t help, jolting memories of being locked up in the Bastille and being saved from a violent discorporation by an unlikely friend.

2 days. After that, he wouldn’t hear Crowley’s voice again until July. The angel wasn’t sure why he was even giving it any thought - Crowley had a habit of sleeping for months, years, even decades at a time, and had done so countless times over the millennia.

He just hadn’t spent prolonged periods of time asleep since the aborted Armageddon a year prior, Aziraphale mused. Crowley had mentioned how he couldn’t get himself to cause any havoc because everybody was miserable enough already, which was not surprising – the angel knew that, at heart, Crowley was a decent person. However, when reaching for the cake tin, a thought stopped him in his tracks – Could it be that Crowley was not only bored, but that the misery of the situation had gotten him down? His friend certainly hadn’t sounded happy.

---

Somewhere in central London, a demon swatted aimlessly at his bedside table until he found his ringing phone, sending his designer sunglasses tumbling to the floor in the process. It didn’t concern Crowley; his glasses knew better than to invoke their already cross owner’s wrath by breaking.

“What?” he snapped. “It’s me again. I just wanted to know how you are feeling today.” “Same as yesterday. Same as every day since the lockdown started. Bored. Didn’t forget, did you?” the demon drawled. “No… no, and it does make sense I suppose, there are certainly things I am looking forward to after this whole lockdown business. I wonder how the birds at St. James’ park are doing. If the little cafe on Belgrave Street is still going to be there - it used to be a book shop, you know. Anyway, now that I have a better understanding of the baking process, I do wonder if I will have a newfound appreciation for cake. Not that I ever did not appreciate cake, as I’m sure you are well aware, but the cakes at this particular establishment have always been home baked by the owners, wonderful people. Their children worked some odd jobs there to help pay for their education –“, Aziraphale babbled, unable to contain the flood of words until it was cut off by his friend’s exasperated groan. “Aziraphale. You do know that depriving someone of sleep is a method of torture, right?” Aziraphale blinked in response. “You were asleep already? I thought you were going to wait two days?” “Yeah, but I had a very productive day yesterday. Scared a seedling into growing 2 inches, sat around doing nothing. Started a few arguments on Twitter, although that really wasn’t much of a challenge. Sat around some more. Decided to treat myself to an early nap.” “Ah. Right, um. I really just wanted to know how you were doing. And…”

The angel found himself considering his words for a moment. Even in his head, they sounded a bit silly. Still, the question burned on his tongue.

“Out of curiosity… ever since the events of Armageddon and the… fallout thereof. Have you ever felt a little lonely?” As expected, the question was followed by a cackle on the other end of the line. ‘”Yah, I really miss Hastur. Real hard, not having to put up with the threats and the stench.” He paused. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to miss the ponces up in heaven. Missing Gabriel, are you? Michael?” Aziraphale’s face contorted, and he outright shuddered when Crowley added “Sandalphon?” “Oh heavens no!” he blurted out, ignoring Crowley’s snort. “I don’t miss heaven. The bookshop feels more like home to me than heaven ever did, you know that.” “Well then, let me go on the record saying that I don’t miss Hell either, big shocker I know. Was there anything else?” There was a short silence between them, which Aziraphale found himself unable to fill. “… Angel, I’m going to ask you one more time. Do you want me to come over or not?” Crowley asked. “I… I couldn’t possibly ask that of you.” “Right. Well in that case, I’m going back to sleep.”

Aziraphale fidgeted. There was one more question that needed answering. “W-well, before you go! You… You definitely shouldn’t come here. But, in theory, if I were to find a way to come over to your place…” “…You. Come over here?” “Yes.” “Wha, you gonna get on a bus during a pandemic? I thought setting a bad example and getting too close to people is something you consider demonic activity. Angel, I’m almost impressed.” “Without breaking any rules, of course!” “And how would you go about that, then?” Aziraphale could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smirk in Crowley’s voice. “… Not sure. It’s just hypothetical, really. Anyway, would you mind if I did?” “’Course not, why in the heavens would I mind, not like I haven’t had you over before.” “… Right, right. Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, my dear.”

Click.

----

Not even Aziraphale’s gramophone seemed to be able to drown out the silence of the following days. The angel often found his gaze locked on the black feather he kept next to his recipe books. A keepsake from Crowley. He had passed it off as a meaningless gesture. Aziraphale knew better.

Being honest with himself had never been the angel’s strong suit. But he had gotten better at deciphering what his gut was trying to tell him in the months since the war had been averted. Rather than decades, centuries or even millennia, it now took him a mere fortnight to realize that he couldn’t drown out what he wanted more than anything.

He wanted to be near Crowley. To keep his friend company. They had always had each other to rely on whenever one or more of the horsemen had raised their heads.

But Pestilence posed a very unique challenge, turning the very need for people to reach out to each other during hard times into a potentially deadly risk. He couldn’t just walk out of the bookshop and set a bad example for humans. Maybe he should wait until July, he thought to himself. Sit here, on the couch, where the demon had slept so many times over the years there undoubtedly was a Crowley-shaped indent in the foam, drink tea and eat cake while catching up on his vast collection of books… but after hearing his dearest friend’s voice, this thought suddenly felt so much less appealing. He found himself picking up the phone again, aching to speak to Crowley, but what was he going to say? There was nothing else to say. The time for talking had passed, he realized. Now was the time to act – which was a harrowing thought.

But he should definitely follow the rules of the lockdown, Aziraphale decided, which meant no leaving the house. Not being able to get sick or transmit the disease was beside the point. Laws were there for a reason, after all. But while the laws surrounding the lockdown were not to be broken even by him, not all laws that applied to humanity applied to a celestial being. For one thing, angels weren’t bound by the laws of physics. And just like that, an idea hit Aziraphale as his gaze locked on the phone in his hand.

Crowley had done it before, he had (repeatedly and proudly) bragged to Aziraphale all about how he had outwitted Hastur back before Armageddon’t by travelling through the phone line and trapping the duke of hell on his ansafone. It was one of his favourite stories to relay after a bottle of wine and usually culminated in him thanking the angel for being the sole reason he even kept the ancient eyesore in his flat. If Crowley could do it, Aziraphale reasoned, why couldn’t he? “It might just work…” he mumbled to himself. Hesitating, Aziraphale considered the phone line separating him from his demon. The rules of the lockdown were one thing, but there were other rules to consider. 6000 years of careful consideration, of boundaries, of careful movements so to not spook or even endanger the other. But those times were over now, weren’t they? They were on their own side now, they didn’t need excuses. They were meant to be free. They deserved to be free.

And nothing was stopping them. Not really.

Aziraphale took a long look around his bookshop. He closed his eyes. A thought, a silent prayer, a faint smell of ozone, and just like that, he knew that it would be safe until he returned, whenever that may be. He took a deep breath, braced himself, and without further ado, willed himself to dissolve into particles straight into cyberspace.

Inaudible to anyone but Aziraphale, the phone line for the next fragment of a second was filled with panicked, garbled noises of distress, as a defragmented angel was trying to herd the atoms making up his corporation through a telephone line. He had to admit: Pulling this off without any atoms escaping was brag-worthy. He found himself wondering if bouncing around weightlessly like this was what a rollercoaster felt like. He didn’t much care for it. And he didn’t much care for re-emerging, either, all his atoms snapping back in place like magnets, sending him stumbling aimlessly. All he could do was brace himself for the unavoidable impact.

But luckily for the angel, Crowley’s phone had rolled out of his hand when he’d fallen asleep after their last conversation, on a bed that had to have been touched by a demonic miracle or a dozen to reach such an unnatural level of softness. The yelp that followed Aziraphale’s body hitting Crowley full-force would have usually caused the angel a great deal of concern, but Aziraphale was too occupied with his own spinning vision and trying to figure out where he was and which way was up, limbs flailing, helplessly entangled in black, velvet bedsheets.

“What the FLYING FUCK-“ Crowley yelled, followed by a string of expletives, and Aziraphale realized that the sounds were coming from the floor next to the bed. “Ah – I didn’t mean to - Apologies, my dear.” he offered breathlessly. “Aziraphale?!”

The demon’s upper body emerged from beside the bed, golden eyes wide. “What the heavens - How did - wh-?!”, he stammered, ever so eloquently. Aziraphale scrambled to sit up, tried to brace himself on the wall, missed, and found himself face-first on the bed with a groan. He realized that Crowley must have rushed to his side when he felt himself being propped up by a steadying hold under his arm. That thought was confirmed when he heard Crowley hiss under his breath. The angel held on to his arm for dear life. “I… I’m so sorry to wake you like this. Are you hurt?” “No, just got better acquainted with the floor, thank you very much.” Aziraphale barely managed to lean against the headboard to wait for his vision to stop spinning. “I just. Thought this might be a way of coming over without breaking any rules. I must admit, you made this whole traveling through the telephone line business sound rather a lot easier than it is.”

His vision slowly focused on the demon, who was sitting beside him on the bed, more frazzled looking than the angel had ever seen him. Unkempt, bleary-eyed, and absolutely, stunningly beautiful. With a start, Aziraphale noticed that the plants on the balcony had shifted into unnatural positions. As though they were leaning in to see what all the commotion was about. Crowley took notice and turned around to glare at the plants, which immediately went back to their original positions.

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. “It’s good to see you, my dear.” “Yeah it’s… yeah. Same.” the demon stammered. “I was a little worried about you. You must really be concerned about the humans, to so adamantly refuse to break the rules. Commendable as it is.” Crowley made a face at that last remark. “Rub it in, why don’t you.” “I’m not trying to be flippant, dear. What I’m trying to say is… I’m a little surprised you didn’t come over.” Aziraphale admitted. “I didn’t come over ‘cause you told me not to.” the demon retorted. “That’s never stopped you before. You know as well as I do that I was tempting you.” Crowley blinked at the angel’s blatant honesty. “Angel,” Crowley began, “This is different. I just…” Crowley threw back his head and let out a frustrated groan, “I couldn’t just go on a limb and invite myself to stay over for however many weeks or months it’ll take for Pestilence to get tired of mucking up everyone’s day and to bugger off again, could I? Taking up your space and drinking all your wine. ‘sides, we’re not just talking catching up, but. You know. More than that.” When it became apparent that Aziraphale wanted more, Crowley ran a hand over his face. “Living together for fuck knows how long. Didn’t want to overstep.”

Oh.

“W- well,”, Aziraphale started, a familiar warmth rising up in his face, “I certainly didn’t mean to overstep-“ “You’re not.” “Oh. Good.”

Aziraphale swallowed. The heat in his face remained. “Still… I can make myself scarce, if you like. Go back to the bookshop, if one of us needs space, I’m sure I’ll get used to traveling through the telephone line. But, truth be told, I have missed your company.” He swallowed again, followed by a deep breath. “Rather terribly, actually. In fact, I don’t know how I ever managed to spend as much time apart from you as I used to. Things have been different since the events of last summer, haven’t they? Speaking of, the anniversary of what could have been Armageddon is coming up in three months, hopefully things will be better by then. Maybe the Ritz will have re-opened and we will get a chance to celebrate the world not coming to an end, like we did last year.” When Aziraphale’s eyes met the demon’s, there was no trace of white to be found in them. “Until then, I’d very much like to stay here with you. If you’ll have me.”, he added.

The silence hung over them thickly, every second stretching out endlessly. “… Crowley?” Aziraphale asked tentatively, but the demon appeared to be frozen in place, still holding on to the angel’s arm. By the time Crowley finally opened his mouth, Aziraphale wondered if he had said too much.

“I need a nap.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Beg your pardon? Did you hear what I just said?” “Y- Yeah, and, if you don’t mind, I really need a nap.” “You may feel free to nap all you want, but-“ Aziraphale started, but before he could say anything else, he felt himself gently being pushed back against the headrest, and before he had realized what was happening, Crowley’s face was buried in his shoulder, arms wrapped around the angel’s torso like his life depended on it. Aziraphale quickly snapped out of his bafflement and gave his friend a concerned look. “Are you alright, dear boy?” he asked, and Crowley nodded into his shoulder wordlessly. “… Well, are you still planning on napping until July? I will have to miracle myself some books over if you do.” Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale returned the embrace, one hand gently stroking the demons back, resulting in a small, full-body shudder. Crowley chose not to comment when, emboldened by this reaction, the angel pressed a kiss on the top of his head, but he did make a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of contentment. They had touched more frequently since the events of the year prior, more precisely since the night of the body swap, but it never failed to make their hearts flutter. “Well then, let’s get comfortable, shall we? If we’re in this for the long haul.” He grabbed the cover and draped it over Crowley. And as the arms around his torso squeezed him just a little tighter, he added “We have all the time in the world. The cakes in the kitchen know better than to go stale.”

---

Well, seeing as it’s technically the 30th anniversary of Good Omens  today, I thought I’d try my hand at writing. This is actually my first fanfiction, and I plan to write a bit more often in the future. Hope you like it!

[sign-from-god-complex]

cuddles and catnaps

Summary: Logan was absolutely exhausted. Thankfully, Roman’s there to help.

Pairing: Platonic logince 

Warnings: Brief description of emotional numbness, very non-serious mention of hypothetical murder and lots of sleep-deprivation/insomnia-related things.

A/N: I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to write the logince conversation I wish they’d have in canon. Just let my boys get along!!! It’s what they deserve.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a quiet night, and Logan was awake.

This wasn't uncommon necessarily—rest did not always come easily to the logical side and it had been a particularly busy week—but it was frustrating nonetheless. He'd tried to relax, tried breathing techniques and distractions and anything else he could think of but it was no use; Logan simply couldn't sleep.

It had been a problem for the past few nights, in fact. Logan's mind wouldn't stop whirring with all the potential outcomes or solutions to the most recent dilemma Thomas was having and he was unable to untangle his thoughts from it.

He thought that he managed to get an hour or so of sleep last night but honestly he couldn't say for sure; things were beginning to blend together slightly.

As the clock hit 3 am, Logan decided to give up trying. He recalled hearing about how merely pretending to sleep makes you feel more rested than if you were to get up and stay awake but, quite honestly, if Logan had to lay here one more minute he felt he may figuratively explode.

Slipping out from under the sheets, he walked over to open the door and head down to the commons, hoping that if he generated a change in scenery it might prompt his body to allow him at least a nap. Best-case scenario, he would manage to fall asleep on the couch while watching a documentary.

He crept down the hallway as quietly as possible, noting the absence of light from under the doors of his fellow sides. It was common for them to be in bed at this time—provided Thomas was as well—but it also wasn't unheard of for them to be a little too worked up to get to sleep, much as Logan was right now. It seemed, however, that the others were asleep, which simultaneously comforted and distressed him.

It was obviously beneficial for the other three to be getting optimal sleep and rest. Not only was it better for them but it was better for Thomas as well—things tended to go awry when any one side was particularly sleep-deprived. 

Roman's reaction to lack of sleep was actually quite typical. You could tell Roman hadn't been sleeping well simply because he seemed tired. Not sleepy, that was vastly different. No, Roman tended to look exhausted, trailing around and reacting sluggishly to any input from the other sides. His usual vigour and bounce were missing, replaced with mostly blank looks and absent stares.

It was actually the easiest of the four's behaviours to recognise and the other sides always rushed to get him to bed when they picked up on it. They could always afford a day off for Roman's health.

Plus, of course, Thomas's productivity greatly suffered when Roman wasn't at his best. Without Thomas's creativity, videos were extremely difficult if not impossible to complete, with any attempted acting being subpar and any attempted writing being worse than that. That's not even to mention the kind of slump Thomas fell into when Roman became particularly exhausted; it was upsetting to witness their host look so dejected and quiet. Truly, taking a day off was always the best course of action.

Virgil's response to sleep deprivation was mostly avoidance. He tended to put as much distance between himself and the other three as was possible, and luckily enough, the three of them had quickly learnt to spot it.

Getting Virgil to sleep was actually vastly more difficult than Roman. Roman generally whined slightly but was really too exhausted to protest all that much; Virgil, however, got angry when he was tired. His jabs were never taken personally past the first time it occurred—the others understood that Virgil's lashing out was not out of malice but more out of frustration and a feeling of being overwhelmed—though it was still jarring. Virgil was usually angry for them more so than at them nowadays but with exhaustion he became terse, snapping at anyone who dared to lend a helping hand.

Though it took slightly more effort, they usually got through the facade pretty quickly, watching Virgil just entirely deflate and forcibly cuddling him to sleep.

And when Virgil was tired and angry and distant, Thomas was a wreck. Thomas dealt with his emotions far better than Virgil did but that didn't mean he didn't feel them. When Virgil was like this, all the little things that Thomas could normally deal with managed to get to him—sharp noises and abrupt motions causing him to flinch and glare and any small inconvenience suddenly becoming the indicator of a horrible day. Thomas's optimism tended to fly right out the window when Virgil hadn't slept and it was troublesome, to say the least.

Patton became considerably stressed when he was tired. It was something that seemed to tie in quite closely to his general need to bottle up his feelings. Instead of dealing with his insomnia, Patton would stress clean, would obsess over every tiny detail and was just not capable of turning off for even a second. It wasn't uncommon on days like that to see Patton puttering around the mindscape, fixing things that didn't need fixing and straightening things that didn't need straightening—picking at every perceived flaw he came across.

Getting Patton to bed was potentially the hardest. He was always so worked up, so tense and so fixated that it was like dragging Logan away in the middle of hyperfocusing. Patton wouldn't fight them the way Virgil did but he just wouldn't take a single breath and it would take several hours of calming distractions and soft blankets to get him to drift away.

Thomas did not tend to be productive on those days. When Patton was as consumed by his thoughts as he was, Thomas couldn't concentrate in the slightest, instead, he tended to opt for rewatching old episodes of his favourite TV shows and steadily ignoring his growing piles of responsibilities with some form of detached concern. He knows he should be worried but quite honestly, he couldn't bring himself to feel much at all besides numb.

Patton would always apologise over and over in the wake of the incident but Thomas was always very kind in his responses, citing that it was probably time he took a rest day anyway.

Logan wasn't exactly sure what his own reaction was to being sleep deprived, not the way he was aware of the other sides. It wasn't something he'd had to pay all that much attention to, considering with the others he was always needed to help resolve the situation, however, with himself he clearly was not. There was one thing Logan was sure of, though.

Lack of sleep made Logan stupid.

It wasn't necessarily the nicest way to put it but he would be lying if he said he didn't think it was accurate. 

When Logan was tired, he made mistakes—stupid mistakes, mistakes he couldn't really afford to make. They didn't always have real-world consequences, such as accidentally spreading Crofters onto his cell phone instead of his toast, but sometimes they did. Sometimes Logan calculated the risks incorrectly or gave Thomas faulty information and the guilt ate him up inside every single time. It wasn't as if he was doing it maliciously but that wasn't the point, the point was that Logan should be more careful. Exhaustion just made it harder for him to do that.

And one of the kinds of frivolous mistakes Logan tended to make in his fatigue was with his emotions.

Logan kept his emotions largely under lock and key, however, when he becomes tired they tend to get the best of him, generally presenting itself in some unwarranted and entirely uncalled for tears. His crying could be due to anything—it could be due to a change in schedule or a misplaced document or even a lack of milk—or it could be due to absolutely nothing at all. Logan hated it. He hated feeling out of control and he hated the pitying looks he received from the other sides as they tried to comfort him and make him sleep.

Because another mistake Logan made with his emotions when he was tired was his want for physical affection.

Logan was willing to indulge in physical contact for the sake of the other sides—for example, if Patton was sad and required a hug or to help Virgil stay calm and relaxed as he tried to get some sleep—but Logan did not need those things himself. He found them to be largely unnecessary and marginally uncomfortable—though he wouldn't tell the others that because he's still willing to suffer through it for their sakes.

Sleep-deprived Logan, however, never seemed to get the memo.

When Logan reached a certain point of exhaustion, he found himself craving the warmth of the other sides. Wanting soft hands threading through his hair and limbs tangled in with his, wanting to feel limitless and infinite in the darkness and yet so small in relation to the vast expanse of the universe. He wanted to go somewhere in the imagination where they could see the stars, to feel the wind brushing past his skin but feeling secure in the knowledge that he was safe and warm and loved wrapped up in the others’ arms.

Fatigue also made him maudlin, though he would not for the life of him admit it.

Logan descended the stairs, wincing somewhat as one of the steps creaked under his foot and pausing for a moment, waiting to receive confirmation that he hadn't awoken any of the other sides. Hearing nothing, Logan continued his journey, settling onto the living room floor with a quiet exhale. He glanced in the direction of the couches and hesitated as he noticed a glow coming from the television. Though the brightness was turned down quite considerably, the TV was unmistakably on.

Knowing that he was the last person to leave the commons that evening lead Logan to the conclusion that he was incorrect in his assumption that the other sides were all asleep in their rooms. All he could see on the couch, however, was a pile of blankets and cushions.

Possibly he had just forgotten to turn the TV off after he left. Or, maybe, one of the others had come down at some point during the evening before once again retiring to their rooms, and they had forgotten to turn it off. He had to admit that it didn't seem likely that he had left the TV on, though given his current state it may not be entirely out of the realm of possibility.

Logan took a seat next to the pile of blankets on the couch and after grabbing the remote from in between the couch cushions, changed the channel over to the Discovery Channel and turned the volume down low. It seemed to be some documentary on symbiotic animal relationships or something to that extent, and while Logan would normally be interested he was quite honestly too tired to really follow along.

There were a few minutes of Logan attempting to parse the images on the screen before he decided that a blanket would likely be conducive to falling asleep. He went to grab one off of the top of the pile—the red knitted one Roman tended to prefer. In this action, however, he uncovered a body.

And Logan, still too tired to process anything useful, fell off the couch.

His immediate assumption was that Virgil had murdered someone and tried to hide the body under every blanket and cushion he could find in the house. He quickly—though not as quickly as he would have liked—dismissed this as a nonsensical thought. Virgil was far too anxious to kill anyone. He entertained the idea of Roman having killed someone for a slightly longer moment before also rejecting the idea. Roman had morals, or something to that extent anyway, even if he was far more likely to think that hiding a body under a mound of blankets was a good strategy.

Finally, Logan realised that he’d been sitting on the floor for approximately 3 whole minutes and getting up to take a look at the body on the couch may be the most reasonable course of action. He shook his head with a sigh. He really was off today.

Rising to his feet, Logan peered at the figure on the couch. Though the person was primarily obscured by the mountain of blankets, he could see a glimpse of red and gold pyjama pants. They looked startlingly similar to Roman’s pair—a Christmas present from Patton that had since become his go-to—thus, Logan concluded either this person was dressed up in Roman’s clothes or it was Roman and he was inclined to believe the latter.

Logan removed a few more blankets from the pile in an attempt to validate his assumption and was greeted by brown hair, closed eyes and a soft expression. It was, indeed, Roman.

Now, Logan had a decision to make. Either he could turn the TV off, leave Roman to sleep and head back to his room where he would remain alone until the other sides woke up for breakfast…

Or he could wake Roman up.

He knew the desire was selfish but with Roman looking as peaceful as he was he couldn’t help but wish to join him in his cocoon. It looked so warm and Logan was so, so tired. 

He only really considered it for a moment before giving in. With enough sacrificed Crofter’s and endured teasing, Roman would forgive him, and he was too exhausted to have any sense of self-control.

Logan placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to wake him up without jarring him too much. As he was pulled from sleep, Roman made a sound similar to those "startup noises" that cats make when you first touch them, blinking open his eyes. Something about it was strangely endearing and Logan tried to ignore the way he felt his chest warm at the sight.

“Lo?” Roman mumbled, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, “What’re you doin’ up?”

“I was… unable to sleep.”

Logan shuffled his feet awkwardly, feeling a sense of embarrassment rush through him. Dear lord, this was utterly pathetic. What was he thinking? He had absolutely no need to awaken Roman, just because his skin felt so cold and he was so, so tired and he only wanted to be held and warm and loved- 

Ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. Roman, at most, tolerated his presence and Logan was firmly overstepping his boundaries here.

Roman stared blankly for a few seconds. “Oh…”

“I apologise for waking you, Roman,” Logan said, attempting to rectify his obvious mistake, “I should go back to my room now.”

He made a motion to turn back towards the stairs, trying to fight the disappointment in his chest and the craving for warmth that was still gnawing at him but was interrupted by Roman putting out a hand to stop him. Roman shook his head a few times, blinking quickly as he tried to wake himself up a little bit more. 

“No, no, wait. What is it?”

“I was just…” Logan cleared his throat, trying to steel himself for Roman’s possible reaction. “I was wondering if I could…”

He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the mountain of blankets Roman was still encompassed in. Roman’s face broke into a small smile and he reached out to grab Logan’s hand, tugging it gently, just enough to prompt him to take a step forward.

“C’mere, nerd.” Roman’s voice was incredibly fond and Logan was slightly worried that he may start crying just from the sound of it.

Ducking his head, Logan climbed onto the couch near Roman, trying not to startle as Roman grabbed his arm and pulled him into the blankets beside him.

The blanket pile was incredibly warm and soft. Almost the second Logan landed, he could feel his heart rate decreasing—already infinitely calmer than he had been upstairs. He closed his eyes as he felt Roman wrap his arms around him, tears leaking out the corners of them without his permission.

Gods, this was so much better than being alone.

He could feel Roman pressed against him, warmth sinking to his core and melting away all of the stress and tension his body had been holding onto. A hand had sunk into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and giving him a pleasant sensation to focus on to calm his thoughts. He pressed in closer to Roman, burying his head in the crook of his neck as his body betrayed him and he just started to sob.

He hated this—he hated it because it was never his choice, just a constant build-up of emotions that expanded in his chest until it burst—but Roman felt safe. So maybe, just once, it was okay.

There was gentle shushing, whispered affirmations as Roman held Logan’s shaking frame as tight as he could and ran his hands lightly along his skin. He didn’t know how long they remained there—whether it was 5 minutes or an hour—but once Logan was able to catch his breath he choked out an apology. An apology that was quickly brushed off.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Lo,” Roman insisted, carding his hand through Logan’s hair and watching the other lean into it, “I want to help you. I know I haven’t always been… the best, when it comes to dealing with you but… I just need you to know that though I may argue with Logic, that doesn’t mean I’m arguing with Logan.”

Logan untucked his head from Roman’s shoulder, bringing his gaze up to give him a confused look.

“We are the same person, Roman.”

Roman screwed up his face for a moment. “No, no, I mean… just because we argue doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you, you know? We, by definition, are always going to have differing opinions but even though I'm bad at admitting it, I do recognise your things are important too. I’m just stubborn. And despite our disagreements, I do enjoy having you around, Logan.”

“Oh.” 

Logan blinked, processing that for a moment.

It wasn’t as if he’d thought Roman hated him; he didn’t believe any of the sides truly hated each other (except potentially Virgil and Deceit, though even that, he theorised, was born from a place of caring too much). Simply, Logan had felt as if Roman put up with him mostly out of necessity. As Roman had stated, Logic was crucial—despite how little he liked to admit it—and, of course, it would be unwise to disregard Logan completely. Roman’s admission was certainly… unexpected.

“Well… you too, Roman,” Logan replied softly.

Roman’s eyebrows shot up, face vulnerable and uncertain. “Really?”

“Of course.”

There was something about being here—enclosed in Roman’s arms so late in the night, the only illumination of their forms coming from the TV behind him, the air almost silent—that made Logan feel as if the consequences of being open may not be as bad as he feared.

So, instead of ending his statement there, Logan pushed on.

“I don’t… understand a lot of the things you consider to be important. I don’t understand fantasy or metaphors or how to please people. If I was left in sole control of writing the scripts for Thomas’s content, though the final product would be educational and factually accurate, it would be… boring. I am boring, I know this. I just… I don’t appreciate having to rely on other people—and I don’t like not understanding things—and more often than not, I take that frustration out on you. That is unfair of me.”

Roman chuckled, low and quiet, and it felt like an acknowledgement of all the mistakes they’d made and all of the mistakes they would no doubt continue to make. “I suppose we both have things to work on, then.”

In response, Logan simply hummed. He felt drowsy and content, reassured that despite what he may have thought, everything between them was okay. They lay there for a while more, Logan teetering on the edge of unconsciousness before Roman spoke again, breaking the silence between them.

“You aren’t boring though, you know that, right?”

Logan made a questioning sound, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“I mean, you get so excited about space that you wave your hands around as you explain things and you have such strong opinions about the smallest of things and you’re stubborn and quick-tempered and absolutely brilliant.” At that declaration, Logan did open his eyes, seeing Roman looking down at him with a shy smile on his face. “You could never be boring, Logan. Not really.”

“Thank you.” It was a whispered response, tired and grateful, but Roman heard it nonetheless.

Logan moved a hand up in front of his face to stifle a yawn and he saw Roman grin, drawing Logan closer into his chest. “Sleep now, nerd. You can talk about how much you love and adore me in the morning.”

“You are incorrigible,” Logan replied but his tone was teasing rather than cruel.

In response, Roman gave a breathy laugh. Evidently, he decided it wasn’t worth it to argue, instead, reaching to grab one of the blankets and tugging it over their bodies. He clicked off the TV, tossing the remote onto the couch away from them.

“Goodnight, Lo,” Roman said, voice barely more than an exhale. 

Logan mumbled a vague response, feeling himself relax completely once again, his eyes falling shut and breathing steadying out. Rather than circling, planning and plotting a hundred different scenarios for tomorrow or solutions to problems that don’t even exist yet, Logan’s thoughts were quiet. All of his focus was on the heat of Roman’s body and the darkness covering them both like a blanket.

And, after just a few short moments—Logan feeling safe and warm, wrapped up in Roman’s arms—Logan finally fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @mctaetae613 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @sanders-and-sides @spirits-in-my-thoughts @kee-and-co @autistic-virgil @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams 

[livlepretre]

This is part 2!

2.) How do you think SWBS!Klaus would react to one of his siblings killing Elena? I think it would very much depend on which sibilings did the killing to determine what would happen next, but with this latest chapter having Klaus state Elena is as much apart of him as his own hand, I’m wondering what he would do if the other most important people in his life decided to do to him what he has done to them countless times over the centuries. She is certainly difficult and causes him lots of emotional distress, but he sees her as the only person who has ever truly related to his abandonment and loneliness issues. She has also proved that she cares very much about him and is willing to protect him from harm against all others (except herself). Elena will certainly guard her feelings and block people out if she needs to, but once she commits to someone, she’ll become the ultimate ride or die. ("I've told you there isn't a risk I'd hesitate to take for the ones I care about.") If this hypothetical scenario took place after Elena had truly committed and both she and Klaus were certain she wasn’t going to leave, what would the fall out be like? I mean, that scenario is all Klaus has ever wanted: someone who understood him, loved him, and truly wanted to stay by his side. It’s why in SWBS that he is the one who is putting himself out there more. I think he knows that if he were ever going to find his perfect match, it would be in Elena, so he’s willing to do some things he normally wouldn’t be vulnerable enough to do because the risk is worth the reward. If one of his sibilings (especially Elijah or Rebekah- whatever the motive) were to destroy this for him, I can’t even imagine what would happen. He would be a total hypocrite for being mad about it because he got Celeste and numerous of Rebekah’s boyfriends killed, but Klaus has never cared much for fair when it wasn’t in his favor.

PS. This ask also has to discredit Elena’s bad assery because we all know the reason she fits right in with Klaus and his siblings is because she can be just as cruel and ruthless as them when need be. She could find her way out of any long game death plot by one of the Mikaelsons because it is what she does best; however, she couldn’t survive a rash murder. Like in FE, when Rebekah compels Stefan to rip her face off. Those are the real types of attacks that she is defenseless against, and it’s the only scenario she couldn’t be ready for.

Oh, I think it would be absolutely catastrophic were that to happen. I think the chances are good he might actually stake a sibling in the heat of the moment and regret it later. Definite daggering/revenge-wrecking their lives at the bare minimum. I think the devastation he would feel over that loss would make any longer forms of revenge-- actually torturing them for example-- impossible. 

The issue is exactly what you pinpoint so well: Elena is filling the chasm Klaus has always felt to be empty within him, and even though she’s incredibly difficult and really roils his emotions, he considers that entirely worth it (and maybe even part of what initially captured his interest). When I’m characterizing Klaus, I always think about that conversation with Rebekah at the end of 3x05-- the “is that what this is all about? you just didn’t want to be alone?” conversation-- Rebekah sounds so appalled, because from her perspective, Klaus has never been alone-- but the thing is, her love isn’t good enough, because ultimately there is always that tension of Rebekah wanting to leave/love someone other than her brother, and Klaus wanting to be the center of her universe. He so obviously wants and needs someone to connect with and understand him and give him what he’s looking for, and the tragedy in his character is that that’s probably impossible for anyone, and of course, the hybrids definitely don’t fill that gap. 

In SWBS, it’s not quite perfect with Elena because of course she’s having the baby, who is going to be her #1, but he’s banking on long-term being able to take that spot (Elena’s right in that he probably plans to turn her) and also, he can’t really imagine a child getting in the way of the kind of connection he specifically wants with her. Like you said, Elena’s the first person he’s ever looked at and seen as a mirror of his soul. That’s a huge part of why he is pursuing her with so much candor in the fic, and also because the jealousy situation with the baby really forced him to consider what he wants from her and to face his feelings directly. 

(this question of why Elena? is probably the biggest question when writing this pairing-- it’s not just, why this random 18 year old girl over every other girl for the past thousand years? but also: why Elena and not Katherine or Tatia? and, why Elena, over his siblings? The fact that Klaus out and out states that he is lonely and his siblings cannot make him any less lonely has always seemed to me like a prime route to answering those questions, especially when Elena herself is such a terribly lonely character.) 

Anyway, if one of the siblings were to kill Elena, I think Klaus would just come unhinged. I don’t think hypocrisy ever holds any weight with him, because his thinking is almost always so focused on himself, so there’s no chance in hell he would be able to pause and consider that he’s just experiencing what he put his siblings through. That basically leaves an initial explosive response-- and I’m not sure Rebekah or Elijah being his favorites could really spare them in that scenario. He would very much see it as his siblings denying him his only possible chance at happiness, and as a real cruelty against him, all without any real self-analysis. 

(and for the record, I think the reaction would be even worse in FE) 

(and btw OMG I appreciated that PS about our girl Elena! You’re so right, the only way she’s going down is with a surprise attack, but that’s exactly why she’s so vulnerable) 

[m-oana-archive]

Snowfall & Falling Part 2 (Sirius x reader)

Summary: Sirius’ thought he could cover up all of those feelings, the ones that were supposed to go away.  But, after learning of Y/N’s love, Sirius is unsure about to about his now dangerously delicate situation, until Marlene arrives at his dorm at 3 AM, demanding a place to sleep and some answers. 

Words: 4663

Requested by @siriuslyimmoony using 

3: “It’s three in the morning.”// 31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” // 43: “Are you drunk?” 

read part one | read on AO3 | read other requested work | Masterlist 

Sirius always assumed what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

It first began manifesting in fifth year: the fluttery feelings in his stomach whenever Y/N walked into the room, the sneaking of her into his dreams, the act of catching himself off guard by realizing he had been staring at her absentmindedly.  It was so subtle Sirius almost didn’t take notice.  

“It’s just, I don’t know many other girls as funny or cool,” Sirius tried to reason to James, who was barely listening after weeks of having the same sort of unsure and tenacious words be all Sirius spoke with, Y/N all he spoke about.  But, the longer James allowed Sirius to ramble on—which Sirius, looking back, thought of as an awfully generous gesture—the deeper the whole Sirius dug himself.  Every effort to deduce what made her special merely pointed out everything he was too afraid to admit he was falling for: her smile, laugh, charisma.  

She began absorbing his life, not violently but accidentally, taking up all of his thoughts until even the splotches of light that formed when Sirius closed his eyes began accumulating into her silhouette.  Until Sirius could no longer ignore the fact his feelings weren’t only founded in platonic adoration, but a passion beyond that.  One including running hands through hair while bodies and lips were pressed together tightly.

Lips, lips, lips…

Sirius couldn’t look at hers without getting distracted, even in the most innocent trains of thought.  But in this particular instance, on this particular evening, they were being ungraciously enveloped by some other boy’s mouth.  The sight made his stomach churn as if he was going to throw up.  (It definitely wasn’t the alcohol, not at all…)

“I’ll be right back,” Sirius slurred out, abandoning the couch where Remus sat, beer bottle in hand, leaving the common room altogether and tripping his way up the staircase to his dorm that night.  

That night that changed everything—now that he was able to look back at it—because it was in his dorm where Sirius, feeling dizzy and faint and slightly electrocuted, ran into Marlene.  

Looking back, there were large gaps in detail in how he remembered the conversation, or even why she was in their dorm room alone in the first place.  But, Sirius knew Marlene had clutched his right shoulder with a firm grip after noticing his instability, asking first, “Are you drunk?” before, “What’s wrong?” over and over again until it made him feel even more dizzy (somehow, she knew it was more than just the drunkenness taking a toll on his body).  She forced an answer out of him not through aggression, but arching her brow, knowing there was something big he was hiding.

The alcohol assisted in helping him to tell the truth, too.

Yet he didn’t realize why—the lovesick fool he was—Marlene looked slightly defeated after Sirius said he was in love with Y/N.  Why it hurt Marlene to hear Sirius to say, in his drunken honesty, “I’d do everything for her, ya know?  Everything, anything, whatever, whenever… long as she’s happy.  Even if, even it hurts.  Hurts me.”

Or maybe that was why she suddenly took the defensive later on in their conversation, when Sirius had moved from leaning on a wall to sitting next to Marlene on his bed.  Out of every detail from that day, the one Sirius recounted most vividly was the feeling of  Marlene’s eyes on the side-profile of his face, the way she considered him so thoroughly it almost seemed like admiring, because it was.

You fool, you should have realized.

Marlene was too busy being ruthless for him to consider her having any other feelings towards the situation.  She reprimanded Sirius, not for not telling Y/N his feelings, but sending her mixed ones.  “You can’t just expect her to know how you feel if you’re doing something that suggests the opposite.”

“Well what am I supposed to tell her?”  Sirius straightened his back here, making some ridiculous facial expression while imitating his hypothetical self, saying, “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending they’re you?  Is that what you’d want your best friend to tell you?”

Marlene replied with quiet yes and Sirius should have known, he really should have.  No amount of drunk in fog should have let him be so blind as to not see the painful vulnerability the confession dripped with.  

Especially when Marlene’s anger began reforming, reconstructing itself on a basis of jealousy instead of disapproval, he should of realized why.  When her demands turned from being directed at Sirius—“you have to realize you are worth her love”—to Y/N— “she needs to stop being so dense and realize you are amazing”—Sirius should have realized the shift was due to Marlene’s inability to understand how someone couldn’t love Sirius or appreciate his love or love him back or do all three.

Sirius should have realized but it couldn’t have been his fault.  By all means, at that point, Marlene was most likely living by a similar mantra that he was: what  Sirius doesn’t know won’t hurt him.  Because it took Marlene half-a-year of helping Sirius learn to resist the instinct of loving Y/N to build up the courage to tell him she had been indulging herself in the same one, only Sirius was the object of attention.  Something he knew he never had been before.  Something that gave him shivers when he thought of it: the concept of being wanted.  

He of course agreed to date her.  He didn’t even have to think about it when she asked, eyes full of doubt like she wasn’t worth the love she was helping Sirius control.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to date her: Marlene was helpful and kind and witty and hysterical and made of the kind of fire Sirius was built to attract.

But, now, a year and declaration of love of Marlene to Y/N later, laying in his room with the ghost of Y/N’s presence haunting every inch of it, Sirius realized he should have thought about it more.  Maybe he jumped in too quickly, forced himself out of feelings that should have been gotten over naturally.

But he really loved Marlene.  And he didn’t want to hurt her.

But, if there was one thing Sirius had learned, his way of living had been wrong.  It wasn’t what Marlene doesn’t know won’t hurt her.  Because what Y/N didn’t know ended up doing just that.

It had hurt her, hurt her to the point of tears and quaking lips and standing in the middle of Sirius’ room on a Saturday evening sideways, as if her skeleton was going to break and it wasn’t a question of if or where but when.  But not her heart; that had broken so long ago, apparently, that Sirius probably couldn’t trace to the origin of the first fracture.  Was it just when he began dating Marlene, being in a more committed relationship than ever before, since it finally established Sirius as someone who could settle down?  Was it when they just started dating, the act revealing some deep form of jealousy never before experienced that told Y/N everything she needed to know?  Or was it even before that, when Sirius was working on getting over her (and failing), his could-shoulder defense mechanism making Y/N realize she missed him in a way that was rooted in more than just friendship?  Or perhaps it was the lads who kept suggesting Y/N liked Sirius, making her see him in that way for the first time, turning feelings of friendship into love?

It couldn’t have been before then, Sirius knew.  There was no way two best friends could have had feelings for one another at the same time and not have realized it.  Not have done something.  

Even though darkness had fallen hours past, Sirius’ mind wrapped up in so many situations that dawn was nearing soon and James and Remus were snoring from beside him, no amount of fatigue could cover the painfully irony that mistake would hold.  It would have been the biggest of Sirius’, he mused, if not for the other, much larger failing this situation was exposing.  That he had to expose, as well, as answering a sudden knock that rang on his door revealed a distressed Marlene on the other side.

The shock jolted the sleeplessness off of his eyes.  “What are you doing here?  It’s three in the morning.”

“I was wondering if I could sleep here,” she said, as if it was a normal hour to suggest such a thing.

Sirius didn’t know whether to scoff or laugh, so let out some pathetic, half-hearted noise settled perfectly between the two.  “You’re joking, right?”

“No.”  It was quiet and off-put and Sirius knew he had upset her before he even had a right to.

“Listen, I�� I just had a really intense day and I haven’t even fallen asleep yet—”

“Maybe I’ll help calm you down?”

“No,” Sirius spat, shaking his head and allowing his arm to rest against the doorframe, his exhausted body propping against the wood.  He dug his head into his shoulder in order to not have to look at Marlene’s disappointed face before exhaling into the skin there deeply.  “You’d do the opposite and I’d hurt you and it would be awful.  I need to talk to you but I just can’t do it like I need to right now.”

“Is it about Y/N?”  Sirius' head snapped up and that was all the affirmation Marlene needed.  “I saw her today passing through the common room about an hour after we came back from our date.  Her eyes were red and gross, like she had been crying.  Was it about us?”

All sleepiness escaped Sirius’ body as his eyes widened and back straightened in shock.  “How did you—”

“That bitch!” Marlene screamed, causing Sirius to look behind himself in panic, watching as the vague shapes of a sleeping James and Remus shifted due to the noise, but, thankfully, didn’t wake.

Sirius’ voice came out as a harsh whisper in response.  “Marlene, you need to be quiet.  Remus and Sirius—”

“Will understand my tone once they figure out Y/N is trying to steal my boyfriend from me!”

“Okay, you know what,” Sirius began, the movement of his body through his door and into the hallway cutting his own words off while simultaneously forcing Marlene to back up further into the hall.  Once outside, he closed the door behind them gingerly before turning back to Marlene in a rush contains the exact opposite energy.  “She wasn’t trying to steal me from you.”

Marlene shoved her hands on her hips while demanding, “Then why did she say those things?”  

“She said she needed space, so I’m pretty sure she let me know why so she didn’t think she was just ignoring me for no reason.”

“Or to try and make you do whatever necessary to make her stay,” Marlene grumbled underneath her breath, her head turning to the side, closing her statement off to argument but Sirius knew it was wrong.  What he didn’t know was what made Marlene so suddenly protective of Sirius and distrusting of Y/N:

“What in the world is making you think she is out to get you?”  Sirius’ face felt hot, his breathing ragged.  The hallway didn’t offer enough space for this argument and he was faint from the knowledge that he was also in the wrong, but wanted to blame Marlene as much as possible.

“I don’t know!  Maybe the fact she threatened to stop being your friend just because you and I have gone on a ton of dates.”

Sirius felt his mouth twitch: he was going to add on, “and because I said that I’m in love with you.”  But he wasn’t sure it was true anymore.

Could he love someone who hated someone else he loved?  That he was supposed to stop loving but never fully forgot how to?  Because forgetting how to love Y/N, it was like forgetting how to breathe.

Sirius thought for so long what Marlene didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.  Sirius thought for the past few hours maybe the things that she didn't know could cause her pain, if Y/N was any indication.

But now, Sirius didn’t know if he even cared if his secrets did.

Because Marlene had gone on a rant now.  One that Sirius was observing as if he was an outsider viewing the conversation instead of the person the words were directed at, the cruel content and aggressive facial expressions somehow not touching him in the slightest.  He heard snippets: “I knew from the way she looked at me she was jealous,” and “it’s so petty that she only liked you once you were taken,” and “you know that, right?  She only likes you because you’re forbidden fruit,” and  “it’s just pathetic,” and “she’s just pathetic.”  And something inside of his stomach should have dropped, something in his heart should have snapped.

Instead, a coy and borderline vicious smile began creeping up on his face.  One off-puttingly mysterious enough to make Marlene stop in her tracks and ask, “What, Sirius?”

Then Sirius was laughing.  Laughing unconsciously and darkly and loudly and selfishly, considering it was three in the morning and the walls there weren’t thick enough to block the sound.  

But the scream of “Sirius!” Marlene let out to disrupt the laughter was still louder.  Still more selfish.

“I was so worried about telling you because I thought it would break your heart, not try and make you break Y/N into pieces,” Sirius began.

“What?”

“You remember what you told me like a year-and-a-half ago, when I was drunk and crying over Y/N having a boyfriend?  That I deserve someone who doesn’t have to be forced into loving me?”

“Yes…”  She was trailing off, wasn’t getting it despite the fact she was sober that night and should have seen where Sirius was going so Sirius ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

His voice was even firmer then, more exasperated when responding, “I deserve her, then, Marlene.”

“But you and I are dating!”

Sirius stepped in towards Marlene; she almost cowered, but held her ground after a barely noticeable flinch.  “But you are talking shit about my best friend, which is something you wouldn’t do if you really loved me.  You’d trust me, even though you shouldn’t.  And you’d let me go, even if you didn’t want me to.  Exactly like Y/N did.”

“You’re not making sense.  Why shouldn’t I trust you?  Did you kiss her?”—Marlene tilted her head here, a jeer surprisingly full of venom— “Fuck her?”

“No!”  Sirius backed away and didn’t stop the look of utter distaste mixed with shock from covering his face.  “I would never do that.  I’m not… well, I’m not that awful, but I’m not that good, either.  I just never stopped loving her.”

The space seemed bigger after the truth was out, as if the margin of the physically pushed the two of them apart.  Air was thicker, more palatable.  

Marlene’s eyes narrowed.  Her voice dried out.  “What?”

And maybe it was the fact they seemed suddenly so far apart; maybe it was the apologeticness that struck Sirius down in response, but he took a step towards her.  “I loved you to, Marlene,” he began, voice whisper-like in its intention.  “That’s what I went to tell her.  And this is so insane, because I thought I was over her until she said those things.  Until I realized I couldn’t go weeks without her.  And I thought I loved you until I realized you are willing to make her into some enemy, some villain, just because you’re jealous.”

The softness ended with her screams: “She is a villain!  She’s breaking us up!”

“No, Marlene.  You’re doing that by contradicting yourself and disrespecting her for having the balls and maturity to do what I couldn’t last year: tell her how I felt.”  Marlene opened her mouth to respond, but no words arrived, so it hung open and Sirius smiled in victory.  “You told me that night that I should go for it.  Then, just like now, when I said I wasn’t worth her love, you automatically tore her down and said she wasn’t worth mine.”

“I never—”

“Yes you did!  You were always so afraid of her.”

Marlene’s arms flung to her sides dramatically, her eyes rolling, jaw clenched.  “Well, I had a right to be, didn’t I?”

But the outburst didn’t effect Sirius; Sirius, who was still able to respond, in the most calmly understanding of tones, “You shouldn’t have to beat someone down to prove you’re better.”

“But I do because you don’t realize that I loved you first, and I love you more, and I love you better, and you obviously can’t see that on you own.”

Sirius was shaking his head rapidly.  “No, no you don’t.  If you truly loved me, you’d let me be with her just like she let me be with you.”

“But she’s breaking us up!” Marlene repeated, reaching out, causing Sirius to back up into the door.  Behind himself, he felt for the handle, fingers coiling around the cold metal the moment he found it.

“No.  You are.”

Not giving Marlene the time to respond, he opened the door, walked through it, and closed it cautiously, hoping that Remus and James remained sleeping despite the disturbances outside.  The loud snores from James’ side and quieter ones sounding from where Remus slept indicated that somehow, luckily enough, they did.  So Sirius crawled back into bed, wearing a small and soft smile across his face, ready to tell them how his dreams were to become a reality.

(And of course he dreamed of Y/N that night.  Her glowing smile and amazing eyes.)

It happened at breakfast the next morning, one filled with beams of brightness and warmth despite December having turned the weather cold and sky grey with cloud cover.  After a  thorough explanation from Sirius and several worried expressions from James and Remus, their stiff frowns turned into full grins.  They gave Sirius congratulatory pats on the back, alongside praises like, “Good for you, mate,” after he shared the fact he was going to apologize to then ask out Y/N the next moment he saw her.  

“You should maybe just stay here for a bit, ya know?” James suggested, waving his sausage-clad fork in the air to emphasize what “here” meant before going to eat it.

But Sirius’ question of, “Why?” including furrowed brows and a slightly cold expression based in confusion, stopped James in his tracks.

James exhaled languidly.  “You should stay here for a bit because it’s breakfast, and everyone goes to breakfast.  Even if Y/N is going to avoid you as much as she claims she will, she’ll probably still go to breakfast.”  Sirius didn’t allow his impressed reaction to be restricted as James finally bit into his food; therefore, Sirius knew that if it wasn’t already preoccupied, James’ mouth would have been moulded into a self-confident smirk.

And it was when, not even five minutes later, Y/N walked in looking distraught and panicked and James was no longer eating.  Inspired both by his best mates’ encouragements of “Go get her, mate!” and the fact that her wandering eyes hadn’t landed on the body she was trying to avoid, Sirius leapt to his feet hurriedly.  So much so, he didn’t notice that his the end of his napkin not on his lap had somehow ended up underneath his plate, leading to it toppling over from table to floor as he stood.

He wouldn’t have given a fuck about the loud crash of the plate averting everyone’s attention towards him on any other day, all of the snickering first years and sleep-deprived seventh years who looked as though they barely took notice.  The only person he cared about amongst the crowd was Y/N, Y/N, who he had exposed his presence due because of the slip-up.

The eye contact between the two of them was strong enough it could have been tangible, lasting for mere seconds before Y/N left her spot at the edge of a table.  

“Go!  We’ll clean it up,” Remus instructed.  Sirius looked back for the slightest of moments, fuzzy focus barely making out the fact Remus already had his wand at the ready, some spell probably on the tip of his tongue to fix the plate so it never seemed broken.

“Go!” James agreed, so Sirius turned on his heels and began running towards the direction Y/N’s left shoe had just disappeared into—the open doors of the Great Hall now blocked the rest of her body from view—dodging table-corners, giggling and distracted second years, and outstretched legs on the way to the hall.

Once outside of it, able to see Y/N’s entire frame, he called out to her.  It was raspy and desperate, but she didn’t even look back.  Instead, she kept running, running as if the floor was made out of fire and her lungs weren’t filled with it from the pace.  So Sirius kept calling after her.  Just calling and panting and hoping.  

Then Y/N turned a corner and Sirius knew exactly where she was headed, the green of it already plain in view.  So, instead of following her, Sirius called her name once more, establishing his soon-to-be-gone presence, running down a separate hall that also lead to the Divination Courtyard.  Only, this one would bring Sirius to the other side of it, so, instead of Y/N running away from Sirius, she would, without realizing, be leading herself right into his yearning grip.

And it was a yearning grip, one executed with fingers wrapped around her forearm and accompanied by the repeating of her name again and again and again.  Just as planned, Sirius jumped out of a column and squarely in front of Y/N.  By the time she had realized what was happening and went to turn away, the yearning grip had already been established.

And, miraculously enough, she let it guide her back to face Sirius once more.  Her cheeks were rosy from the chill—it was cold enough to snow, and Sirius wondered why it hadn’t yet with the clouds that still tinged the sky grey—but even the air wasn’t as cold as her eyes.

“What?” she demanded, every letter of the world filled to the brim with fury.

Sirius couldn’t help himself.  “I broke up with Marlene,” he said, even though he knew it wasn’t the thing he should have began with before Y/N looked down, frowned, and shook her head in response.

“Sirius, that’s not what I meant for you to take away from that.  That’s not what I wanted—”

“It’s what I wanted.”  Y/N looked up at Sirius in disbelief, and he could almost feel her skin under his fingertips despite the layers of coat and jumper and sweater.  She was so close to him as close as the truth to his lips and Sirius’ heart was racing, ready but terrified.  Courage six years in the making still barely strong enough.

So he almost let his throat close up and would have, too, if it weren’t for the random burst of snow that began falling from the sky.  

It took them back for a minute, both equally stunned while staring at the sky as if they both weren’t graduating from Hogwarts that spring and well aware that snow was to be expected today.  But, they both had an excuse for being shocked, both equally good because they were the same.  Sirius just didn’t know it.

His heart was heavy and felt melancholic suddenly, or, perhaps, like he was living through one of those Muggle films as he reached out towards Y/N with his free hand and picked out a stray snowflake from her hair.  Because he did it so many years before at the second annual snowball fight and, same as back then, he felt his fingers shiver not from the snow, but proximity to Y/N.  And the fact Sirius could feel her watching him with the same careful intention as he handled the white speck with.

“Snowflake,” Sirius whispered, more to himself than Y/N.  More to second-year Sirius than his current self, a way to tell that young, insecure, proud boy that he finally found his true Gryffindor trait of bravery in telling the girl he had loved and still did his true feelings.

Y/N’s face was frozen, so Sirius took advantage of her inability to respond to explain himself.  “I know that’s not what you meant.  Marlene came to my door last night and I told her what happened.  She kept telling me how you were trying to break us up”—Y/N’s face fell here slightly and out of guilt, so Sirius squeezed her arm reassuringly— “but I knew you weren’t and I tried to make her see that but she couldn’t.  And if you are in love with me and are willing to stop seeing me in order to not complicate things, I just… I realized she wasn’t actually in love with me as much as you are.”  

Y/N smiled here slightly, allowing Sirius to make his tone more light-hearted while continuing, “Plus, whoever I love should love my friends, too.”

But it dropped as quickly as it appeared, Sirius beginning to frown as he realized he massively misspoke.

“Oh,” Y/N whispered.  She wouldn’t make eye contact.

“No— shit, Y/N, I didn’t mean that.”

Sirius was running his hand through his hair in frustration when Y/N’s face pulled back into his view.  “It’s okay.”  She was smiling softly and like she knew, as if she understood but:

“No, you don’t understand,” Sirius demanded.  His free hand reached for hers, turning her focus to stare at their fingers interlocking, luckily taking her focus away from how fast the rattle was in his chest or how uneven the pace of his breathing was because he was doing this.  He was.  

Because she was right there in the snow like so many years ago but nothing had changed so he said, abandoning any concern for vulnerability seeping into his voice, “I’ve been in love with you for so long, Y/N.  I originally got together with Marlene because she told me she got feelings for me when I was trying to get over you.  But she never succeeded, I suppose… I never stopped loving you.  Even when I thought I loved her, I loved you more.  I just thought—”

“I’d never feel the same?” Y/N offered.  She was smiling like it was the only thing she knew (but she knew more, like how to make Sirius laugh until he cried and feel warm without even touching him).

“Yeah.”  Sirius breathed it out, allowing the exhale to form a grin on his face, as well.  “But obviously…”

She was giggling and it sent streams of light through his veins, and suddenly, Sirius was made of sunshine.  “We both know how that went.”

Softly, not with a pull or tug but swipe, Y/N moved her arm out of Sirius’ fingers’ grip, shifting it upwards to reach towards Sirius’ face.

“Snowflake?” he asked, tracing the movement with curious eyes.

Y/N shook her head, smiling, smiling with a grin made of mischievousness and trouble and everything endearing.  With a gentle tenderness that seemed practiced, she took Sirius’ jaw in her palm: an invitation to lean down asked only through fingertips.  Her lips were already raised up before Sirius’ fully leaned down, attaching mouth to yearning mouth, constructing the kiss they had both craved for the impossibly long, stupid, blind, wonderful years of falling in love.

⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥  ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @coolepowersthings @stubbornflowerchild@storiesbycaroline @i-padfootblack-things @ashkuuuu @blushingskywalker @riddikulus-obsessions  @just-some-nerd   @siriuslyimmoony @astertist @who-cares-unknown @neewtmas @boring-viola @diggorysghost  @gryffndor@finnofamerica @the-apple-princess @theboywhocriedlupin @sly-vixen-up2nogood @bluemadcnna @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @jamcspotters@siriusement @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy @theseuscmander @niffleurs @wzardings

[rosesisupposes]

Destined, part 13

aka Seeking Advice from Glasses Nerds

Character Tags: Virgil/Anixety ; Patton/Creativity ; Patton/Morality ; Logan/Logic ; Remy/Sleep ; Dante/Deceit

Chapter Pairings: Logicality, Prinxiety mention, Platonic Moxiety/Analogical

Chapter Warnings: blushing & puns  (i have two settings: angst/worldbuilding and blushing)

Reader Tags: @residentanchor @royally-anxious  @bewarethegrammarpolice   @fellowthomassandersfander @jemthebookworm

Summary: After centuries of acting as an oracle to heroes, quest-seekers, and villains alike, Virgil just wants to live as a normal, modern human. For someone who can see infinite probabilities, you’d think he’d know better.

<<Chapter 12 | Masterlist | Chapter 14>>

Read on ao3 [updated]

The morning had been a complete and utter mess.

Virgil and Gilda’s careful truce was utterly ruined whenever Virgil was distracted, and sweet Sybill was he distracted the rest of that day. His black hoodie was a mess with steamed milk and flavored syrup stains, and he was pretty sure coffee grounds were, well, ground into his sleeve and never coming out.

The one saving grace was that the sorcerer had caused him to be late today, so Roman hadn’t seen him looking like a mess of a somewhat-human-being. Remy had informed him with far too much glee that Roman had looked disappointed when he’d come in to see Virgil missing, and that Remy had flirted extra hard to make up for it.

If he hadn’t already been a mess of indecision and worry, Virgil would probably have been more annoyed by that. As it was, he was much more worried that he was going to get Roman hurt than whether he’d ever text him.

Remy was about to sail upstairs to sleep when he looked Virgil up and down, frowning.

“Boi, you are a mess. What has happened to your clothes?”

“I blame Gilda.”

“How dare you, she has done nothing wrong, ever, in her life. Here, you’re not my size, but I think you’re Antony’s. This should fit you.”

His boss tossed him a distressed purple t-shirt. Virgil started walking to the back room to change, then stopped. “Wait. Where did this come from, you’ve been downstairs all morning.”

“From the back. Antony… left it there. Last week,” Remy replied with a self-satisfied smirk.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “It’s a good thing the health inspector is in love with you.”

Remy shrugged. “It’s not my fault I’m the perfect man. Go change, I can’t have you besmirching the aesthetic of How You Brewin’. We have a very attractive reputation to maintain.”

Virgil wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was very grateful for the shirt. It was hard to clean up the mess that was his thoughts when his entire appearance was a mess too. And to be honest, he dug the purple.

Feeling just a bit better, he made it through the rest of morning and early afternoon without any more spills. But he was still conflicted. What should he do about Dante’s destiny? He’d never been connected to a seen future in any way, let alone been infatuated with friendly with a pivotal actor in that future. Who would he even ask for advice? It’s not like Sages had parents.

But he wasn’t most Sages, he realized. There was someone who actually did call him ‘son.’

He made his way over to the bakery and saw, with a warm bubble of pride, that Logan was leaning against the side of the counter as he chatted with Patton, who was glazing pastries and smiling even larger than normal. It seemed that the happy resolution of months of mutual pining was constant conversation and flirting.

“Hey, if I’m interrupting I can come back later - I just need Patton’s advice on something,” he offered as he approached the counter.

Patton looked up at Logan, who smiled, still a little tentative and embarrassed, and said “Not a problem. I can leave you alone to consult.”

“Actually,” Virgil interrupted, “you can stay if you want. I… have a bit of an odd situation, and two perspectives would probably be better than one. Unless you have work to do.”

Logan rubbed his neck. “I probably do have work I could be doing, but now I’m intrigued. I will gladly assist if I’m able to do so.”

Virgil nodded and pulled himself up onto one of Patton’s only clean baking benches.

“Kiddo, I can get you a stool, you don’t need to sit up there...”

“Pat, I appreciate the offer, but right now I am too overwhelmed to worry about what is or what isn’t a chair,” he muttered, his anxiety heightening as he tried to think of how he’d explain his predicament. He wasn’t quite ready to tell them both that he was an ageless magical being.

“So. Um. I have a bit of an issue, but it’s kind of… private? It involves some sensitive details I don’t know that I can share,” he offered, not making eye contact.

“You only need to share as much as you want to, kiddo,” Patton said kindly, pulling up a stool.

“Unless, of course, the details are so crucial as to make any advice without them useless,” Logan interjected, sitting across from him.

“I hope that’s not the case - here, let’s try a hypothetical. You both know the trolley problem?” Virgil asked.

Logan’s eye widened. “Philippa Foot’s thought experiment? Of course, yes, I suddenly feel much more qualified for this discussion.”

“No, like the meme,” Virgil and Patton said at the same time.

“I… I don’t understand, but go on,” Logan said, lifting his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, so, hypothetically, I know someone who has control of a lever to change the train tracks. He has a choice between an empty rail, and one with several people, whose death will somehow benefit him. Like, uh, the king and the next three in line for the throne before Lever Man. You’re following so far?”

Patton and Logan both nodded, Patton slightly more confused than his darker-haired friend.

“So, hypothetically, Mr. Lever is pretty likely to want to pull the lever towards the people, but there’s a small chance he won’t. He could decide last-minute to be merciful. The only way I know for a fact that he won’t flip the lever is if… um, Superman flies in, and forcibly pushes him to keep the lever on the empty track. But if Supes tries that, there’s a nonzero chance he’ll fall onto the empty track himself and be hit by the train.”

“Well obviously that would be the ideal situation, Superman will survive such a blow easily,” Logan offered.

“Okay, not Superman. Just a regular dude then, I don’t know what to call him…”

“Call him Logan!” Patton said eagerly.

“Um, why me?” Logan asked.

“Cause you’re my hero,” Patton said, smiling. Logan immediately blushed and looked down.

Virgil smirked and exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, then tried to pull them both back on track (Heh, track. Wait shit, no, he needed to focus. This was what happened when he spent this much time with Patton).

“We’re talking about trains, I’ll call the hero… Thomas. Like the Tank Engine.”

“More like Thomas the Dank Engine”

“Patton, buddy, focus. Okay. So the only person who can guarantee that Mr. Lever won’t kill the royals and become king is Thomas, but Thomas could get hurt or worse in the process. But, there’s also a chance that Mr. Lever will decide to not kill anyone. If I’m the only one who knows this… Do I have an obligation to tell Thomas?”

Logan looked pensive. “Hm. That is an interesting hypothetical. What would happen if you didn’t tell Thomas?”

Virgil thought. “I mean, there’s a chance that he’d still be in a position to stop Mr. Lever anyway, and so there’s a chance he would still be at risk, he would just be unprepared. But there would be an equal chance that he wouldn’t be in the right place at the right time without knowing, so the likelihood of Mr. Lever successfully going through with his plan is pretty high.”

Logan nodded. “And the risk of indeed telling him?”

“Well, best-case scenario, Thomas would choose to stop Mr. Lever, be successful, and not get hurt,” Virgil said with a sigh. “But I know better than to pin all my hopes on that happening. If he knew, and Mr. Lever was merciful on his own, then Thomas has been through a lot of worry and stress for nothing. Or, he could try to stop him and be unsuccessful and get hurt or killed in the process. Or he could be successful in stopping him and still get hurt or killed. Or he could choose to do nothing and feel like a coward for the rest of his life, or he could choose to do nothing and get killed along with the king anyway.” The speed of his words picked up as he listed possibilities, his perpetual internal monologue spilling out into the open like - well, like a runaway train. Those things were dangerous.

Patton put on hand on Virgil’s need and rubbed it reassuringly. “Hey, kiddo, take it easy, okay? Just let yourself relax. None of these things are happening just yet, it’s okay.”

Virgil nodded and took a deep breath, using meditation breathing to calm his elevated heart rate.

“It sounds like a big part of this question is you trying to decide what’s best for Thomas,” Patton continued. “But maybe, just maybe, that’s something he needs to decide for himself.”

Logan nodded in agreement. “Patton makes an excellent point. It seems like there many factors to consider, but only Thomas himself can accurately weigh their relative importance within his own life. The negative result of causing him unnecessary worry is far overshadowed by the other possible negative outcomes.”

Virgil looked at both his friends. Two serious yet supportive expressions looked back from behind matching black frames. “But…” he started

“Hehe, butt,” Patton snorted. “Sorry, go on, big guy!”

“But what if I, personally,” Virgil hesitated, “what if I care a lot for Thomas and don’t want to risk hurting him?”

Patton brightened, clapping his hands. “Awwww my son has a cruuushhhh.”

Logan cleared his throat, carefully looking directly at Virgil and nowhere else. “While I, ah, understand the heightened feelings of worry that go along with feelings of… affection… for someone, you can’t allow that to cloud your judgment here. Yes, you may cause Thomas some distress by telling him what you know, but imagine if the truth came out without your telling him. The most likely outcome would be a feeling of betrayal on his part.”

“You think so?” Virgil asked nervously.

“I know so, kiddo,” Patton answered. “If you really care about him and his well-being, you’ll let him make the choice himself. It may be hard, and yes, there’s a chance that you telling him will also make him feel betrayed. But if you speak from the heart and make it clear that you are only trying to help him to the best of your ability, I think you’ll find he’ll appreciate the effort.”

Virgil sighed, looking back and forth. “Thanks, guys. You’re right. I’m really glad I came to you both.”

Logan smiled. “Anytime, Virgil. And might I advise telling Roman sooner rather than later?”

Virgil blanched. “What? Who said anything about Roman? We were talking about, uh, Thomas, yeah. All hypothetical here.”

“You forget that I’m almost always in the cafe when Roman comes in. Particularly,” Logan smirked, “two days ago, when you spoke to him for several minutes and wrote your number on his coffee cup. I didn’t want to mention it earlier because it wasn’t relevant to the advice, but it was intuitively obvious even to the casual observer.”

Virgil heard a strange, strangled sound and turned to see Patton with both hands over his face, eyes shining with delight. “Ohhhhh that is so cute!!!” the paternal baker squealed.

“I. Um. It’s not really anything yet, and might not be ever, so don’t get your hopes up,” Virgil muttered. “Thanks again for the advice, I’m going to go… hide.”

He slid off the baker’s bench and slunk back to How You Brewin’ to start cleaning up for the night.

At least he knew what he needed to do now.

author’s note: This chapter brought to you by inspiration from Mind vs Heart and Alone on Valentine’s.

Also from my undying love for Logicality. Glasses love is the best love.

[greasygyeom]

Title: Look at Me

By: GreasyGyeom

Summary: Graduation Ceremony and a sea of people, will you be able to make it through the day? Jinyoung x Reader. Angst/Fluff. Trigger Warning: Death

Playlist: 170830

Author’s Note: (i) San-nakji (산낙지) is a variety of raw dish made with long arm octopus. Although the octopuses are killed before cut into small pieces and served, the nerve activity in the octopus’ tentacles makes the pieces still squirming posthumously on the plate when served.

(ii) I’ve always thought music and reading goes really well together. It’s new format I’m trying. If you would like some soothing bgm that goes with the piece, hit up the link above! It’s a great way to share music too, so let me know if it worked out for you!! Love <3 <3

Graduation day.

Yes, it’s graduation day; the day you finally complete five years of studying art. The day you get that stamp of approval from a bunch of really old people that you are indeed qualified to freely express your mind via any visual medium necessary.

You lay in bed, twisted awkwardly, thinking about the day ahead of you and dread every unholy second that inches it closer.

Social situations make you uncomfortable and jittery. You talk too fast, you tap your feet a lot and your attention span reduces to that of a 15 year old adrenaline junkie in the worlds biggest amusement park, who is constantly nauseated but out of compulsion needs to experience every ride.

But, things are always different when he’s around. Suddenly being in a crowd feels less like a clown circus and more like an art gallery where you’re able to glide through without your head exploding.

So the only activity you are actually looking forward to is seeing Jinyoung, because he somehow manages to make things better, every time.

Thinking about getting on stage, your brain automatically begins to list the scenarios that could cause potential embarrassment. Tripping and falling on and over numerous objects takes up the first few bullet numbers — spearheading your decision to wear boots — flat boots.

You pick up a dress to go with it. Of course it’s all black — you rarely pick any other colour — and pair it with some simple silver accessories.

You force yourself out of the semi-coma you’ve been lying in and take a quick shower. The anxiety begins to spread through your body. You consider tidying up your room in an effort to sooth yourself, an invisible pros and cons list already forming in your brain.

The cons list wins, obviously. You possibly can’t clean every nook and cranny in the time available and if you had to leave the process of cleaning half way through, it would give you more anxiety than you initially began with. You really have no choice but to breathe and drink water.

Tissues. Your brain suddenly buzzes as you close the bottle cap, like a phone alarm springing to life on snooze; because what if something or someone spills liquids - no, worse, solids - on you.

You spend a considerable amount of time looking for the soft kind for runny noses in case you felt especially teary, the rough kind for cleaning that didn’t leave paper traces all over clothes and the wet kind for miscellaneous germ related quirks.

You take your time to get ready, switch on some music and mildly successfully dance away your nervousness.

But somewhere in the middle you let out a yawn.

Coffee, you need so much coffee to go through with this day.

As usual, your irrational fear of not waking up on time has kept you up through the night and as a collateral not only have you been awake for more than 24 hours you’ve also managed to get ready to leave almost an hour early.

“Should have listened to him.” You absentmindedly speak to your dull grey walls and proceed to ‘Netflix and chill’ on your sofa (without the innuendos involved, of course).

After 40 minutes of being on the edge of your seat while watching Stranger, you check the contents of your bag, one final time.

Time really does fly past when you’re engrossed in Jo Seung-Woo’s brilliant acting.

You quickly throw in your lip-balm and check the clock. Five minutes. You scramble to make sure all the plug points are switched off in your apartment — a quirk you’ve picked up from Jinyoung.

You lock up and head downstairs to find a cab.

Of course it rains down on the day you need to step out.

You don’t live too far from campus, you can easily walk it, but choose not to get splashed with muddy water by an inconsiderate driver. With your luck, the chances of it happening are magnified.

Your phone leaps to life as you sit inside the car. There’s an instant smile on your face.

���Hey Moon, all set?” he asks from the opposite end of the line.

“As set as I could be, I think.”

He can hear your anxiety through the phone. “You didn’t sleep. I told you I could call you and wake you up.”

“I know, I should’ve listened to you.”

He chuckles. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you yesterday. I really wanted to. I wanted to drive you up on your big graduation day.”

“Aw, it’s alright Peach, it’s not that big of a deal. But, I’ll be seeing you later yeah?”

“Of course it’s big deal! I’m actually just dropping some paperwork at the torture chamber right now, I’ll come as soon as I’m done.

Are you nervous?”

You laugh at his torture chamber comment.

“A little maybe? I just don’t want to…. be embarrassed in any way, that’s all. I just need the universe to be this kind today. Get in get out — no fu - udge ups,’ you sheepishly conclude, patting yourself for not actually mouthing the profanity.

His dislike for foul language is as vehement as your dislike for raw octopus, so you seldom cross that line.

You can mentally see his eyes wrinkle around the edges, at your syllabic swerve. A windy snicker reaches your ears. “Nice save dummie, you were so close to eating san-nakji today.

“Never.” you declare with an unwavering determination; the very thought of un cooked food — and not just any food, seafood — sending a shiver down your spine. “Anyway, I’ve reached Uni…. almost. See you when I see you, Peach.”

You hang up and mentally prepare yourself for hypothetical social interactions that may or may not take place, through the rest of the distance.

When you step foot on the cobblestones of your campus, you take in all the air you can. It’s not that you can’t breathe, you really can — but who’s going to convince your brain that.

In the five years you spent locked up in the art halls, studying anatomy, inhaling acrylic paint fumes, you acquaint yourself with a handful of people, none of whom you wish to bump into, at least not alone. Unfortunately, with your only actual friend away on vacation you’re left to suffer the sea of students alone, until Jinyoung’s arrival.

You push your earphones in and switch on your playlist, letting the sweet sounds of the guitar serenade your tense nerves.

Everywhere you look there’s parents following their children to designated seats, going to the art gallery where all the final projects are displayed, buying souvenirs, visiting the mess doing things together and that imagery starts unraveling a tightly sewn hole inside your heart.

You yawn again.

Coffee.

You’re not in the mood for any kind of physical exercise, but you could also walk to the edge of this earth for a cup of good coffee, Kunzum was luckily on a few ways away.

“Hey Minsoo.” you greet your regular barista, at the campus cafe - your safe place.

“Same order?”

“Yeah, Iced Caramel Macchiato, extra strong.”

“Coming right up. You need a doughnut to go with?”

“No, I’m gonna pass on that. I thought you guys would be shut today?”

“I kept it open just for you.”

You realise how much you would miss your bants with him. He’d been your only source of caffeine for 5 years. He probably knows you better than your classmates ever will.

“Should I keep an Americano ready for Jinyoung?”

“You’re the best, Minsoo.“

He grins through his heavy beard and moustache.

The cafe is in a quaint corner of the campus, surrounded by shrubs of Forsythia. Spring was never your season, but as you sit there by your favourite window seat and reminisce the divinity of your campus with the cold-ish winds and sun kissed yellow flowers blooming all over, you can’t help but feel slightly gloomy. You would no longer be able to watch your favourite cherry blossom tree unfold before your eyes.

A deep sigh escapes you, suddenly roadblocking your throat.

You spent five years preoccupied with deadlines and keeping up with your professors and libraries and finessing techniques and it only just dawns on you how empty your schedule is going to be henceforth.

A degree in art isn’t exactly a gateway to becoming a well paid corporate ring leader — not that you want to be one either — but your mind is making you second guess yourself at this point. Maybe you should have gotten that degree in psychology.

“Macchiato right out of the freezer.” Minsoo interrupts, placing the take away cup on your table. You check your phone - still almost an hour for the actual ceremony to commence.

You take in a sip of familiarity.

Your memories race back to a time when you were in your second year — when you’d met Jinyoung in this very cafe for the first time. You smile vaguely, picturing him in the seat by the wall, so engrossed in and visibly distressed by Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore.

The details are a little hazy — it has been three years after all — but what you remember with utmost clarity is the way his expression changed, as he read along the plot twist; how he nodded his head gently as he understood the subtleties of the text.

He had looked so genuine, diving into the depths of what you considered Mr. Murakami’s best work. He’d caught you staring and you had very uncharacteristically smiled back, instead of hiding your face in embarrassment.

He’d ended up buying you another coffee. You’d ended up staying there with him till closing time. The nostalgia makes you weary.

“Miss me?” His face comes into focus.

You’re unable to hide your surprise. “How did you know I was here?”

“I asked myself, where would my caffeine addicted girlfriend be on this campus and my genius brain led me here,” he replies, bending to kiss you on the cheek.

“Some day you’re going to get punched in the face because of your smart mouth.”

You grin, he pouts.

“Your coffee is ready by the way,” you inform, pointing towards Minsoo.

Jinyoung returns holding the donut you had earlier declined.

“Eat,” he says, shoving it in your hand.

You find it difficult to say no to him.

“See you later Minsoo,” you chime from the doorway, gulping in your coffee.

“I want to see your project,” Jinyoung tells you.

“You want to…. see my final project?’

“Why the rhetoric?”

“No! I was just wondering…why?”

He looks at you with a blank expression, his mouth slightly open and his very plump lips curving into a slight o; conveying his feelings with a slight exaggeration.

“Moon, you nearly starved yourself trying to finish it. I want to see what’s more important than food, for you.”

“Only food is important.”

“More important than I am?” he teases.

“You’re a Peach, you’re food alright.”

He laughs, habitually covering up his face to stop his teeth from showing. How you hate that habit of his.

You turn left at the next corridor and make way towards the gallery. Truth be told, even you hadn’t seen your work, post submission. You are just as curious to see what it looks like hanging from a wall.

Walking through those halls next to each other feels like déjà vu from Jinyoung’s graduation two years ago; a time when you weren’t even sure if your relationship would make it beyond the walls of your school.

“Nothing’s changed, but everything’s changed,” Jinyoung breathes in, entering through the gallery doors.

You look around, “It’s that one, the diptych,” you point at two frames, 3rd from the door.

He’s in disbelief and doesn’t hide it. You watch him watch the artwork carefully. He studies it the same way you remember him studying Murakami — with absolute diligence.

He finally looks at you. “You made us?”

Your eyes bolt to the floor. You don’t anticipate the embarrassment that is now painting your cheeks red.

“It’s beautiful.”

Did he really call it beautiful?

“You like it?” you ask, fiddling with your hands.

“Theres a boy, sitting and reading a book on the moon,” he analyses the diptych with a smile on his face. “The same boy is at a coffee shop with the moon shining above. It’s so poetic.”

“I — thanks,” you blurt out. “I tried to not be cheesy about it.”

It was, however, a mild confession of how deeply he had impacted your life. Somewhere in these 3 years he’d started calling you Moon, and somewhere — thinking about it in the last few months — your artwork had come to life.

He looks at you deeply, like he’s searching for something in your soul. You feel transparent under his gaze. He can see through all your walls and peek into your heart without you wanting to fight that feeling of being exposed and vulnerable.

You know what he wants to say, even though he doesn’t say it. He’s subtle like that, always talking with his eyes.

There’s an announcement about the ceremony and the gallery starts to empty out instantaneously.

You yelp and hide behind Jinyoung after spotting one of your acquaintances.

Please let him not find me — you’re quite literally begging the universe at this point.

“Moon, he’s waving at you.”

“No, oh god no.”

“Hi!” Daehyun excitedly greets you. He’s…..chirpy, as always. “It’s great I ran into you, I was just telling my parent’s about you! Your piece! It’s amazing!“

“Haha, thanks. It’s alright, I guess”. Your fake laugh is terrible.

“Did your parent see it? Are they here? Oh man! They must be so proud!”

Your heart falls to the bottom of your stomach.

“I’m with —“ your voice betrays you.

“I’m here with her,” Jinyoung takes over, wrapping his arm around you to keep you from falling.

“You said your parents were here? Are you making them wait? It’s not polite to make your parents wait like that”.

The harshness in his tone combined with the kindness in his eyes throws Daehyun off-guard. “Oh. Yeah, yeah, sorry. I should really get back to them. I’ll see you after the ceremony!” he smiles, bows and runs off.

When Jinyoung turns to you, there’s nothing but worry lines all across his face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, wanting to put his troubles to rest in one go, “I’m fine, Peach”.

He leads you through the arched hallway towards the ceremony grounds. “I’ll see you on stage. You’ll do great.”

You smile nervously as your mind edges closer towards panic mode.

“I should not have let you drink that coffee,” he sighs, catching your hands in his and rubbing them gently. He knows the numbness has reached your fingertips already, seeing how fidgety you are.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. They’ll call my name, and I will walk on stage and walk off stage and I will be fine,” you reply reassuringly, talking more to yourself than him.

“I can see you get your degree from the side, I don’t mind.”

You gently decline his offer, “I want you seated and looking proud of me.”

“I’m already proud of you, Moon.”

His encouragement gives you some strength, but against the influx of 6 year old repressed feelings, it feels a tad bit inadequate.

A high tide washes over you, drenching your consciousness with bitter sweet memories. You wish for your parents. You wish for them to be with you so desperately in this moment.

The speeches begin; your hear starts to race. You pacify yourself with the incentive of it being over soon. But then what?

What are you supposed to do when you get back home. Tomorrow? In a week? What about three months later when you’re still lying on your cold floor, still asking for a bus to hit you one day.

No no no.

No.

You’re not going to do this.

A violent siren triggers in your mind. The darkness begins to widen as an old wound stares you at point blank range. The accident. The cremation. The funeral. The people. So many people, sitting, waiting for you to say something. To tell them how unfortunate it is that your parents passed away. How regretful you feel that you couldn’t even tell them goodbye. How terrified you are of leading a life without them. How proud you wanted to make them.

Your name is announced — Once. Twice.

The third time you snap out of your daze.  

Stumbling forward with what feels like an anchor lodged in your chest, you step onto the stage, cross all the board of directors and shake hands with the dean.

“First Division, very impressive.”

“Thank you, Sir.” you absent-mindedly reply, taking the scroll in your hand.

You want to run away from there as soon as possible because you don’t know how much longer you could hold off the tears welling up inside you.

Jinyoung sees through your exterior, just from how withdrawn and controlled your body language is. His eyes follow you off the stage; you vanish in a split second.

He immediately dials your number.

The number you have dialled is currently busy.

“Ah no, Moon,” he sighs under his breath and gets up to leave. He apologises to everyone in the row for causing a disturbance and sprints, as soon as he’s away from the crowd, in what he thinks to be the right direction.

His foot steps echo through the empty buildings, louder than a snare.

He tries your number again, only to get the same response. He stops in the middle of the atrium; realising the absurdity of running a wild goose chase.

He rakes his brain for your hiding spots.

The cafe is out of the question, Minsoo would ask questions.

The classrooms are shut.

The park outside your main arts building is closed for landscaping.

It leaves only one viable place — the library.

He takes a u-turn and exits through the gym, going through a shortcut to your favourite place on the campus. Out of the 5 libraries, he goes to the one farthest from the main campus — the one closest to the forest.

“Did a girl come through here, maybe fifteen minutes ago?” he asks the proxy-librarian in a hushed whisper.

“Maybe,” the man replies.

Maybe — he could work with maybe. He skips three steps at a time on the stairway to reach the 3rd floor and heads to the section he’s hoping to find you hiding in.

His footsteps soften in an effort to not startle you.

You’re sitting on the small stool people usually climb on to reach the top shelf — hunched over, shaking, hiding your face in your palms, breathing shallow and fast, in the middle of a pool of tissue papers.

You feel some movement around you, but couldn’t be bothered by it.

“Hey Moon, please forget to fall down. Hey Moon, don’t you go down.” he sings, very softly, sitting in front of you, waiting for you to look up. It’s a line from one of your favourite songs. It’s a line he sings to you often, when you’re experiencing your world crashing down.

“Why do you keep finding me,” you groggily ask, sniffing in your tears.

“I’m your muse, aren’t I? I’m supposed to find you.”

“I want to vanish. Jinyoung. I miss them so much.”

He doesn’t say much, just puts his arms around you. You break down even worse than before. All the wind in your lungs empties out with your sobs and you hold onto him for dear life; fearing if you let go, the last glimmer of hope would disappear too.

You keep your head buried in his chest.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do”.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Nothing makes sense to me. I thought if I tried to forget about it — about the accident, I could convince myself it never happened. I thought I could forget them. I thought I could live without them. And most days I’m able to. I got pretty good at it. But then there’s days like today. And I can’t help but hate everyone and every thing,” you ramble.

“Do you need me to schedule a session for you? Tell me whatever you need, Moon”

You shake your head. “What if I fail Jinyoung? At life? What if I’m unsuccessful? And mediocre? What if I die without anyone knowing who I was and what I did? What if one day you wake up and realise you don’t love me anymore? What will I do, Jinyoung. I can’t watch everyone leave me again.”

Another wave of uncontrollable hot tears streams down your cheeks and onto his shirt. You weep incessantly. Your throat is so blocked you feel as if you could choke and die at any moment. And you’re embarrassed — so embarrassed for blabbing out everything on your mind without filtering it. So, not only do you feel like absolute shit, you feel like absolute clingy shit.

You let go of him.

The library tiles below hold your attention for all the excruciating minutes that pass.

“Hey-hey-hey, look at me,” he says, cupping your face. Your cheeks are damper than a riverbed.

You keep retracing the concentric patterns of the floor, unwilling to face him. He nudges your chin, his palms still generating heat on your flesh, forcing you to make eye contact.

You fall fast and deep into the black liquid swirling in his soft eyes. You’re overcome with the same warmth you feel wrapped in a quilt on a cold night. Everything suddenly seems…. manageable again.

He grazes his thumbs over your eye-bags, wiping the residual saline liquid off your face.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

Do you?

You think back to all the times he had come through for you. How he’d witnessed so many of your firsts, when even after two years you felt like a stranger in the city. When you had moved to a new dorm and he’d carried your belongings, for you. When you had moved into your first apartment all by yourself. When you had accidentally burnt your new apartment kitchen and had called him even before thinking about calling the fire department. When your kitten had passed away and he had come over with a tub of ice cream without saying anything.

All the times you’d driven him crazy and he’d never let you feel any less loved. The times he’d waited in the parking lot during your psych visits even though you’d asked him to leave.

He’d been there for everything, no questions asked.

How could you not.

You dip your head low and mumble a barely audible “I trust only you.”

“Then will you trust me when I say you’re going to do something good with your life?”

The tears well up in your eyes again.

He boops your nose with his before placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I could wake up and not be in love with you one day Moon, humans are fickle — you taught me that. But, so could you. So, how about we cross that bridge if we reach it?”

You bury your head in his chest when he encloses you in a tight embrace, settling a whirlpool of uncertain emotions in your mind.

“I’m sorry, I unloaded all of that dead parent baggage on you again.”

He gives you an unforgiving, incredulous look which softens as soon as he sees your innocent bloodshot eyes. “You’re supposed to unload your baggage on me. You’re my only Moon.”

You smile. “You know I love that you call me Moon, right?”

“No, you never told me. But I’m happy,” he hums. “I’m here, I love you”.

“I love you too“.

You hold him tighter as he snakes his arms around your waist.

In that moment you wish you could stay like that with him forever, because you wanted nothing — nothing — to ever change.

[terselylove]

29 Manipulative, Toxic Behaviors That Are Disguised As ‘Caring’

1. Overprotectiveness. Not the general caring/protecting someone, but a lot of people seem to think it’s so adorable when someone is super overprotective over someone else.

2. Persistence in relationships. It’s always sold in romcoms and in relationships. But usually your persistence is a complete lack of respect for other people’s boundaries or holding onto things that aren’t working out.

3. People saying they did stuff that directly affects us without our permission because they were ‘looking after your best interests.’

4. Self-sacrifice.

Sometimes sacrificing some of your time and energy is important, but you’ve got to remember that if someone or something is important to you, it doesn’t mean you should cut pieces of yourself or burn yourself out for it. It goes double if you’re caring for someone — if that something or someone is that important to you, you need to make sure that the support you’re giving remains consistent and sustainable, and doesn’t take you out.

We often forget that in many cases, when you’re caring for someone, that that person’s well-being is also tied to your well-being, and if your well-being suffers, that person you’re caring for will suffer, too. And if they’re worth caring for, they’ll notice that you’re suffering, and that won’t be great for them, too.

5. People that do good deeds so they can brag about it or use it to their own advantage.

“Look at me, I’m such a good person! I do all these nice things, not because I wanted to be a good person or anything, nope! Just so I could tell everyone about all the good things I do! Repeatedly. Like all the time. Because I’m a good person, remember? Hey by the way, could you do me a fav-.”

6. Toxic positivity, ie: people who try to find the good in everything. There’s a lot to be said for having a positive outlook but it quickly becomes toxic when you start defending abusers (I’m sure your parents still loved you in their own way) or trivializing people’s sadness (so you got fired – it just means you get to pursue a new opportunity!). Sometimes the appropriate answer to a situation is to just acknowledge that things suck.

7. People that say they’re always 100% honest and aren’t afraid to speak their mind. It’s definitely useful when needed, but most of the time it just makes the person seem insufferable and rude.

8. Ensuring success. Don’t tell your kids that they will do great things, don’t say that you will kill it, give people reasonable expectations and realize they are human.

9. Supporting a person to a fault. In other words, being an enabler.

10. Grand “romantic” gestures. I teach high school and it’s crazy how many times you see a kid basically bully their crush into being with them. They make this huge public display and the kid is too shy to say no in front of everyone. It’s embarrassing and distressing for that poor kid.

11. “Family comes first.” I grew up thinking that I had a very close extended family until I realized just how shitty and miserable most of them were. I have cut them out and feel so much better about it.

12. When people get involved in and regulate other people’s relationships. They try to act like they’re helping but they always make it worse.

13. Being the “supportive” friend/significant other who will never say no even if it’s a really bad idea.

14. Constant self-diminishing and downplaying of your abilities as “humility.” Just accept and recognize that you’re pretty skilled / have a lot of experience in something, instead of saying that it’s easy, that anyone could do the same, and the list goes on.

15. Whataboutism. It’s a pitiful attempt to deflect or excuse your own toxic behavior on the basis that it’s either justified by someone else’s behavior, or, because of a hypothetical situation that doesn’t exist.

16. Excessive stoicism. Not sharing opinions and emotions for fear of weakness harms your relationships with others.

17. Aggressive self-care — sometimes people use this as a hard stop to get out of things that they do not want to do because you can’t argue with someone saying that they need self-care. But there’s a line between doing what you need to in order to bolster emotional and mental health and being lazy/taking advantage of people who want to support self-care more.

18. Putting people down because you feel like your chastity makes you better than them. Ex: when someone accuses a sexually active person of being trashy while their pure holy virgin ass claims that they’re a priceless treasure to the desired gender.

19. While doing gestures for significant other and ruling it as ‘I like treating others like how I would like to get treated’ and secretly hoping they would reciprocate with the same or similar gestures. Also toxic is bringing up these gestures during arguments and holding it against them.

20. Sweeping issues under the rug for the sake of “peace.” In other words, “being the bigger person.”

21. People say they care about you so then they divulge everyone else’s information and private gossip to “protect you.”

22. “Putting people in their place.” I have only ever seen insufferable drama queens and bullies use this term when referring to themselves.

23. Telling kids that they are so different than everyone else while implying that they are somehow better. The actual healthy thing to do is to stress that everyone is unique, and the kid’s natural gifts make them who you are just like other kids’ gifts make them unique.

24. The workaholic. It’s fine to work hard at something you love, but not at the expense of everything else.

25. Not being honest with people solely to make them feel good. It’s kinda 50/50 with this one, if they need the boost then maybe but overall it’s generally a bad move.

26. Being offended on behalf of another person without knowing or wanting to know their opinion.

27. Unwavering loyalty. No, sometimes people don’t deserve it, and you shouldn’t be ashamed to let them go.

28. When you tell people about how you’re feeling (to vent or when they ask how you’re doing in general) and they one-up you to make you feel like you don’t get to feel tired or sad or stressed etc. cause they’re clearly having it harder than you are.

29. People who say, ” This is just the way I am; If you can’t handle that, oh well.” Like… No. You’re wrong. I understand to an extent that if people don’t like you for being yourself, they can go fuck themselves; BUT, if you are a person who seriously does not know how to speak to people or are just rude in general and claim “that’s just how I am,” you’re wrong. People need to know it is not okay to be rude or obnoxious and that you should be able to know the difference of being yourself and just being a DICK.