#i feel so fucked up today. mentally and physically exhausted and on the verge of tears constantly

[spookieolson]

You make everything better. (Ricky “Horror” Olson x Reader)

A/N: Felt like writing some fluff for Ricky today. Enjoy <3

Warnings: Language, light angst and fluff

Taglist: Tag List: @skulliecadaver-blog @witchyweeb34 @cookiesupplier @raydenrrobertson @sakuracyberhex @beaker1636 @lyschko666 @black-damask1999 @synthetic-wasp-570 @jilliemiw86 @tearfallpixie @vinyardmauro @thatchickwiththecamera @bloody-delusion-expert @th0ughts-pr4yers @zuberweirrd @bxrnthyfears @yournecessaryevil @arkiliastuff @abiomens

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It was another long day at work. Customers were jerks and I didn’t even get to go on my lunch break today. I was exhausted and hungry.

I trudge my way out of the mall and into the parking lot. I find my car and get in. I let my head rest on the steering wheel as I let out a groan mixed with frustration and exhaustion. I run a hand through my hair with a sigh and start the car.

The drive home wasn’t easy. People drove like morons and some idiot almost side swiped me. It seemed my bad day was only getting worse.

Finally, I arrive home and pull into the driveway. Ricky was still at the studio with the guys and wouldn’t be home for a couple of hours. I turn off the car and grab my purse and get out of my car. I walk up to the door and dig in my purse for my keys.

“Damn it, where are they?” I grumble, getting more annoyed as I can’t find my keys. “Fuck, come on!”

Eventually after some digging, I find my keys and unlock the door. I get in and throw my bag to the side. I go to the couch and sit, soon to slump against it.

I was tired.

Mentally, and physically tired.

I could feel tears prick my eyes as I hugged one of the pillows. Today was a rough day, and all I wanted to do was cry.

So, that’s what I did. I let the tears run down my face as I hugged the pillow closer, shoving my face into it. I wished it was Ricky. Ricky always made everything better.

But he wasn’t here. He was working. All I wanted was for him to comfort me, and I couldn’t have that. Not for a couple of hours. Now I was sobbing.

I don’t know how long I was crying, but I heard the front door open. I didn’t bother to acknowledge whoever it was, I really didn’t give a damn. I just hug the pillow and keep my head down as I hear the sound of footsteps. I had cried so much that my voice was tired.

“Sweetheart? You home?” Ricky’s voice calls as he gets closer. I don’t answer.

Ricky finally approaches me, and frowns when he finds me like this. He crouches down to my level and gently takes my face.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He asks softly, his voice filled with worry.

“Bad day…really bad day..” I mutter, my voice on the verge of cracking.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I shake my head in response. Ricky nods. “That’s perfectly okay. Have you eaten yet?”

Shit. Ricky hated whenever I didn’t get the chance to eat. I gulp and look away. Ricky frowns again.

“I’m going to take that as a no.” He says with a sigh, then places his hand on my leg. “You need to eat, sweetheart.”

“Not hungry..” I mumble. That was a lie. I was starving, but I didn’t want to get up and eat.

“Uh uh. We’re not doing that. You need to eat.” Ricky stands. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna go take a nice shower while I make food, change into comfy clothes and then we’re gonna have a movie marathon on the couch. I’m not letting you be sad.”

That actually sounded pretty nice. I nod and sit up, rubbing my eyes. Ricky extends his hand and I take it as he helps me up. He walks with me to the bathroom and places his hands on my shoulders.

“Just relax, okay? Take your time while I cook pasta. I know it’s your favorite.”

My eyes light up a little. “Thanks Rick..”

Ricky smiles and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Of course baby, you deserve the best. Now go shower, okay?”

“Mhm..”

Ricky pulls away and leaves the bathroom so I can shower. I undress and turn on the shower. I end up taking a nice, long everything shower using all of my favorite smelling products. It made me feel a bit better.

I step out of the shower in my towel and walk into the bedroom. I put on my favorite body lotion and put my hair in a jaw clip. I change into comfy clothes and leave the bedroom.

When I walk into the kitchen, the smell of cooked pasta greets me. Ricky was almost done. I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his torso, nuzzling my face into his back. Ricky turns his head and looks down at me with a smile.

“Hey beautiful. Have a nice shower?”

“Mhm…”

“Good. Dinner’s ready, go sit.”

I nod and let go of Ricky, a little sad to let go due to him being so warm, and smelling good too. I go to sit at the table.

Ricky plates the pasta and walks over, setting a plate down in front of me. I pick up my fork and waste no time devouring my pasta.

Ricky smiles as he watches me eat. “So much for not being hungry, huh?” I hum in response as I finish my first plate. I happily get up to grab another.

“You always make it just the way I like it, thank you.” I say as I sit back down, picking my fork up again and eating.

“It’s no trouble, really. I knew it would make you happy. It’s easy to make as well.”

We finish eating and Ricky sets the dishes aside in the sink, saving them for later. He grabs my hand and leads me over to the couch. He pulls me with him to cuddle. He sits me in his lap and wraps his arms around me. I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Rick..” I say softly as he turns on the tv.

“I wanted to, baby. I never want to see you sad.” Ricky says as he settles on a movie, sets the remote down, and pets my hair. “It makes me sad seeing you upset.”

I nestle into him, nuzzling my face into his tattooed neck. “You always know what to say, and how to make me feel better. I love you..”

Ricky presses a kiss into my hair and pulls me closer. “I love you too, sweetheart. I’m always here for you.”

“You’re the best.”

We spend the rest of the night cuddling on the couch and watching movies until I end up falling asleep. Ricky carries me into our shared bedroom and lays me down on the bed. He pulls the covers over me and kisses my forehead. He lays on his side and wraps an arm over me. It isn’t long until he’s asleep as well.

He always made everything better.

[your3am6od]

5/22/25

Life is exhausting and painful, mentally, emotionally and physically. Had my first visit with my new GI, he was nice enough just very LOUD. His voice felt like daggers to my legs at times, it's overwhelming how sensitive I am to noises. Idk how I've managed to repress shit for so long, I guess it explains all the meltdowns and shutdowns I've had due to being overstimulated constantly in life and not even knowing what I was experiencing or why.

This late in life diagnosis might possibly save me, or at least give me a better understanding of myself and thus finally give me a sliver of a desire for a better liveable future...it still feels out of reach. Seems unattainable and there's still a part of me that feeds off my ptsd and ocd that says, "you're just pathetic, useless and a mistake and you're better off dead!"

Therapy is helping shed light on these patterns, and trying to equip me with tools to cope with everything. However the noise pollution of day to day, in overcrowded cities are so exhausting. It also makes me feel like such a grouch, but I can't help the innate adverse reactions I have to noises and smells. I didn't ask to be born. I especially didn't ask for these debilitating issues I have; today feels so heavy, yesterday was a lot.

I feel alone most of the time, but this new isolation I've been dealing with, because of this regression...really does feel so different. I used to think I was just unpleasant and antisocial and broken due to my childhood. Yes the ptsd plays a huge role in everything, but realizing and slowly trying to accept and reframe every past life experience, through the empathy and compassion of life: as a "neurodiverse" person...it makes my chest heavy, my eyes water and my limbs shake rhythmically. It both soothes and aches, simultaneously.

Not being able to work and daily life eating away at what little savings I had managed to save up here and there, is such an anxious overbearing burden. Fuck man, life is hard. It's a deep shitty feeling to me, to have all my limbs and still constantly be in stress, pain and on the verge of a meltdown or shutdown for something as simple as an unwarranted loud noise, pungent smell or unexpected texture. It makes me mad at myself and feel like I SHOULD BE FINE, I SHOULD TOLERATE IT. I am unable to. I understand why now. I need to just stop shoulding on myself...

I would never tell anyone else THEY SHOULD JUST BARE THE PAINS AND STRESSES, so why do I think I deserve such things? Life is hard. At least I have a better understanding of why.

[minshookie]

Petting Zoo.

Pairing | Stalker!Jungkook x reader

Genre | yandere,angst

Summary | “your secret admirer turned close friend wants to be more than just that, and he always gets his way.”

!warnings! | 18+ mature language, stalking , mentioned sexual acts, violence, sick pets, pet death...

| this is not in anyway shape or form a true depiction or representation of BTS, this is a work of fiction and is not to be taken seriously. For entertainment purposes only.|(this is my work, please don’t repost or steal)

Requested [closed for request] words: 2k.

A/N: another request done! I love taking a finishing request I just get so nervous in the end. Also trying something new. Any type of interaction is greatly appreciated! Edited, but please excuse errors. {should petting zoo be my first series?}

He knew you’d love it, you’ve always had a tender heart. The bunny coo’ed as he gently placed her into the plush box. He knew you were lonely, your roommate recently left you for her boyfriend, he knew fully that you were struggling. He’d push his ear against the wall to hear you two bicker in the deep hours of the night. He didn’t mind, he’d save you...but only if you let him.

Knowing your financial struggles, Jungkook went all out to make sure your bunny had the best even providing a months supply of food. He fully planned on this being the light of your month, you’d never stop thinking of him. He secured the new pet under one arm and the equipment under the other, he pushed his door open checking if the hall was clear. Of course, nice and clear just how he needed it, he slipped through the door with stealth leaving the gift in front of your door. With care he pulled the note card from his pocket perching it on top of the punctured box. Heavily he knocked before slipping inside his rightful apartment.

Leaning against the wall he listened for you to open your door. Finally when you did, it felt like his heart was attempting escape. Expertly he creeped to his door looking through it cracked ajar, he heard you read.

“I’m hopping mad for you, take me in as a friend, from your lover.” Fearfully you opened the whining box. In awe you gladly took in his gift, without a second thought. His heart fluttered he felt like floating in love, like in the cartoons hearts in his doe eyes.

Shutting the door he skipped to bed, exhausted his mind finally at ease, he finally has a shot with you! His heart was racing. He rolls onto his bead, head full of sweet thoughts of you, the plans he had for you. Closing his eyes he knew, this is only the beginning.

Overtime you’d grown fond of your new furry friend, inviting people over to meet your mysterious new fur ball of joy. With this new happiness and motivation, you started leaving your apartment more often. As a result Jungkook started seeing you a lot more and he loved it. He loved it so much that for some reason his schedule now aligned with yours almost perfectly.

You have a class? Oh so does he....would you like a ride? Time to head to work? How funny,him as well.....hop in!

Jungkook planned to be just what you needed, in a foreign place like this all you really needed was a honest friend. And he planned to be that and more. It isn’t hard to notice Jungkook loves it when you depend on him, you need him, your life would be in shambles without him. He knows it deep inside he believes it, but he knows you don’t. No worries for him though, you’ll see the truth soon...

Like any other day, like clockwork, Jungkook waited for you in front of your door like a royal guard. Today though he had plans for you, for days Jungkook perfected today’s schedule...big plans to tell you his feelings. Plans to pour his heart out to you, and to get yours poured to him, but something wasn’t sitting right.

you didn’t come on time, checking his watch like a mad man he paced in front of your door in anticipation. Your prolonged time inside threw off the agenda severely. Beside the settle irritation, he was worried something happened to you he was going insane. What if you left him? What if you died...what if someone kidnapped you?

Two seconds from ramming his fist against your door...Finally, while on the edge of his sanity your door creaked open. “Hey, running late today huh?” He looked your figure up and down. You weren’t dressed for the day, pajamas and Nikes weren’t your usual fashion choices.

“Oh, Kook it’s Bella she’s sick.” The whining animal sat curled into a ball inside of the pink carrier. Your voice floated to his ears, soft and worrisome. He crouched, looking into the dark cage. “Sick? Sick how?” He prodded his limber finger inside rubbing the frail animals head. “I-I don’t know she hasn’t been eating,her breathing is strange.” He could hear you on the verge of tears as he got up, slightly annoyed though he tried to hide it. “We’re late to class y/n maybe you should just leave her, she’ll be better later.” The way you batted your lashes told Jungkook he’d said something wrong. You griped the carrier locking your apartment door before begging to leave towards the elevator. “Wait Y/n where are you going?” You Kept walking carful not to rock the poor bunny too hard. “Kook, Bella is half dead and you want me to leave her? I’m taking her to the vet.”

He groaned coming closer as you waited for the aged elevator to reach you. “Yeah? Okay well wait for me I’ll take you.” The elevator stoped with a horrifying screech, you stepped in Jungkook was kicking your last nerve this morning. “I already had it planned for today.” He got closer barley missing the door, “Jin offered to take me.” The door closes quickly and you descend.

Jin? Did you say Jin? Like a angered child he almost stomped back to his apartment door. he threw his bag against it, crouching to search for his key inside. “If I knew she was going to bitch over the thing-” he cut himself off opening the door,kicking his bag inside. “ I bought the fucking bunny, who is he to take care of our bunny.”

He threw himself down onto his couch, unmotivated to go to class now, or do anything for that matter he decided to miss today, and maybe even tomorrow. He mentally facepalmed, of course Jungkook noticed you and the new older man downstairs getting closer. He didn’t think anything of it, until he saw him walking into your job when he came to pick you up. Handing you his cheap flowers and gifts whenever he’d see you around the building. Jungkook thought you were smarter than that, it made him fiery with anger thinking about him manipulating you. The only person that loved you was Him. How could you blow him off for some guy downstairs, some guy you didn’t even need.

He let his mind jump from one angering topic to another. Oh! And that fucking rabbit. Bella had been getting a lot of love from you recently, he didn’t mind he saw that pet as a connection between you two. But to suddenly you kick him to the side because the rodent refused to eat? From Bella to Jin, his head spun. He could feel his face heat up at the thought of Jin getting close to you in the car, touching you, playing with your hair. It made him sick, he could almost feel the bile in his throat. If it wasn’t for that walking ball of fur, you’d be in his car, getting touched and loved by him.

He sat up with a groan. “I’ll wait until she gets home.” He stood going to the kitchen grabbing a drink. “And I’ll talk to her, I’m sure she can explain, she’ll tell me the whole story.”

It seemed like decades before your laughter was heard coming into the hall. He’d been sitting facing his door, waiting for you, his hair disheveled his mind distraught. “Thanks Jin, talk to you later.” Your voice so sweet to him he felt himself physically react, oh how he missed you today. He heard the creak and slam of your door. What am I to say? Maybe I should ask about Bella? He got up fixing his appearance before leaving and turning to your door.

He cleared his throat before letting his knuckles beat against the hardwood. “Coming hold on!” He took a step back painfully waiting. Thankfully you arrived quicker than expected. “Hey Kookie.” You answer in hushed tones. “Hey, going to work today?” You shook your head “no, I called out on emergency.” He nodded hands in his pockets. “How’s Bella?” You looked behind yourself quickly, “Uhm, she’s a bit better just weak would you like to come see her actually?”

He nodded enthusiastically following you in, “sit down if you’d like.” You left him to go retrieve the sickly pet. He stood admiring the room, everything from the pictures to the decorative items resembled you, not only did it look like you but it smelt like you. Jungkook could swim in this scent all day.

“Here she is, a sleepy little one.” The soft hum coming from her sleeping figure earned endearment from you. Jungkook came closer rubbing her back softly. “So, why didn’t you ask me to take you this morning ?” You looked up from Bella. “I thought that you were gonna to be in class.” Your head tilted adorably. “Mm no, I’ll always wait for you.” He took Bella from your motherly arms. “Oh how sweet of you.”

“Hm So, since when have you been taking to Jin?” He looked at you inquisitively. “Jin? Eh Jin is... We’re...complicated, I’ve known him since I moved here he’s helped me quite a bit.” You answered keeping a loving gaze on Bella.

Jungkook felt himself grip the rabbit tighter he looked at you with furrowed brows. “Huh?” “I met him in a bar with my ex roommate, we’ve been talking since then.” You explained lightly trying to not hurt his feelings, of course you knew how Jungkook felt, and it wasn’t mutual.

You plopped onto the couch patting the cushions inviting him to sit. “He moved downstairs to be closer, he’s making a good effort but I’m not sure how I feel right now.” Sighing you toyed with your fingers, unaware of the grimace on Jungkook’s features.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he felt that he’d been lied to and he didn’t a appreciate that. “What do you think Koo, what should I do?” You asked, getting anxious at his sudden silence. He was upset and he was doing his best to hide it, with a sigh he sat next to you. “Don’t let him fuck up your mind y/n.” Confused you looked up to him, “we both know what you want.” You crossed your arms, curious. “What’s that?” Already being aggravated, he sighed deeply,letting the now awake rabbit escape onto the floor. “Me.” You were visibly taken aback by his unusual boldness.

“Uhm Jungkook.” Anxiously you rubbed the nape of your neck. “Y/n don’t pretend for Jin’s sake, I can hear you through the walls talking to friends about me.” Without noticing he started leaning towards you. “I’ve heard you in here being lewd with yourself, who was on your mind.” He could read the fear in your eyes, you grew uncomfortable at the personal information he was throwing at you. “Jungkook please wait-” “who was it?” You pushed a firm palm into his chest in attempts to get him away from you, the sweet dorky neighbor you’d befriended now lurking over you like a beast. “Who do you love y/n, c’mon?” “Kook-” “before you answer, know that I’ve always loved you it’ll never be complicated with me y/n you want better I can give you much be-” you pushed his muscular chest roughly to shut him up, your back now touching the arm of the couch. “I’m with Jin, Jungkook please leave I’m afraid.” A statement you thought would save you, turned to bite you right in the ass.

You could visibly see the anger play along his features, grimly he chuckled. “I’m not going any-fucking-where until you come to your senses.” He gripped the hand you had up against him. “Jungkook that hurts please I’m scared!” “You should be, how dare you use me, fucking whore I loved you!” He ran a finger over his lips, his emotions clashing harshly with each other. “I love you...but you probably let Jin fuck you silly, disgusting...but don’t worry you’ll learn.”

He proclaims pushing you to the floor, he rushes to slam and lock your apartment door. He turned and saw you clutching the coffee brown rabbit,sobbing. “Y-you fucking stepped on her Kook!” the whining of the pained animal began to creep onto his nerves. If that rodent wasn’t here you would’ve been going out with Jungkook today, and Jin wouldn’t stand a chance. He bent down pulling Bella from your clutch, with little to no struggle.

“You get what you want, and you run with it, you get what you want and you go snuggling under some other asshole huh?” He held the injured animal in a primal grip. Uncontrollable he’d held in his anger, his love,and his thoughts for far too long. “Kookie please...please...please no, l- I love you!” You desperately pleaded for your pets fragile life. “Never have I met a bitch that lies as much as you.” Coldly he responded, not appreciating your falsehood, he gripped Bella’s neck harshly putting the disturbed animal to death. “Jungkook!” You let out a shrill scream. “I bought her I can kick her to fucking curb if I want, go ask Jin for one, or did he lie and say he bought her.”

Silently all you could do is whimper and sob, the thud of Bella’s body made your throat constrict. His heavy steps near your quivering figure sending chills through you. “Say it like you mean it.” With no mental strength to look up, you collected yourself enough to speak. “I lo-ve you j-Jungkook.” He groaned. “Suck it up it was a fifty dollar animal, you’re pissing me off.” You’ve never heard him in this tone. “I love you so much, Kookie.” He gripped your chin forcing you to look at him. He pulled up his other hand slowly touching your face causing you to flinch. “Ah Ah don’t run.” He cleaned your glistening face.

“Now, tell me who we hate.” He looked into your eyes darkly. “J-Jin.” His once adorable smile, now made you want to vomit. “Good, and I’ll snap his puny neck if he gets in our way.” He brushed more tears from your features. Giving into his temptation he gripped the back of your neck, bringing his lips to yours before pulling back to whisper. “Now tell me, who were you thinking about during those lonely nights?” You shook swallowing thickly “and you better not lie.” Closing your eyes in defeat, warm tears spilled from you like a fountain. “You Jungkook.” Pleased he kissed you warmly, while you resisted the urge to react. “Keep being such a good girl, and I’ll get you a whole petting zoo of bunnies baby...would you like that?”

Not my image

[hawnks]

coincide pt. ii

previous

hawks (takami keigo) x reader

pg13 (this chapter)

word count: 5,500

Guess only love could hurt this bad.

[soulmate au, avian keigo, slow burn, good and bad coping mechanisms, pining & pining, slight scent kink…., oh oof ouch]

Warnings: alcohol mention, slight stalking, allusions to sexual activity

beta’d by the marvelous @keilemlucent

............................................................................

You don’t see each other for twenty eight days. It’s another iteration of The Incident, but this one leaves your chest feeling all caved in, all empty. It makes you want to cry.

You don’t, of course. You’re so far beyond crying over crushes. At peace with your place in the world. Kind of. 

Part of you is mad. Furious, even. You were not the initiator. You just let how nice he felt between your thighs cloud your judgment for a few minutes. And now this. The radio silence. 

You both should have known better. 

But the anger and blame is secondary. The ache is what overwhelms you. 

Back in highschool when you went through your desperate google binge, searching for a miracle cure for marklessness, you came across the concept of Soulmate Withdrawal. Being apart for too long is like suffocating, losing a piece of yourself. It hurts, physically as well as mentally. At its peak viciousness it can put a soulmate in the hospital, nearly comatose. Mostly it just feels like a bloodless limb. Pins and needles. Unscratched itch. 

Even that you craved. Wanted it so bad, to be able to be hurt in this special, sacred way. And you know you can’t, that pain is forever foreign to you, but—

You think this might be close. You can’t help it, what he does to you, how you miss him like a rib, like a lung. Something so intrinsic snuffed out of your life so simply. You wish you could take it back. It all felt so good, seemed so right. But if it meant having Keigo here, eating greasy breakfast food with you on the floor, chatting about stupid things, laughing so hard you cry… you’d do anything. Maybe. Probably. 

You start the text several times.

I’m sorry

Can we just 

I saw a pretty bird today and it reminded me of you

I saw a couple kissing and it reminded me of you

I’m not

I wish

Please

Fuck

It’s all meaningless, anyway. There aren’t any words that will fix it, that can suture the two of you back together, to that tender thing you were. There aren’t any that will make you feel better.

And what if...he doesn’t want that, anyway. What if he realized this thing you have—had—was unsustainable? When he meets his soulmate are they going to be okay with him winding up at yours five nights out of the week? Would they be okay with it if they knew what happened in his bed that afternoon?

Things were bound to change. You keep telling yourself that. 

Surface level, everything is average. You go to work, shoot shit with your coworkers, sneak snickerdoodles from the jar beside the register. You laugh, a few times even. You keep your hands clasped at your waist as you take orders at the counter, pretending you aren’t substituting his warmth for your own, like you don’t miss the sheer benevolence and goodness of someone simply holding onto you. 

More unsent texts. 

I got take out from that place you wanted to try 

Every fucking thing reminds me of you

Are you okay

Please tell me you’re okay

You feel like an animal softened and rounded out for the cold, on the verge of sleeping for six months straight. Part of you wishes you could. The other part wishes you could just call him up:

Rough day? 

Yeah. 

Everything? Rough. Maybe you’ll just go to bed for the rest of winter, wake up when the sun comes back. 

…

He knows it’s fucked up. He’s fucked up. But he can’t help it, needs—

You. 

It felt like he’s been dragging his body through day after day. He’s exhausted all the time. His handlers have quietly suggested that maybe he should report to medical, and he quietly snapped that maybe they should mind their own business, he’s fine.

He’s trying to be. Everyday he wakes and tells himself that he’ll ask you, that you’ll have an open discussion about all of it. Clearly you want something from him— time, friendship, orgasms. Whatever it is, however much of him you’ll accept, he’ll give it to you, gladly and gratefully. He just needs to know. Why won’t you tell him? 

Why can’t he just pick up the fucking phone and call you?

There’s an idea brewing in the back of his mind, so mean and painful he can’t even touch it directly. It just lingers at the edge of everything, looming. 

And if that’s it— if this big cruel thing is the truth and not just something his stress-addled brain made up… 

He can’t think about it. He won’t. 

Instead he gives into his baser instincts. 

He perches on the rooftop of some complex, watching as you trudge through a foot of snow toward the coffee shop. You’re all bundled up but he can tell from your gait, the pace of your steps. He can feel it’s you, as cliche as it sounds. 

And just being this close is enough to soothe the anxiousness in his gut, like coming up for air finally, like letting go after holding on too long. 

Like something necessary. 

He follows you all the way to work, the snow muffling the beating of his wings. He feels heavy as he glides. Almost like he’s being dragged down toward you. He has to correct his trajectory more than once, the gravity of your bond making him dip and swerve. 

Twice he falls into your line of sight. He holds his breath, clenches his fists as he waits for you to call out to him. He’s almost thirsty for it, for you to look up at him, all pretty and wide and raging, for you to yell at him for being such a creep. 

At least he would get to hear your voice. 

But you don’t look up and you don’t notice him. You make it to the coffee shop and are unlocking the door when his comm chimes in his ear. A robbery, two blocks East. Just ahead. 

He tucks his wings and picks up speed, knowing that you won’t be able to miss him as he passes, that you’ll see him. 

He tells himself not to, but—

He glances back. Just for a second. Just to sate the hungry clawing in his chest. 

And you’re standing there in the cool light of dawn, gloved hands linked against your stomach. You’re looking back at him. 

…

You need a change of pace. All of this? Unhealthy. Killing you a little. 

You redecorate your apartment, pick up some throw blankets from the Goodwill, buy some stools from a woman off craigslist. 

You toss out your old, ratty sneakers. You buy better fitting bras. 

And, drunk on fruit wine at two am, you make the choice to be something other than a barista. 

Not that you hate your job. Quite the opposite actually. You can come in everyday in your jeans and oversized sweater, bask in long-lived running jokes. You know your fellow opener's favorite song and where she buys her books. It all feels a little too like a home. 

You don’t want a job that’s diametrically cruel. Just something that will look at you and your sleepless eyes and twice-worn sweater and say do better. 

You send out several resumes with your paltry skill stack on them, the locations and job titles vast and indiscriminate. To your surprise, one of them sticks. 

You have no real affection for the hero game. When you applied for the job it had been a bit of a personal joke. “Would be something interesting to talk about at parties,” you tell your friends. 

You never expect to actually get it. 

But you do, and you’re honestly a little dazed as your new manager gives you the tour on your first day. It’s not that you’re unqualified—it’s entry level data entry—but these positions usually get snatched up by starry eyed fans, people with some stake in this. Your cover letter could best be described as a docile shrug.

It all happens so fast. 

Red Riot’s agency is small and tight knit. It’s a single floor of a high rise, with big windows and a hundred comfy places to sit, couches and bean bags, lawn chairs and floor cushions. There are several TVs around, each of them on hero news outlets, creating a quiet, constant buzz. 

Everyone smiles at you, especially the man giving you the tour. It ends in an office, the largest one here. Red Riot is waiting for you. 

He’s just as big and bright as you imagined him. He greets you with unabashed enthusiasm, shaking your hand for just a little too long. 

“It’s good to meet you. Real nice to have some fresh meat around here, yeah?”

He tells you the MO of the organization, about what your position would entail. The agency is in its infancy and they’re still learning what kind of staff they need, so you’ll be making most of the decisions about what your job entails. 

“I thought I was supposed to be working in the intelligence department,” you say, eyeing the empty desk on the other side of the office. 

He rubs the back of his neck. “It is a kind of intelligence, right? Just slightly to the left of stats analysis.”

You chat for the rest of the day. And Red Riot (“Call me Kirishima. No, for real.”) is… fun. Goofy in a way that puts you at ease, drags your personality out without censure or judgement. You missed that. Being yourself. 

At the end of your shift he insists on walking you out. He’s stopped by a staff member and as they chat you loiter next to one of the TVs. A breaking news story makes your breath catch. 

On the big screen you watch Keigo— Hawks, as he swoops and darts, quick as a blink. In two strikes he has the villain incapacated, ready to be taken in for processing. Then he’s airborne again. 

In the light his wings seem to glow, shining like struck flint as they expand and send a flurry of feathers after trapped civilians.

“Twenty two lives saved in less than a minute,” the reporter is saying. Her voice is slightly breathless, a little awestruck. You don’t blame her. “This is what a hero looks like, folks. Sheer competency; the man is cool and collected as he navigates the battlefield and the aftermath. Unrivaled talent—and just look at that smile.”

Hawks had caught sight of the camera and flashed a crowd pleasing grin. Just long enough for his PR to grab a shot for his socials, then he’s touching off again, leaving the scene. He’s so quick he hardly looks like anything as he flies. Just an arc of bright red, gone so fast you might think he was never there to begin with. 

“Yeah, he’s something,” Kirishima comes up behind you, hands on hips, smile dashing and bright. “That’s a real man right there.” 

Your heart is thrumming in your chest. You’re already thinking up excuses for why you might be crying in front of your new boss. But when you turn to pay him an answering nod you find that your throat doesn’t burn, your eyes don’t water. You’re just numb. That’s relieving and not. 

“Yeah,” you say. “He’s really great.”

...

He’s at the end of his rope. Assignments are piling up, missed press briefings and interviews. His assistants revamp his schedule on the daily. 

He’s always two seconds from lashing out, and no one on his staff deserves that, or any of his other bizarre mood swings. He’s only around people when it’s absolutely necessary, and even then he tries to keep interactions short. He hasn’t been eating well. Or sleeping. That little niggling of doubt and dread, the looming nastiness pokes at him like a caged animal. 

No one asks him what’s wrong. He wouldn’t tell them, anyway. 

And now they’re sending him away. A covert mission that will take a few weeks, at least. There’s been a rash of attacks on heroes, mainly targeting families and significant others; his job is to gather intel. He tries not to think of it as a punishment, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knows there’s a cause and effect. 

He leaves in sixteen hours. 

He can’t sleep. 

This isn’t new. At night he lays awake for hours at a time, vaguely uncomfortable in a hundred different ways. If the sleeplessness doesn’t kill him, the dreams might. 

They’re all about you. Of course. 

Sometimes they’re wet. He wakes shaking and misted with sweat, rutting against the mattress until he cums with a cry of your name, your face tearing through his memory

He’s familiar with the aftermath of those. He’d had enough of them during his younger years in the barracks, before he’d understood his sexuality, what he liked, what to do about it. Some faceless person, beautiful and kind. A precursor, a suggestion of you. The clean up is a bizarre ritual, but it’s nothing new.

Not like the other dreams are.

In them, you arrive home, or he does. It’s a space you share, live in equally. You’re both exhausted, too tired to say anything. He bundles you up in his arms, wings wrapped around you both. He carries you to bed. He tucks you both in. He kisses you on the forehead. 

Then he wakes up.

It’s one of those mornings, rolling around in the sheets, trying to get back to sleep. But without something to hold on to, every position feels wrong, uncomfy. He keeps turning instinctively, trying to find another source of heat. But there is none. 

He gives up on sleeping. 

He wanders his apartment, pacing, pausing every few steps to rearrange something, adjust angles, order. 

His penthouse is fairly minimal. Comfortable, but sparse. His time with the Commission had rid him of sentimentality. He likes things for their practical application; a good meal, a plush couch, a pair of warm, serviceable gloves. He enjoys his home, but has no real attachment to it. If it all went up in flames tomorrow, he might briefly mourn the leftovers in the fridge, the time he would have to spend replacing things. He wouldn’t be devastated, though. He could live anywhere. 

But you— you hold onto things. You love them not for what they can give you, just for what they are. Birthday cards and sweaters with tears in them, potted plants and miss-matched silverware. Visiting your apartment tapped into some previously untouched part of Keigo’s brain. Where the avian and soul-bonded meet. 

It’s instinctual—people with soulmates will always want to insinuate the other into their space. Genre-mixing, the psychologists call it. The compulsion to combine lives. 

For Keigo there’s another piece. 

The urge to nest was unstoppable. He didn’t even try. Ever since he met you he’s been collecting things. Soft blankets and a second toothbrush. Little nicknacks that reminded him of you. Under his bed he has a box of trinkets, little shiny things, gum ball machine keychains and diamond rings, silver gold and painted plastic. All of it is for you. Everything is. 

He managed to tuck most of it away when you were coming over regularly, just to avoid overwhelming you. Now there’s nothing holding him back. The penthouse is cozier, these days. A home rather than a stopping place. He loves it and he hates it. 

Deep down he has the craving to show you he can be a good mate, a provider. He can take care of you better than anyone. 

It breaks him. 

He shouldn’t. It’s crossing a line. But the sun has started to rise and he knows you’ll be on your way to work, and without much thought at all he takes to the air. 

It’s a quick thing to get inside your apartment. You leave the balcony unlocked, a habit you’d formed when his visits started getting frequent.

He cracks the door, careful to be absolutely silent, though he knows you’re not here. The lights aren’t even on. He feels disgusting as he slips in, such a slave to his own impulses. Then his knees buckle. 

The smell of you overwhelms him, so wholesome and good, so perfect. He wants to roll in it like a dog, bottle it up and take it with him so he never has to go without again. 

He lets himself have a minute. Two. Just closes his eyes and breathes. Then he rises, stretches and ruffles his feathers. He continues on with his mission.

He knows exactly the spot, had it pictured in his mind the whole way over. It’s something you wouldn’t notice, a little shiny earring, part of a set he’d bought months ago. He leaves in behind one of your big houseplants. 

He feels infinitesimally better. It will probably be enough to prop him up until he gets back.

That’s supposed to be the end of this foray into insanity. Satisfy his primordial mind, then hit the road. 

But his eyes find the sweater draped over your armchair. It’s your favorite, the one you crawl into almost every evening after work. Your scent must be so strong on it. 

He doesn’t realize he’s grabbed it until he’s already back at his place, shoving his face into the worn fabric, letting out a shuddering groan. So good. So good. 

He lets himself have a minute. Two. 

He shoves the thing into his small duffle bag, zips it closed so he can’t see it anymore. His heart is pounding as he calls his handler and confirms the logistics of his departure. 

...

Weeks go by. 

You’ve settled in at the agency, found your rhythm. Kirishima insists on walking you home now. The attacks have gotten more brazen, and while they’re mainly centered around the significant others of heroes, your boss isn’t taking chances. 

Secretly you’re glad. You’ve been more out of it lately, just coasting through it all. Having Kirishima beside you, loud and large is grounding in some ways. Not getting murdered is a plus. 

You haven’t seen Hawks in two months. You don’t expect to see him waiting outside your door. 

He looks absolutely ragged. 

He must have come directly from work because his clothes are skewed and his hair is mussed. As you draw nearer you catch the smell of a fight in him, sweat and concrete. 

His wings twitch the longer you stare, puffing up and retracting, but the gaze isn’t returned. He’s looking at Kirishima. He looks — dazed. Slightly stupified. Like he doesn’t recognize either one of you. 

“Ke—Hawks,” you murmur. “Are you okay?”

His voice is barely there, all from the throat, all whisper. “Yeah. Just peachy.” 

You glance at Kirishima, who shrugs. 

You want me to stay? his expression asks. He’s familiar with that worn down hero stupor. If the No. 2 hero is showing up at your door looking like that, he probably doesn’t want an audience. 

You shake your head, just the tiniest bit. Kirishima catches it. 

“Well, I best be hitting the road,” he says. And with another meaningful look, call me if there’s trouble, he’s wandering back the way you came.  

And you’re alone with Hawks. 

“You’re not at the coffee shop anymore,” he says. “I went there. First. They said you…”

“I’m working for Red Riots agency now,” you finish for him. “A whole real person job.”

It’s the kind of statement that should elicit a polite congrats, but you’re not expecting one, and he doesn’t give it. 

“Is he looking after you now?” he asks. 

If you were in your right mind, you might have heard the vulnerability, the insecurity behind the words. But all you hear is an accusation. 

It’s a mean little stereotype, that markless people tend to sleep around. You heard it enough, growing up. Of course, Hawks would never say something like that to you, or to anyone. But then again, there’s a lot of things you thought he’d never do. 

The hurt must show on your face because he’s instantly reaching for you, then pulling away when you gasp. 

“It’s not like that,” he says, trying to backtrack, to keep you from flinching again. 

“Like what?” you demand.

But there’s no answer. They were just words thrown out to slow you down. Meaningless. 

You start toward the building again. 

“Wait,” he chokes out. 

You turn to him, one hand already on the door. 

His animal brain is spitting and snapping. You found someone else. Someone capable of providing better. Someone capable of protecting you better. 

“No,” he says. 

“Excuse me?” 

His chest is heaving with each breath, gloved hands clenched at his sides. “You can’t—“

It’s not like him to stutter, to be so incapable of finding the words. But there’s so many emotions clogging his throat, his analytical mind is all gummed up with them. 

And what the fuck does he want, just showing up after so long? What are you supposed to do?

His eyes are begging.

You come away from the door, stand directly before him. You grab the side of his coat, tugging. It ends up a strange sort of half-hug, precarious and one armed, so tight your knuckles are white where they dig into the fabric at his back. 

Keigo lets out a breath that’s more of a wheeze, stilted and shuddering, all the air inside him rushing out. He’s empty. He’s healed. 

And he feels like a rabbit in the trap, cornered from every angle by relief. How could he have survived so long without your presence? Without your hands and your eyes and your soft, rapid pants against his throat? 

What happens if he has to go without again?

He lets himself have one second. Two. Then he’s pulling out of your embrace, his face pale, steeped in sweat. He looks rabid in this moment, a heartbeat from grabbing you and pulling you back in, from bolting. 

The second instinct wins out. His eyes pinned to you as he spreads his wings for flight. They’re so large, so intimidating. Weapons made from soft, red quills—they could kill you in an instant. 

But as he lifts off the ground, he looks so incredibly lost that it makes your throat squeeze. 

“Sorry,” he says. 

Then he’s gone. 

...

Those eyes, glowing with tears haunt your night. You think about them as you cook dinner and as you take your bath. As you tuck yourself in for bed and as you lay awake. 

It’s with no real purpose. Your thoughts aren’t investigative, not even curious. It’s just the image hovering over you and all around. Whatever is inside you reflected back. 

Please don’t be sorry (Read 3:34)

Ok (Sent 5:46)

...

Ok

Can we talk?

Are you alright?

sent: Just saw a bird carrying a whole bagel

received: is that a hint?

sent: No, what?

sent: You Did Not have to send a bagel to the agency for me. 

sent: But thanks 

…

sent: Heroes need to stop destroying entire buildings. The infrastructure of this city must be the consistency of a Pocky stick at this point

received: ok but consider this

received: I look really cool emerging from the rubble 

...

received: link

received: It’s that cat you like 

sent: !!!

...

sent: link 

sent: Song I think you’ll appreciate ^^

received: listening to it on repeat 💫👊

...

You’re drunk when you call him. It’s late, you had to stay after hours at the agency. You’ve just finished off a bottle of red. You don’t really think about it, he’s just the first person that comes to mind, the one you want the most. 

Your best friend just met her soulmate. The two of you were so close, bonded by your perpetual singleness. It was kind of a running joke between the two of you. “Maybe I’ll never meet them,” she’d said so many times. “Then it will just be us forever. That’s all we need.” She’s been your lodestar the past few weeks. 

You shouldn’t feel so terrible about something so wonderful. She’s happy, overjoyed. You tried to be too. But your loneliness outweighs everything else. You want Keigo.

“Angel?” He was asleep, it sounds like. But he still answered.

The softness in his voice, the carefulness, is what breaks you. You don’t say anything for a minute or two, crying softly into the receiver. Keigo flies into a panic, asking where you are, if you’re hurt, if you’re alone.

You assure him, in stilted, hiccupping sentences, that you’re fine, everything is fine, you’re just having a bad day. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have called you. No, really, it’s okay. You don’t have to come.”

He’s there in three minutes.

Upon opening the door, he bundles you up in his arms, tucks his face into your neck. His hold is fierce, almost painful, but it’s so good and warm and you let yourself fall against him, let him take your weight. 

You can feel his breath, hot and humid, coming in rapid pants against your skin. You can feel his delicate trembling.

Or maybe that’s you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, clinging to each other. Keigo is the first to pull away, but just barely. 

“Hi,” he says. 

And you smile, despite yourself. 

He doesn’t ask you if you want to talk about it, not yet. He leads you to the bathroom, sitting you on the toilet as he turns on the shower, checking the temperature every few moments. Occasionally he turns and runs a hand down your knotted hair, or gives your hand a squeeze. 

He stands before you, grasps your hands in his. “Poor dove,” he says. “It’s alright, everything’s okay.” His eyes are molten and bright, as if they’re lit from within. 

He urges you to take a long shower, assuring you he’d be here when you get out. And he is. Leaned against the wall next to the bathroom door, arms and legs crossed. He looks surprised when you open the door and step out into the cool air. Like you might have disappeared again in those few minutes you were out of sight. 

He’s laid out your comfiest pjs, made a cup of tea for you, and brought several blankets into the living room, promptly wrapping you up after you take a seat. You feel infinitely better. You’re glad he’s here. 

Kneeling before you, he takes your hands. “Tell me what’s the matter?”

So you do. You tell him about how sad you are that your bestie has someone new, more important in her life. How you feel bad about feeling bad. 

And your best kept secret: how scared of being alone you are.

You don’t expect his reaction. He stands abruptly, pacing away from you, then back. He runs a hand through his hair. He looks slightly unhinged. “There’s something more, right? You’re not doing this just to fuck with me. You’re not cruel.”

Your mind is addled by the wine, the stress of the day, the emotional dumping you just did. You can’t figure out what he wants. You just tell him the truth.

“I don’t have a soulmate.”

His face-- it’s all shock, confusion. You almost laugh. Better than pity.

“It’s rare, but it happens,” you grouse. “Lucky me, I guess.”

He’s back beside you, sitting so close your legs are pressed up against each other, his chest against the side of your breast. “Are you sure? You checked everywhere?” His tone is frantic, clipped. 

His hands are raised as if he’s about to strip you and search you himself. You push them back into his lap. “Doctor confirmed.” You sigh. “No quirk. No mark. I’m the product of a failed evolutionary line. Me and the fucking dodo, brothers in arms.”

The silence drags on for too long. Then—

“Ah,” he says. It’s a long, drawn out syllable. He somehow pulls you even closer. You’re almost in his lap at this point. “Ok. Alright. I get it.”

Both his arms come around you, his hold firm. You’d think his wings would be cumbersome in a moment like this, but the closer one wraps around your shoulders, so warm, amazingly warm. You burrow further into him, out of energy to resist the feeling simmering in your chest. It’s so good to be like this with him, like homecoming, like right and right and right.

He nuzzles into your hairline, lips gentle in the filaments. You feel moisture against your skin, smell something like brine in the air. Your fuzzy mind tells you: tears. Someone is crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “Missed you.”

 “Don’t be sorry, Angel,” he returns. His voice is so soft. Barely there. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

…

He wakes curled around you. He’d moved the two of you to the bed last night, when he could finally move his lead-heavy limbs. Then he lay there with you, arms around your middle, your head tucked into his neck.

It was the kind of intimacy he’d dreamt of all his life. Simply being in another’s presence, no artifice or guile, no shields up. He stayed up as long as he could, wanting to hold onto this sensation for as long as he could, wanting it to fill him up, overrun everything bad he’d been storing up inside him. He wanted to drown himself in you.

He’s trying to let you sleep in, especially after last night. He eases you off him as carefully as possible. He places a butterfly kiss on your forehead. Pauses in the doorway for a long minute to just watch you. Then he makes breakfast.

He recalls the way you like your eggs, how you take your hashbrowns slightly burnt. He makes a lot. Good hangover food. The smell wakes you, and you creep into the kitchen, scrubbing at your tired eyes, fixing him with a wary stare.

For a moment the two of you stand in the kitchen, not moving, barely breathing. 

He breaks first. “Morning, beautiful.”

The look on your face -- pure relief. So grateful, and why? He’d do anything for you, don’t you know that? But of course not, you don’t know any of it. You don’t know about him.

He lays out the food and his hands are trembling. You’re not looking at them, anyway. Just at his face, the serene mask he wears. His training takes over, sends him into autopilot as he sits across from you and picks up his fork.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asks. His cadence has that signature insouciance to it, careless and dry.

You perk up at it, smiling. Your expression is so open. Tired but glowing. “The best,” you say.

You could have it all the time, he thinks. Always.

But you don’t know. You don’t know.

“That’s good. Great,” he says. His hands are shaking so hard his fork rattles against the plate. He pulls back, only to let it slip from his grip. 

Guilt grips him, closes in on him from all directions. He’s swallowed up in it. Devoured by it. He’s panting, can’t get enough air. His wings curl and retract, twitching, sharpening.

You don’t know you don’t know you don’t know.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you insinuate yourself into the dangerous arc of his body, careful of his wings, careful not to startle him. You ease his head against your chest and he feels the moisture soak your shirt. 

He’s slow to return the embrace, his mind foggy with fear, hurt. He wraps his arms around your middle and squeezes and squeezes, aware of the soft wheeze you let out but not able to let you go. You don’t care. 

All you can think about is running your hands through his hair, over the tense muscles of his neck, the hardened planes of his wings. Slowly, under your touch, they soften again, until you can finger the fine bristles of them, until his breathing evens out against your collar bone. 

You’re cooing at him, gentle nonsense words. Things that don’t mean anything. Got you. You’re okay. We’re gonna be alright. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.

And as he calms down, relaxing in your arms, the mantra in his mind is Liar. I love you. I missed you. You’re such a liar.

Because he’s yours.

And you’re not his.

an: my bad ʕ·ᴥ·˵　ʔ

[serendipityjxmn]

Chapter 10

TW: Mentions of blood

Words Count: 1.4k

Link to Masterlist

Link to Chapter 11

Don’t cry. You chant to yourself a thousand times through each step. You continue walking, though at some point you stop to take off your heels once you feel like your feet couldn’t take it anymore. Sighing, you continue walking barefooted.

It seems like a very long walk. You’re extremely exhausted, physically and mentally, your feet are screaming in pain from walking barefoot in the cold and through the rough gravel.

But you made it. Alas, you made it home. You almost cry in relief once you arrive at the doorstep. You were on the verge of collapsing yet you made it upstairs and into the bathroom and strip yourself naked immediately before climbing into the bath tub.

You cry for a long time in the tub. You brush your own skin so roughly as if that could erase Minhyuk’s touches on you until your skin is all red. You cry for another hour after that before you finally climb out of the tub reluctantly when the water’s starting to turn cold.

You really don’t have the energy or the strength or the mood to cook dinner but you still force yourself and dragged your aching feet to the kitchen. You cried again in the kitchen, alone and it left you feeling pathetic more than ever. You thought the miseries in your life ended yet one thing keeps coming after another.

You’re too absorbed in your own thoughts that you jump when you hear someone calling your name. You turn to see Jimin, still in his work attire.

Flustered, you turn back around immediately, blink your eyes several times and wipe whatever remaining liquid on your cheeks dry.

You clear your throat first before speaking. “Have a seat. Your dinner’s ready.”

You almost half expect him to refuse and say he’d shower first. You wished he would so you could have a bit more time to calm down.

But instead, he takes his seat and just silently watches you so you try your best not to trip over anything or crumble under his intent stare.

You want to leave immediately but Jimin just glares at you so you silently sit and fill the plate as little as you can and start eating or more like, forking at your own food.

Silence with Jimin is mostly bearable these days with him, almost comfortable even. But today there’s almost none of it. It’s almost unbearable.

“Did anything happen to you at the office today?” He asks, breaking the silence.

You freeze. Could he possibly- no. He wouldn’t. You remember Minhyuk’s words and he couldn’t have possibly known. So you shake your head slowly, looking down at your plate.

He sighs. He waits for a long time before speaking again. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re being harassed at work?”

You look up at him, eyes widening. “How did you kn-“

“Are you fucking stupid?” He suddenly bellows at you making you flinch. “Why did you go and see him? Were you asking for it?”

You eyes water immediately, never in your life have you felt so unfairly accused, not even when your brother throws accusing words of things you didn’t do.

Maybe because it’s Park Jimin. Because it’s him. That it breaks your heart into pieces when he says it.

For a split second, he just stares at you angrily before turning softer once he sees you cry.

“I didn’t ask for it.” You say through watery eyes.

He sighs. “I’m- sorry.” Then he looks at you. “Nevermind that. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?”

You flinch again then swallows. “I.. I’m scared you wouldn’t believe me.”

He scoffed. “So you think I’d just let anyone touch my property? Don’t come for work anymore.”

Your eyes widen and without knowing it, you reach forward and grab his hand. “No! No please- please I swear I’d do everything to avoid him. Just please, I.. want to work with you-“ you stop mid sentence. You slowly withdraw the hand that clutched his. What you meant to say was the workplace was the only place you could talk with him.. place you can find similar topics to talk about..

For the briefest moment, you think you see his gaze softening but it‘s too short a span of time to be sure. “Fine. Don’t come running to me if something happens.”

And he leaves the dining room and storms out. You cry again.

Once you’ve calmed down, you don’t even bother to clean the dishes, you’ll do it tomorrow and gets up to head upstairs but groans loudly when you feel aching pain from the sole of your feet.

You really need to sit down and assess the severeness of the wound on your feet after this. You have a feeling it’s bad enough seeing that you’re having trouble taking steps properly without wincing.

You made it upstairs eventually after much difficulty. Jimin wasn’t in the bedroom, you assume he’s in his study. You are just sitting on the edge of your bed when your eyes catch the liquid glinting on the floor.

Blood?

At the exact same time, the doors open and Jimin appears holding something you can’t quite ascertain yet and you immediately plant your feet to the floor and pull it backwards as if to hide them. He approaches you, sits himself beside you and doesn’t utter a single thing when he leans down to grab your ankle and forces your feet up on his lap.

“Jimin what are y-“

“You don’t realize there’s blood from each of your step right to the door of the bathroom when you enter the house, did you?”

You still and completely muted because you’re barely processing it yourself. You finally take notice that Jimin brought first-aid kits to treat you. He holds your ankle firmly and starts wiping the blood clean with tissue.

You must’ve stepped on sharp things at one point but too tired to notice or feel the pain anymore under your feet.

You look at your husband who’s entirely engrossed in treating your wounds. He’s unfairly handsome in his white shirt, you think.

“I can do it myself-“ you start to move your feet but then Jimin grabs it back twice harder.

“Hold fucking still.” He grunts and you almost want to laugh.

As someone who lives in the dangerous world, Jimin is very familiar with blood. Although he’s been married to you and he did almost everything to hide the dark part of his life from you, he doesn’t dismiss the fact that someone might just come up and do something to you. And when he comes home earlier and saw blood on each step towards the house, his blood runs cold immediately. Did some enemy of his sniffs about you? Did they decide to come and take you because they want something from him? You were all on his mind until he hears noises in the kitchen, his heart pounding fiercely until he finally sees you, cooking and preparing his meal as if everything’s normal.

She’s fine.

He lets out a relieved sigh and a long breath, one he didn’t know he’s been holding. Once he realises that, he doesn’t know what to think. He cared for you, more than he lets on.

“Thank you.” You say softly once he’s done. He doesn’t say anything but just hands you a pill. “What’s this?”

He reaches beside you towards the side table and pours an empty water from the jug and hands the glass to you. “Painkiller.”

You take the glass from him and stares briefly at the pill. “You seem to have a lot of them.” You say, remembering one of the early encounters with him and him giving you the painkillers. Doesn’t seem much different from now.

“Yeah and you will keep having to swallow them if you don’t know how to take care of yourself and doesn’t stop being stupid.” He hisses at you and you recoil instantly. He gets up immediately and then leaves you feeling worse at yourself again.

You wake up the next morning with sunlight shining brightly on your face that you sits up almost immediately. What time is it?

You mean to glance at the clock on bedside table but finds a note there.

Don’t come for work. Rest or I’ll knock you off again myself.

It’s not a sweet message. It isn’t. But why the hell do you feel flutters in your stomach?

You finally glance at the clock. It’s already 11AM- did you really sleep through all the morning? You grab the packet of pills Jimin gave you last night and stares at it suspiciously.

Temazepam.

Frowning, you reach for your phone and googled the word.

Temazepam is a medication used to treat trouble sleeping-

Your freaking husband gave you a sleeping pill. For the first time ever, you feel like punching your own husband.

Link to Chapter 11

Posted on 210419 9:00PM

[acnelli]

Coming Home

This is my little story for the HPRomione Discord Popcorn. @remedial-potions gave me the prompt “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!” and I originally wanted to write some HBP angst, but then changed my mind and wrote this.

Up next is @dot-adsty and I give you the prompt “Flying higher than ever before”.

I also opened my Ask Box and accept prompts from this Prompt List.

Prompt: “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine!”

Ron comes home from a long Auror mission, and Hermione’s plans for the night don’t quite go as she imagined.

You can also read this story on AO3 and FFN.

*** *** *** ***

She had it all planned out.

Every little detail, every single thing Hermione needed to buy or prepare for tonight had been neatly written down in handy list form, categorized and sorted.

Around noon it actually looked like everything would be ready when Ron would come home from his Auror mission this late afternoon. Behind half of the points on said list, Hermione had added a green checkmark. The sight of her lists, especially when some of her tasks on it had been checked off already, always had something oddly satisfying.

To have enough time to prepare everything, she left work early today, stopping by the grocery store on her way back home to buy the last of the ingredients she needed for the roast she planned to make for dinner.

Cooking wasn’t really Hermione’s forte. When Ron was home and didn’t have to work ridiculous hours, the flat was always filled with the scent of some delicious meal or another, and on weekends they often enjoyed a cake or some cookies fresh out of the oven. In the last two months, she sure did cook for herself every now and then but she got to admit that these meals mostly consisted of pasta and sandwiches.

When she planned this day she first considered going with take-away, which she was sure, Ron would’ve been more than fine with. But then she quickly dismissed the idea, figuring that following the instructions of Mrs Weasley’s cookbook couldn’t be that hard. It might not win a contest but she was sure to manage something eatable, at least.

Before she went into the kitchen to start preparing the roast, Hermione observed their living room, mentally going through her list again.

On their couch table Hermione had set up the brand new chess set she bought last week while shopping with her mother. Hermione had discovered the set in the display window of a small, cosy shop she would’ve completely missed it if weren’t for the unusually bright colours catching her attention when she walked by. As soon as she had seen the chess set, she made her way inside the shop right away because it practically screamed Ron Weasley. While not exactly the same bright colour of the Chudley Cannons, the usually white squares and wooden game pieces were painted orange. If she wouldn’t have purchased it from a Muggle, it could’ve been easily merchandise of Ron’s favourite Quidditch team.

Hermione walked over to the couch table and placed two tickets for the next Chudley Cannons game this upcoming weekend onto the chessboard. A smile split her face when she thought about his reaction later. Over the past six months the Cannons actually showed some kind of potential to not end up at the bottom of the league at the end of the season, resulting in the tickets to have gotten a little harder to come by. At least, for top games and derbies.

She knew it was probably a little over the top, considering they had been separated for much longer than eight weeks over the last years, but the constant worry and the almost non-existent possibility to talk or write to him during these missions, increased her excitement for Ron to come home ten-fold.

Yes, Hermione definitely felt slightly ridiculous when she placed a giant red bow around the TV and put the fancy Muggle beer into the fridge, but Ron’s absence caused a restlessness she had to overcome somehow. It also didn’t help that the few letters she got from him made Ron sound mentally and physically exhausted. Even though she knew next to nothing about this mission, she could tell it affected him more than usual.

That’s why today was all about distracting Ron from work, and what would hopefully be the start of a long, stress-free weekend.

But, of course, it would have just been too perfect if anything went according to plan. Because one hour before Ron was due to arrive at home, everything started to blow up in Hermione’s face. Literally and figuratively.

While she tried to research a way how to fix overcooked meat, Hermione cursed herself numerous times for not doing a test run first. Hermione had plans for everything but when it came to cooking she was obviously rubbish.

I should have just ordered Pizza. Ron loves Pizza.

Giving up on the meat’s consistency she quickly decided that spices and a good sauce could somehow safe this. Just as she was about to add all kinds of spices, she heard the fireplace roaring to life.

Ron was here. And he was early.

Forgetting all about the roast, she bolted out of the kitchen and into the living room, almost tripping over one of the loosened bindings of Ron’s ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron she borrowed. And there he stood, shaking the floo powder out of his hair and off the Auror uniform.

When he looked up at her she didn’t waste another second and jumped into his arms. Something between a sob and a laugh escaped her when Ron hugged her close and she felt him kiss the top of her head.

Pulling back, Hermione took Ron’s face between her hands and tugged him down for a kiss. She waited far too long for this.

When they finally broke apart to come up for air again, Ron softly kissed her forehead. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” Hermione said, “And I have a surprise for you!”

“So, you cooking isn’t the surprise?” Ron grinned at her.

“Oh, shut up!”

“Do I have time for a quick shower before dinner?” Ron asked as he shrugged out of his cloak.

“You do. And please take your time.”

*** *** *** ***

Ron couldn’t decide if he was more amused or felt more sorry for Hermione as the 3-course-dinner turned into a small disaster.

With the soup, it had been rather easy. It was incredibly salty and he probably dehydrated this very second, but with a good amount of bread and large swigs from his beer, he was able to pretend he liked it quite easily.

But then Hermione served the main course. As soon as Ron took the first bite he wanted to spit it out right away. It was absolutely inedible and he wondered how he could pretend to eat something which wasn’t tasting like the sole of his trainers.

Very slowly he reached for his beer, figuring it would be easier if he swallowed the bite without chewing. Just as he was about to take a swig, Hermione gave up all pretence.

“Oh my God, this is a complete disaster,” she whined, spitting the piece of meat into a hand towel, “Ron, you can give up the act now.”

As he too spit the overcooked shoe sole out of his mouth, he couldn’t stop the chuckle escaping him, and reached for Hermione’s hand.

“Not all is lost,” he reasoned, a little bit surprised about her being so upset about this dinner. Hermione’s attempts to cook or bake usually made for a lot of entertainment for both of them. “There’s still dessert, isn’t it?”

“Yes, right! Dessert!” She jumped up from her seat and ran into the kitchen with a hopeful glint in her eyes.

“NO,” Ron heard Hermione cry from the kitchen and he immediately jumped up to join her, “No, Pig! No, no, no, no, no!”

As Ron got into the kitchen he saw Pig sitting in a bowl full of what looked like vanilla cream, happily hooting at Hermione who appeared to be on the verge of tears now. Of course, Pig chose this very moment to finish his bath in their pudding as he flew out of the bowl with wildly flapping wings, coating both Hermione and Ron with a good amount of vanilla cream; Hermione’s hair getting the worst of it.

Ron slowly lifted a finger and swiped some cream from his cheek, licking it off as he was wearing a thoughtful look. “That is pretty good, actually.”

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione let out a resigned sigh. “You can’t just keep pretending things are fine! You have some terrible weeks behind you, and then you come home to your girlfriend serving you food that makes you probably crave the tasteless snacks they feed you with on these missions. I should’ve just-“

“Oi!” Ron interrupted her, not quite being able to hide his amusement. “Stop the rambling, barmy woman.” He took her face in his hands and leaned down, so he was at eye level with her. “All I wanted for today was finally seeing you again, Hermione. You never before got upset about bollocking up some cooking. What’s the matter?”

“I- I just wanted to distract you from this mission and make this evening somewhat special, and by now, Pig most likely decorated the whole living room with our pudding.”

Ron simply kissed her. His hands went from her cheeks inside her curly hair, changing their angle a bit to deepen the kiss. As Hermione let her hands wander from his chest back to his shoulders blades and down to the hem of his shirt, Ron decided to make it very clear to Hermione that everything he really needed to feel better, was her. This mission forced Ron to see things he’ll have nightmares about forever, and the only reason he was able to power through all of it, was the prospect of coming home to Hermione. To her touch, to her kisses, to her ramblings about work, to the simple comfort of just having her beside him.

With one swift motion, he swooped her up in his arms. “For such a smart woman, you can be very daft sometimes, love,” Ron said as he walked out of the kitchen.

“I know,” Hermione sighed as she took advantage of her position in Ron’s arms, and left open kisses along the side of his neck and his throat.

Without bothering to clean up the mess in the kitchen and living room, Ron walked them straight to the bedroom, leaving behind a merrily hooting Pigwidgeon who hopped and danced on top of Ron’s new chessboard, coating it with the only eatable dish Hermione produced today.

[kawaii-kozume]

One Day the Only Butterflies Left(Will Be in Your Chest)

Rated T+. Very heavy themes discussed. Solangelo. 3066 Words.

On the verge of no return, why'd you keep fucking it up?

Don't wanna have to bury you, but nothing seems to get through your skull.

It started after the repairs were finished. Or was it after Apollo showed up? Or maybe it started when Meg disappeared. Or when he found out about Jason. Or maybe, Will thought, it started back before he even first talked to Nico.

It was easy to wave off, especially after Nico told him what he did. What a night that was, sitting on the hard, marbled floor of the Hades cabin, holding the other boy tightly as he sobbed through story after story about his involvement in the wars. Will tried, he really, really tried. Every new realization struck him like one of his dad’s poison arrows and he eventually had to ask Nico to stop. Then they sat in silence until the sun rose.

So yes, Nico di Angelo, the love of Will’s life, was mentally fucked up and Will couldn’t do anything to fix it. He’d done as much as he could. He made Dionysus aware, he provided physical comfort, he let Nico cry on him as often as he needed, he listened to Nico’s mad ravings in the middle of the night when Tartarus’ claws were so deep in his mind. With all of that going on though, Will missed it. He missed the signs and he let the emotions fester and the toxicity bubble up around them.

That’s how he found himself staring at Nico, thinking gross thoughts about walking away from the brunette with the bleeding arms. He glances at the hand hovering around the wounds and bites back an angry huff.

“What happened?” He asks. Stupid, warm your voice.

“The-the-the- sac, the poison, Bob’s gonna burn, I gotta-” Nico brings the hovering hand to his arm again, curling his fingers to scratch the reddened skin. Will softly grabs the hand, preventing it from doing further damage.

“Shh, love, it’s okay, Bob’s going to be fine,” Will didn’t know exactly what Bob was, but it apparently mattered much to his broken lover. “It’s okay now.”

Nico’s eyes were darting around, searching for something, but his eyes were glossy as if he weren’t actually seeing his surroundings.

“No, I gotta get to the door.” He mutters, trying to wrench his arm away. A heavy lump formed in Will’s throat, blocking the little saliva he had left in his mouth. He holds Nico’s hand steady.

“Neeks, baby, if I go get Mr. D, I need to know you won’t hurt yourself.” Will knew if he walked Nico to the Big House, Nico would be upset when he came to. It was just before lunch, the majority of the camp was already at the dining pavilion and the stragglers were sure to be heading there now. Nico doesn’t respond.

“Nico, please. I don’t want to hurt you further.”

“ Percy, please be there. ” Something in Will snaps. It was like a twig in the woods under the foot of a mouse. It was fragile to begin with and even though the final bout of pressure was so small, it broke him. He can’t keep doing this. He’s only seventeen, he’s lived through two wars and lost so much already. Will stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the boy he loved with every fiber of his being, unsure how to move forward.

“ I’m so sorry, Neeks.” Will covers the claw marks, now layered with dried blood, and pushes Nico out the door of his cabin. Will was right; people stare as he pushes Nico forward to the one person who could stabilize his crumbling mind. He couldn’t find it in himself to care. Mr. D was already opening the door when he hauls Nico onto the porch.

With a quiet “I can’t stay.” Will leaves Nico in the director’s care and he walks off, away from the pavilion. He has no real location in mind, but something brings him back to the dark cabin on one of the corners of the unit. Will comes face to face with a heavy door and an even heavier feeling in his chest. He pushes the door open and shuffles inside. A year and a couple months of memory lives in this space and Will wants to forget each and every one. He can’t remember when he starts crying, but he moves through the cabin, pulling small items of his to take back to his own.

I hate to say "I told you so," but look how the bruises show

Tell me, how is it gonna feel without my arms wrapped around, wrapped around you?

The light is low and Nico is exhausted. He tilts his head to see the dying embers of a fire in a familiar fireplace. He’s in the Big House, alone. He sits up slowly, trying to remember how he got here. He vaguely remembers his cabin, blood, and Will. But Will’s memory isn’t warm like it usually is. It feels tragic and empty, almost like how Nico feels.

“Good morning.” A deep voice says and the sound of shuffling moves in. Nico looks up at Mr. D, afraid to ask his status. Luckily, he doesn’t have to.

“You had another episode. This one seemed much worse than the previous.” Mr. D gives him a sharp look now. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding me, too.”

Nico flinches at that. He knows he’d been but he didn’t think he needed to continue to check in. He’d been doing okay. Mostly nightmares, less waking blackouts. He moves his arm and hisses as bandages press against a wound.

“You clawed yourself up real nicely. It was kind of Sunless to bring you here.” Mr. D says and Nico’s stomach drops to his feet. Will was there.

“Can he come in?” Nico asks. Mr. D looks at him, curious.

“He’s not here at the moment. He didn’t answer where he was going but he dropped you off and walked away.” He speaks softly, as if Nico were a newborn deer and any sudden noise would send him skittering out into traffic.

“Oh.”

Mr. D sets a mug in front of him and stands.

“Drink. You’ll feel better.” Then he leaves. Nico’s not so sure what happens next because he forces himself to check out. It’s better not to feel than to feel bad things, after all.

You were dead to the world, now I'm dead to you

Haunting your own house, nothing to lose

It’s been three days since the last incident and things return to normal. Or so Nico thinks. Will knows he thinks so because he’s back to holding Will when they nap. Nico tries to engage Will in light bickering and Will tries his best to accommodate it. Will knows one thing though: whatever snapped in him that day hasn’t repaired itself. He finds himself not caring about what Nico has to say at breakfast in favor of asking himself Am I gonna find him broken today?  

Nico notices him staring and nudges him with his shoulder.

“What?” He’s got a small smile on his lips, the same pink tinted lips Will adores, and a playful look buried in his eyes that only Will would know to look for. For a moment, Will can almost see who Nico once was.

“You’re playful today.” And apparently that was the wrong thing to say because after Nico’s responding hum, a shadow flits over his eyes and he goes quiet, staring at the bowl of oatmeal in front of him. Will’s chest tightens as he waits for an outburst. He almost cries when it doesn’t come.

“The world must have turned upside-down. I’m playful and you’re glowering.” The sadness in the smile Nico gives Will would be imperceptible to anyone watching, but Will sees it. He’ll always see it.

Past the point of rescuing, why'd I keep pushing my luck?

The hole I wore into your soul has got too big to overlook

“When I lose it completely, will you leave?” Even though it’s a question Will has asked himself many times over, he still finds himself unsure how to answer when Nico asks. They’re sitting in the basement room of the Big House on the concrete floor. Nico is sitting in between Will’s legs, pressed against his chest and clutching Will’s t-shirt like it’s the only lifeline he has. Who knows, in the next moment it could be.

Nico had another episode that morning, this time resulting in a child of Hebe getting cornered by skeletal military men. He was already in the basement after Will showed up to the Big House from the infirmary. The little girl had cried and asked Will many things he couldn’t answer. Did he mean it? Am I a pawn? Why does he hate me? Will he do it again? Will placated the girl before tending to his boyfriend’s fragile state as more ice grew around his heart.

“Do you want the honest truth?” Will sighs, bringing a hand up to push Nico’s hair behind his ear. He strokes Nico’s cheek with his thumb as Nico makes a noise of affirmation.

“I don’t know.” Will inhales. “I’d like to think so. Fuck, I’d like to think you’re never going to lose it completely. That you’ll keep up with your appointments with Mr. D. I’d like to think that you’ll overcome this.”

Something’s making a wet patch on Will’s shirt and causing Nico to shake in his arms. Will’s fighting tears himself, knowing that Nico needs to hear this.

“But I know you. And I know that you’d rather keep your problems to yourself because someone once told you that you aren’t worth the trouble. I know that you tend to sabotage yourself so you’ll never be happy, just in case it gets taken away.”

Nico’s sobs are muffled by Will’s chest but it doesn’t make each one hurt less.

“I can’t guarantee it, but damn it, Nico, I’ll be here until I can’t take it anymore. Can I ask something though?” And Will waits until Nico calms down enough to look at him.

“Can you please, no matter what, get to your meetings with Mr. D? Just because I’ll push myself through this, doesn’t mean that I want to.” Will feels the tears fall down his face and sees it on Nico’s. Nico doesn’t speak but he nods.

That night, Nico lashes out at him and tries to hurt him. Will tells himself it’ll be okay because that’s all he can do.

I thought we had a future, but we ain't got a chance in hell

It starts looking up and Will thinks more and more that Nico can do this. He sees Nico slip into the Big House regularly and sees him start to sit with Dionysus at meals. He sees Nico make real progress. He has less breakdowns and Will starts smiling again.

Will knew it was too good to last.

The sun is setting on our love, I fear

Letting our loneliness out into the atmosphere

Will startles out of sleep as he feels a weight settle on his chest. His eyes open and he’s looking into dark, glossy eyes above him. He takes in the blade pressed against his throat and bites back a whimper.

“Nico.” He whispers. Nico’s crying and he wants to reach out and wipe the tears away.

“Nico.” He says softly. The blade presses into him. He quiets down. He assesses the situation. Judging by the position of the moonlight, he guesses it’s about four in the morning. Nico’s holding his left arm down with his hand and his right arm is pinned under Nico’s knee.

“Where is he?” Nico hisses. Will looks back to his love’s crazed look.

“Who?” Will whispers. Nico scoffs.

“Damasen. I know you know where his lair is. I need to get there and I will kill anything I need to.” Nico spits out. Will thinks about how to handle this. If he answers, Nico may just kill him, no longer needing the information he thinks he needs. If he doesn’t comply, Nico could kill him anyways. There was only one plan Will could figure out.

“I can take you there. It’s really hard for a mortal to try to get to.” Will says slowly. He watches Nico process the answer and prays to any deity listening.

“Fine, but one wrong move and I swear…” Nico whispers. He climbs off Will and Will slowly sits up. He’s only in a t-shirt and boxers but damn it all if he bends over to find pants. He stands with his hands raised and walks out the Hades cabin door. Nico follows him, still in his illusion. Will glances up and sees he’s right. It’s just after four in the morning. He leads Nico to the Big House and stops at the base of the porch.

“This is him, just knock on the door.” Will says. Nico eyes him like he doesn’t trust him and continues to watch him as he walks up the stairs and knocks on the door. Will knows he should feel something seeing his love glare at him like he’s trash. But in all honesty, Will feels nothing. The door opens. Will doesn’t have the time to explain and Nico drops his sword.

“Nico.” Is all Dionysus says as Nico curls in on himself. Will doesn’t bend down next to him. He only walks up the porch and explain to Mr. D what happened. He feels Nico’s pleading eyes on him as he talks and he has nothing in his mind to say.

“I didn’t .” Nico whispers, horrified at himself. Will just looks at him blankly. “Holy shit, Will, I’m- There’s nothing I can say to make this better. I’m so sorry.”

Dionysus brings them both inside and sits them in front of the fireplace, Nico’s Stygian sword sitting in the attic for now. He’s left them to make tea. It’s silent between the two lovers and Will knows the growing ravine between them is too large.

“Have you been going?” Will asks quietly. Nico doesn’t answer. Will looks up at him, making sure he hadn’t gone into another episode, but Nico’s staring at his shaking hands.

“I tried.”

“How long?” Will’s tired. He’s so exhausted running in these circles.

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks.” Will repeats. “Nico, I can’t do this.”

“Will, please, if it’s about tonight, we’ll stop sleeping together.”

“It’s not just tonight. It’s not even about me being in danger. It’s about how every time I see you in the mornings, I ask if today’s going to have another episode. It’s about me being in the infirmary, wondering if any of the campers that come in are going to be from you. It’s about the many times you’ve told me you’ll stop hurting yourself and making yourself fail but then you turn around and do it again. It’s about knowing that the longer I stay around, the more I’ll lose myself. It’s about looking at you and seeing you not even being on the plane of existence. It’s about not putting myself through torture because I love you, Nico. I love you so fucking much and I’m losing myself trying to save you. I’ve lost so much weight, it’s considered unhealthy. I’m jumpy when we’re together because I’m waiting for it. I’m not sleeping, I’m not even really living anymore. We’ve both become ghosts, Nico. And I’m sure you’re trying your hardest, I don’t doubt that. But it’s not enough and I’m not enough to fix it.” Will’s crying, no he’s sobbing. His breathing is ragged and he’s swallowing against the lump in his throat waiting for Nico to respond with something.

“You’re right.” Nico finally looks up at him and Will, for as long as he lives, will never forget the look on his face. “You’re absolutely right. I’m broken and I’m not doing what I should about it and we’re too young to handle this. I’m sorry it came to this. I’m sorry we’re not enough. I’m sorry that we moved too fast.”

“So, what now?”

“For one, we break up.”

Will inhales sharply. He knows that’s what needs to be done. He knows that’s what’s the most healthy and what’s most likely to salvage their friendship. But it still cuts through him like a hot knife.

“We break up.”

“And I’ll move into the Big House. I’ll work more closely to Mr. D. And if I get through it, maybe one day, we’ll be able to be friends again.”

“That sounds like a great idea.” Will says. The ice that had been wrapping its way around his heart for the last five months hadn’t gone away and with Nico’s last words, it shattered inside of him.

“The sun is setting on our love, but I will always keep you with me, Will Solace. I’ll always love you.” Nico stands up and leans down, pressing one final kiss to Will’s lips and then leaves for the basement room.

“I can keep you updated on his progress, if you’d like.” Mr. D stands in the doorway to the kitchen. Will stands up and shakes his head.

“He’ll either be better or he won’t. And he’ll tell me when he is.” With those last words, Will leaves the Big House, his chest both heavier and lighter than it had been in the last year and a half. That morning, he breaks. He sobs into his pillow, on his sister’s shoulder and all throughout breakfast that he didn’t attend. He makes a final trip to the Hades cabin and collects the last item he has there. The one item he didn’t take back because he still had hope. He picks up the tiny Apollo mythomagic statue and instead of taking it to his cabin, he takes it to the Hephaestus cabin. He asks Harley if he could make it a small, flat metal token and after it’s pressed down, he punches a hole in it and laces it on his necklace of beads. One last reminder of the boy who loved him and lost his mind.

The tide is turning on our chance to turn it 'round

I never thought I'd see my fingernails fall out

Love isn't in the air, love isn't in the air

[pokemon-ventures]

Blank Slate

Part 3. Part two here!

The moment we’ve all been hoping I would write, the first night together. I’m a sucker for soft moments.

You had to have died and gone to heaven. Lance was an amazing cook, he practically danced in the kitchen as he put the meal together. To ease the mood, he played some of your favorite music and explained what he was doing. You aren’t a stranger to the kitchen but you’re not on his level.

Dinner was fantastic. Soft, plump dumplings filled with succelent meats seasoned just right. The two of you eat dinner at the dining room table overlooking his-er- your land. He keeps conversation light, asking how you feel and if you’re enjoying the food. He’s so sweet and manages to get some laughs from you as well. You practically fall in love with him over the course of the meal.

Again.

The word surprises you and then you remember you guys are married so it would be a second time falling in love with him.

As you clean your bowl in the sink, you feel strange thinking about being in this house, your house, with Lance, your husband. Just yesterday this would have been fine, but today it’s a new world. One you’ve been thrust into because of an accident.

“(Y/N)?” Lance’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He shuts off the water and covers your hand in a towel in his. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I just... I have a headache,” you nod, not a complete lie since the hole you went down has brought an ache to your forehead. “A lot to process today.”

He nods, gently squeezing your hands in his. “Let’s get you to bed. Did you want to take some meds?”

“Yes, please.”

He smiles and returns to the entrance to get your bag. On the way through, he shuts the lights off and offers you his hand. Yours reaches for his without a second thought and it makes him smile when you hold his hand tight.

His hand feels nice in yours but you second guess yourself and glance up at him. “Sorry. I just reacted.”

“Don’t apologize,” he leads you down the hall. “One of the rules, until your memory returns, is you’re welcome to give me affection. I will always ask first, our relationship is built on mutual trust and respect, (Y/N). We may be married but I’m not willing to pick up where we left off if you’re going to be uncomfortable.”

His words sink in as he takes you to a carpeted master bedroom. It’s clear he loves you and while you want to feel the same, it’s only superficial given all you remember is your crush on him from a young age. Still, you feel oddly empty when he pulls away to set your bag down and gesture to the room.

“You can sleep here,” he smiles, there’s a little bit of sadness in his eyes. “I’ll be across the hall if you need anything. I took work off the next few days to help you rest. Okay, lov- (Y/N)?”

Rubbing your head, you nod. Fatigue taking over as you let him show you where the bathroom is and what’s yours versus his, though you doubt he’d care if you took his clothes.

“Here,” Lance hands you two pills and a glass of water before you brush your teeth.

“Thanks.”

You down it all and get brushing. Once done you return to the room to find him in the midst of changing. Sweatpants already on, he slips off his black shirt and tosses it aside, back to you.

Heat shoots down your spine watching the muscles in his back contract and loosen as he pulls a tshirt over his head. Before he can catch you, you turn around and gather yourself with even breaths.

Lance notices you and tries not to laugh at your red ears. It’s cute to see you bothered by him. He reminds himself of his rules, it wouldn’t be fair to seduce you when you’ve just gotten out of the hospital.

Once you’ve turned around and he’s tidied up his clothes. He turns to you with a gentle smile. “Don’t be afraid to wake me up if you need something, okay? Good night lov-(Y/N).”

“Night.”

He stands there for a moment, clearly waiting for something but his mind catches up and he clears his throat before scurrying to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush and duck out of the room.

Once the door shuts, you glance around the room wondering if anything will spark a memory. The pounding in your head worsens and cuts that thought short. With a heavy sigh you turn out the lights and slip under the covers. For a second, you ask yourself which side you normally sleep on when you smell Lance all over the pillow closest to you.

The scent brings an intense feeling of warmth and you find tears coming to your eyes without warning. You curse yourself, wiping them away and hunkering down under the warm blankets as the AC blows cool air into the room.

Hours tick by as the meds dull the ache but refuse to pull you under. Despite the exhaustion, your body feels restless and clutching Lance’s pillow like a body pillow only does so much to soothe you. You refuse to acknowledge what your body wants, or needs with how frustrated you’re getting, and so you count Mareep.

It barely works, you find yourself on your side staring at the clock reading 1am and practically burst into tears. Your body knows Lance but you’re mind doesn’t. Mentally it feels crazy to want him close but physically... just the thought brings a smile to your face.

You sit up, wiping your eyes and stare at the door dimly illuminated by the moons light coming from the window next to the bed. He said don’t hesitate, but you assume it was for something like pain or fear. Then you remember his rules, he said he would always accept your affection. It makes your cheeks warm for a moment, but what if he meant during the day. Is he crabby at night?

The mean voice in your head sneers at you, reminding you of the stress you put him under by being distant all day. Would he let you sleep with him?

You bite your lip, nearly on the verge of tears when you decide to bite the bullet. The nagging feeling in your chest promises relief as you tip toe to the door. You peek into the hallway to see the outline of a bedroom door just across the way. The door is open, a welcoming and relieving sight, and you gather your courage.

You step into the room and hear Lance’s calm breathing. Relief floods your body, yearning to be near him and you have to temper your reaction by walking towards the bed and gently nudging his shoulder.

“Lance?”

“Hmmm?” He hums after a few shakes. His hand comes up to rub his face and you feel bad for waking him. Still, he turns into his back, tilting his head to look at you. His features completely obscured by darkness. “You okay?”

You bite your lip. “I-I can’t sleep... C-can I lay with you?”

He’s quiet for a moment and you stand up to leave when you hear him shift on the bed. Your heart pounds in your chest as you turn to see he’s given you some space. He lifts the covers and beckons for you to join.

The smile on your face could light up the room as you slip in beside him and feel his arm drape over you to ensure you’re underneath the cover. He keeps his distance, rolling onto his back to give you time to get comfortable. The smell of him is much more intense and almost like a drug as your anxiety decreases each second.

Since you got this far, you say fuck it and curl up into his side. Hands wrapping around his right arm and face against his shoulder before releasing a deep, contented sigh.

“Thank you...” you whisper in the darkness.

He hums back, lifting his arm to pull you closer and rest your head on his shoulder with your arm draped across your body. “S’more comfortable, kay?”

“Mhmm.”

You bury your face in his shirt and drift off within seconds.

Taglist: @soundcitysession

[nic0-tea-n]

Those breakdowns in front of open fridges just hit different...

Just wanted to make myself some dinner but my nose has been acting up for days and it sound super funny but it's mentally exhausting being constantly on the verge of sneezing but being physically unable to, like no shit. Also, my addiction or whatever it is the fuck has been driving me to work on uni 24/7 for the past few months and since the semester ended on Friday my brain is begging me for a break but I feel so fucking guilty. I am just mentally exhausted... Idk if you guys feel me but trying to make yourself a meal while being ana - to survive, that is - on a bad mental day is fucking exhausting. My thoughts are just all over but non existant at the same time. So I decided that it's just too much for me to eat today, instead I curled up in a ball and hope this feeling will be gone soon. One way or another.

[iglooface]

Just Venting bc I'm feeling down but I'm too nervous to bother any particular person or friend bc I don't want to damper their mood bc I'm not perfect

Okay but like is this a universal experience to just be brutally compared to your siblings and peers to the point where you can't even validate yourself for any progress. I just feel like shit today bc of the effect my sister's life has on me. Throughout my highschool experience I tried so fucking hard to make my parents proud but I was never enough and I never will be honestly. But that won't stop me from subconsciously yearning for their approval and validation so I can feel just an ounce of closure in my life. I'd come home with all A's and be at the top of my class in every subject but my parents would say things like "well if you're so good then why are you in regular classes when your sister is in AP World History?" Because we all know the best way to bring up children's spirits is to break down all signs of confidence. Or if when a class got hard and I started getting B's and C's they'd lecture me about how "our family doesn't get B's and C's" and I'd get grounded instead of helped. Or the fact that I graduated nearly a whole year early because of my intensive school work but "your older sister is already moved out and married, what's your excuse" even though I was literally only 17 fucking years old.

Or how about when you were 12 or 13 and you cried and begged every day to not be sent back to school because of how viciously you were being bullied by your peers and that your teacher was verbally abusing you every day and straight up beating you most days as well. But no, you still went back bc "everybody hates school, deal with it."

How often did I need to be told to suffer silently until I just gave up? How many times did I have to be beaten and burned for having emotions until I just stopped? How many of my friends and teachers needed to die before I could no longer have reasons to allow myself to feel any emotion other than happy, helpful, and ready to serve? How is it that I went to school all thirteen years constantly bleeding, bruised, and having minimal sleep and watched the people I loved most take their lives only to outshine my sisters records and surpass every educational goal I was given only to be yelled at and constantly lectured about not being enough? Was it because I couldn't hold a job because of my health and that I was a full time highschool student? Was it because I was a "troubled" kid bc my friends dyed their hair and had piercings? Or was it that I was born a girl when my parents wanted a boy? What the fuck did I do so wrong that everyone around me saw it fit to see how far I could be pushed before I snapped and killed myself.

I can't emphasize this enough, but I was being beaten abused every day in school by a fucking teacher when I was 13. For an entire year. And no matter the toll it took on my physical, mental, and emotional health, nor how many peers it took from me, me how many times I went home exhausted and on the verge of throwing up I was just told to get over it. That I was told that if it was really that bad someone would help me. That I would be saved. Someone would notice and care. But instead I was left scared and alone and had adopted animal like behaviors to protect myself. I couldn't socialize without panicking and I hated being touched, perceived, and even talking. Three of my friends killed themselves over the treatment. And my teachers died intermittently just to add some spice. I couldn't look people in the eyes and I flinched at any movement towards me and loud sounds made me cry. I developed such a bad panic disorder that I had a panic attack so intense it sent me into full blown shock and stopped my heart for 20 seconds and I stayed blacked out for over three hours. All because I was told to get over it and suffer silently. My parents didn't care, they just wanted me quiet and low maintenance. I was treated like an animal instead of a child.

I overdosed on drugs so many times I can't even remember them all because I was hoping that maybe if I didn't wake up, even if it was just for a few hours or days, I'd be better. If I took enough chemical damage I would forget my trauma and become better. That anything I'm the damn world was better than living another day with my wretched circumstances.

And you know what happened? I got in trouble for things my sisters did.

My younger sister took and flunked spanish as a freshman. She willingly signed up for spanish 2 as a sophomore despite not wanting to. She then started throwing temper tantrums constantly and eventually spiralled into threatening to kill herself because she didn't want to take that forsaken class. And I got in trouble for it. I was told I should have told her or guided her so that she wouldn't have signed up for spanish and she would have taken literally any other fucking class available. I was in the wrong bc I was focused on my own schooling and didn't have an omnipotent control over my sister and her education schedule.

Move forward to current day, only about eight months later. My sister's coworker's friend commit suicide via train last night. I instinctively knew I'd be in trouble bc that's just how it works in my family. Despite having received no disciplinary actions last night I was still incredibly nervous because I could feel the impending danger of the situation. Once my sister was at work today my mom lectured me and yelled at me for three hours about how the co-worker's friend commit suicide and how it was bad and selfish of me to have had friends in the past who killed themselves in a time like this. That my past trauma was problematic because I couldn't undo it. That it was bad and sinful of me to even know people who committed suicide when people like my sister new people of the same circumstances. I was in trouble for someone's actions even though I didn't even have a remote relationship to the person. How dare I even have trauma when my sister is suicidal and has a coworker with a dead friend. That I should serve her hand and foot even moreso than I already do bc "she's coping" even though she literally didn't even know the guy. I'm also in trouble because if she keeps flunking her classes she has rn she's going to be forced to drop out and that will make her life harder. If you look closely with your double seeing glasses you can see the amount of bullshit they used to connect those dots.

But let me get this straight, I'm in trouble for having a rough go at school and graduating with honors and a year early and that my sister is suicidal and flunking classes she chose to take and she gets to drop out bc she can't handle the consequences of her own fucking decisions. Yeah. Cuz that makes sense. Child 2 is in trouble bc Child 3 acts irrationally.

Maybe it's the lack of any form of emotional release, maybe it's the pent up rage and anger and depression that I've built up in the last thirteen years, but not a damn thing makes sense there

[the-addicts-truth]

The Journey to Rock Bottom

Its 3 am and like always, around this time of year, I find my self struggling to do much of anything. Even writing this is a struggle, I'm not sure I can win.

I'm sorry to my loved ones reading this. I'm sorry for the pain and hurt this post might cause. Just know that nothing, NOTHING, you did caused me to be the way I was, and that everything you did, helped me become the person I am today.

You see this is the anniversary of the rock bottom.

I'm talking real, scary, not sure if I would make it out alive. rock bottom.

I'm talking passing out on the bathroom floor, virtually unresponsive, of a funeral home, rock bottom. True, honest to god, I didnt care if I lived or died rock bottom.

5 years ago this week I had the worst thing happen to me. The thing that pushed me over the edge.

At this point the Ex and I had been in active addiction for quite some time. Neither of us were working, and it was getting harder and harder to support our addiction. Our dealer had his claws in us, as did the Dope, so we did whatever we could. I went sick, while he got the hookup. The Ex always was more willing to do things for drugs than I was. Dont get me wrong, one of our friends felt bad for me and would help me out when he could. It was living hell and alot of times J was the only reason I wasn't sick.

5 years ago to the day, as I type this, we were sitting at J's house, all three of us dope sick as fuck, waiting on his dealer to get back from Kensington. We left him borrow our car in exchange for drugs. I mean gotta do what we gotta do right. Dude was gone for like 6 hours. The Ex was so sick from withdrawl, he couldn't even stand. He was so sick he was on the verge of calling his mom. We had been going on days of just barely getting enough to keep us from being sick. It was taking its toll.

Finally.... Finally J broke out the last bag he had, and a suboxone. "Just to take the edge off." He offered to share everything he had, to hold us over until The Dealer got back. He split the bag, a line for each of us, and a shot for him, and cut the Suboxone in to three parts.

The Ex and I were still snorting.

Snorting is all I ever did. At least I had that going for me. ANYWAYS.

I did my line, wrapped the little orange strip in some plastic wrap and prayed to feel even just a little bit better. The Ex, well he was a true junkie, an all or nothing kind of guy. We all knew the dangers of mixing dope and suboxone, we knew precipitated withdrawals were a thing. He even said " I'm gonna be sick as fuck later" But he didn't care, he had the means to feel better and he took it. All at once. All or nothing.

The Dealer finally got back, with no drugs, no money, and a lot of pissed of people. Claimed he got ripped off, and well in the drug game anything is possible. The Ex and I took the car and went back home. We had a few people in town that we could score from and we needed to do something. But first thing was first. This was the first time in a few days either of us felt normal, and sleep was much needed.

I woke up to hell. For those of you who don't know what a precipitated withdrawal is, it is a severe reaction to taking a opioid blocker (such as suboxone) too soon in to the withdrawal process. Since The Ex took them within such a short time span, he woke up sicker than he had been in days. I found him laying in the tub, shaking uncontrollably, vomit, cold sweats, chest pains. We tried to ride it out. He took he last piece of Sub I had, and a few Xanax, I as able to get from another addict. To this day I don't know if he passed out from the withdrawal, the combination of drugs, or was just down enough to sleep. But sleep he did. I occasionally checked on him, and he seemed fine. Thursday passed in a blur and Friday came. Friday was worse, if it could get worse. He actually begged me to call his Mom. His Mom who hated me, blamed me for his addiction, blamed me for enabling him. I simply had no choice. She had me rush him to the hospital, and met us there.

The next few hours were a blur of yelling, screaming, tears, doctors, phone calls, social workers. I was starting to withdrawal myself a this point and just wanted to go home. I was scared, and alone. I got myself into this mess and decided then and there I was going to get myself out of it.

The social worker was able to get him into an inpatiet rehab facility but he had to go right away. While his Mom dealt with the paperwork, I was giving a very specific list of things to go home and pack for him.

On the way home I called J. I was alone for the first time in my active addiction and I was terrified. We talked for the whole car ride back to my apartment. I decided then that If the Ex was getting clean so was I. J was out of Suboxone, but he had a few Percocets he was willing to give me if I swung by. Sure why the hell not. I mean I had some time to kill before I could even meet them at the rehab and  its better than the Dope. Plus I was ready to try but I wasn't ready to deal with The Mom, and checking The Ex in to rehab sober. I went to sign the Ex into rehab, on a Friday night, with an handful of Percs in my pocket.

What a shit show. What a train wreck. And it only got worse. I remember thinking that this had to be it, rock bottom. Ha. Rock bottom was not where I thought it was.

My mom knew The Ex was using, and she may have had an idea I was but I'm not entirely sure. I called her and checked in, told her what was going on with him, and his Mom. I don't even really remember it. I just remember telling her how scared  I was, about him going to rehab, about being alone in my apartment.  She was in the hospital herself but told me to call my brother and they would figure out a way to get him down to me.

I was broke, with no gas in the car, no money to do anything and I was exhausted. Mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Between the lack of sleep, all the driving, the stress, and emotional toll, I was running on fumes.  I put on some music, broke out a Perk, and went to sleep. Tomorrow was another day.

A day that I'm not ready to write about.

[funhcuse-blog1]

Sorry to do this on here but right now I just need to rant, please don’t feel the need to read this.

Honestly right now I’m sitting in my bed on the verge of an anxiety attack five hours before I’m meant to be getting up to go to work.

I’m so done with how shit life is right now. I mean, yes, I’m luckily I have a job and a decent life and I should be thankful for that.

But this new job I’ve technically done one shift and I don’t get want they want me in there for other than counting cash. Like I was training today and that is all they taught me so as usual the rest I have to figure out myself. Jobs can never be easy for me. I’ve worked since I was 14 and every job I’ve had I’ve never enjoyed because I worked my ass off and figured out things I should’ve been trained to do only to end up being ignored or treated as a lesser to people who knew less than me or to have my managers use and abuse my kindness only to pull me up on every tiny mistake whilst they praised the girls who flirted with them. In every one of my jobs I have been bullied, and my family and friends all say it’s not on me that people are bad but it is on me in the way that I want to be please and make people happy and by doing that I am somehow considered weak. My last two jobs I left because I had my physical and mental illnesses used against me. The last one being the higher up made up a fake phone call defaming my character and using information I told him outside of work in a way that it would not only affect me but it made me physically scared to go back to work. I had paranoia.

Now people probably think I am some whining bitch and as this guy used I am a “hypochondriac”. I can tell you now I am not. I wish that was it. That I was making the things that are wrong with me up but I am not. I suffer from a brain disease that can’t be cured and causes me constant pain even though it is stable. I suffer from a back disease that makes it so hard to bend and move. I suffer from chronic fatigue and insomnia, so not only can I not sleep easily but the smallest things exhaust me. I have extremely severe anxiety and severe depression and thanks to a high drug tolerance I have tried a million medications but none have worked. I suffer from an eating disorder that most people think I made up so I have an excuse to be picky but it’s not that simple at all. I have constant muscle pain that comes from my fatigue along with stuff that the doctors can’t be bothered to diagnose. My anxiety is so bad it manifests into physical pain, I went to hospital thinking I had torn a diaphragm (which I only know hurts that bad because my sister went through it) only to have every test and be sent home with pain killers and was told nothing was wrong with me.

In Australia I cannot apply for financial aid as my parents earn too much, my mum earns enough to pay bills and buy food whilst undergoing her cancer treatment, my father earns plenty but doesn’t contribute much help money wise given my sister and I don’t live with him full time. So money is fucked. Also I can’t apply for a disability financial aid because my illness that “affect me the most” are mental which aren’t eligible and my other illnesses are “stable”. I’m just so fucking done. Like role playing is something I love and where I can escape and right now I needed to post this somewhere and here is all I have. I’ll be honest I have been suicidal for years, but I would never do anything to hurt myself. It’s just so hard try to be normal and all when life is far from easy. Honestly I wish I could stay in bed most days and just sleep because I’m exhausted but I can’t because money is an issue. And I have no way to make this better. This new job was meant to be easy, simple stuff but now after this so called training I feel like a fish out of water. I just. I can’t seem to catch a break.

[heragivemestringcheese]

Schroeder

The small town of Sebastopol, California has so many little pianos. Thousands of little pianos.

When a baby Schroeder was first brought home, the first little piano appeared in his nursery. His parents, exhausted from a particularly drawn out delivery, brushed it off as a gift and each assumed the other had received it, and it wasn't thought about again for many years.

In three year's time, the baby Schroeder grew at a grossly accelerated rate, now having the appearance and mental faculties of a ten-year-old. First he was praised as a miracle baby, a sure to be genius, and lauded as a new hope for the town of Sebastopol, for every other child born there had stopped aging. Every child born in their sleepy town would grow and age normally until about ten years, at which point they just stopped. Their physical and mental age stayed solidly at ten. For a while medical experts  would be called in to study this strange town where children truly never grew up, but the hubbub eventually died down and everyone became used to the idea, despite every adult clearly showing signs of their age progressing.

However, it soon became clear that young Schroeder's growth had been arrested and had succumbed to the same fate of the rest of the children, doomed to eternal youth while their caretakers withered away. Oh well, thought his parents, at least he'll have his peers to play with. But the fates had another idea. Schroeder showed signs of an enormous mental aptitude. He was first in his class and often horribly bored, as there were no longer classes above fifth grade as there hadn’t been older children to fill them in years. As Schroeder grew in mind and maturity, he started to feel more and more isolated.

And that's when the little pianos began appearing. Just a few here and there at first, out of the way and out of sight of the adults in town, who were far too focused on the problems their town faced with children who could not grow older and a constantly aging adult population. Schroeder started finding the little pianos that appeared just around the corner whenever he grew frustrated or bored, and he could plink away at the little keys on the little piano and shut off the rest of the world and the other children, who although they looked more or less like him, were disgustingly juvenile in mind in comparison.

And the more Schroeder played on the little pianos, which he could increasingly do wherever he happened to be, the better he got, until the melodies of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and Jingle Bells were long forgotten in favor of Beethoven's and Mozart's greatest sonatas. And as he learned to play more complicated, more beautiful pieces, the sound of the little pianos became deeper, richer, until eventually it was as if the toy had a concert grand impossibly hidden inside it. But only when Schroeder played the little pianos that now numbered in the hundreds did they give off the beautiful sounds. Whenever anyone else attempted to play the little piano it would only plink off-key like the toy it was.

There were attempts to clean up the little pianos, but after the local parks were cleared and the little pianos taken to the landfill, they appeared back in their exact previous locations. And since it made the little boy, once the hope for the future of Sebastopol, who produced such wondrous music from it happy, they were left alone. For several years little Schroeder would give impromptu concerts wherever he happened to be, and it helped the aging adults forget their worries for a bit.

Soon Schroeder found he could manipulate the little piano's sound at will, now seemingly able to summon full orchestras from his fingertips. And then wherever, whenever, he willed it he found he could make a little piano appear, always an exact replica of the same little piano that adorned his nursery all those years ago.

And then one innocuous day, Schroeder was playing his favorite Beethoven pieces to soothe his nerves after a particularly irritating visit from a local child named Lucy who would not let Schroeder alone, despite today’s latest in a series of increasingly desperate attempts to explain that his mental capacity had  far surpassed hers and that a relationship would not only be ungratifying to both parties but also grossly inappropriate. So Schroeder played, as it was the only thing that gave him peace anymore. He was becoming lost in the melodies and counter melodies, effortlessly nailing the more complicated passages, and almost didn't notice at first that the little piano was looking up at him.

He stopped playing, fingers frozen above the keys. His mind tried to push out the idea as impossible, but the longer he looked, the more clearly he could see the piano's eyes looking back at him. He looked around at all the little pianos that now littered the town. They were all looking at him with eyes he would have sworn were never there before. Schroeder jumped up. The pianos all followed his gaze. Though mentally he was no longer a child Schroeder still lacked the cognitive maturity to cope with a situation as bizarre as this one was. Fear crept up his spine and raised the hairs on his neck. The only clear thought in his head was: run. As he bolted from the park where he had been playing he fought the urge to look back at the scene that had terrified him so. At the next block over his will faltered and as he took a breath he glanced over his shoulder. They were following him, marching in unison on their previously inanimate wooden legs, coming toward him from all directions. Every piano in town, every one he had willed into existence were coming for him, and Schroeder was overwhelmingly cornered. He was pressed against a storefront as the little pianos started to climb over each other to get to him. Schroeder collapsed, his back to the store’s window, arms covering his head as he cried out in terror.

The now elderly adult population who witnessed this awakening felt too weak and powerless to do anything about the freakish circumstances that faced them that day. The town was on the verge of collapse, practically and economically, and nothing they had tried to prepare for would have helped the boy being attacked by thousands of toy pianos that had suddenly gained sentience and mobility. They had no choice but to look on in horror at the display before them.

Schroeder did his best to shield himself from the little wooden legs whacking him as dozens of the toy pianos clamored over him. He did not understand what or why this was happening and great sobs erupted from him. His mind experienced a deafening dissonance, unable to comprehend and unable to accept it. Fear and grief was all he could clearly feel and know, so it took a few moments before he realized the pianos had stopped attacking him and were no longer climbing over him. In fact, they were frozen in position, even those mid air, falling off each other, were fixed in a moment of time. He pushed the pianos immediately on him and they floated carelessly off, slowing and stopping a few feet away. He stood. Everything was frozen but him. There were birds stopped mid flight, a moment of take off stymied by whatever was happening to the world. Schroeder moved through the piles of toy pianos until he stood in the middle of the street, kicking away pianos that softly floated away. He saw movement a few blocks over, a short roundish figure rummaging through the continuous sea of little pianos.  

As he made his way through the frozen onslaught and nearer to the only other moving thing he could see, Schroeder suddenly felt a pang of recognition, though it didn’t make sense to him. Not that any of this did. Charlie Brown, the dull and unremarkable forever ten-year-old Schroeder shared classes with was now just down the street, too busy walking in circles, stopping suddenly, and muttering to himself. Schroeder did his best to move silently through towards him, trying to pick up what he was saying, although it sounded like gibberish.

“Charlie!” he called out and his classmate looked up in mild surprise but mostly annoyance. “Charlie, what’s happening? What are you doing? Why did everything stop?”

Charlie Brown continued his strange circular motions and mutterings for another moment before speaking up. “It shouldn’t have happened like this,” he defended without attack.

“Like what?”

“It’s sick but it should have gotten better.”

“What should? Charlie?”

Charlie Brown stopped his odd chanting and faced Schroeder, fully looking at him for the first time. He breathed in and started. “This place is sick. Time is sick. It always has been here. A convergence of realities that bubbles and boils and I was put here to help it, keep it from becoming too sick. At least that’s what I thought I was doing.”

“Who put you here? What’s sick?” Schroeder asked.

“Look around you, moron! Does this seem normal to you? Are children that stay ten forever normal? What about this seems healthy to you? You chucklefucks are lucky the great ones want to keep you from becoming twisted and lost to proper time. I was working on it, it was getting better, but you happened.”

“Me?”

“I don’t know how but you can manipulate time and space and it fucked everything up, everything I’d been working for is ruined. The only way out of this is a hard reset. Do you know what that means?”

“No.”

“New start, try it again.”

Charlie Brown recited more of that gibberish and his hands began to glow. Suddenly Schroeder felt a heat forming in his chest. And wind on his face. It was slight but definitely there. He looked around. The pianos had started moving again as if in slow motion, steadily getting slightly faster, gaining more and more of the ground they had lost on him.

“Fine, whatever, just make it stop.”

The breeze had quickly become wind whipping around the two of them, blowing away the advancing pianos. Charlie Brown looked up at Schroeder one last time. “If we get out of this alive, if you have any recollection of this at all, do me a favor: stay away from pianos.”

There was a blinding white light, then nothing. Nothing for a long time. Existence had halted and whatever consciousness had thought of itself as “Schroeder” before groggily became aware, and felt its way through the ether, until it had completed the exercise of remembering what it was. It faintly recalled that boy that had once represented it and with painfully sluggish realization how it had come to this point. And it remembered the only joy it had ever felt, playing a little piano to make beautiful music come out. It sighed or the closest thing a being of consciousness can come to sighing, and suddenly it was back in it’s body. He was Schroeder again, but younger, and infant. He recognized this intense deja vu having lived this exact moment before. He cooed with relief. Back to the beginning, he thought, without the words or concepts behind it. From his crib he could look out onto his nursery, where he was fed and rocked to sleep and always felt warm, and his eyes fell on a small toy piano that sat in the corner. He stared with recognition and desire. Without warning a great golden light erupted and a small roundish figure stepped out of it, took the little piano in his arms, and looked back at the baby Schroeder, turned back towards the light and disappeared.

Later in life, having grown at a normal, if slightly accelerated rate, Schroeder forgot about the round headed boy he had known in a former reality. Some nights he would awake with the name Charlie Brown on his lips but neither he nor anyone in the small town of Sebastopol, California could recall such a person ever living there. As he continued to grow he found he had an intense ache whenever he was around a piano, but couldn’t say what kept him from learning to play, or simply sitting down and plunking out a tune. He was haunted the rest of his life by what felt like a facsimile of his existence.

The being he had once known as Charlie Brown would never see him again, but occasionally, during his work across the timelines in this realm and the others, he would stop to think about the boy who had caused reality to fall apart, and the beautiful music he made while doing it.

[pet-diary]

Not great week, having to make hard decisions in school

Ready for this session to be over and it’s only week 3...

This winter season has been dark and depressing. The election, the inauguration. Yesterday one of my aunt’s commented that my protesting made her “so sad”. I know half my family members voted for Dump. I feel sick when I think about everything that’s happening. At the same time I can’t look away because I’m so scared of what’s happening and I don’t want to be blindsided. It hasn’t helped that school has been unbearably hard so far. My anatomy class is very unrealistically difficult and poorly laid out. We’re given impossible time limits on quizzes and exams. We’re expected to know things that aren’t covered by the material. I have no familiarity at all with the concepts or words so it’s been like learning another language. We have about 20 assignments due every Sunday and each of them takes hours and hours of hard work, not to mention hours and hours of lectures and of course your typical chapter readings two per wk. This week we have our first major exam but no time allowed to study. The website has been down (not working) for probably a total of 12 hours over this weekend but we were told we won’t have extra time to makeup for the lost time because “things happen” we should count ourselves “lucky” we don’t have to go into class at all. I’ve already had it out with one of the TAs that graded my anatomy quiz counting questions wrong that clearly weren’t wrong based on how they were asked. They just get defensive and buckle down even more. This has happened once before with a TA counting points off for a supposedly incorrect APA citation, which I argued and ended up getting some points back because it actually was right it was just an obscure rule that doesn’t happen very often. What made me mad about this one though is that the TA insulted me in her response, acting like I was asking for special favors, for points for being “close” to right (saying “where would I draw the line if I gave out points for being “close”? it would be chaos!” like I’m fucking five years old and need a lesson on what it means to be right about something). I don’t know why you would write that to a student just because they’re questioning a quiz grade. Like, if I’m wrong I’m wrong (but honestly the quiz was designed poorly so based on the way she asked--I wasn’t wrong), but don’t fucking imply that I’m asking for points EVEN though I’m wrong. Are you kidding me?? I feel like this class is a ripoff... I’m doing okay right now, still pulling an A, but if I bomb the exam (proctored, timed, no notes, no scratch paper, about 2 mins per question with 100 questions and that’s w/ my extra time for disability) I’m going to drop the class and just take a different bio class in the fall because I’m not having poor teaching ruin my GPA right before I apply to grad school... I’ll lose about $1,000 in the process because of how much this class has cost after all the materials were bought... I have felt like I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack for days now...

Needless to say, the past few days have been fucking exhausting mentally and physically. I haven’t hardly stopped working since the semester started. I’ve been blowing off my other course because of this anatomy class... Which is just sad and makes me feel awful and uncomfortable. So I need to catch back up to it today. I turned in all my work yesterday for anatomy, so today will be about this class. After that, I guess I’ll start studying for that first exam and see how I do. If I do okay, I’ll try to stick it out. If I don’t, I’ll withdraw and keep the extra free time to fucking breathe. I won’t be eligible for Dean’s list if I withdraw, because you can only get it if you’re full time. But fuck I won’t get it anyway if this ridiculous class drags down my grades!! I’m so frustrated. I was so excited about this class, and in some ways I’m still excited about the material because I’m learning some really interesting things... But the pace of this class is break neck and EVERYONE is complaining and begging for help on hallway discussions (it’s a thread for the class) and the prof is literally just ignoring everyone. So. What the fuck do you do.

[the-yaoi-galla]

Your Weekend Horoscopes, March 31st-April 2nd: Don’t Act A Fool This April Fool’s Day

Some of you need to chill the fuck out, some of you need to sit the fuck down, and some of you need to turn the fuck up. Find out what the stars have in store in our Betches weekend horoscopes.

Aries

This is a week of new beginnings for you, Aries. As it is likely that your New Years resolution died out about four days into January, use the beginning of a new month (and hopefully, fucking spring) on Saturday to start over. April is totally the new January. Get back on that fitness grind now that the idea of wearing a swimsuit ever again in your life actual seems feasible. Dedicate yourself to school or work and actually, idk. try? Or maybe its time to take a chance on love and put yourself back out in the dating scene. Whatever you decide, make sure you go for 100%. Betches may be lazy, but were not flakes.

Taurus

Youve had a good run, Taurus. Weeks of productivity. Weekends of partying. Mornings when you dont think youre on the verge of death. Honestly, its been infuriating to watch you succeed so effortlessly. However, the new month and a new moon are here to stop you in your tracks. Idk how to tell you this but this weekend is going to throw you into a bit of a rut. Nothing life or death, but things will just seem to go wrong at every turn. Our advice? Avoid this at all costs by not leaving the comfort of your bed unless you absolutely have to. Come Monday the stars may be less shitty, but best to play it safe until then.

Gemini

Youve been through a bit of a rough patch recently, Gemini. It was shitty, as Im sure you remember only too well, but you made it through it because your friends were there to pick you up when you were down and pour wine into your mouth when it was open. Well, the time has come for you to return the favor and break out that shoulder for someone else to cry on. Comforting people is never fun or easy, but right now its non-negotiable. Go buy a few bottles, a tub of ice cream or two, and wait for the call. Believe us, its coming.

Cancer

The Cancer motto this weekend: new month, new look. Let the beginning of April and potential (but unlikely) return of the sun bring out a brighter, shinier, you. If theres been some big transformation youve been considering but are too scared to try, this is the weekend to do it. Chop your hair off. Dye it. Overhaul your wardrobe. The sky is the limit! Its time to come out of your winter cave stronger, fiercer, and better looking than you were when you climbed into it. Spring is here. Time to act like it.

Leo

I know what youre thinking, Leo, and the answer is a resounding fuck no. This weekend, for whatever reason, youre going to be tempted to hit up an ex. Maybe theyre in town, or you saw an ill-timed Snapchat, or youre just lonely. I dont know, but more importantly, I dont care. This is a time for new starts, not shitty backsliding after one too many Long Islands. You may think youre stronger than that, but Im here to tell you youre not. Give your phone to someone you trust, stay away from social media at all costs, and surround yourself with fun people that will distract you from yourself. We have faith, Leo. Dont let us down.

Virgo

Yikes, Virgo. Im not sure what exactly is going down this weekend, but I do know that its going to be shitty. Honestly, Im sorry that the universe so clearly has it out for you. It may seem like the world is ending, but this is where your friends come in with ample amounts of alcohol to assure you that its not. There is nothing more powerful than the will of a drunk girl trying to cheer up her sad friend. If science could bottle that kind of effort, the world would be at peace. Just sit back and try to keep your head above water; your friends should take care of the rest.

Libra

This weekend is a time of reflection, Libra. There have been a lot of moving parts in your life as of late, and now is the time to sit down and consider how you feel about them all. Maybe its time for a little spring cleaning, in every sense of the word. Clothes you dont need? Toss them. Friends you dont need? Toss them. Guys you dont need? Toss them (but save their numbers for when youre drunk. New month, new you. Dont let any of that shitty winter baggage follow you into spring. Let this meme be your inspiration:

Scorpio

A few words of advice, Scorpio: despite what you seem to think at times your words and actions do, in fact, affect other people. Crazy, right? Its almost like you arent the only person in the entire universe. Ill let that sink in before we continue.

While we are definitely champions of the you do you mentality, sometimes you need to take a step back and remember that there are other people in your life. People with thoughts andwait for itfeelings. Against their better nature, they care about you and the shit that you do. So maybe, just maybe, its time to return the favor, yeah?

TL; DR: Stop being a self-centered shithead and think about your friends and family before you do stupid shit. Way harsh Tai, but we know you can take it.

Sagittarius

I think my favorite part about Sagittarians is their undying optimism when it comes to other people. You, without fail, will go out on a limb for anyone and everyone, time and time again, no matter the consequences. Its awe-inspiring, in the way that its hard to not watch when a pack of lions just wrecks a baby gazelle on . In this metaphor, Sagittarius, you are the gazelle. This weekend, try and be a little more judicious about the people you throw yourself on the line for. I know its going to be hard, but you will come out the other end with your mental and physical health intact. Wild, right?

Capricorn

The nostalgia is going to be real this weekend, Capricorn. Something about the weather, the stars, the people will be taking you on a long trip down memory lane. For better or for worse is entirely up to you. If skeletons start to resurface, there is no shame in avoiding that shit like the plague. But if you happen to have a positive memory or two, try revisiting that and see what happens. Reach out to old friends just to check in. Youll be surprised by how much you still like people that knew you when you were 18. It can be comforting to go back in time and remember the people who helped make you the person you are today. Or it can be horrifying. Guess theres only one way to find out.

Aquarius

My dude. Aquarius. This past week has been a journey of self-discovery for you, and it is absolutely wild how different of a person you are compared to just a week ago. We, for one, are here for it. This weekend, move forward with this new mindset and implement it in every aspect of your life. After months of being put on the back burner, your mental health will truly thank you for it. Let your new self shine and dont let anyone dampen it. In fact, those that try are not worth your time in this new era. Cut them loose and let them know why. 

Pisces

Well, well, well, Pisces. I hate to say I told you so, except just kidding. I fucking love it. Youve spent the last few weeks working yourself down to the bone, and youre exhausted in every sense of the word. This weekend, please just chill the fuck out. Seriously. Turn off your phone. Lock your doors. Close the blinds. I promise the FOMO you may suffer will pale in comparison to the stroke youre bound to suffer any day now. The universe calls for 48 straight hours of unadulterated relaxation. Please, dont ignore it.  

Read more: http://www.betches.com/weekend-horoscope-3-31-17

from https://www.makingthebest.com/2017/04/17/your-weekend-horoscopes-march-31st-april-2nd-dont-act-a-fool-this-april-fools-day/

[fangirl-with-a-shoulder-fettish]

Your Weekend Horoscopes, March 31st-April 2nd: Don’t Act A Fool This April Fool’s Day

Some of you need to chill the fuck out, some of you need to sit the fuck down, and some of you need to turn the fuck up. Find out what the stars have in store in our Betches weekend horoscopes.

Aries

This is a week of new beginnings for you, Aries. As it is likely that your New Years resolution died out about four days into January, use the beginning of a new month (and hopefully, fucking spring) on Saturday to start over. April is totally the new January. Get back on that fitness grind now that the idea of wearing a swimsuit ever again in your life actual seems feasible. Dedicate yourself to school or work and actually, idk. try? Or maybe its time to take a chance on love and put yourself back out in the dating scene. Whatever you decide, make sure you go for 100%. Betches may be lazy, but were not flakes.

Taurus

Youve had a good run, Taurus. Weeks of productivity. Weekends of partying. Mornings when you dont think youre on the verge of death. Honestly, its been infuriating to watch you succeed so effortlessly. However, the new month and a new moon are here to stop you in your tracks. Idk how to tell you this but this weekend is going to throw you into a bit of a rut. Nothing life or death, but things will just seem to go wrong at every turn. Our advice? Avoid this at all costs by not leaving the comfort of your bed unless you absolutely have to. Come Monday the stars may be less shitty, but best to play it safe until then.

Gemini

Youve been through a bit of a rough patch recently, Gemini. It was shitty, as Im sure you remember only too well, but you made it through it because your friends were there to pick you up when you were down and pour wine into your mouth when it was open. Well, the time has come for you to return the favor and break out that shoulder for someone else to cry on. Comforting people is never fun or easy, but right now its non-negotiable. Go buy a few bottles, a tub of ice cream or two, and wait for the call. Believe us, its coming.

Cancer

The Cancer motto this weekend: new month, new look. Let the beginning of April and potential (but unlikely) return of the sun bring out a brighter, shinier, you. If theres been some big transformation youve been considering but are too scared to try, this is the weekend to do it. Chop your hair off. Dye it. Overhaul your wardrobe. The sky is the limit! Its time to come out of your winter cave stronger, fiercer, and better looking than you were when you climbed into it. Spring is here. Time to act like it.

Leo

I know what youre thinking, Leo, and the answer is a resounding fuck no. This weekend, for whatever reason, youre going to be tempted to hit up an ex. Maybe theyre in town, or you saw an ill-timed Snapchat, or youre just lonely. I dont know, but more importantly, I dont care. This is a time for new starts, not shitty backsliding after one too many Long Islands. You may think youre stronger than that, but Im here to tell you youre not. Give your phone to someone you trust, stay away from social media at all costs, and surround yourself with fun people that will distract you from yourself. We have faith, Leo. Dont let us down.

Virgo

Yikes, Virgo. Im not sure what exactly is going down this weekend, but I do know that its going to be shitty. Honestly, Im sorry that the universe so clearly has it out for you. It may seem like the world is ending, but this is where your friends come in with ample amounts of alcohol to assure you that its not. There is nothing more powerful than the will of a drunk girl trying to cheer up her sad friend. If science could bottle that kind of effort, the world would be at peace. Just sit back and try to keep your head above water; your friends should take care of the rest.

Libra

This weekend is a time of reflection, Libra. There have been a lot of moving parts in your life as of late, and now is the time to sit down and consider how you feel about them all. Maybe its time for a little spring cleaning, in every sense of the word. Clothes you dont need? Toss them. Friends you dont need? Toss them. Guys you dont need? Toss them (but save their numbers for when youre drunk. New month, new you. Dont let any of that shitty winter baggage follow you into spring. Let this meme be your inspiration:

Scorpio

A few words of advice, Scorpio: despite what you seem to think at times your words and actions do, in fact, affect other people. Crazy, right? Its almost like you arent the only person in the entire universe. Ill let that sink in before we continue.

While we are definitely champions of the you do you mentality, sometimes you need to take a step back and remember that there are other people in your life. People with thoughts andwait for itfeelings. Against their better nature, they care about you and the shit that you do. So maybe, just maybe, its time to return the favor, yeah?

TL; DR: Stop being a self-centered shithead and think about your friends and family before you do stupid shit. Way harsh Tai, but we know you can take it.

Sagittarius

I think my favorite part about Sagittarians is their undying optimism when it comes to other people. You, without fail, will go out on a limb for anyone and everyone, time and time again, no matter the consequences. Its awe-inspiring, in the way that its hard to not watch when a pack of lions just wrecks a baby gazelle on . In this metaphor, Sagittarius, you are the gazelle. This weekend, try and be a little more judicious about the people you throw yourself on the line for. I know its going to be hard, but you will come out the other end with your mental and physical health intact. Wild, right?

Capricorn

The nostalgia is going to be real this weekend, Capricorn. Something about the weather, the stars, the people will be taking you on a long trip down memory lane. For better or for worse is entirely up to you. If skeletons start to resurface, there is no shame in avoiding that shit like the plague. But if you happen to have a positive memory or two, try revisiting that and see what happens. Reach out to old friends just to check in. Youll be surprised by how much you still like people that knew you when you were 18. It can be comforting to go back in time and remember the people who helped make you the person you are today. Or it can be horrifying. Guess theres only one way to find out.

Aquarius

My dude. Aquarius. This past week has been a journey of self-discovery for you, and it is absolutely wild how different of a person you are compared to just a week ago. We, for one, are here for it. This weekend, move forward with this new mindset and implement it in every aspect of your life. After months of being put on the back burner, your mental health will truly thank you for it. Let your new self shine and dont let anyone dampen it. In fact, those that try are not worth your time in this new era. Cut them loose and let them know why. 

Pisces

Well, well, well, Pisces. I hate to say I told you so, except just kidding. I fucking love it. Youve spent the last few weeks working yourself down to the bone, and youre exhausted in every sense of the word. This weekend, please just chill the fuck out. Seriously. Turn off your phone. Lock your doors. Close the blinds. I promise the FOMO you may suffer will pale in comparison to the stroke youre bound to suffer any day now. The universe calls for 48 straight hours of unadulterated relaxation. Please, dont ignore it.  

Read more: http://www.betches.com/weekend-horoscope-3-31-17

from https://www.makingthebest.com/2017/04/17/your-weekend-horoscopes-march-31st-april-2nd-dont-act-a-fool-this-april-fools-day/