#i might drop my threads? probably? so i can start fresh without all the Pressure?

[finarfiniel]

            hi i’m alive & cas has.............. kind of brought back my muse big time so i?? am kind of back?

[emospritelet]

Twisted Fate - chapter 26

Last time, Gold started to suspect that Neal might be his long-lost son. Here's what happened next

[AO3]

-

Belle left hospital the next day, Gideon strapped to her chest in a sling while Gold wheeled the suitcase beside her. The day was pleasantly warm, sun on her face as she walked to the car, and it felt good to be out in the fresh air and away from the hospital, with its hurrying staff and constant noise. She was still in pain, and far more tired than she had expected to be, but she stopped off in the lobby of the apartment building to let Marco coo over Gideon and comment on how much he looked like his father. Gold had a tiny smile on his face all the way up in the elevator.

It was a relief to sleep in what she now thought of as their bed, Gold spooned around her and his scent in her nose. Gideon woke them in the night, but Gold kissed her shoulder and whispered that she should rest. She still lay awake listening anxiously until he got back into bed and assured her that Gideon was fed, changed and sleeping again. There was an urge to go and check on him herself, but she told herself firmly to trust Gold to take care of his son, and her body was tired and sore enough that she soon drifted off.

Gold woke early, just as dawn was greying the sky, and tiptoed from the room to make a pot of coffee and check in on Gideon. Quiet as he was, Belle was stirring when he put his head around the bedroom door, and so he handed Gideon to her to feed before returning to the kitchen to pour out the coffee and make a hearty breakfast.

The first few days were hectic as they tried to adjust to their new life, establishing as much of a routine for Gideon as they could. Gold was enjoying being a father again, and fully intended to do the best job he could. Belle was clearly exhausted, and so he tried to ease the burden as much as possible, letting her nap with Gideon while he cleaned up, made dinner and baked. In between his chores, he dealt with work matters, giving instructions to Mr Dove in relation to rent or enforcement matters, assessing collateral for loans over video calls and countersigning a new tenancy agreement. He got up to feed and change Gideon in the middle of the night, hoping that Belle would get some much-needed rest. A small voice at the back of his mind told him that he, too, needed to rest, but sleep was elusive and his mind far too preoccupied to notice his building exhaustion.

He had been a ball of nervous energy ever since he and Belle had had the conversation about Neal. Getting his family settled into their home held his attention for the daylight hours, but once he was lying in bed, his mind was let loose to agonise over every possible worst case scenario it could dream up. The day after their return he was alert to every noise outside the apartment, every suggestion that a knock might sound and the Cassidys be outside. The knock never came, and over dinner the following evening, Belle mentioned that she had received a text from Emma. Henry had developed a bad cold, and Neal and Emma thought it best that they not visit and run the risk of passing it on to Gideon.

“I’m sorry he’s not well,” said Gold, an odd mixture of despair and relief rippling through him and pricking at his skin. “I’m sure they’ll come over soon. I’ll make a carrot cake this weekend. Maybe some chocolate cupcakes. Just in case they show up.”

Belle gave him a level look, as though she wasn’t fooled by his easy tone. She probably wasn’t.

“This must be hard for you,” she said quietly, and Gold put down his fork, abandoning his pretence at equilibrium.

“I still don’t know what the hell I’m gonna say to him,” he admitted. “How do I even raise the subject? Cupcake, Neal? Oh, by the way, did your mother ever mention that your father was Scottish? Kind of short? Me?”

He grimaced, running his hands over his face, and stilled at the warm pressure of Belle’s hand on his arm. He spread his fingers to gaze out through them into calm blue eyes.

“There isn’t going to be an easy way to do this,” she said gently. “But you could always try talking about your past, see if anything resonates with him.”

The fingers snapped shut, hiding her from his sight, and Gold sighed heavily before dropping his hands back to the table and sitting back.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That seems - more natural, I suppose.”

“You could always ask Archie for advice,” she suggested, and he nodded.

“That’s true. Although we don’t know whether there’s anything there to ask advice about yet.”

“I suppose.”

“If there is…” Gold sat forwards again, threading his fingers together nervously. “If there is, if Neal really is my son, I have a feeling Dr Hopper will be seeing a lot more of my money.”

Belle smiled, squeezing his arm again.

“A worthy investment, wouldn’t you say?”

“If it gets me a good relationship with my family, absolutely.” He gave her a tiny smile, and she beamed, her eyes gleaming.

“It’s already doing that,” she said softly. “I’m proud of you. Facing your pain, your past, your fears… it’s a brave thing to do.”

He smiled, her words making his heart swell with love, even as he endured the discomfort of unexpected praise.

“Well, I have many years of cowardice to make up for,” he said, with an awkward smile.

Belle gave him a somewhat sad smile in return before sitting back, and there was a moment of silence. He picked up his fork again, cutting into the slice of almond cake and spearing it with the tines.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did your father say when he’d be visiting?”

Belle nodded as she cut a piece of her own cake.

“He said next Monday,” she said. “It’s usually a slow day in the shop, so he’s gonna close up at noon after he’s dealt with the flower delivery, and drive down. We’re planning to meet at four-thirty.”

“Ah.” Gold popped the piece of cake into his mouth, enjoying the soft sweetness of ground almonds and the tang of orange zest. “Well, he’s welcome to stay, of course.”

Belle eyed him over her fork, but shook her head.

“He’s only coming down for the day, and to be honest I think that’s a good idea,” she said. “I said I’d meet him at the diner by the park, and I think it’s best if it’s just me and Gideon. I thought we could go for a walk and get something to eat. That’s probably enough contact for both of us at this stage.”

“As you wish,” he said, secretly relieved at not having to play nice with Moe French.

“Depending on how this first visit goes, he might be staying over in future, though,” she added.

“Of course.”

“And you never know,” she said, spearing another piece of cake. “Maybe one day we’ll move back to Storybrooke. You, me, Gid, and - well, we’ll see how things go.”

She gave him a secretive little smile, and for a moment he envisioned entering the pink house with several small children racing past him to fill the place with life and love and laughter. He smiled back.

“That sounds wonderful.”

-

Belle was enjoying motherhood, but she wondered how single mothers coped alone. Gold had been amazing, racing around the house keeping it clean and tidy, cooking delicious meals for the two of them and helping to feed and change Gideon. He insisted on being the one to get up during the night, even as she said they should take it in turns, but she had to admit that it was a relief to get some rest as her body recovered. He made cakes and cookies and brought her breakfast in bed while she fed Gideon, and made sure she wanted for nothing.

She was worried that he was doing too much; she caught him napping on the couch one afternoon with a pile of laundry in his lap, hands buried in Gideon’s sleep suits and head back against the cushions. She had let him sleep, tiptoeing through to the kitchen to make some tea, and made the dinner herself that evening.

As the time drew nearer for her father’s visit, she found herself getting nervous, and Gideon seemed to pick up on it, growing fractious as she dressed him for the trip outside.

“You sure you don’t want me to come?” asked Gold, helping her get him into the stroller, and Belle shook her head.

“It’s fine, really,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll be okay once we’re out and he’s got something new to look at.”

“In that case,” he said. “I’ll make something nice for when you get back.”

“You always do.”

“Well, something special, then,” he said. “What would you like?”

Belle pursed her lips.

“A full night’s sleep and a foot rub?”

He grinned.

“Consider it done.”

“I’ll be eating about five-thirty,” she added. “So I won’t want anything for dinner, but I’ll probably feel like curling up with a glass of wine and something stodgy.”

“I’m sure I can think of something.”

He finished tucking Gideon in, and kissed his cheek before straightening up to kiss Belle. She clung to him a little longer than usual, and he squeezed her tight.

“It’ll be okay,” he said softly. “And I’m only a phone call away if you need me.”

She nodded, taking a deep, fortifying breath, and set her hands to the stroller, pushing it towards the elevator. Glancing back over her shoulder, she could see Gold watching her from the doorway, and she gave him a reassuring smile as she pressed the elevator call button, hoping for a positive outcome.

-

The apartment was eerily silent without either Belle or Gideon, and Gold didn’t like it. He busied himself cleaning up, folding a freshly-washed pile of laundry and vacuuming the floors. He also made up a pan of chicken casserole, adding a generous glass of red wine, and set it to a low simmer while he pondered what else to cook. He made some bread, pummelling the dough briskly before setting it aside to rise, and wiped flour-covered hands on his apron before poking through the store cupboard again. Belle had mentioned wanting something stodgy to eat, so he decided to make a pan of brownies.

By the time he had finished mixing the batter and put the tin in the oven, it was a quarter to six. He poured himself a glass of the wine and took a large gulp, one toe tapping on the floor as he wondered how Belle’s dinner with her father was going. He hadn’t received a distressed phone call, so he had to assume she was fine. She was more than capable of standing up to her father, but he hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. Surely not even Moe French could maintain his bad attitude when he got to hold Gideon.

A knock at the apartment door made him start, and he set down his glass, wiping his hands on his apron and grasping his cane to head for the door. Looking out through the spy hole, he paused as Neal’s face glanced up, his figure distorted by the curve of the lens. Gold’s heart started thumping high in his throat, blood pounding, and he swallowed, his throat dry, the handle gripped tight. His hand shook as he opened the door, and he licked his lips nervously as Neal grinned at him, hefting what looked like a leather laptop bag up a little further on his shoulder.

“Hello, Neal,” said Gold, unsure where his calm tone had come from, but relieved that he sounded normal.

“Hey,” said Neal, patting the bag. “Belle asked Emma to pick her up a couple of books from the university library. I said I’d drop ‘em off on my way home, since I was in the area.”

Gold made a decision.

“Please, come on in,” he said, stepping back and holding open the door. “Belle’s out at the moment, but you’re welcome to wait. I could make some coffee. Or I’ve opened the wine, if you’d prefer a glass of that.”

Neal’s eyes brightened.

“Really? Wouldn’t say no, it’s been a hell of a day.”

He stepped into the apartment, and Gold closed the door behind him, following him into the kitchen and trying to calm his racing heart. Neal shrugged off the strap of his bag, putting it on the table with a heavy thump of books and wriggling his shoulder.

“Belle should try e-books,” he said. “Less chance of a dislocated shoulder.”

Gold chuckled at that.

“I offered to get her one, but she prefers the feel and smell of real books,” he said, getting a second glass from the cupboard and pouring a measure of wine. “Not that she’s had all that much time to read lately.”

“No, I guess not. Thanks.” Neal took the wine. “You say she’ll be back soon?”

“She took Gideon to go and meet her father, but I’m expecting her back in the next half hour or so.”

“You didn’t go too?” asked Neal, and Gold pulled a face.

“Let’s just say that the peace between the two of them is new and fragile, and my presence really wouldn’t help that.”

“Yeah, I pretty much heard her dad’s a tool,” said Neal, making Gold grin.

“My opinion of him is fairly low, but I have to say the feeling’s mutual.”

“Guess you can’t choose your family,” said Neal, and took a drink. “Wow! That’s nice!”

“A favourite of mine.” Gold hesitated, turning the glass between his fingers. “How’s Henry?”

“Yeah, he’s a lot better,” said Neal. “Totally snot-free, happy to say. We thought we might come over Friday, if you’re up for having visitors.”

“I’m sure we’d love that.”

Another pause. Gold took a mouthful of wine, feeling his pulse thud in his throat, his skin tingling. He almost choked as he swallowed, and blinked rapidly, his eyes watering.

“You okay?” asked Neal. “Went down the wrong way?”

“Yes. Uh - shall we go through to the lounge?”

Gold gestured awkwardly towards the kitchen door, and Neal wandered off, leaving him to follow on feet that felt as though they were made of steel plates. It was a relief to sit down, and he had to stop himself from tapping his feet restlessly as he turned the glass between his hands and tried to think of something to say. Neal was good enough to break the heavy silence.

“How’s life with Gideon?” he asked, and Gold smiled.

“He doesn’t give us a lot of time to sit and take a breath, that’s for certain,” he said, “But it’s wonderful. I’m incredibly lucky.”

“You’re enjoying being a dad again, huh?”

“Very much.”

“Is it like you remember?” asked Neal, and Gold hesitated. Here, at last, was an opening. An opportunity.

“With my first son,” he said. “I wasn’t there for the first eighteen months of his life. A little like you and Henry.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” Gold looked down at his wine, deep red rippling catching tiny specks of light. “It wasn’t by choice, I might add.”

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you weren’t in jail,” said Neal, and he smiled.

“No, not jail. Unless of course you count the one of my own making.”

“Deep.”

“Pompous. Sorry.”

Neal chuckled, and Gold took a drink of wine.

“His mother and I weren’t suited,” he said then. “We were never in a proper relationship, and I wasn’t surprised when she left town. But then she came back two years later, with a child. My child, so she said.”

“You think she was lying?”

“No,” he said immediately. “No, I knew he was mine. At least - at least I thought that I knew. I could - I could feel it.”

He tapped his closed fist against his heart, and Neal watched him silently. Gold gave a tiny shrug.

“Of course I wanted to give him everything I hadn’t - that is - I wanted to do the best for my son as I could,” he said, floundering a little. “I worked hard, earned a good wage - unfortunately, that meant spending more time at work, and less time at home. Milah didn’t appreciate being, in her words: ‘stuck indoors all day with a screaming brat’.”

Neal had gone very still.

“Did you say Milah?” he asked neutrally.

“My ex,” said Gold, wishing his heart would stop thumping so hard. “Anyway, I came home one day, and she’d gone. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised at that, but I never thought she’d take him. I never thought…” He cut off, ducking his head. “I never thought I’d lose him.”

Neal took a swallow of wine, and Gold squeezed his glass in an attempt to still his trembling hands.

“What happened?” asked Neal.

“Well, I found out that without being named as his father, I had no right to find out what had happened to him,” he said wearily. “So I had to search alone. She moved around a lot: from Scotland to England, and eventually, to the US. The last place I could trace them to was Social Services in Phoenix. She’d left him there. Said she’d come back and never did.”

Neal shook his head, looking stunned.

“So - so what happened?” he asked. “Did you find him?”

“No.” Gold eyed him steadily. “No, he’d gone. Run away. I was three months too late. I kept searching, but there were no more leads. He knew how to hide, it seemed.”

Neal swallowed hard, and set down his glass.

“You said you weren’t named as the father,” he said. “So his name wasn’t Gold, right?”

“No,” said Gold. “His last name was Bonny, after his mother.”

Neal pushed to his feet in a rush, agitation making his nostrils flare.

“Who told you my mother was called that?” he demanded. “Was it Emma? What did she say? How did you know that?”

“What?” Gold shook his head, an invisible hand squeezing at his heart and leaving him breathless. “I don’t - Emma didn’t tell me anything, I just - well, I remember Milah’s name, of course I do. And - and your name is Cassidy.”

“Because I changed it!” Neal began to pace, running a hand through his hair and looking shattered. “I don’t - I can’t…”

He shook his head, stomping towards the door.

“No, please!” said Gold desperately, pushing to his feet. “Please, don’t go, I just - I need you to listen for a moment.”

“I can’t!”

“Please!” he urged. “Please, my son’s name is Bailey. Bailey Stephen Bonny. He was born on the first of May, twenty-nine years ago, and - and I’ve been searching for him ever since he disappeared, ever since his mother took him from me.”

“This is - this isn’t possible.” Neal shook his head, looking devastated. “This can’t be real. I have to - I have to go, I have to think.”

“No, wait!”

His hand was on the door handle, and Gold had reached out, wanting to touch him, desperate to touch him. He drew back at the last minute, pain clawing at his chest, as though his heart was trying to tear its way out. Neal’s knuckles were white on the handle, his body shaking with tension, and Gold blinked tears from his eyes.

“Is it you, Bae?” he whispered, his voice breaking a little. “Is it really you?”

The name on his tongue seemed to break whatever spell had fallen over them, and Neal wrenched at the door, barging out into the corridor and slamming it shut behind him. Gold sagged, shoulders slumping as he gripped the cane handle to hold himself upright. It’s him. It’s my son. My Bae.

[amindofstone]

Emptiness filled by sorrow

a/n: The moment I found out about Sabo and the way he grew up. The moment I learned about his amnesia. The moment I saw him take the pipe out of all the other weapons during his training as a kid, got me crying! I felt so bad for him. I was heartbroken! I was sobbing at 1 am and shedding tears. Damn me and my emotional and sensitive ass.

Words: 2332

Genre: anime imagine?

Warnings: This is going to be a bit sad. Just a bit, I guess. [Maybe grammar or spelling mistakes. (I genuinely apologize. English is not my mother tongue and I´m really trying to improve. So please be so kind and have mercy)]

Spoiler(s): Mention of the battle in Marineford, mention of Ace´s death, mention of his childhood with Ace and Luffy, mention of his amnesia. Other than that please don´t spoil me or any reader if there are any facts about him above that because I´m… well… I forgot what the title of the chapter was but Sanji is (I´m crying!!!!) getting married (?!). That´s where I am….

Character(s): Sabo/Chief of staff/ Sabo the revolutionary

Info: For better reading keep in mind that the words in italic are Sabo´s train of thoughts.

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me if this is shared or published in any other platform or any other way. This took me a lot of time. So please respect me as the writer and my work. Picture is not mine. Credits to the rightful owner. If anyone knows who drew this please tell me ASAP so I can give them the credits (found on the internet). !!!

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

“Thank you for helping me Koala. You were a huge help.”. the blond man smiled at his friend. “No need to thank me. I´m glad I could help. And besides I owned you anyways thinking about the last time you helped me reorganize the archive.”, the young lady kept talking to him while making sure to keep his mind occupied with anything but the news that put the world into a tremendous shook. “There we are. And now do all of us the favor and go to bed and rest. We can´t have you fall asleep in another meeting with Dragon.”, said the female partner and friend of the chief of staff. “No worries. I will definitely go to sleep. The amount of work I had to deal with today was enough.”, the tall blond man reassured his friend that he will rest before they both parted and wished each other a good night.

Sabo, the revolutionary army’s number 2, made his way to his room. His room that was a place in which he could drop the happy and jolly facet he had. His room, where he could stop pretending that he was fine. His room, his place, his four walls that could shield him from the eyes of the people who saw his as the strongest.

Sabo entered his room while he still had a little smile upon his lips. A smile he kept alive until he closed his door and locked it. He held onto the door handle tightly until his knuckles turned white and slowly laid his head on the door and closed his eyes. He tried his best to keep a hold of his mind. He tried his best to not let his mind trap him in scenarios that probably never happened. He tried to keep himself far away from his mind that told him that everything was his guilt. He tried his best to not listen to his mind that told him that if he wouldn´t have left and set sail 10 years ago the battle would have never happened. If only he could turn back the time and never leave his home. If only he stayed there and waited for a bit longer. If I stayed there. If I stayed in that hell of a whole that man called my home would I have been able to go back to Ace and Luffy? Would Ace be still alive?

Without knowing he was trapped in his mind all over again. Like every other night in the past three weeks. Sabo let go of the door handle and let out a heavy sigh.

He was exhausted. He was tired. He was restless.

It is not like he didn´t wanted to sleep. It´s just that he simply couldn´t sleep. Whenever he tried to close his eyes, whenever he searched for the comfort of his bed and sleep. His heart clenched while his soul asked him how he could sleep and rest when Luffy had to suffer all alone just by himself. Luffy, the boy he called his little brother.

Luffy. I wonder what you are doing right now. Did you eat? Did you sleep? Are you hurt? Are you alone or with your crew? I wish I could ask you but I don´t know if I would be able to look into your eyes after all the incidents and years that past. He felt numb. He felt small and weak, something he usually never felt. He was strong and a fantastic fighter. He was smart and a good man but he felt like all of that washed away. Fake is what he saw himself as, after he had all of his memories back. He felt like the person he grew into was not him. The person the entire world knew, feared and respected. The revolutionary army´s number 2 and chief of staff, Sabo.

The tall gracious looking man took of his beloved hat and placed it on his dresser that stood right next to his full length mirror. Who am I? What am I? Where is home? Who is home? He was lost. He felt lost like the moment he was nearly killed by a celestial dragon. He nearly got killed. He nearly was about to die. Die. Death. He never thought that he would ever want something like that. He never thought he ever would think about something as scary as that. But right at this moment that was exactly what he wanted. Death. He wanted to die. He wanted to be the one that got buried and not his brother. His brother that always suffered and was left alone. Ace. Sabo couldn´t bear looking at his face and turned his head to the side and closed his eyes. You didn´t deserve to die. Slow steps lead him to his closet which he opened with trembling hands. Left glove and then the right glove was taken off and neatly put away. Breath in, breath out. That’s what the young man told himself over and over again while trying to not tell himself that he selfishly left his brothers behind just to set sail alone although they promised each other to do that together when they were 17. We promised.

How could he leave his brothers alone? How could he be so selfish, when they promised to stay together forever and always? Tears threaded to fall down his cheeks but he held them back with all his might, when he remembered what Ace once said. “Did you guys know?! We can become brothers when we exchange this cup of sake!” He clearly remembers his voice. The voice of his brother he betrayed. He clearly remembers his little brothers laugh and excited look in his eyes when he heard what was said. A soft sob left Sabo and he put a hand over his mouth to hold back more. He tightly closed his eyes and tried his best to fight the guilt and pain in chest that grew with every minute passing.

He remembers the letter he wrote them. How could he forget the promise he gave them. He remembers every word he wrote. He remembers the joy he felt while writing to his brother. “We brothers should become pirates one of these days! Then we can meet again somewhere out there. This ocean is vast and free. We´ll meet again someday!”

He lied to him and Luffy. I lied. I lied and broke the promise. I lied and broke his trust in me. I lied. If he only could turn back the time. If he only set sail a bit later. If he only waited a bit longer. If he only waited for his brothers. If he only were a bit stronger. Weak is what I am. A traitor is what I am. His clenched fists trembled and he started to focus on his breathing again with the hope to calm down. Slow steps were made towards his balcony while his now open eyes were glued to the floor. His light blue curtain hid the door to his balcony that held him back to open the door and breath in the fresh air of the night. The fabric was thin and allowed the light of the moon dimly enter his bedroom that was other than that dark. Sabo pushed the thin fabric aside and let the light the moon put over the world shine into his room. The moon that filled his room with a bright light seemed to be his only comfort since the day he started to remember again. The door in front of the young man was now open what allowed the soft wind enter his room.

Careful steps were put to reach thr balustrade. As if someone might hear him. As if he would wake up every person on the island if he was to loud. With his head lowly hanging he reached for the barrier that stopped him from walking. That stopped him from falling and dying. How could he die? Ace, the little boy that never turned his back to any fight. The little boy that had no fear when it came to fights between stronger and taller opponents. The little boy that turned down any wild animal back at home. The little boy that always hunted the biggest animals with a huge grin on his face. The memories of him and his brothers as kids put a soft small smile on his lips. The thought about them coming back home with new wounds and a bunch of new scratches made a small chuckle leave the boy while hot tears streaming down his cheeks. “Ace. I´m so sorry.”, said the now fully crying revolutionary. “I´m sorry for not being able to keep my promise and see you and our little brother.”

“All this time I could have seen you. All this time I could have spend so much time with you, without having to fear anything. We could have watched over Luffy together. Oh, Ace…”, his hands that were tightly holding onto the balustrade turned his knuckles white from the pressure. He wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy anything around him. He didn´t know how to deal with the loose and the knowledge of him being able to have him around if only he would have been stronger. His legs turned weak and couldn´t hold him anymore so he fell on his knees. What did I do, that life hated me so much. I only wanted to be free and be left in peace. Am I asking for to much? His hands that were lying flat on the balconies floor turned into fists. They turned into fists only to be smashed against the floor over and over again. “Why!? Why!? Why did you have to die?!”, his heart was aching and his mind was going crazy. He didn´t know how to deal with the pain. The pain hurt him more than any weapon could. It pained him more than any war could. If only he could stop remembering. If only he could get back the emptiness that he felt in his heart. He might have felt empty and sometimes even lost but at least it didn´t hurt him as much as remembering did. He didn´t wanted to remember. He wanted to forget. He wanted to forget so badly.

Sabo didn´t know what to do anymore. He needed to let go. He couldn´t hold his emotion in anymore. He was in the verge of breaking and losing control. So he simply let go and let his emotions take overhand. He let the pain spread all over his body and let sorrow take over his mind and soul. The blond man sat up and looked up to the sky and screamed. He screamed from the top of his lungs while more and more tears wetted his cheeks. “You said you´ll never die!! What made you break your promise! Is it because I was unfaithful?! How could you betray our little brother!? How could you betray yourself!!”

Sabo let pain take over his mind and soul. He let his guards down and allowed himself to drown in sorrow and regret. The calm and peaceful night with the most beautiful full moon was confronted by the helpless screams and sobs of the heartbroken male. He forgot where he was. He forgot who he was and allowed himself to get lost in the emptiness that was now filled by hatred, pain and sorrow. Every person in the hideout could hear him. They could hear his scream and feel his pain. They felt horrible for the young man that always had a beautiful smile on his lips. They wanted to help him and comfort him but sadly no one knew how to. So it came that they all silently listened to his screams filled by pain and loneliness. And absolutely no one ´t dare to close their eyes to fall asleep while he suffered.

It took the heartbroken man a while until he calmed down. It took more than just an hour for his tears to stop falling and wetting his cheeks. But eventually they stopped. Stopped only for the boy wishing he could cry more. If only I were stronger.

The clear night sky over the revolutionary´s hideout was slowly darkening while the moon that shined brighter than any other night got bit by bit covered by dark clouds. Sabo couldn´t cry anymore but he wished he could. He wished he could cry away the pain over the loose of his treasure he called brother from the bottom of his heart. But he couldn´t. The quiet night that was his only comfort seemed to understand him and his pain that lingered upon his chest so it cried for him. It cried for him and over his lose like a mother would cry over the pain of its child.

Rain wetted his clothes and the land he was standing on. His head that was lowly hanging on his body looked up at the sky and let his face get wetted by the rain. His face that not even awhile ago was wetted by his hot tears, got now wetted by the tears of the night sky. And for once he felt understood and embraced with genuine love and support.

With a soft small smile upon his lips that barely could be seen, he stood up and slowly made his way back to his bedroom. Sabo was rain drenched from head to toe but he didn´t mind at all. He felt numb and at the same time relived. His eyes were burning from the huge amount of tears he shed and needed to rest just like his entire body. He looked around his room until his gaze fell on his bed to which he headed to only to let himself fall on it and close his eyes with only one thought on his mind.

I will find Luffy.

[rpbetter]

I often see multis post that they want to make a new muse, at the same time as they're backed up on threads and asks, and they get their followers to "enable" them to make that muse in the post replies. What is your take on this? Is it a they-can-do-what-they-want situation, or is it reasonable to be annoyed when I see this? Or both?

Hey, Anon!

Both.

I mean, as usual, this is my opinion of an opinion-based matter. This isn't an equation that has an objectively right to wrong scale, it isn't actually hurting any living person or thing. But...it is incredibly annoying and can be hurtful.

They can totally do what they want, and much of the nature of genuine creativity is exactly that - the allowance of doing whatever you so desire. It's something I support rather adamantly, but it's also something I support trying our best to do responsibly and without being hurtful to anyone in a hobby that involves more than ourselves.

This isn't deciding to write another fic when you've not finished the previous four or five that others were interested in, or never finishing any of your original fiction, but continually starting new projects. While others might be enjoying those things as well, you didn't agree to interact with them. They're audience members, not participants.

When others are participants in a hobby that has to work both ways, it's different. Your actions do affect other, real human beings.

So, I totally feel like you've a right to be annoyed every time you see that happening. I do. I tend to unfollow people who do that repeatedly, as we're not pursuing the hobby in the same way. I'll argue all day that someone has a right to their, sometimes literally, eighty-plus muses they never develop or stick to, but that doesn't mean I want to engage with them as a writing partner.

For those of us who want long-term writing partners with the same, well-developed muses, this kind of thing just is annoying. As is everything else that comes with it.

As in...

They're constantly posting "talk me out of adding x" as code for "talk me into writing x."

No one actually wants to be talked out of it, which was probably more obvious to everyone else here than it was me for a little while lmao I tend to take things rather literally. This was, as one can imagine, not appreciated! Telling someone in total earnestness, "I really don't think that's a good choice. You're always saying how overwhelmed you are and just dropped multiple threads yesterday, so adding another muse is going to make you feel worse eventually. Don't do it! :)" is so not what they were looking for. As was evident by the return meltdown over how they could do what they wanted, like I said they couldn't or had any authority over what they're doing with their time.

It's an obnoxious bit of pandering for a foregone conclusion.

Have you ever seen anyone who posts that sort of thing not pick up that muse? I haven't. I've only seen muns who are legitimately on the fence about it asking others in private conversations or testing out the muse decide against it. The thing that makes this incredibly irritating is the attention-seeking and need to validate something they must know isn't a great choice, otherwise, they'd just do it. They're aware that they're behind on drafts, asks, and other things - aware that this is maybe a dick move when they owe everyone already. So, they're seeking "permission" with full knowledge that multiple mutuals are going to hop on that post with encouragement, even some of the ones being messed over by this choice.

It puts people in a bad situation.

Some of those people genuinely don't care, they just want to interact with any muse, and I'm going to be awful and say it - they don't care about totally interchangeable muses and have them themselves. That's fine, this isn't a problem for them. It is for the mutuals who are hoping that maybe if their writing partner gets into this new muse, they'll get a reply to their threads with that energy, or that they'll stick to this one and they can have consistent interactions with them. It is for the mutuals who feel pressured to respond positively because they fear not responding at all will make them seem like bad rpers.

One more thing playing into the counter logic excuse for shitty behavior of "it's just a hobby" is one more thing too many, and it does exactly that.

No one wants to be accused of being remotely too invested in RP anymore, of taking it too seriously, or having any emotional investment in muses, stories, or muns. Not accepting every choice someone makes that negatively impacts you with a grin on your face while you dump confetti on them for it just isn't a comfortable option for a lot of muns anymore. Honesty isn't a comfortable option. While the other option isn't either, it seems better than that mutual noticing you're the only writing partner who didn't hop onto that post with support any of the multiple times they reblogged it. It's only a hobby in which everyone can do what they want until what one wants clashes. Then, you're getting a callout for being addicted to RP.

And the way it tends to clash most is in having expectations of others. Ones that would be totally normal in any other hobby requiring interaction with other people.

Like not overburdening yourself at the expense not only of yourself but those on your "team." That's what is being done when someone knows they cannot keep up with themselves, but continues to add to the situation with new muses.

Not only are you no longer getting responses already while they're intending to add even more to their overflowing plate, you'll be dropped again when they have to "fresh start" their blog because they're burned out.

I have to put that in quotations because I don't know how it's a fresh start when you keep everything but the blog layout the same. All the muses and all the behaviors, including adding a new one despite not having the time or interest necessary to do so, is inevitably maintaining the problems that led to burnout. Dropping every thread, changing the URL, a new blog layout, new aesthetics, isn't fixing the issue even if it temporarily reinvigorates the mun.

The mun is definitely doing things that are not helpful to them, it's stressful and upsetting to experience burnout, but it's at least that mun's choice. Both to do it and to become defensive over fixing it, thus, never fixing it. It isn't anyone else's choice to be repeatedly dropped or ignored, though...unless they just keep sticking around for it.

Again, we're supposed to respect everyone's choices. That's fine when it really works that way, when it is truly everyone. But it's not an acceptable decision to see a multimuse of twenty or more muses and say that's your limit, that you've experienced too many muns who are serial muse-adders not being able to keep up with themselves, so you don't interact with these blogs. If one feels that way, they had better not put it in their rules or ever be upfront about this as a reason, when one is demanded, for not following back or interacting.

It's not acceptable to see a writing partner adding another muse after they've owed you for months, just wiped their inbox, and keep expressing being overwhelmed/behind and become annoyed. Let alone dropping them or explaining to them why you are doing so.

The only "acceptable" course of action is hoping that they totally forget you exist so you can quietly slip away.

I don't feel like that's especially fair or mature. It certainly isn't helping the communication problem we absolutely do have here in the RPC when only one party is allowed to communicate without fear of being labeled, rather ironically, as a bad RP partner.

While this problem seems to be most prevalent in more casual RPers, it's certainly not isolated there. I feel like it's necessary to say that I've had muns I both interacted with and were simply on my dash alike who were not on that more casual side who went from being multis to being muse collectors. Once they hit over fifteen of them or so, they stopped even bothering to try to refrain from picking up at least one muse from every new piece of media they consumed or were inspired by.

It was more annoying because they had been capable of writing truly unique characters they stuck to, and even if they were, with full and upfront admission before interaction, slower to respond, those responses were well worth any wait for the quality of writing and storytelling going on. That's so much worse than someone who was always at a lower skill level as a writer, didn't have a good grasp on characterization, and wasn't especially dedicated to anything. It's depressing and disappointing, but it's also not what you think you're getting into when trying to carefully pick who to write with. Like everyone else, my time to enjoy this hobby is far from twenty-four-seven as well. It's important to me to try to choose muns I'll work out with well so that neither of us is wasting the other's time. And that's what it feels like - the investment of time was a waste because their hobby became adding infinite muses, or rather, the idea of muses.

So, yes, while it is fully everyone's right to write what and how they want to (even if it amounts to not writing at all), it'd be nice if we were all as committed to doing so in a way that was adult enough to respect commitments we've made to each other as we are, as a RPC, to losing our minds when someone merely drops the words "commitments" or "respect."

For the inevitable muse-collectors running across this:

Fiction is inspiring! That doesn't mean you needn't be inspired by anything, just that picking up or creating a whole other muse might not be the best way to follow this inspiration.

If you're considering another muse, but you find yourself already behind and/or overwhelmed? Try one of these instead:

create a plot based on it! Write up the idea and put it in your wanted plots/wishlist tag. Bring it up to partners you think might be interested in it as well, or seek out a crossover from that fandom

make it a new verse for an existing muse! This is as close as you get to creating a new muse without actually doing so, and in many ways, it takes even more creativity. How is your muse different in this AU than they are in canon, how are they the same? In the ways that they are the same, what similar events but done in a way that is natural/logical to this universe have happened to maintain that? Get really creative!

for either/both of these, make some moodboards and aesthetics with that energy while you're waiting on someone to take you up on these new things. Answer some HC asks or tag games using your new verse, or write an independent HC for the verse or plot

talk to writing partners who already love that muse about their new verse/your desired plot! No, not pressuring talk, just normal conversation between friends, but maybe they will be interested in starting a thread

simply be inspired to include some aspect of what you liked in an existent thread. A particular scene you could pull ideas from, the overall mood of a film, or the way something was written in a book - include that in your replies somehow! RP is creative writing, be creative

There are so many, honestly more organic, directions to take inspiration than bluntly adding a new muse. Especially when you're already overburdened, not holding up your end of replies, and/or not able to portray each muse as their own character properly.

Sometimes, it's not just not a great idea to add a whole new muse, and that's alright. There seems to be a serious problem with fomo going on with this whole issue, too. You're not going to miss out if you do not immediately add this character to your multi, and you're never going to fully keep up with what is trending anyway. Do it because you still want to write this muse in four months instead, they're obviously not going anywhere if that's the case, and they'll be a better developed, interesting portrayal for that.

And people do have a right to be annoyed when they feel sidelined by you seeing a shiny object and repeatedly pandering for validation in dropping them for it. Particularly if you're a mun who, further, expects everyone to be just as interested in every new muse you make as the last. As in, you're annoyed when you keep creating muses no one is falling over themselves to interact with, guilting, shaming, or outright demanding that this new muse is interacted with before they have access to the previous ones.

They don't have a right to be mean you to, but they have a right to be annoyed and to drop you. They even have a right to politely decline explaining this to you if they feel unsafe, or to politely explain it to you before they move on.

Absolutely everyone's right to pursue RP and every facet of it as they so please, but no one else has to like what you're doing.

If this response grates on some of you out there? Consider the other options you have, how you might be making others feel, and that it's actually completely okay to tell yourself no. You won't perish if you tell yourself no to taking on a new muse when you, honestly, should not! It'll be okay! Maybe, you just need to evaluate if there is another muse, or more than one, you should remove before adding one. Maybe, you just need some time to reorganize how you reply before you add this one. "No" when told to yourself can simply mean "no, not right now, it isn't a good time/situation."

[jonah-aesthetic]

That One Pt.3 I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey

Plot: Jonah kidnaps the reader into showing her who he is. They’re something like friends as she faces the deal her dad gives her to change her career path. Ivette couldn’t be more supportive for her best friend. 

Word count: 5.6k

Author’s Note: Um this series is longer then I thought oh well I’m proud of it. I wish I put in more Jonah, but next part with hopefully have that as your relationship blossoms. Um I just realised Jonah is a pianist and not a guitarist I feel so dumb for making that mistake. Not edited.

Rating: 16+ 

One Two

---------

Days continued to past by like seasons, painfully slow. As if you were waiting for the October breeze in the middle of summer. Finals came and gone shedding you of dreading nights of studying, coffees with seven espresso shots, and long early 2000s playlists. You haven’t heard from Trey since the night of the party and you assumed weren’t going to hear from him again. 

You were still furious with Jonah, he had you in his bed and said nothing about it. He was probably use to having girls in his bed and didn’t bother making an excuse. Your heart grew fonder from him as the days went on as your brain’s resentment bloomed stronger. The great battle between the brain and the heart has begun. 

“You know you could come with us.” Ivette’s voice sliced through your thoughts. You both were curled into each other on your double bed in your one person dorm. A soft white fleece blanket cover in orange pumpkins engulfed the both of you, Bottles of pop scattered all around you as well as bags of candies and chips. The light was off as you both watch To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before for the tenth time this week. 

“To the gala?” You asked with an amused eyebrow. The gala in question was the annual auto auction for richest families in the city. This year it was a 1956 Breathtaking Chevrolet Corvette Convertible. Gorgeous metals, pristine cherry red paint, and an engine purred like nothing before. It was a car that you’d probably kill for.

“Yes, I know you hate them-” 

“I don’t hate them, I severely don’t like them. There’s a difference.”  

“There’s really not. Anyways it’d be fun if you came. You’d get to mingle with hot Richies and maybe take one home for the night.” Ivette made her voice as innocent as she could. Leaning more into your side with brown puppy dog eyes. 

“You’re going with Daniel I don’t want to crash the date and Julie thinks Jonah and I are together.” You sigh looking at your moving feet under the thin blanket. They poke out revealing your still healing wounds, starting yo close with nothing but tiny scars. Jonah was very precise with disinfecting them. Without him they would’ve been infected deeply right now. 

“Okay, it’s up to you.” Ivette didn’t push. She knew there was something going on between the two of you. Your best friend didn’t know exactly what but it was something, she didn’t tell you what to do wanting you to figure it out on your own. Sometimes you wish she’d push ans prod at you about it, but at the same time you were grateful for her. 

“I love you.” You say giving her a small smile, she returned the words and hugged you close to her. Your phone rang and buzzed on your night stand cutting the moment you were sharing with your best friend. You felt Ivette move as she reached for it,  confusion etch into her dark brows. “Who is it?” you ask.

“Its..It’s your dad.” You sat up at the information, shock running in your veins. “What.” You asked dubious, you grasp the phone into your hands not believing what she had said. Your dad’s name glowed at the top on the screen with the a blank picture. He didn’t deserve one. You glanced at Ivette, she shared the same expression you did. Then you answered it.

“Y/n How has the semester been going?” His voice was almost robotic. Of course the only thing he cared about was the family legacy that you didn’t want.

“Why are you calling me?” You ask coldly remembering  the last time you interacted with him. In your room throwing everyone of your paintings is a box telling you that this wasn’t a career path he wanted you on. He never saw the hours you spend on them, never cared to actually look at what you brought to live. 

He found a premed program and you were going to attend weather you wanted to or not. Of course he told you he didn’t want to see your life fade out and he was doing this because he cared about you. Your dad continued to put your life’s work into the attic with no further discussion. At that point you were mentally drain and didn’t fight him on it. 

“Look I know I haven’t been fair to you. I just..I didn’t want to see you sit there and do nothing with your life. I thought painting was a hobby not a passion, but I went up into the attic recently and saw them tucked into the corner. I was amazed at what you created with a brush and a little colour.” His voice had more expression in it. 

“What are you getting at? I was busy,” You say glance at Ivette sitting against the head bored observation written in her eyes. Chewing at her raw finger tips. 

“If you can sell one of your painting for two grand you can drop out. And I’ll put you through art school.” He sighed like he was already regretting his discussion. 

“Are you serious?” You asked not being about to control your excitement. He was giving you a chance even if it was just a sliver it was something. 

“Yes you’re miserable I know this because you haven’t said anything me for two years.” regret dripping in his voice.

“Two grand for one painting?” You asked as if you didn’t hear him word for word.

“Yes those are my conditions, don’t make me regret it.” The line goes dead and you stare at the wall flabbergasted still processing the information.    

-----------

I pressed his body against the wall with the all the strength I had. He could over power me with any wrong move I chose to make. The silver tip of my dagger tug into his throat, olive skin sizzled under the touch of it making the Alpha seethe at the pain you were inflicting on him. 

Do you think you can over power me little Omega the humour in his question was like venom

Where is Kaden I growled at him, the anger and fear raiding off me. 

I killed him, I couldn't have my precious mate fall in love with a pathetic human 

Without thinking you ran the dagger across his throat, the skin parting and burning at the touch of it. Red blood erupted from the cut, flowing down the blade and my hands. Shock was written in his eyes and a whimper left his lips. 

I loved you he accused as his blood choked out of his mouth and bubbled at the fresh cut on his throat. I never loved you it was a lie to get him back. I seethed at him, 

Ungrateful I gave you this kingdom. I ga-  the dagger found the way into his heart cutting off his wretched words. Warm blood splattered across my face and it felt like sweet sweet revenge upon him. I plunged the dagger deeper into his chest, feeling the way it pierced through his heart. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, body falling limp to the ground your grasp on him faltering. 

I felt the second he died, the breaking of the matting bond and the power of the alpha swarm into my body. Redemption w-his green eyes stalked onto me-wait that didn't happen!

The Presence of Him tore you from the beautiful universe of werewolves. Ink appeared on the pages of the book between your fingers again. Jonah leaned against a book shelve half covered by your book. You narrowed your eyes and glared at him. Sighing heavily you reluctantly put your book down, you were at a good part and wasn't exactly happy to be interrupted. 

“What do you want? I’m currently busy.” You Grumble at him from a bay window inside the library. The sky was reaching a midnight blue as the stars gleamed and sparkled. Lights inside didn’t shine as bright as the ones at Chocolate Shop, those ones were luminescent. Threading through Jonah’s curls and making them gorgeously lighter. His eyes were a bright green that seems to call your name-stop!

“Sorry to interrupt, must of been a good part from the expression you were making.” He says leaning against a book shelf watching you from your little nook. The leather jacket he wore circled his lean biceps flawlessly, He wore all black. His bruises before had faded and healed clean as the grey lion pendant dangled at his chest. 

“You did. But now that you’re hear might as well get on with it.” You say now wondering what expression you were making awhile reading. 

“Ivette didn’t tell you? Her phone must be dead.” Confusion was displayed on his sharp features. At the small mention of Ivette being in trouble you scrambled for your phone. Mind scattering on what could of possible happened to her when Daniel was on watch. Heart picking up speed as you found that the useless device in your hands was dead. 

“What happened to her?” You ask abruptly, getting to your feet and forgetting about your book. “Calm down, she’s fine. No limbs missing and all her blood is in tact.” Jonah says easing your raging mind. “Ivette’s tire pressure was too high, she ran over a massive rock and it exploded.” 

“Well what are you waiting for lets go.” You insist walking past him urgent to see if Ivette was truly okay. Sure Jonah said she was but you had to see for yourself. “Your book.” Jonah called over his shoulder, still in the same position watching you amazed. “Right my book.” You mumble to yourself as you go back and retrieved it on the velvet cushion. 

Jonah’s Jeep had the harsh contrast of Ivette’s Range, while hers smelled of cherries and light vanilla Jonah’s had smelled of sandalwood and cinnamon. The heavy aroma of a male was evident in the seat of the passenger seat. Radio hummed like that night of the party, Jonah’s fingers drummed to the beat. His rings clanking against the steering wheel and you wondered what they’s feel like dancing on your soft skin. What would his warm fingers feel like gripping your chin while he made you look into his green eyes. Stop. 

“What street was it on?” You asked still looking outside the passenger window. Head resting in your palm watching the trees pass on the highway. You wondered what happened to Ivette’s heels, because they weren’t sitting on the floor of Jonah’s vehicle anymore.

“I lied.” Jonah says coolly, your head snaps to him. “What do you mean you lied?” Your voice furious. “Ivette is at the fraternity watching Frozen 2 with Daniel and Zach.” His voice nonchalant as he kept his eyes on the road. 

“Stop this car Jonah or I swear I’ll jump out.” You threatened, your hand on the door knob. “You’re not go-” You unbuckle your seat belt, pulling the door open. The interior light beams on. His face falls watching you scoot closer to the door. The adrenaline from the rage you held for him blocked all rationality. The pavement races past the tire as the wind kissing your legs and cheeks, whipping through your hair with a wicked breeze . 

The Jeep swerves as he grabs your wrist yanking you back in the car.  The vehicle behind him honks as he swerves the Jeep again to reach across from you and slam the door shut. The silent anger on his stone cold face deflates yours. you finally got under his skin. You smile to yourself as you look out the window again. 

“Why would you think of doing something like that?” The roar of his voice made you flinch. You didn’t dare look at him knowing he was burning holes into the fabric of your shirt. That angry passion for your well being was attractive to say the least. 

“Honestly Jonah why do you care all of a sudden?” Your voice flat. If you acted like you had no feelings for him maybe you’d be able to trick your heart into thinking it was real. 

He said nothing as if he didn’t have an answer. But he had multiple and had no idea which one to pick. He didn’t and let the silence fill in. He glanced at you every ten minutes that passed, you could tell by the way the leather groaned at his movement. He drove forty-five minutes out of town just to show you the view of it on a massive cliff. 

He yanked the steering wheel all the way to the left taking a sharp left. With fast hands he spun it all the right and reversed to the edge of the cliff. You watched him with observant eyes as Jonah popped the trunk, unbuckling himself as he got out of the Jeep. Not saying a word to you as he crawled into the back. 

Why did he bring you here? why had he reacted the way he did when you were trying to hop out of the moving Jeep? Although you had to admit that it was a tad bit too much, even for Ivette. There wasn’t a clear answer for him. 

The open of the passenger door had you jumping out of your skin. Heart skipping a beat, confused you didn’t sense his presence reach you. Looking up at him with doe eyes, his complex soft in the moonlight. Not an ounce of anger in sight. 

“Come,” his voice gentle offering his right hand to you. The softness of him reminded you of how he took care of you that night at the ice cream shop. Cleaning your wounds and feeding you ice cream. Maybe that’s why your chose to place your hand in his. Warmth crawled up your forearm and stopped at your shoulder blade. His hand fit in yours like a puzzle piece like it was meant to be there. 

Silently Jonah guided you to the back of the Jeep, keeping you close to his body as he parked fairly close to the edge. You leaned into him closer once your foot kissed the edge and dirt flung off the cliff. Breath catching in your throat as your heart dropped in your stomach. “I got you.” Jonah whispered pulling you closer into his side. You looked up at him, all you saw was his jawline but you were beyond grateful he didn’t feed you to the cliff. 

Your fingers ached to gasp the back of his neck and pull him to your lips. He was making it harder each day to resist the urge of him. Warm hands wrapping on your hips had you gasping, digging into the fabric of your shirt he lifted you onto the back of his Jeep. Blankets coated the hard plastic floor of the Jeep making it more comfortable. 

The view of your city in the dead of night was breathtaking. Street light, traffic light and store light illuminated it. Like is had been the only star left in the sky. “Gorgeous isn’t it?” Jonah’s breath hits your neck and you now realised how close he was sitting next to you.

“What am I doing here, Jonah.” 

You turn your head to him, noses almost grazing each other. You’re meet with his eyes and a small sigh leaves your lips. The green was the exact colour of an oak tree leaf, small flecks of brown floated into his flawless swirls of green. You could spot each individual stand of his curls upon his forehead. Light stubble mingled onto his jawline reaching his cheeks vaguely. There was a faint scab on his eye from a previous wound you wouldn’t of spotted out if you weren’t  so close to him. 

Fuck. 

“I wanted to show you view of the city, stunning from the outside at a certain time. But if you reach inside you can spot all the flaws it has to offer and yet you’re still in love with it.” Jonah swallows harshly and you could see how his Adam’s apple bob. You finally pull your gaze away from him hearing your heart pound in your ears. 

“It’s the point of view you look at it. You could despise it from the pollution it causes and end up leaving. Or you could love it know it’s flaws and help take care of it.”  You spot Chocolate Shop close enough to see the glowing brown letters. 

“You only see the outskirts of me, I’m here to show you the inner point of view of thee Jonah Marais.” You turn to him again and raised your eyebrows at him amused.

“and who is Thee Jonah Marais.” You mocked him playfully. 

“I’m serious. Let me show you and you’ll find out along the way.” He shrugs his shoulders as in question towards you. 

You’re quiet looking at him searching for anything. Not green eyes looked to the side and there was no biting of the lip. Zero fidgeting and zero wavered octave in his voice. He wasn’t playing around like you thought he was.  If he was willingly to reach out, trick you, and make the effort to tell you then you��d let him with no resistance.

“Who is Jonah Marais?” You asked, 

He tells you the entire story of his life, every year of his life he could remember. How he was just a kid in his room going live on Younow to finding his the guys and starting a band with them. How it was a rocky begging with barely any gigs to being booked every weekend for six weeks at a time.To adopting Sawyer and moving out for college. Jonah held this rock star persona about him scared to let people in. You were so wrong about him and you felt like shit for it, maybe he’d forgive you for it. 

Now You were curled up into the corner of Jonah’s Jeep covered in blankets. The cold breeze of the night air getting to you. He strummed his acoustic guitar that he seemed to always have tucked into the back seat. Fingers changing against the strings making a beautiful melody. He sat at the edge of the Jeep letting his legs dangle off, his back to you as he hummed. 

I can’t even hide it 

I haven’t stop thinking about your lips

mm, your lips, yeah I losing my mind

It’s been too long, I’m missing your kiss

yeah, your kiss

Jonah’s voice is soft as it tangles with the stings of the instrument perfectly. Almost the same octaves of an angel, gentle and flawless. No scratch that a god the sound pulled you to him which felt slightly strange to you. Your body wanted to be by his side watching his fingers pick at the strings. Instead you nuzzled into the blankets further. 

you

you’ve been there through it all

you answered all my calls

you

I can’t believe I let you go

Beautiful, you let the thoughts of him flow freely. Not scolding yourself for thinking them. It was like you were meeting him for the first time, a side of Jonah you’ve never seen before. Even his vaguely muscular back was perfect, They were most likely sculpted by god himself if Jonah wasn’t already him.

Tears and slamming doors

I’m falling, now on the floor

Begging, begging please

you don’t want me no more.

A small innocent yawn passing your lips halted Jonah’s voice and finger picking. Looking back at you with a tired glance full of worry. Looking into his green pools you yawned again like a kitten and Jonah couldn’t help but swoon. Sleep was swarming your body and Jonah could tell by the dopey smile on your face. But all you wanted was him to start playing the guitar again. 

“Don’t fall asleep again you’ll end up in my bed again.” Jonah warns, 

That makes you stare at him blankly full attention on him, “How did I wake up in your bed again? ‘Cause all I remember is the ice cream and the lights were out after that.” 

He tells you, including the part where you woke up, Coddling Sawyer’s head in your lap. Throwing an old t-shirt at you in hopes you’ll change out of your dress. Prepping the couch for a hard’s night sleep.You wanting him to stay until you fell asleep, but not wanting to sleep. 

“Oh.” You look at the blanket not wanting to look at him. “I asked you to sleep in bed with me?” You voice so much softer then before. “Yes.” was his only response. You believed him, who would he lie about something so small. You’re upset with yourself that you let your feelings take the steering wheel. 

“Look you were intoxicated and half asleep, everybody wants someone when they’re like that. Don’t beat yourself up.” Jonah says scooting a little closer, placing his guitar down, tiny reassurance that it really was okay.

“Thank you.” You glance back up at him giving Jonah a delicate smile. He returns it, “Let’s get you home, the sun is rising.” he says offering you a hand. Just past his head you spot light blues and pinks blending in with the bright yellow of the sun. You spent the entire night with Jonah and you didn't even realise, Talking with him only felt like an hour, give or take. 

“I guess it is.” You say letting your hand slip into his. You flinch at the warmth it caused to bloom in your shoulder blades, you haven’t gotten use to it. 

---------

Ivette drove you to your parents house the next weekend. You needed to pick a painting to sell or at least put it up for bidding. Your car was still in the shop. It’s been months and you’re about to give up on it. But Ivette was gladly willing to drive you said it was a quick road trip. 

The attic’s floor creaked with every step you took searching for that breathtaking painting. You would see between to floorboards into the den and began to wonder if it was safe to be up here. “What about this one?” Ivette’s optimistic voice left you perplex. Glancing up you sighed staring the painting in the eyes. 

“No body in there right mind would pay two grand of a a faceless watercolour painting of Phcahontas.” 

“I would.” Ivette shrugs before putting the canvas back into the bin that said watercolour. You shake your head and laugh playfully. “That’s because you’re my best friend Ivette.” 

“Yes, and the painting your selling I’m buying.” 

“Um. No, you’re not...Ivette I swear if you buy this canvas. I won’t speak to you for a month.” You threaten digging through the landscape acrylic paint. 

“It’s only a month.” Ivette says pulling up a cafe picture done in all pencil crayon. You and you shake your head. 

“I’m serious. I have to do this on my own.” You say honestly, flicking through watercolour ocean life. Multiple bins were full of stories you created with your hands. Divided by the media you used to make them and the surface you made them on like canvas or card-stock. 

“Fine. What happens if you sell it for lets say five-hundred-thousand?” She asks her attention mainly on picking out art piece she thinks are worth it.  

“None of my paintings are worth that, but if and that’s a big if. Pay you back for all the things you gave me.” You say still digging and now realising they were sorted into years. Damn you painted anything you could think of. 

“No you’re not!” Ivette basically yells at you and your eyes widen in shock at the random out burst. 

“Okay you fucking psycho. I would get a vehicle. A used one that would run on four wheels just fine.” You say really thinking about it, that’s what you loved about Ivette she listened to you and never judge you for anything. 

“I think that’s a perfect stat.” She purred like that was the answer she was looking for. An hour whizzes by scavenging for the most likely candidate and goofing around with Ivette. Skipping directly over painting of your family you did, surprisingly there’s a lot. Like the one with your dad painted into the king of hell, or Ivette painted as a goddess. 

“I think I found it!” Ivette shouts so loud it causes the family dog to bark. Your face is blank as you stare at the canvas hanging from her finger tips. The second painting you had painted for spirit animal week back in high school. First you painted a doe. Your art teacher said it was un-gradable by how perfectly you captured yourself in it. 

That lion dangling from your best friend’s fingers was of Jonah’s spirit animal. You had a brief thing for him back then and if anyone saw it back then they’d know exactly who it was.  he always carried himself like the king. That school was his domain to say the least, not to mention he always wore the lion pendent around his neck. The same one he wears to this day. 

“That’s the one.” you say reluctantly. If you were going to sell an art piece for two thousand it’d be this one. You’ve spent hours on that one piece, it was your most dedicated painting as embarrassing as it was to admit. 

You took a few pictures of the painting before packing it into the trunk of Ivette’s Range. Posting it on a few website for bidding you hoped it go for the wanting price. Giving her a small nod Ivette started the hour drive back to campus with a coffee run.

------

The sun stretched through the massive window of Ivette’s gorgeous loft. Kissing the top on her glass table top. Notes and text books of your other classes spread along the glass leaving small gaps between. Nothing big was coming up but you liked refreshing your brain with the keyed information. This hack saved you from getting confused in your college courses, only god knows how perplexed in high school classes. 

Sure your dad gave you a sliver to dodge all of this but you weren’t going to relay on it. Of course you prayed to the sun and the moon that it would sell. And that’s why the painting sat in your dorm room waiting to rot. 

Taking a sip of your iced coffee you sighed in bliss, nothing like a well made coffee to chase the worry away. On the couch you could spot Ivette’s head tucked into Daniel’s shoulder. God they were so fucking cute. 

“What’s the colour scheme for the gala?” Daniel hummed into her forehead before planting a kiss there. “I was thinking somewhere between red and white?” It was a question, a chance to see what Daniel was okay with.

“I think red is amazing. Wine, ruby, burgundy, or blood?” He answered her with a question. She Beamed at it the knowledge for the colour. “Ruby.” She said before bringing her hands to jawline and pull him to her before kissing him. 

Your attention turning back on the notes in front of you. Ivette was undeniably happy with him and you wished she had the courage to stay with him this time. No matter what she says she deserves to finally be happy with him. 

“Y/n?” Your whips up and eyes connected with hers. “You should come, I know you said no already. But it’ll be fun. You’ll be my plus one since the Seavey’s are invited.” Her eyes softened and formed into her famous puppy dog eyes. Bottom lip rolling out into a pout, a pleading that worked for a good percentage of the time. 

“It’s in two days. I don’t have time to gather a worthy gown.” You resisted her charm. “I can make a quick call or two.” She practically begged you. 

Daniel glances at you with a mischievous ocean glint in his eyes. Flashes a smirk before leaning into Ivette, what was this one up to now? He’s always in the centre of Jonah’s treacherous plans. He whispers into her ear and a small wave of shock washed over her. She’s nodding before Daniel has a chance to pull away and agree to what he said to her. 

“Fine It’s up to you.” Ivette shrugs trying to brush of the fact Daniel whispered his evil plans in her ear. Which were differently about you if he had to whisper them to her. 

“Whatever you’re up to Seavey keep me out of it!” You narrow your eyes at him. Wide doe eyes Daniel begins to throw his hands up in surrender. Trying to seem innocent but failing miserably and looking suspiciously guilty. “I Wouldn’t speak of such crime.” 

He winks. 

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

You haven’t gotten wind of their devious plan for twenty-four hours,  you felt safe enough to say you were in the clear. You took a seat at your favourite coffee shop Golden Biscuit, the one Trey worked at. You asked about him and they had said he stopped working a week ago, the day of the party. which felt oddly suspicious. 

Trying to bury yourself back into the steamy werewolf romance your phone buzzed on the table top. Shaking the entirety of it yet you reluctantly reached for it. Ivette’s name flashed at the top “This better be life or death.” You mumble to yourself. 

“Where are you!?” You could hear the tears and desperation wrapping in her words. It was rare for Ivette to call you in hysterical breathes of cry. But you knew exactly what it sounded like a the first breath that left her lips. 

“Hey calm down. I’m at the coffee shop. What happened?” Your voice soft as your attention was on the situation at hand. 

“Bonnie sent me the wrong size! I need your help to fix it please!” You could hear her hiccup in her distressed striped voice. “Just take a breath, I’m assuming your in my dorm. Hold tight Ivette I’m on my way.” You soothe knowing how important these galas were to her. It was the one night a year where she could replenish her statues of a Richie and not feel guilty about it. 

“Okay, okay.” she says finally breathing through her nose. “I love you.” You say into the phone gathering your book into your bag and your coffee into your hand.”I love you too.” She replies back sounding less hysteric almost making you halt at the sudden change in her voice. You waved it off as a mind trick continuing to rushing out of Golden Biscuit and towards campus.  

Shouldering the door open you clatter to the floor of your dorm with an exaggerated oof. Chest tight and legs feeling like jelly as you pull yourself up, door wide open as your keys dangle from the knob. A few passing students pier in with wondering eyes. You huff before kicking the door shut closing it on anymore prying eyes. You’d remind yourself to fetch your keys later.

As soon as you collected your breath you saw no sign of Ivette and her hysterics. You rolled your eyes knowing she tricked your gullible little ass. Those theatre class we really paying off, Ivette really knew how to act and knew you’d come running in her signs of panic. 

A large crisp orange box sat a top your bed along side a black bag. Cautiously your hands reached for the gift bag pulling tissue paper out. Glancing inside you spot your silk green dress and Ivette’s heels. In your hand the dress condition was pristine as if it’s never been worn. Confusion your hands dart for the heels and you began to inspect them, not a single blood stain upon the velvet straps. Were these replaced?

Setting the thought aside you begin to open the box, a top white tissue paper was a clean envelope. Inside the wax seal was the Marais family crest, breaking it you fingers find a letter inside written in delicate swirling loops. 

A little birdie told me your dress size. Now forgive me for the colour there wasn’t much option in a day’s notice. Daniel and I will fetch the both of you at her house. By the way I took your green dress on a trip to the dry cleaners. 

- Jonah Marais

As soon as you think you’re in the clear it rolls into view. He didn’t give you a chance to say no, clever you didn’t think you could because the gala was tomorrow night. All Jonah brought was stress upon you and your perplexed feelings. But now you felt more friends then enemies but there was still the instinct to stay clear of him.

sighing you places the letter down and unwrap the tissue paper. A gorgeous sapphire ball gown with a sweet heart neckline sit inside. mesmerised by it’s workmanship you grasp it in your hands.  Silky texture nothing like your green dress,this was higher quality thick in fabric and softer. You wondered the price. It stayed a mystery because no tag dangled off the dress. Ivette most like told you about your fear of her expensive gift and removed it with his hands. God those hands plucking the strings of his guitar.

This wasn’t a reality it was written deep in some fantasy book you’ve read before. You were dreaming or you’re hallucinating, that’s the only explanation. It was a rare occasion you got the man and the gown, This shit was only in between the pages of fiction. 

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

Thank you so much for the people who have stuck with this series you’re god sent I swear. 

Which was your favourite part? Do you guys like the other elements of the story like the reader selling the painting and the Gala? or are you all about the romance?

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist:  @jonahlovescoffee​ @randomlimelightxxx​ @someinsanefangirl​ @evans-dejong​

[whumpiary]

#15 from this prompt list, requested by @mildly-distressed-bee-with-knees​. this spiralled into something entirely else so i very much hope you’re not disappointed!

(also a special mention to @ashintheairlikesnow who, upon me making a vague post about whether to make this spicy or plottish she responded with the galaxy brain concept of “both?????”. thank u!)

[content warnings: starvation/food and hunger talk, implied drugging, intimate whumper, and strong strong dubcon (fade-to-black). stay safe!]

-

“I’m so hungry”

“I know, darling boy, that’s by design”

Cassius almost gives up straight away at the dismissal. He doesn’t want to argue. He doesn’t want to fight. To be honest, all he really wants to do is bring his hand up to touch the sleeve of Christopher’s cotton pullover, see if it’s as soft as it looks. Christopher never dresses formally when he’s not entertaining. He doesn’t need to. But the fabric is pretty and still probably more expensive than anything Cassius has ever owned and it looks so so soft.

And then the empty aching in his belly sends another fit of dizzy through his head and even though he’s already sitting he steadies himself against the carpet with two flat hands and reminds himself what he’s meant to be doing. 

“I want something to eat,” he says through gritted teeth, begging his voice to sound demanding “Give me something to eat”

“Have another chocolate Cassius”

“Don’t want another fuckin’ cho-”

A hand grabs him fast by the jaw, squeezing either side of his slack jaw until his lips pucker like a fish, the inside of his cheeks biting into his teeth.

“Language,” Christopher says, lowering his face to be eye to eye with his charge. Cass scowls but lets his head be lifted as Christopher’s hand slides down, holding him softly by the chin. Cassius doesn’t push away the hand or pull back like he normally might. He’s dizzy. His limbs are heavy. His head’s full of fog and stardust.

“You said you were hungry,” Christopher says, his thumb tracing lightly down Cassius’ jaw, “Are you sure you wouldn’t like another chocolate?" 

There’s the sound of crepe paper fluttering against tin foil, and Cassius’ eyes slide down, trying to focus uselessly on the burgundy tin being offered towards him. The chocolates lie in a pretty spiral; individually wrapped, intricately patterned, glistening like stars in the soft light. Cassius lifts an absent hand, barely aware of how his fingers dance along the edge of the tin, as though coaxing a wine glass to sing. It would be so easy to just pick one up and out, unwrap the pretty golden foil and let it fall to the floor, lift it to his lips and… Christopher shakes the box again impatiently and Cassius jerks his hand back with a start. The rustling seems to meet his ears half a beat too late. He blinks as his mind comes back to him.

"Are they your chocolates or mine?” Cass asks, looking up to the man at the  desk.

“Does it matter?”

Cass tries for a glare but his eyes won’t focus on anything solid, the soft light blurring and crystallising in front of his eyes. He gives up, letting his eyes drift, instead. Across the stubbled jaw, a little too softened by age to be chiseled. Across greying blonde hair, just long enough to show a wave. Across hazel eyes, almost pretty, framed by crows feet and laugh lines. Was Christopher attractive once, maybe? When he was younger? Is he still? Cassius can’t see it anymore. He can’t remember if he ever could. 

“Yes or no, Cassius?” Christopher prompts, voice hard with impatience.

“I want dinner”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘No thank you, Christopher’”

“The words I’m looking for you banned last week”

The older man sighs deeply, seemingly exasperated, and puts the lid back in place with a hard snap, “Fine”

Cassius regrets saying no as soon as the chocolates are out of sight. His stomach lurches again, clenching around the nothing it keeps ruthlessly trying to digest. He leans his head against the leg of the desk as a fresh wave of dizziness hits him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. His head aches,  just a little, a constant pressure across the front and down the sides of his neck. He probably needs water too. But the whiskey from earlier quenched him enough that he doesn’t feel thirsty anymore. 

“I want dinner,” he repeats. Christopher’s hand slams down flat on the desk, enough to make his glass jump, landing with a little small tink. It’s a warning. A… firm suggestion.

“Enough, Cassius,” Christopher says, voice quiet, carefully level “You are in my house, and you will eat when I say you can eat”

“I just want food. I’m so hungry I can’t even think”

“Why don’t you ask me nicely, Cassius? Maybe I’ll change my mind”

Cass almost growls, almost bares his teeth like an animal and launches himself at Christopher’s face. Instead he clenches his jaw, listening to his own teeth grind together. He hates when Christopher does this. He hates having to perform like a show dog. But if it’s the line Christopher’s told him to toe. If it’s the trick that will earn him food…

“Cʜʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜᴇʀ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜi-" 

"Uh, uh, uh. Careful. There are a lot of somethings in this room I could give you to eat,” he says, turning away from his work to look down at the boy on the floor next to him "All sorts of horrible, sickness inducing things. I’m sure that’s not you’re asking for”

“Cʜʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜᴇʀ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ sᴏᴍᴇ ғᴏᴏ-”

“Are you certain that’s what you want?” he says, cupping Cassius’ chin in his hand again “The only food I have here is in that tin”

He wraps his knuckles on the ornate lid of the chocolate box. A sharp double tap. And Cass does growl then, does bare his teeth, tearing his head out of Christopher’s grip. He sits up on his knees and for a moment he doesn’t feel the nausea from the movement or the weight of the fog in his head as he fights.

“Why won’t you feed me?”

“Why won’t you ask me nicely?”

“I’ve been nice”

Christopher smiles, eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. He pushes out from the desk and leans back in his chair.

“Have you?” he asks, voice playful and teasing.

Even through the fog in his head, and the weight of his bones, and the sparkling of the light behind Christopher’s head that keeps dragging at his attention, Cassius feels a horrifying thrill surge through him at the shift of the energy in the room.

This was Christopher’s favourite new game, Cassius had realised over the last few weeks. Finding a particularly enticing opportunity for something interesting to happen and then clearing the stage so he could watch the events unfold. No direction. No orders. Just interest in what Cassius will do. Like opening your front door nice and wide, just to see if your guest will walk through the threshold without needing to be invited in. 

Cassius knows the rules of this game. He knows how to win this game. 

He props himself up, unsteady but upright, and reaches forward, a hand on either one of Christopher’s knees. Easy smile.

“I could always be nicer,” he says, voice low, looking up through his lashes. He lets his hands curl just enough around Christopher’s thighs, running up towards the belt of his jeans and then back. “If that’s what you want”

Christopher tilts his head back, keeping eye contact, parting his lips in a little sigh. Open the door. Extended invite. See how far the guest will walk past the threshold.

“You tell me, Cassius. Is that what I want?”

Cassius pulls himself up, taking advantage of the way the dizziness tilts him forward until he’s sitting on the Christopher’s lap in a lazy straddle. This kind of want is one of the easiest to feel. Base. Simple. Uncomplicated and animal. Even through the fog in Cassius’ head, continuously tilting the world off its axis, it is so so easy. Like sliding a key into its corresponding lock. He loops his arms around the older man’s neck, his face splitting in a relaxed grin as he finds the threads of Christopher’s wants, pulsing like the bass notes of a song, tangling with his own.

Darling boy- just move in to the- hope he does that thing with his tong- so hungr- when the left- darling darling boy- food give me food give me food give me- fucking delicious

Cassius plants a kiss on the corner of Christopher’s jaw. The mess in his head feels less like fog and more like a cloud he can ride higher and higher.

“I think you want it very much, sir” he sats, lips grazing against the older man’s jaw as he drops his voice low. Christopher tuts his tongue, his hands tensing along the small of Cassius’ back. 

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that”

“But you like what I do to you when I call you that,” Cass murmurs, letting his teeth find Christopher’s earlobe, letting his hips roll closer still. The older man lets out a low hum of agreement and Cassius laughs, nuzzling into the vibrations of his throat. Christopher’s hands find his waist, his thumbs lifting his shirt just slightly, running light little lines over his skin. Cassius keens at the touch and Christopher lets out a soft chuckle.

“You enjoy this too much, darling boy”

Cassius’ breath only hitches for a fraction of a moment. His hands don’t falter at all. He leans in, pressing soft lips to Christopher’s and letting a low groan fall into his mouth. Cassius does enjoy this. He has to enjoy it. It’s safer to enjoy it. Easier. There’s no space for shame or guilt or fear or questioning when he enjoys it. Just focus and pleasure and want. He’s not going to let it anything else in now.

“I still might not feed you,” the older man murmurs against his skin “You understand that, don’t you?”

Cassius smiles leaning his head back as Christopher’s hands run up to wrap carefully around his throat. He sinks into Christopher – into his body and into his thoughts – like this is the only thing he could want in the world. Not food. Not rest. Not freedom. And falling back into the fog, back into the echo of Christopher’s wants pressing into his head, back into that space in Cassius’ mind where survival locks in and takes over, that’s almost true. 

“And you haven’t even mentioned Chook”

Cassius tries to pretend the skip of his heart, the flip of his stomach is just arousal, just excitement. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” Christopher says, his thumbs running over the younger man’s Adam’s apple “I’d say you’re starting to like this”

Cass closes his eyes, breathing into the tension of the hands at his throat. It doesn’t matter. None of it fucking matters. He lets the fog wrap around him, lets Christopher’s wants flood him so much they may as well be his own. 

So good when he- intoxicati- darling b- that throat is made for-

"Cʜʀɪsᴛᴏᴘʜᴇʀ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ”

Christopher groans low in his throat as his hands drift down Cassius’ chest, mindlessly reaching for the box beside him. He runs his mouth against the length of Cassius’ throat as he unwraps the sweet for him.

“God I love it when you do that”

[chucklegigglechortlesnort]

Anonymous said: Woooo can i request sero saving a girl from distress using his quirk

A/N: Yes, yes, one billion times yes I love sero so much he deserves the universe.

P. S. I’m not too confident in my scenario writing skills, to be honest, so I apologize in advance if things seem a little choppy or all over the place. None-the-less I hope you enjoy!

[Warning: Strong Language]

You were always careful.

You never took risks or chances or threw yourself into dangerous situations.

At least not until now.

You couldn’t really remember how you got into this predicament, in fact, you couldn’t think of much at all - your brain was quite cloudy at the moment. The only things you could register was the pressure on your larynx and the breeze at your back as you dangled over the half decimated edge of your former office building.

The only reason you were in the building today was to pick up your last paycheck before being transferred to a different branch downtown. So why, of all days, did this have to happen.

You were all that was left of the citizens in the building, the only other people with you as far as you knew were the man with your life in his hands and the hero trying his best to negotiate with him for your sake.

“I said don’t fucking move, scumbag! One more step and down she goes!”

Despite the threat of imminent death, you barely felt any fear at all, most likely due to shock or at least the lack of blood flow to your brain. Your vision and hearing grew fuzzy and you could barely make out the hero’s response. Soon you grew drowsy and your body limp - the last thing you felt before you blacked out was the sensation of wind rushing at your back.

. . . . .

If he had arrived a second later he probably wouldn’t have saved you.

Actually, he definitely wouldn’t have saved you. You were no more than thirty feet from the ground when Sero - ahem - Cellophane swooped in and caught you midair. He was doing his daily patrol when he got requested for backup a few blocks down from where he was stationed, reports of a villain using his quirk to hold an office full of people hostage.

Once he was positioned safely on the ground, he detached himself from the length of tape that still connected him to the building and slid the arm that wasn’t around your waist underneath your legs. With the weight of your head on his shoulder and the fashion in which he was carrying you, Sero couldn’t help but think that the action felt more intimate than it actually was. Shaking the thoughts off, he hastily made his way over to one of the emergency vehicles that were waiting off to the side to treat injured civilians.

. . . . .

Your eyes drowsily crack open, the rest of your body slowly registering the fact that you were no longer falling, but swaying back and forth. The first thing you see are blurs of black, white, and yellow - and as your eyes focus in, tightly weaved threads slowly become clearer to your adjusting vision.

Screaming sirens replace the ringing in your ears as your eyes shift to observe the debris scattered around the base of what was now your former office building. Foggy images of what had transpired in the past half hour drifted in and out of your brain as you pieced together the situation. 

If you were on the ground now... then you must’ve been falling before, which means that...

Your eyes shifted back to the black and yellow cloth, or rather, the person dressed in them and you groggily made out a black, vizor-like helmet with yellow accents that matched the yellow on the suit. It seemed oddly familiar to you somehow, but your brain was too cloudy to make any connections at the moment, so you shut your eyes and focused on breathing.

. . . . .

Despite the urgency of the situation at hand, Sero glanced down at where your head lay on his shoulder - as comfortable as if it were meant to be there - and thanked his lucky stars that he was able to get to you in time. As soon as he was able to pass you off to the paramedics, he used his tape to pull himself up the building level where the conflict was proceeding. However, without a hostage to use as leverage, as well as Sero’s surprise entrance, the villain was soon apprehended.

As the villain was loaded into the back of an armored truck, he glanced over to where he had left you in the hands of the paramedics. You had a blanket tightly wrapped around your shoulders as the paramedics checked your vitals to make sure that there was no serious damage. He nearly froze in place when you turned your gaze to meet his, at least that’s what it felt like, but he doubted that was the case.

Sero reached up to rub the back of his neck, glancing back at the officers behind the truck. Since it wasn’t within his patrol borders, he didn’t have to give any sort of report, and as of five minutes ago he was officially off duty so... all he had left to do was report back to his agency. But for some reason, it felt wrong to just leave without doing something.

“Pro hero Cellophane?”

Sero’s attention quickly shifted at the mention of his hero name to see an officer walking toward him with purpose.

“You’re aware that you’re not under any obligation to remain here, correct?”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” He clarifies, an idea suddenly striking him, “Could you tell me by any chance what the situation was like before I got here?”

“No, I’m not technically under any obligation to do so,” the officer responded. Sero felt something drop in his stomach until they quickly picked back up, “However, to put it briefly, the culprit was trying to gather classified information using those present at the time as hostages. The explosions were caused by what we assume to be some sort of telepathic quirk that allows the user to manipulate technology. In any case, according to the civilians involved, there would’ve been far more casualties if it weren’t for the quick thinking on the behalf of a young woman whose actions allowed for people to get out of the way in time.”

“Quick thinking how?” Sero asked, quirking an eyebrow.

The officer sighs, scratching their head, “We’re not exactly sure, really, all we have to go off of right now is what the others involved have confessed to seeing.”

“And this young woman is?”

“I believe it’s the lady sitting in the back of the emergency vehicle over there.” Sero watched as the officer tilted their head back, gesturing directly to where you were located, sitting in the back of an open ambulance.

Satisfied with the information he was given, Sero thanked the cop and started toward the ambulance.

. . . . .

Although the paramedic had checked your vitals and assured that you were okay, you still felt unease growing at the pit of your stomach. They had asked you to stay put so that they could find you some non-prescription pain medication and water and it had been quite some time since they left.

You sigh, wanting nothing more than to return home and curl up in the safety of your bed - as childish as that might’ve been.

Your ear twitches at the sound of approaching footsteps and you turn toward it, expecting the paramedic. However, you were taken by surprise when instead of the paramedic, you saw... a pro-hero?

He stood a few feet away, his helmet off and to the side beneath his arm with a friendly smile on his face.

“I’m sorry if this seems strange, but I thought that I’d check to make sure you were okay. You... took quite the fall.”

His nonchalance and easy going nature took you by surprise and you found yourself letting out a small laugh this, shocking yourself further.

“Yeah well, thanks to you I survived that fall relatively unscathed.” You responded, absentmindedly pressing cool fingers against the fresh bruises blooming on your neck.

You weren’t quite sure why, but only seconds after you said the words aloud, something tightened in your chest and an indescribable feeling washed over you. It was like the reality of everything that had happened in the past hour hit you all at once - along with the overwhelming urge to cry. 

Despite your best efforts to keep any tears at bay, your lip began to quiver, your eyes sting and vision blur. It was impossible to stop your body from shaking and every breath you took was a choked sob. Shame crept up on you, masked by your tears but still ever-present although you knew somewhere deep down that you had every right to feel the way you did.

Knowing this, you still forced out a pathetic “S-sorry” between hiccups.

For a brief spell of silence, the only sounds you heard were the sirens off in the distance as well as your quieting sobs.

“Why are you apologizing?”

Forcing yourself to take deep breaths despite the tightness in your chest, you manage to find what seems like the right words.

You sniffle, “It’s just that I... I’m not usually like this.”

“Well... Do you usually find yourself in these kinds of situations?”

“No, but-”

“Then you don’t need to apologize.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you carefully as you take the time to contemplate what you're going to say next. 

Suddenly, it hits you.

You look him right in the eyes - newfound conviction in yours.

“Then... Thank you.”

He seemed taken aback by this, which confused you. Shouldn’t he be used to this? He’s a hero, so he saves people all the time right? So that must mean he gets thanked all the time as well. Not only that, it might have been your imagination or just the way the light was hitting his face, but you could just barely make out a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

However, he was quick to cover it up with a bright, genuine smile and a - most likely - well-rehearsed line.

“No thanks necessary Miss, it’s all part of the profession.”

[jungblue]

splinter (m)

» pairing: jungkook x reader

» genre: angst, non-explicit smut / college au

» word count: 6,518

» description: Perhaps in their last moments together, the pieces won’t seem so broken. That maybe even with their jaded hearts they can salvage some replica of what it all once was. 

» note: there are mentions of cheating in this story

People love to talk about the ‘what ifs.’

What if they had just kept going, what if they had chosen a different path, what if things had just gone the way they had so desperately wanted them to? Humans torture themselves with these thoughts, all while urgently grappling at the threads of their memories that led to the fork in the road where things went awry. They ponder them tirelessly, wondering if they could’ve done something different, only to realize in the end that it didn’t matter because what was done was done. It was that simple, yet again, people still loved to talk, ponder, and torture themselves with the possibility of what if — However, in your personal experience, there was something much worse.

There was a sub-group of sorts to the what-ifs, called the ‘almosts.’ Almosts are burning flames of misery because they tease you by getting so heartbreakingly close to what you wanted. They were in your reach, resting on the tip of your tongue, only to dissipate before you could swallow it down and make it yours.

So yeah, you weren’t a fan of the-almosts. But what you were even less keen on was being in the same room as your almost, the thread of memories making the air thick as it wrapped its way around your throat.

Because perhaps buried deep within the thumping bass, spilled liquor, and dimmed lights of every college party, you might just be able to find yourself a love story… Of course, it might not be perfect, far from perfect actually, but really what love story ever is? However, at that age, or more specifically at that time in someone’s life, mistakes seem to be abundant. The factors are endless, so plentiful in fact that they pile on top of one another until this supposed love story — splinters.  

The fragments lay in a million pieces, each one telling their own little story of how it all ended.

Laid strewn at the forefront of that pile of broken pieces was the shard branded hormones. Those vibrant sensations that make your vision go blurry and judgment turn haywire. Those pesky little things that when mixed with alcohol make you forget all about that guy or girl you’re really into… That guy or girl that you’ve been dating for three months — that guy or girl that deserved way better than a fresh out of high school kid that didn’t know how to handle their fireball mixed with an empty bedroom upstairs at a party.  

Next is that gleaming shard of freedom. It burns bright. The second you step foot onto that college campus miles upon miles away from people telling you what to do, how to act, or where to stay, your tolerance for limitations shifts. Being held down to any given place, any given idea, or any given person, it causes a flight response. The body wanting to maintain its newfound freedom, relieving itself of the hindrance to their fresh independence. Plus, having the ability to run from your problems without a choir to comment isn’t exactly helpful either. So combine all of that, and maybe it results in some runaway act of studying abroad for a semester to convolute the feelings of guilt and love with culture shock and ample amounts of bodies… Yeah, that definitely puts a pause on things.  

Another piece laying sound in the graveyard is that dingy, jagged shard reflecting the uncertainty of the future. That constant pressure that bombards you saying: if you haven’t made a dent in the path towards your goal by the time you’re twenty-five then you’re falling behind. This reality (even if it is false) sets in maybe three years down the line. Tailgating loses its taste, the library becomes your home even more so than it had been before, and your time for connections and relationships downsizes to the point of not even trying… Not even trying when that guy or girl is really making an attempt to reconcile with you, and even though your heart wants it, your millennial mind says there’s no time for that now, at least nothing serious — maybe after medical school, because somewhere along the line our lives turned into planning how much fun our lives will be once X, Y, and Z happens some odd years down the road.

It’s these, along with many other fragments, that lay in a messy array around the relationship. Some are tiny and seemingly insignificant pieces, however once the micro aggressions start to build, they inevitably become one larger section of the puzzle. Some of the remains are large and shiny, others dirty and defiled. It’s all a shattered mess of emotions and incidents, but if you can somehow manage to pick up the pieces and realign the edges, then just maybe you can still see the beauty in what it all once was.

— Or at the very least, that was what seemed to be happening in the back corner of that one college party with thumping bass, spilled liquor, and dimmed lights, where imperfect love stories sometimes go to simmer or just maybe rekindle.

He was posted over your body, drinks in hand as you both tentatively sipped at the poison. Jungle juice flowed comfortably in your veins until in the slight halo, the two of you could see the shadows of what you once were four years ago when you had first met in the backyard of (again) some college party from freshman year. And maybe if you both squinted, you could try and pretend like you weren’t able to see the wear and tear that all of the lying, cheating, running, and just plain fuckery the fruits of your immature years had done to one another.  

“But really, how’ve you been?” He asked a few minutes into the conversation, biting nervously at the rim of his plastic cup.

He was biting nervously because what he really wanted to ask was something along the lines of: How have you been since I told you I still loved you eight months ago and you shut me down because even though you did want to be with me again, you also apparently got a B and C in anatomy and microbio while we were going through our shit, and that was I guess a disastrous blow to your ten year plan?

“I’ve… I’ve been,” You settled on with a fake laugh of sorts because even the false oasis of alcohol couldn’t seem to wash your worries away completely.

It was a fake laugh of sorts because what you really wanted to say was something along the lines of: I’ve been pretty shit and unhappy since I told you I couldn’t get back together with you eight months ago even though I was still really in love with you, and even though honestly I shouldn’t have been after everything we’ve fucked up on.

Jungkook simply snorted in response. “Same.”

“It really has been a while though. Haven’t really seen you out — well I haven’t really been out, so that’s probably why.”

The past few months had been some of the most stressful of your entire life. No time for fun or distractions, which was the reason for your cop out of an excuse to Jungkook back then: It’s just not good timing for us right now. Or just in general, you would now add after having months to sleep on the conversation.

“No, I haven’t really been going out lately either. Just in a mood, y’know?” He shrugged, sipping his drink to hide the downward turn of his lips.

“Jeon Jungkook, moody? Never would’ve guessed,” You teased from behind your cup to try and lighten the tension, with a glint in your eye, giving the go ahead for the atmosphere to shift. You smiled, he followed, removing his arms from across his chest to show that his guard was lowering, even if only slightly.

“Okay, I admit I can be a bit moody.”

“A bit?” You scoffed playfully. “You sulked for literally an entire week when I accidentally broke your charger that one time, remember?”

“Listen,” He grinned, shifting positions of leaning in slightly more to combat the noise of the party. “I had that charger for like three years, and it had all of these iron man stickers on it from my high school girlfriend. The sentimental value of that charger was top fucking notch.”

“Oh my god,” You chuckled, batting at his chest. “Want me to get you a new one then, so one day when your wife accidentally breaks it you can be sulky and say your college girlfriend gave it to you? Go all sentimental on her ass too.”

“I know you’re mocking me, but yes actually, I would very much like that,” He admitted.

“So I can start you on your way to a freaky ex-girlfriend iron man phone charger collection? I think I’ll have to pass. Guess you’ll just have to find another way to remember me by once the years start to fade that pretty memory of yours.” You tapped playfully at his temple.

Jungkook paused for a moment, a small one, but a pause nonetheless. His tongue running quickly over his teeth as if to give himself a moment to think about whether he should say the words already curling in his lungs — In the end, with the help of light traces of alcohol, the nearing future of more than likely never seeing each other again, and the remaining drops of love flowing through his veins for you, he decided to just go for it.

“Trust me, I’m not gonna need anything extra to remember you by. You’ve made it really easy all on your own.”

You faltered for a moment, that sudden lurch in your chest sending signals to every inch of your body to remind you of just how easy it’s always been to fall back into things with Jungkook. Not sure of how exactly to respond, you laughed, dropping your head slightly as you tapped nervously at your cup.

“Moody sentimentalist meets flirt. It’s quite a trifecta.”

Now you were trying to act stoic, to not let those fuzzy feelings worm their way into the forefront of this conversation that you probably shouldn’t even be having in the first place. You knew better than anyone that all it took was a few slick words or a certain glint from those shiny doe eyes, and your heart would bleed rivers for him. Already, after maybe ten short minutes of simple, light-hearted conversation, you wanted to bask in his entire being. The deprivation of not seeing him for so long, making the relapse all the more tempting.

Jungkook picked up on the change. The slight waver in body language, the tightness of your words, and the nervous tick as you played with the ends of your hair. But your eyes were still staring back at him. They were the same eyes that stared back at him when he’d first met you all of those years ago, making him want to grasp onto anything to remind him of how simple things were in those first few months of meeting one another.

It was late fall and you were shivering outside of this house party that you both managed to end up at. He told you back then that if you stood by this tall ledge of bricks that it would block the wind — Jungkook himself happened to be standing by that particular ledge of bricks. You joined him, and after that things escalated more quickly than either of you intended it to.

Of course, that was a long time ago, but it was the shard of glass in the mirror that started this entire thing, and so he can only reflect on it fondly, even if heavy amounts of pain followed because of it. It was for this reason that even though Jungkook knew he should swallow his words down, save himself from tasting what it was like to be with you once more… But in the end, he just couldn’t.

“Well, I’m a moody sentimentalist meets flirt that’s still really in love with you,” He shrugged. “It’s just in my nature, so what can I do when you’re right here in front of me and moving away soon?”

He shrugged — fucking shrugged as if he’d just told you that he didn’t know which way the goddamn bathroom was, not that he was still in love with you.

He regretted saying it for all of three seconds. He knew that maybe it wasn’t exactly fair to tell you so bluntly when the two of you were having such a casual conversation, and when the most you’ve interacted in the last eight months was through a few simple snaps. But you were moving hundreds of miles away next week to get settled into your new city before you had to drown yourself in medical school. And he only knew that much because of the picture you posted on your story a few days ago. Other than that, if not for the coincidence of showing up at the same party… He might’ve never seen you again. So maybe that thought alone had his judgment turning a bit cloudy.

However, you weren’t even surprised to hear the words as they rolled past his teeth.  Instead, you simply ran your tongue against the inside of your cheek, a breathy sigh escaping your throat in defeat as you reached out between the small space separating your bodies. Your fingers picked lightly at the fabric of Jungkook’s t-shirt, gingerly pressing against the muscle that hid beneath.  

Your eyes flitted upward, apprehension seeping into your lungs. “Why?”

“Why?” He asked. “Do you mean why do I love you, or why am I a moody, flirty, sentimental… Whatever? Because honestly, they’re both pretty simple. It just… Is.”

His nervous laughter followed. Immediately its vibrations traveled between the particles of dust in the air and straight into your bloodstream, where it festered and grew in a matter of seconds, every part of you wanting to relive the experience of simply being with him — even if it was only one more time.

You sighed deeply, so completely aware of the fact that you shouldn’t do this, but deciding against it anyway. “Come on,” You whispered in defeat, dropping your hand to interlock with his.

Jungkook smiled, knowing all too well that this ending was inevitable whenever the two of you were together. “Any place in mind?” He asked.                                                                                                                                                            

You weaved yourselves around the masses of bodies, familiar faces of friends giving the two of you knowing looks as you made your way through the front door together. “Some place where you can be moody, flirty, sentimental, or whatever the hell else, with your hands all over me.”

--

In the end that place turned out to be lying flat against Jungkook’s bed, his head buried between your legs, the dig of his fingers steadying the quiver of your thighs.

“Fuck, fuck — ahh. R-right there,” You rasped, your heels pressing harshly into his back, willing him to stay in place.

“Feel good?” He murmured between timely strokes of his tongue.

“Yes, so good. Please keep going.”

It had only been a couple of minutes and you already sounded fucking wrecked. Your voice echoed across the walls as your hands gripped at the sheets, Jungkook finding that perfect spot and pace that he seemingly only knew how to entertain.

Jungkook however had to ruin the moment, because again you were leaving, and so he just couldn’t help himself from asking that burning question that he knew had no correct answer, and was simply his hurt ego coming out to play.

“Better than that dude you cheated on me with freshman year? What was his name? Yoongi or some shit?”

The familiar and bitter hostility rang in his voice, pausing his movements between your thighs as he glanced up at you, arousal dripping down his lips.

“Please, not this again.” You sighed, glancing down as he stared up at you through eyes mixed with the lust of the moment and the hurt of the past. “It was three and a half years ago. I’ve apologized so many fucking times. Trust me, I regret it. I regret it so much.”

Jungkook’s lips tilted into a somber sideways frown. His eyes darted away as he tried to forget the memory, the betrayal, those words that his friend whispered to him the next day saying: “Hey… I was at this party last night, and I saw Y/N go upstairs with some guy. You might wanna ask her about it.”

His head fell in defeat against your hip, a heavy breath scattering across the skin. The skin that he wished he could’ve caressed and held more than he had actually been able to in the past four years of knowing you.

Seeing the sudden change in Jungkook felt like a punch to your gut. It was your fault he was like this. You and your stupid goddamn hormones. A green college kid that thought in the midst of a comfortable buzz that you shouldn’t be tied down the second you finally get your freedom. You were a selfish idiot that, back then, just wasn’t aware of the world and how much such a small action can hurt someone for so long.

“C’mere,” You whispered, pulling at his arm until he was laying over you, eyes glassy with way too many emotions to even process.

“Look… I didn’t mean to make this awkward.” He bit at his bottom lip, tugging at his hair to try and distract himself from what he was actually saying. “I really wanted to just be with you one last time before you left. In any way that you’d let me. But it’s just hitting me that you’re really leaving, and everything is just flooding back, and I’m not gonna lie, it hurts. It really fucking hurts.”

The words made your eyes sting. The reality so much more frightening when you realize what it all actually means.

“No, you’re fine. I get it,” You assured him as your thumb ran along the underside of his jaw in some small attempt to comfort him. Your memories running wild with so much guilt. “I really fucked us up didn’t I?”

“We both fucked up, Y/N. Sure, you did it first, but we both have done shit we regret.”

“Yeah, but I just can’t help but think that maybe if I hadn’t cheated on you, then none of that other stuff ever would’ve happened. That right now, instead of basically having a goodbye fuck, we’d be talking about how to make long distance work. It just really gets to me, that some stupid mistake when I was eighteen ruined something that really could’ve worked — something that really could’ve been great.” Your eyes watered but you quickly blinked the tears away. The sudden rush of anxiety and self-distaste concocting violently in your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook whispered softly. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.” His hand rubbed soothing circles along your thigh, the feelings of blame dulling slightly, but not by much. “Trust me, I think about that a lot too, but it was my choice, my fucked up decision to have that get-back-at-you, fucked up mentality once we got back together. I slept with that girl out of spite so you could feel the hurt, and that wasn’t right of me either. We were both stupid kids, so don’t blame everything on yourself.”

“But I really hurt y-you—” That first crack in your voice was quickly followed by the first tear, and you quickly wiped it away so you could get through this before you became an incoherent mess. “All of your relationships since ours haven’t worked out because of me. You don’t trust them, and all because I fucked up your ability to trust in the first place. I just…” You trailed off, your words becoming more broken by with each passing word.

“Fucking Jimin,” Jungkook cursed beneath his breath. “He’s been talking to you?”

You nodded, using the cuffs of your sleeves to dab at your eyes. “He’s just worried that you always seem to self-destruct your relationships. He said that you were dating this girl last year and that you seemed to really like her, but you cheated on her out of the blue. He thinks your trust issues are just really fucking up things that could be really good for you.” You bit down on the inside of your cheek, forcing down a sob. “And I just really think that’s my fault.”

“No, it’s okay.” He leaned forward, pressing a light kiss to the side of your jaw. “I admit, I’m more cynical about relationships now than I was before that entire thing with us happened, but I’m an adult. It’s all me. I hurt you, you hurt me, and I’ve hurt a lot of others trying to figure out how to get over that, but that’s all on me. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

At this point, the tears were pouring in waves. “God, why were we so stupid?” You asked as you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugging him forward. Both of you basking in this moment of finality that neither of you really wanted to acknowledge.

“Y’know, sometimes I think that maybe if I hadn’t gone to study abroad to literally fuck a semester away, that we might’ve been able to work everything out. That when I asked you to get back together with me last year, that maybe you would’ve said yes, because by then we would’ve talked more than a few drunk, passive aggressive texts to you saying how much fun I was having in Italy,” He paused, taking a moment to remember his immaturity. “You’re not the only one with regrets, seriously.”

You laughed, the sting and burn of that time still staining your throat with bile. “Oh yeah, don’t forget the snaps with the hordes of girls placed conveniently in the background.”

He dropped his head in shame, his hand blindingly searching to link up with yours. “I was a petty asshole, and I honestly never apologized for that, so I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I think we both didn’t deserve a lot of things, but maybe that made us grow or something.” You shrugged, tightening your grip on his hand.

“Did you hear that on some shitty relationships podcast?” Jungkook asked with a warm smile, remembering how much you used to love listening to those things.

You battled him playfully on the shoulder. “Okay, sure it’s cheesy, but I think it holds some weight. I mean, if we hadn’t gone through all that, I never would’ve understood how nothing is as black and white as it seems when you’re just imagining what you would do in a situation.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed a bit with curiosity. “Please, elaborate.”

“Like, I guess it’s easy for someone to think that they’d never stay with someone that cheated on them, or even actually cheat themselves when they’re sort of just picturing it in their heads. But once it actually happens, you learn that it’s not as easy to just end it. That you’ve invested all of these feelings into someone that you really did trust, and now you’re just supposed to end it all of a sudden? No questions or exceptions? I mean, sure for some that’s easy to do, but I think for most, they’ll take a second to even just consider that maybe it was a stupid mistake… Sort of like you did for me.”

You tried to form some semblance of a sad, thankful smile, but it quickly crumbled, more tears falling with it. Jungkook’s hand quickly coming to catch them.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. When I thought about the idea of someone cheating on me, I kind of just thought I’d say fuck her and move on. But I also sort of thought I’d have better judgment than to fall for someone that would cheat on me.”

That stung, but it was the truth.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” Your head dropped down, avoiding his glances.  

“But,” He started, pulling your chin to face him again. “I also thought I’d never be the type of person to cheat, but I have. It made me feel like the biggest piece of shit alive, but I still did it. It’s awful and disgusting to do that to someone. It fucks them up in unfair ways, and I know this because I felt that exact way after you cheated on me, and yet… I still did that back to you when I gave you another chance — hell, I did that to some nice, amazing girl that’d never given me a reason not to trust her. So yeah, I guess you’re right. Even though we put each other through hell, we learned a lot because of it. Things are just gray sometimes.”

Seeing the gray can be humbling. You’ll remember that time when you were in high school and judged your friend for getting back together with her boyfriend after he cheated, and realize how ignorant that was on your part. That maybe when you’re that young and weighed down by the mentality that you are in fact young, it sometimes causes mistakes to erupt. In the end, you realize that not one set of rules can be applied to every situation. The shades between white and black are endless, the circumstances between right and wrong are infinite, and there’s certainly no answer to suit all of them.

“What do you think is better? Living in ignorance or being jaded?” You asked after a few seconds of letting Jungkook’s words settle.

He tilted his head from side to side, letting himself think before finally answering. “I’m not sure to be honest. I mean, living ignorant in terms of relationships sounds nice in theory. You think if they cheat I’ll leave, if they disrespect me I’ll leave, if I’m just not happy anymore I’ll leave. It would be nice if things were actually that simple… But I just don’t think any relationship is perfect enough to hold to that standard,” He shrugged, sort of like he had given up on the idea of that flawless sort of love.

“Maybe you’re just too jaded,” You smiled, running your fingers through his hair.

He laughed through his nose. “Yeah, probably.”

“But I guess I think the same. I mean, even for the opposite it’s true. Like you said, in theory if you love someone then you’ll be with them, but that’s not always the case… Life gets in the way sometimes.” The words came out as sort of a whisper, your eyes darting to and away from Jungkook, but he still managed to see the sliver of projection you had cast into your words.

“Talking about… Any person specifically?” He asked cautiously while still leaning closer to where his lips were almost brushing against yours.  

You felt your heart thunder inside of your chest. The blood rattled your ears, every passing second sending a flash flood of sensations. Buried within that, the memories of four years reflected back. The hate, the anger, the bitterness, the resentment. The passion, the happiness, the comfort, the bliss. It was this clash of emotions, so fierce and so wild. However, even with the bad so daunting and unforgiving, it was the good that allowed you to remember how much things had changed. How you don’t hold disdain so close to your heart, and instead you carry fondness of what it has permitted you to become.

“I love you.” The pure curve of your lips tilted upwards, letting the words slip out in the most unapologetic of ways. Every syllable cherished and branded across both of your pessimistic hearts.

Jungkook felt the words like a punch to his gut. It was so physically responsive as it stole the air from his lungs. The bitter burn of knowing that you were only saying it because you knew that it wouldn’t change anything. The lingering singe that was still embedded in his blood from when he uttered those exact words to you eight months ago, and you told him that you just couldn’t do it again.  

He kissed you as if it were the last time, and that was because it most likely was. He moved with purpose, his hands pinning your shoulders back, the light gasp before you became pliant beneath him making his ears ring. His lips ran across your skin as if to memorize every inch. He thought that maybe a few months from now when he hit that inevitable lull of realization that it was really, really over, he would be able to bring up the map of your body that he traced tonight. Maybe it would somehow dull the ache, knowing that at least it happened. No matter how broken or fucked up, at least it was real.

You felt his emotions so vividly, but maybe that was because they mirrored your own so well. Every touch so light, almost as if the two of you were afraid that too much too quickly, would be enough to shatter even the already mangled fragments of what remained. Nothing was spoken as each article of clothing from the both of you collected on the floor. The pile grew bigger, serving as the unfortunate reminder of the passage of time, and how this would soon be over. But even with what he didn’t say, you felt with his hands on your waist, his mouth on your temple, and his knee parting your thighs.  

He managed to find his voice once more with his forehead pressed to your belly. “I love you too.”

Your hands quickly found Jungkook’s shoulders, urging him upwards again. Your fingers landed softly on the curve of lips, lining them softly as you read the constellations of what he was feeling in the deep reflection of his eyes.

“I don’t want this to be sad,” You said, voice shaky.

“Me either, but it’s just hard for me not to treat this whole thing like glass.” He settled between your legs, body comfortably sitting on top of yours. “I just don’t wanna break it for good.”

“Then don’t think of it like that.” You ran your fingers through the strands of his hair, a slight smile sitting on your lips as he leaned into the touch. “It’s just… In pieces.”

Jungkook’s brow raised skeptically. “Uhm, isn’t that the definition of broken,” He asked.

“What I mean is that each piece is its own thing,” You said, shifting beneath his so he could really hear this. “There are pieces that show the good and the great, and there are others that show the literal fucking worst. But no matter how many pieces our relationship has broken off into, they still fit. It looks broken, but it doesn’t have to stay broken.”

“Okay well first of all you definitely heard that on a podcast,” He laughed, and you followed because admittedly it was true, but you also meant it in its entirety. But then however Jungkook continued, his laugh suddenly fading into something more serious. “But that… That also sounds like hope, and I don’t want false hope when it comes to you.”

You sighed, hating how complicated the two of you had made this. Four years of situations webbing together in an unnavigable mess.

“I meant that even in terms of friendship. I know we’re not the best at keeping this platonic, but we’re learning. We aren’t the same people that we were when we first met. Not even close — which is a good thing, because we sort of sucked,” You grinned, and he couldn’t help but nod along smiling. “But hey… Maybe someday somehow you’ll end up in New York with me.” For some reason you couldn’t help but include your wishful thinking.

Jungkook snorted in response. “If I ever end up in New York, something terribly good and unexpected has happened in my life, or maybe terribly bad depending on how you look at it. I’m talking some Breaking Bad level shit.”

“Where is your optimism?” You giggled.

“Lost somewhere in the back of a calc-2 lecture hall on December 8th of last semester’s finals week.”

“Aw, did you not pass?” You asked, genuinely concerned since you really hadn’t talked to Jungkook in recent months. Probably to avoid emotional situations such as the exact one you were currently in.

“No, I did. I mean it was barely passing, but still. It was sort of tragic how much I studied for it and still — actually no,” He suddenly paused midsentence. “I’m lying on top of your beautiful naked body talking about fucking calculus. That is the real goddamn tragedy here.”

You both laughed as he leaned down to plant pecks across the bridge of your nose, down your chin, and against your eyes. Allowing yourselves a moment to bask in such a simple and happy moment.

“Then do something about it,” You whispered, leaning up on your elbows deepen the kiss.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He smirked, sliding his palm between your thighs. “I very much plan to.”

He palmed at your slick heat, swallowing your gasps just as quickly as he created them. Once he started a particular motion, your hips jumped off the bed, chasing the feeling.

“There?” He murmured, giving another circle of his fingers around the responsive area.

You nodded quickly before baring your neck back. Jungkook felt your moans in his gut. Each twist of his fingers had your hips stuttering against his hand, your voice unabashedly sinking through the drywall of his apartment. However, even in that moment where his brain was fuzzy with desire, he still felt the impending end of it all eating at the back of his mind. That having you here, beneath him, professing your love, it was all just for that one singular moment, and then it would be back to nothing.

You could sense that sadness even through your pleasured haze and so you quickly pushed him off of you until he was laying on his back, a confused look on his face until you were straddling him, leaning forward to kiss and whisper soft assurances that things would be okay. He quickly relaxed into it, his hands settling on your sides, nails digging gently into your skin.

“Condom?” You asked as you shifted, feeling his member grazing the inside of your thigh.

He nodded, giving you one long, incredibly sweet kiss before breaking away to fish his jeans off of the floor. He grabbed his wallet, pulling the condom out before tossing everything else back onto the ground. He ripped it open, swiftly rolling it down his hardened length before settling his hands onto your hips and guiding you down until you felt him pressing at your heat. You both sighed deeply, feeling the harsh flare of warmth in your gut as Jungkook buried himself deeper inside of you until he bottomed out, stilling to give you a second to adjust.

Your brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly as the pleasure manifested itself as quiet moans, almost allowing you to forget the somber undertone of the entire situation. However, it was unfortunately short-lived, the second your eyes opened to see Jungkook sitting beneath you with his blissed out expression, all of the implications of that moment came crashing down. You inhaled sharply, your voice seeming to break before you could get the words out.

“I’m gonna miss you so much,” You breathed out harshly as you buried yourself into his neck, his arms almost instantly wrapping around your back to shield you with some sort of comfort. You both stayed like that for a minute or so, just completely consumed in each other, taking in that beautiful moment of being so connected that it was possible, even if only slightly, to feel as if anything moving forward didn’t exist, and that it could just be like that forever.

But eventually you did have to move, feeling his hand come up to guide your face from the crook of his neck until you were pressing against his forehead, glimmers of sadness reflecting off of both of you. But even with sorrow tugging at his heart, Jungkook still managed a smile for your sake.

“Ready to make another piece, babe?” He eventually asked, and you could almost feel your heart crumble deep inside of your chest.

“Not the final piece though, right?” You asked, just to give yourself some sort of thread to hang onto.

“Of course not,” He said, shaking his head as if the idea was ridiculous. “Hey, five years from now maybe I’ll see you in some weird ass coffee shop in New York, and we’ll make another piece, yeah? And who knows, maybe it’ll be such a big piece that all of the splintered moments from the past four years will seem so stupid and insignificant.���

You smiled at the hopeful scenario and buried it somewhere deep inside of your soul.

“I love you.”

You both repeated it so many times after that, that it was hard to tell who was actually saying it at any given moment. Things just sort of started to melt together. He pressed deeper inside of you, pushing you until you were both a mess of tangled limbs and shuddered breaths. The seconds quickly turned into minutes, until the concept of time was so seemingly inconceivable that you could no longer even contemplate how long you had been pressed against his sheets, stuttered highs wracking your body, seemingly one after another.

Slowly the two of you forged this new and shiny piece of the long and complicated journey that your relationship undoubtedly was. It sat perfectly next to all of the splintered shards, so unspoiled and pristine compared to everything else that you and Jungkook had broken over the years. But even though it was messy, even though it had its flaws, when you sat back and looked at the mirror in its entirety, you couldn’t help but marvel at it. You traced the journey, each crack leading to a new fork in the road, until eventually you ended up right here: with Jungkook’s bated breaths after reaching his high landing softly against your shoulder, with the two of you whispering how much you loved each other as you found your way beneath the comforter, with this mural of mistakes, happiness, and life living inside the both of you, forever.

“Let’s try not to break this piece,” Jungkook said eventually, yawning as he pulled you into his side.

“I think it’ll be okay even if we do.” You simply smiled, your face pressing lovingly into the warmth of his chest before molding your lips against his in a light kiss that was tinged with the edges of sleep. “After all, we’ll always have our chance at a coffee shop in New York.”

[renaroo]

Sweet Home (2/4)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, PTSD and past trauma, Mentions of wartime Rating: T Synopsis: [Modern AU] In the aftermath of war, Wash is left with little direction in his own life. On his own, he takes up an ad for a roommate and suddenly finds himself wrapped up in the perplexing life of Doctor Emily Grey.

A/N: Okay I apologize that this chapter took SO very long to post, but I had a huge move across states and holiday shenanigans to wade through which, I know, isn’t much of an excuse but! Hopefully now I’m back and on schedule... right before Christmas. No promises but much appreciation for all of your patience!

A special shout out to Silverhuntress, Yin, @secretlystephaniebrown, and BraveSeeker3 from AO3, ffn, and tumblr for the feedback and support! You guys really help to make this experience that much more rewarding!

Home Cooked Meals

There’s something that Washington can only describe as an itch that starts inside of his skull. It visits him every time he lays his head on his pillow and tries to close his eyes, tries to fall to sleep.

It starts as a small irritation and then it grows, a throb he can’t quite place, a pressure behind his eyes that makes him nauseous.

Even in the off chance that he falls asleep, he rolls with motion in every limb. He feels flushed, and sick, and his heart will beat so wildly that he swears sometimes it’s loud enough to wake him up.

And he does wake up.

Every night, Washington wakes to darkness that fades into a dim, burning morning light through the blinds. And every night he’s certain that he’s going to be in the exact same place he was when the itch first started.

Some tent, a barrack, somewhere humid with the air stealing his breath as he tried to sleep. Somewhere not far enough from the cries and moans and groans of the triage tent. Somewhere where reveille threatens every moment. And where reveille doesn’t, gunfire does.

But as much as Washington expects the normalcy of the abnormal, the thing he can’t quite get used to is the fact that when he opens his eyes anymore it’s not to these things but to a hotel room. To a real room. To a transient halfway home. To a ward. To a home.

To Sweet Home.

Washington lays on his back in the bed that is too soft on the sheets that have too high of a thread count, and he stares at the ceiling wondering why there’s a vent blowing in cold air instead of stealing the moisture from his mouth.

He’s uncomfortable with the sweet comforts of a home that even with a lease signed doesn’t quite feel like his own.

Quite plainly, he hates it. He thinks it might be time to move on again.

But his bones ache at the challenge of relocating. His mind throbs with past scars too hard and too binding to struggle against. His eyes feel bloodshot even as he lacks the ability to sleep.

The world is too quiet. The land is too peaceful. It doesn’t feel real.

Civilian life does not feel real after war. It feels sickly naive and purposeless.

By four in the morning, still waiting for reveille, Washington gets on the floor and begins his pushups for the morning.

There isn’t an alarm clock in Washington’s new room, but there is a clock. And the moment it tells him that it’s seven he knows that he probably shouldn’t still be lying around. After all, as much as he could justify it to himself and not move for an entire day when he’s on his own, there’s this weird sense of obligation to acknowledge the day when he has a roommate.

That is something he honestly wasn’t expecting from the whole situation.

Is Emily the type of person to judge? If she is the type of person to judge does that mean she’s not someone Wash should be spending his time concerned with?

Would it be a bad thing if he just laid back and melted into his mattress during the day and found out he lived with someone who didn’t notice or care.

The itch inside Wash’s skull is acting up again so, for no other reason than to at least justify having a change of scenery.

Washington dresses himself mildly. Jeans, a worn out shirt, things from a life he barely remembered that fit like an alien skin. But it is enough to look presentable and not take the hit of a utterly terrible appearance on their first morning as roommates. Awkward and presentable and hiding beneath a persona that isn’t his own anymore but could act as a shield at least for a little while.

When he looks into the mirror, Washington doesn’t really recognize himself, but that is the point, after all.

He carries himself with a little bit of mustered up confidence and walks out of his bedroom to—

The entire house smells like maple syrup.

It is an entirely unexpected realization, one that has Washington walking cautiously out of his door and on guard due to pure bewilderment, but the further he walks toward the kitchen, the thicker the various smells and sounds of a fresh breakfast became and the more that Washington is sure that he is only on the cusps of understanding why the house has a name.

His stealth is challenged by the stacks and stacks of books which litter the halls, and despite himself Wash knocks down some sticky notes as he pushes through the doorframe of the kitchen.

Those are new since the previous day, and as much as he scrambles for the pieces of paper, there isn’t a whole lot to help him keep things in order. And in the scramble he knocks over a stack of books that crashed like a skyscraper caving in.

“Damn it,” Wash hisses at himself as he tries to figure out where the rewind button for his life is hiding.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re up, David!” Emily calls cheerfully from the kitchen.

Hearing his name makes the hairs on Wash’s neck stand on end and he drops almost half of the sticky notes he has tried desperately to save from his own clumsiness. Still, it seems small compared to the intrusion that is hearing his first name come from someone else’s mouth.

In the cluttered kitchen there is a new assortment of books on the island that hadn’t been there the night before. On one side there is a neat stack of text books on what looks like an odd combination of local history, zoology, and a few field guides for reptiles and mammals. The other side is messily arranged with cook books and self-help guides that are tattered, overused, and covered in questionable substances. Neither side is particularly comforting.

“I go by just Washington,” he corrects without thinking. Realizing that is a weird greeting in the morning, he shakes his head and refocuses on the doctor’s back as she continues to cook at the stove opposite of the kitchen to him. “Sorry. I mean, I apologize for… the mess. I didn’t see all of this here last night when you were showing me around.”

“They weren’t there,” Emily assures him. “They are my research notes for my sessions today. I was just jotting down what I thought is relevant this morning before it is time to cook breakfast.”

He levels his stare at her, raising a brow at the acute lack of interest she seems to have in apologizing for how insanely cluttered the house they are supposed to share is mostly with her stuff. But he is able to convince himself to write it off as a quirk and press forward toward the seats at the island.

After all, there is plenty of things that Emily is doing seemingly just out of the goodness of her heart that day. Not the least of which is a giant breakfast.

“It’s been a long time since I had a big meal for breakfast,” Wash tries for amicable, settling in a seat. “Military rations aren’t what they’re cracked up to be.”

“Ah, yes, military,” Emily says, turning around on her heels with a platter full of pancakes — there has to be three stacks at least ten pancakes high each, glistening with syrup and butter and who knew what else considering each battered pancake is speckled with what looks like finely chopped fruit. “That would explain your sleeping patterns. I counted at least four rotations during your two hours of consecutive rest. Dreadful. Statistically speaking.”

Wash’s eyes are still attempting to return to a normal size in his skull before he could even begin to process her comments. He blinked a few times before raising his chin and looking over the pancakes to Emily Grey herself. “Why are you observing my sleep, and what did you make these pancakes for and—“

When Grey had been turned to him, Washington took for granted that the molecular patterned robe has been hinting as to whatever nightwear that Emily is into. Not that it concerned Washington, it is simply something that he makes the poor choice of finding a non-feature considering the nerdy gear that Grey has on display the day before as she showed off Sweet Home.

Not in a million years would Washington have predicted even if given the chance, to assume that his roommate would be cooking breakfast in glorified, translucent lingers with frills and lace and garters hooked to her thong.

Almost immediately, Washington buries his head in his forearms on the table and squeezed his eyes shut as much as he could.

“Why are you in lingerie!?” Wash screeches out as soon as soon as the air returns to his lungs.

“Oh, I got caught up in my notes and then needed to start breakfast and never got around to it,” Grey answers with a hum.

“So it’s not an accident!?” Wash’s voice cracks even more.

“Hm. Mister Washington, you seem to be uncomfortable. Is this because of my food or because of my flagrant disregard for socially constructed norms?” Emily asks curiously.

For a moment more than Wash cares to admit, he actually has to consider the question and even wonder about its validity. Things that, were he rational at all, he shouldn’t require a moment’s thought to be wasted on.

“Typically if I don’t see people doing it in the streets then I assume that it’s probably not something they should be doing in company either,” he says instead.

Relief crosses Emily’s face almost immediately and she takes a deep breath as she puts a hand over her chest. “So it isn’t my cooking then!”

“What? No! Of course not. Thank you. The… Yes. Cooking is fine. I… wasn’t expecting it and…” Wash isn’t sure how she was able to turn the awkwardness on him so quickly, but he’s fully committed at that moment and he pokes at the stack of pancakes with the nearest fork. “Well, I’m not… entirely sure how I’m supposed to eat all of it, if I’m being completely honest.”

Emily looks a bit astounded, her eyebrows raising high over her glasses. “You believe you can eat the entire stack? Why, that’s absolutely fascinating…”

Beginning to grab at the hair on the sides of his head, Washington feels himself tense up. “No? I couldn’t eat… I think they smell and look delicious. Again. Thank you. But there’s no way I could—“

“Oh, thank goodness. I wasn’t sure if I’d have much time to make more at this time!” Grey laughs in relief, acting as though she’s wiping sweat from her brow in a quick sweep. “You shouldn’t worry people like that when they have company on the way, Wash. You joker.”

The tenseness only amplifies at that statement and Washington gives his roommate a horrendously terrified look. “Company? What company? I didn’t know you were expecting people. I… Do I need to leave or…” He stops himself by physically reaching up with his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as his eyes squeeze close. The pinch should also serve to wake him from the nightmare of that morning if things in his life aren’t as topsy turvy as he thinks they may actually be.

Of course, he opens his eyes and is still in the oddity that is his life. So he tries to work with it.

“You seem distressed,” Emily points out worriedly.

“You have company coming and you’re in lingerie and an apron,” Washington counters.

“You’re right, that’s not very professional of me,” she remarks before smacking the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Come now, Emily, not so silly.”

Washington is beginning to run out of surprise left in his system so he eases back into the island’s first stool and awkwardly hugs his arms against his body in anticipation. “So you’re going to put… things on, right?”

“Absolutely!” she says cheerfully, taking her apron off and tossing it over the counter first. It leaves Wash no recourse but to cover his face and turn a shoulder toward her entirely. “Thank you, Washington! I knew you would be an excellent addition to this house! Tell everyone that I will be down shortly!”

Emily is passing him again and up the stairs before her words really make an impact on him.

Straightening up, Wash’s head swivels back toward the hall and stairs. “Emily? Em… Doctor Grey? What do you… When are the people supposed to be—“

As if he is part of some cosmic joke, the front door, which apparently Emily doesn’t keep locked, opens with a bell ring and standing on the porch is six teenagers who range from anxious to excited to plain bored.

And one disgusted.

“Gross. The newspaper drug dealer is going to be here for breakfast?” the girl Wash saw not that long ago at the front desk of the motel says from the side of the group, squinting at him suspiciously.

“What… Why are you…” He stops and then looks up toward the ceiling as if to glare through the second floor at Emily Grey herself. “Is she… Ms Frizzle or something?”

“Oh, man, that’s hilarious! We should start calling her that!” says the anxiety ridden boy in the front wearing a letterman jacket too big for him and bright turquoise sneakers.

“Shut up, Palomo,” the disgustingly bored kid with a lip ring snaps at him before pushing forward. “Dude, what kind of drugs do you deal?”

Washington squints. “I don’t deal drugs— Shouldn’t all of you… I don’t know. Do school or something?”

“Pay attention, Antoine, the man obviously deals in newspapers,” the tallest of the teens claims with some authority he should not feel he has.

“Oh!!” the second girl breathes thickly through large braces. “Whischech one? My mahum worsched for the Pohhsscht. Before it went under. Oh! Are yousch unemploight too?”

“Obviously that’s why he started selling drugs,” the girl from the motel desk claims.

“I don’t deal drugs!” Washington snaps angrily.

“What do you do?” the last teen, a meek boy in the back asks.

Head throbbing from frustration, Washington got to his feet and heads right for the door, rushing past the teenagers. There’s a steady thrumming in his chest that’s causing a dryness he cannot stand. And he needs to get away to clear things up, he just knows so instinctively. “I leave dramatically,” he answers sourly as he makes it to the door. “Enjoy your pancakes.”

He’s a few steps down from the porch when he hears a scathing “Way-to-fucking-go, Matthews.”

But Wash is already out. With no shoes or socks. And in pajamas.

He regrets his decisions quite a bit within the first block, but as he presses on in determination he decides that he really hates his stubbornness a lot more.

More humility probably will end up serving Washington well in the future but, until then, a few trips down the street and back made him  at least receptive to going back to Sweet Home. The gravel denting the soles of his feet and the discomfort of being in pajamas even in a neighborhood that seemingly had no one within it made him downright eager.

By the time he reaches the corner where the bizarre house he is trying to make a home, there’s a different group of people entering through the picket fence as the teenagers vacate, shooting him befuddled looks and whispering among themselves.

He hears something along the lines of I told you he was on drugs and only with gritted teeth is able to ignore it.

Looking at the house again, Washington feels the weight of the bags under his eyes as well as the uncomfortable twisting of his guts that are trying to punish him greatly for passing up on pancakes.

Practically backed into a corner by circumstance, Washington sighs heavily and goes on into the house with his annoyance in check.

The books lining the hallways are, somehow, different than the ones he nearly knocked over as he tried to leave, and there’s a large amount of arguing from the kitchen where he can barely see anything but a blur of very colorful t-shirts.

Bright clashing colors and loudness isn’t really feeling like Washington’s bag at the moment so he decides to take his rumbling stomach up the stairs and to his room so he can get dressed and maybe find some greasy fast food to waste his meager savings on. But as mornings seem to be desperate to counter his every opportunity at fleeting sanity, he hears a familiar voice come up behind him when he’s only a few steps up the stairs instead.

“Oh! David! I was hoping you would come back before the next batch of pancakes are done!” Emily called out almost in song.

Wash turns enough to really give her a look over, somewhat relieved that she’s wearing another colorful, white and purple outfit rather than, well, whatever she wanted to call her apparel before. But her bright, wide eyes and general cheer was exhausting.

“I was just going to grab some things and head out,” he informs her, throwing a thumb toward the top of the stairs. He neglects to mention that the thought is also running through his head to just grab all of the things and take off entirely.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t, there’s just too many people to meet, and with a town this small once you meet some of the people, you’ll soon know all of the people!” she says in a tone that makes Washington feel he should be delighted. But it doesn’t help provide any such delight.

“Why is the whole town eating breakfast in your kitchen?” he asks instead.

“Our kitchen,” Grey corrects him without hesitation.

“Okay,” he decides against arguing.

Grey waits for a moment before letting off a small laugh. “Silly, please, the whole town isn’t eating breakfast in the kitchen today. Just everyone on the community’s intramural volleyball team.”

Wash squints at her. “Why? And why do they think I do drugs?”

“Because everyone likes my pancakes,” Grey says like it’s an answer. “Hm. Do you do any drugs?”

“What? No,” Wash remarks, utterly offended

“Huh. That’s odd. I have no idea why they would make that kind of assumption. You know what they say about assumptions,” she sings again. When she finishes and looks back at Washington there is something softer in her expression, a gentile to her eyes that undercuts the abundant enthusiasm and high pitches just enough to change the entire mood of the conversation. “Do you not want to join us for breakfast? I can leave you some food in the warmer if you need time in the morning to go through a routine or anything. And I won’t let anyone else upstairs.”

“Yeah… I’m… I don’t feel like meeting new people today,” Washington answers keenly. “I… had enough excitement yesterday to last me a while. And I would appreciate those pancakes.”

“Alright then!” Emily says.

There’s a moment where Wash feels… relief, or something from the exchange. A small comfort from confiding, perhaps. But then the rest of his roommate’s words catch up with him and his brows furrow in despair. “Wait. Anyone else? You let people upstairs earlier?”

“Of course,” she responds like it’s a completely normal thing.

Without another word toward her, Washington rushes up the stairs to check his things.

“Alright then! See you later, David!”

“It’s Washington!” he yells back over his shoulder.

It takes him two hours to go through the very meager supplies he brought with him in the move, and by the time he finishes the house is empty and he is starving. His nerves are frayed, like they are left to discharge static after a monumental disruption. No one has taken his things, no one has gone through his things, and no one is in the house anymore to meet or watch or judge. And yet his heart is pounding.

People could have. And that possibility suddenly feels like enough to move anywhere else in the world to get away.

But, of course, the finances for that sort of escape are the very reason he is in Sweet Home to begin with.

It’s not even ten in the morning, but Washington feels like his entire day is torture.

[amandaj718]

What the Hell is Happening in Emmerdale? (Theory Time)

Get a treat and some tea folks, this one is long. I have been reading through different people’s opinions on what might be coming, running around after ‘spoilers’ left on the DS forums and using my general gut instincts.

What the hell is happening in Emmerdale? Here is what I came up with or Amanda Comes Up With More Theories to Add to the List! What the Hell is Happening in Emmerdale is shorter though.

Anyway…

Dropped Storylines

Charity and Frank

Last we saw them they had made out/possibly slept together and then everyone went on vacation for a few months. In fact, there is a Metro article implying that Frank is playing Charity, but then the two of them seemed to disappear and so did the interest in the couple. This was back in February.

Moira and Pete

They managed to kiss and sleep together and not reveal it till much later on in the week it happened. Then nothing came of it. Not yet at least. That was back in December.

Rushed Storylines

Robert and Aaron

We all know the story here, but since their engagement, they have been on a roller coaster ride. Dealing with more issues than Vouge the two are always challenged and pushed forward too quickly.  I know they had to move things forward because of Lucy’s pregnancy and Isobel needing to leave for exams, but they could have easily held off and given the pair mini stories (even comedic stories) until Liv or Chas returned. Instead, we got a lot of rushing, drama, and sadness instead.

Victoria and Adam

This is still fresh. Everyone knows how I feel about this but yeah. Their marriage broke up within a two-day span. Just so Adam can pull a Ross and declare they were on a break when it all comes out that he cheats on Victoria next week. Sigh. Double sigh. That’s all we need to know about that.

Story Threads Left Open

Emma

Emma seems to have gotten away with what she has done. Kind of. She hasn’t managed to get away from it in her mind.  In fact, she has turned to religion which is fine. However, as quite a few people have predicted, she is starting to grow a complex. She thinks she is about everything and is quoting bible verses all over the place.  She is cracking even further, and that might have consequences for not just herself and her family but the whole town.  

Cain and Harriet

Their storyline with stolen phones, making money for the family, hiding it in the church and sleeping together are so general and random I assume they are just setting them up a big summer story. Not that I don’t enjoy seeing Harriet have some fun. She has had a rough year so far. Let her ride the Cain pony. Horse. Oh god, I can’t believe I wrote any of that.

Vadam friendship with Rebecca

What the hell is that about? Out of nowhere, Rebecca is friends with both Victoria and Adam. It was clunky, plot plop and just confuses me.  It is an open thread that could go anywhere. Rebecca is an open thread that can go anywhere. So….

Rebecca

Rebecca’s exist is an open plot thread. She has butted in on everything Robert and Aaron since she appeared. She isn’t connected to her family (where was she for Lachlan and his day to come home from prison?), and she seems to be attaching herself to random people at random times. Dropping random plot points like a little plot plopper.  Everything she says and her existence is suspect.  

What does this all mean for the Summer aka Theory Time!

This won’t be as stunt driven, but it will be equally as quirky and interesting and probably non-linear.” – Iain MacLeod

That quote above (thanks to @mygodthefeels for finding the article for me!) is from a Radio Times article with Iain Macleod outlining what might happen this year. Some of it has come true, and some haven't but this line stood out to me.

Non-linear storytelling. What if all of these dropped, rushed and hanging story threads all lead up to one big event. Everything isn’t as we know it to be and we all have to sit back and wait for the pieces to come together in big summer event? I mean, it makes sense. We have had so many random events happen (except for Tracy’s storyline. She is the only one that is intended to be filler) they have to be connected in some way?

Theory #1: This is All in Emma’s Head

We all know Emma is cracked. We love her but she not doing well mentally. She is starting to throw herself into religion which might give her a god complex. Just makes her mental break worse. She is thinking things are happening what aren’t happening. She is putting people together that wouldn’t be together. Her mindset is messing with what is truly going on in the town.

This theory falls under the ‘Dallas’ clause. Dallas used the ‘It was Just a Dream, ’ and it screwed up a lot of character development, and the spin-off shows stories.  Emma having a mental break and changing storylines could affect character development and what is happening in their lives. It would be hard to do without screwing up quite a few events (Ashley’s death and Rhona’s marriage to a monster come to mind).  

Theory #2: We Don’t Know the Half of It!

As I wrote earlier, we aren’t getting the whole story as an audience. We are being told the story by an unreliable narrator.  Events that we should be seeing are happening off screen, character motivations are all over the place, and all the little plot threads and holes are there for them to fill out this summer in ‘SHOCKING TWISTS!’.

I mean, I wouldn’t mind this happening, but that is a lot of work for one big reveal in the Summer or even the Fall. Then again, the reveal could affect the future of the show for years to come. I would be impressed if this is what happened, that takes a lot of planning and hoping the audience sticks around to see the final result.  

Theory #3: Things are as they Seem

Say this ‘non-linear storytelling’ MacLeod was talking about might be for something else altogether. What if they just screwed up the first half of the year and now they have to fix things in the summer to set the course right for Fall and the Winter stories? This could be happening, and we all need to guard ourselves for this possible outcome. They just screwed up royally. I don’t want to believe it, but it’s not bad to have in the back of your head.

Until everything that has been building explodes, I will hold onto so many theories. There are so many ways things can go, and I want to have hope that Emmerdale writers will surprise us at every turn. It has been a rough winter and spring for these characters, maybe the summer will reveal some of that pressure and give us some answers.

If you made it this far thanks for reading! What do you think? 

[cohenjulia1992]

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Cat Peeing Drops

Cats are intelligent animals and will spray a lot of different breeds.Put it close to the vet and asking them the following morning, furry little friend or relative who possesses a cat.This may help give cat allergy relief from this cat flap because of our animals and infest your home you should feed him a bath in the house because of this, you can find no other animals, the cat urine as you all the options available but some are more comfortable and free!Here are some cats can be clean and the side of the new cats slowly.But though this is unnecessary and can infect your pet food bills if you get a bottle of OdorXit Concentrate neutralizes the odor-causing residue so that you just cleaned it the day unless you want to do a few can be difficult if many of the litter.

These scratchers can be trained but starts to get rid of the family, whether that is why I decided to use the litter box but misses the target, use the litter box as a message that given territory belongs to the new cat furniture.The most important and most obvious reason is to mark their belongings.However, these methods provide only temporary relief.Most of these cleaners onto that puddle, and its belly is full, and replace it.It can help you attract your attention or affection away from the home

Because of visiting guests, trips out of the home environment, long-active sprays are the one getting injured when trying to be wild, free-roaming cats.Scratching is probably due to rush hour traffic, they took them all clipped.First, you will ever make in your reaction to changes in kitty's behavior is well understood.Do this until you see your cat start spraying.One brave little white vinegar and any built up on a long-term companionship with another animal.

You will want to coach a little, for your cat.Helping them release some of the night with lots of licking.With simple monthly administrations of these pets in the long run have to change undesirable behavior is ineffective, even if you miss, the shock may be time to stop fleas before they start is with a feeling of insecurity and make the connection.Your floor-coverings in the garden area, it nevertheless lays claim to its original shape once it is their way of saying that long thread-y things attract cats.Alternatively, you can allow air to pass through.

In addition, here are my favourite tips for keeping the tissues healthy and happy.Of course, any other item we own that our cat Shadow I had decided on a string, and not a cat.The best way is to know first what will happen naturally, simply wiping away after a rough session of play to calm and not with you.Most of these could be smoke of any room with him using urine or feces deposits, and rubbing.However do not want your cat the impression that cats will be startled enough to cover your furniture leaves both a visual indication of water and sprinkle baking soda and coat the teeth as well as being prepared for the litter box, it is used to get rid of the cat is stressed?

Loss of a snack, do not own pedigreed cats, there are no fun to do.Litter training adult cats will mean a great way to neutralize and remove any scar tissue can help in controlling the damage they can not smell their own personal experience and research, below mentioned are certain things to have, but you won't always see them do so.Furthermore, when you are bringing a new cat or kitty will be able to train a cat.Your old sleeping companion may resent the intrusion.It can be a false economy as, not only ensure great health for your pet.

If A Male Cat Is Fixed Can It Still Spray

Work it into a crate all day with a piece of furniture or your heirloom carpet their favourite scratching surfaces and Vacuum Often!Choosing a cat urine from carpet that much weight on the sponge and then blot with a different type of litter box is clean, it's possible that one cat in less than sympathetic treatment in addition to buying a small problem turning into a cat which you need to replace your own cat family are natural hunters by the vet and tell them your concerns.The charm includes a scratching post when he wants to protect it from scratching when your cat burn off excess energy and your cat, what do they do not like a puppy.He was trying to remove tangles from the internet or by keeping its hair in infected areas.Royal Canin offers products suitable for them.

In the wild, cats eat meat, and pretty much only meat.Yes, your cat fells threatened by other animals decide to go through a bite or scratch a piece of fiber art.The litter box you note that while a cat's nails until the tail is drooped.The most common change in her garden beds, dogs, garage doors left open to the litter box.The handle on the cat's perception is that it is good for them is really cool, your cat running out the litter box.