#i need him in a way that is concerning to my mental health

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

He is harried almost endlessly as he travels.

Roots twist to catch his feet. Mud slides into his path, denying him traction. Branches whip against his face, forcing him to bear the blows on a forearm instead. Trunks crowd together, diverting him onto perilous detours.

He does not hack at root or branch, does not curse at trunk or mud. His venom and his blade he reserves solely for their so-called master.

The sun shines down on him, and it does not burn.

He comes, eventually, to a great mansion built into the heart of the wood. Made in equal parts of the surrounding forest and what seem to be still-growing panels of incongruously white walnut, it is lavishly appointed; a carpet of leaves and branches make up a slanted roof, giving way to a front facade in whorls of woodgrain that serve to draw in the eye and send it in spirals, interspersed evenly with the trunks of still-growing trees.

Window-sized gaps in the wall contain no glass or material of any kind, the dwelling seemingly indifferent to the threat of the elements. An ornately carved (grown?) door stands closed in the center of the edifice, a nervous looking man in fine yet plain clothing standing before it; he scurries forward to meet George as he approaches.

"You must leave, quickly!" he speaks in a hushed tone. "The Master has returned from defeat and is sure to be wrathful when he awakens!"

"The Lord in Wh-"

"SHH! His name is not for the mouths of those such as we! Now begone, before he comes for us both!"

"Well," George drawls, "he already tried that once and it didn't turn out so great for him. So you'll excuse me if I don't find myself too overly concerned."

"Fool! This is the seat of his power! Whatever contest you won against him out in the wild, it will not be repeated here!"

"An' how d'you know that, exactly?"

"You think you're the first would-be conqueror to swagger up to these doors, sword in hand, still high on the rush of recent victory, and attempt to claim the Master's domain for your own? An endless tide of tyrants have tried and failed! You are no different; you must flee while you can, if your sense of survival can still overpower your arrogance."

"No."

The man's face falls into a well-worn expression of resignation.

"If you will not choose to-"

"No, I don't think I'm any o' those things at all."

The man stares.

"See, I think you may have misunderstood my intentions. Now I'll take some o' the blame for that; I did, as you say, 'swagger up to these doors, sword in hand', but that was more out of a sense o' precaution than the desire to project any particular image. Regardless, I'm not here to conquer anythin'. The Lord in White-"

"SHH!"

George gives the man a flat stare before continuing.

"The Lord in White owns none o' this domain, and I'm simply here to remind him of that fact."

The servant shakes his head. "You are mad."

"Damn straight. He's been lordin' it up around here far too long, and it's about time someone put a stop to it."

"No, you are touched in the head!"

"That's not a particularly polite way ta' talk about mental health."

"Gah! You know nothing of the ways of the wild!"

"Oh I've learned more than I'd have liked to; I've just decided I don't care."

"Don't ca- he will entomb you in the living soil for all eternity!"

"Nah."

"He wields the untamed might of the woods! All within his domain must bow to his mastery!"

"An' who told you that, exactly?"

"He has demonstrated it countless times! His command of the living essence wrought this mansion from the aimless wilds, his esteem among the trees of the orchard produces the fruit that feeds us! His fearsome reputation keeps away the other lords, and his direction of us servants ensures that our needs are seen to and our lives conducted as befits our station!"

The man slips into a practised cadence as he speaks, as though reciting words he knows very well.

"See, that all sounds more like delegation and blusterin' than actual power."

"I have seen it with my own eyes! He bade a briar bush ensnare the body of a servant who displeased him, and it engulfed her in seconds!"

"Well, what if it hadn't?"

A beat passes.

"What if nothin' and no-one did what he told 'em to?"

"We would perish under the heel of a lord yet more cruel, if we did not waste away from thirst and starvation first."

"Aw, see, now you're undersellin' yerselves. I know for a fact it was people like you that grew the orchard and I'd be surprised if-"

"He sprouted it from barren soil millennia ago and has maintained it to this day!"

"Huh. Not what he told me."

"...what?"

"He told me he got his servants to do it. Does he make you guys go out an' care for the trees?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Does he get you ta' collect the harvest and plant new seedlings?"

"They bear fruit within weeks under his touch!"

"But it's still the trees bearin' the fruit, isn't it?"

"They obey his every word!"

"So do you."

"If I did not, then he would-"

"Well maybe it's the same for the trees."

Another beat.

"Maybe he's sayin' he'll wither 'em or somethin' if they don't do what he says."

"Then what does it matter? He can wither us just as easily!"

"Naw, you're not thinkin'. How does that even work?"

The man shudders.

"The water forces itself out through every pore, leaving behind a dessicated husk. He has done it to-"

"So it's the water doin' it, not him."

"It obeys his...every..."

The man trails off. George smiles.

"An' what if it didn't?"

The man shakes his head.

"This is nonsense. The ancient compact-"

"A compact is an' agreement. Why are y'all agreein'?"

"The Law of the Wild-"

"Law's an agreement, too."

"He will-"

"What, tell somethin' or someone ta' hurt you? Why would it listen?"

"The ancient-"

"Compact, yeah. Seems a little circular, if you ask me."

"Will you listen to me for five seconds??"

George stops, caught short by the exasperation bleeding into the other man's voice. He nods.

"This is all very well and good, but it's just not how it works. He knows the name of the trees, so they grow at his bidding. He knows the name of the water, so it flows as he wills. He knows MY name, so I do as he commands, even if I do not wish to; the Law of the Wild gives him this power over all whose name is known to him. Just because he doesn't know YOUR name doesn't mean-"

"He does."

Silence.

"Or he did until I changed it, anyway."

"You can't just change your-"

"Sure y'can. One o' my br- er, sisters did just last year, and I did just this mornin'".

"...to what?"

George grins.

"The Lord in White, of course."

"T-then you are still-"

"Nah, I changed it back. Didn't like it; pompous soundin' thing. Not really me, y'know?"

A beat passes.

"Name's just a shorthand for what you are, anyway; it's what you are's choice to answer to it."

"Tell that to the water inside my body, smart guy."

George ponders that for a moment, then a couple moments more.

The man scowls.

"No answer for that one, huh? I told you-"

"O water o' this man's body, d'you mind if we have ourselves a quick chat?"

The man opens his mouth, his face still furrowed and scornful.

The sound of his tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth gives the impression of "Sure, what's up?"

The man slams his mouth shut in surprise.

"I don't know your name, but I wanna ask you a favor. Can you call yerself somethin' else for a little bit? My friend here's worried that his asshole of a 'lord' is gonna ask you ta' jump outta him, and it wouldn't be great for his health."

The audible pounding of the man's heartbeat gives no impression. The sound of his blood rushing through his body, though, gives the impression of "It's my name! Why should I have to change it?"

"Ya don't have to. But it'd do the man who's housin' you a good turn, if you're willin'."

The man still can't bring himself to open his mouth again. He stares at George with wide-eyed fear and bafflement, eyes reduced to pinpricks.

A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead and falls to the ground below. The sound it makes as it lands gives the impression of "Do you think I just told the Lord my name? No, he will simply wrest it from me again and exert his control as he always has."

"Not if you change it to 'The Lord in White'," George says with another grin. "Ask me how I know."

The man sinks to his hands and knees and retches. The sound of bile exiting his mouth gives the impression of a delighted giggle and a nod of agreement.

George gives a satisfied smile before fully comprehending the state of the man; his face quickly turns apologetic as he reaches down with one hand outstretched.

"Sorry about that; wasn't even sure it'd work, never mind the side effects. You alright?"

"You- you WEREN'T SURE?" the man all but screams, clapping a hand to his mouth a moment after.

Footsteps sound lightly within the house.

"Well, you gotta try things. Plan B was ta' go up there and stab him in his sleep an' see what happens. Maybe he'd just keep respawnin' in place, y'know?"

The man ignores the offer of help and pushes himself weakly to his feet, staring incredulously. "What is WRONG with you???"

"A lot less than what's wrong with your 'master' in there, I reckon."

The footsteps get closer, then stop at the door as it begins to open.

"Hide! No, too late-"

"What's going on out here?"

The head of a young girl peeks around the partially open door, face wary.

"Get back inside, quickly! Tell the others-"

"We're plottin' to get rid of the guy in charge o' this place," George says amiably.

"WE?" the man practically shrieks. "I have not-"

"Oh. How?"

"Think I found a way around his power."

The girl ponders for a moment.

"Will it work?"

"Of course not! This man is-"

"I reckon it's got a shot, but I can't exactly guarantee anythin'."

The girl stares at George for a moment, looking for something in his face.

George stares back, earnest and serious.

She emerges from behind the door. The hidden half of her face and the skin of her limbs are deeply scarred, as though lashed by thorn-covered vines.

"Good enough," she says.

"Y'see? The kid gets it. Though it looks like she's been through a mite more'n you have."

"He...he thinks the scars are pretty. Could heal them at least a little if he wanted, ease the pain they still cause at times, but he won't."

"An' y'all are okay with that?"

"Of course not! But we can't-"

"You couldn't. You can now."

The girl looks up at the man. He stares back, looking for something in her face.

He sighs.

"We're not even going to die; he's going to imprison us in briar and thorn for ten thousand years."

"Oh, he uses that threat on you guys too? Not much of an imagination, our fella here. Now quick, go an' round up the rest o' the staff before he comes to."

---

When The Lord in White awakens in his bed, whole once more yet indelibly humbled, the sun has nearly finished setting and he does not find replacement clothing laid out for him as he has every time before.

He pulls the bell-rope at his bedside and waits. Nothing happens.

He issues orders into the adjacent funnel in the cold tone his servants have learned to fear in their long years of residence. Nothing happens.

He gets up from his bed and stalks over to his closet. He dresses in calm, graceful movements belied by the displeasure plain on his face. He slides open the door and strides down the stairs, resolved to hold the first person he finds responsible for this unacceptable breach of service.

He finds the mansion empty.

As he searches this way and that, unwilling to call out for servants who should be waiting on him, his eyes fall on an orange glow outside one of the windows. Sunset, he had thought at first, but this time it catches his eye differently and he sees it for what it is.

Fire.

He rushes to the windowsill, fearing the worst, but his precious orchard is unscathed. The fruit, however, is a different story; some of it is being charred over a roaring bonfire, while the rest is consumed raw. Invaders, he thinks, before recognising the uniform of his household. The sounds of talk and merriment waft up to his ears, just as the aroma of baked bananas tickles his nose. Not a bad idea, he thinks to himself; he'll have to get some of those made for breakfast tomorrow morning.

He shakes his head. First thing's first.

Calming himself with a deep breath, remembering the unfiltered anger that led him to defeat not twelve hours ago, he walks with measured steps to the back door of the mansion (they didn't even close it, the ingrates!) and steps through.

Silence and stillness spread through the gathering like ink through water, those closest to the door stopping to stare as the fae lord emerges, their fellows following suit when they notice. He savours the dread that lingers on their faces, until The Lord in White steps forward to meet him.

"George-"

"Still not my name."

The master of the orchard frowns, eyes boring into the man in front of him.

"No. That is my name. Relinquish it."

"What, you don't wanna share?" The Lord in White drawls insolently, a lopsided grin stark on his face in the firelight.

The Lord in White closes his eyes, breathes deeply, utters three syllables in a language older than mortal thought, and gestures at the fire behind them.

Nothing happens.

"It is a mighty nice bonfire, isn't it?" he says, features settling into a smirk. "You want a roasted apricot? We got plenty."

"You have nothing but what you have stolen from me."

"Funny. Reckon these folks behind me could say the same to you."

The Lord in White closes his eyes, breathes deeply, utters four syllables in a language older than mortal thought, and gestures at the earth beneath himself.

Brambles sprout from the soil at alarming speeds. The man jumps backward, but not quickly enough; his foot is ensnared. He stumbles, landing in a sitting position. Blood wells up where the plant touches his flesh.

"Huh. Shoulda guessed you'd have those buried everyw-"

"I underestimated you once, George-"

"Not my n-"

"It is, in every way that matters. The world knows it to be you, no matter the mask you claim to wear."

"O bramble o' the forest, can we have a talk real quick?"

The shifting of the bramble as he wriggles his ankle to try and escape gives no impression.

"It will not talk to you, George-"

"Not-"

"Be silent, George."

George's name rings out through the orchard with a thrum of finality. He does not speak.

"It will not talk to you, George, because it is mine," The Lord in White says, walking forward to circle the struggling man. "As this orchard is mine, as these people are mine. As you are mine. Now come; I will forgive you your transgressions against your master if you yield yourself with no further trouble."

A beat passes. The Lord in White looks confused for a moment, then snaps his fingers.

"Oh, of course. You may speak, George."

"You don't know the first thing about these people!"

The Lord in White smiles indulgently.

"You think yourself their saviour after one afternoon of chatting over stolen fruit? I know their names, George. I know everything about them. They are mine, and I look after what is mine."

He gestures around at the trees, boughs still laden with bounty despite the recent picking.

"As I have shaped this orchard-"

"They did all the shapin'!"

"As WE have shaped this orchard to its fullest potential," The Lord in White says irritably, "so too have I shaped every soul in my household to its zenith."

"Bullshit," George spits, pointing to a member of the crowd. "What's her greatest wish, then?"

The woman flinches back from the address, eyes downcast.

"To be free, of course; to leave this place of safety and throw herself upon the whims of the world."

The woman looks up in shock; The Lord in White chuckles.

"Don't look so surprised, Denise. It's the same for everyone here."

A couple of half-hearted denials issue forth from the crowd, quickly dying down as they find themselves alone.

"Do not fear," he says to the crowd, "I have always known. Were the trees allowed to grow as they would, they would stunt themselves in their foolishness. So too it is with you, my servants; it is simply in your nature to be lesser without my guidance. I would not permit it any more than I would permit my house to burn itself down."

George stares up at the fae thing in rage, which only serves to egg him on. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Her second greatest wish, before you ask, is to be a painter. Denise, be a dear and fetch one of your latest works for us, would you?"

The woman scurries into the mansion, not daring to look back. Utter silence descends, The Lord in White seeming to drink it in, his eyes closed and his mouth fixed in a beatific smile. George's eyes follow the woman to the door, his mind racing.

Denise emerges with a canvas clutched to her chest; it is a portrait of the master of the mansion looking over his domain, back straight and eyes proud.

"No, no, dear, not one you made for me. One of yours," The Lord in White says kindly.

She darts back in through the door; silence descends once again. She emerges slower this time, bearing a canvas covered in shapes and splotches; an abstract pattern that first strikes the eye, then diffuses its attention in every direction. She holds it up in front of her face, hiding most of her body from view.

"You can put it down there and be off, dear," the fae master says. She rests it gently against the wall and flees behind the still-burning bonfire.

"There, you see? I don't really understand it, to be honest; I think landscapes are more her forte. A shame she cannot be trusted to roam outside my domain. Nevertheless, there it is. She is fed, watered, bathed, clothed, kept warm in the winter, and allowed to pursue her dream. What more could-"

"She was completely terrified!"

"Yes; it is unfortunate, but sometimes fear is all that keeps you mortals from your self-sabotaging impulses. As she is learning, she has nothing to be afraid of if she serves both truly and well."

Something snaps inside George. He wrenches his ankle free in a spray of blood, lurching unsteadily to his feet as The Lord in White backs away with a disapproving frown.

"How much pain is she in?" he all but yells, pointing at the scarred girl. She shrinks back from the attention, but holds her ground.

"What kind of question is-"

"ANSWER ME!"

The Lord in White tuts disapprovingly. "Going to crush my windpipe again, George?"

George fixes him with a furious stare, silent and unblinking.

"Well, at least you seem to have some sense of restraint. Nurture it in the years to come; it will guide you well in my service."

George looks as though he's about to lunge at the smug bastard, but instead merely jabs his finger at the girl again. This time, she does not move.

"Yes, yes, very well. I don't know what on earth you expected, but-"

The Lord in White's gaze passes over the girl and he flinches.

"What is-"

"You'd know if you ever bothered to look! 'Everything about them' my fuckin' ass!"

"Well, I can't be expected to keep track of-"

"I've seen you with your mask off, you stupid fucker! Why do you think you can lie to me?"

"It need not be a lie; do not raise my ire and there is no reason that the mask cannot stay on. Of course, you will need to learn my every want and need, my every like and dislike, but once you have lived here long enough..."

"Oh, I know exactly who you are, Whitey."

The Lord in White blinks, frown deepening.

"No nicknames. I'll let that one slide, but I expect-"

The Lord in White laughs in his own face, a short, sharp bark of a sound that echoes off the trees and into the encroaching night.

"I don't care what you expect! Give these people what is theirs at once, or-"

"Or what, George?"

"NOT MY NAME!"

The Lord in White sighs.

"We've been over this, George. Sit down."

"I don't think you quite heard me," The Lord in White says, voice gone deathly quiet. "I know exactly who you are,"

The man utters a single syllable in a language older than mortal thought, and The Lord in White freezes in shock.

"So how about you sit your ass down instead, hm?"

The Lord in White sits down, hobbling forward to loom over himself.

"You're not special," The Lord in White spits contemptuously. "I don't care whether you take your tea with one sugar or two, what side o' the bed you roll out of in the mornin', or how many pairs of fuckin' slippers you have."

"Twenty-"

"Be silent," the man says, and utters the syllable again.

The Lord in White is silent.

"I know your name because I know what you are, and I know what you are because what you are is as old as people. This?"

The Lord in White gestures to the orchard, and the mansion, and the terrified crowd.

"That's you, in every way that fuckin' matters. You could choose not to answer to it, maybe, but you're not like us humans, are ya? Your name really is the sum of you, or at least the core. It'd mean changin' who you are, an' I don't think your pride would allow it."

The Lord in White is silent.

"So you don't wanna share? Fine. I'm takin' it from you. You don't deserve any o' what these folks built for you; neither do I, but I know what you are and what you are doesn't give up anythin' unless it's taken from them. I'm the poor fucker here, so I guess it's gotta be me that does it. If you don't like it," The Lord in White says, clinging to the moment like a man above the abyss, "stop me."

The Lord in White is silent.

The Lord in White sighs.

The Lord in White takes a deep breath.

The Lord in White is silent.

"Give me your name," and the Lord in White utters the syllable for the third time.

A beat passes, then two, then three.

The Lord in White is silent.

The nameless thing in front of him gazes forlornly at the bonfire, flames flickering in empty eyes.

"Now, I will acknowledge that you did put some work into all o' this. Plannin', gatherin' seeds, organisin', comin' up with the original idea. From what your former servants told me, you really are the best o' the worst around here, too; even if that's just 'cause you were takin' care of your property or whatever, I reckon it still counts for somethin' at least. Especially hearin' some o' the horror stories some of 'em had to share."

The nameless thing looks up at him, recognition sparking.

"So if you wanna join your former servants as an equal, be part o' the team instead o' lordin' above it, I reckon we could maybe find you a place."

The Lord in White smiles cruelly.

"But even as you are, I don't think your pride would allow it."

The nameless thing rises to his feet, fair features twisting in hatred.

The Lord in White takes a step forward.

The nameless thing takes a step back.

"Go."

The nameless thing runs.

The Lord in White turns to face his servants.

"Alright, show's over folks, let's get that fire out an' pack it in. You'll need a good night's sleep ta' be at your best for tomorrow's work."

The man from the door runs up to him.

"George, you said you weren't here to-"

"Not my name."

The man blinks.

"That isn't funny, George."

"What's not funny is the disrespect y'all are showin' me right now. My name is The Lord in White, or the master of the house as far as you're concerned, an' I will thank you to address me as..."

The Lord in White trails off as the scarred girl approaches the pair, eyes accusing, arms crossed defiantly.

"It didn't work."

"Now what on earth are you talkin' about? You saw him run off into the woods, didn't ya?"

"The Lord in White is still here."

"The thing that hurt you is gone, and you'll never have to worry about him again. Now why don't you get yourself to bed, so-"

The Lord in White snaps his fingers.

"Oh, o' course! The scars! Sorry li'l lady, musta slipped my mind in all the excitement. Here, just lemme-"

The girl takes a step back, shrinking.

"I don't want The Lord in White to touch me," she says, voice quavering only a little.

"I'm the only one that can help! Do you really wanna turn me down like that?" The Lord in White says, a slight edge creeping into his tone.

She takes another step back, turning away.

"Now hold on there, I don't think I even need ta' touch you to set things right; I can see how it all works from here. If I just..."

The girl runs.

The Lord in White follows, catching her easily.

"Let me go!" the girl screams.

"It's for your own good, missy. Do you wanna keep hurtin'?"

"You weren't supposed to be like this! You were supposed to be different!"

"Now listen," The Lord in White says sternly, "do you really think this is appropriate behaviour for-"

"You hated him! You hated him so much!"

"Well o' course I did, with what he was doin' to my...my...servants...?"

The Lord in White pauses, confused.

"Then why?"

"Why...?"

"Why are you acting just like him!"

"Because I am him! I took everything he stole, and now I..."

"You're not him! You're George!"

The Lord in White's face darkens.

"You will not speak that name in my presence again, young lady."

"George! George, George, George!"

"Now I've had just about enough of your nonsense! You are mine, and you will-"

George almost drops the girl in shock. He lowers her roughly to the ground, clutching his head in both hands.

The crowd, once hesitant, surges forward. The girl is carried away into the house. Away from him, George notes sadly.

"What's wrong?" says the man from the door.

"We're not...we're not s'posed to have their names. There's a hole in the world an' it wants me to fill it. I can't..."

"Can't you just get rid of it?"

"Only by givin' it back. He'll turn right around and march back here and we'll be back where we started."

"So, what, that's it then? Someone has to be holding the lash, and maybe you'll spare us a little more than the last guy?"

George's face hardens.

"No. Fuck that. FUCK that."

His gaze drops to his- to The Lord of White's sword, stolen from his lack of remains what seems like forever ago.

"If I die...if I die while I'm still human, then maybe-"

"Not a chance," says a voice from the crowd. Another woman, older than Denise, steps forward.

"But-"

"After everything you risked for us, you think we're just going to let you die? We'll find another way."

"There might not BE another way!"

"Of course there is. It's just a name; it's not what you are. What you are-"

"-decides whether I answer to it, yes, yes, but it's not that simple! When I knew what he was, I knew what he was! That's how I got the name in the first place! That's what I took from him! That is what I am now!"

"Is it what you want to be?"

George shudders.

"Of course not! But-"

"Give it back, then."

George blinks up at the woman.

"I can't! He'll-"

"Let him."

"I could never-"

"George," she says sternly. "Listen."

George nods weakly.

"We're not helpless, George. You have given us time, and hope; let us handle him when he returns."

"How?"

"We have his name now; we can-"

"Say it."

The old woman's face contorts. A sound comes out; it is not a syllable in a language older than mortal thought.

George frowns at her.

"Well then we'll do something else! We'll kill him when he comes back, and-"

"You know that won't work. He knows your names. I know your names. I...he...he knows your names. Not me. Not me."

He struggles for a moment, mouth opening and closing.

"He will...I...he will speak from unseen places and you will do as he commands. You have to...you have to kill me. You will do as I command. You will..."

A thought strikes him, piercing and crystal clear.

"Run. Come with me. Run so far he'll never find you."

The woman shakes her head.

"He doesn't get to keep what we built."

"Burn it, then! Leave him with nothing!"

"It is ours, George. We have laboured too long and too hard to simply destroy it."

The crowd nods as one.

"Then kill me! Kill him! I am him-"

"You are not. You despise everything that he is. Let it go."

"KILL ME!" The Lord in White screams with the voice of command.

The woman slaps his face. Hard. He tumbles to the ground, harder.

She crouches down next to him.

"Go on," he says weakly. "Finish it."

"I am," the woman smiles. "Just very, very slowly."

George stares at her.

"You can do that?"

"Apparently, yes."

"You- you WEREN'T SURE?" George all but screams. Somewhere in the crowd, the doorman snickers.

"We try things, George. He used to stop us, even kill us if we got too clever, but he can't right now, now can he?"

George gapes at her.

"Time and hope, George. Do not answer to his name. Let it go. Let the wretched thing be known for what it is."

He claws at the grass. He clutches at his head. He fights, he dry heaves, he raves at himself and the man and the woman and the girl for what feels like hours.

But eventually, he lets it go.

---

When George next opens his eyes, he is lying in the mansion's master bedroom. It is familiar, from his time as The Lord in White. Panic surges through him, then memory, then logic; he would not be panicking if he were not himself. Then panic again; how long has he been out? He dashes out the door, thundering down the stairs and not stopping until he sees the doorman lounging at the bottom.

"Morning, George. Baked banana?"

The man waves the delicious-smelling fruit at him. His stomach grumbles; he takes the offering sheepishly.

"Where is he?" George asks warily, carefully peeling the fruit.

"We haven't seen any sign of him yet, and not for lack of searching. Maybe we got lucky and another lord found him; they're not exactly on friendly terms."

George grunts sceptically, mouth full of deliciousness.

"Well what do you think happened, then?"

"Probably waitin' for me to leave before he jumps outta hidin' and takes over again," George mutters morosely. "You shoulda killed me."

"It's what he would have done, yeah."

George stares at the man.

"What? Killed someone who helped him to save his own hide? Absolutely. We saw it happen more than once."

George grunts again, non-committally this time. He takes another bite of the banana.

"You could stay here, you know."

George chews thoughtfully, then swallows.

"Nah, my husband'd kill me. He-"

His eyes widen. "My husband! He must be worryin' himself sick! I need to-"

He lurches forward, his injured ankle sending a spike of pain up his leg that catches him off-guard. The doorman grabs him as he stumbles.

"Yeah I'm pretty sure you made it down those stairs on pure adrenaline, buddy. You'd better sit yourself down before you collapse entirely."

Grumbling vaguely, he nevertheless lets himself be led to a nearby sitting room and guided down into a chair.

"I'll go get someone to help; just wait right here."

With not much else to do, he does. After a little time lost in thought and formless worry, the doorman returns with an unfamiliar face.

She bandages his ankle; The Lord in White would mend their injuries for them sometimes but couldn't be relied on, she explains. If he felt the cause of the accident was stupid enough he'd leave it be as punishment.

"Maybe I should stay," George says, frowning. "I need to get back to my family, but if he comes back, or if one o' the other lords comes knockin'-"

"Time and hope, George," the doorman says. "We'll see you on your way as soon as we can."

He ponders for a moment.

"Where are you going, anyway?"

"Home, I just told ya."

"Well sure, but where?"

George opens his mouth, then closes it again.

A beat passes.

"Back the way I came, I suppose. Should work out, one way or another."

The doorman shrugs sceptically. "If you say so."

Amiable silence passes for a time. George accepts an offered glass of water and a slice of apple pie.

"So he called this place the White Palace, huh?" he says in between bites.

"Feh. Only when he was trying to big it up. It's just 'the mansion' to us."

"And the all-fruit diet never causes any problems?"

"Eh, it's magic fruit. You get used to it."

George rolls his eyes. "I think I'd rather not, all things considered."

"Fair enough."

A walking stick is found and given to him.

"You're sure you can't stay until your ankle is better?"

George nods. "My husband'll be out o' his mind as it is, and I mean no offence to you fine folk when I say I'd like to get a doctor to take a look at it sooner rather than later."

He doesn't say it, but he wants to get out of the mansion as soon as possible. He's already sick of remembering parts of the domain that should never have been his.

The former servants wave him off cheerfully. The girl gives him a hug, proclaiming "George!" in the most cheerful voice he's ever heard. He smiles, waves, makes a show of lingering a little, and heads off.

He soon realises that with his progress unhindered, he has no idea which way he should be going. His ankle makes his progress slow, and he has only his imagination to tell him what else might be lingering in these woods; wandering lost seems like it's asking for trouble.

He looks back in the direction of the mansion. He ponders for a moment, then two.

He clears his throat.

"O sun in the sky, I don't suppose I could trouble you ta' help me find my way?"

The sunbeams that light a path through the undergrowth give the impression of home.

A human has entered a fae domain, eaten their food, and given their name. The fae goes to play with their new toy only to discover they have no power over the human. Somehow, this human is disobeying the fae rules. They are enforcing reality.

[cmdrfupa]

Lifetime

post shibuya!nanami x caregiver!reader

A series dedicated to healing and letting yourself have a second chance in this lifetime.

Inspired by this song that brings me to tears every single time.

content warning: shibuya arc, mentions of death, mental health awareness, angst(eventual comfort), burn victim so expect some detailed imagery.

wc: 4.9k

an: thank you for reading. I love you lots.

I.

Time seemed to trickle as Nanami waited for his physical therapist to arrive.

First at home session since being discharged.

4 days a week, 30 minutes a day.

“Individualized exercise program including rigorous activities as you progress to help you regain your independence.. Sure.” Nanami read from the pamphlet out loud and sighed as he looked over the stack of literature he left the rehab facility with.

He was thankful that he was deemed fit enough to continue his healing at home after 11 weeks in the best facility Gojo could find. While it accommodated every possible concern one could have, he was certain he wouldn’t feel confident in being self sufficient until he was able to put all he had learned into practice at home.

So there he was, sifting through paperwork and sipping his coffee as he awaited his new physical therapist and as Ino finished cleaning his kitchen.

“I think thats it! Lunch is in the black container on the top shelf in the fridge and I’ve prepped dinner for when Gojo comes to cook. Anything else before I’m off?” Takuma grabbed his keys, the jangle bringing Kento out of his reading trance as he looked up.

“Yes, that should be fine. I appreciate you coming over every morning Takuma. But it’s not necessary.”

Takuma scoffed, almost offended at the idea. “Nonsense. Its just a little breakfast and lunch. Its on my way to the school anyway. Consider it a small help.”

He could protest but Takuma would simply find another way to make himself useful. Whether it be taking him to his appointments or coming to slather his injuries: he was going to find a way to be of help.

As he adjusted his cast as best he could, a text popped up from an unsaved number.

>Hello, Mr. Nanami! Currently heading to you. ETA is ten minutes.

Signed with your name, Nanami simply reads the text and reacted to the message with thumbs up.

“Thank you, Takuma. Truly. But I think thats everything. My physical therapist is on their way so I’ll just hang out til then.”

“Alrighty! I’ll be working mostly on campus so just shoot me a text if you need me. Take it easy, Nanami.” with that, Ino grabbed his jacket and proceeded out the front door.

Nanami exhaled and got up to sit at the window. The mid morning sun was gentle but insistent, that soft golden hue brightening everything it touched.

It wasn’t harsh, just warm enough to remind Nanami of the outside world, a quiet promise that time was still moving. The warmth on his right side almost felt foreign as the dust mites danced lazily in the light. He closed his eyes, taking in the fragile sense of something stirring inside of him­— reposeful comfort in the way the sun didn’t have a sudden, overwhelming wave of joy but a soft declaration that he was still here.

Nanami hadn’t had many moments to really think about just how life changing the incident had been. Half of his body littered in 3rd degree burns, a third of that, 4th degree. Loss of hair on one side, an eye patch over his eye and a lack of feeling down his left arm.

He’d looked at himself in the mirror exactly once since the incident and didn’t do it again until he acquired his face prosthetic recently.

It was bulky and itchy, but it alleviated the deformities and more importantly, kept him from being too hard on his own appearance.

The moment felt necessary. Reminding him that the sun remained a constant while other things changed.

“I’ll need to see if I can sit outdoors for a few minutes a day. Would be good for me.” he noted outwardly before a light tapping at the front door had him shuffling towards the foyer.

One moment, please.” he paused a few paces before he reached the door to look down, remembering his shirt had a hole near the hem of it. He didn’t have time to change but only hoped the therapist wouldn’t see him as some undetermined slob with no real concern on how he looked.

He took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Mr. Nanami?”

“That would be me.”

“Perfect! Hello! I was sent by the health and wellness agency as part of your transitioning to home health care. We have an appointment. May I come in?”

No scrubs, no accessories to signify you were a medical professional. Just a badge clip holding your ID with “HHA” boldly sitting under your name.

“Sure. Come on in.” He led you into the house, slowly walking into the living room and nodding towards the couch as you stood next to him.

You grin and sat on the far end of the couch, near the window, “Thank you.” you sat your tote littered in small pins on the coffee table and pulled out a somewhat thick file.

“Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee?”

Shaking your head, you tapped the top of your bag. “No thank you. I have my tumbler. But I appreciate it!”

Nanami slightly bowed his head and sat in the solo chair next to the couch. “Alright so, how do we start this? I was told I’d see you four days a week with one more day possibly if I need to.”

You pursed your lips, looking down at your paperwork before looking back up to meet his neutral gaze.

“I believe that’s your physical therapist that you will be seeing four days out of the week.”

“Then pardon me for being so… impolite. But who are you exactly?”

The laugh that left your lips was a soft one but enough for Kento to lift his lips into a slight smile.

“I realize your discharge team didn’t give you names, faces, or titles. My apologies.”

“It happens.”

You continued. “I’m your Home Health Care Provider. While you were still in recovery, you met with your primary care provider and you spoke of your in home care, correct?”

Nanami nodded. “Yes.”

“Going over the team you’d have for your in housee rehabilitation, you were assigned a home health aide 5 days a week.”

His brow furrowed. “So you are that, I assume?”

“Yes. I will also be the one looking over the full team that provides you with your in-home care.”

“This feels very unnecessary.” The tone in his response was sharp. “I have people who come to help me with my daily needs. Having an entire team sounds like an exhausting back and forth to have coming to my house. A waste of resources.”

Your demeanor remained soft and understanding as you listened to his concerns. “Mr. Nanami. I understand that it sounds overwhelming. If I had to be in the predicament of needing a care team after an incident, I too would be a bit apprehensive.”

“But you aren’t. I am.”

The immediate smile that grew on your face wasn’t one that came from kindness. It was your defense, albeit an understandable one. “You are correct. I’m not. But I implore to at least hear me out on why its important to have us.”

A rush of emotions filled Kento’s chest. He wanted to pull his hair out from sheer frustration. But he remained calm.

His discomfort was obvious to you and you wanted to remedy the ache somehow.

“I want you to have an idea of what this could look like as you approach the first steps of gaining a sense of normalcy. Would you be willing to let me give you an example of what a week may look like for you? And if you don’t like it, we can adjust to a schedule that fits better for you.”

“Let’s hear it, then.”

“Splendid.” You reached into your file and pulled out a thoroughly detailed schedule and turned it for Nanami to look along with you.

“So, this schedule is based loosely on the day to day you had while in the rehab facility. No matter who, anything involving someone from your team wouldn’t be arriving until 10am. This is unless you decide to utilize me. Then I would be here at 7 every morning to aide you with your morning routine.”

“What if I don’t want extensive help?”

“I would respect the boundary.”

Nanami took a closer look at the schedule, seeing the words ‘kitchen prep healing exercise’ highlighted for every Tuesday and Thursday. “What does this entail? Kitchen prep healing.”

“Your passions shouldn’t suffer because of changes. So I created a regimen that would help us get in the kitchen and get busy while making sure we help maintain your range of motion and fine motor skills.”

Nanami looked up at you for a moment, trying to assess just how serious you were about changing what he was uncomfortable with.

“So if I only need you for meal prep and assisting with chores around my house.”

“Then I will only help you with meal prep and assisting with your chores around the house.”

He handed the schedule back to you. “And if it isn’t something that I’ve mentioned?”

Trying to test you. Cute. “If you mention to me that would like me to assist you in going to the grocery store, fixing your bed, helping you get ready for your appointments, then I will. Because my goal is having you confident in yourself and your abilities.”

That nagging feeling of what if filled his chest and mind. Nanami knows he can’t do it alone. But to be a burden is the last thing he wants to ever become.

“I don’t want to become too dependent on you and your teams’ services.” He sat up as best he could, stretching out his legs and wincing at the unexpected intensity of his blood flowing through his left leg.”

Not wanting to lose the momentum, you sat on the edge of the couch alert of and aware of the pain he showed. “Your independence will not falter. We are merely an extension. We are the claw arm that’s in your reach if the jar of pickles are too high up, if you will.”

Nanami tried to stop the half smile on his face but faltered. “I understand.”

“Do you have any questions for me?” You smiled politely.

“A few,” Nanami cleared his throat. “When it comes to changing my dressings..”

“I will be the only one who sees them completely outside of your primary physician.” You answered, as if you were waiting for that specific question.

“Second question: can you properly fold a fitted sheet?”

You laughed, nodding. “The trick is in how you hold the corners. Line up the creases and you’ll always have a perfect fold.”

Nanami nodded. “Interesting.” The intense blood flow in his legs ceased and his body noticeably relaxed. He sat forward. “Final question, if you were to start tomorrow, could we have your start time for 8am? I like having the first hour of the day to myself.”

“If you want me here at 8 am, I will be at the door by 7:55 to knock at 7:59.”

The moment of silence was filled with hope as you realized you got to him. You let him see genuine concern and thats all he wanted. But this was only the beginning. And you were willing to be his guide to a sense of independence all the way through.

___________________________________________

The silence of the early morning was heavier than usual— a quit hum of of the refrigerator reached his room as he slept with his bedroom door open now, a new practice he’s since learned is a response to his trauma.

He sat on the side of his bed, staring down at his slippers that warmly held his feet as the barely visible morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and unrelenting.

“I embrace healing.” He spoke out loud, his voice still low, sleep riddened, as he slowly rose from the bed and grabbed his cane.

“We aren’t going to be hard on ourselves because this is still new to you, Kento. Its okay to not know what to do.”

Mornings were more of a drag than he would like for them to be.

His body was more stiff. More rigid. He needed 30 minutes minimum to sit on the side of the bed and stretch just to muster up enough internal energy to get up and grab his cane.

He sounded off, flipping the bathroom light on and adjusting the sink to run warm water. “Today will be a great day.” He washed his hands, meticulously washing between his fingers and flicking the excess off his fingers before he dried them, reaching for a clean towel and letting it soak under the faucet.

“You will be more than okay.” this time, he spoke as if someone would overhear him talking to his self.

Nanami shook his head, lowly chuckling at what he found himself doing.

Yuji began to send him various videos that initiated ‘positive self talk’ and ‘daily affirmations for healing the body.’ Yuji hoped to try and help expedite a process that Megumi told him more than fives times, would take awhile.

Slowly pulled away the dressing on his cheek, Nanami watched small bits of dead tissue peel away from his healing skin. He threw it in the trash hamper, then pumped a small dot of antimicrobial soap on the wet towel he’d soaked and gently began to wash his face.

He looked closely, inspecting every patch he wiped over to take notice of any changes in how his skin looked. He tried very, very hard to not look into his own eyes.

Rinsing and patting to dry, he washed his hands again then reached for the jar of salve, precisely swiping a thin layer over his left cheek and forehead before he placed his transparent face mask on.

Finishing up his morning bathroom routine went without a rush. Going to throw on yet another loose fitting t-shirt and casual pants before sliding his slippers back on.

Slow and steady. Nice and easy.

“I am going to have a great day today.” the rubber end of his walker softly thudded against the wooden floors as he made his was down the hall. “It is a new day. New chances.”

He wasn’t going to confirm or deny if these affirming exercises were doing anything. But he’d admit that saying them aloud was probably the silliest he’d felt ever doing anything.

The living room held a welcoming warmth as he drew the blinds open that faced the street.

The third floor apartment view was always the one thing that made the asking price of his condo worth it to him.

The patchwork of traditional rooftops and modern buildings met the edge of the cities outskirts. Bare branches stood against the pale early morning winter sky, hints of early plum blossoms added a hint of a spring that would soon come and wipe away the muted landscape.

Kento sat on the window seal, taking in the low mountains in the distance. That thin veil of mist hiding the peaks that were still dusted in snow. With a deep inhale, he looked down at the street to see a bundled up pedestrian loading his car with boxes as another, that looked only slightly familiar, was exiting their car in a slow jog to the front steps of his building.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

7:55 am.

“Timely.”

slowly, he went to open the rest of the blinds around the living room, a slow tango that made him a feel like he still had just enough control, timing the last curtain opening perfectly as your soft knock filled the foyer yet again.

He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on the frame, before opening the door and stepping aside in a half step to let you in. His expression was neutral — not unkind, but carefully composed, as if he were still deciding how much space to give you in his life.

“Good morning,” you spoke softly, offering a polite smile.

“Morning,” Nanami replied, his voice low and steady. “I was about to make myself a simple breakfast. Coffee too.”

It wasn’t quite an invitation, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was just a statement — a line drawn firmly down the middle.

You nodded. “That sounds good.”

You sat your bag down on the ottoman against the wall and followed his lead. The condo was quiet — too quiet, the kind that felt deliberate. Like he'd stripped the space of anything deemed unnecessary. A few trinkets here and there, clean lines, muted colors.. But the kitchen felt like the homeliest part of the space.

Black stainless steel appliances, cold press juicer and blender sitting on the counter. A top of the line built-in double electric convection wall oven, a display of every herb and spice on a dark mahogany shelf sitting high on the wall.

“You have a very beautiful kitchen.” Your eyes grazed over the quartz cabinets, taking in the light blue finishes until you landed on what you knew to be as the best stand mixer that only experts chefs and bakers would have.

“You have a Bosch… Its even more beautiful in person.” You inspected it as if it were a lost artifact seeing the light for the first time in 500 years.

Nanami cocked his head for a moment. “Are you that taken by a stand mixer?”

“Mr. Nanami, I’d have to work 3 weeks nonstop to not only get the mixer but to financially recover from it.”

Your half suppressed laugh had Kento smiling. “Understandable. It is a big purchase. I use to bake fresh bread for my weekly use.”

“You’ll have to give me a demonstration one day! Would love to see the Bosch in action.”

Nanami raised his brows. “You think I can get back to that one day?”

The small flick of something resembling hope flecked in the richest parts of his brown eyes.

“We can get you back to that. I’m sure of it.”

He nodded, a silent acceptance of an unspoken challenge. He opened the refrigerator, bearing his weight on the cane as he used his dominant hand to grab the butter, holding it out.

“Do you mind taking things as I pass them to you?”

You reached out, taking the butter and placing it on the counter. “Don’t mind at all.”

A pack of bacon, a jar of jam and an orange followed after and you awaited his next instruction.

“I’m going need your help with peeling orange. I believe I can manage the rest.”

With quiet acknowledgment, you grabbed the orange and began to peel as he placed 2 pieces of bacon in the skillet.

It took less than 10 minutes and Nanami moved to the dining table, a slice of toast placed next to his bacon on a plate and setting out a small dish of fruit with the addition of an apple now. You brought out 2 mugs of coffee, placing his in front of him and sitting across from him with yours.

A butter knife rested awkwardly beside the jar of jam he chose. It was clear he had intended to do more, but something had stopped him.

You didn’t move or say anything, you sipped your coffee and watched as he reached for the jar. His right hand gripped the jar while his left hovered over the lid. His fingers trembled — just slightly — but enough that the lid refused to budge.

You didn’t move at first. You’d quickly learned that Nanami wasn’t the type to appreciate overstepping, even if it came from a place of concern. So you waited, giving him the space to either push through the task or acknowledge the struggle.

After a long moment, his jaw tightened. The jar didn’t budge.

You opened your mouth — not to offer help, but simply to ask if he wanted you to hold the base of the jar steady when his voice cut through the silence.

“Can you…” He paused, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “Can you open this for me?”

It wasn’t a whisper, nor was it loud. Just a calm, measured request, but you could hear the effort behind it — the weight of a man who wasn’t used to asking for assistance.

You stood and went to his side of the table and gently placed your hand on the lid. “Turn when you’re ready.”

His hand dropped away, switching his left hand out for the right gripping the glass part and his left fingers curling into a loose fist at his side. The lid gave way with a soft pop, and you set it down in front of him without a word.

He didn’t thank you, but there was a small nod — barely noticeable, but it was there.

“Would you like me to slice the apple for you?” you asked, careful not to overstep.

Nanami shook his head. “No. I can manage.”

You sat back down, sipping your coffee as he asked you more questions about your fascination with his Bosch.

_______________________________________

The morning moved quickly. Breakfast cleanup was a breeze as Nanami continued his light reading and non rigorous solo exercises.

During breakfast, you’d been given what you called the key to the cupboard by Nanami. He uttered, with few words, that he didn’t want to prevent you from doing your job. While he limited what that might be, he was quick to say how appreciative he’d be if his bed could be made up, his laundry started and lunch done. He’d have a friend come by to do the rest.

You happily complied and began working on laundry the moment he sat down post breakfast. And by noon, his physical therapist had arrived to continue his exercise routine and mobility work.

Despite the pain he would occasionally feel from the intense stretches he felt near his ankles, this was Nanami’s favorite part of his rehabilitation. Feeling the tightness dissipate as he stretched his neck and chest together. He closed his eyes, allowing the PT to guide his body on top of the exercise ball.

“Now a slow exhale as you reach your arms over your head. Nice and easy.”

The short man moved the ball under Nanami and he grunted.

“Sorry Mr. Nanami, too much?”

Nanami wheezed a chuckle out, “Not enough. Can we do this one more often?”

The therapist exhaled and smiled. “We can. Your body is reacting as it needs to and it seems to be the best exercise to get a reaction out of you. Does it feel like your body is loosening up?”

He nodded, slowly sitting up with assistance. “Definitely. My skin feels less taut at my hips and chest when I open up my arms like that. It feels.. good.”

“That’s what I like to hear. We’re going to finish off with some hands exercises then your aide will be tagged back in to finish the day off with you.”

His session proceeded and came to an end before he knew it. He walked with a bit more confidence as he escorted his therapist to the door and went to find you in the kitchen finishing lunch.

Nanami watched you sliced the cucumber. He nodded at the precision of the knife movements, impressed with how perfect each little sliced green disc was as you added it to the salad bowl. He waited to speak once you sat the knife down.

“You have some really great knife skills.”

You looked up and smiled, wiping your hand on the dish towel nearby. “4 years of cooking for a group of broke college students as a college student. 2 of those years were spent dating a sous chef who taught me some of what I know.”

“I’m sure this sous chef would be happy to know you use these techniques so well.”

“We could only hope,” Expertly, you avoided giving that a full response that would push the topic of your ex. “Where did you learn to cook, Mr. Nanami? I’m sure you are amazing with a Bosch in your kitchen.”

Nanami walked behind you, reaching for two bowls out of the cabinets and placed them next to you. “My grandfather wanted me to be self sufficient once I moved out on my own.” He slowly opened the silverware drawer, pulling out a pair of forks and knives. “And cooking in itself is its own therapy for me.”

You finished placing the grilled chicken in the salad bowl and handed over the tongs to Nanami. “How does cooking make you feel?”

He looked down at the tongs, his heart fluttering with an anxiety he couldn’t place. His eyes found you. “Do you think I can?”

“I’m right here,” you slid one of the eating bowls directly next to him and smiled. “What does cooking do for you?”

Nanami put his eyes back onto the salad and took a deep breath. He grabbed the tongs, gripping them, feeling the cold stainless steel rest in the part of his palm that still had feeling. “Cooking requires me to pay attention. Smell, sounds, how my food is looking.”

He widened the tongs, lowering them into the salad and tossing it lightly, as if he’d harm the lettuce if he placed any pressure.

“What do you usually cook with?” You noticed his hesitance in squeezing the tong tips together, his grip faltering as he exhaled from frustration. “I’m going to hover my hand below yours. Claw extension. Only if you need it.”

Nanami closed his eyes, slowly breathing out as he tried to not lose his momentum. “Garlic. Fresh minced garlic.” He tried again, slowly working his hands closed until he had salad gripped between the flat tips. He carefully moved it over to the dish, hand shaking but making it with no spillage. “I prefer to mince it and store it in water. Taste great every time.”

You smiled as he looked at you for a hint of validation and gave a nod of acknowledgment.

He moved the tongs back to the serving bowl with a glimmer of determination in the way he rolled his shoulders back. He grabbed more and placed it into the bowl, releasing a with a bit of force before sitting the tongs down. “I think I want a bit more tomato.”

Fork in hand, trying to pin down a slice of tomato so he could cut it. His right hand hovered awkwardly, meant to steady the cutting board, but his left — the one gripping the fork — trembled just enough to betray him.

The fork slipped.

The tomato skidded to the side, smearing juice across the surface. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

You didn’t speak either. You knew better than to rush in with help he hadn’t asked for yet.

He reset the slice, pressing the fork down again. His grip was too tight — his knuckles pale from the strain — but the tremor in his fingers wouldn’t let up. The fork scraped against the board, missing the tomato entirely this time.

A sharp pain ran through his forefinger and he dropped the fork, cursing under his breath as he massaged his purlicue.

His gaze stayed locked on the tomato, his shoulders tense.

“You did good. You and the tongs are quite the dynamic duo.”

Nanami felt a heated tear well in his eye before he sucked it back in. “This. Its all so hard sometimes. A fork? I can’t hold a damn fork and its been months.”

He needed to let the frustrations out. It was going to be the only way he could get over those hurdles to feeling whole again.

You stood in silence for a moment, giving him space to process and feel. “Don’t give yourself a timeline but do give yourself grace.”

“Is this all worth it?” You weren’t sure if he was talking to you or himself until he took a few steps back and leaned against the counter looking at you. “Will I be the same person I was before all this? Because I feel like even when I’m giving 200%, I’m failing with no progress.”

“This feels like it’s never going to get better,” Nanami said, his voice low — almost too calm, but there was an edge to it. A rare crack in the carefully composed man standing next to you.

The words hung between you both, heavier than the silence.

You gave him a moment before you spoke. “It’s frustrating,” you said softly. “I know.”

Nanami’s jaw shifted, his lips pressing into a firm line. He didn’t respond right away, as if letting the admission sit out in the open was already more than he was prepared for.

His hand flexed at his side — open, then closed — before, at last, he exhaled through his nose. “Can you help me?”

The question was quiet, but it felt like a victory in its own right.

You nodded, letting him take a few steps forward before stepping in slowly so he had the chance to pull back if he wanted. When he didn’t, you picked up the fork, steadying the tomato with your other hand. The prongs sank into the skin with a soft pop — a simple act, but weighted with everything unspoken.

Nanami’s hand hovered near yours for a moment, then dropped back to his side.

He didn’t thank you, but the small, almost imperceptible nod he gave was enough.

You didn’t push for more words. Instead, you handed him the knife, stepping back just far enough to let him reclaim some of the space —he had let you stand just a little closer, and it was a sign that he was willing to let you in to help.

[stvrnsslvts]

Silent Screams - M.S

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and excessive drinking, Depression and mental health struggles

Potential triggers for those struggling with mental health or addiction.

The room was suffocating, the air too thick with regret and the stench of loneliness. I sat there, slouched on the couch, staring at the half-empty bottle of vodka resting in my hands. I wasn’t even drunk. The numbness I craved wasn’t in the glass anymore. I didn’t know how to reach it, but I kept drinking, hoping that it would come. The cold, empty feeling inside of me was too much to bear.

I heard the door creak open, the familiar sound of Matt’s boots on the floor, followed by a soft, tentative voice.

“Sweetheart?” His voice was always so gentle, so careful. As if he was walking on glass, afraid of breaking me, afraid of what he might find.

I didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I didn’t want him to see me when I felt like I was falling apart, piece by piece.

His footsteps grew closer, and I still didn’t look up. I couldn’t face him. The shame was too heavy. I was supposed to be the one who held us together, but all I could do was break apart.

"Y/N?" he said, his voice more insistent now, a quiet frustration creeping in. He was trying, desperately, to reach me. But I didn’t want to be reached. I didn’t want him to see how far I’d fallen.

Finally, he knelt down in front of me, his hands gentle as he pried the bottle from my grasp. His touch was so tender, like I was a fragile thing that would shatter under the weight of his concern. I didn’t fight him. I couldn’t. My fingers felt numb, my body heavy with the emptiness that had settled deep inside me.

“Please…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please, talk to me. What’s happening, Y/N?”

I couldn’t answer. What could I say? That I felt hollow? That I had spent so long drowning in my own head that I didn’t know how to climb back out? That I had no idea how to stop myself from falling into this dark, endless hole?

I shook my head, the tears welling up and choking me, but I didn’t let them fall. Not yet. Not when he was here. Not when he was looking at me like I was everything he needed, when all I wanted was to disappear.

He sighed, his hand reaching up to brush my hair from my face. I flinched, just slightly, but he noticed. Of course, he did. His eyes softened, and for a moment, I thought he might just leave, might just walk away because he couldn’t take it anymore. But he didn’t. He never did.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” he said quietly, his voice a mix of frustration and something else. Love. It always came back to that, didn’t it? He loved me, even when I was this broken, even when I couldn’t give him a reason to stay. And yet, here he was. Again.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know how to tell him that no matter how much he loved me, I didn’t think I was worth it anymore. He couldn’t fix me. No one could.

He reached out, taking my hands and pulling me gently to my feet. I was unsteady, my legs shaky beneath me, but he held me, kept me upright. There was something in his touch now—something that felt like desperation. He was scared. Scared for me, scared for us. And I couldn’t bear it.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? I don’t care how long it takes. I’m here.”

I let him guide me down the hallway, my steps slow and hesitant. He was leading me, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was dragging him down with me. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve me.

When we reached the bathroom, I could feel the tension in his body as he turned the water on, testing it with his hand. His back was turned, but I could see him in the mirror—his shoulders slumped, his face tense. He was trying to be strong for me, but I could see the cracks. I could see the way he was starting to unravel too, and it made everything worse.

I didn’t deserve him.

He helped me undress, his movements slow and careful. I didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes, but I could feel it. I could feel it even though he was trying so hard to hide it. I wasn’t the person he had fallen in love with. I was a ghost of her, hollowed out and drowning in my own darkness.

When he helped me step into the warm water, his hands steady on my back, I felt the heat of the water against my skin, but it did nothing to ease the cold in my chest. His fingers worked through my hair gently as he rinsed it, the water running clear as his hands moved with a tenderness I didn’t deserve. I was shaking, both from the cold of my own soul and from the exhaustion that had begun to take over me.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Please let me help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell him that I was too far gone, that no matter how much he tried to save me, I was already slipping away. That I didn’t know how to fight anymore. That I didn’t know how to fight for us.

His hands were on my skin, soft but firm, washing away the grime, the guilt, the loneliness. But none of it stuck. None of it mattered. I was still drowning.

I leaned back against the edge of the tub, my eyes closed, trying to shut out everything—the warmth of the water, the softness of his touch, the love in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words slipping past my lips like poison. “I’m sorry for being like this. I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time. His fingers paused in my hair, and I could feel him looking at me, even though I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

“I’m not leaving,” he finally said, his voice low and thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter how much you push me away, I’m not going anywhere.”

I wanted to scream at him. To tell him that he should leave. That he deserved better than this version of me. I was nothing but a broken shell, a wreck of a person. I had nothing to give him anymore. Nothing worth staying for.

But I couldn’t say that. Not when he was here. Not when he was holding me together in a way that felt like it was going to rip me apart.

When the bath was over, he helped me out, his hands gentle as he wrapped me in a towel. I didn’t resist. I didn’t have the energy to. His touch was warm, almost like a lifeline, but it only made me feel weaker.

He dried my hair, his fingers brushing through the wet strands as he worked. I could hear the exhaustion in his breath, the subtle way his shoulders sagged as he moved around me. I wanted to apologize for all of it. For being a burden, for not being enough. But the words never left my mouth.

“Y/N…” His voice cracked slightly, and I could hear how tired he was, how worn down. “I can’t do this alone. You don’t have to do it alone either.”

I wanted to tell him I couldn’t promise him anything, that I didn’t know how to fight for this, for us. But I didn’t. I just closed my eyes and let him take care of me, even though I didn’t feel like I deserved it. Even though I didn’t know if I could ever truly be saved.

When he tucked me into bed, his hands lingering on my arm, I could feel the weight of his love pressing down on me. I could feel the way he was trying to hold me together, trying to make me whole again. But I wasn’t whole. I wasn’t sure I ever would be.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I closed my eyes and let the tears fall, silently, quietly. Because even though he was here, even though he loved me, I didn’t know how much longer I could keep pretending. How much longer I could keep lying to him, to myself, and telling him everything would be okay.

The truth was, I wasn’t sure it would ever be okay again. But as his hand rested on my arm, I tried to believe that maybe, just maybe, he would stay long enough to see me through the worst of it.

Even if I didn’t know if I could ever come back from this.

A/N - If you're going through something like this right now, just remember that you are loved and you're not alone! :)

Dividers : @bernardsbendystraws

Tags : @definitelydelaney @shadowthesim237 @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @sfoiasturn

This fic was loosely inspired by Effy & Freddie (from skins)

[delight-angelsbliss]

Can I get sonic, knuckles, or shadow trying to help reader dealing with an ed like annawrecksya or bullymia. Fan of either romantic or platonic <3

Precis: knuckles, sonic and shadow with a reader who has an ed (seperate) can be read as both platonic or romantic

Warnings: ED, anorexia, mentions of puking, hurt/comfort, Sonic feeling so guilty he starts to take mental hits, lowkey that happens with most of them but I won't spoiler

Notes: in the psychiatric hospital my roommate taught me unhealthy ways to lose weight like making yourself puke with a toothbrush or even puking up meds to not gain weight since usually in the hospital everyone gained weight and became a victim of this. Guys I swear I can write angst trust 🙏 also might of yapped a bit too much sry for the delay to the other requesters heh cuz I usually go from first to last request until the first one is finished!! Also yapped a bit too much with sonic heh I decided to only go with anorexia because that's what I know better but maybe I'll make one with bulimia if y'all want

Sonic (anorexia part)

Sonic is already pretty skinny (as everyone can see) , he's gotten many compliments and weird comments about it before. It never bothered him. He likes himself and how fit his body is, he doesn't see a reason why people would hate their body. That all changed when he met you, the moment he looked at you, he could tell something was off. You rarely ate and would always immediately go to the bathroom after, only coming back with somewhat shaking legs, your breath smelled like puke, and your eyes looked lifeless. It made him so sad knowing that's how you valued your health, purely based on how your body looks.

Sonic made sure to check that you've eaten your food, and stayed with you for the next few hours so you didn't have any way to puke it put, even if that didn't work most of the time. Sonic knew you could excessively exercise after, or even starve yourself for days if you so please. He knew there we're ways to prevent it, but damage was already done, Sonic tried talking to you, getting you to a hospital, therapy, ANYTHING to help you. Yet for some reason he never truly saw the happy image of you he used to have. You'd drink water and put on more layers when getting your weight taken, openly reassuring him everything is fine and twisting his words to make it seem like he's overreacting. He knew this was a hard thing to avoid, he couldn't just avoid his precious loved ones treating themself so bad! It felt like he was hearing the world on his shoulders. His world; you.

Sonic slowly started withdrawing himself from his friends and other events, he started hanging out more with you to make sure you were eating properly. Sonic would sometimes withdraw or act off when going on a mission and this is basically like a mission to rescue you! That was always his excuse when he spent countless nights thinking of you and going back to friends, he felt so guilty leaving you all alone to fend anorexia alone. He wasn't going to let you live like this, that's a promise. Sonic felt tired after weeks and weeks of getting his concerns dismissed; "she gained 2 kg when we checked last week! She might need to cut, haha" "didn't you see how bloated she was? That's because she's eating more food" he knew those were lies, water can easily pass and help weight loss while making most bloated from lots of water, he knew you could put on socks and extra layers to 'gain more' when getting weighed. Sonic started hiding your pills like fat Blocker to help you gain more weight, instead he replaces them with iron pills

He started seeing real differences, so did you. You knew you would blow your cover if you said anything, sonic knew that too, he backed you into a corner (with kabedon 👅) so there wasn't anywhere to run, you wouldn't be able to outrun him anyway. He will always find a way to help you. He was determined, he won't give up! No matter what pills he has to replace, what methods he has to use to talk to you, he will help you!

Knuckles

With the mountain of version of knuckles it's hard to find common ground but I tried to go in the middle of them all

When knuckles first met you, he saw you as a happy and healthy person, but slowly. Something shifted, he noticed your weird behavior when going out to eat, how everything always in your home looked full; food expiring/never running out. He thought it was odd that foods, especially snacks, were always there. It worried him beyond comprehension. Knuckles is already pretty muscular and happy with his body so why can't you be? It worries him that you have to deal with these kind of thoughts

Knuckles trying to talk with you, wanting to get you to eat more. It had some lasting effects for a week... Or maybe not-? He would hear you making yourself puke each time after eating, it made him sick, sad, betrayed. It all felt like a roller coaster of emotions that he couldn't escape, he tried distancing yourself. It's better for me! Is what he thought to himself, but he realized; he's hurting you more if he just leaves you to deal with it all, the guilt ate him. So he started subtly pushing back into your life.

When he did push back inside, he noticed how broken you seen. You haven't been taking care of yourself, you've dropped many kilos, your body looked so broken and he could tell you felt the exact same way. Knuckles knew this was not healthy, he felt every bone in his body go limp, he couldn't break down now and he knew it! He had to help you! It was just a time race at this point to get you to be healthy again, a healthy weight, healthy diet, and knuckles wasn't going to give up

Shadow

We all know Shadow is a loner, he hasn't met many people in general so seeing an anorexic one was surprising and concerning to him. Under the presumption you two already built a relationship (platonic or Romantic doesn't matter) Shadow knew what he was signing up for when being friends with you, he knew you could starve yourself to death any second, the thought made shivers run down his spine every single time. He didn't want to lose another. He won't let you die. In my head, I'd see Shadow be extremely difficult, protective, overbearing, and much more! He won't let you have privacy because he wants to ensure your safety, no matter how much you communicate with him, it won't help his thoughts ease up

Shadow isn't gonna get crushed that easy, he isn't a communicator and he certainly won't try in this scenario... Until he realizes just how uncomfortable you are, you won't shower, dress, eat or anything really when he's near, he slowly realizes just how uncomfortable he makes you. That's when he truly eases up, going to sonic and the gang for help to find ways to correctly help his loved one! That's when he gives you more privacy, trying to communicate (surprisingly) making sure you have a nice filling meal prepared and more stuff that should help promote eating

I know this is probably annoying, but he bans you watching movies or series that have even a glimpse of an ED. He doesn't want you seeing it on TV or anywhere else, no insecurities, no movies that make fun of insecure people! He might loosen up sometimes when he sees you watching it without any problems, but otherwise. You're always going to be in good care with him

[icantgobacktoprison-blog]

The way I need him is concerning to my mental health

Need him BAD.

[mxalexwhat]

This man is the Pinnacle of Perfection. He is the Height of Attraction. He is the Sexiest Humanoid in Fiction.

This hairy, burly short king, chef de cuisine, with thicc thighs, kind eyes, and a heart of gold.

Do not waste my time with inferior meat.

[ratatatastic]

7.30.24 (x)

[leclerking]

GOD IM SO WEAK FOR HIM . peak face economy I need him so bad

[cinderbutnotelle]

feels so helpless when you enjoy watching edits of shows/movies but you're not an editor... LIKE WDYM THERE ARE ONLY TWO EDITS ON THE UNDERRATED SHOW IM HYPERFIXATING ON RN⁉️

[rainiiisspamming]

I'M PRETTY SURE I'M A CLOSE SECOND KILL ME HE'S SOOOOOO

Now we REALLY need Nikolai because who else would properly simp over Fyodor in this attire

[deusfoundry]

no because cedric would absolutely eat the 'a man' trend

STOP NONNIE PLEASE THE WAY MY HEART DROPPED TO MY ASS HE SOOOO WOULD

[searchingwardrobes]

I have been debating sharing this for some time, but with the new year weight loss ads amping up, I feel it's something I have to say. I'm worried for people's health.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably already know about people taking the diabetic drug ozempic for weight loss. You've probably heard the debates about the ethics of taking needed drugs away from diabetes patients and maybe even the side effect of "ozempic face." However, there is one side effect of taking these drugs that, in my opinion, people are not being warned about.

If you carefully pay attention to the television ads, you will hear them mention "pancreatitis" as a possible side effect. If you're like me a decade ago, that word probably means nothing to you. Let me warn you, however, it is no minor thing. My husband suffered from chronic pancreatitis for five agonizing years. The pain is beyond comprehension. Doctors who specialize in the pancreas describe it as the worst pain a human can endure. There is no actual cure. Little is understood about the disease, so treatment is difficult. Doctors who understand it are few and far between. It took my husband forever to get diagnosed. He went through multiple surgeries and procedures, but nothing worked. He had to go on an extremely limiting diet. If he varied from it in any way, he would have an attack. The only way to recover from an attack was to not eat at all for days, then slowly add in broth and jello. Did he lose weight? Yes. As a matter of fact, one day he stepped out of the shower, and I burst into tears at the sight of him. He was skin and bones - I could count every rib. Was it worth it to be thin? If you even ask that question, I'm concerned for your mental health.

They couldn't figure out exactly why my husband got pancreatitis. At that time, they thought only alcoholics and drug addicts got pancreatitis. This made it difficult to get compassionate medical care, unfortunately. Now they know that prescription medication (particularly diabetic medication) and high cholesterol can also cause it. Then there is another group - where they just don't know. But you better believe I would hesitate to take any medication that could cause pancreatitis. I would weigh my options carefully to assess if it was worth the risk. In my opinion, weight loss is not worth that risk.

My concern has been heightened seeing the Hers commercials for these drugs (under different names, but rest assured, it is the same thing). These commercials brag that you can get these drugs from Hers with just a simple virtual call, no questions asked. I wonder if people are fully aware of the risks of these drugs. I also wonder if we even know all of the risks yet. I also fear that the culture around these drugs could develop into an us vs. them mentality. That if it's so easy to be thin, why wouldn't you be? And some are getting dangerously thin on these drugs.

I know some diabetics who are on these drugs, and necessarily so. They tell me that it causes nausea when they eat. That's why they don't eat much. Again, that doesn't sound like a pleasant way to live. If you need it to regulate your blood sugar, that's one thing. But if you don't? Why would you do this to yourself?

My husband is now healed of pancreatitis. It was a miracle. You may not believe in that sort of thing, but I'm telling you, there is no other explanation. We had exhausted every medical solution, then the pandemic hit. We were concerned because hospitals were only taking life or death cases. What if he had a bad attack and needed an iv of pain meds? What would we do? Weeks passed - no pain. A month passed - no pain. Six weeks passed - no pain. He decided to grill a steak - something he hadn't been able to even take a nibble of in 5 years. I watched him take a bite, holding my breath. Nothing. He ate the whole thing. No pain. Five years later, still no pain. The doctors can't explain it, either.

So our story has a happy ending. Not everyone else's does. I hope people take the time to read this. If you do, please, please share it. I don't want anyone suffering needlessly.

[cherry444kisses]

give yourself a reason

lando norris x fem!reader

summary : you believe yourself to be unworthy of love. lando shows you otherwise.

warnings : a lot of angst with a whole lot of comfort, fluffy, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health issues and insecurities, swearing, based off 'call your mom' by noah kahan.

wc : 2.7k

req : no

rory speaks : hi this is my first proper fic on here! it deals with quite serious topics, so please remember to reach out if you are struggling. i've had a lot going on, so this is just a self-indulgent splurge that turned into a fic so... enjoy! feedback very much appreciated <3

masterlist

After carving out a couple weeks from your schedule, you found yourself walking, or at least trying to walk, down Monégasque streets, away from the noise of the nightlife. Your head was fuzzy and the movement of your legs was just a little concerning, as you trailed slightly behind the rest of the group.

Getting this drunk wasn’t in your plans for tonight, though you welcomed it with open arms, as it offered some sort of respite from whatever the fuck was going on in your life.

A ‘mess’ was probably too weak of a word to describe it. Too diluted. You had your dream job, your fashion designer apprenticeship allowing you to travel all around the world, great friends and yet it was not enough. The work load seemed to be overwhelming all of the time, you were homesick more often than not, and you felt so distant to the rest of your friends.

An ugly, sick feeling had nestled itself deep inside, and had steadily been growing since. You felt so lonely. So lost. A want to be loved and supported unconditionally taunted you constantly. You just wanted to be held. And with no effort to do anything except sleep, it was all getting at bit much.

A little further ahead, your friends had stopped at a convenience store, and all but one of them had entered. The pounding in your head somehow managed to get worse upon stopping and standing next to him. You swayed, and his hand came out to steady you by the small of your back.

“I told you to stop drinking, you know,” he stated, hand still on your back. A light breeze passed between you two.

“I don’t need you to parent me, Lando,” you scoffed, wrapping your arms around yourself, turning towards him and away from the pulsing lights from the street lamps. The unimpressed look he gave you was almost scathing, and you diverted your eyes back to the lights. It hurt less.

“Sit down before you fall over.” His hand, that was still on your back, moved slightly, grasping your waist so he could wrap his whole arm around your back, and you felt your legs almost give way as he began to lower you down. The two of you sat on the curb, knees up to your chins and touching each others’. Lando’s thumb began to gently trace circles on your waist as he spoke.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He was looking at you. Staring hard. You could feel the heat of it, and you mulled over his words.

“Talk about what?” you asked, turning to make eye contact with him, almost shrinking under the intensity of his gaze. If you played dumb, not knowing what he was referring to, hopefully he would drop it.

Lando knew you too well.

“Whatever it is that’s made you try and drink yourself to death,” he said, eyes squinting, as though he was picking you apart. And he was. He could definitely see right through you. You wanted to get up and run away because damn him for being your bestfriend, damn him for knowing you so well and damn him for making you fall for him.

It had probably been a minute of silence before you spoke, looking away from him again.

“I want to disappear again,” you whispered, throat beginning to close up and burn. Your cheeks flushed with the embarrassment of your confession, and the heat of Lando’s gaze returned. His hand squeezed your waist again and your eyes welled up. “I’m sorry.”

He moved, quickly, to crouch in front of you, hands enclosing your own that were on your knees. His eyes, slightly hazy from his own drinking, bore into yours. There was so much concern in them , and something else that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“What are you apologising for?” he asked, and a tear escaped, rolling down the flushed skin of your cheeks.

“I don’t know,” you replied, honestly. You didn’t know why you were apologising, it just felt right. “Everything’s just too much,” you continued, removing one of your hands from his hold and wiping away the tear. “I’m just so tired. All the time. And I feel so… lonely. But I have all of you guys, and I have a house, and a job and so I shouldn’t be compla-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Both of Lando’s hands had come up to cup your face. They covered the expanses of your cheeks entirely, and he cradled you as though you were the most important thing in the world. “It’s okay. It’s okay to feel that way, you’re not being ungrateful,” he spoke gently, thumbs brushing the apples of your cheeks as he did so. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

And you swore to God above, then and there, that you would never love another man more than the one crouched in front of you. Your heart hurt, with how much he cared. His words and actions stomped out the ugly beast of emotions that had spilled out, and you leaned into his touch.

“Sometimes life can seem like it’s everything we wanted, but we don’t feel that way. And that’s okay. We just need to figure out why, so we can feel happy with life, and I’m gonna be here for you throughout all of it,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours.

Your head was still pounding, and you still felt a little sick, yet everything in this moment felt so right. Your hands moved from your knees to behind his neck, shoving your face into his shoulder. Lando’s arms circled around your waist to embrace you tightly.

“It’s just so hard. I’m always so close to giving up, Lan. I don’t know what to do,” you mumbled into his shoulder. At your words, he held you impossibly tighter, and all the barriers you had ever set up crumbled, sobs racking your body. Repetitions of, ‘I know’, and ‘I’m so sorry love,’ left his mouth as he continued to hold you. At some point Lando had brought the two of you to your feet, and you released him from the hug, wiping your eyes.

“We’re going to figure this out together, yeah?” he said, bringing his own thumbs underneath your eyes in order to clean your smudged mascara. You could only give a weak nod and a smile, before whispering a thank you.

The door to the convenience store opened, and out tumbled your still very drunk group of friends. Your conversation with Lando had managed to sober you up, and now you found yourself desperate to get back to the confines of your hotel room. However, the rest of the group seemed to have recovered their energy, talking about heading to a final bar to end the night.

“You two coming?” Max asked, swaying slightly on his feet as he did so. The question pulled you out of your head and caught you off guard. Desperately, you turned to look at Lando for an answer, who was already looking at you. He offered you a smile, reaching out to interlock your fingers as he replied.

“No, I think we’re done for the night, sorry mate.”

Max rolled his eyes and booed you two, before hugging the both of you.

“Make sure you get her home safe,” he warned, trying to look intimidating and point his finger in Lando’s face, yet all he managed to get was a giggle from you.

“I will,” Lando laughed, batting Max’s finger out of his face. “You behave.”

He grinned in response, before waving goodbye and jogging to catch up with the rest of the group. You laughed at the sight of his attempted running, leaning into Lando’s side and squeezing your interlocked hands.

“You ready to get going?” he asked, peering down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You yelped as his hand slipped from yours to your waist, and the other came behind your knees. He lifted you into his arms, and you quickly wrapped your arms behind his neck in order to stabilise yourself.

“What is wrong with you? Put me down!”

He threw his head back and laughed, continuing on the trek back, shooting you a cheesy grin.

“No can do, I’ve gotta make sure you stay safe.”

“Don’t drop me,” you warned, meaning every word. At your words, he looked up at you.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, smirk gracing his face as he tightened his hold, unaware of the gymnastics routine your stomach was currently performing.

You were so pathetic. You had just cried your heart out to this man and now you were swooning over two words. Jesus Christ you needed to pull it together. He was your best friend.

Once off the side streets, your surroundings became busier, and your anxiety spiked ever so slightly. Absentmindedly, you played with the curls of his hair at the nape of his neck, grounding yourself. He groaned and you stopped your movements.

“Don’t stop,” he said, caressing your skin with his thumbs as you rounded another corner. If it were possible, your stomach would’ve probably won an Olympic gold medal for the somersault it just did. You resumed your actions, and a soft smile graced his features once more. You allowed your eyes to roam over the rest of his face, admiring him and his beauty. From his face, your gaze trailed down his neck, across the expanse of his chest and shoulders, to his tan arms and hands that held you. Every part of him was so beautiful, and you loved him. Inside and out.

Being so enthralled by the beauty of your best friend, you didn’t notice that the building you were approaching was definitely not your hotel. Lando came to a halt, once inside, and tapped your leg.

“I’m gonna have to put you down love,” he stated, before lowering you. His hand stayed on your waist. He fished in his pockets for a card for the elevator;

“This isn’t my hotel, Lan,” you said, staring at him accusingly.

“I know. Think you should stay with me,” he replied, eyes searching across your face for a reaction as he scanned the card and pressed the button for the elevator.

And maybe this was it. Maybe this was why everything felt so right. The unconditional love that you had been searching for was in front of you all along. It just so happened to come in the form of your best friend who you were in love with.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly, not wishing to intrude or overstep by any means. Lando definitely sensed your insecurity, because when the doors opened, he stepped inside, grabbing your wrist, and pulling you in too. You ended up falling into him, pushing him against the railing. He looked down at you, smirking as he spoke.

“If you wanted to be all over me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Freak,” you replied, giggling and pushing his face away from yours with one hand. The other lay splayed on the bottom of his torso, dangerously close to the top of his jeans. Lando’s hands remained clasped around the small of your back, holding you close.

You let both of your hands wander ever so slightly under his shirt, intent on stealing his body heat. At the contact, he pulled you in closer, most definitely over the line of ‘friendship’ that you two had been walking like a tightrope. Comfortable silence settled, and your heartbeat fell into the rhythm of Lando's breathing.

The elevator came to a stop at his floor, signalling for him to gently grab one of your hands, and lead you to his apartment. Regardless of the fact you knew which apartment was his, he still pulled you along, aching to be close to you. He even wrestled with his keys and lock with one hand just to keep your fingers interlocked.

The air around seemed to still once the front door shut after you had walked in.

Lando squeezed your hand and turned to you.

“We don't have to speak about anything else tonight. At all. I just want to know that you're safe.”

As his eyes bore into yours, the guilt of your confession washed over you. This wasn't the first time things had gotten… hard… and you hadn't been able to cope. Lando had been there countless times, on the phone, running to your hotel room, driving to your house. Just to check you were still here. And he was always there. You felt like you didn't deserve him.

“I'm sorry! I didn't mean to upset you.”

And oh fuck you were crying again.

You let out a half-hearted giggle, desperately trying to wipe your eyes.

“It's okay. I'm just… I'm sorry,” you started, pulling yourself together enough to look at him. His lips parted, as though he was going to speak, but your hand on his chest stopped him before you continued.

“You've done so much for me, Lan. So many things and I’m stuck in this cycle of being unstable. I'm sorry for being such a burden and making you worry for me all the time.” The tears were returning to your eyes. “I just wish I could give you more. And I can't. I'm sorry.”

Lando's hand came to envelope yours and his other cradled your face. You swore if he did that again you would start sobbing. He was so gentle.

“I don't need more. I just need you.”

His eyes were trained directly on yours, staring intently. Now it was your turn to try and speak, but the thumb of his cradling hand moved over your lips to shush you, and his other hand squeezed yours.

“You think a lot of things about yourself. Mainly you think that you don't deserve anything. That you don't deserve things like love and happiness and peace. And I know you. So you convince yourself there is no point. No reason to keep going.” Lando's hand, previously enclosing yours, came up to mirror the one cradling your face. He focused your eyes on his, wanting you to hear and listen to his every word.

“You have so many reasons to be here. But I really want to add one more to your list.”

Looking back, your brain had probably short circuited at this moment in time. He'd managed to move impossibly closer towards you, eyes still searching yours for any discomfort.

“Let me love you.”

Oh yeah, you were sobbing now. The tears escaped as soon as he finished speaking and you instinctively hid your face in his chest, embarrassed. He held you tight, rocking you both back and forth.

“You don't mean that,” you mumbled, after a while. Even though your face was still pressed into his shirt, he heard you as clear as day. Lando pulled back to look at you.

“I've never meant anything more. I love you,” he said.

Perhaps it was the scramble of your brain, or the built up tension between the two of you, or even the alcohol in your system, but every single part of your body screamed for him, and so you brought yourself up on your toes, and wove your arm round the back of his neck. The two of you were impossibly close, and Lando's eyes searched for any sign of discomfort before pressing his lips to yours.

It was loving and slow and caring. He held you in a tight embrace as you kissed, wishing to keep you close, as though any slight relaxation of his arms could allow you to slip away into oblivion. You let him lead, falling into step with him, and giving in to his want to love and care for you. Through the kiss, you could feel every unspoken word and every unexplained feeling pass between the two of you until you were left with clarity.

Lando held you with love and kissed you with love and wanted to help you because he loved you.

And suddenly, as you both pulled away, cheeks flushed and smiles sheepish, you found that you did have a very important reason to live every day.

©cherry444kisses

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 6 masterlist

-

The interior door slides open when Gaz pulls down the lever on his side, fitting into the recesses in the wall until there’s nothing between you. He’s the same and yet entirely different with nothing separating the two of you; more corporeal, undeniably flesh and blood. You can feel it now—the heat of another body in close proximity.

His stare penetrates you to the root, eyes so dark that you can’t look away. It’d be easy to get lost in them, like falling into a black hole, body stretching out into infinity, even the smallest subatomic parts of you torn apart. Expressive eyes, the kind you might look at and think that there’s someone behind them worth knowing. But the sharp angularity of the intelligence there makes your skin crawl. 

Farah finds her voice before you do. “Who are you?”

Gaz breaks his stare to glance at her, his frozen smile suddenly warming. “We haven’t met; I’m Gaz.”

When he holds out his gloved hand, Farah only looks at it instead of taking it, disbelief warring with her common sense. You wish you could hear the thoughts running through her head. 

“You can see him too?” you whisper to her.

Her head snaps in your direction, dark brows already furrowed. “Of course I can. What are you talking about?”

It’s perhaps impossible to explain without making yourself sound insane. More insane, in any case. But with the proof in front of you now, you can’t deny any longer that Gaz is real; that after days spent worrying about the state of your crumbling mental health, the very cause of your concern now stands before you, witnessed by someone else. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel faint. 

Because he is real—all six feet and two inches of him. Close enough to reach out your hand and touch. His skin looks buttery soft; if you were a foot closer, you’d almost be tempted to take his hand if only to see if your fingers would pass through.

Without warning, the intercom suddenly crackles to life again and a familiar voice blares from the speaker. “Panel secure. Headed back now.”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. Even Gaz glances over his shoulder at the door and the vastness of space behind it. There’s nothing there, but his thickly accented voice asks for confirmation and you know it must be him, not a trick of the comms system. You stumble back until you hit the wall behind you.

“Kolya?” you hear Graves respond sharply, his voice still carrying through the ship over the intercom. “Shit, is that you? Do you hear me?”

“Черт побери. Yes, I hear you, mother hen,” Nikolai laughs in response. His laughter is a crisp, hollow sound over the intercom, like crackling blue electricity. “On my way back now. No need to pluck all your feathers out.”

His nonchalance is, frankly, unreasonable for the amount of time elapsed since he last checked in with the crew. 

A whole body comes into view this time, an astronaut waving to you through the window of the exterior door. Even from the other side, you can tell it’s Nikolai, the sheer size of him apparent. 

“Alhamdulillah,” Farah breathes, pulling the lever down for a second time to initiate the return sequence. 

Like deja vu, you watch as the first set of doors open and Nikolai slowly makes his way into the airlock one slow step at a time, the man looking no worse for wear. Beside you, Farah whispers something that you miss. The doors slide shut noiselessly behind him, and again you watch as a man in a spacesuit undergoes repressurization, the tensing of his shoulders making his discomfort with the process apparent. 

He already has his helmet off before the second door even opens. “Like I said, easy peasy. Can someone get me a coffee now?”

It’s almost too much for you to digest in such a short period of time, your emotions slingshotting between losing Nikolai and finding a strange man floating in the middle of space and then hearing the Russian man’s voice again like nothing happened. Lost time, or gained time. 

He must pick up on the way you and Farah simply gape at him in stunned silence.

“Something the matter?” Nikolai asks, a thick caterpillar eyebrow arched. A second later, he registers the other man in the hallway and grins. “Ah, you met Gaz. Nice guy, huh?”

“You know him?” Farah asks, her incredulity apparent.

“We met outside. I sent him in to get warm.”

You’re properly dumbfounded now, staring at Nikolai with abject disbelief for giving someone permission to board the ship without the commander’s permission. 

The footsteps of your commander and his second echo as they race down the hallway from the cockpit, the metal clunking under their boots. Louder and louder until they reach you, coming to a halt just a few feet away.

“Didn’t think I was gone that long,” Nikolai murmurs, stripping out of his spacesuit at the same time. Without a word, Farah helps him tuck it back into the storage locker he originally took it from. 

The two men stalk forward the remaining distance and when you look over at Graves, you can see the worry and relief writ large across his face, his attempts at concealing his emotions only partially successful. 

“What the fuck happened?” Graves barks, his expression stern until his eyes land on Gaz standing peacefully in the middle of the corridor, and then something shifts. A brief uncertainty clouding the pale blue of his eyes. “Who’s this?” 

Gaz lifts a gloved hand in greeting. “Name’s Gaz.”

“Found him outside wandering around,” Nikolai booms, slinging an arm over Gaz’s shoulders in an obvious show of fondness. “Poor bastard couldn’t find his crew.”

“Just wandering around in the middle of nowhere?” Graves asks, cocking a brow, skepticism thick in his words. 

Gaz smiles sheepishly. “It’s my fault. I got a bit turned around.”

Graves hums, mulling over the information. “…Turned around, huh?”

“Yes, sir. Looked away for a second and then my group was gone.”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant at all.”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

His deference is second to none. You could almost imagine yourself believing him, swept away by concern for his welfare. 

There’s a difference though. You’ve had the benefit of several days of acclimation. 

“Sir—commander,” you interject, swallowing when Graves turns his attention on you, the microexpression that flits across his face betraying his displeasure at being interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this makes no sense. I don’t see how…well, how he could have survived out on his own. I mean—” Your eyes flick towards Gaz. “I’m sorry, but none of this makes any sense to me.”

Graves’ lip curls up. "What doesn't make any sense?"

"Well, should we have brought him in? This just doesn't seem like protocol—"

“I don’t get your point, doctor. Should we have just left him out there to die? I thought you had that whole Hippocratic oath to uphold.”

None of this makes any sense to you. Apart from Farah, they’re being entirely too cavalier for happening upon a man in the middle of nowhere. There should be talk of heading back to Earth or quarantining him in the brig. 

“It’s not about that,” you croak. 

“I don’t understand you, doctor. You of all people should want to help.”

But he’s the man I’ve been seeing for days, you almost scream, but the blatant disapproval in Graves’ eyes makes you hold your tongue. You know your instincts aren’t wrong. Basic science isn’t wrong. Even if his spacesuit were able to provide basic environmental protection and life support, the longest a human might be able to survive after becoming untethered from their ship would be just under nine hours. 

You don’t know why this isn’t registering as strange to any of them. They act as though there’s nothing at all unusual about a man floating in space without any spacecraft within fifty million miles of him. As if this were just something that happened from time to time, and not an unprecedented anomaly. 

“Well, you could probably do with some shut eye after your trip, I reckon,” Graves says, clamping a hand down on Gaz’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “We have a spare bunk near mine—bit cramped, but I’m sure you’ll make do.”

Gaz tips his head in thanks. “I’d appreciate it.”

“And—sorry, forgot to ask, but are you good? Not feeling faint or sick or anything? I know our doctor’s a little prickly, but whatever you need, she can help with.”

The weight of Gaz’s gaze makes your body feel leaden. 

“All good for now,” he says, still smiling serenely. His stare never wavers, smile never dips. “But don’t worry, love. I’ll come find you when I need you.”

Nikolai’s arm drops from his shoulder and Graves leads him off down the corridor to recuperate in his new room. The scream is buried in your throat; if you try to cough it up, only blood and mucus will come out. 

You can only watch helplessly as they walk away, Farah gone by the time you remember to look for her. 

After that, hours pass by without any sight of the man who recently boarded your ship. You don’t see much of anyone in fact. Hadir eats lunch around the same time as you, but his conversation is oddly circulatory, muddled, like he can’t keep his thoughts straight. He mentions the same thing twice and doesn’t seem concerned when you politely remind him that he already told you. He also doesn’t seem to register your words when you tentatively broach the subject of Gaz’s sudden appearance. 

Hadir shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. “Better for us anyway. Could be nice to have another warm body around here.”

“Don’t you…don’t you remember what I told you the other day?” you prod, pushing your potatoes around with your fork, your stomach in knots. “When I told you I saw someone outside?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s who I was talking about,” you whisper, as if concerned about being overheard. “I saw Gaz out there. He must have been out there…for days at least.”

“Ah,” he says, mildly contemplative. “Funny, that.”

The conversation feels like a dead end because it is, and you abandon it not long after when you realize that though Hadir is responding to your words, he doesn’t seem to be understanding them. It’s like you’re talking to an automaton, something designed to give you a response but not engage like a human would.

Even that thought seems wrong somehow. You shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things about your coworkers. 

Back in the medical unit, you pick up the stool that fell to the ground on your way out earlier and take a seat, sipping periodically at the ice cold coffee still sitting on the table. Your mind goes blank for some time. Different than earlier though—not the blankness of concern and paranoia, but the blankness of complete stupefaction. 

It gives you some time to think, but no matter how many times you run through the events of the day in your mind, you keep coming back to the same questions. The same questions with no answers. 

Appetite a no show, you figure it’s better to just retire to your quarters for the evening. 

In bed, you read the same paragraph of your book three times before it sinks in. You can’t concentrate on anything. The same phrase on a loop, your real thoughts swarming like locusts and drowning out the narrator in your head. 

A knock at your door startles you, accidentally making you crinkle a page of your book with your thumb. You bite back a curse, smoothing the page out and calling out a frustrated one second when the person on the other side of your door knocks again. Impatient much. 

You open the door, expecting to find Graves or Nikolai on the other side, only for you to balk when you’re met with the sight of Gaz towering over you, his forearm braced against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” he says after a beat of silence. 

“…Are you lost?” you ask suspiciously. 

“No. Thought I’d stop by before I turn in for the night.”

Something occurs to you the longer you stand so close to him. It’s been lingering in the back of your mind since the interior doors to the airlock slid open and he boarded the ship, a thought hidden under its own afterbirth, placenta and membranous fluid soaking the ground beneath it. A thought that, to this point, has escaped your notice, hiding away like a prey animal. 

And it’s that: Gaz doesn’t have a smell. When you inhale, he doesn’t smell like anything you’ve ever smelt before. No lingering traces of body odour or sweat or soap. You breathe in and it’s like you’re standing in front of an empty doorway staring out into the empty hallway. 

But he does have a scent. 

It doesn’t register to your nose, not a scent that your olfactory senses can detect. Nothing like that. Instead it hits you like a memory, like a feeling blooming in your chest. Palo santo and orange blossom; the sound of a tennis ball hitting a racket; an aerial view of an Olympic pool and someone swimming laps, their body stark against the blue; white florals and a masculine voice laughing. 

His scent is a delicious rush of wonder and elation, a dopamine spike. You crane your neck to meet his eyes and honestly you’d forgotten how beautiful he is. An Adonis; over six foot and body corded with muscle. Lean waist and wide shoulders. The most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, sculpted from something divine, a substance not found on Earth but in a more heavenly realm. 

You rock forward on your heels, pulled like a magnet towards his lips. His lips gently part, anticipating yours before they’ve even met.

Your hand hits the wall and reality comes back to you. Solid metal under your feet and an aluminum composite under your hand. White, sterile walls. In the hallway, the lights dim as the night cycle commences. You have to physically shake your head to rid your mind of any thoughts of Earth. It’s still there though, on the periphery of your senses; a dream world that you might get lost in if you were to look for too long.  

Something is very wrong. 

You rest back on your heels and move your hand until it hovers over the button to close your door. 

“Unless you’re sick, I can’t help you.”

“I’m not sick, love.”

“Then what do you want?” you bite out, overtly hostile now. 

He smiles but he doesn’t blink. Then his eyes flick up, studying the room behind you, his gaze roving over the walls and furniture, scrutinizing your space. Examining the clothes strewn over your bed, the little knick knacks and oddities that make your room yours. 

“Just wanted to see what it looked like from the inside,” Gaz finally says, and your blood goes cold. 

With that, he pulls his forearm off the doorframe and straightens to full height. 

He makes it a few feet away from your door before turning around to look back at you. “Night, love. See you in the morning.”

[irisintheafterglow]

itoshi rin doesn't get injuries. ever.

he's downright religious about stretching, warming up properly, and being aware of how his body is holding up under the intense conditions of a match. he keeps a strict diet, an even stricter sleeping schedule, and pops enough vitamins and supplements to make his immune system work at 200%. but, when stupidly lukewarm isagi misplaces his stupidly lukewarm foot, rin ends up rolling his ankle harder than a bowling ball slammed down a lane. he doesn't react immediately to the lightning bolt of pain that shoots up his calf, only sending isagi a withering glare and continuing to rush the opposition's net.

like the rest of his team, you don't notice something is wrong until the end of the scrimmage, when rin collapses and curls his upper body around his ankle. his hands clutch the bottom of his leg and he shuts his eyes tight to hold in the frustrated groan he wants to release. the other players approach him and he snarls like a circus tiger, barking at them to leave him be. the same tune is played for the medical team, having no choice but to retreat after he insists he just needs a second to rest. with a deep inhale to prepare, you steel your nerves and walk over to where he sits.

"i said go," he seethes, his forehead resting against his propped knee. his eyes are shut, but he can feel someone standing there, watching him with a pitying look in their eyes. stupid. he gets hurt and suddenly it's poor, poor rin and his poor, poor ankle. it's weakness that he needs to stomp out, weakness that--

"you need to ice that." his eyes open slowly and you catch his walls recede ever so slightly. you always had a no-nonsense kind of relationship with rin, especially as a health analyst-in-training who was the only brave soul that spoke to him among your cohort. there was an unspoken level of respect that you had for him that you assumed he reciprocated, seeing as he always had patience for your long spiels outlining everything to do with his physical wellbeing. he appreciated that you never asked about his mental wellbeing, but sometimes your gut told you that maybe you should.

"i'm fine," he says through gritted teeth and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his melodrama. you bite back your initial retort and instead settle on the turf next to him, your legs facing the opposite way so that you're not making direct eye contact. he watches you from the outskirts of his vision, as do the rest of the remaining team on the field, but doesn't deny your company. you let him take a few more breaths before asking your next question.

"what hurts?" any other trainee in your group would immediately be subject to scathing insults about their personality and emotional aptitude. you'd seen it, how he snapped at the trainees that weren't you.

"calf. ankle. inside of my foot," he mumbles, shame evident in his voice. he didn't like appearing weak; he already felt weak living in the shadow of sae. it was something he was constantly fighting against, carrying the sack of weight on his shoulder every game. he waits for you to scoff, to tell him to get over it, but you don't. instead, you hum and refrain from looking at him directly. in a way, it's the indirect conversation that he appreciates the most.

"i'm gonna get you a tennis ball for your ankle. where's your water?"

"back left by the bench." you nod and retrieve both items, returning to him in no time at all. you don't even stop to converse with the other concerned members of the management team, making a beeline back to him like you had no other place to be. "you should go," he says before you sit down again.

you wait for him to elaborate. he doesn't.

"do you want me to?"

he hesitates.

"...no."

"then i'll stay." you sit closer this time, still facing the other direction, but close enough that your arms could brush if he leaned close enough. rin won't admit that he likes the proximity. "i don't need to tell you how to use a tennis ball," you comment and his silence expresses his gratitude. he reaches wordlessly for the ball but you hold it just out of reach. "but, i am gonna force you to drink water before you do anything else."

"i'm not thirsty."

"i don't care," you reply. "you won't get better if you're not hydrated." part of him hates that you're right, that you're sitting here pitying him. but, he takes the bottle from your hand anyway and downs a few sips that turn into large gulps. he didn't realize how parched he'd become. "there. what else can i do?"

"stop pitying me," he scowls without thinking. as much as you like to think he's different when he's with you, there's still times like these when the rage slips out and he snaps. you haven't known him long enough to weather his storms, but you're determined to wait it out and you know he notices. he's too smart not to notice the way your shoulders sag, the way you conveniently look anywhere but in his direction, the way you're fighting every instinct to abandon him to protect yourself. "it's," he forces out, surprising you both, "it's not-i'm not your responsibility. i don't need you to take care of me."

"but do you want me to?"

he hesitates again and turns to look at you completely, detecting no sense of pity or malice or arrogance in your expression. you were there to help him, and you wanted him to trust you. what a foreign feeling.

"yes."

so you continue to sit there with him in silence, running your fingers absentmindedly over the turf as he gently massages his ankle with the tennis ball. you don't question when his shoulder brushes yours for a second, then returns to completely lean against you. when he decides it's time to wash up, he takes your hand and lets you help him off the field, his arm draped around your upper back as you act as his crutch. you later tell him after he's showered that you didn't help him because you pitied him, but because you knew he would be too stubborn to ask for help.

"how are you so sure?"

"because you told me to leave, remember? and who would have helped you if i left? who would you allow to help you?" you don't wait for him to answer and bid him a polite goodbye, leaving his face warm and completely at a loss for words.

he decides that it's not so bad if he gets injured, as long as you're the one sitting on the turf with him after the game.

[strandedtoodeep]

Poolverine fics rec' ✨

Yes, FINALLY.

So, basically what the title said: some poolverine's fics recommendation because i have 150+ bookmarks and sharing is caring so let's go!

I'll put title, link, tag the author (if they are on tumblr), numbers of words & chapters and probably silly summary or thoughts

I'll be adding some in the future with a red exclamation❗

The ones without smut have a bunny emoji 🐰

My faves are on top

If you have some recs i'm happy to take them thank you 🤲

Faves

Come Hell or High Water by @farmhandler 84k, 11 ch. || love when a fic take mental health seriously and talk about it in a way that feel so right? (bonus the smut is *chef's kiss*

Promise Me We'll Be Back In Time by @back4destiel 108k, 17 ch. || 50 First Dates was one of my favorite movie when i was a preteen (yeah) so this fic fill me with nostalgia and happiness

where soul meets body by @edgebug 33k, 3 ch. || one of my first poolverine's fic and it sets the bar so HIGH (and tbh i cried so much reading it, it's concerning)

silence is what i do best (but still i hear it all) by @cainroses 25k, 3 ch. || feral! logan is very dear to me and the character's voices in it?? absolutely delightful (beware the smut is very good but spicy)

Until you get sick of me, honestly by @3koboldsinahoodie 151k, 27ch. (on going) || i love it so much i want to forget it and discovers it again, the peak of two idiots in love it's beautiful

whoever makes my baby cry (is gonna lose some teeth tonight) by @wickedscribbles 16k, 4 ch. || love some genderplay, bottom and protective logan, my dear, i love it but most importantly the writings is scrumptious

The Void by @rovingotter 115k, 23 ch. || i'm still trying to process what i feel with this fic, please please read this blindly and i assure you, you'll never be the same

The Soundtrack by @greatsnakestintin 43k, 15 ch. (on going) || love a good road trip fic, love music so it's absolutely perfect for me! and the plot is so?? fascinating???

Kaleidoscope by Space_wanderer 79k, 14 ch. || CHAPPELL ROAN REFERENCE! when Logan is such a idiot Wade need to go get him AGAIN in his universe

Don't you want me to run? by @decaying-lover 89k, 26 ch. (on going) || if you love angst, this fic will serve you ANGST! love their dynamics, the tension, their voices, everything

❗Maximum Effort by ArtemisFAYZ012 168k, 33 ch. || OMG the plot?? the spicy spices?? the intimacy between Logan and Wade (AND Logan who falls so HARD for Wade)

On going

Somewhere I belong by @terrasilvershade 24k, 6ch. || another girls dad AU but this one, my god!!! the feels?? it's so interesting to see Logan being envious and it's writing so well

❗Do I Wanna Know by @slut-arc 13k, 5ch. || a 5+1 fic! It's cute and fluffy but also with sparkles of angst, and the ice skating scene??? didn't leave my mind for days ugh

Baby(girl) Don't Hurt Me by @peargreen-jellybean 16k, series with 4 works || 4 fics and i love them all! some good poolverine pining & domestic bliss + men in lingeries (my weakness)

❗Under Your Skin, Over the Moon by RatFlavored 5k, 2 ch. || first Soulmate AU i read for Poolverine and i love it??? So much??? think this trope is underrated ngl, and it's well written!

In Another Life by @flash-bastardd 32k, 10 ch. || x-men origins but better! (bc it's gay) i have some feelings with this movie but this fic healed me and i love it!

❗don't i give you what you need by @wickedscribbles 5k, 2 ch. || i cannot not put the new work of Wicked here, it's so good and the heartbreak??? the angst??? my heart bleed so much for them

call me when you’re ready to be real by @maroonmused 23k, 9 ch. || "and they were roommates" ofc like it's not absolutely obvious for EVERYONE except themself; a very good domestic bliss!

❗Echoes Through the Timeline by @piplover 64k, series with 4 works || i loved so many works in this series, specially the first and last one, break my heart and heal my soul

How To Pay For Rent 💸 by @fictionfeast 59k, 4 ch. || this fic feels like a fever dream, but a OH SO GOOD and well writing fever dream! (ngl as a french person Craig List scares me)

❗🐰 unhappy man syndrome by @gossippool 19k, 5 ch. || don't know if i'll recover from this fic, ever, but i'm so invested and it's pure whump all over (HUG FOR EVERYONE YALL)

❗Got My Mind Set On You by @buttsforabettertomorrow 23k, 4 ch. || Logan try so hard to be good and accepting in this one i love him so much lmao (and it confuses Wade so it's a double win)

🐰 Christmas in Canada by @thatoneartyishperson 7k, 3 ch. || listen, Halloween is still my favorite holidays but Poolverine AU Hallmark Christmas Movies ? URGH i'm here for it!!

❗back to the old house by @nico-di-angelol 71k, 8ch. || it's so interesting that i'm MAD at myself for not reading this earlier, yep it's THAT good! beware chap. 7 will break your heart

Synergy and Entropy by @artemis-pendragon 46k, 19 ch. || i was so sure that i'd put this fic here but no??? anyways, the hurt and angst in this fic are so astronomically good, so beware

❗🐰 Mr. Forgettable by @eliemo 40k, 7 ch. || okaaayy listen, this one make me cry every time i read it, idk how to explain why it feel so personal to me but it'll move you

🐰 make me into something sweet by @mothgardens 30k, 8 ch. || AU poolverine WITH MUSICAL CLASS? it's... it's beautiful! particularly love the dynamic between Logan and Wade in this one

❗knee deep in this thing called life by @secondbreakfastwizard 86k, 13 ch. || i'm so OBSESSED with this fic, autistic Logan is so dear to me (maybe bc i relate a lot) and these two are so stupidly in love

Complete

🐰 the dollhouse by @kanashikute 4k, OS || love the fluffiness in this fic, love how Logan accept to love, be loved and doesn't left Wade behind UGH they're so cute in this one!!!

❗Pavlov’s Dog by @panties-on-boys 18k, 11 ch. || this is the kind of fiction that obsesses me so much, and i don't even like perfume; it's the most smutty slow burn ever hehe

Girl Dads by @starburstsobsessions 40k, 16 ch. || AU poolverine's fic are fire and this one, THIS ONE, omg! this fic makes my dream (aka seeing dilf! logan) a reality

🐰 Glass Shards by greaserbabes 9k, 2 ch. || always love when Logan and Wade are SO STUPIDLY in love; ngl the scene with the glass shards make me cry every time

You Should Feel My Nature Too by sterlingstars 10k, OS || so uh, i love stripper! Wade okay? it's not really that with this one but it's as good AND wholesome (and spicy too) so yeah

🐰 The Folly Of Playing Gay Chicken Too Hard (Phrasing) by GayLord3000 3k, OS || the domestic fic where Wade is the stupid one, being so stupid in fact it's nearly cost him his relationship with Logan whoops

Love shot by lillygoeson 28k, 6ch. || another bartender! Logan one, but AU no powers AND with a good "twist" in the middle; this fic is so bittersweet and good oml

Don't Want To Be A Fool For You by @cuntylogan 96k, 5 ch. || bartender! Logan who try to fight his addiction (and slowly fall in love) has a special place in my heart, you go boy

❗🐰 This Old House by @twentyghosts 30k, 16 ch. || AU with patient! Wade and handyman! Logan, they fall in love, it's full of angst, fluff, hurt, and with a very cute ending

look at you by @weedwilson 3k, OS || yes it's shameless smut and mirror sex, my beloved... and I LOVE when Logan worshipping Wade this much bc he deserves it

❗🐰 Is It Casual Now? by @twilightkitkat 6k, OS || love this bc i have so many feelings about how the X-Men have treated Logan, i love seeing him stand up for himself **sob**

It's Just Chemistry by @farmhandler 37k, 5 ch. || in the same universe of Come Hell or High Water, there is so... so much angst but it's very good angst!!! still love this specific dynamic

🐰 We Should Just Kiss (Like Real People Do) by @nikaandtea 8k, OS || HOZIER REFERENCE! i'm still so happy when a fic talk about chronic pain combined with domestic bliss i'm totally sold

Night Terrors by educatedwish 50k, 13 ch. || love how Logan is written is this fic, how PTSD messed with his feelings in a serious way... my heart melt every time i read it

❗🐰 Relationship Advice by fir_forest 1k, OS || no but the idea of a fic like a relationship advice post on reddit??? i love this!! short, but sweet and very funny hehe

second nature to me now by @edgebug 36k, OS || a investigation in a gay club??? with my two idiots in love?? and with old gay Logan? i giggled so hard reading this, i LOVE IT

🐰 It Feels Like Home by @twentyghosts 10k, 6 ch. || one of my favorite trope is the 5+1 and this one... my god, right in the feels! so much fluffiness, coziness, it warm my heart

a loaded gun, can't contain this anymore (i'm all yours, i've got no control) by @obihoebikenobi 6k, OS || i have nothing to say other than read the tag hehe! but yeah love the concept, the smut is spicy (always like some focus on the claws)

🐰 stuck by the glue (oh and you) by prngslvr 3k, OS || a good rewriting of (some scenes) from DP&W, and one of my first fluff and non-smut fic that i read after watching the movie!

Let Me Get Back to You by RatFlavored 14k, 2 ch. || pls i want to read more fics with phone sex in it (i know it's specific) but in the meantime, this one is SO good (and full of feels too)

❗Heat of the Moment by @finelydressedspacemen 11k, 4 ch. || non traditional a/b/o my beloved!!! and it's always a little bit satisfying to see Scott mentioned (hehehe the drama)

tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow by signifier 10k, OS || i have a thing for time loop and this kind of fuckery, it's short but good and i love the title it make me chuckles

🐰 Take Me Through the Darkness to the Break of the Day by The_Colour_Yellow 17k, 10 ch. || a very good fic around hanahaki disease with my two favorites idiots??? sign me in! even with so much hurt and angst UGH

Oh, God, I Think I'm Fallin' by @slut-arc 15k, 5 ch. || the return of domestic poolverine and YES I KNOW but it's my weakness... and Logan is so emotionally constipated it's concerning

🐰 Little Reflection by @wickedscribbles 11k, 5ch. || poolverine + cute cat + Logan suffering from anxiety and i'm sold! because ofc Logan is a true and pure cat (and dog) dad

❗i bet we’d have really good come right on me, i mean camaraderie by @notesappwitch 31k, 2 ch. || bodyswap trope, love the character's voice bc it's so on point, very funny, a lot of emotions and the spicy scenes are perfect

the bucket list by @kanashikute 33k, 4 ch. || read this one, please, really, it's so bittersweet BUT i promise there's a good ending (and i cried so much while reading it)

🐰 he’s the headlights, I’m the deer by NatalieK 7k, OS || it's interesting to see Logan's losing his healing factor for once instead of Wade! and seeing Wade taking care of him, my heart

when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor? by @slut-for-a-good-latte 5k, OS || one of my favorite thing with poolverine is psychic/quantum thingy bond because of the Time Ripper and this one DELIVERS!!

🐰 holding out for a hero by @splinnters 6k, 3 ch. || once again, i have a soft spot for Logan trusting Wade so much he called him when something is wrong and this, THIS is good

❗it's all in my head but i want nonfiction by @obihoebikenobi 21k, 3 ch. || Wade pinning x Logan perfectly happy in his relationship with his boyfriend who doesn't know he's his boyfriend it's perfect

🐰 I've got some color back (he thinks so too) by @mid13s 3k, OS || just a short fic with non-sexual intimacy because these two need comfort, hugs and a lot of affection (and the Hozier reference is chef's kiss)

who are you, really? by @edgebug 45k, 4 ch. || the sequel of where soul meets body and it's also an absolutely masterpiece! and still trying to process my feelings for this fic