#internet connection in hospitals is always bad here

[silksongeveryday]

Drawing Hornet everyday until Silksong comes out - Day 357

Requested by @/peenee !

I think she’d be a good asset for the company 👍

[foundtherightwords]

The Quiet Chaos - Chapter 10 (last chapter)

Pairing: Billy Knight (Lethal White/Strike) x OFC

Summary: After a bad breakup throws her carefully-planned life into disarray, Esme has sworn off dating forever. However, when she forms an unexpected connection with a young man named Billy, who's dealing with his own struggles, Esme is forced to face the truth: sometimes you can't plan for love.  

Warnings: mental health issues, angst, slow-burn, developing relationship, dysfunctional family, some violence (non-graphic), some smut (non-explicit)

Chapter word count: 1.5k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9

Chapter 10 - All I Want

The hospital where Billy was staying was like something out of an Edgar Allan Poe story, all crocketed spires and byzantine windows fitted with iron bars. Esme almost expected to see a wild-haired patient in a straitjacket at one of the windows, or perhaps a dark-eyed Victorian doctor strolling along the grounds. The interior was plain, chilly, and impersonal, like most hospitals. A few paintings, which she suspected were done by former patients, were hung crookedly on the walls to give the place some character, without much success. A faint smell of disinfectant pervaded throughout. It wasn't exactly the ideal setting for a romantic reunion, but she tried not to let it dampen her mood.

She had called ahead to ask Billy if she could visit, and he had agreed, perhaps a little reluctantly, or perhaps that was only her imagination. Now she stood by the reception desk after having checked in, anxiously waiting for him. It was quiet, almost eerily so, and the few patients who shuffled past her all had the tranquil but dazed look of the heavily medicated. She was afraid Billy would be the same. No, they wouldn't let him have visitors if he was.

"Esme?"

At the sound of his voice, she spun around and let out a breath of relief. He looked just the same, in jeans and a hoodie, his hair tousled, his eyes soft and perhaps a little sadder, but they were still Billy's eyes. As those eyes settled on her, a look came into them, a look so familiar that it made tears well up in her chest. It was a look that said "You're here!" and "You're here?" at the same time. She had once wanted to wipe that question mark away, thinking it was doubt. She realized now that it wasn't doubt, but wonder. No matter how often they saw each other, the wonder, the amazement that somehow she was with him, was always going to be there. It was how she knew he loved her. And the sweet little ache in her heart, when she saw that look, was how she knew she loved him.

But the ache wasn't so little now. It was filling her chest, making it hard to breathe. A small "Hi" was all she could manage.

"Hi," he said, giving her his usual shy smile that pushed the ache deeper.

"How are you?"

"I'm alright. They're changing my meds a bit, trying to get rid of some of the side effects, so I won't be so tired all the time."

"... That's good."

"How are you? How's Angua?"

"I'm OK. Angua's OK. She misses you." I miss you too. More than I can say.

Another vacant-eyed patient drifted past them. Billy cleared his throat. "Would you like to go outside? We can sit down."

It was freezing in the garden, the dry, brown grass and empty bushes offering a dismal prospect, but the air was fresh after the disinfectant smell inside, and Esme gladly sat down with Billy on one of the benches that dotted the lawn.

"I wanted to make you a Bakewell tart," she said, "but they don't allow homemade food in here, and the store-bought ones aren't as good. So I brought you this." She held out an old iPod. "I've checked with the staff; they said it's OK as long as it doesn't connect to the Internet."

"What's in it?"

"It's the rest of Hogfather. Now you can finish listening to it. I'm also recording Jingo on another, I'll bring it once you're done with this. I'm no Stephen Briggs, but—no, wait, he didn't do Hogfather, Nigel Planer did—anyway, you said you preferred my voice, so—"

Billy gazed at her, again with that mix of wonder and delight. "Thank you."

"Oh and I received your carving," Esme said, trying to sound casual.

"... and?" Billy asked, breathless.

"It's beautiful. But I can't look at it." This was the truth. She had put it on top of her bookshelf, so it was ostensibly on display, but not on her eye level.

"Why on Earth not?!"

"Because it reminds me too much of you," she said, her voice breaking. "Everything reminds me of you."

"Esme..."

"No, I know, we've agreed to take a break," she cut in. This was what she'd come here to say, and she was going to say it. "But I have to tell you the truth, Billy. It's a stupid idea. The worst idea you ever had. And I'm not agreeing to it anymore. So you take as long as you need to get better, but don't think for a second that I'm going to stay away, alright? You're stuck with me."

"But I don't want you to sacrifice—"

"This isn't a sacrifice! I'm not doing this for you. My motivation is entirely selfish."

"...why?"

Why? There was so much she could say to him, so much she had been rehearsing in her head since he'd asked the same question weeks ago. Because you're sweet and kind and I can be myself around you. Because even if we see each other every minute of every hour of every day, your eyes still light up every time and I can't get enough of that. Because you show me that everything doesn't have to be in neat little boxes, that chaos doesn't always mean destruction, that it can bring color and life as well. But she couldn't make speeches. So she said simply, "Because I love you."

His face crumpled. Esme wondered how long it had been since he last heard those words, or even if he had ever had anyone say those words to him. This time, there was no hesitation, no wondering if this was the right moment for a kiss. She took him into her arms and kissed him, long and deep, sealing her promise.

When they drew apart, Billy dug into his pocket. "I have something for you."

It was a little circle of wood, with a leather cord through it to make a pendant. Esme turned it over. Carved into the disk, perfect in every tiny line and curve, was the White Horse.

She lifted astonished eyes to Billy's face. He looked back at her, calmly, tenderly, without a hint of the old fear, his hands steady in hers, not twitching to tap at his nose and chest. "You can wear it," he said. "Or you can wear your silver necklace again. I don't mind. I just wanted you to know that I'm not afraid of the Horse anymore, and it's all thanks to you."

"When did you make this?" she asked.

"Couple of weeks ago. I was going to give it to you at the exhibition. But then the—the thing with Jimmy happened, and I forgot."

"So why didn't you send it with the carving too?"

"I wanted to keep it. To remind me of you." His voice croaked. "I'm sorry, Esme. I'm sorry I said all those things about you trying to save me. I know it's not true. I'm sorry I hurt you." The dam behind his eyes broke, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

"Shh. I know. I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you. I'm sorry I just assumed to know what's best." She cupped his face in her hands, lifting it so she could look into his eyes, eyes still brimming with tears. "Please don't cry," she murmured, kissing away his tears, not caring if his beard scratched her lips.

He smiled through the tears. "What was it that you said, about crying not because someone hurt you, but because you love them? This is like that."

"So say it."

"I love you."

Now it was her turn to go weak at the knees. It had been a long time for her as well. At least since she heard those words said with so much sincerity.

After they untangled from each other for the second time, Esme sniffled, and gave a little laugh. "Did I really say that cheesy line about crying because you love someone?" She covered her face. "See, this is why my mum's the writer in the family."

"Has she written any new Emerald book yet? Emerald Saves a Billy, perhaps?"

"Maybe she meets him under a bridge."

"Yeah. And she saves him from a troll."

"You know what, that actually doesn't sound half bad."

"Certainly better than Emerald Saves an Amoeba."

"Shut up." She gave his shoulder a playful swat. He chuckled and gathered her into his arms. She put her head on his chest as she had done on New Year's Eve, remembering the way his laugh had rung out back then, remembering how she had wished she could have that moment forever. Well, this wasn't a full laugh, but she'd take it. She'd take anything the future might have in store for her, as long as they were together.

THE END

A/N: And there it is. Phew. It's been hard writing this one, not just because I'm not used to writing a developing relationship, but also because of all the angst. At least I've given these two the happiest ending possible, although there is still a long road ahead for them (and who knows? I may explore how they navigate that road in the future.) Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @quinnypixie, @accidentalslag, @etherealglimmer

[maleux]

Honestly, Tumblr isn't the way it used to be. Actually, the internet isn't anyway. The internet in this day and age has become colonized really, I completely agree with Bo Burnham's foresight about this back then. It's just brain rot now. Tumblr along with every big corporate social media has tried to mimic algorithms, "checkmarks," whatever trends, and ultimately enforce imperialism. I mean I've been using it on and off since 2009... since David Karp, since Yahoo claimed it.. and all the craziness really during my younger 20s, when I used to be a "viral" person on here to the point of receiving anons all the time and people forming obsessive parasocial relationships in their brains about you. Or the incessant death threats or hate comments, or people just having maladaptive behaviors, trying to find everything "problematic" about you, or trying to dig up receipts, etc. I do love how people think I have disappeared...but I'm right here all along still. I still wonder where all those hundreds and thousands of people went off to, especially after they always leave behind those "I'm moving on/deleting Tumblr" posts.

Yet I've been on here I think 13 years now?? Just not the same way anymore. I used to write so much on here all the time especially in my 20s I was having to live with a highly abusive parent and dysfunctional family, so the internet was my only salvation really from the painful reality I was living with for so long. I wrote a lot about my thoughts, my political views, my feelings on people, the world, my relationships... Every photo of myself, somehow spread around and would end up on WeHeartIt, or being used by a catfish for fuck sake. Then I kind of just stopped. Over time, I did not just get rid of my platforms, but I started blocking hundreds of people. I didn't care if a mutual was a mutual for 5 years or something. People now days do not have authentic connections, they're still very steeped in parasocial dynamics with others. They judge a book by its cover still.

During those years I was working in retail for over five years, and now I've been working at a hospital for a few years now, and living with my lifelong partner, and well I'm now living the life I've always wished I had. It's so weird to think that I never would have imagined things to turn out that way 10 years ago... 10 years ago, I was 22 years old, never moved out at least once yet (until 2016), and suffering a lot, and figuring out and having volatile relationships with women. There's been a lot of weird, not-worth-it characters that have come and gone in my life...that I can care less about.

But in the end, I got everything I wanted and needed...

Ah, and next year, I am getting a large amount of settlement money. I love how I've been mistreated, underestimated, and misunderstood for my whole life but I still have ended up quite lucky.

I'm not sure what I'm trying to express in this post... maybe a mixture of gratitude but also a bit of disappointment. The fact Twitter isn't Twitter anymore, and social media is beyond shallow, and people are lacking more and more intelligence, human empathy, and care is really reflecting in the world, in my opinion. I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic for a time and place, that wasn't even that memorable really, maybe because I never would have thought years later the landscape would change so much.. but we don't realize it because we flow with it so constantly. Maybe the other thing I feel right now, is I'm happy I am not the person I was in the past. Not because I felt the me from back then was bad or negative, but just not a fully realized self.

[ippidk]

heavy vent ahaaahh

Ive been in the mental hospital for a few weeks now and havent been progressing at all in fact i havent got a single session therapy smh idk its super weird i have no organisation my dumbass dpesnt understand whats going on and that no one gaf but no one will ever help me i guess my problems arent severe enough. I want to kms so bad, Im so lonely I wish I had friends but I genuinely cannot stand people the world is sp scary I have to kms I have to kms i am so tired but I cant even sleep,I cant stop crying. I cant stop crying. I have no reason to keep going except mizu5 and the next bsd chapter but thats really it thats all i can look forward to. When i get out of here I am going to hang myself as soon as I can. Help wont come. I‘m suffering but Im still not suffering enough for my feelings to feel valid. I hate how severely my autism impacts me that I genuinely dont understand how relationships form.i hate it i hate it i hate it.Ill never have friends anf ill never have a hug or reasurringly have my hands held, do you knpw how much that hurts?Still my feelings arent valid. I dont even fit in with the mentally ill or whatever. I dont belong anywhere. I dont exist. It feels like everypne here has their shit together but the more time i spend in this room the worse i feell!!!! I wanna klsm suicidesuicididid………….

I always hear people on the internet talk about doing things. Many people like doing different things. But Its like im moving too slow. The worlds moving too fast. I also dont know why i cant connect to my body at all. The way im perceived is unimportant sonce i am fundamentally uncomfortable with physical reality people whatever,, my thpughts still cant seem to escape a box - thoughts always racing, and yet they always miss something everyone else has. I do the same things everyday. My brain is corrupted. I cant do this

[cavewretch]

a meditation on my past three or so identity crises and vampire weekend's new album

i have been listening to vampire weekend for roughly 15 years (i am 25). i am third-generation croatian great famine irish co-opting italian americanness by way of childhood experience and ex roman catholicism. born and raised in jersey. elementary school bullies were generationally wealthy irish or italian kids. family trees of traitors, all of us. i was briefly obsessed with finding some sort of ancestral connection but i think whenever that impulse happens for white usamericans it’s misplaced. surely there’s goodness here! surely there’s shared struggle! surely one of you was a communist! but now i’m over it. whatever they’re dead i’m alive i’ll do it. my mother has dubbed me the family catalyst. the thing about being a catalyst is you have to set yourself on fire and burn away to fuel everyone else's fire.

my first encounter with vampire weekend was in 2007? 2008? (whenever they released their first self titled album). starbucks used to do this free song pick of week thing where they’d give you a card with your coffee order that let you download a song from itunes for free, and my dad got them sometimes on his way to work. we got cape cod kwassa kwassa that way, and i found it in the family library and put it on my little purple ipod shuffle. 

modern vampires of the city was released in 2013, and the first vampire weekend album i actually consciously sunk my teeth into the content of (lyrics, musicality, visuals). i think i got to it a year late, i wasn’t plugged into music release social media campaigns back then. i was 15 or 16. in 2014 i read the communist manifesto for the first time and told my teacher it sounded pretty good, and she told me it only worked on paper. i read it for a european history class which required i shove 700 years of history into my brain for an exam i then proceeded to fail. i'm “bad” at school but i built invaluable critical thinking and analysis skills from that class. and a disgust with enlightenment era philosophers. that part wasn't on my teachers list i don't think. that class had 9 people total in it, 2 of which were transfer students (and also my friends) from europe (one from belgium, one from albania). in that class i learned i was supposed to have feelings about serbia, bc of my very croatian last name, but i didn't. my family doesn't talk to each other like that, about real things. my reaction to finding out there were divisive wars in living memory involving part of my identity was to try and learn about yugoslavia on my own, not knowing that anything i got my hands on was filtered through lenses of anti communism and red scare sentiment. the yugoslav wars happened after my nono (grandfather) left, and ended when i was very very young. according to my mother though, he always had something to blame on the serbs. then it was jews. then the government. then hospitals. then my nona (grandmother). then my mother. now my dad. 

/you talk of serbians, whisper kosovar albanians/  /the boy’s romanian, third generation transylvanian/  /i see vampires walkin, don't be gripped by fear, you aren’t next/  /we’re all the sons and daughters of vampires who drained the old world’s necks/

in 2014 i went to croatia for the first (and probably last, given my finances) time and met my extended family there. on that trip i looped modern vampires of the city every day, both because i love that album and because i did not have internet access or cell service. two weeks on a farm on an island off the coast of croatia, with only my family. a teenager’s dream! i did really enjoy it though. i found it grounding to be living amongst memories of centuries before me. both architecturally, the buildings are older there than the united states (government) itself, but also in my ancestors' memories. i stayed in the house my nono grew up in, and the house that’s been in my family name for centuries. the house was built before the empire rose and still stands there today despite its inhabitants dead or emigrated. the us empire rose on the bones and blood of multiple civilizations, specifically and purposefully wiping them out and creating that cognitive dissonance i was facing for the first time as a teenager.

/in times of war the educated class knew what to do/ /the temple’s gone but still a single column stands today/ /that sinking feeling fades but never really goes away/ /a staircase up to nothingness inside your dna/ /well thats a bleak sunrise/

/i know what lies beneath manhattan/ /i know who's buried in grants tomb/

age 16, for anyone i think, is the peak of arguing with your parents. age 16 is the culmination of anger about not having agency over your own life . 16 is crying and screaming and fighting your patriarchal family, thinking if you can just explain things right you can undo generations of behavioral patterns and beliefs. 16 is for fighting your father and reading queer lit on the family shared kindle account. and diane young, evidently. 

in 2018 and 2019 i spent my summers in my professor’s studios (one in queens, the other in brooklyn) working for unpaid college credit as a studio assistant. i lost my wallet in brooklyn. i spent hours in the new york public library archives sifting through images of the city during the 70s and 80s for research. i took greyhound buses from south jersey/south philly to penn station.  i ate lunch in battery park in the rain, cried in bathroom stalls, and scrambled around mta carrying too much shit. 

/used to have a job at penn station/ (cue what sounds like the shrieking noise of a train coming in, what commuters blink at and tourists recoil from)

in 2019 father of the bride came out, about a month before i became chronically ill/disabled. i was supposed to see that tour. at the beginning of 2020, my final semester of college, i went on medical leave and moved back in with my parents (something i vowed to never do and something my therapist at the time strongly suggested i never do. life goes on.) 

2024. only god was above us. i will turn 26 in a couple months. this year my childhood dog died. i read state and revolution (lenin). i organized phone calls with my grandfather to learn about his life in croatia (and distract him from recovery from back surgery) (and give my grandmother a break). everyone’s forgotten about covid or actively doesn’t care. but everyone keeps getting sick isn’t that so strange. the weather is a trapeze artist but your average conversation regards it as strange this year, and nothing deeper. my grandfather disowned my father in a bout of rage last month. i keep collecting comorbidities like painful trinkets. my mother emailed me a list of things to write a book about, which reads more like questions she’s been meaning to ask me about my life. i have no interest in cracking open my ribcage so blatantly in something longer than an essay or blog post. i will pour myself into art and fiction and you can take what meanings and interpretations from it as you will. one of my favorite things about creating art is what people find in it afterward. this thing that was an expression, a release for me, has hidden meanings and images to other people that i will never predict and that’s absolutely thrilling to me. sometimes people ask me what things are in my drawings and i ask them what they think it is and it frustrates them to no avail. my mom found a jaguar in this drawing and i cheered but refused to confirm or deny. (after that i called the piece jungle, but it certainly never started that way. i’m not even sure if jaguar is the right cat. the spotted one? but not a cheetah.) 

i journey into only god was above us carrying the weight of cycles and behaviors, patriarchal abuse, research on the balkans, lenin on the brain, thinking about covid and palestine and sudan and every other nation the country i live in steps on the neck of and who’s blood has benefitted me in some way. my own madness, my sickness, my rage. ill mad and angry. genetic health conditions, family curses. writing a sci-fi something. thinking about the deep sea internet cables and growing up on the internet.

/the oceans churning, the cables stay in place/ 

coming from generations of mechanics and farmers and restaurant staff. stuck alone with my parents in the woods of south jersey. missing commute times and the clogged holland tunnel. dealing with multiple chronic conditions that render me at the mercy of corrupt broken state institutions, jumping through administrative hurdles to get care. facing eugenic and bioessentialist thought in every person i meet. wishing i could live elsewhere but knowing that’s precisely what my ancestors did that got me here in the first place. and wouldn’t that be shoving myself up the ladder in some way, stepping on whoever lives wherever i would want to go. continuing the line of betrayal. i’m tired of the us empire’s tendrils poisoning the globe and i want it to fall apart desperately but i also know that as it does my health will get worse without medications and i will be useless to any movement and no movement would have me . my brain creatures whisper i am a parasite and social norms reaffirm the whispers at every turn. the ascetic creature in my brain who sits in her wading pool and passes judgement on the rest of me (and herself) while seeking absolution for everything i cannot change refuses to allow the water to flow and instead needs it to fit in her palms. what was i talking about? vampire weekend. 

/your consciousness is not my problem/ /and i hope you know your brain’s not bulletproof/ (over what sounds to me like the din of squealing subway tunnels)

i have a notes app entry that’s just notes i took while listening to the album. i’ve interspersed some things in here, but here are some special mentions i can’t weave into my words, and then a whole frantic paragraph about the final song on the album because there’s a lot to talk about. time stamps included if you’re listening along at home. 

capricorn: i love the discordant WEE WAW WEE WAW that dominates and sweeps through the song’s entire sound after the second verse. also /sifting thru centuries for moments of your own/ really resonated with me. 

connect: lyrically this was really fun for me as someone who’s got a whole soap box notes app entry document on growing up online and the current online cultural landscape. /now is it strange i cant connect? it isn’t strange but i could check . walked around to where we kept the box of wires, and lately/ . also super thrilled about the deep sea internet cable mention in this song. and then something about the instrumental break at 3:22 reminds me of times square retail stores at christmas time. i can’t explain it. 

prep school gangsters: the emphasis and repeating of /its just something people say/ at the end makes me feel like this is not actually something people say, maybe people really do feel that way . 

the surfer: starts out like old school cool guy bopping down a city street, but then the second piano (a second piano has hit the-) kicks in (1:11) and suddenly it’s offputting and dreary. the extreme weather alert like siren after verse 1. /california king placed directly on the floor/ the selective luxury we all partake in as capitalism spins out around us. the line  /fake fortune teller scandalized by fate/ made me think of astrology and personality quizzes and pathologization taking over the social consciousness. the stunning horns at 3:32 that make me sweep my arms around every time i hear them, the climax of a movie, the height of the wave. 3:44 the wave breaks, and we coast with just a twang of surfer rock guitar. the radio static glitchiness because we are not surfing. we are not coasting. it is falling apart, we are wiping out. we’re headed back towards the beach at the end but the stunning horns return, muted a bit as a reminder of the adrenaline at the height of the wave. 

the chorus in gen x cops,  /each generation makes its own apology/ half of me reads it as healing and the other half reads it as the old person's refrain of not knowing any better. a half hearted apology from a parent, a “sorry you took it that way.” 

mary boone is funny because i /came in from jersey/ and did internships /the one from queens not from brooklyn/ . i also really love  /im on the dark side of your room/ because it makes me imagine the young struggling artist as the rich art critic/dealer/tax evader’s sleep paralysis demon. 

pravda: this one and the surfer are my favorite songs. verse 1 makes me think of when lenin was exiled for his revolutionary writings. sorry . and then something about /leaving at the rising of the moon/ and how revolutionary battles are named in history (bloody sunday for the russian revolution for example.) /your consciousness is not my problem/ thinking about your awareness of the world around you, your political consciousness, and also whether i knock you out or not. also after the lyrics mention hanging the family balalaika by the piano a little piano tinkles in and it’s fantastic. and with mentioning penn station the train squeals to arrive. to me. <3 

the final song is an 8 minute long track called hope and it's so haunting and sardonic and mildly threatening i’m obsessed with it. i was nervous hearing it out of the context of the album at first because i was like god please don't be a liberal nihilism song. but i think in the context of the rest of the album, and paying attention to the words and production, the “i hope you let it go” is like . i hope you let it die. i hope you let it end. i hope you let the insincere prophecy go and move on . the call keeps coming from inside , i hope you let it go (i hope you let it ring). your enemy’s invincible, i hope you let it go Could be (and Is, by genius song annotators who i have never agreed with on a single vampire weekend song) read as the enemy is too strong, give up. but i think of it as like. let it run itself in circles, it will destroy itself. the whole verse for emphasis:

/the prophet said we’d disappear /the prophets gone but we’re still here/ /his prophecy was insincere/ /i hope you let it go/ /the righteous rage was foolish pride/ /the conquerors did not divide /the calls keep coming from inside/ /i hope you let it go/

when it's all over, files declassified. your bag fell on the subway tracks, i hope you let it go and leave it there. embassy abandoned, flag on the ground, painting burned, statue drowned, killer freed, court adjourned. hope betrayed, lesson learned. the instrumental break feels galvanizing. angry. i turn my chin down into a kubrick stare as those horns build and drone on through the rest of the song. the last minute/outro of the song is angry, the pictures getting distorted, the piano/guitar still drone on but a subway passes by, horn blaring, massive distortive ruckus, and then it fades. and the album is over! and you sit .

thank you for reading :) there are things i couldn’t fit in this, can you believe it? even after i did the little list coda! but those will stay in my brain’s constant conversation with itself. the creatures chatter with me as we share a drink. this by no means was an album review. maybe it could be considered a love letter but i am not particularly interested in the band’s True Intention. what you take out of art is a credit to you as much as it is to the artist i think. i don’t want to have confirmation on what art is about. do not tell me the true meaning, let me discover my own. i give what i give receive what i receive . peace n love <3

highly recommend their music videos for this album btw, they use archival footage (and images) by steven siegel and it's cool stuff

[giantjupiter]

Three Arms and a Cubit

[Based on the writing prompt:]

Sun rises, and it sets? My goodness... I feel terrible just to think about that.

Sun.

It does rise.

I was born in a hospital. My parents called me a blessing to the family.

As I was travelling through the pages of life, I noticed that I was oppressed, that my individuality was done for. I was quite the nerd in my classes, even two years ago. I was selfish.

As I went on in my life with pain, I started to see what genuine friendships are like.

I... I... hate myself a lot.

As I see that the sun's rising, I see that it's the morning of my life. Now that I have proposed this analogy, I feel like I will again become an arrogant old man, too full of myself. I will be selfish again.

I always try to live silently and peacefully, where I will be assisted by my friends. I never want to spend time with people who make me insane.

Speaking of company, I always feel like I am so much of a hateful person. I have destroyed many lives. I have induced a teaching to a 5-year-old: how to scream at one's own parents. In fact, I feel like everyone is responsible for some sin or the other. Many don't admit it or they don't have any awareness about their condition. When I see anything about my locality on the Internet, I feel intensely guilty, because of my supposed reputation in my locality.

I scream at my abusive parents.

(Here, it is advocated even by the schools to worship one's own parents.)

As I am writing something on this virtual cage of dank memes, politics, and NSFW celebrities, I don't understand what is the essence of company. Why do people unite even when they have genuinely bad intrusive thoughts? When I see a girl, I always think that I will harm her in some way. Many-a-times, I can suppress it, but sometimes, it sucks the brain power out of me like some vampire whose teeth are like centrifuges. Imagine that constant engine-like moving of the skull, combined with the pain in the brain due to overthinking. It hurts.

How do people love even after having so many hateful personalities inside of them? How does the Earth revolve around the sun? How is the Earth in motion? What keeps them moving?!

Is the answer to the first question, acceptance? compromise?

[My phone indicated that the charge is less than 20%, damn...]

How does one have empathy? What is its source? Pain? Experiences?

Is this poor soul even worthy of love?

I feel like living alone is the best punishment for me.

But I genuinely do seek connections.

I feel lonely without them.

I will feel really lonely if my long-married partner dies. I hate death. It rots a person to the core. One moment smiling, then another moment completely classified as a still figure, a sculpture of God endowed by the Heavens Above.

After we die, we will just be given a land of three arms and a cubit. Nothing more, nothing less. All that wealth, all those friends, and contributions will remain as a blockchain, a paper, a memory and a photo. Oh yes, and as hundreds of certificates, including one's death certificate.

It looks more beautiful at night though. Countless stars and (sometimes) a moon. We do die alone, but will those constellations of stars exist after we die? Is the afterlife beautiful?

Maybe, but it's awfully alone.

It has flowers but no one to appreciate.

[replicantdeviancy]

There was something very different about this distant cousin that had Connor's investigative mind buzzing with interest. Ever cautious as he was, wary as his intuition was telling him something his logical brain would have dismissed only months before. Beyond the emaciated frame of this rather tall man, his undeniably archaic speech patterns didn't merely suggest a man of class as his poised southern accent did. That, & the distinct chill of his hand as it had grasped the detective's own, thin digits clammy against supple, admittedly cooler than normal flesh. Connor was the type to run a little cold, & always had been. Often enough, those closest to him complained of chilled extremities. The tall man was different, nearly ambient, beyond surface level, in spite of his friendly demeanor. It helped solidify something in the younger man's mind, though his suspicion made him oddly…more comfortable, though not completely relaxed. Somewhat bemused.

It wasn't the first time the homicide detective had touched a corpse, but this was the first time said corpse had been walking around chatting him up with polite pleasantries & hints of nostalgia. As this intriguing realization slowly settled into his mind, Connor couldn't help himself as his faint smile widened briefly. "Jonathan, then." He agreed with a small nod, shifting his weight to one foot, hips cocked ever so slightly. He had been made aware of the distinction of Americans through their tendency to lean, either on things or in general. It wasn't all that commonplace for him, but he wanted to express his relaxation in the presence of James' family member. He was so hypervigilant normally, & that hadn't changed here, but now that he was more certain of what kind of entity he was dealing with, he was more at ease.

"It's a dying city, but it's home," he explained, his dusky voice holding more than a hint of affection when mentioning Detroit. A city carved from the wilds of Michigan & cursed with collapse, time after time. A city that knew how to rise from its ashes, hopeful for better things. "If I ever get back there & you're in town, you'll be welcomed." By himself or his family, hopefully. The siblings were a busy trio, but they were good natured souls, hospitable.

He wasn't at all surprised by the gentle warnings of city dwelling wickedness, invisible things that went bump in the night. It only further cemented Connor's conclusions of the tall man's origins; or could it be called a condition? He didn't know the politically correct logistics of it. All he knew was that his lover & this cousin of his shared a similar propensity for safeguarding others. “I promise I'll be careful. It sounds like protectiveness is a familial trait.” Again, a small bit of teasing - he wasn't ungrateful, just a little rebellious. Connor was still very much that brave kid who would wander into the derelict spaces & explore old, defunct factories with his brothers in their grade school years, wearing their nice clothes & looking like a pack of well-to-do little rascals. Fearless, perhaps apathetic to the consequences. He had suffered more in hospital in the aftermath of a police operation gone bad than he ever had banishing infernal entities from the mortal plane, & he had the scars to prove it.

Maybe it was the amygdala which incurred so much damage over his formative years, or maybe he was just crazy. Either way, he was content.

Jonathan seemed rather accustomed to danger, himself, though one had to wonder what a man like him had to fear in the early hours. The detective supposed it wouldn't have been overstepping to ask about him, perhaps offering a means of making a friendly connection. He didn't know much about the undead, but Connor imagined it could be lonely & they could both use the entertainment. Staring blankly at his phone screen scrolling through the internet wasn't going to help him quell the anxiety inside. So , he posed an invitation. "—Would you like to come up?" A gesture of his hand towards the hotel not far from them, barely a block away. It was late, but if it wouldn't be a bother to anyone, the lounge was a nice place to rest a while & converse. If not, Connor hoped that James wouldn't be opposed to him allowing the man into their little suite.

"I don't know if an invitation is actually necessary for your kind… but it stands, regardless." His statement was both polite & unsubtle, though he wasn't about to just come out & say what was on his mind. Was it offensive to accuse somebody of being a vampire? After having his world greatly expanded by meeting the exorcist, the term had very new connotations. As such, he attempted to reassure Jonathan with a light, calming smile. "It's not obvious, if you 're worried. I just have a certain kind of perception most people don't." An understatement, & quite a monumental one. Connor knew he was being modest , as it wasn't just his ability to perceive the past retroactively through evidence obtained by both conscious & subconscious mind. He could sense things the same as James could, perhaps even more keenly as he was unable to see the things a more psychically inclined individual could. He had never before realized that he was capable of such things, until he met James.

He was certain to make that clear. “& James has been teaching me well.” A soft huff of a laugh at that, a hint of tired wit. He held his book up casually to show the tall man before tucking it under his arm again. “I wasn't planning on going to bed any time soon. Waiting on him like this makes me anxious.” One could tell, as the pretty youth did appear quite tired. Just another part of the job, both at home & now alongside the priest.

"Indeed, the very same." Jonathan effortlessly replied with a single nod of his head, a surprising amount of warmth lifting his features despite the stark coldness of his skin or the lack of colour that refused to flood his cheeks. For every little thing that might scream 'vampire', to those who could never imagine that existed, he had plenty of excuses to get him by. His pale skin and inability to step into direct sunlight was simply a very rare and severe allergy to the sun, keeping him from stepping into its warm embrace without erupting into an unyielding rash of blisters and burns. It wasn't a complete lie, though the severity was a little more brutal, his skin would begin to burn, not only from the outside in, on the inside, he'd begin to boil as well. The terrifying thing was it wouldn't even kill him, it would burn and boil him right down to the bone and all he'd need is for the sun to set or to hide behind a cloud and he'd begin to heal all over again. Not that the whole ordeal wouldn't be completely and utterly agonising. But he didn't have to mention that part.

His cold skin was simply played off as poor blood circulation and, again, a lack of sunlight. While his inability to eat around people was merely put down to having specific dietary requirements, which also wasn't a complete fib, even if he left out the fact that he couldn't consume anything that wasn't blood without it coming back up after being swiftly rejected by his body. His figure did seem to aid with such an excuse, standing at a striking height despite his very lean and malnourished build making it clear that there was perhaps something amiss when it came to his eating habits. Yet the reality was just as sobering, he'd spent three years on the frontline in France during WWI, surviving on rations that had quickly whittled down, giving away what he had to his patients rather than taking it for himself. By the time he'd returned to London, he'd been a shadow of the man who had left years before, his cheeks skinny with bony angles, dark bags beneath his eyes, giving away a lack of sleep, lack of eating, scars on his face, a broken nose, his entire body screaming for rest and nourishment. What had he found when he came home? His own death.

Now, every time he looked in the mirror, it was that same man who had returned from war who looked back at him, eternally tired, unfed and marked with the same scars that would never leave him, never let him forget. They were both a curse and a gift.

To see his cousin with a face so like his own, slender but not starving, sun-dusted skin, grey hairs creeping into ebony locks, he almost envied it, wondering if that's how he might have looked if he hadn't been transformed mere streets away from his childhood home. He wanted James to see his life through, to live it, to reach an old age, retire, and be content in his last days. And what better than to do so with someone they cared for so deeply by their side? They could live together, grow old together, something that Jonathan never could.

"Please, call me Jonathan." The physician politely insisted, keeping his usual title for more formal situations, or simply those who he didn't particularly like. "I was made aware that you hail from America, but no, he neglected to mention which state." Though the accent did give him away a little, not specifically being from Detroit, but the American accent wasn't easy to miss. "I must say, I've never had the opportunity to visit Detroit. Most of my visits to the States are situated in New York. Myself and... prior family members, have held a number of lectures there from time to time." Meaning over the last century they'd all been him, looking exactly the same portraying another descendent. "Though I did travel briefly some time ago. Alas, I imagine much has changed since then." Particularly since the president had been Woodrow Wilson back then.

The thought was almost enough to make him frown a little, suddenly reminded of just how old he was in comparison to the fresh-faced mortal in front of him. Not that it had escaped him that the man seemed -- - tense. Jonathan didn't need to it see, he could feel it, his ungodly senses made secrets impossible to keep, whether just by tasting it in the air around them or by dragging the truth out of them by force. Nothing stayed secret for long. Did he know what he was? He didn't seem quite as shielded as James had been on their first meeting, but he wasn't exactly relaxed either. He was -- - apprehensive? Wary? "The gangs and... thuggery of equal measure, in this city are less of a concern, young man. It's... all else that skulks in the shadows that one should be mindful of." His own kind would be in that category, even he had to be careful seeing as his chosen pacifism wasn't welcomed by most of his fellow Ekons. Especially in London after he'd stood up to the Ascalon Club, the city's 'elite' club of British male vampires. Needless to say, his refusal to fall into line with their outdated ideals hadn't earned him any social favours in the streets. Not that he regretted it though. It was probably best they kept hiding themselves away like the pompous cowards that they truly were. "Take care, Sir, that's all I ask. These streets are not nearly as peaceful as they may seem. If you must wander, I would strongly advise well-lit areas that are highly populated. Other areas can be... treacherous."

[manekicatwriter]

hellooo! i was wondering if i could make a request for an modern au sbi x gn sibling reader where they’re around 17-19, and they’ve got depression. they’ve had to go away for a few weeks after a bad episode ended in an attempt and they were hospitalized and sent somewhere for rehabilitation and now they’re coming home and they’re all anxious and quiet and stuff- so the boys do their best to like comfort them and reassure them that they’re loved and they belong there? i’m sorry if that’s an awkward request, i was just recently discharged after a similar situation and honestly the comfort would be great. it’s totally your call if you chose to write it tho, i understand that this is a difficult and triggering subject and not everyone is comfortable with writing things like it. if you aren’t comfy please feel free to just ignore my ask! <3

you’re here, and that’s what matters.

TW: mentions of attempted suicide. please proceed with caution.

hey! i just wanted to let you know that i’ve been through a similar situation and understand how you feel (though my case was not as severe). i wish you a safe road to recovery.

note, i think you asked for their characters but it leant itself towards their rl versions. i have a feeling the dsmp versions would be too chaotic for this sensitive subject.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! please do not be afraid to send in an ask. ANON IS ON!!

Phil:

- phil was very scared about you being so gravely hurt, it kept him up for some nights. thankfully, you pulled through.

- he visited whenever he could. if he couldn’t, he was busy making sure coming home felt as comfortable for you as possible while also educating himself on how to take care of you.

- phil would listen to how you felt, and be understanding of your feelings.

- “You don’t have to tell me why you did it, I’m just glad you’re here,” pulling you in for a warm hug.

- when you got back home, he made sure he and the boys had prepared your favorite dinner and desserts.

It was the day you had just got home from rehabilitation, and you two were sitting on the couch. You hadn’t said much, you felt like you had nothing to say. Phil had asked for you to sit down so you two could talk, one on one.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m sorry,” your voice started to crack. “For making you guys worry about me.” Tears started to form from your eyes and you wept into your hands.

Phil immediately reached over to you to hug you, letting you cry on his shoulder. “We don’t blame you. We don’t blame anybody. I just want you to be here safe with us. Let it all out.” He pat and rubbed your back soothingly as you kept crying. But it was a good cry. He was just glad you came home.

Tommy:

- even though many see tommy as a loud and obnoxious boy with a general disregard for others, we all know deep down that’s a persona. he will go out of his way to make other comfortable in his presence if he truly cares for them. which he does, for you of course.

- he wants to make you happy! when the time is right, he’ll crack jokes and offer to play minecraft with you.

- would tone down the yelling. not because you asked, but he’s afraid of triggering you. treats you like glass. if you notice he’s being quieter than usual and you don’t care, you tell him you don’t.

- if you’re feeling it, he’ll take you out to fun places and to eat. nothing that’s too outlandish like a theme park, but just enough to have a reason to get out of bed that day instead of sleeping in.

It had been a week since you had gotten home and Phil had instructed you to maintain somewhat of a schedule to upkeep yourself. Right now was your nightly routine, washing yourself, brushing your teeth, and finally sliding under the covers. It felt nice. The blanket of sleep consumes you easily…

…

Until you bedroom door opens you’re being aggressively shaken awake. You groan, shying away, but they’re persistent.

“Ey, wake up, it’s morning!” Tommy shakes you again.

You realize you didn’t dream, but think nothing of it. “Tommy please, what do you want.”

Finally, Tommy pulled your warm sheets from over you, making you flinch. “I wanted to go out to the park today! Feed the ducks! Yeesss!”

You sighed. If you didn’t comply now, Tommy will refuse to stop nagging you for the rest of the day. You rolled out of bed and into the bathroom. You could very clearly hear Tommy’s cheers.

You two had gotten ready, eaten breakfast, and said goodbye to the rest of your family so you could head over to the park. It was close enough that it wasn’t unbearable to walk to. Even if you weren’t completely yourself yet, you were glad Tommy was.

After the short walk you two finally reached the park. Tommy immediately bolted toward the pond and you jogged behind. He had already started throwing the ducks some seeds, and even threw it on a duck. It didn’t seem too pleased.

You two sat at the edge of the pond as you watched the ducks eat. “Hey.” You hear Tommy call to you, and you turn your head to him.

“Can we talk about what happened? With you? Is it okay?” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Go ahead, what is it?”

“When Techno found out what happened to you, and told us the news, I was scared shitless.” He let out a sad huff. “I thought we were going to lose you.” Tommy kept his eyes fixed at the pond in front of him. “I’m sorry, I really shouldn’t have brought this up. I’m just glad you’re okay.” He sighed.

You put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh Tommy…” You started, “I’m sorry for making you worry. You shouldn’t have to feel like that because of my actions.”

Tommy was lost in thought for a moment, before finally speaking up, “No, please don’t apologize. It’s not anybody’s fault this happened, right?” You nodded.

Tommy stood up, dusting his pants off from the grass. “Come on now, let’s go get some ice cream!” He pulled you up from the ground.

“Last one to get to the shop has to pay!”

Immediately, Tommy bolts in the direction to the ice cream shop, and you catch up to him. No matter the circumstance is, he never seems to fail at putting a smile on your face.

Wilbur:

- i HC wilbur being the oldest, being older than techno by 3 years and older than tommy by 8, like IRL. :]

- i think out of all of your siblings, wilbur exudes the most “protective older brother” energy, yeah?

- remember when tommy lied about his mother being in trouble and how worried and anxious wilbur got? turn that up to 11 with what happened with you.

- with wilbur being the oldest, he of course had the responsibility of taking care of everyone. but somehow you and him didn’t spend as much 1 on 1 time as much as wilbur did with his other siblings

- wilbur definitely was going to change that, realizing that and not wanting to make that mistake again.

- he decided that finding a new hobby with you wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

You were sitting at the dinner table, being the last one there. You were poking at your food for the most part, and Wilbur got home late from… whatever Wilbur thing he was doing. Phil cooked pasta for dinner tonight. Wilbur put down his bags at the door connected to the garage. “I’m home! What’s for dinner?”

“Pasta.”

“Mmm, I love some good ol’ pasta.” He said, already taking a plate out to serve himself. “Also, hey, I bought something I wanted to build with you. Do you mind?”

You finally looked up from your very interesting pasta. “Build..?” You had no idea where this was going.

Wilbur placed his plate on the table and approached the bags of groceries, going through them to find the bag he was looking for. He pulled out a LEGO set. More specifically, a LEGO City set from the looks of the box? “Wilbur, how much was that?”

He blinked at you innocently. “It was only, like, £25. And look! It’s got a little submarine we can make with a rock and ugly sea monster—“

“But why?”

“Why not? It wouldn’t hurt for you to do something new, yeah?” He smiled at you, shaking the LEGO box in front of him to show it off. You sighed, but smiled. “Alright. But maybe you and I should eat this pasta first before we start building.” Wilbur nodded.

“Speaking of water, don’t you think I could teach you how to swim or something?”

“Oh, fuck off with that!”

Technoblade:

- i think out of everyone in the family, he understands you the most in terms of how you feel.

- not suicidal, but just generally having depressive episodes due to his ADHD.

- techno’s generally closed off, but started to really open up to you because he wanted to show he cares, even if it meant going out of his comfort zone.

- techno suggested journaling. once a day or once per week, it didn’t really matter. just as long as you could write down your feelings somewhere.

- he didn’t explicitly say it, but he also bought a book for himself so he could do it along with you. although, he more often than not just forgets to write in it until you mention your own journal.

- if you want to be sad and quiet, you can be sad and quiet with him. his room is a safe space for you if you ever need it and you’re always welcome to come in, just as long as you knock first.

With one hand on your mouse scrolling through the internet, and another resting your head on it, you were safe to admit you were utterly and completely bored. Honestly, you thought about taking another nap after your last one, but a knock on your door stopped you right before you pulled the covers over yourself. “Can I come in?”

You rose from your bed. “Come in. Oh hey Techno.”

He gave a simple wave and his signature “Halloo.” He walked right over to you and handed a journal and a ballpoint pen. “I got this. For you.” His stare was sharp but you could sort of tell he was nervous.

“What for?”

“I dunno. Writin��� your feelings down or drawin’ or somethin’. Whatever helps you vent.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh Techno, thank you. That’s very sweet of you.” You gave a slight smile, but saw that he still had another journal in his hand. “You have two journals?”

Techno raised his eyebrow in confusion before looking down at his hand. “Oh this? It’s for me. So we could do it together, I guess.”

You let out a happy hum. “That’s nice. Say, why don’t we go to your room? I want to see your new lava lamp and stuff.”

Techno shrugged. “Sure. I’ve got more stationary too if you want.” He waved his hand before letting himself out the door, with you following not far behind.

hi hope u enjoyed reading as much as i did writing it. this format was new for me but very fun!

[thepenultimateword]

A continuation of this drabble here

Every time Villain closed their eyes, they saw the vicious contours of Hero's face. Jaw clenched tight, brow pulled together like ugly stitches, every line cut in into their face as if by Exacto knife, harsh, hard, and angry.

Villain's arm snapped like a piece of raw spaghetti. It was hard to pick the exact moment out against the blur of blood and swaying tilt of the room; it was just one moment whole and the next instant bent backward by a mere smack of Hero's hand. Villain had broken bones before, crunch and done. Today, it cracked. Their scream made a rip in the still air, then, unable to help it, they made a second one. Soon enough the familiar ambiance of their fights hung in shreds. And still Hero just stood there with the same unfeeling expression.

Villain shuddered. They had to be careful of what they said from now on. After yesterday's...events, Hero had asked them if there was anything they wanted. All Villan could think of was what they'd always wanted: to fight Hero for real. They'd gotten the feeling for a while that the city's most beloved was pulling their punches. And not only against them. They'd watched videos of Hero's fights against other criminals, seen some in person before too, and the restraint was obvious. Their muscles pulled too tight, and every attack reminisced an internet video on bad connection rather than one fluid movement. It had pissed Villain off. Hero had to be massively arrogant to marginalize every villain. Half the time they didn't even win. But they got it now. Hero was a monster.

A knock at the door jolted Villain back to the present: a shabby one-room apartment, a threadbare sofa that threatened to suck them between sagging cushions scented like stale perfume and menthol cough drops, a bright orange cast on their forearm.

Villain swung their stockinged feet over the side of couch and heaved themselves out of its stubborn embrace, ignoring the dull ache beneath the cast.

When they opened the door, they were met by Hero's flushed and weeping face.

"Villain!" Hero cried, red-rimmed eyes of grey going wide. They spoke with the same amount of desperation as a starving person presented with a meal. They stepped across the threshold, and Villain involuntarily flinched back.

Hero stopped but didn't retreat. "I searched 3 different hospitals before reaching St. Augustine's; they told me you'd already been discharged."

Villain remained silent. Four hours ago, this person beat the crap out of them and broke their arm. Perhaps that was acceptable under other, more criminal circumstances, but they hadn't exactly been prepared for what they got today.

Hero raised the plastic grocery sack in their raw fist coaxingly. "I brought ice cream."

Villain tried to console the wet, pleading eyes of the Hero in front of them with the hollow face of the Hero from earlier.

"Alright," Villain sighed heavily, shuffling back toward the sofa. The door clicked shut and seconds later Hero plopped on the couch beside them.

"Can I see?" they asked tentatively, eyes flicking between their arm and their face.

No! Villain screamed internally, but they'd resolved to give this a try, so they were going to give it a try. They slowly extended their plaster-covered arm.

Hero held the arm between careful fingertips, applying hardly any pressure as they lifted and rotated. Their eyes seemed to pick apart each layer of plaster and skin that covered the bone's unhappy state. Finally, they lowered the arm back to Villain's knee and wiped the remaining tears and snot along the back of their arm with a loud sniffle. "Do you like orange?"

"No, they didn't ask." They thumbed at themself. "Villain, ya know?"

Hero nodded vaguely and pursed their lips. "I didn't mean to hurt you so badly. You asked me not to hold back, so I didn't, but it's been so long since I've fought full strength, I didn't realize... I couldn't even say anything to you because there were people filming."

Ah, that's right. The other part of their deal. If Villain went out with Hero, it couldn't affect work. That meant keeping it from all but a few carefully selected people.

"It's whatever," Villain shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

This was so bizarre; until yesterday, Hero never would have cried over them. Had they really just decided to love them? Were they really feeling all those emotions or were they playing a part?

Hero's eyes grew shiny with a new run-off of tears. "And your poor face."

Villain flinched away a second time as Hero reached for them. Not out of fear, but, well, just because! They were a villain! They didn't need any of this touchy, feely, comfort garbage.

The lost look on Hero's face made them lean back in anyway.

Warm fingers traversed every cut and bruise decorating Villain's face. Whenever they winced, the fingers fluttered back like a nervous butterfly before returning more gentle. Villain stared at the wall over Hero's shoulder, disassociating from this strange, unfamiliar situation until the hand went still against their cheek. They turned their gaze back on Hero and immediately reeled back. They were way too close!

Hero let their cheek slide out from their palm with a soft smile and stood up from the couch. Of course, they added their dramatic hero flare to it. They couldn't just stand up; they had to launch themselves over the back. A few moments later the clinking of drawers and thunk cupboard doors indicated they had begun rummaging through Villain's kitchen.

"Could you not touch my things?" Villain said, rising up a little on the back cushions and shooting the hero a dark look.

"Aha!" Hero procured a spoon from the newfound silverware drawer. In a tangle of long limbs, they crawled back over the top of the couch, falling against Villain's shoulder in the process. Their close-up eye contact made Villain's face warm. "Sorry, I'll ask next time."

Then they shifted their weight away to gather the grocery sack off the floor. They popped the lid of the ice cream tub and stuck the spoon into the soft, melty edge of chocolate.

"Here, you're injured, so I'll help," they said, lifting the spoon toward's Villain's mouth.

Villain snatched the spoon away with a snarl. "I'm right-handed."

It was good. Really good. Not like the cheap stuff from the bottom shelf. Though it was a little hard to completely enjoy when they could feel Hero's eyes watching them. What? Were they going to throw a fit on this too? Well, the sooner the spoiled jerk learned that Villain wasn't a doll, the better. Villain threw a challenging gaze on them, but this time the look Hero sported was more fond than upset.

Villain turned away quick, struck by the inexplicable feeling that they shouldn't have seen that. That was something intimate and earnest, and warm; it wasn't meant for them. People just didn't give those things to them. And Hero was a delusional weirdo who thought relationships could be set up like dentist appointments. It wasn't supposed to feel good!

"Want to watch something?"

Villain studied the seamline in their sweatpants intensely. "Whatever."

The TV flicked on, sitcom laughter filled the cold spaces in the apartment with comfort instead of awkwardness, and slowly, slowly Villain relaxed into the couch.

Was this what it felt like not to be alone? Was this mellow sensation blanketing their chilled insides coming from having another person beside them?

Villain ate mechanically and leaned closer to the screen. Hero took advantage of their position and began tracing patterns on their back with the tip of their finger.

Alarm bells went off immediately. Hit them. Run from them. Cuss them out. Do anything but sit here and accept this! They are your enemy!

Villain didn't move. Maybe this was dangerous, maybe there was something seriously wrong with Hero for suggesting this, but at the moment Villain knew that Hero had been right. They were lonely. The true depths of it unrealized until this moment. And if Hero wanted to love a fraction of the amount that Villain wanted to be loved, then Vilain couldn't have come up with a better solution if they schemed themself.

[ridiasfangirlings]

Fushimi, after running away from home, needed a quick source of income that's not just tech stuff so he does tutoring and ended up teaching Yata's siblings. It was just a job at first and he didn't even get along with Yata but slowly they got close and he started crushing on him (Yata crushes on him too and gets excited whenever the kids have a tutoring session lol). Yata's family also found out Fushimi lives alone and tries to make him spend time with them like he's part of their family.

For some reason I find this setup very appealing, teenage runaway Fushimi tutoring some kids and unexpectedly falling hopelessly in love with their big brother. Imagine Fushimi decides he's finally had enough of his terrible parents and decides to run away, maybe Niki's in the hospital and Fushimi figures it will take Kisa months to even notice he's gone. He packs a bag with just his laptop, a couple changes of clothes and whatever money he has saved from his allowance. This lasts him for a while at first, he's able to bounce from hotel room to hotel room without anyone getting too suspicious but eventually it's clear that he's going to need some kind of job. Fushimi had initially intended to just do tech stuff online to get cash but that's proving difficult with his current living situation, going from hotel rooms to internet cafes and trying his best to keep connected online. He's buying some food at a nearby convenience store when he sees they have a bulletin board up that people can post job listings for like local plumbing or construction-type things, out of desperation he posts his own ad offering tutoring services for kids.

He gets a call a few days later from a woman wanted help tutoring her two younger children, she also makes mention of an older boy who might need some assistance with high school entrance exams. Fushimi finds himself feeling a little prickly about the idea of going into this home with like an actual happy family but he needs money so he takes the offer, scheduling himself to go to the woman's house a couple times a week for a few hours at a time for a regular pay amount. The first day he's supposed to be there he rings the doorbell, standing all awkwardly in front of the door, and when it opens there's this red-haired kid standing there. Fushimi looks at the kid and gives this flat 'I'm your new tutor,' the kid's like oh you mean you're here to tutor Minoru and Megumi and Fushimi's like huh so you're not in elementary school then. The kid immediately gets pissed off about that and Fushimi gives this little grin, as he steps inside he hears the kid's mom yelling at him to be polite to the tutor. Fushimi gets introduced to his two new 'students', Minoru and Megumi, and to the oldest kid Misaki (Fushimi's grin gets even wider when Yata's mom says that name and Yata's immediately like 'don't call me that,' naturally Fushimi starts using that name every chance he gets).

Yata's mom has to go do some grocery shopping so she leaves Fushimi and Yata with the kids, Fushimi sits down to start his tutoring session with Minoru first and the whole time Yata's in the corner playing with Megumi and glaring at Fushimi like he thinks Fushimi's suspicious. Yata sees that Fushimi's his age and asks what school he goes to, Fushimi clicks his tongue and says he already graduated elementary school and Yata's like I told you I'm in middle school. Fushimi leaves a couple hours later when his session is done and he has to admit that maybe it wasn't so bad, the kids weren't as annoying as they could be and besides Misaki was fun to tease at least. After that Fushimi goes back to the house several times a week and Yata's always there for him to tease in between tutoring sessions. Minoru and Megumi quickly get attached to him, amazed that he knows everything and maybe at first Yata's a bit jealous too because here he's the big brother and yet his siblings keep praising this stranger for being so smart and all. At one point Yata's mom asks Fushimi to help Yata with entrance exams, Fushimi acts all polite to her but then when it's just him and Yata he starts teasing 'Misaki' for being an idiot. Yata thinks he won't learn anything from a jerk like this but then as Fushimi's teaching him Yata realizes that this guy is actually kinda amazing. Fushimi doesn't know how to take this, he enjoyed teasing Misaki before but now when Yata looks at him with shining eyes and praises him it's like this whole different level of feelings.

After that they slowly become friends, Yata looks forward to Fushimi coming to tutor the kids and even asks if he wants to go to the arcade afterward. The only problem is that he also keeps asking where Fushimi goes to school and where he lives and Fushimi initially keeps blowing that off. Eventually he says Yata can come over to his place one day and Yata's surprised and concerned when he realizes Fushimi's living in a hotel room, especially when Fushimi makes a comment about how this is where he's living 'today.' Yata begins to suspect that Fushimi ran away but he doesn't want to say anything that would make Fushimi get upset and decide to stop coming by to tutor the kids. Maybe at some point Yata's on his way home from school and sees Fushimi, he goes to say hi and then freezes as he sees Fushimi running away from someone – Niki got out of the hospital and has shown up to torment his kid. Yata gets to see how awful Fushimi's dad is and realizes this must be why he ran away, and now Yata's decided to start saving up so that one day maybe they can move somewhere together.

In the meantime Fushimi is still tutoring, maybe he did find a semi-regular coding job that he can do online so he was able to take down his tutoring ad but he still only keeps going to Yata's place. Yata starts making sure he has like snack set up for Saruhiko every time he comes by, pretending like this is just a nice friend thing but really he's worried about how Fushimi's eating living all alone on the streets like this and he wants to like watch over Fushimi the best he can. Even though Yata hasn't said anything to his mom she's also started being really nice to Fushimi as well, telling him to stay for dinner and even agreeing when Yata asks if Saruhiko can spend the night. Fushimi realizes that he's starting to get attached and thinks he should end these sessions but he can't bring himself to do it, finding himself almost looking forward to seeing Misaki every day, even though he's also worried because soon school will be out of session and what will happen once he's not tutoring Misaki's siblings anymore.

[callsign-144p]

hey so this thread is lowkey really ableist towards ACTUAL disabled people, i don’t really give a fuck about any of the birdie drama because i have friends outside the internet- but i do care about other disabled people being treated with the respect we deserve.

i’d like to note that i am writing this thread as a disabled person, i’m going to go into quick detail about two of my disabilities in order to demonstrate my perspective on this thread. (skip to the title if you dont wanna read)

i am diagnosed with level 2, bordering on 3 autism which overlaps to my (also diagnosed) adhd. this means that i require ‘very substantial support’ but can communicate clearly. because of my autism i often struggle with social activity, complex systems, having a horrible memory, being easily distracted and forgetful aswell as having pretty severe anxiety around changes in structure. i cannot drive on my own due to my autism and will likely not be able to live on my own anytime soon.

i have chronic back pain, at the moment my doctors aren’t sure exactly what to label it- but at one point in my life, my spine was pretty badly injured from a fall or slip or something of the like which twisted it funny. but because i didn’t want to go to a hospital, it was left untreated and healed incorrectly. i now deal with really bad back pain everyday, it’s gotten better in the past few months due to a variety of reasons but i’ll likely have to deal with it for a couple more years (if not forever lmao.) because of this, i can’t do heavy physical activity without experiencing pain to the point of throwing up or passing out.

WITH THAT BEING SAID: let’s get into this thread because i have a lot to say.

the reckoning

“(I'm gonna get personal here but I should mention I have yet to be diagnosed with BPD or autism, I've only been diagnosed with ADHD, I fit the criteria for BPD and I've been theorizing me having autism for years but I'm waiting to be diagnosed by a professional, so take what I say next with a grain of salt!!)”

alright, so here’s the deal— i was somebody who had the privilege to be diagnosed when i was a minor, but beforehand i was only ‘speculated’ to have bpd. i understand how difficult it is to receive a diagnosis that you know you have and how frustrating it can be… HOWEVER, that doesn’t mean you openly have the right to speak on behalf of people who have bpd if you cannot confirm you have bpd. i mainly bring this up because this person constantly says jack is their ‘favorite person’ when- no. that’s not how that works. this is an extremely parasocial bond that has no actual connection or bond. jack doesn’t know or care about this person.

“Having BPD is a HUGE thing that's taken into consideration when your being hired, and from stories I've heard from ppl who have BPD... it's hard to get hired because most workplaces have biases against people with it and usually don't hire them due to it being on their resume”

hey so this is straight bullshit!

a resume isn’t a psyche report, it’s something YOU MAKE that you show to an employer that shows why you would make a good employee. i’ve reviewed a couple resumes for my coworkers in the past, and i have never ever seen anybody put their mental diagnosis on there. employers are not legally entitled to your list of diagnoses, if you’re denied for putting them on your resume then it’s probably because an employer isn’t going to want to waste company resources on somebody who thinks a PERSONALITY DISORDER is an appropriate reason as to why they should hire you. it’s not about the disorder, it’s about the fact you think it’s important enough to insist it’s a reason you should be hired.

and look, i understand special needs. i have level 2 autism, chronic debilitating pain and a shit ton of other things that make it hard for me to find a job that i can comfortably work at…. but here’s the thing; you adapt. you learn to cope with your problems and realize the world can’t always cater to your problems.

workplaces aren’t meant to be a place where you feel comfortable and happy 24/7, at the end of the day you’re there to serve a purpose, and a company isn’t going to want to cater to you for problems you should be managing on your own.

funnily enough, this shows how young and uneducated this person is. they don’t have any clue what a resume is, so haven’t been out in the real world seemingly at all.

“Not to mention the fact that he has autism (the evil kind/j) and that makes it harder for him to get a job that suits... I've heard horror stories from autistic ppl who've had jobs and ended up being fired because they weren't able to keep up on the job or ended up doing the wrong thing because they misunderstood the instructions and weren't instructed properly (not to mention the fact that there's barely any safety net for autistic ppl who don't have a job because it's not "that bad" in neurotypical's eyes)”

Congratulations, you’re learning how the world works. When i was 15 i worked at a kfc and constantly fucked up shit, like.. CONSTANTLY. you know what you do in that situation? you don’t make excuses, you don’t whine and cry that you’re XYZ and that it’s everyone elses fault. you learn, you accept that you made a mistake and you ask for help. even most shithole places are more than happy to instruct you if you explain the problem you’re having. i used to have such bad anxiety at that job, but the more i listened and asked questions, the more i got a stronger grasp of what they wanted me to do. it’s called learning.

yeah, if you never learn to DO YOUR JOB then you’re gonna get fired. again, you’re not there for yourself, you’re there to serve the company and if you’re costing the company money— congrats, you’re gonna be unemployed.

“Jack is ALSO physically disabled (having a heart condition called POTS which drains him when doing any physical activity) and that makes it even HARDER to get a job because there are more jobs that require constant physical activity than there should be and the ones that don't require much physical activity require MANY YEARS of studying and multiple degrees in education, which if you didn't watch his comeback video, he TRIED to get his GED but failed because the GED prep program he was going to refused to accommodate to his IEP needs (as someone on a 504 plan, this sort of mistreatment and harassment is very real and very hindering. I've had so many teachers refuse to accommodate to my 504 plan because they think I'm getting a "leg up" above everyone else because they think I'm being lazy)”

again, this shows that the kid writing this post has never been into the real world.. for one, pots isn’t a heart condition LMAO. it takes a simple google search to find out its a cardiovascular disorder and although it does effect your heart- it ain’t a heart disease. i’m gonna be pretty bold here but i genuinely think this kids only source is from jacks mouth, unsurprisingly, having your only source be a person who is not reliable in these types of scenarios is a fucking stupid idea. please do your research when discussing disabilities.

second of all… no? i mean, sure. things like fast food are quite physical, i’ve worked in 3 different fast food chains all my life and it IS physically demanding…. but fast food is not the only option when it comes to jobs you don’t need years of degrees for. off the top of my head, a data entry worker makes around 53k annually and they have the opportunity to work from home alot of the time BECAUSE YOU ARE SITTING DOWN THE ENTIRE JOB and most of the time it requires literally no experience beyond a basic understanding of computing.

any job in the computer field (something jack could actually be quite good at) rarely has you get off your ass and move. and you do not need degrees for half of these jobs, if you take the time to learn a couple of the basic softwares over a few months, maybe even taking an online course- then you can VERY WELL qualify for 70% of data entry jobs available.

to conclude this nonsense: disabled people are not incompetent toddlers who are incapable of working and should be treated to the same respect that able bodied people are. the main reason i dislike this thread so much is because it paints disabled people as children, you can see this person using jacks disabilities in order to excuse alleged grooming allegations WHICH IS EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. i’m not saying jack is a groomer, i’ve looked into this situation quite a bit and it looks incredibly dodgy on his end but there is a discussion to be had on whether or not it’s grooming. what i AM SAYING is that regardless of condition, jack is an adult man and needs to behave like an adult man. using his disabilities such as bpd, psychosis, etc, to proclaim it was impossible to know right from wrong is not only objectively false, but a dangerous narrative to push.

we are capable of self reflection, we are capable of being bad people and being able to learn from it. our disabilities do not excuse or justify our actions. at the end of the day, a disabled adult needs to behave like an adult should. we aren’t children who don’t know any better.

please don’t send hate to this kid btw, i genuinely don’t think they had bad intentions. i just think that they’re heavily misinformed and haven’t done any research, i’m only using their word as an example for what is being said by certain groups of people. i think this kid could learn and grow, but first they need to learn.

goodnight folks.

I really don't like people's double standards sometimes and I'm not just talking about how stans treat Stolas and Stella, this ain't relating to that, I'm talking about the situation with Jack/Damagedcoda6669 Warning for Suicide mention, ableism, COCSA, SA and Child grooming

A while ago, Jack made a come-back video and he mentions that Kittydog had groomed him as well as commited COCSA (Child On Child Sexual Assault) towards him and barely there were any people calling Zola out and Kittydog makes a youtube vid and twitter post apologizing for what they had done to it, and seemingly everyone WELCOMES Kittydog back with open arms and acts like nothing had ever happened.

But when it was revealed that Jack committed cocsa when he was 16 and the minor was 13, suddenly Jack/Damagedcoda6669 (aka Birdie/Sansbirdie in case ya'll ain't in the loop) is a irredeemable monster all because he had that "He was birdie" label on him and all because Jack rightfully stolen his cat back from Synni.

And before you all accuse me of downplaying the criticism that Jack is rightfully receiving (which, I'm not downplaying it, you can criticize Jack if you want as long as you ain't being clowns or bringing up stuff that Jack had already apologize for just as the borderline 13? thing) or say "But, Jack was talking to a minor under "sexual" art!!1!!!".

Lemme say that the minor in question (who is in fact a grooming victim like myself) made a post literally explaining that Jack NEVER pm'd xem as well as spoken weird to him either.

You guys claim to care for victims of grooming but you go around and talk over the minor or mock Jack instead of waiting for him to recover due to the stress that it had receive so he could hopefully make a post or vid talking about the situation.

Heck, you guys even claim Jack "suicide baited" (not using the term right btw you guys, suicide baiting means to maliciously try to get someone to off their-selves NOT faking suicide) instead of simply checking in on him when he made that post showing that you don't care for mental health either and just want to repeat history again because to your eyes "Birdie is still bad no matter what happened to it in the past".

And again, you guys are allow to criticize Jack, I also had criticized Jack in the past and even sent him an ask, explaining to him calmly and politely that "he should address the allegations but not now, he needs a break from online due to the backlash that it was receiving on twitter" and I even suggest him to stay on Bluesky since there is none of the "Let's compare a sexual assault victim (Jack) to his sexual assaulter (Synnibear03)." bs on that site, which quite frank is absolutely disgusting.... Again, nothing WRONG with criticizing Jack, and again, I do agree that Jack shouldn't of accused a (former) 13 yr old of having a grooming fetish but don't be gross and pretend that Jack isn't a victim of sexual assault, grooming, abuse and such or better yet, don't try to paint Synnibear03 as a victim of Jack, SHE is not a victim of Jack.

Just because he stolen Skqrp from Synni doesn't mean shit because Synnibear no matter how much she swears up and down that she didn't brought the cat as a gift for Jack, she still brought the cat for JACK and the only reason her name was in the papers is because Jack rightfully didn't want to write down his dead name and who can blame him?

[uvobreakmylegs]

30 Seconds

This one might get a sequel but I’m not sure yet

Bodyswap Soulmate AU

Warnings: gore, graphic depictions of violence, threats of violence, kidnapping

It was like something out of a horror movie.

Several men lay before you in a darkened room, pieces of their bodies – their heads even – completely gone, the marks that were left around the gaping wounds that had an odd white glow to them, akin to something having taken a bite out of them.

Something like the fish that swam in the air above you.

A million questions flew through your mind, of what the hell this was; who these people were; how was there no blood despite the obvious carnage - you were literally just in the bathtub, how did you even get here?! Then you remembered that humans needed to breathe in order to live, and your lungs hadn't taken in anything since this nightmare scenario started.

You let out a breath, and along with it escaped a small, sad whimpering noise as you tried to process the scene in front of you. And then you froze again.

“What....”

You were speaking, but the words that were coming out of your mouth were not in your voice.

For the first time, you looked down at your body.

This was not your body.

You were in the body of a pale, bare-chested man wearing a long black trench-coat with fur on the lining, holding a book in one hand.

Your discovery was so jarring that you almost forgot about the men and the fish.

“Y-y-you..... Phantom Troupe monster!”

The words were just about screamed at you and you jumped back. The man laying closest was facing you, the entire top half of his head completely gone. He had to have been missing most, if not all of his brain. How the hell was he still talking? Glancing at the bodies of the other men, you saw that, to your horror, they were still alive as well. Groaning and moving as best as they could despite how the severity of their wounds meant that they should not still be alive. One of the fish came down close to your head and you flinched, stumbling backwards until you fell to the floor.

“Damn you, Chrollo!” the man from before yelled.

“Even if you don't die tonight, someone will get you someday! You'll pay for your crimes, you Meteor City piece of trash!”

His last words were spat out before one of the fish dipped down and bit off the remainder of his head, leaving behind the stump that was his neck and more of that white glow that came from the edges of his skin. His body began to flail, with what remained of his arms and legs banging against floor. Maybe in an attempt to crawl to you, or maybe it was simply all he could do at that point.

Your breath started coming out as short, harsh gasping as you began to hyperventilate, your eyes going back up to the monstrous fish that still moved about. They didn't seem to be paying attention to you, but you had no idea when that could change. Nothing about this made sense, but you did your best to reign in the terror that kept you immobile. The single rational thought of “get out of this room” pushed through your panic, and your eyes darted about the space as you tried to find an exit. But a glance at the large mirror on the wall that reached up to the ceiling made you pause once more.

The man who's body you inhabited sat next to you in the reflection, his eyes - your eyes? - wide as you took it all in. A smooth pale face, slicked back dark hair, an odd tattoo on the forehead and gray eyes that filled with tears before they began to trickle down your - his - cheeks. Breath came in harsher and you could hear a heartbeat thundering in your ears. You were in someone else's body and you had no clue what to do or why this was happening. And that didn't even factor in the deadly fish or the men currently being eaten alive by them.

In the mirror's reflection, you saw a door open behind you, a strip of artificial light coming from it that grew larger as it opened wider. You snapped your head back to see a a blonde woman in a purple suit standing at the door. The neutral expression she wore morphed into one of shock as she looked at you, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“Chrollo?” she asked.

And suddenly it was all gone.

You were standing by the hanger that held your purse, holding your wallet in one hand and your ID in the other. A shiver ran through you, and you realized that you were naked and dripping with water, like you'd gotten out of your bath without drying off first.

You stared ahead at the wall blankly for a few moments. And then, like a car smashing into a concrete slab, the utter shock and fear of what you had just experienced hit you, and you fell to the floor crying, holding yourself as you tried to understand what had just happened.

You didn't get any sleep that night. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see were those men lying in pieces and the nightmare-fuel fish. Hours later, when you had finally calmed down, you took to the internet to try and figure out what had happened and what the hell you had just seen.

A Google search on “swapping bodies” brought up a few results, but they all seemed questionable to you. The most common claim was that it was how you found your “soulmate”. An enthusiastic blogger had detailed her experience with finding her current husband in this way, of how one day she and her husband unexpectedly swapped bodies for thirty seconds and later found each other. The blog post quickly devolved into the kind of romantic mush that was only fit for the most asinine of rom-coms that included how the blogger and her husband spent months trying to find each other on opposite ends of the continent because they knew they “were meant for each other”. Other posts that didn't appear outwardly fake told basically the same thing with much less flair, and the term “soulmate” came up several times. You weren't sure how willing you were to believe in such a concept. If everyone was supposed to have a soulmate, shouldn't such a phenomenon be reported on in the mainstream? Wouldn't there be people trying to figure out how such a thing was possible? If it was real, you wouldn't need to dig through personal online testimony from anonymous users to read about it.

And yet it had happened to you. Your consciousness had entered the body of a man who, if these posts were correct, was the person you were meant to be with. The only other option was that you were going crazy, and if you were really just having delusions that felt that real, then you needed to get yourself checked into a mental hospital.

Speaking of that man...

The words that had been yelled at you were still fresh in your mind. Phantom Troupe. Meteor City. Chrollo. The woman you saw near the end had also used the word “Chrollo” when referring to you, so it seemed likely that it was his name.

While looking up body-swapping had produced mostly questionable results, the next few terms brought up practically nothing.

Google didn't recognize the name “Chrollo” and kept trying to autocorrect it. “Phantom Troupe” brought up a few conspiracy forums talking about an underground criminal group that had allegedly slaughtered thousands, but the posters claimed that if you wanted any more information you would need to pay to get it on the “dark web”. The only one that gave you something of a lead was “Meteor City”. You found an article from a few years back reporting on some government official speaking out against the city's existence and announcing plans to have it destroyed, though the words he used to describe this process were a bit more diplomatic. But when you tried looking for a follow up to the article, you only found various reports of how the official and his entire team vanished overnight.

Meteor City: A place populated by undocumented inhabitants and a hub for criminal activity.

The Phantom Troupe: A group of criminals allegedly responsible for countless deaths but with no official record of any of their crimes.

Chrollo: A person who was somehow connected to these things and, if what you had read earlier was true, was also your “soulmate”.

The term still seemed ridiculous to you, but if that really was the case, and the Phantom Troupe really was as bad as the things you had read, then you were in danger. And you had no clue where to start to try and protect yourself.

The sky was tinted with the pink and yellow hues of sunrise when you finally fell into a dreamless sleep, exhaustion finally taking you. The laptop remained open in front of you, Google once more showing you no results for the name “Chrollo”.

The next few weeks passed by with you on constant high alert, always looking over your shoulder and triple checking the locks on your door at night. You were jumpy, and every time you came across someone who looked even remotely like the woman or “Chrollo”, you had a hard time breathing. The only upside had been that your fear left you exhausted most nights, and your subconscious was too tired to conjure up the images of those fish in your mind while you slept. Any time you did dream, that scene played again and you often woke up with a start.

Several of your friends had noticed the change in your behavior and had approached you privately to ask what was wrong. As much as you wanted to tell them everything, you doubted they would believe you. So you had made up a story that you were worried that you were being stalked, citing that you felt like you were being watched and that you had come back once to find items of yours displaced (which the second part wasn't technically untrue).

Most of them tried to insist that you go to the police, but begrudgingly backed down when you told them that there wasn't enough evidence for anything like that. Their plan B was then to stay around you as much as they could, at least one person escorting you from your apartment to you job, and several nights a week a few people would stay over. Having them around you and just hanging out with them calmed you. The time you spent with them were brief moments of levity that took your mind off of what you were actually afraid of, and when you were alone after, terrible thoughts of them being ripped apart and eaten plagued your mind.

The moments of peace you had with them lasted for about a month, where you had all agreed that the “stalker” wasn't an issue anymore since there had been no trace of such a person. As much as you wanted them to stay with you, you weren't about to try and push it for fear of them thinking you were lying (which you technically were). They all made it clear that you could go to any of them if something came up again, and one of them, Harrison, gave you a taser, just in case things took a turn for the worse. Carrying such a thing was nerve-wracking, but at least it wasn't a weapon that could do permanent damage to you if you somehow managed to accidentally use it on yourself, and it gave you some comfort that you were no longer walking around completely defenseless.

It had been over two months since that incident, and you had yet to see anything of that man. It wasn't lost on you that when you had returned to your body, you had been holding your ID with your full name and address. Given the state you had found yourself in, he'd wasted no time finding out who you were, having gone straight from the bathroom to where you kept your purse to find your identity. He was calm enough in that situation to know he had limited time to find out about you and had managed to do just that. He was planning on tracking you down, you were certain. And while you wanted to run as far away as possible, it wasn't so easy to just pack up and leave.

Your lease renewal had been coming up, and you needed time to find new housing in a different area. Somewhere away from here where he hopefully couldn't find you. It wasn't what you wanted, but you needed to get away. Whatever it was that Chrollo wanted, whether it actually because of a “soulmate” connection or if he just wanted to kill you, nothing good could come from meeting him. Of that you were sure.

As your final day in your apartment came closer and more and more of your belongings were packed into boxes, the weight of the anxiety that had been on you began to lift. There had been no sign of that man, and as that date approached you felt a sense of relief, that you really were going to leave and he wouldn't be able to find you after that. You'd deactivated all of your social media accounts and once again asked your friends for help, this time to just keep quiet about where you had gone to in fear of the “stalker”. If a random man approached them asking questions about you they would know better than to answer, and your landlord legally couldn't discuss the whereabouts of former tenants.

You paused in the middle of packing up some of your clothes.

Legally.

A man who fed people to monster fish probably didn't care about what was “legal” or not. And he probably wouldn't accept any stories your friends gave him if he was to go to them.

The fear that had been in the back of your mind since you'd opened up to your friends had been growing stronger. That Chrollo's response to you running would be to take it out on them. That they would deny knowing you when he asked and he would bring out those murder fish and make them pay for lying with their lives.

'I should warn them', was your initial thought, to tell them everything. But telling them the whole story would make things more difficult. They'd probably keep you from moving away and try to make you seek psychiatric help. Getting out of the area after that would likely be impossible. And it didn't help that you had no proof that he actually was coming after you; only a strong feeling that he definitely would be closing in on you sometime soon.

Your friends didn't deserve whatever horrible fate he could bring upon them, but you weren't going to stick around to see what happened to you if he found you. The best bet for them was that he would just leave them alone.

You continued with your packing, telling yourself over and over again that he wouldn't do anything to them and that there was no shame in running to save yourself, doing your absolute best to ignore the part of you that repeated that they wouldn't survive.

Maybe deep down you were just as terrible of a person as your soulmate and this connection to him was your punishment.

Everything that wasn't packed away in a moving truck had been stuffed into a suitcase that waited for you at your now empty apartment. Just one more night here and you would have successfully uprooted your life and moved on to one that was hopefully better.

You were walking back after your last shift at work, thinking of the things you might do after your move while also wondering how far you would need to go to protect your identity, maybe look into changing your name and dying your hair. The afternoon sun was beating down on you and the sidewalk was filled with other people who were likely also just getting off of work, the level of noise fairly high.

Being in a crowd of people had always made you feel safe. You had reasoned that there was no way anything would happen if you were surrounded by potential witnesses; no matter what sort of things your soulmate was capable of, there was no way he could do anything that could hurt dozens of people all at once. That was what you had told yourself all this time.

But the next time you glanced up, you froze.

He was there.

That man whose reflection you had seen in the mirror, whose body you had inhabited for that brief period of time, was standing in front of you, his hands in his pockets and his head tilting to the side with a small smile when the two of you made eye contact.

Your hands rigidly gripped the strap of your purse while your legs stayed stiff. You wanted to run, you desperately wanted to run away, but like that night when you had swapped bodies, your limbs felt like lead and you couldn't bring yourself to move more than a few inches.

He started to approach and you tensed. You'd only managed to take a single step back before he was on you, his hand firmly gripping your arm and pulling you with him to the side.

“It would be rude to stand in the way of all of these people, don't you agree?” he asked, motioning to the people who now passed the two of you by.

You didn't answer, and all you could do was hope that someone would notice that something was wrong with you two and raise some sort of alarm. Remembering the taser Harrison had given you, your free hand slipped down to your purse, trying your best to remove it without him noticing.

“It's very nice to meet you,” he continued, “I'm Chrollo.”

His hand stayed on your arm, and he clearly had no intention of letting go.

Words didn't want to leave you, instead blocking up in your throat. All you really wanted to do was scream and get away from him. The man you had been stressing out over for the past few months found you just as you were about to leave and had casually came up to introduce himself. As if the circumstances surrounding your swap weren't any issue.

Taking in a few deep breaths, you composed yourself enough to speak, all the while he waited for you patiently.

“This.... This isn't a very nice meeting for me,” you said, “actually, I really wish you didn't come to see me.”

Surprisingly he nodded, seemingly understanding why you didn't want to meet him.

“Our switch happened at a very unfortunate time; I can't blame you for being apprehensive.”

..... Apprehensive?

This man made you a witness to that horror show and he was brushing it off as just apprehension?

“That's kind of an understatement, don't you think?” you snapped, the fear that had kept you petrified breaking for a moment.

“I understand that you're afraid. But you shouldn't be. I'm not going to hurt you; I'm here to take you with me.”

“I don't want to go with you,” you said.

“I won't make you witness anything else like that. You'll be taken care of for the rest of your life,” Chrollo continued, ignoring your statement.

“You made me watch those men die.”

You then hissed in pain as his grip on your arm became tighter. Evidently your voice was raising too much for his liking.

“There isn't much that can be done about that now,” said Chrollo, “I'm sorry that you needed to see that, but in time I'm sure you'll forgive me for it.”

He remained nonchalant, that small smile still on his face while he spoke of those dead men and what you had experienced as if he was talking about the weather. Below, you found the taser in your purse and gripped it, readying yourself to bring it out.

“I want nothing to do with you.”

Chrollo sighed.

“I'm afraid you have no choice. Soulmates are meant to be together,” he answered. His other hand gripped your chin, raising you up as if to pull you into a kiss.

“You were meant to be with me,” Chrollo whispered.

He stopped suddenly, his expression changing to one mild surprise as he looked down to where you had jammed the taser beneath his ribs, your thumb hovering over the ON button.

“Get the fuck away from me or I'll turn this on. I'll scream for help and tell everyone here that you're trying to kidnap me,” you hissed.

With the way the two of you were positioned, none of the passersby could see the taser you held against him. So there was still a way to get out of this with nothing happening, which would be the best option for him. If he left you now, you would be able to escape and leave all of this behind in favor of your new life. Chrollo was bold, you would give him that, as you had been so sure he wouldn't approach you in public. But being in public gave you an advantage: a young woman yelling about a man attacking her would instantly draw attention, and Chrollo would have all sorts of scrutiny on him. A man who officially didn't exist wouldn't want dozens of witnesses to any sort of crime. He had to leave you alone.

Chrollo stared at the taser for a few moments, and then looked back to you, his expression neutral. Despite your threat, he wasn't letting go, though his grip had lessened.

“This is a surprise. With what Pakunoda said and what we saw on our observation of you, you seemed like a much more compliant type. Where exactly is this fight coming from?” he murmured.

The way those gray eyes seemed to look right through you made you more uncomfortable the longer you kept eye contact, and you glanced back to the people around you. No one had noticed what was going on between you two; even if they couldn't see the taser, you had been hopeful that at least one person would have seen that something was wrong and would have come up to investigate. You had broken out into a nervous sweat, and your anxiety only got worse the longer he stared at you.

“Do it.”

The words that he spoke so calmly caught you by surprise, and once more you couldn't speak.

“If you're that desperate to try and get away from me, then turn that thing on and call for help,” he said, “but know that if you do that, all of these people will die. And you won't be getting away from me.”

You looked again to the crowd of people.

“You.... You can't do that. There's too many..... You'd never be able to...”

That smile returned to his face.

“My dear, much like how you know very little of taking yourself off the grid, you also know very little of what I am capable of. I assure you, I can kill everyone here within a matter of minutes. Of course, I would rather you didn't drive me to that point; it would be much easier for all of us if you just came with me.”

The hand on your jaw slid downwards until it was gripping your own, and he pushed the taser harder against himself as if to encourage you to use it.

“Do it, but know that it won't change anything. All you'll be accomplishing is killing these people and making things unpleasant for yourself once I take you to your new home. Cooperate, and you won't be responsible for anyone dying.”

Despite his slight smile, his eyes were cold. He meant it when he said he would kill everyone. You recognized what he was doing with the way he worded it: that you would be responsible for the deaths of these bystanders, as if you were the one willing to murder just to make a point. But you also recognized that you had no way of stopping him – no, that wasn't correct. You had a way of stopping him, and that was to do as he said.

The crushing defeat you felt snuffed out the fight that had been sparked within you, and your head hung low when he pulled your hand away and slipped the taser out of your loosened grip.

“Smart girl,” he said, placing it in his coat pocket.

Chrollo wasted no time in taking you away, pulling you forward and placing an arm across your shoulders, ensuring that you couldn't pull away from him. The two of you walked in silence, making your way past the other men and women in the street. So many people around you, and not one of them was aware that you were being taken against your will.

“You don't need to hold me like this,” you mumbled.

Chrollo didn't answer, nor did he look at you, his eyes staring straight ahead as you turned a corner down a smaller side street. There weren't as many people down this way, and as you came towards the end, you saw two people standing next to a van waiting for you and Chrollo. One of them was a blonde man in light purple clothes that you had never seen before, but the other one you recognized: the woman in the suit who you had seen just before you left Chrollo's body that night. Their gazes were heavy on you as you got closer.

“No trouble then, boss?” the man asked Chrollo, his tone lighthearted.

“Not much,” Chrollo answered. He finally pulled away from you and, to your surprise, pulled out your taser that he had pocketed earlier, tossing it to the man.

“Get rid of that, will you?”

Neither of them said anything: the man inspected it before laughing a little while the woman raised an eyebrow at you. You kept your gaze on your shoes, not saying anything as you were guided to an open back door of the van. You were sat in the middle of the back seat, in between the woman and Chrollo while the other man climbed into the front passenger's seat. Another woman was already sitting in the driver's seat, this one older, most likely middle-aged. She was staring ahead blankly, and you noticed a strange needle with a bat on the end sticking out of her neck.

“Don't worry about it,” said Chrollo, as if reading your mind.

“Let's get going. How far to the next town?”

“With this traffic, it'll likely be about fifteen minutes,” the woman said.

“Alright. Drop us off there; I'll find a car and take her the rest of the way myself. You two shouldn't have too hard of a time taking care of things here,” Chrollo replied. The man and the woman nodded, and a silence fell over all of you as the van began moving.

The man in front looked like he was playing on his phone while the woman in the driver's seat moved like a robot as she drove, and the woman on your left stared out of the window, occasionally glancing at you, as if anticipating an attempt to escape. As much as you wanted to, you weren't stupid enough to try that. The doors on either side of you were blocked off, and any attempt to get out through the back door would be stopped easily. You were trapped and there was nothing you could do.

You stared down at your hands while you gripped your knees, your fingernails slowly digging into your flesh while you silently berated yourself for getting caught, for not doing enough to prevent this, for not telling anyone the truth. Because of your preparations for your move, it would take your friends a long time to figure out you were missing, and by that point who knows where you would be. This was your fault and you were paying for it.

A hand suddenly covered one of yours, and you glanced over to Chrollo. He pulled your hand into his, lacing your fingers together while he smiled at you again, as if sensing your turmoil and trying to calm you down. It didn't feel genuine, however, and you wanted to pull your hand away from his.

It's a better idea not to, a voice inside you said, and you turned your gaze back downwards, leaving your hand in his and trying to ignore the way he chuckled at you.

[d-targaryenshoe]

By Chance • Part 3 • Jackson Avery

word count: 927

Summary: Y/N and Jackson have a kid together but when heartache gets too hard, then worse things happen

"My life's never been this different, y/n. There's Izzie, the twins, and thankfully internet connection." Alex joked through your phone screen. "I had to be here, y/n."

You knew somewhere that Alex always had loved Izzie, although he didn't know there were two kids of him running around, you understood how he felt.

"And you listened to the words that your heart was telling you. There's nothing wrong with that." You got up from your couch, strolling towards your window. "I got hit by a car, I went to Joe's with my ex-boyfriend, and now I'm confused."

"Wait a minute, you and Avery went out again?" Alex raised an eyebrow at you, slightly starting to smirk as well. "Wouldn't be a bad thing for your son, y/n."

You knew Miles was confused when he was at your house one week and the other he had to get ready for leaving to Jackson's.

"He pulled me out of Joe's, leaned in, and then said we should think about what we want." You sarcastically scoffed, shaking your head. "Life is so shitty sometimes."

Alex sighed, staring at the distance before speaking again. "You two, you're solid, either he's gonna end up on your doorstep, or he's gonna ask Meredith to try and make you talk to him."

You pulled your curtains close as you listened to your friend's words. "Your the relationship expert yourself aren't you, Evil spawn?"

Alex grinned at you, holding up his hands in surrender. "I've taken a choice for one of them, haven't I?

You nodded your head, walking back to your couch before your doorbell sounded through your living room. "Hey, um- I'm gonna have to call you back, okay?"

"Go get your man, y/n, but you report everything back to me." Alex winked before he ended the facetime call, which made you walk towards your front door.

"Seriously I was havi-." Your words were stopped when you actually indeed saw Jackson standing on your doorstep, more precisely in the rain. "A facetime with Alex."

You opened the door somehow wider as he walked past you, taking off his jacket. "Since when do you facetime with Karev?"

You strolled towards your cabinets, taking out the bottle of scotch and two glasses. "Since he went away from Jo and left for the woman he loved."

"Here." You poured the strong liquid into the glasses, handing him one of them before you walked towards your couch and sat down. "Miles isn't here, by the way, he's having another playdate at Meredith's."

You raised the glass to your lips, closing your eyes after as a slight heat ran over your lungs.

"Since when does he have play dates at Mer's?" He frowned, finishing the glass as well, staring at you. "Don't tell me sinc-"

"Since Altman and her baked the chocolate chip cookies for Zola." You slightly laughed with Jackson , leaning your head against the headrest. "The huge love for food, well, at least there's something of me in there."

"Now, why were you standing on my doorstep in the rain?" you frowned at the plastic surgeon, placing the empty glass on the table. "Because I'm dying to find out."

You took the pillow next to you as you placed it behind your back. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I just- I made a mistake by saying what I said last week." He folded his hands when staring at them. "I said something I shouldn't have said."

You sarcastically chuckled, staring at the ceiling with crossed arms, confused and slightly hurt.

"When I was laying in that hospital bed and you said that you broke up with Vic? Gosh, I was relieved of so much pain. And then the moment you asked me out? I had some hope, hope that we'd be y/n and Jackson again? And everything went great! Until you said those words." You lectured, not meeting his eyes once but feeling his eyes on you. "Then when I came home Miles asked how it went with his dad."

"I got scared okay? Scared of doing something we'd regret, something I could've done wrong, or just doing the same thing as I did with Vic, doing something too hastily." He finished, meeting your eyes, slightly clenching his jaw. "I should've been smarter."

"Scared? You're scared? I'm scared. I'm scared to jump in again and then seeing if we'll end up like this again, you're my person, ever since you wore that embarrassing and hideous orange scrub, and if I lose that if I lose you, Jackson, I'm done for." You mumbled, wiping the tear away that rolled down your cheeks.

"And if I say that you're not gonna lose me? Because if I try to do so, y/n, there's a lot of women that have your back and who'll kick my ass." Jackson muttered, chuckling at the end of his sentence.

"Such as April Kepner, Meredith Grey, Amelia Shepherd, Carina Deluca, Christina Yang from distance, my list goes on actually." You shrugged your shoulders, staring down at your fingers. "Yep, the list goes on.."

Not looking up you felt the couch next to you sink in. "So?"

You stared up at him, raising an eyebrow. "So? You want to be scared together or something?"

"It's better than being scared on my own." Jackson shrugged, intertwining his hand with yours. "So?"

"If you ever think about leaving me, Jackson Avery." You held back your tears, lowering your voice.

"I won't."

"Then by chance, we can be scared together." you nodded.

[iwishicanbeagoodpianist]

the Wifilcon and the Winter Router

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OC/Reader Summary: When Bucky learns that his neighbor has been stealing his wifi for months. Warnings: None A/N: I'm not a fanfic writer at all, this, like all my stories, are adaptations to fanfics. My original stories are not written in english, so this is also a translation. please do not repost my work

For an instant, Bucky thought that the knocking he was hearing was coming directly from his head, I mean, it wouldn't be the first time his mind played tricks on him, but he realized that the sound was actually coming, unluckily for him, from his apartment door. Oh no no no no no no no, I just got back from putting up with Sam for almost 6 full weeks, I don't need interaction with more people for now.

Bucky thought for a minute to ignore the sound, to wait for the person to give up and leave, anyway he didn't spend many days on this apartment, almost no one had seen him leave or enter the building and he had no contact with the neighbors, only with the lady on the 7th floor who once lost one of her cats, which ended up in Bucky's apartment, accidentally. Not that I found the cat in the alley and actually brought him to my apartment, it doesn't mean that I stole the cat, he was in the street by himself, I rescued him.

When the banging on the door stopped and Bucky thought he could breathe calmly again, a voice between altered and annoyed was heard all the way to the living room where he was sitting trying to overcome his third panic attack and fourth existential crisis of the day .

-"I know you're in there! I saw you coming in a few hours ago! I've been waiting for days for you to come back!"-

More out of instinct than anything else, Bucky pulled out the knife hidden in his right boot as he slowly backed away from the door. Do I really have a spy as a neighbor? Should I call Sam? Is he in danger too? Never mind now, you need an escape route Bucky, concentrate, third floor, window to the alley, 2 minutes max, the bike is parked far away, I'll have to run, but to where, rendezvous point, safe place, think....

- "for God's sake, open the door, I need you to pay for your fucking internet plan, I'm in the last season of my series and I need to know if Carolina died or not!"-

- "The internet?"- Between the andrenaline from escaping and the shock of not understanding what was happening Bucky spoke louder than an assassin, with over 60 years of experience, should have spoken. Oh, shoot.

-"Yes! Your wifi, I need it to finish watching my series"-

Whispering "wifi" to himself, Bucky tries to remember where he has heard that word before, this is what I get for never listening to Sam when he talks to me. But before he can continue his mental analysis of all the conversations with Sam about such stupid things as his favorite American Football team, the New Orleans Saints, that I remember, to how Antonio could possibly leave María on the last episode of the 6 o'clock telenovela of which Sam is a fan, his apparent "neighbor" spoke up again:

-"Jesus Christ, can you open the door? So we can resolve this like adults"-

Bucky resigned to the fact that he has given his position to the "enemy", walks to the door and opens it waiting for his death. Well at least if I die I won't have to listen to Sam again talking about Antonio and María. But on the other side of the door, there was a woman, who in her pajamas, very unthreatening but cute, was watching him as if he were a ghost but still with defiance in her eyes, in one breath she introduced herself and continued her speech about her complaint to Bucky:

-"As I was saying, I need you to pay for your internet"-

-"I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I understand what you mean"- mumbled Bucky.

- "Good Lord"- To Bucky's surprise his neighbor, pushes him and enters his home, well not so much a home home, more like the headquarters of his secret club, of which he is the president, vice president and only member, the point is that it is his place, where he can (and wants to be alone), as she lives here. This must be a dream, maybe I hit my head too hard in the last mission and I am unconscious in the hospital.

Crossing the room, Bucky's unwanted visitor looks around searching for something while whispering the words "I see you are quite minimalist, but maybe this is too much, someone urgently needs to look for some inspiration on Pinterest". She stops abruptly in front of the shelf where, in theory, a TV should go, while shouting: "EUREKA", she bends down and picks up a white device which has two antennas and like a million little blinking lights, damn, that looks like something out of a spaceship, I'm being watched by aliens? I'm being spied on by Kree?

-"This is your router, this is where the internet signal comes from, which I need you to pay for so I can finish watching my series"-.

Bucky, still in shock for the third time in less than 15 minutes, as he processes the idea that perhaps Thanos' unknowing twin is spying on him for a second invasion of earth and revenge for his brother's death. He can only nod to his now more relaxed and happy neighbor.

-"Perfect, thanks! I need to check the food I left in the oven, I'll talk to you later"- and as quickly as she came she left through the same door, leaving Bucky with more doubts than answers, peeking down the hallway, he realizes that she is the neighbor who lives next door, to his right. When Bucky comes out of his initial stupor, still not fully understanding what is going on, he decides to take his cell phone out of his pocket and call his own personal Google to solve his doubts about this century: Sam Wilson.

-"Hey Buck! What's up?"-how does he always manage to sound so happy? focus Buck.

-"What the hell is a router and why do I have one in my house?"- somehow Bucky manages to formulate, although maybe his voice cracked a little on the last words.

-"That thing's been there for at least two months and you didn't even notice it? Have you even paid the bill?"-

-"You put this in here? Without telling me????"- maybe Sam is also a Kree? Who can I trust now? It's all a trap?

Listening to Bucky's accelerated breathing, Sam tries to explain to him slowly, that in this century life without internet is not life, but obviously as Bucky does not even know how to set the alarm on his own cell phone, he was in charge of buying the router and creating the contract with the company so that, the 106 year old man could have his personal network at home. He had given it the name but he had not given it a password so that Bucky himself could set it up later. "I am an excellent friend, I mean co-worker, if I may say so"

-"Sorry man, after all that happened, we got called for a mission and I forgot to tell you, do you have your laptop over there? I'll help you set up a password, so your neighbors won't steal your internet anymore"- and with that comment everything started to make sense in Bucky's slightly screwed up but functional mind about the events with his seemingly non-spy and harmless neighbor.

Meanwhile Bucky was trying to remember his own password to unlock the laptop in front of him, also courtesy of Sam. "Bucky, when you learn about online banking and that you can pay your rent, electricity, phone and everything with a click of your computer, you will thank me". It should be noted that Bucky hasn't used that laptop once, like a good 100 year old grandpa he goes to the bank to make his deposits and pay his debts, which obviously consisted only of electricity, water, gas and phone because the man had no idea that there was a device in his house that spit out internet, apparently only his next door neighbor knew this. Buck tells Sam how he thought his router was an alien device and how he thought his neighbor was a KGB agent coming to kill him. "Relax Buck we all have undesirable neighbors that steal our internet signal sometimes", well undesirable is not the word I would use to describe her but ok.

When Sam finally explains to him how to connect his computer to the internet, Bucky can finally see the name that his wonderful co-worker, not friend, because he could never be friends with someone so stupid as to think that the name "THE WIFILCON AND THE WINTER ROUTER" was a good name.

- "my god Sam, you're such an asshole!"-

-"HEY! That's a great name!"- Sam responds with as much indignation as possible, he's the best at naming everything from dogs to wifis.

- "I can't believe you're Captain America, I can't believe we're even friends"- Bucky really can't understand his luck to have friends, well, co-workers whatever.

- "Well excuse me but we're co-workers..."-

- "Well, take this call as my formal resignation, bye"-

-"Wait a minute Buck..."- Bucky ended the call, to finish -his self-imposed- punishment of listening to Sam Wilson talk for over an hour. At least I asked him how to use the bank's website to pay for the internet. Suddenly, without warning and without explanation, the memory of his neighbor is lodged in his head, her hair in a ponytail, her reading glasses, pink shorts, her sweater from some university of which he can't even remember the name because he was watching out for other things... that she wouldn't kill me obviously, he was watching out that she wouldn't pull a knife out of her back and kill me right there. The message on his laptop indicating that he can now set a new name and password to his wifi distracts him enough to stop thinking about his sweet and cute non-spy neighbor and how she would look with her hair down and her glasses off.

Still with the sweet feeling in his chest and the desire to see her again he writes as the new name of the wifi, while laughing:

"If you want free internet, you owe me at least one free dinner"

After paying the internet debt and closing the laptop, Bucky gets up hoping to find something edible in the kitchen, while leaning over to look inside his fridge and analyzing how bad it would be to eat a fried egg with pasta and sriracha, he hears again a knock on the door, but this time it does not cause Bucky the anguish and anxiety that caused him the first time, but quite the opposite.

-"Open the door Winter Router! I prepared chicken pot pie for dinner"-.

[jadelynlace]

ink drinker / modern vikings au, Ivar x F!Reader

author’s note: long story short, I wrote this series but used an OFC that I use for most of my longer series. many thanks to @victoria-styles for her suggestion of making it a reader / Y/N story. major plot tweaks as well.

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend: you.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✎

“Not into the million dollar bullshit?” You heard a voice beckon from behind you, stepping forwards with a light to start the cigarette that hung between your Oxford red stained lips.

“Crawling through the depths of hell sounds more pleasant than being here,” You grumbled back through the cloud of grey smoke slipping past your lips. You watched the figure next to you light up his own cigarette, taking note at how his fingers curled around the stick as he laughed with your words. “I’m only here to calm Hvitserk,”

“And he’s not even here,” He said back with a laugh, blue eyes peeking to grab at yours.

“Structure fire across town,” You tell him. “Told him that if he’s so inclined he can bring the truck over here and spray the party with the water,” Ivar laughed at that.

“Fuck, you clean up nice. And I love a woman in uniform,” He teases, smirking as you do too. It went silent for a second between you two, sticks of chemicals on your lips as his eyes did not miss the way your dress hugged at your body, how your stilettos were secured around your ankles. He couldn’t pull his mind back quickly enough before he was imagining them over his shoulders, your lips that curled around the filter and how they might look around his cock. How you were the first person who gave him complete reign over the ink he was going to forever mark your body with.

“Let’s just say I’d rather slice my own tongue off and choke on it than admit to that, actually wearing something other than the blues, and enjoying it,” You groan as the man next to you laughs, a sick snicker coming from his lips and you find yourself smiling too. “But you don’t clean up half bad yourself, Ivar,” You tease back as your eyes catch sight of the roll of his sleeves, how he maneuvers the buttons and pulls the white fabric back to show the first indications of sleeved out arms.

“Where do you want to go?” Ivar asks, taking the cigarette from his mouth to stub.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t think I fucking stuttered,” He started in challenge. “You said you didn’t want to be here, so where would you like to go?” He asks a quick swipe of his tongue over his lips as he cocks his head to the side awaiting your answer.

“Alright, Ragnarsson, you’re fucking on,” You laugh back, crushing your own stick with the spike of your heel as you follow him.

*

Hvitserk was a man who took most things with a grain of salt, others came with a few shots of whiskey. He had seen the darker side of humanity, and you were right there with him when he did. Your interest in becoming certified for emergency medicine had followed you since your high school graduation, and you were right on the top of the sign up sheet when class enrolled. And you stayed on top when your graduated. Company firings and how it lead to short staffing, moving of some onto better things lead to an opening you leapt on and found yourself paired with a paramedic with blonde hair and a smile that could cause most of the human population to smile back. It did not take long for a friendship to strike up, even outside of the station and the blazing sirens. His humor, his companionship kept you sane, kept the darkness of the horrid calls at bay, you two grew close, quickly.

Even if company policy allowed the romantic attachments between co-workers, you still couldn’t find yourself catching some sort of feeling to Hvitserk. He was a friend, your best, and it was left at that. You trusted him with your life, you’d gladly lay on the stretcher and head into the emergency room as long as he was the paramedic who was treating you.

Sigurd came next in the line of his brothers, an obsession with music, and nothing but the best that world could offer. He had an artistic hand, Hvitserk drove you towards his place of employment for permanent artwork to your liking and that was how you met Ivar. He watched you tip toe through his portfolio, but if Sigurd had talent, then Ivar was a God. You had never seen such movement on skin where he would trace his ink. You didn’t want to pull a design off of the internet and ask Ivar to put in on you, it seemed almost rude, instead you told him where you wanted it, and told him to go crazy. He looked at you in such a way, thinking you were joking. Perhaps too un-educated in the world of tattoos, but you held your ground and he was proud of such a feat.

Work was all too consuming, trying to leave space for time other than the blood pressure cuffs and patient history. You’d spend time out on town with Hvitserk, his brothers soon in tow, a party of their own that they could become. You were shocked Hvitserk hadn’t caught on, that none of them had, how long you had been spreading your legs for Ivar in secret. Petty bantering between the two of you, the others making bets to see whom would kill whom first, but that chatter went towards the foreplay that would follow you two into the bedroom. The most shock you came to realize was how Ivar was always there in the morning—it took a lot of you to convince him to leave, but he always mumbled something about five more minutes just for holding you.

Perhaps it was how your days were spent doused in testosterone, one of the three women of the entire station, entire company, leaving you to be able to handle yourself around men with egos far bigger than the dicks they would carry. That was how you were so seamlessly integrated into the Ragnarsson brother’s, struck up like the sister they never got. That was how Ivar found himself thinking about you far more than a friend with or without benefits would, how tightly you snug around his cock, how you look and sounded when you came for him, how you had pulled more from him than any other woman he had slept with. How you made him feel appreciated and not like a man who needed to navigate himself with his dick to get what women he wanted. How you didn’t toss him to the side after the first fuck. You drove him crazy and he didn’t have the words to admit to it.

“If I hear a grumble from you one more time Ivar, I am going to kick you out of the shop,” Sigurd spoke from his spot at the front desk, thumbing through a magazine of industry products as Ivar hissed a curse at him in reply. “What the fuck is you problem?”

“Y/N,” Ivar answered all too quickly.

“What? She hurt your ego too bad last time we were out? Didn’t stroke it enough to your liking?” Sigurd teased.

“No,” Ivar said. “She didn’t stroke me enough to my liking,” But Ivar said the words far too quickly before he could catch them.

“Are you fucking her?” Sigurd said, sitting up in his chair. “You two are fucking?” He laughed.

“Shut up,” Ivar grumbled, a toss of his pencil flying to grace the space Sigurd was at.

“She cut your dick off? That the issue?” He teased. “Hvitserk’s going to go ape-shit, dude,”

“That’s why we’re not telling him yet, right Sigurd?” Ivar said “Right, Sigurd?” He repeated with an extended finger at his brother.

“How long have you two been fucking—I need to know that, for science, and because I am still in shock. How did you—her? She’s too good for you Ivar, you have to be careful there,”

“Two years,” Ivar remarked and Sigurd nearly fell out of his chair.

“Fuck! You ask her out yet?”

“We’re not talking about this—or telling anyone else, right?” Ivar said again.

“Yes, sir,” Sigurd nodded, a fake salute from his hand as his mind was still scrambled.

“Don’t call me sir,” Ivar snapped.

“Yes ma’am,”

*

You’d never forget the call that came through dispatch a month after you and Ivar had started to screw around more often than fuck buddies would. The address sounded familiar, but Hvitserk was the one who made the connection it was the shop. Ink Drinker was a parlor bathed in black; walls and dark floors that made the rooms look like they never ended. The art displayed belonged to that of Ivar, of Sigurd, of the few others who came and went for their tattoo work. The owner had wooden sculptures of his own to line the spaces, but you had only ever seen the man through his social media.

You feared suddenly something happening to Ivar, or Sigurd, readying yourself for the sight that may hold them there, but it wasn’t them. A patron had passed out to the sight of the needles, sending Ivar to sour his entire mood at the weakness for something he found so simple. His flash of anger changed suddenly when you and his brother showed up, jumping from the rig in full expectance to see either sibling in a bloody mess after fighting to their death.

“I called and specifically asked for Hvitserk Ragnarsson and his partner,” Sigurd teased as the teenager came too, apologizing and still paying Ivar for the appointment he was too scared to cancel.

“I was hoping it would be a trauma call, you finally snapping and kicking Ivar’s ass,” You answered back, smirking at Ivar as he rolled his eyes in distaste. Ivar’s eyes climbed your whole body as you worked, the uniform marking your hierarchy and importance as you took the patient to the hospital. His text message not ten minutes later almost made you head back just to smack him.

“You’re keeping the uniform on next time we fuck.”

Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @victoria-styles @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles 

First meeting: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none!  words; 2,443

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here 

Seokjin was having the worst morning. He was usually in work by now. An early start to the day was the only way to start the day, so maybe that’s why he was thrown for a loop right now. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. But he shouldn’t think like that, after all, he’d promised Arin he’d take her to school this morning. He was embarrassed to admit this, but Arin had been living with him officially for six weeks and he hadn’t once driven her here. It was unacceptable he knew that, but he was learning quickly that juggling a demanding job and being there for his daughter wasn’t easy. Perhaps Nana had a point… 

At the thought of his ex-wife, he grimaced, remembering the massive argument they’d had two months ago. The one that had triggered Arin’s move. When it came to Nana he often found himself harsh with his words. Not that she wasn’t with hers either. They had grown so used to lashing out at one another over the years it was hard to stop, even if their divorce was coming up to two years ago now. That’s what his therapist said anyway, and Seokjin just listened, knowing she was correct just unable to think of a way to change it, despite the countless advice Mrs. Shin had given him over the months, years. 

He and Nana both worked hectic and testing jobs. They were alike it that way, ambitious and driven. That’s what had attracted him to her in the first place, yet it was the thing that had ruined them soon enough. With age, especially after the birth of Arin, he found himself mellowing out. He was no longer in such a rush to get to the top, or to be the best. Maybe that was hypocritical of him, seeing as a few years ago he had become CEO, taking his father’s place. There was no higher. He had nothing more to chase. 

Nana continued to work long hours, motherhood not slowing her down in the slightest. Not that it should. Stereotypes weren’t his style, but it was beyond frustrating when all he wanted to do was spend time together as a family and Nana was too busy preoccupied elsewhere. She loved Arin, he had never doubted that and never would, but sometimes his exasperation outweighed his rationality. When Arin had come to live with him he was so determined to prove Nana wrong. He could easily do both – work and be a father. Of course, he wasn’t stupid, he had known he’d need help, and Misook was more than he could have ever asked for, but he had always been stubborn. 

The weekends were great. On his he would organise a bunch of things for he and Arin to do, and on Nana’s weekend he’d use the time to catch up on any work he had remaining from the week. Only, a fortnight ago Nana had cancelled the night before. Arin had been devastated obviously, there was video call of course, but it wasn’t the same for a six year old. He had been left to pick up the pieces, not to mention he had fallen behind on paperwork – and still hadn’t caught up.  Hopefully this weekend would be better, but he wasn’t holding his breath. 

He sighed to himself as he fiddled with the handsfree. Why wasn’t his cell phone connecting?! He knew he should have taken the other car. Weekdays were the most difficult. He just about saw Arin in the mornings and most evenings he came home past 6pm meaning he just had about enough time to eat dinner with her and catch up before it was time to get her ready for bed. It wasn’t fair on her, she deserved more of his time and he missed her terribly, but time was extremely difficult to find. That’s why he’d driven her to school today, he’d been promising for weeks, ever since she’d started at Primrose Hill actually. He didn’t want to be a let-down. 

He’d chosen today, a Thursday, because it was thankfully a quiet morning. Well, had supposed to be a quiet morning. Soobin’s call just before he’d left home had not been something he’d wanted to receive. The web conference with Mr. Lee wasn’t supposed to be until mid-morning but of course the impatient so-and-so had missed the memo – or just completely ignored it seemed more probable. 

Seokjin’s headache grew worse at the thought of today. He’d already popped two painkillers early this morning when Arin had woken him up prematurely by jumping up and down on his bed. She was excited, he understood that, but Christ was she loud at 5am. At least he knew she loved her new school, that was all that mattered. He’d been so worried in the beginning, taking his time to choose a smaller school so she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed. It worked out perfectly though. She adored Primrose Hill,  and her teacher actually, which he was thankful for. It was always Miss. Y/L/N this and Miss. Y/L/N that… Oh, that reminded him, there was that parent teacher meeting tomorrow afternoon. He couldn’t miss that, no matter what was happening at the office. He was glad he’d had a test run today actually. Shamefully he hadn’t been here in person yet, doing the entirety of the application process via phone call and the internet. The principal had understood, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to do better. He was trying to do better. 

This time he let out a yell of frustration as his phone told him yet again it had failed to connect via Bluetooth. He gave up, Mr. Lee would just have to wait until he was in the office to take his call. This was crazy, what on earth could the man want so early in the morning?! There was no emergency. He dropped his phone to his lap and started up the vehicle in haste, wasting no time in reversing out of the spot – Thump!

His car had collided with something. With his heart in his stomach he hit the brakes immediately, looking out the rear view mirror to see a white car. The something he’d hit. Shit. This day had just gone from bad to worse. Panicked, he drove forward, back into the space and turned the engine off quickly. He hopped out, acting on instinct, forgetting his phone was in his lap as it clattered to the floor. Thankfully the screen didn’t smash, and he didn’t stop, picking it up in a rush. No sooner had he come into view, the occupant of the white car was getting out of the driver’s seat too. 

“Are you okay?” He asked you immediately, the panic shrill in his voice. He was always such a competent driver. The only time he’d ever sped was when Arin was about to be born, rushing Nana to the hospital at two in the morning after her waters had broken. Now look at him. What a mess. 

He found himself babbling, not even giving you a chance to respond. “I am so sorry, Miss.” At that precise moment in time his phone started to ring again. “I really am. I was–” 

He had tried to ignore it, he really had, but the noise was just plain irritating and now he found himself quite mad. Stopping abruptly midsentence he let out a huff  and picked up. “Kim Seokjin, speaking. Please can I –”

“Mr. Kim, where are you? There’s something–” Mr. Lee tried interrupting, but Seokjin wasn’t having any of it. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call you back. There’s been an emergency.” 

“An emergency? What kind? It better not be to do with –”

“Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.”  Seokjin hung up quickly. He’d deal with the consequences later. Not that he’d let that son of a bitch walk all over him. He never had. Immediately, his attention was back on you. There were pressing issues at hand here. “I’m just so sorry. Is there any damage?” 

He made his way over to the spot he’d hit, just above your back wheel and crouched down, inspecting the damage. “Oh god.” He grimaced slightly. The paint was scratched pretty deep but luckily there were no dents. Still, he’d been foolish. This was entirely his fault. 

“The bike rack,” he muttered to himself, looking behind him at the culprit. It had taken the paint clean off. Brushing a hand through his hair, he noticed you were beside him now, still not having said a word. He caught a hint of your perfume, unconsciously noting how pleasant it was. 

“What happened?” You asked him, your tone of voice taking him by surprise. You had every right to be angry of course, but couldn’t you see how sincere he was being? He looked up, composing himself hopefully. “I-I was distracted for a moment, I didn’t realise–” 

“Were you on your phone?”

“I’m sorry?” On cue the damn device started ringing again. Mr. Lee was on thin ice. He hit ignore straight away. “No, no. God, no.” He protested, realising what you meant as he shoved the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. He straightened up, standing directly opposite you now as you crossed your arms, waiting for his explanation it seemed. He couldn’t help but notice the way you strained as tall as you could get. As if you were trying to appear imposing. Not that you weren’t unnerving right now. It was just the action was pretty… No. He wasn’t even going to think it because he didn’t want to be at all condescending. 

“I was – I was trying to get the handsfree to work in this damn car and last time I checked there was no one there.” Seokjin cringed at himself. He so obviously sounded flustered. He just couldn’t help it. There was something about you that made him nervous, and it wasn’t just because you looked so livid right now.  “I wasn’t thinking, I just backed out –” He stopped himself, suddenly realising something. “Why… Why were you on stop directly behind me?” 

“Excuse me?” You instantly got defensive. “I wasn’t stopped, I was trying to find a space.” 

Seokjin tried his best not to smile. Now it was your turn to try and not get flustered. The way your hands waved about animatedly as you spoke was…charming. Was that appropriate to say? You were watching him again, a look on your face that made him uneasy. Maybe it was because, and he hated to think this yet again, but maybe it was because you were so pretty. God, he sounded like a little kid. You were very attractive, did that make it sound any better? Probably not. Here you were well within your right to be mad at him, and here he was thinking such inappropriate thoughts about you. Well, that sounded weird. He didn’t mean like that. He just thought you were really pretty. He was spiralling over nothing. 

“I’m sorry, but do you even work here?” 

Your question threw him. “Work here? No.” 

“Then why are you using the teacher’s parking lot?” 

He watched as you folded your arms again and his eyes widened in horror as he realised his mistake.  “Oh no. I didn’t realise…” This was just great. Now he looked like an idiot. That or just plain rude. 

“It’s signposted.” 

Yup, just plain rude it was. 

“It’s my first time dropping off my daughter at this school. I didn’t know where to go, and I was getting so many phone calls, I was just trying to…” He petered out, realising it was no good trying to explain himself. You probably didn’t care about his morning. “There’s no excuses for this. I’m truly sorry and I feel awful.” He apologised, lowering his head.   “Let me sort this out. Money is no object. I can call my mechanic straight away and–”

“There’s no need,” you interrupted almost instantly, sounding baffled. 

“It’s really no problem.” He insisted. “Come on, if we wait for our insurance companies to sort this out god knows how long it will take. No, I’ll phone the mechanic I use right now and they can come and pick your vehicle up. It’ll be fixed in no time. You won’t have to pay a thing.” He was only speaking the truth. Most insurance companies didn’t even want to know. 

“No, thank you.” You voice sounded tight, clipped. 

He could sense your irritation but couldn’t understand why. “No?” 

“I don’t need your help or your money.” You declared. 

Now, there was no need to be stubborn about it. He’d phrased it wrong, admittedly. He wasn’t flaunting his money around the place. At all. He was only trying to help. In fact, he needed to do this. It was his fault. “But I did this.”  

“It’s fine, just –” You stopped when his phone started ringing again, glancing at the chest. “You’re obviously very busy, just forget about it. It’s a few scratches.” 

Turning your back to him you glanced at your watch. “Wait,” he called out.

“Goodbye,” you called back, rounding the front of your car ready to dive back into the driver’s seat.  

Seokjin’s frustration was about to hit its limit. Why wouldn’t you listen to him, and why wouldn’t his cell phone just shut the hell up?! “But – Argh!” He let out a yell, the shrilling of his phone loud and he yanked it out of his pocket roughly. 

It was his assistant. Mr. Lee was probably hounding him too. He picked up. “Soobin, what is it?!” 

“Mr. Lee, he’s –”

“Yes, I already told him I’m –”

“He said it’s extremely important. His suppliers are being difficult.” 

“What? He said they were reliable.” Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, feeling defeat wash through him. Today had beaten him and it was only 8am. As Soobin’s voice carried through the speaker, Seokjin watched you slam your door shut and whizz into one of the only parking spots. 

It wouldn’t sit right on his conscience if he left things like this, he’d damaged your car. He needed to make things right. Immediately. Or almost immediately. He’d sort things out with Mr. Lee as fast as he could and then call Jimin. Yes, that sounded like a great idea. He actually found himself smiling a little as he watched you walk towards the school building, a determinedness in your stride that was indeed admirable. You’d certainly left an impression, that was for sure. 

The one he’d left on you, however, was embarrassing… 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021