#its like if my anxiety is minor at the moment it suddenly stops existing

[moeblob]

Ya know what? Quick story time.

I've been stressed at my new job (it's the anxiety I'm afflicted with more than anything) and I don't have much of a backbone and setting boundaries in person. I'm a doormat. This leads to not leaving om time or asking to leave on time... and staying an hour and a half past once and three hours past another time.

So my shift today was supposed to end at 3, and someone else was arriving at 3. Sounds fine cause she showed up! But! It was just her and suddenly like 4 cars arrived for pick up... and as I'm in the online pick up department.... I'm not just gonna leave the person who walked through the door ten seconds prior with all that to run out to cars. That's just mean.

So one car in particular I'm taking the order to was a very nice lady who helped me put the order in the car and I was like "ok that's not quite all of it! I have more I couldn't fit om here but I'll be right back" and so I rush back in and out and she helps again. I commented on one of her packs of soda, the 7up Shirley Temple edition, and how I Really wanted to try it. She doesn't hesitate and goes "if I give you a can, that's OK right? Like I paid for it so you can have one so you can test it! That way you know whether you'd want a 12 pack of your own".

At this point I'm 30 minutes past my out time and I'm just stunned. She just gives me a can of soda and says "oh the back area must be cold, the can feels chilled enough to drink without a fridge" and im just. Thanking her and she acts like it's no big deal but it was such a genuinely happy response to share something with me.

And it really made me feel better??

This woman's gut instinct to someone commenting on a drink flavor is to hand them a can and say "now you'll know if you like it!"

By the way, yeah, it was /really good/ actually.

[paper-n-ashes]

The Late Shift - Part 2

Characters: Paul Sevier x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: Little inklings of sexual themes. Otherwise we’re still in PG territory. Oh and mutual pining from two idiots. My favourite kind.

Authors Note: One shot? I don’t know her. Honestly, I don’t have any excuse. I just felt the urge to continue on with this dumb fluffy story because it makes me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside and I needed that. Will we drive this car straight into smut town afterwards? Ah you’ll just have to see. 

Catch up with Part 1 here

*

Paul always considered himself a smart guy. Perceptive, knowledgeable, with years of grueling education behind him to be where he is today.

His schooling, work, almost every minute of his waking moments was spent in the realm of artificial illustrations of correspondence. He could happily spend hours sifting through the words and numbers that made up all types of message transmission, might even admit he had a talent for decoding their significance and origin. Exchanges born from machinery were easy to analyse – they had set rules and gave little room for differing interpretation. He was comfortable in that world. Knew how things worked, what paths data and carefully devised information would take.

Human communication was infinitely harder to navigate. It was a skill he knew he was lacking in, compared to others at least. His words never came out the way he wanted, he struggled to say exactly what was wished to convey and agonised over the fact expression and tone could morph any remark into something with a whole different meaning.

Every day, he encountered people who used this as a tool - a weapon to obscure the truth and conceal hidden agendas. It was hard not to, working for the US government. In time, he’d become cynical. Wary of what people spoke aloud, assuming it was all said without much sincerity or reliability unless proven otherwise.

And then after another arduous day, there you were. Out of nowhere. Kind. Honest. Genuine. Within such an excruciatingly short interaction, you’d exuded all these traits so effortlessly. A breath of fresh air after being smothered by the smog the rest of his life contained.

Paul would easily admit his attraction to you was surprisingly swift. The rapturing smile you wore when you’d looked up from your notepad had him snared from the moment it appeared, an aura of natural vibrance and radiant energy shimmering out from your animated expression. What he’d expected to be a dry, tedious endeavour turned into a spark-filled scene, where an excited stranger made him feel both horrendously nervous and unusually at-ease. It had been a long time since someone made him feel like that.

It had also been a long time since he’d asked someone out on a date, for more than a few reasons. The more prolific Paul became in his job, the more unpredictable and unstable his life outside of it was. It took him across the country at a moments’ notice and consumed most hours of his day, meaning forging even short relationships was fairly difficult.

Plus… he just wasn’t good at it. Putting himself out there. He was shy, paralyzingly so. It’s not exactly something he could refute. His confidence was always born from experience and understanding, in knowing the reasons behind why things worked the way they did, along with being able to calculate what would happen next. No textbook could ever cover the entire spectrum of human personality, and there was no way to truly predict what a person might do or say. 

So, without the security of knowledge behind him, uneasiness and apprehension took over in most of his social interactions, particularly with those he felt a magnetism to. It’s exactly how he thought he seemed during his time with you. Awkward and floundering. Not exactly the most charming attributes for a man to have. And yet, the longer he was in your presence, the more he sensed those foibles fade into the back of his mind.

Talking to you was easy. Easier than it had been with anyone during a first meeting. What hadn’t been easy was enduring the seconds your touch grazed over him in your delicate workings while taking each different measurement - his heart beating a little faster, his muscles becoming a little more tense. When you’d eventually let your stare reach his, he’d seen how your eyes moved to trace the lines of his mouth, and it set his insides on fire. He’d been frozen by the unique type of burn, his body locked in place while a rare impulse begged him to sink his lips onto yours. In the past, he struggled to kiss a woman even after several dates, unable to push past the fear and doubt to turn his desire into action. However, in that moment, he’d been all too eager. His hand had moved on its own accord, fingers slinking up your waist, about to pull you closer when interruption instantly shattered his resolve.

The urge was still there in the dialogue that followed, although the promise of seeing you tomorrow made it easier to walk away, safe in the knowledge he had another opportunity to ask you out when his confidence was properly steeled. For once, he could be smart about this. Use his natural intellect to plan and act accordingly, giving him the best odds of securing more time with you.

Oh, but that all went to shit when your text message popped up on his phone screen. Seeing those words, even if they were meant for someone else, made his excitement reach an unfathomable peak, and in turn made him recklessly send a response without taking a second to think about the consequences.

And now, Paul had never felt so stupid in his entire life.

Sitting in the driver’s seat, the phone in his palm lit up with your conversation on display, he felt his stomach spasm with anxiety. Were you going to reply? What would you say? What if his bluntness freaked you out? What if you weren’t even talking about him? Was this all something his mind conjured up?

As the minutes passed without any sign of a response, the initially minor sense of panic began to compound, weighing heavy on his chest, the chaos of his mind soon melting into one certainty - he’d totally fucked this up.

About to slump his forehead into the steering wheel in a display of despondency, Paul suddenly felt a flash of courage at remembering the view of your face peering up at him. He knew the image of it would haunt him if he didn’t do something. He had to fix this. Explain himself. But it needed to be in person. He wouldn’t let technology mess this up for him again.

With a purposeful breath, Paul exited his car and began to retrace his steps past the other shopfronts, silently rehearsing what he wanted to say to you. He hoped to surrender himself to a collectively embarrassing situation, laugh off the turn of events, having it all culminate in an offer of dinner once your shift had finished. He already had a place in mind, only a street away, a little dumpling house that was always open late. Perfect for a cosy, quiet date after a chance meeting.

When his eyes latched onto your figure through the glass window, he stopped his hand from reaching for the door handle. You were crouching down in front of a small boy, his mother behind him cradling a newborn baby, your hand gesturing towards an array of child size suits. Paul couldn’t help but watch as your warming smile beamed, guiding the boys hands to touch and feel over the material, your words evidently making him feel more at ease as his expression slowly relaxed out of its worried frown.

Creeping backwards to make sure you didn’t catch him in your periphery, Paul felt a wave of relief wash over his skin, having evidence that your lack of reply wasn’t due to any of the worst case scenarios he’d been fretting over. You were just busy, concentrated on your work, giving your time and expertise to others in the same way you’d given to him.

The realisation was enough for him slink away, still impatient for your next encounter but assured in it being set within the next day cycle. He just had to wait.

Although, waiting wasn’t exactly a talent of his either.

 *

You were dying inside.

A friendly grin was plastered on your face as you conversed sweetly with the woman in front of you, making idle chit-chat while her son changed out of the suit you’d picked together, but the smile had never felt so insincere. Usually you loved when children came in to pick out ensembles for weddings and similarly formal events, but at the moment your mind was stuck on a small battery-powered rectangle sitting at your desk with a half-written message remaining under your lock-screen.

In the time before Paul’s response came through, you’d never felt more humiliated in your whole existence. Evaporating into thin air would have been a welcomed miracle. But when the returning text slid into focus, your whole mindset shifted.

He felt the same. He wanted you too.

You’d been in the middle of typing out a hasty invitation to come back and make true on his intentions when this overwhelmed mother with a fussy baby caught your attention. Her eldest son had done his best to iron out his only formal suit for the role of ring bearer in an aunt’s wedding this coming weekend, unfortunately resulting an a house full of smoke and a clump of burnt wool.

Personal matters withered into the background at the comprehension of her drained, exhausted demeanour, all your focus pointed back towards the job you’d been distracted from. Well, mostly.

You couldn’t avoid the thoughts and questions glinting in the back of your mind. Of what might have happened if this woman never appeared. What might be happening in an alternate timeline where you’d been able to send that waiting reply. Without intention, your wonderings turned into moving pictures – leading Paul into the back workshop, being roughly picked up onto the cutting table, his lips and yours finally connected in a heated clash, shedding all of his clothing until that heinous mustard shirt was crumpled on the floor-

The high pitched beep of the receipt machine snapped you back into reality, noting the relieved smile the mother wore while her son excitedly grabbed at the bags containing his dashing new suit.

“Thank you!” he hollered without needing to be prompted, waving his hand vigorously before skittering away to the door.

“You’re an absolute lifesaver,” the woman echoed, taking the receipt from your outstretched hand. “I’m really sorry for keeping you so late.”

“Oh don’t worry about it.” The time on the monitor screen just ticked over to 8:17pm, long after you would usually shut up shop and head home to your empty apartment. “I've got nowhere special to be.”

You each said your goodbyes, waiting until the precise moment her silhouette was out of sight before jumping to your phone. The same half written message was there, but now it felt impossible to finish. All traces of adrenaline had long since worn off, and the bravery that made you type out the risqué proposition was reduced to almost nothing. Your timid nature rushed back in full force, a thumb pressing hard on the little x button to erase all evidence of your out of character impulses.

Who were you kidding. You weren’t this person. Unashamed and brazen enough to dive into a fiery entanglement with a handsome stranger in the same evening you’d met. You wished you could be. There was never a time the concept was so enticing. But… it was a fantasy not meant for you to live out. They were destined for the outgoing, the cool and composed, the bold and sure-footed. You rarely felt like any of those things. And Paul, like most men, probably reserved their interest and attraction for those types of women. It was so silly of you to think any different. Getting your hopes up was foolish, and would only end in-

The tingle of the shopkeepers bell sounded, internally groaning as you slid your phone back onto the desk. “We’re closed,” you hawked, a coldness in your tone you couldn’t hide. Eyes snapping up to the intruder, a bolt of lightening shot through, barely able to stop the delight mixing into your blood.

“I just, uh, figured out something more that I needed,” Paul said softly, scratching the back of his neck, clearly nervous.

“You did?” you breathed. “W-what was it?”

His chest rose and fell with a calming exhale, making sure your stares were secured before giving his answer. “…You.”

*

Tagging some lovelies who might want to read. Feel free to let me know if you don’t want to tagged in future works!

@tlcwrites @roanniom @princessxkenobi @hopeamarsu @blowthatpieceofjunk @mariesackler @leatherboundriot @foxilayde @modernpaw @cornmousequeen @direnightshade @mylifeisactuallyamess @caillea @jynz-andtonic @paterson-blue @miraclesabound @prismaticpizza​ @millenialcatlady​ 

[ecrivant]

on intimacy pt. 2 | levi ackerman

(levi ackerman x reader)

a collection of touches shared between you and levi.  read pt. 1 here

word count: 1.3k

You laid in your bed, haunted by ruminative wakefulness.  Stomach flipping between pleasant warmth and anxious throbbing, made worse by the fear of what you may dream.  A disquieted mentality which only fed into physiological anxiety.  A weight on your lungs.  You took deep breaths, trying to reclaim some semblance of control, too focused on your own respiration to notice Mikasa rousing and padding over to your bed in the dark.  She softly called out to you, kneeling beside your bed.  Her hair fell over her face, shrouding her eyes.  A palm came to rest on your face, and came too a familiar bloom of warmth emanating through you.  Still, panic rose.  You seized. She began to exaggerate the movement of her chest, pushing it up and letting it fall as she breathed slowly, silently encouraging you to mimic her.  You followed her gentle inhalations and exhalations.  When she noted your breathing had steadied, she nodded, asking if you needed more; you nodded back to reassure her you didn’t.  Her soft footfalls against the ground as she walked back to her bed, rhythmic and palpable.

Your dreams were pitch, but contorted cries, aural perversions of your friends’ voices, filled your ears within the darkness—image only manifested once you were submerged in the feeling of falling.  Your bottom half hung from a gaping mouth, and sinew and cochineal viscera poured out of your stomach as you fell headfirst to the earth.  Fulminations of gore erupted around you.  The maimed bodies of your friends suspended in the air, blood viscous, expressions malformed.  You woke as your spine shattered against the ground.  

—

Embarrassing, maybe, that you found yourself outside of Levi’s office.  You contemplated abandoning whatever subconscious agenda you sought to fulfill, but you could only watch as your hand rapped at the door on its own volition.  A three-count, and the door opened.  Close to immediate.  You indulged the idea that he had expected you to come, maybe even hoped for it.  Stepping back, widening the opening, he wordlessly ushered you in.  You were struck by a futile hope that your trembling legs went unnoticed.  Speaking in hushed tones:

“Would you like the bed?”

You considered refusing, either out of politeness or self-consciousness, but you understood Levi’s equivocation—a question implied a suggestion implied an order—and nodded.

His bed, centrally placed in the small bedroom adjacent to his office, was made immaculately—sheets crisp, corners folded, pillows fluffed.  More than picture-perfect.  You were reluctant to sit but acquiesced under his expectant gaze.  Eyes exploring the room, you noted everything was in its place; and then you asked yourself how you would know what ‘in-place’ was.  You had never even considered the room’s existence before this very moment.  You thought on the inherent vulnerability of the bedroom—it was not more than a person in objectified microcosm.  You were suddenly self-conscious, aware of your invasion.  You could sense Levi in every aspect of the room.  It was a sort of omnipresence which, admittedly, disquieted you.  A strange form of pervasive and ubiquitous comfort.  

He stared at you through the doorframe, arms hanging by his sides.  Neither turned away when you confronted his gaze.  You searched his face and found him unreadable.  His form tenebrous against the dark backdrop of his office; in the shadows, he showed his age.  You were reminded that while you watched him, he watched back.  Again, you were self-conscious; aware of his scrutinizing gaze, of the space you occupied.  A habitual comfortable silence this was not—the air felt suspended, heavy with potentiality, about to drop.  Or perhaps it was already in freefall.  

He was crossing the room, his steps reverberating through you.  Atmosphere vibrating.  The bed dipped as he sat beside you.  Who else had shared this experience, seated next to Levi in his bedroom?  You wished yourself to be the first, a pioneer.  Something about it gave you a headrush—was it the intimacy of something shared by only two, or the excitement of exclusivity?  You decided it didn’t matter.

He still sat before you, deciding what to do, calculative. You forced yourself not to move.  You wanted him to initiate.  

When he finally did, you had settled so far into the stillness that his movement startled you.

His hands dragged over yours, slowly, achingly so, lingering on your digits, your wrists.  Slipping under, his fingertips found your palms, tracing along the creases, pressing into the pads.  The spaces between fingers, the dips in your knuckles.  He found it all, left no place untouched.  Nimble fingers pushed up your sleeves, cool air raising goosebumps.  A touch, barely perceptible, ghosted over your arms, grazing hair more than the skin, tingling trails left in its wake.  Your eyes flitted up from his hands; his face was firm, his brow furrowed in concentration, gaze focused on his own movement.  

You wanted more.  You found your skin to be shell-like, an epidermal barrier, and wished to shed it.  To rid yourself of that cursed, fleshly mediator, and to feel his touch directly.  Not on your skin, on you.  No longer a timid interest, but a primordial need to feel a connection between two innate unknowns—a need to be touched, held, until you were nothing but one nebulous silhouette.  

You sat, absorbing his touch, emitting waves of feverish air.  Reluctant to breath.  One hand intertwined with yours.  The other continued on, trailing over your features.  Fingertips on your ear.  Your cheek. The ridge of your bottom lip.  Your cupid’s bow.  The bridge of the nose.  Browbone. His touch, a fomentation of something long smoldering within you.  A corporeal glow, burning, blistering.  

Levi stopped.  He met your gaze.  His eyes said, “Now you.”

You reenacted his motions in tender emulation.  His eyes on you as hands shakily grazed his skin.  Barely-there tremors under your fingers—insuppressible reaction.  His hands, arms, still and there for you to feel.  His sharp features softened under your touch. Eyes, attentive, never drifting away, lucid and drinking in your movement.  You savored each other.  

Levi was the first who dared to speak: “I would like to kiss you, now.”

You reveled in the quiver of his voice.  Nervousness. So open, so clearly stated. 

You liked the way he felt against you—his lips were warm and satin-like.  Exploratory, sentient.  They modulated slowly, subtle movements fading into one another, an amalgam of quiet, labial gesture.  Your hands came to rest on his wrists, and he gasped at the contact.  Everything hyperaware, hypersensitive.  You swore you could feel his heartbeat in your chest. You liked the shared, languid sensuality—quietly seductive but imbued with innocence.  Levi loosed his hands from yours and moved them to your face, cradling it.  You could feel the rough callouses against your cheek—the hands of a soldier.  You gripped at the sheets.  Cloth massaged between your fingers.  You liked the way he pulled away from the kiss, and his breath blew, hot, against your lips.  You had never seen him winded before.  

“You feel nice, Captain.” Head light and floating high above the room, you couldn’t find it in yourself to feel embarrassed by the way you slurred your words.

He shared the bed with you that night.  Face to face, his hands roaming your sides, indolent.  Silently awake, resting in the other’s company.

As a child, awake at night, lost in that pervasive nocturne, you would dream of a feeling: an ineffable intimacy, something you dully craved but never found.  Had you loved this moment since you were a child?  This untroubled moment, secluded from the collection of cruel and terrible moments that defined and would come to define the remainder of your life.  You memorized it, writing it in fleeting senses and images.  

One more indulgence. You wrapped your arms around Levi, holding him close, tight, and breathed in his scent, reminded of your minority: you saw your childhood home, the kitchen window.  The quiet warmth.  A memory enveloped in closeness.

—

hey!  i hope you enjoyed this two-parter!  thank you for reading, it’s always appreciated!  also, throw a lil feedback my way if ya feel like it!  more writings coming soon (?)  i’ve been shockingly prolific in the past few days, let’s see how long it lasts.  i’m feeling... a mr. jean kirstein piece coming soon.

below are the beginnings of a taglist, so if you’re interested, drop a line and i’ll tag you in my writing posts!  xoxo

taglist: @flam3bird​

[milstrim]

Comfort in My Shadow

Chapter 2: Right Through You

By @iwritedumbshit for @iron-mum

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Ned Leeds, James “Rhodey” Rhodes

Summary: Soulmates are definite in the universe. Nobody knows exactly why they exist, or what dictates who is bonded to who, the only thing known is that they are never wrong. But Peter’s not so sure about that.

Living at the group home had taught Peter a lot about laying low and how to stay alive when nobody cares. But he’d always clung to the hope of the shadow at his feet reflecting his soulmate that had watched over him for years.

Typical that his soulmate is actually a superhero that Peter is convinced shouldn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, just this once, the Universe was wrong.

But Tony Stark is desperate to prove that it is right.

Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

---

"I'm sorry." It was the last thing Spider-Man said before he swung away, swallowed by the darkness of an alleyway. It was a whimpered choke. Fearful.

"No! Wait--" Tony tried to call, but it was too late. The man was gone. No. Not a man. A fifteen year old. Tony glanced down at his shadow and then back at where Spider-Man had disappeared. Spider-Man was his soulmate. And he was fifteen. Tony had to catch himself against the wall as his chest squeezed painfully tight and his throat closed up in panic, barely managing to mutter out, "Jesus Christ. Fifteen."

That was horrifying on an entirely different level than what had just transpired. Not only had his soulmate flinched away from him and then run off the first chance he'd gotten, he was swinging around the streets of New York and putting himself in danger and he was a kid. Did his parents know? Maybe that was why the kid had run off so quickly. He'd freaked out so horribly when he'd realized the time that Tony had to blink away the horrible memories of his own father with his backhanded slaps and harsh words that had stung even more.

Tony sucked in a cold breath as he stared at the spilled hot chocolate mixing with his own dropped coffee. How often had Spider-Man been hurt? On the street or at home? Suddenly all Tony knew was terror at the implication and newfound knowledge of just exactly who his soul was connected to. Just who the shadow that had been with him for fifteen years really had been. And all he knew was the horrible guilt that he clearly wasn't what his soulmate had been looking for. Could soulmates be wrong? Knowing himself, it was possible.

The mechanic shook his head furiously, forcing himself to stop leaning on the wall and take a deep breath. He'd found his soulmate--sort of--and he wasn't about to just let them go that easily. If he could just have one good conversation, preferably without that mask, about their connection, everything would be okay. Or, it could at least be resolved. If the kid didn't want to know him, didn't want to be his soulmate--well...

Tony sniffed, snatching the cups off of the pavement and throwing them in the trash. He'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

Tony began to make his way back to the tower, his steps slow and stumbled, eyes fixated on his shadow whenever it came into view. After a few minutes, the hood disappeared and fuzzy hair took its place. Well, now he knew why his shadow always looked like they were bald in the afternoon and at night.

"Friday," Tony started, his glasses lighting up at the call of his voice. "I need a full search of the city. As in-depth as you can get it. Follow Spider-Man, look for his identity, and focus on kids born on August tenth, 2001."

"There are six hundred thirteen people born on that day currently living in New York."

"Okay, filter out for boys in Queens. Between 5'7" and 5'9."" He paused, thinking about the fingers that he'd seen through Spider-Man's gloves. "Lighter skin, too."

"I have forty-two possible matches."

"Well, it's better than six hundred," Tony sniffed. "Keep an eye on them, and keep a special eye on Spidey. If he looks like he's in a situation he can't handle, alert me. Or just tell me the next time he pops up."

"Of course, sir," Friday agreed. "What shall I file this under?"

Tony mused for a moment. "Create a new file, and place it on my private server. Name it 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider.'"

Hopefully he'd have a face to that protocol soon.

 ---

  Peter stumbled up to the front door of the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, his breaths quick and furious as he scrambled for a decision. After escaping from Mr. Stark's disappointment, he'd fled across the bridge and eventually found an alleyway to change into where his spidey sense had finally calmed down. Cameras were following Peter now wherever he went as Spider-Man now, he was sure, so he'd had to be painfully and slowly careful. Finding an alleyway out of the sight of any cameras had been simple enough, but it would be relatively easy for Mr. Stark to triangulate his location, so Peter had changed and thrown on a hood and forced himself to become lost in the New York crowd of people on the night shift or party-goers higher than a kite.

So far, the teenager thought he'd managed to get away with it, but he'd have to be more careful about when he went out if he didn't want Mr. Stark to find out who he was. The man already seemed disappointed to find out his soulmate was Spider-Man, he couldn't imagine what realizing it was actually Peter Parker would do to him.

Peter swallowed down the trepidation that bubbled under his skin in boiled anxiety as he shuffled in front of the door to the group home. Maybe Mr. Fowler hadn't realized he was late and he could try and sneak in through the window instead of being caught outside the door. Then again, if he did know, he was likely waiting for Peter to slip in that way and catch him red-handed. The real question was what would end in less punishment?

The teenager's musings were cut short by a spike in spidey sense and the wrenching open of the chipped red door, bringing with it the dangerous stench of stale beer. Mr. Fowler's displeased grin froze Peter to the floor in terror until an outstretched hand reached out and gripped his arm in a vice. "You're late."

Peter held back a wince as he was pulled in through the door, forcing himself to stumble along as the door was slammed shut behind him, rattling the old building. Mr. Fowler dragged him towards the dining room as he rushed to apologize. "Sorry, Mr. Fowler. I--I didn't mean to! I just got caught up on the subway and my phone died and--"

"I've heard that one before," the man snapped. Peter's jaw clamped shut with an audible click. He bit his tongue to keep his feeble excuses from escaping as he was pushed into a chair roughly. The man's hand gripped onto Peter's shoulder painfully tightly, but the liquor on his breath kept the boy glued to the chair more obediently than anything else. "Now where have you actually been, Peter?"

"I-I didn't mean to be late," he tried again. "I was just--"

There was a harsh smack to the back of his head, whipping it forward. Peter winced, but it didn't really hurt, so he forced himself to sit still. He was fine. Mr. Fowler couldn't really hurt him, and even if he did, it didn't matter. Peter would heal. Every bruise he'd ever gotten here had always been gone by the morning.

"Enough with the excuses, Pete," Mr. Fowler ordered. "I just need an answer for the report now that I have to write up your next strike."

Peter flinched. The system at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys was extremely strict. Three strikes and you're out. Peter already had one strike when Mr. Fowler had caught him sneaking an extra snack after dinner. He'd been drunk then too.

Four strikes meant that Peter would be moved to another home for "troubled teens." That he'd attend another school and have to forge a new system of being Spider-Man. And, most importantly, it meant he'd be leaving the younger kids here to Mr. Fowler's wrath by themselves. Peter was the second oldest at the group home of six. Jeremiah was the oldest, but he'd be aging out in barely a month, leaving Peter to try and take care of the others, all no older than twelve.

Peter would heal, they wouldn't. It was as easy as that. But it didn't seem like Peter was going to escape this strike and that he'd have to be careful about even thinking about patrolling for a few weeks. Then again, with Mr. Stark possibly looking for him, maybe it was for the best. And it would just be for a little bit. Just a little bit.

There was a horrible shiver up the teenager's spine, and Peter had to force himself to stay still as there was another slap to his head, this one harder than before. He bit his lip as Mr. Fowler leaned in closer, the staleness of liquor on his breath making the boy's nose crinkle in barely concealed disgust.

"Listen to me when I'm talking to you, son," Mr. Fowler sneered. "Failure to do so can end in another strike, y'know. Two in one day and you'll be shipped off to Jersey tomorrow morning. So?"

Peter took a deep breath through his nose and grit his teeth. He knew what the man wanted to hear. What he wanted to put in Peter's file. It seemed to be a personal pleasure of his to fuck with his file, and all the other boys' really, as much as humanly possible.

"I was out goofing off with some friends. We were smoking and throwing cans at cars and I lost track of time."

Mr. Fowler tutted. "So irresponsible, Pete. I will have to write that up, y'know, and you'll receive the usual grounding. One week. Now why don't you go and head to bed?"

It wasn't a question, so Peter stood shakily and forced himself near the stairs, knowing better than to ask if he'd get some kind of food before he went to sleep. He wouldn't be getting any dinner for the entirety of his grounding anyway. Peter was lucky that he got away without any bruises, instead only escaping with a dull pain in the back of his head.

He slipped up the stairs and into the room he shared with Jeremiah and Tim. Jeremiah had his back turned to Peter, clearly just fixed to keep his head down for the next month, but Tim was sat up straight in bed, bright black eyes staring at Peter in awed worry. The teenager forced himself to look away, instinctively turning to his dull shadow but snapping away from that as well to stare at his bed instead.

"Go to sleep, Tim. You have school tomorrow."

"But, Peter--"

"Go to sleep, Tim," he said again, a little more forcefully this time. Tim stared at him for another painful moment before slipping down under his covers and turning to face the wall opposite Peter. It dragged a stone of guilt into his stomach, but Peter just couldn't at the moment. Even as he changed out of his ratty clothes into even rattier pajamas, the new knowledge of who his shadow really was wouldn't leave.

Peter turned the light off in the hall and closed the door to him and the other boys' room, grateful for the first time in his life to see his shadow disappear. He knew he was being just a little ridiculous, it wasn't like Mr. Stark hated him or anything, at least, Peter didn't think he did. But, well, the teenager was exactly that; a teenager. One that was poor and alone and had superpowers that he used to do little good deeds around his neighborhood. And Mr. Stark was Mr. Stark. The universe had to have been wrong this one time.

And what was worse was that Peter had just run away. He'd acted like an overdramatic romcom character when discovering that their soulmate was the quarterback they hated or something. It was possibly the worst part of all of this.

Peter kept in a sigh as he dropped onto his old mattress, pulling the lumpy covers over himself and squeezed his eyes shut in a half-assed attempt to bully out the pain of hunger in his stomach and the ache of undeserved longing in his heart. He so desperately wanted to be able to know his soulmate, but there was no way that Mr. Stark would be excited to actually know him. Besides, Mr. Stark pushed the Accords, and Peter was an unlicensed vigilante on the street. It was the man's job to find out who he was and turn him in.

Being soulmates didn't change that, even as his vision flashed to show a dark and fancy lab. Well, now he knew why his soulmate had always had such nice stuff.

 ---

"You what?"

"I found my soulmate," Tony snipped. "Keep up, honey bear. You're losing your touch, old man."

Rhodey ignored his comment, still staring at Tony from where he sat on a box in the Avengers common room that was probably filled with either dishes or Avengers gear. Tony passed the colonel a horribly green smoothie that he accepted without complaint, still staring at Tony but this time with a wide smile on his face.

"You really found him? Just walking around Manhattan?" Rhodey asked.

"Well, technically someone was trying to kidnap me, but sure."

"I'm sorry. What?"

"Relax. Everything turned out fine since my soulmate showed up."

Rhodey gave him a look, eyes glancing from the billionaire to the short shadow on the ground. "Your soulmate who is fifteen, saved you from a kidnapping?"

"Well, yeah. But he's got superpowers, so I don't think it was much of a sweat for him."

"Super--who the hell is your soulmate? Is this Twenty Questions? First guess: Ant Man."

"Hardy har," Tony joked. "No, not Lang. It's the spider kid."

Rhodey paused. "You have no idea who he is, do you?"

Tony shrugged, twirling the straw of his own green smoothie for a slight distraction from the fact that his soulmate had flinched and then ran away from him. It had kept him up with an anxiety-filled kind of drive as he'd tried to pick out which of the kid's was his little shadow. He'd only managed to weed out a few of the kids of the forty-something.

"No. He, uh, ran away. Friday's on the job looking for him right now, but he's a slippery one, 'cause, uh, no luck so far."

"I'm sorry, man," Rhodey apologized. "That sucks. Do you...do you know why he ran?"

"Something about a curfew."

"Then maybe he'll be out soon looking for you. Once school is out for the day, of course."

"Yeah. Maybe," Tony agreed, but he thought differently. The shake in the kid's voice, the flinch as he'd ducked away from Tony's hand, and the horrible defensive tenseness when he'd looked away from their switched shadows to look at him. He didn't think Spidey was exactly thrilled, or that he'd be looking for a way to tell the billionaire exactly who he was.

"Any flashes?" Rhodey asked. Tony hummed in confusion. "Since you realized you were soulmates?"

"Oh, uh, just a room last night. I don't know, it was pretty hard to make out." Tony had turned off all the lights in his lab once he'd arrived in it, hoping for some kind of flash of where his soulmate was. It had been reassuring to see the connection still intact, but it wasn't like the dark and bare bedroom had been much help. "I think he has siblings or something. There was another bed in there. Oh, add that to the search engine, Friday."

"Of course, sir. Now down to twenty-eight kids."

Tony smiled. Maybe he was actually getting somewhere.

  ---

"You what?"

"Shut up, Ned," Peter shushed, curling forward in another sit-up to hiss at his best friend who was staring at him in amazement. Ned didn't seem deterred in the slightest, but at least his voice dropped to match Peter's hushed whisper.

"I can't shut up. I'll never be able to shut up again! You met Tony Stark last night! This is the greatest day of my life."

"It really wasn't that big of a deal," Peter lied. He had conveniently left out the part where the billionaire was his soulmate, and considering Ned's reaction of his just meeting the guy, Peter was going to keep that to himself for the time being. Or forever. Whichever came first. Ned continued to stare at him in astonishment, and Peter relented as he curled up again. "Okay, it was pretty cool. He bought me a drink."

"What, like a beer?"

"No, Ned, a hot chocolate."

"Ohhh. That makes more sense."

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "And keep it down. Please? I don't need anyone thinking I drank last night. Mr. Fowler already put a new load of bullshit on my record and you know all the teachers get updates on the shit I do."

Ned's eyes darkened. "He gave you another strike?"

"Yeah," Peter panted, curling up faster as anxiety pumped underneath his skin. "My fault. Stupid. Shouldn't have been late."

"How late were you?"

"Like, ten minutes I think."

Ned spluttered, "But it was just ten minutes!"

"Mr. Fowler's a rule stickler," he half-truthed. Ned didn't need to know how shitty his group home leader was. "I'll just have to be more careful for a while and get back on his good side." Like Mr. Fowler had a good side. "It'll be fine in another week or two."

Ned clearly wanted to protest more, his friend was always so suspicious of Mr. Fowler and so insistent that Peter should just tell the man that he was Spider-Man and that he was helping people. Well, Ned thought they should tell everyone that he was Spider-Man, clearly thinking that it would help him get away with late assignments or missing curfew, but really it would only succeed in him getting arrested. Besides, now that Mr. Stark might be looking for him, he was determined more than ever to keep his identity safe.

Coach Wilson passed by, complementing, "Looking good, Parker."

Peter slowed down, faking a tired grimace and just wishing with every fiber of his being that PE would be over soon.

"So I guess that's a no on Liz's party, then?" Ned asked. Peter turned away from watching Coach Wilson walk away to stare at his friend.

"Liz is having a party?"

"Yeah? She talked about it last decathlon practice. Were you not paying attention?"

"I guess not. My bad," he mumbled. "Is it tonight?"

"Yeah, but you're probably in trouble aren't you?"

"Yeah," Peter agreed, thinking about the dinner he was going to miss tonight. Then again, if he went to the party, not only would Liz be there, but there'd probably be some snacks too. "But my curfew doesn't change."

"It doesn't?"

"I don't think it ever will. Like I said, Mr. Fowler is a stickler for rules, and the curfew is his favorite. It's completely unmovable in his mind."

"Weird."

"Yeah. He's pretty strange," Peter agreed. "So, what time tonight?"

"Seven, I think. And anyway, remember my idea about telling everyone that you're--"

"No, Ned. We're not telling people that I'm--" he lowered his voice dramatically, "--that I'm Spider-Man."

Ned pouted. "Fine. But could you, I don't know, appear as Spider-Man?"

"What? Why?"

"C'mon! Think about how cool it would be if you dropped down and were like, 'Hey, Ned! Whattup? Where's my buddy, Peter? 'Cause we're besties and I'm a cool superhero!' Wouldn't that be cool!?"

Peter stared.

"Ned, literally no one cares about Spider--"

"Now, see, for me, it would be F Thor, marry Iron Man, and kill Hulk," came the voice of the girl's sitting on the bleachers. Peter and Ned turned to listen.

"Well, what about the Spider-Man?" Charles asked.

"It’s just Spider-Man," Betty replied. Peter raised an eyebrow at Ned in a way that meant, See?

"Did you guys see the bank security cam on YouTube? He fought off four guys," Liz argued, her voice climbing just a little higher. Peter's eyes widened.

"Oh my God, she’s crushing on Spider-Man."

"No way."

Liz shrugged, tugging a strand of hair behind her ear. "Kind of?"

Peter turned back to Ned. "Yeah. Okay, sure, I'll bring the suit."

  ---

"Thank you, Mrs. Leeds!" Peter called, waving at the woman through her beat up green Toyota. She waved back at him and Ned with a cheery smile.

"See you two boys later! I'll be back at nine to make sure you're home on time, Peter."

"Thank you!" he said again as she drove off.

"Bye, Mom!" Ned said. There were a few looks sent their way, but Peter didn't really care. Even when Flash liked to humiliate him in front of the other kids at school, Peter never felt more than surface level embarrassment. He was past the point of caring about high school drama, but Ned ducked his head nervously, readjusting his new hat. His friend turned to him and whispered, "Dude, you have the suit right?"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Peter gestured to his backpack. "Yeah."

"This is gonna change our lives," Ned squeed as they stepped up the driveway. Liz had a large house on a well-lit street in the suburbs. He could see even more colorful lights inside, just as bright as the music was, and anxiety rolled in his chest. He didn't care about what other people thought of him, he really didn't, but he couldn't stop the nerves at such an unfamiliar environment.

Peter stared down at his shadow on instinct, searching for comfort in the familiar fluffy hair. Catching himself, he forced himself to turn away and stare forward as he stepped through the door behind Ned.

He almost stumbled back as the noise hit him. There was the movement of chatter and the blaring of shitty and loud music. Peter stared as some girls walked past, swallowing nervously as his gaze went from them, to Flash DJ-ing, and then landing on Michelle, who glared at them as she spread jam on a piece of toast.

"Can’t believe you guys are at this lame party," she said. Peter frowned in confusion.

"But you’re here too," Ned said, confused hesitation taking up his voice.

"Am I?" And then she stalked away. Peter and Ned glanced at each other in confusion.

Ned recovered first, tapping his backpack. "Okay, anyway, we’re gonna have Spider-Man swing in, say you guys are tight, and then I get a fist bump or one of those half bro-hugs and--"

"Oh, my gosh!"

Ned was cut off as Peter turned away from him to look at Liz. Redness flushed onto his cheeks as she approached them with a wide smile and a red cup in her hand.

"Hey, guys. Cool hat, Ned."

"Hi, Liz," Ned said with a wave.

"Hi, Liz," he said, cursing himself as his voice broke immediately.

"I’m so happy you guys came. There’s pizza and drinks. Help yourself."

Peter's stomach rumbled at the thought, but he forced it down with a smile and a warbled, "What a great party."

"Thanks," Liz smiled. There was the shattering of glass, making her turn sheepishly. "Oh, I... My parents will kill me if anything’s broken. I gotta--"

"Yeah."

"Have fun," she said, hurrying away. Ned turned to him furiously, gesturing to where the senior had left.

"Dude, what are you doing? She’s here. Spider it up."

Like a flip had been switched, Peter remembered that Iron Man was probably looking for him. No way he could get away with showing himself at a high school party. This would be all over social media in barely an hour. "No, no, no. I can’t... I cannot do this. Spider-Man is not a party trick, okay? Look, I’m just gonna...be myself."

"Peter, no one wants that."

"Dude," Peter snapped, but even as he walked away, he knew it was true. He thought of the image of Mr. Stark's face when he'd realized they were soulmates.

Now more than a little out of it, the teenager finally made his way through the house, searching desperately for wherever the pizza was. He didn't make it very far down the hall when there was the screech of his name over a microphone.

"Penis Parker, what’s up?!" Flash yelled over the microphone. People turned to stare at Peter and Ned, sneers or sympathetic smiles decorating their faces. Peter tensed, glancing over to Ned. "Thought you were stuck at the group home! And didn't you know you were supposed to dress nicely for a party?"

Ned gave Peter a look, and that was how the superpowered teen ended up on the roof in his shitty superhero costume with his mask in hand as he chewed his lip in jittered fear.

"Hey, what’s up?" he said in a deepened voice, grabbing his mask from the bag and straightening it out. "I’m Spider-Man. Just thought I’d swing by and say hello to my buddy Peter. Oh, what’s up, Ned? Hey, where’s Peter, anyways? He must be around..." Peter sighed, dropping his hands and digging his fingers into the mask as his brows furrowed. "God, this is stupid. What am I doing?"

Peter stared from the roof down at where Ned was waiting, looking around anxiously, his friend's shadow bright underneath the lights. He glanced out of the corner of his eye down at where his own was scrunched beside him, wondering what Mr. Stark was doing right now. Maybe he was doing cool Iron Man stuff in the lab he'd had a flash of. Maybe...maybe he was wondering what Peter was doing too.

Just as he was about to sigh about how unlikely that was, there was the sound of a distant crash and a plume of bright blue. He began to push himself up, leaning forward to try and get a better look at the thing as his senses rang.

"What the hell?"

Peter stuffed on his mask and swung away, making his way through the neighborhood. After running across an embarrassingly long golf course, the sprinklers biting against his skin with the freezing water, he finally arrived at where he'd seen the blue smoke. Spider-Man dipped himself low, clinging to a small bridge and popping his head around the corner.

There were three men, a broken down old car, and a classic kidnapper white van. Peter watched as one guy whooped at the explosion that burst out from the weapon in his hand against the car. The two other men cringed back as he flinched at the bright light. The man returned to the van, putting the gun down and grabbing another one. It looked extremely similar to the one that had been used against Mr. Stark last night.

"Now, this is crafted from a reclaimed sub-Ultron arm straight from Sokovia. Here. You try."

The guy passed the weird arm-gun to the man with curly hair, who examined it in confused disdain. "Man, I wanted something low-key. Why are you trying to upsell me, man?"

"Okay, okay, okay. I got what you need, all right?" the guy placated, moving back to look through the van. "I got tons of great stuff here. One sec. Okay, I got, uh, black hole grenades, Chitauri railguns..."

"You letting off shots in public now? Hurry up," the tallest one warned. He stepped up to the curly haired guy. The buyer, Peter guessed. "Look, times are changing. We’re the only ones selling these high tech weapons."

"Oh, so this is where bad guys are getting their stuff," Peter whispered to his shadow out of habit. He shook his head, glaring forward and away from where Mr. Stark's silhouette extended.

"I need something to stick up somebody. I’m not trying to shoot them back in time," the buyer complained.

"I got anti-grav climbers," the guy at the van suggested. That seemed to finally get the third man's attention.

"Yo, climbers?"

And then, of course, Peter's phone rang. Immediately guns were drawn, clicking towards the buyer as Peter tore his phone out of his pocket, almost swearing as he caught sight of Ned's caller ID and shutting it off.

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

"Did you set us up?"

"Hey, hey, man."

His senses ringing, Peter dropped from the bridge, catching the men's attention. "Hey! Hey, come on. You gonna shoot at somebody, shoot at me."

"All right."

The gun clicked towards him. Peter shot a web, tearing the gun away, and then ran forward. His senses spiked and then pain jolted through Peter as something bright smashed against his face. It launched the teenager straight into the leg of the bridge, the concrete crumpling under his force. He groaned in pain, forcing himself onto his elbows.

"What the hell?" he muttered. The revving of an engine tore his head to where the van was beginning to drive off. He shot a web to the back of the van, attempting to stick to the ground but only succeeding in being dragged away and onto the harsh road, eliciting a surprised yelp from the high schooler.

Spider-Man shot another web in an attempt to right his balance, gritting his teeth as the road tore at his skin. The van dragged him around, swerving intentionally and smacking Peter through at least five trash cans before finally losing him into a pillar of solid brick. He groaned in pain even as he pushed himself to his feet and shot another web. It attached to the door, ripping it to the ground with a metal screech. Peter threw his hands up in exasperation.

"Great! Guess I'm gonna have to take a shortcut."

Peter leaped over a car into a yard and then a few more yards. At least there was a cute dog, but he wished he'd had more time to play with it.

The superhero stumbled along after scaring a couple of girls--his bad, but they'd get over it eventually. Hopefully--diving over a fence and skimming over a pool in a crowd of people that stared at him in gawked surprise. He called, "Great movie!" before swinging up with a tree and landing just a little too hard on a nearby roof. He panted heavily even as he kept going. He caught sight of the white van.

"Almost got you," he said to himself. "Thought you got away from me, didn’t you? I got you right where I want you. Surprise!"

Finally close enough, Peter leaped from the roof. His spine shivered, his hairs raised, and his heart leaped in fear as metal claws clamped down around him. Peter screamed hoarsely, twisting in midair as he was propelled away from the ground at a frightening speed. "AgH! What the hell!!??"

Peter barely took in the large wings, instead focusing on digging his hands around the metal claws clenched around his ankle. Whoever the bird guy was, he certainly didn't appreciate it. Haunting green eyes met Peter's wide white. His heart beat rapidly. How high up was he? The ground below looked so tiny. At least there was water under him.

And then he wasn't so thankful as the metal digging into his feet released all of the sudden. Peter screamed as he fell, twisting in midair as he searched desperately for an escape. The water underneath him grew closer and closer and there was nothing for Peter to grab onto. Nothing to web. Oh no, oh no, oh no oh no oh no--

Peter slapped against the surface. All the air was forced from his lungs as he was carried under by the lapping waves.

 ---

  "Sir--" Friday started. Tony didn't look up from where he was writing out code that he'd been pouring over for hours, going through every idea and web combination imaginable.

"Please don't turn down my music, honey," Tony said, swiveling in his rolly chair and wheeling over to the table where the webs he was in the process of replicating were beginning to formulate. He was on his fourth attempt now, and he was getting close. "I'm working."

"I am operating under the Itsy Bitsy Spider protocol."

Tony readjusted his glasses, turning away from where he was stirring the sticky formula to glance at the hologram of the suit. He'd been wondering when the kid would show up again. He hadn't been out all afternoon. "Yeah? What's up?"

In response, Friday popped up a video. It was clearly shot through a phone, shakily recording the kid skimming off of a pool before launching himself in the air. It dragged an amused smile from Tony, but it dropped as the next video played.

This one was clearly a security camera from the suburbs. The video was only a couple seconds long as a shuddering white van sped past the house, smoke flying from behind it. There was a bright purple shot and then Tony finally managed to catch sight of the bright red and blue suit being dragged along. Tony turned to his shadow, staring at where the hood was pulled up.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, kid?" he asked it. "How old is this video?"

"Barely a minute."

Tony glanced at the unfinished suit and then back at the video playing on a loop. He guessed the suit would have to wait.

"Get me Mark Forty-Eight and take me to where this video was taken. Quickly, dear."

The suit activated across the room, stepping out of its case and allowing for Tony to be covered by it. The screen lit up immediately, his path highlighted to where the nearest window had opened. Tony shot out into the New York night, his heart beating rapidly. The kid had to be okay, right? He probably dealt with weird shit all the time.

The thought didn't stop the mechanic from being nervous. The kid was fifteen after all. He wasn't exactly equipped for this kind of thing.

It took barely a couple of minutes for Tony to arrive at the street where the video had been taken. There was a burn mark on the road, but no Spidey, and no sign of that van. He hovered, scanning for where the kid could be.

"Heat signatures, Fri. Give me something to work with."

His screen lit up, orange and red figures milling about in houses. There were a few people walking streets over, a car roving by slowly, a clash of body heat that made him think of a party, and a red dot hurtling out of the air ever closer to the river. Wait--

Tony fixated on where the red dot was slowly approaching the water, his heart pounding. "What is that? Friday, zoom in."

The video clipped towards the red dot, and Tony gasped as he recognized a body twisting through the air. And not just any body.

Spidey.

His thrusters whined before forcing the suit forward towards the dot that had disappeared from view. He turned in air, hovering over the body of water, before glancing down with a fearful swallow. A heat signature was illuminated.

"Kid," he gasped.

Tony dove down immediately and broke through the water's surface. It was dark underneath, but he could make out where the kid was. He wrapped his metal arms under the kid's armpits before shooting back into the blissfully cold air.

"I've got you, kid. I've got you."

Spidey didn't respond.

Ch 1 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8

[fiddlepickdouglas]

To The Wick - Bobby’s Birthday

Disclaimer: I’m not usually a fic writer, I tend to stick to original stuff, but I just felt like I had to write this for Bobby today. I definitely wrote this in one go and did no proofreading, so I’m very sorry for that.

Summary: 2.3k wd. Bobby celebrates with Rose and Ray while still dealing with survivors guilt. Lots of fire imagery and comparisons.

WARNINGS: deals with death, symptoms similar to anxiety or PTSD, funeral mentions, survivor’s guilt

Staring at the flame, he fought every impulse to snuff it out with his fingers. For a moment, he contemplated on its gentle flickering, not unlike himself at this time. Every moment of its existence a fight against very strong currents, against all but one element surrounding it. All it knew was heat and the need to grow outward, but not being able to without the permission of exterior forces.

The words to the Beatles’ birthday song drummed on his ears, but his mind was in the back of the cavern where the music could only echo at a distance. Shaking his head and pulling his mind out of the depths of the cave, Bobby let a small smile loose for Rose and Ray and blew out the candle on the cupcake before him.

His friends cheered and they all bit into their own homemade cupcakes. Rose had been perfecting her recipe, and so far these were the best.

“You’re going to open a bakery,” Bobby told her through a mouthful. “And I’m going to be your most faithful customer.”

“But I get to do all the taste-testing, right amor?” Ray teased, earning a hand messing up his hair from Rose.

“Mi abuela didn’t pass this down and I didn’t tweak it so you could eat it for free all the time,” she said in a sassy tone, kissing his cheek.

Ray raised his eyebrows. “Noted,” he replied with a smirk.

Bobby finished his cupcake, entertained by the two lovebirds.

“So,” Rose started saying. “Now it’s time to open gifts!” She leaned away from her seat and grabbed an object from the counter a few feet away, then handed it to Bobby.

Tearing apart the purple wrapping and blue ribbon, he looked down at the small stack of CDs. Meditation Sunrise, The 7th Chakra, and Celtic Wind sat in his hands like rectangular dumbbells, each weighing heavier on his heart than he cared to admit. Suddenly, Ray was draping something over his head, and as he looked down he found himself wearing a necklace of prayer beads.

“You guys!” he chuckled, trying to sound genuine. It was his birthday, he was supposed to enjoy all of this. The gifts were actually great, too. “Thanks, this is awesome. You’ll both have to join me in a session, you know.”

“We were thinking we could do it with you today, if you wanted to,” Rose told him.

Bobby sat back in surprise.

“O-okay,” he stammered. He caught the look in her eyes that was hoping this wasn’t too much, to which he gave her a small smile of assurance. It was impossible to blame them for anything he felt today, especially when she and Ray were putting in so much effort to make it full of the joy and happiness it was meant for. It didn’t mean he hadn’t subconsciously stuck his hand in his pocket to where he kept a lighter. Just to feel that it was there, of course.

“Is it okay if we do it later tonight?” he asked. “I just have a quick meeting with my producer and a couple other things afterward to do. And I can pick up some incense while I’m out.”

“Great plan!” Ray exclaimed. He didn’t elaborate, but Bobby could guess that all the eye contact with Rose meant something he needed no part in. He got up from the table and grabbed another cupcake for the road.

“Say we meet back at, like, eight or nine?” he asked, grabbing his leather jacket and keys.

Rose looked up from being halfway embraced with Ray, barely paying attention. “Sounds perfect!”

********

“So, after talking with Jedd we decided we wanna cut out the second repeat of the chorus in Long Weekend. It makes it easier to put into radio time.”

Bobby stared at Callum, his producer, in disbelief.

“But we can just do a radio edit, then, why cut it off the album track?”

Callum blinked condescendingly.

“You think you’re just going to get radio edits out like that before you have an album out, kid?”

“Have you listened to it?” Bobby challenged. “That album is gonna shoot through the charts and I know you know that.”

“Tch,” Callum acted like he’d been shot by a Nerf gun. “That’s a bold statement from a guy who didn’t write these songs.”

A fireball seemed to form inside his chest, and Bobby wished he could open his mouth and shoot it toward the man. He clenched his teeth.

“You signed the deal, you recorded these songs, and you are getting this opportunity from us. We - need I say this - are professionals. Trust me, I’ve dealt with music written by dead people before. You’ll thank me in a few years.”

He was trembling to keep the fireball from burning down the entire room, and clenched his fists. Focusing on a stupid paisley design on the carpet, he avoided eye contact with Callum. There was no way he was letting Luke’s songs go any different than what they had played together for so many years. He had read the contract well enough, hadn’t he? It was hard enough not crediting the rest of them, but it was honor Luke with letting his music connect to people or honor Luke by letting him keep his songs to the few who heard them from the source. Not to mention Alex and Reggie being equal parts in that equation.

“Fine,” he forced out. “Make the cut. See how it does. I’ll bet you that when I make a remaster in twenty years with greater freedoms because I’m a respected artist, fans will ask why you cut it to begin with. I’ve got better people to see than you right now.”

He only saw Callum shaking his head out of the corner of his eye as he pushed through the door of the studio, flipping the bird behind him. It would’ve been nice to simply say over my dead body, but he was already bulldozing over his three best friends and it wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that he could walk along the street, get into his car, and drive off in a huff. Not fair that he could go to the abandoned grocery store parking lot and yell until his lungs were sore. It was absolutely inadequate that he remained on this earth, soul inside his body, light in his eyes, breath and blood and bones and all. He screamed in that parking lot until he was dizzy.

Bobby laid in his seat, exhausted, until twilight approached, and then started the engine again. The route was so well-known now that he knew exactly when the lights turned so he never had to make a stop. He came to the right stop and parked on the shoulder, looking wistfully out the window.

So far, he hadn’t managed to set foot on the grounds again after the funerals had passed. Still, he came and made sure his line of sight at the closest angle to get a proper look at them. They were all in a row, even though only two stood vertically. Reggie’s parents had cremated him and only gotten a stone plaque that acted as a placeholder while they kept his urn with them at home. It was nice of them to at least contribute to keep the three together.

Today still wasn’t the day he was going to venture closer to them. Bobby wasn’t going to handle it well after the conversation he’d just left. He pulled the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it off and on. It hadn’t really been a habit he had before, but there was something weirdly comforting about it. For something that couldn’t think, it really understood him. He didn’t want to use it on anything, he just wanted to watch it exist before disappearing. The fire was them. But he could control it.

Taking in a deep breath, he went to get some incense.

********

Mats were spread in the backyard with tiki torches and a camping lantern in the center, more paper lanterns hanging from the tree above. Bobby had gotten a nice incense burner a few weeks back and was excited to put it on display. Ray was in his swim shorts, already seated with his legs crossed and repeatedly going “oommmm” and breaking it with giggles when Rose swatted at him playfully.

“We’re not doing that kind, tontoroso,” she teased.

“Pero me quiero - ah!” Ray cried as she accidentally thumped him with the boombox she’d been carrying out.

“Oh, lo siento mi amor, me desculpes!” she cried, setting it down to address the minor bump now forming on his head.

Bobby sat patiently as they babbled for a moment ensuring that Ray wasn’t harmed too much, smirking a little. He didn’t really mind being the third wheel on his own birthday - it helped take away from some of the guilt.

“Okay!” Rose said finally, standing and adjusting the bottom of her tank top. “I think we should try the Meditation Sunrise, so it will guide us through every motion and we don’t have to think.”

“Agreed,” Bobby nodded, with Ray doing the same. “The less thinking the better.”

Rose pressed play on the first track as all three of them sat in their assumed meditative positions with their eyes shut. Calm, synthesized music floated out of the speakers of the boombox, with light chimes twinkling here and there.

“Welcome to Meditation Sunrise. This first exercise is to help you free yourself from resentments and embrace forgiveness. Listen to my words. Focus on my voice and soon you will be free of anything that stirs up anger. This can be anger toward another person, anger toward a higher being, or even anger toward yourself…”

Bobby felt his heartbeat increasing and strained to keep his eyes closed. He tried to sit up straighter so that he could breathe in even deeper. He could hear Ray and Rose exhaling, sounding so calm and relaxed, and let out his own breath hoping it came out the same way.

“Forgive faults. Resentment comes from Latin, meaning ‘to feel again’. We all have these feelings, and they all visit us from time to time. Sometimes we hold onto things in the past that have caused harm. These things were painful. Letting these feelings continually visit us repeats that pain. In this exercise we are here to let it go…”

Taking a careful peek through his eyelashes, Bobby checked to see what Rose and Ray looked like. They sat close together, holding hands with the remaining ones shaped in circles. Rose had her head tilted back, so free and open to the sky, so light from the weight that wasn’t sitting on her chest. The flames from the tiki torches flickered and Bobby squeezed his eyes shut so he wouldn’t focus on them instead.

“Now we are going to envision that we have a shovel in our hands. We’re going to dig. Get that shovel deep into the rich soil and lift it up. Set the soil to the side. Smell the fresh, upturned earth. If you want to, you can kneel down and take some into your hands. Let the soft, rich earth be cool to the touch. Let it calm you.

“Imagine you are digging in a garden and planting a seed. It’s a seed of happiness. It’s small right now, but will grow as we continue through our meditation. We just need to go a little deeper into the ground…”

Bobby’s mind was transported back to the cemetery he’d visited earlier. It travelled all the way to the funerals - open ground, lowering cheap wooden boxes. His hand filled with a small amount of dirt.

“Stop,” he muttered, eyes remaining closed. Rose and Ray were still entranced.

“Stop, stop, turn it off, I can’t -” He felt his breathing get uneven, and Rose was already in front of him, cradling his face and wiping away tears that he didn’t realize had escaped. He jerked away from her touch. Ray rushed to stop the playback on the CD.

All he felt was heat rising everywhere. In his veins, all over his skin, the fireball growing like a small sun in his chest, and apparently tears could be hot, too. There was too much rage building up inside. Bobby let out a frustrated cry and kicked over the incense burner, the camping lantern doing down with it. Turning, he almost hit a paper lantern and he whacked it off the tree as he headed back inside the house.

Rose caught up to him and frantically tried to block his path.

“Bobby, I sincerely apologize, I did not know it was going to be like that,” she placated. He paused as she stood before him, pleading. “If you need me to, I can get you a different present, I just wanted to do this because you had seemed interested and thought we would have a fun night together - Bobby, I am so sorry!”

Looking back at her, he sighed heavily and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You don’t need to get me anything else,” he told her solemnly.

Ray had joined them and put an arm around each of them. A twinge of reminder came to Bobby as he recalled Luke doing the same thing for him. But coming from Ray, it still had the warmth and love connected to it that he needed. He looked between the two of them.

“That was a bust,” he said. They all chuckled a little, albeit with heavy hearts. “But having you guys still made it a good birthday.”

His friends both muttered an “aw” and they came together in a group hug. Bobby sighed as they both squeezed him so tightly before breaking away.

“So what do we wanna do, then?” he asked.

“We could watch Wayne’s World,” Ray suggested.

“Baby,” Rose objected, giving him a look.

“What?” he lifted his hands defensively. “I could make a dip, we could grab some tortilla chips, you know I love dips.”

“But Bob -”

“No, I like that idea,” Bobby interrupted. “Ray makes some good dip, I’ll give him that. I think we can hold off on the meditation for now. Wayne’s World it is.”

[shinydelirium]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 5 (Kiro) Part 1 [Hunter Game] & [The Game Starts Now] Translation [CN]

***SPOILERS*** THIS POST CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR CONTENT NOT YET RELEASED ON EN SERVER!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!***

Here’s Part 1 translation for MLQC Season 2 Chapter 5 featuring Kiro. 

Enjoy~

-Spoilers below the cut-

[Hunter Game]

The endless red traffic light became a little blurred in the drizzling rain, and I leaned on the steering wheel for a long time.

Since I left the hospital and returned home a few days ago, I have been searching for information about the man in black and the man with dark gray eyes through internal channels.

Five days later, there is still no positive results.

Including that mysterious hunter game, whether it is through B.S. or other gray channels, there has been no news about it.

In a modern society where information is infinitely open, the existence of that man and this game seem to be like a ghost in the fragments of memory.

But I am convinced that they are real. If I couldn’t find it, it must mean that they hid it in such a way that it can’t be explained for the time being.

The red light began to flash and I slowly stepped on the accelerator.

In the face of unknown enemies, I must make adequate preparations for emergencies.

Anna: MC, morning.

MC: Morning, Anna.

I greeted Anna and walked into the office. As soon as I sat down, I saw an invitation letter covered with dark lines lying quietly on the desktop.

I froze for a moment and poked my head out of the office.

MC: Has anyone entered my office?

Minor: I stayed here all night and didn’t see anyone go in.

Willow: Are you sleepwalking?

Minor: I have been working diligently! I’ll have you know that my eyes are rounder than a light bulb!

I ignored their continuous babbling, frowned and went back to the office, staring at the mysterious invitation letter carefully.

MC: What is this again? I must be losing my mind.***T/N: Took some liberties with this***

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. I temporarily pushed the invitation letter under a folder and responded.

Anna: Are you busy?

MC: Go ahead.

Anna: I’m here to tell you about the release of the previous Evol short film.

Anna: It’s almost as you expected. Although people are still at the peak of anxiety, it does play a positive role.

Anna: Public opinion on the Internet has gradually shifted to the direction of rational thinking and discussion, and the image of the inverted Smile Film and Television Company has also been slightly improved.

MC: That’s great….

Anna: However, for safety reasons, I think the company should be more cautious in handling Kiro’s itinerary.

MC: Don’t worry, I’ll pay attention.

After Anna left, I took out the invitation letter. I carefully observed that there was nothing suspicious around the envelope and slowly opened it.

“Dear Miss MC, you are welcomed to join this hunter game that never stops singing.”

“You don’t have to know the location, content, or anything about the game.”

“You are the game itself.”

MC: “Hunter Game”?!

I checked the text repeatedly and my fingers became cold.

This cannot be a coincidence. Is there any omission due to the investigation in the past few days?

I inadvertently gripped the delicate letter until it wrinkled. If this is not some sick joke, then it is not so much an invitation but an arrogant and conceited provocation.

The sudden ringing of a phone pierced my ears and made me tremble.

I squeezed my palms and froze for four to five seconds before slowly picking up the phone.

On the screen, the words “Kiro” were awaited me quietly.

Kiro: Boss?

The familiar voice came from the other side of the phone and made me slowly relax.

MC: It’s me.

Kiro: Is something wrong? Your voice doesn’t sound right.

MC:….I’m fine! Just thinking about things.

Kiro: Such as?

MC: Such as….what are you going to do next time.

MC: You have a good nesting ground of ideas! ***T/N: Took some liberties with this line***

Kiro: Wait for me to show you the mushrooms I planted these days!

Kiro: This one on top of my head is new!

Imagining the mushroom growing on Kiro’s head, I couldn’t help laughing.

Kiro: I wrote a song at home these past few days and I will send it to you when the demo is ready.

MC: In that case, I’m looking forward to it.

Kiro: When my ban is lifted in a few days, I must have a big meal!

Kiro: Do you have anything in particular you want to eat?

MC: If you’re not afraid of snitching on me to Savin, I choose hot pot.

Kiro let out a little laugh on the other end of the phone. I can already imagine how absolutely loyal this hot pot fan is.

Kiro: By the way, did you receive anything special recently?

My heart thudded. I looked down at the invitation letter in my hand and touched my mouth.

MC: Kiro, have you.....ever heard of a hunter game?

*something breaks*

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, the sound of glass shattering came to my ears.

Kiro: How would you know about this?!

MC: ….I received an invitation letter today. It should be considered the “special thing” you just asked about.

His voice became extremely fast, but suddenly turned sporadic. The sound of static gradually covered Kiro’s words.

MC: What are you saying? I can’t hear you clearly!

I heard a restless and strange, low frequency sound from my right and I stiffly casted my eyes on the wall.

A silver arc stretched along the wall, making an oval that was exactly the right size for a person to pass through.

I suddenly found that I have lost my strength to move, and my head felt dizzy. In my blurred vision, a man seemed to come out from the other end of the wall.

In the last second before losing consciousness, I struggled to grasp his hand and saw a pair of dark gray eyes and a slate symbol full of thorns.

[The Game Starts Now]

….So cold.

The cold woke me.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed that most of my body was immersed in water.

The frigid river water made my whole body very stiff. If I had slept for even a few more hours, I might have frozen to death here.

I struggled to get up and knelt on the bank to look around.

Dark clouds occupy the entire sky and I am in, what looks like, an endless dense forest . Rain is falling lightly.

As I slowly approached the big tree by the waterside, some cold, hard object gingerly brushed my neck.

I stretched out my hand and realized that a metal collar was around my neck.

MC: What is this….

As if responding to my question, the metal collar suddenly glowed. Before my eyes,  a weird projection screen appeared.

A thorny “8” symbol appeared in the center of the screen display. The beginning and the end of the symbol didn’t seem right but from certain angles, they seem to overlap.

It looked never-ending.

Electronic voice: Dear players, welcome to the game arena of the first level of the ninth area of the Hunter Game.

Electronic voice: It is 6:07:19 in the afternoon. You can confirm the latest time at any moment by saying “Current Time.”

Some brisk male voice sounded from the metal collar. Following his introduction, a miniature map appeared on the projection screen with dozens of red dots.

Amongst them, there is a red dot flashing faintly, and its location is just by the river.

Electronic voice: The metal collar is equipped with a GPS positioning system. The flashing red dot is where you are. You can get map information at any time through the command “Open map.”

Electronic voice: The metal collar will record the points you earned, and the rewards gained will also be communicated he--

*something blows up*

An explosion interrupted his words, and faint black smoke rose slowly, diagonally in front of me. Before long, it disappeared into the rain.

Electronic voice: Hunter No. 3 died, his points were cleared.

Electronic voice: Out.

MC: What happened? What is he saying?

My heart was beating fast, and cold sweat was slightly oozing from my back.

Electronic voice: I hope everyone can listen to the introduction before taking any action.

Electronic voice: If the metal collar is damaged by external force, it will automatically detonate, so please don’t attempt it lightly.

Electronic voice: Here, any consequences of non-compliance with the regulations will be reinforced by you.

Electronic voice: The top 3 players can advance to the next level of game play and get the first round of game rewards at the same time.

Electronic voice: If you fail to advance, there is a chance to leave safely or to challenge again.

Electronic voice: But if you are unfortunately “eliminated” in the game….

Electronic voice: You will disappear from this world.

Electronic voice: We express our sincere welcome to your arrival and wish you victory in the game.

The brisk voice stopped and the bright blue casting screen closed.

My fingers were shaking. I kept taking deep breaths, pulling at my stiff fingertips again and again.

I touched my thigh and found that the anesthesia gun and knife hidden on one side were still there.

In the last second before I lost consciousness, I saw the man with the dark gray eyes, a playful smile on his lips.

This person was not only related to the illegal drugs, but also brought me into this game. He also didn’t seem to shy away from appearing in front of me.

MC: What a conceited person.

Although it was unexpected, I have the opportunity to get acquainted with this hunter game that lives in illusion.

I knew I was unable to remove the metal collar, so I didn’t try to destroy it, Instead, I dragged my heavy body and walked into the depths of the forest.

The most important thing now is to find a safe place, take a good rest and organize the information that was given.

On the previously displayed map, there are a few red dots that are very close to me.

Are they the other participants?

I only hesitated for a moment, then took another step.

In the broadcast just now, that person didn’t say how to earn points but….

My pace is getting faster and faster, recalling the picture of Lu Kang running with scars on his body.

The electronic voice said that the player was out, and my scalp began to turn numb.

*gunshot*

A bullet swiftly grazed the side of my shoe. I lost my balance, and I instantly fell to the ground.

But I didn’t have any time to hesitate. As I fell, I immediately rolled back to a trunk on the right.

MC: Cough…!!

I immediately covered my mouth with my hand, and couldn’t help but feel nauseous and wanted to retch.

??: Open map.

As a middle-aged man’s hoarse voice spoke, a bright blue light flashed from the lower left corner of my peripheral vision, which was quite obvious in the dark forest.

The heavy footsteps slowly approached where I was, and I gritted my teeth and tried to keep myself quiet.

At the same time, I took out my knife and quietly cut a small piece of clothing.

I gently inserted the piece of cloth into the gap in the trunk, making the illusion that I was still staying in place. And in the next instant, he threw a knife sharply towards the light-emitting place.

??: Shit!! ***T/N: I’m sure this is a curse word from the original CN text XD***

As the bright blue light disappeared, I quickly rolled to the other side.

*multiple gunshots*

A continuous line of gunfire rained down upon the place where I just hiding. The harsh bullets ripped through the air, and I hugged my head and ducked behind another nearby tree.

The shooting finally ended. Perhaps the man ran out of ammunition. The terrible smell of burning trees hung in the air.

The man seemed to be worried that the screen light would give away his position in advance. In order to confirm the result of shooting me down, he didn’t open the map again and walked over.

My left hand tightly wraps around my right hand to keep it from shaking too much.

I know that there is only one chance.

I stealthily grabbed my anesthesia gun, waiting for the sole opportunity.

A man who appeared to be in his forties showed up in my field of vision. He was wearing a vest with a bag on his back. He held the submachine gun on his shoulder as if he was holding a winning ticket.

Seeing the open space littered with only bullet marks, the man was clearly taken aback. When he turned around, he saw me hiding in the shadows and holding a gun.

I didn’t hesitate. The narcotic bullet hit the man’s arm instantly. He held his arm in horror, and ran while pointing the cold gun at me.

It’s a pity that he didn’t have a chance to pull the trigger. In the next second, he fell backward and collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Electronic voice: Hunter No. 29 attacked successfully, scored 5 points.

I was panting, trying to stand up, but found that I couldn’t move at all. I beat my thighs repeatedly, gritted my teeth and stood up.

The medicine in this anesthesia gun would bring down even an elephant within 10 seconds.

At this time, I am extremely grateful to this arrogant messenger, and thank him for leaving me a small chance of survival.

I quickly retrieved my thrown knife and checked to see that there were still bullets in the man’s submachine gun. It was a little heavy but I picked it up and ran deep into the forest without hesitation.

MC: Show location.

The screen only appeared for a moment, and then I turned it off. Fortunately, there are no other red dots nearby.

The sky is getting darker, and the screen’s light can reveal my position earlier than the electronic map.

I found a particularly huge leaf. After thinking about it, I got under the leaf and heaved violently.

The abrasions caused by the tumbling just now started to hurt. The damp weather and soaked clothes made me cold, and my stomach began to ache.

I smiled bitterly and looked into the sky through the gaps in the leaves. This hunter game is more terrifying and dangerous than I thought.

There was movement along the ground and an inexplicable feeling made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Someone is close.

-End of Part 1-

-Continue to Part 2-

[fallinnflower]

perfect

s.coups x reader (fluff, part of the intimacy anthology project)

a/n: this fic is technically gender neutral but ends up leaning more towards being a fem!reader, mostly because it’s based loosely on my insecurities, just so y’all know!

warning: mentions of scars, anxiety, and implied mature content

For your entire life, you'd struggled with the idea of how people saw you. 

When you were younger, people used to say you were pretty — but those same people criticized your every flaw. Once you became a teenager, especially, and acne became the new normal for your skin, even your parents didn't hesitate to point out the problems with you. It didn't take long for those problems to become all you could see, both when you looked in the mirror or just when you happened to let skin show. 

Wearing makeup became necessary. But then blemishes began appearing on your back, and arms, and legs — and when they disappeared they left scars behind which were just as embarrassing, if not more so. 

Simultaneously you were asked why you didn't think you were beautiful, and why your skin was so bad. Soon, baring your skin in even the most minimal ways felt like a struggle. 

The thing is, you'd been seeing yourself imperfectly and scarred for so long that you had no perception of what other people may have seen in you. Did they look at you and only see flaws? 

And, as most personal, introspective issues go, it affected your love life. 

Being intimate was hard when you didn't want anyone to see you. When you had scars someone might feel when their hands were on your skin. 

You'd had significant others in the past, some of which had pointed out your flaws to you, and very few of which you had managed to express your insecurities to. It always felt simultaneously too heavy and too petty to bring up to your partners, so you'd simply turn off the lights and opt to ignore your problems for as long as possible. 

But nothing could stay hidden forever. 

You'd been dating Seungcheol for well over two months when he finally expressed his desire to have you stay the night. Your journey from strangers to significant others had been something of a whirlwind, but the two of you had opted to take things slow once labels were involved. 

He was a perfect boyfriend, a wholesome mix of responsible gentleman and soft baby that fit inexplicably well into your life. Any time you have him was enough, and any hesitation you showed was a boundary he respected. 

For the past week, he'd been dropping hints that he wanted you to spend the night at his place after your typically Friday evening dates, and each time he did you found yourself freezing up. Seungcheol has never even seen you without makeup on, and while the thought of spending an evening with him was heavenly, the thought of him waking up beside an imperfect version of yourself was terrifying. 

To you, Seungcheol seemed perfect. With his pretty doe eyes and his sweet smile and plump lips, it was almost hard to believe a person like him existed in the real world. 

It made it all the more difficult for you to willingly bare yourself to him, in even the most minor ways. So for a solid week you dodged every hint he tried to drop as if they were bombs, desperate to hold onto this perfect facade for just a little bit longer, like clinging desperately to the last moments of a sweet dream in the morning light. 

But Friday dawned nonetheless, and all through work all you could think about was how Seungcheol — sweet, handsome, considerate, perfect Seungcheol — would be waiting for you when you clocked out to take you to dinner. The mix of excitement and nervousness left you feeling giddy all day long, constantly getting up for more water or just to stretch your legs, unable to focus. How could you, when you hadn't seen him for a week?

How could you, when you were constantly trying to avoid the elephant that seemed to follow you into every room you entered? 

Ten minutes before 5pm, you shed your blazer and went into the bathroom to fix your hair and makeup. You'd worn a simple black dress to work and shoved some more playful looking accessories into your bag that morning to spice up the look. Over the course of your career you'd learned how to go from corporate daytime to date night look with minimal changes quite expertly. 

As you were fixing the clasp of your necklace, your phone buzzed on the countertop. 

< waiting downstairs. no rush ☺️

You couldn't keep the smile off your face as you read Seungcheol's message. Even though he said not to rush, you still found yourself fixing the last strands of your hair that had slipped out of place and gathering your belongings from your desk at record speed. 

"Have fun!" Your desk neighbor, Wendy, called after you. You tossed her a smile over your shoulder as you stepped into the elevator. On the short ride down, you couldn't help but bounce slightly, trying to expel some more of your nervous energy so you didn't just go sprinting straight into your boyfriend's arms. 

It didn't work. The moment you caught sight of Seungcheol in the lobby, you couldn't seem to keep yourself walking at a normal pace — especially not when he caught sight of you and sent you that gummy smile of his, opening his arms in welcome. 

His embrace was warm, and he pressed a welcoming kiss to the crown of your head before nuzzling his cheek against your hair.

"Hey," he murmured, and you giggled softly as you pulled back. 

"Hey," you replied, eyes meeting his. He leaned down to press a quick, chaste kiss to your lips, but even that left you a blushing mess considering you were still in your office building. 

"Cheol," you whined, but your boyfriend only chuckled and gently took your bag and blazer from you, offering his other hand for you to hold. You took it, although you continued to pout as he lead you out the door. 

Once you'd both settled into the car, your extra things relegated to the backseat, you finally turned a curious gaze to him. 

"So, what have you got planned?" The corners of Seungcheol's mouth immediately began to curl up into a grin, but he only glanced coolly at you before pulling away from the curb. 

"It's a surprise."

"Still?" you asked, turning your body in your seat to face him. "We'll be there soon — why can't you just tell me?" 

If anyone had told you even a few months ago that you'd be acting cutesy for your boyfriend, you'd probably have punched them. You'd never been the type to do aegyo unbidden, and yet your boyfriend seemed to bring it out in you without even trying. Usually he couldn't say no to your cuteness and vice versa, but this time he merely chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh just above your knee, giving it a squeeze. 

"Patience, babe. Good things come to those who wait, you know," he teased, and you frowned. 

"But I've been waiting all week."

"And in a few more minutes all that waiting will be worth it." As he rolled to a stop at a red light, he turned his gaze on you, hand still lingering on your leg. When his dark, intense gaze met yours, your throat seemed to go dry, the places where his skin met yours suddenly feeling fiery hot. 

"You trust me, don't you?" You let out a defeated sigh and nodded. Seungcheol laughed again, eyes curving up into happy crescents as he gave your thigh another squeeze. 

"Good girl," he said, softly, and although you rolled your eyes you found yourself acutely aware of the way his fingers gently brushed against your inner thigh before he removed his hand. 

His actions quieted you down until you reached your destination. Your thoughts (and gaze) continued to drift back to him and his hands, swallowing hard. Since you and Seungcheol were taking things slow, you hadn't really been intimate — you'd had some heated make out sessions, but nothing below the belt so to speak — but that didn't mean you didn't want to be. If anything, it was actually starting to make you want it more. 

Which was probably why you were so adamantly dodging any conversations about staying the night. If Seungcheol outright asked, you knew you'd probably say yes — and you didn't feel ready for the disappointment and shame you'd feel when he saw the real you. All your flaws and ugly parts that couldn't be hidden… How could any person as beautiful as him possibly see you as anything but the complete opposite? 

Your downtrodden train of thought was interrupted by Seungcheol putting the car in park. When you looked out the window, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Recognize it?” Seungcheol asked playfully. You could tell without even looking at him that he was excited about this particular plan. And you knew why, barely able to tear your eyes away from the location long enough to thank him for holding the car door open for you.

“Of course,” you replied, taking hold of the hand he offered you. “This is where we had our first date.” You leaned into Seungcheol’s side. Your first date had consisted mostly of a long walk and dinner, which hadn’t really been planned. The two of you had simply spent so much of the day together that you found yourselves in need of a meal, and had ducked into the restaurant on a whim.

It had been nearing the end of winter then, but still cold — too cold for the outdoor seating to be open, which was unfortunate because all the online reviews you had seen raved about it. That space was at the back of the building, a rooftop terrace with a supposedly perfect view of the city. Looking at the space now, you could see the faint glow of strung-up lights down at the end of the alley between it and the neighboring building. 

“Want to guess what the surprise is?” he asked, voice low and soft, like it was a secret for your ears only. 

“Hm,” you hummed, tapping a finger against your chin, looking up at him as he grinned expectantly down at you. “We’re going to eat on the terrace?” His smile widened, his eyes nearly closing from its broadness. 

Suddenly, the door to the restaurant opened, and one of the hosts peered curiously at the two of you. His face lit up when he noticed Seungcheol, and he quickly opened the door the rest of the way, beckoning you in,

“Mr. Choi, welcome. Right this way!” The two of you followed after him, giddy with excitement. He led you both to the back of the restaurant and up a staircase, away from the noise and crowd of the main dining room.

On the table with the best view of the city there was already a bottle of the same wine the two of you had had on your first date, and Seungcheol darted past the host to pull your chair out for you — just like he had done that night. You couldn’t help but giggle as the host took a polite step back, telling you your waiter would be with you shortly before disappearing.

As you looked around the terrace, with its twinkling golden lights and stunning view, you couldn’t help but notice that it was otherwise empty despite it being prime time, with the sunset only minutes away and the weather perfectly comfortable. You kept your gaze on the city as Seungcheol took his seat.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you said. “I’m surprised it isn’t more busy.” When you looked back at your boyfriend he seemed to be blushing slightly, and he ran a nervous hand through his hair.

“About that,” he said, looking up at you through his lashes. “I managed to get the whole patio reserved, just for us.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. Seungcheol let out a sheepish chuckle, and you reached across the table to take one of his hands in your own; he met you halfway, his nervousness melting away before your eyes. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Like it? Cheol, I love it. It’s amazing.” All the tension left his shoulders as he sighed, smiling across the table at you in relief. His dark eyes reflected the fairy lights strung up around you, making them look like shards of the night sky as he gazed at you.

“It’s what you deserve,” he said. His tender expression warmed your heart, but before you could think of anything to say to express how you felt, the waiter suddenly appeared on the terrace with menus in hand.

“I was going to order ahead and fully recreate the first date,” Seungcheol whispered, leaning across the table as the waiter set the menus down. “But I remembered you said a lot of the things on the menu looked good, so I thought we could try something new.” You let go of his hand to take hold of your menu, shaking your head in disbelief.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” 

“I definitely tried,” he chuckled. The two of you fell into a comfortable silence as you looked over your options, occasionally mentioning what sounded good to you until you both finally settled on your meals. You made sure to get different things so you could each sample each other’s meal — something which had become a regular part of your relationship.

As soon as the waiter had finished taking your orders and gone back downstairs, Seungcheol propped his chin in his hands and flashed you a cheeky smile.

“So,” he said. “What do you do for a living, Y/N?” You nearly choked on your water trying not to laugh at him, which quickly caused his innocent act to crumble.

“You already knew that on our first date,” you retorted, glaring playfully at him. He let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back in his seat. You let your gaze trail down the column of his throat as he threw his head back in mock exasperation.

“I know. Do you have any idea how hard it was to think of what to say to you? I was so nervous.” 

“You? Nervous?” you teased, taking a sip of your wine. Thinking back, you couldn’t recall a single time Seungcheol seemed to be at a loss for words with you — even when he was nervous, he could think of something to say. However, now he met your playful look with a serious one, though he was still smiling.

“Well, yeah,” he said, his dark gaze seeming to pin you in place as you set your wine glass down; you couldn’t even think of looking away. “Why wouldn’t I be nervous going on a date with someone as beautiful as you?” 

You smiled, feeling genuinely touched by his words — though it didn’t take long for your anxieties to flare back up with the direction the conversation was going. Hurriedly, you took another gulp of wine, hoping he didn’t notice the sudden, slight tremor in your hands.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” you said. Then, after managing to soften your expression and calm yourself down a bit. “But good food always will.” Seungcheol laughed and lifted his glass to clink against yours. However, as he lowered his glass down to his lips, he hesitated. You raised a questioning brow, hesitating as well.

“What are we toasting to?” Seungcheol asked, wine glass still poised near his lips. 

“I don’t know,” you replied, scrunching up your nose. “To us?” 

You had half-expected Seungcheol to laugh your suggestion off, but instead his gummy smile reappeared, eyes practically glittering as they met yours across the table. He lifted the wine glass again slightly.

“To us,” he repeated, voice low and soft as velvet. You felt your cheeks warm as you both took a sip of your wine, and wondered if the alcohol was already hitting you or if Seungcheol had just managed to start affecting you that much.

Remembering what had occurred in the car, you felt your face grow hotter and took another sip of the wine, not quite ready to admit the truth of the situation even to yourself.

The rest of your dinner went off without a hitch. Seungcheol had managed to rope the waiter into taking a few photos of the two of you with the setting sun as your backdrop. Even though you had felt a bit embarrassed on the waiter’s behalf, you had to admit that the photos turned out beautifully — and it was just nice to have them. Most of your photos with Seungcheol were selfies. 

Both of you left the restaurant in high spirits, filled with wine and good food. You had loosened up considerably after your silly toasting situation, and by the time the two of you had descended the stairs to get back in the car your cheeks hurt from smiling so much; your boyfriend seemed to be in a similar predicament, reaching for your hand and kissing the back of it. The two of you stepped onto the sidewalk laughing over something that had been said over the course of the evening.

However, the moment Seungcheol sat down in the driver's seat, he seemed to become tense. And in response, you found yourself tensing up, too. He buckled himself in and placed his hands on the wheel, but didn't move to shift the car out of park, merely sitting for a moment. You watched as he lightly drummed his fingers against the top of the wheel, only pulling your eyes away when he drew his hands back. 

"Okay," he started, letting out a long breath. He unbuckled again and turned his body towards you. "I was kind of hinting at this all week and I don't know if you didn't notice, but, I really want you to spend the night. And if you don't want to, I'll drive you home right now, but— but I have an extra toothbrush because I bought a two-pack and you can borrow my clothes if you want, and my friend taught me this great pancake recipe—" Suddenly, he stopped himself short, sucking in a breath through his teeth. You felt as though the whole world outside the car had stopped, watching as your boyfriend's eyes darted down to his fidgeting hands. 

"I just think we should talk about it. And I wanted to do that in person."

Your throat went dry again, but this time it felt more like choking. Just looking at Seungcheol you could see how genuine he was; how nervous, how hopeful, how loving, and while you knew it should have eased your mind your heart squeezed at the thought that you could lose all of that. Even though deep down you knew Seungcheol wouldn't be shallow enough to break up with you because of scars, you just wanted to seem perfect to him for a little longer... there was no harm in that, right?

And yet, looking at his uncertainty, you realized your dancing around the issue had hurt him. Or, at least, made him less confident. 

You licked your lips and took a shaky breath, but you could only find the courage to start speaking when you weren't looking directly at him. 

"Seungcheol," you started, and his gaze snapped up, searching your face. "I— I want to. Trust me, I do, I just… I'm scared." When you managed to glance up at him, you noticed that he looked both crestfallen and concerned. He inched towards you, gently taking your hands in his, offering you every possible out if you wanted it. 

"What are you scared of, baby?" You realized as he said it, as you looked into his big, soulful eyes, that he thought you meant you were scared of him. Immediately you felt your stomach plummet, and you squeezed his hands in yours, swallowing hard. 

"It's just— you haven't seen me without makeup or anything yet, and my skin," you cleared your throat, trying desperately to fight the way it was wavering, but you found it cracking and shrinking nonetheless. "It's not pretty. I don’t… I don’t like how I look, I don’t feel confident. So I’m scared you won’t want me anymore once you see what I really look like, a-and—” You paused, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to make your voice stop shaking, but it proved useless once you tried to continue,

“Things have been going so well and I don’t want to ruin anything between us… because I’m really falling for you, and it’s just… it’s just hard…” 

The more you spoke, the closer you felt you were to crying, and so you closed your mouth tightly in fear of letting loose a sob instead of words. You'd had such a nice dinner, and all you could think was that you were ruining a perfectly romantic gesture with your tears. Suddenly, it felt as though your mind was running a mile a minute, straight into a scenario where Seungcheol left you and all your insecurities behind for someone with less baggage and more suited for him— 

"Hey," he said, softly, halting your inner turmoil. "I'm scared, too." At that, you couldn't help but balk. 

"What?" You blurted. Then, with more clarity, "I mean, why? You... there's no reason for you to be scared, honestly." Your thumbs ran gently along his knuckles and you followed the movement with your eyes, feeling sullen and guilty and a whole cocktail of emotions you desperately wished to expel. You let out a watery, humorless laugh, 

"All my life," he started, voice soft. "I've compared myself to other people. I've always been, I don't know, soft-looking?” His lips pressed into a thin smile, but the corners of his mouth seemed unable to stay up for long. He cleared his throat, and you wondered if he was feeling as choked up as you were, voicing his insecurities,

“I tried so many diets and workout routines, and for a long time I was really pushing myself too hard. I'm still not always happy with how I look, but I'm healthy and I know that's what matters most." 

Seungcheol gently squeezed your hands, and so you looked up at him, surprised to find his eyes shiny with unshed tears. 

"I'm not the most fit person. I'm worried you won't like what you see, that you'll want someone more manly, but—" One of the tears finally fell, and you found yourself removing your hands from his grasp to take his face in them instead, gently wiping under his eyes. He closed them, letting out a shaky breath. 

"I want you to know all of me. I want you to have all of me."

"Cheol." His name left you practically on a whimper, and suddenly you realized you were crying again. You leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against his lips, which he quickly reciprocated. Before you could get distracted you pulled back, resting your forehead against his,

"Abs or no abs — nothing's going to change how I feel about you." 

"That's how I feel about you," he replied, hands coming to rest on your waist. You found yourself letting out a watery chuckle, and Seungcheol was quick to respond. 

"What?"

"We're silly, aren't we?" Seungcheol hummed at your statement, leaning in to press another quick kiss to your lips. 

"No," he said. "Your feelings, whatever they are, are important. Let's just be honest with each other from now on, even if we think it's silly." You nodded.

“And,” he continued. “Let’s try harder to see ourselves the way we see each other, okay?” He reached up for a moment, smoothing some of your hair behind your ear. His smile was so fond, his eyes so tender, and you found yourself practically melting into the leather seat.

“Deal,” you said, and Cheol grinned with his now-sparkling eyes.

“Good. Because I think you’re perfect.” You felt yourself blushing as he leaned in to kiss you, but with renewed confidence you chased after his lips as he pulled away, successfully stealing another. And another as you let your hands move behind his neck, threading your fingers through the hair at his nape. Seungcheol grippes at your hips more tightly, sighing into your mouth. You whined slightly as he pulled back, but Seungcheol was quick to distract you. 

"So," he said, a smirk playing at his lips. "Now what do you think of spending a night with me?" A giggle escaped your lips. 

"I'd love to," you said. However, as he leaned in for another kiss, you playfully pushed him away. "But only if you promise to make those pancakes in the morning." Seungcheol rolled his eyes but couldn't keep himself from grinning as he drew his hands away from you to buckle himself back in,

"Your wish is my command."

With that, you sat back in your seat, buckling yourself in and grinning across the console at him.

Seungcheol kept his hand on your knee the whole drive home, only removing it to make the necessary turns to get to his place. You had a feeling he knew what he was doing, and by the time he pulled into the parking lot of his complex your nervousness had been replaced with a desire to be near him. You laced your fingers through his as you followed him up the flight of stairs to his floor, both of you grinning and giggling like teenagers. 

By the time you made it up to his apartment you could barely keep your hands off each other long enough for Seungcheol to put your blazer and purse down. You looped your arms around his neck and brought his face down to yours, kissing him hotly, wanting to know that he desired you just as much as you did him. 

And if you had any doubts about it then, they were dispelled by the following morning when you found yourself in his kitchen, his hoodie barely managing to hide the marks along your collarbone. You could smell the pancakes even from back in his bedroom, but now your senses were overloaded with their sweetness combined with Seungcheol’s familiar musky scent.

“Morning,” you greeted, shuffling into the kitchen. He cast a glance at you from his place before the stove, smiling immediately at the sight of you.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” You let out an amused snort, though you were glad he couldn’t see your blush as you admired him from across the kitchen. Seungcheol might not have been confident with his body all the time, but obviously your admiration of his physique the night before hadn’t gone unnoticed as he stood shirtless making breakfast. A part of you worried for a moment about him being so near a stove without anything to cover his chest, but you assuaged those fears by looping your arms around his waist, providing the cover yourself.

“How are you feeling?” Cheol asked, using his free hand to lift one of yours to his lips. He pressed kisses to each of your knuckles, and you giggled as you softly pressed one of your own to his shoulder before nuzzling your cheek between his shoulder blades. You could feel the gentle laughter rumble through his chest, his skin soft against your own. As he let go of your hand you tightened your hold around him slightly, sighing contentedly as you replied,

“Perfect.”

[the-melting-world]

The Empress | Side B: “Oats In the Water”

Art by @markmefistov

~ In which a humble gardener loses control…

The Trio Appearances: Kipling | Khleo | Ozy

Arcana LI Appearances: Asra | Nadia | Muriel 

Track Origins: “Oats In the Water” by Ben Howard

Not sure if this is the right track? The full album can be found here: The Empress

cw: blood, violent descriptions

~ 1.4k words

The very large portal that Kipling opened has just taken her best friend Khleo. Kipling and Ozy were too caught up in their argument to notice...

The rain was coming down harder. Kipling was tired of arguing with Ozy. She was getting wetter and wetter by the minute, and this conversation was going nowhere. If Ozy said one more thing about her so-called third eye, she was going to lose it. Ozy was still shouting at Kip when she finally decided to tune him out completely and go back to what she was doing with Khleo. Based on how the storm was growing, it didn’t seem like going back to the grotto was an option.

Kip looked over to where Khleo was standing. Only, he wasn’t standing there anymore. 

“Khleo?”

Not only was Khleo gone but so was the portal.

Kipling heard Ozy’s incredulous gasp before she registered the reality of the situation.

“No, no, no. Khleo. I told you to wait!”

Kipling turned slowly, her eyes burning in Ozy’s direction despite the rain. 

“Ozy.” Kipling bit at his name. “Where is Khleo? Where’s the jump off?”

For the first time, Ozy looked unsure. He never looked unsure when it came to the portals. He always had the answers, always knew what to do and how to do it. Now he was looking down at his hands, counting his fingers, muttering under his breath, glancing this way and that.

Kipling barely noticed that her hand that wore the gauntlet was slowly curling into a fist.

“Ozy. The jump!”

“We never made one!” He burst.

Kipling was squeezing her hand so tightly that it went numb. “So? Make one now.”

Ozy faltered. “I only know how to make exit portals after the entry portal is opened. You can’t create exits if the entrance no longer exists.”

“What? What do you mean you can’t...” Kip trailed off, disbelieving.

Ozy threw his hands up in the air. “I don’t know how to get Khleo out!” He could barely bring himself to look at Kipling. The way she backed up on trembling legs, eyes darting around the rocky shelf for something to hold her up – she was in shock.

“I told Khleo to wait,” Ozy groaned weakly, barely feeling the tropical storm beating down on them both. The water sluicing down his face, mixing in with his tears turned from warm to cold as the winds picked up.

Kip kept turning in circles, as if that monstrous portal would show up at any moment and bring back her friend.

“He’s gone? Khleo’s gone? You… Ozy, you…”

Her spinning was starting to make Ozy feel sick.

“I told him to wait, Kip! I told him to wait for me.” Ozy approached, determined to take Kip’s shoulders and steady her. “Khleo didn’t listen to me and neither did you, Kip. You didn’t lock the portal right! No one ever listens to me!”

Kipling reluctantly came to a halt, but she shoved Ozy’s hands away. It seemed her emotions had finally caught up to what was registering in her brain. Because now she was screaming. 

“That was my best friend, Ozy.” She raised up her gauntlet. “My best friend!”

Then there was only rage. Blood. The cracking of skin. Bone breaking. 

Now...Ozy was on his knees, trying to hold his face together. Begging. Painful sobs under the blanket of blood and disrupted cartilage.

Kip looked down at her hand that wore the gauntlet. Looked at the sticky evidence of violence that refused to go with the rain.

A storm so tiresome and overwhelming created its own vortex of wrath all around them.

A storm so great and yet… so empty.

***

Kipling woke up again covered in seawater. She wasn’t in her and Asra’s bedroom this time. She was in the reading room. There was standing water everywhere, like a small flood had passed through. All of their magical artifacts were drifting about, some getting ruined. 

Not again.

Kipling didn’t scream or sob or call out for Asra as she had done in the past. She had grown tired of putting her body through more stress. This unwelcome teleporting in her sleep became more terrifying with each new incident, but they also happened frequently enough to be normal at this point. 

Once Kipling’s disorientation subsided, she sat up on the reading table to see that she had disturbed Asra’s deck. All of the minor and major arcana were scattered about the table, damp and wilting under the weight of the saltwater.

Kip cursed as she tried to gather them up. Really, it was pointless. There was water everywhere.

“Kip! Kipling!”

Asra appeared before the doorway, white curls disheveled, the hem of his loose pants soaking as he picked his way across the flooded room, and concern streaking his features.

Kipling wished he didn’t have to worry about her all the time. To know that he wanted to help her and could do nothing about it really made her heart ache.

When Kip began to apologize, Asra cut her off with warm, unconditional embraces. Each one was peppered with soft encouragements and even softer kisses.

Kip wished she could lean into them and forget that this even happened. Flooding the room where they did their readings was not the end of the world. A little drying spell was all it took to set things right.

But Kip had ignored this problem too many times. She couldn’t control her primary magic. She couldn’t suppress it anymore. It was tied to her memories and ever since she and Asra had defeated the Devil, her memories hadn’t stopped making their way back to her.

***

Asra slid the cup of lemongrass tea across the table to Kip.

“You know,” he said quietly, “not all the cards got wet. There was one that, for whatever reason, remained untouched by the water.”

Kipling wasn’t ready to walk away from the subject of her memories. She stared down at the cup of hot tea, unable to bring herself to drink it.

“When I woke up from…” it was still hard to talk about it “the Lazaret… did this ever happen? The nightmares and the portals appearing out of nowhere?”

Asra sighed. “Only a few times, but yes. I didn’t know what to make of it. The more of your motor skills you recovered, the less your primary magic would flare up.”

Kip considered this. “That was probably because once I had more control over my body, I could suppress the magic better. The more I remember about my time in the Melting World, the more I can recall being taught how to keep my magic limited and weak until it eventually became second nature.”

Asra reached across the table and fed his fingers around Kipling’s wrist.

“But you got older, stronger. Your magic grew. It’s not something that’s meant to be suppressed. It never will be.”

Kip closed her eyes as a wave of anxiety suddenly caught her off guard. She flinched at the thought of a circular Door exploding into existence, interrupting her peace. Just an emotionless, bottomless stomach that took what she loved the most when she least expected it.

Why would Kip ever want to go willingly through one?

Asra squeezed her wrist. “Kip? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“The recent nightmares I’ve been having have all been the same. But I realize now that it was a memory. There were other children there. They were my cousins… my friends.”

Asra didn’t interrupt. Kip stretched her mind to places she otherwise wouldn’t.

“Ozy.”

With Ozy she associated old books, older artifacts. Sharing silly rhymes that hid darker truths. Becoming masters of grey magic without the help of grownups. 

“And…”

Her memory flickered more sharply with the next one.

“Khleo.”

With Khleo it was all wildflowers and warm leisure. Sometimes midnight rendezvous to take out secrets and safely wonder at them.

Asra’s fingers pressed into her wrist. “Is that all?”

Kip looked at him. No. Not even close. Ozy and Khleo. There was so much behind both of them. So much emotion. Kip looked down at her tea. It was too early. Too soon to unpack all of that right now.

“That card that survived the flood,” Kip said, her lip quirking up in an effort to salvage some lightheartedness to get through the day, “which one was it?”

Asra, knowing Kip’s limits and respecting them, mirrored her grin, regarding her no longer with concern, but with genuine intrigue.

“The Empress.”

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 24

Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Ao3

Note: might continue this one if enough people yell at me. Do not ask to be put on a tag list.

Warnings: Torture of a minor, blackmail, blood, violence, vomit, more tws in tags

Summary: Slade blackmails Dick into joining him. Things go downhill for Dick when Damian tries to get involved, and Slade decides the interference is a perfect opportunity for a lesson in torture.

-o-o-o-o-

The gym is the only place in this entire mansion where Dick feels safe. Or, at least a little in control of his life. It's been months since he's sold his freedom, and while he's allowed free reign of the entire building excepting the west wing and the basement, there's hardly anything he can do in any of these empty rooms besides glare holes in the walls.

At least, while he's in the gym, he can pretend the faceless punching dummies belong to Slade Wilson. 

Because fuck that guy. 

It's the safest place in the mansion. It's the only place he's allowed to work himself up to the point of hitting, kicking, and screaming. As long as he doesn't harm the equipment or himself, Slade doesn't care what he does in here. Granted, if he shows his frustration too much anywhere, Slade will use it against him. Which is probably why whenever Slade needs something from him, he looks for him inside the gym.

So maybe it's not the safest place in the mansion.

But it’s still better than cold, empty rooms.

And Dick doesn't really care anyway. Everything stopped being safe the moment he was pinned to the carpet of his own apartment and whispered to that… that…

His knuckles ache. The punching dummy just wobbles, and Dick wonders what would really happen if he tore it apart. 

He doesn't even get to entertain the idea of slamming his fingers into the tiniest weakness of the padded fabric to rip it at its seams, because before he winds up for another punch, the sound of heavily booted footsteps make themselves known behind him. 

Which definitely means something is up. If Slade wanted to come in here just to mess with Dick, he could have easily left his movements more silent than a moth's wings. He punches the dummy, wipes sweat from his brow, then turns to glare at his captor. 

It's not Slade who looks back, but Deathstroke in full attire. 

Something is definitely up. 

"Apprentice," Deathstroke says smoothly, sending chills of annoyance down Dick's spine. He hates everything about this, but Slade refusing to call him anything other than apprentice or boy is just an insult to injury. It's like Slade owns him. Like Dick doesn't have a right to any other name. 

However, instead of lashing out like he oh so desperately wants, he straightens his posture, flattens his expression, and brings his hands behind his back to grasp onto each of his wrists. 

Time for the most humiliating thing of all of this. His mouth already tastes disgusting. 

"Master."

Dick can't see Slade's face under his mask, but he knows the other man is grinning. It's been months, and Slade has yet to tire from Dick's discomfort. 

"Tell me," Slade practically purrs, folding his arms across his chest and looking too relaxed. "Do you remember the conditions of your stay here?"

What's Slade's game? Why is he bringing this up now? Dick grinds his teeth for just a second before forcing himself to respond. 

"I do what you say, when you say it, and immediately follow any and all orders without question."

"And in exchange?"

 Now Dick can't help but feel a little bit of his uneasiness show in his face. He swallows and shifts his feet. 

"You won't detonate the bombs."

Dick can practically smell Slade's smugness as he asks "and where are the bombs located?" 

Dick takes a deep breath. "Inside the skulls of Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Damian."

How Deathstroke got the bombs inside all of their heads, Dick will never know. All he knows is that he came back from patrol one night to find Deathstroke sitting on his couch, the X-rays of each of their heads sitting on his coffee table. Of course, he didn't know it was their heads until he was overpowered and manhandled to the ground so Slade would explain it all too happily. 

Dick doesn't know what Slade's plans are this time around. He hasn't done anything besides force Dick to train in various forms of combat. He hasn't said anything about joining his mission or killing people or… or anything. Just training. Dick's beginning to think he just enjoys having power over Dick. 

"Come," Slade says, forcing Dick from his thoughts, "I have something I need you to do."

Dick forces himself to nod, and not question why Slade brought the bombs up. He simply brings his hands to his front, unwraps the tape around his knuckles, and follows along even though the sweat sticking under his workout clothes is uncomfortable and he'd much prefer a shower before dealing with whatever Slade wanted from him. 

The walk through the mansion halls are as lonely as always. Dick's sure that even if Slade wasn't a jackass with the thirst to kill for money, this place would still be empty. The entire mansion was built somewhere within the Appalachian mountains, practically in the middle of nowhere. Hidden expertly within the trees and designed to be practically invisible to any eyes traveling above. To get here, they had to take a helicopter. 

A helicopter. Dick cannot stress that enough. 

He lets his mind wonder as he follows Slade. It's probably for some sort of training exercise outside. Maybe he's being brought to the gun range? He tries to tell himself it's nothing, but there's still an inkling of unease in his gut. 

Why did he bring up the bombs?

Slade suddenly comes to a halt, and it's all Dick can do to not slam into his back. He stops and looks at the door Slade stopped in front of with widening eyes. 

The door to the basement. 

One of three places Slade has forbidden. 

Slade doesn't bother with any dramatics like locks or passcodes. No doors are locked here. Dick knows better than to push anywhere he's not supposed to. 

The literal heads of his family are on the line. 

He watches with a horrible emotional cocktail of nervousness and curiosity as Slade turns the handle and opens the door. There's nothing special right away. Just stairs leading down into the shadows. 

"Follow," Slade says, and Dick does. 

The travel down is… uneventful to say the least. Nothing to see besides stone steps and gray walls. However, Dick quickly becomes aware of a drop in temperature. A dramatic one. One that seeps through his sweat soaked clothes and straight into his bones like freezing little needles.

It's when they reach the basement floor he realizes why it's so cold, dark, and secretive down here. 

It can hardly even be called a basement once Dick gets a good look. 

It's more like a dungeon. Long hallways, iron doors with iron bars, dim candles built into the walls… 

It's Slade Wilson's personal prison. 

Which is strange, because Slade doesn't often take prisoners. Dick's normally the only one to own that title when it comes to Slade. 

Slade doesn't give him a chance to really take in everything and just continues down into the dungeon, passing door after door, each holding just glimpses of various dangerous looking tools and chains and contraptions… ones that have Dick's head spinning just by thinking about the range of torture that can be performed in each room.

His bewilderment must be more obvious than what he meant it to be, because Slade turns to look at him and lets out a chuckle.

"You have questions," he notes. 

Dick swallows and turns his head from the doors. He forces himself to look Slade right in the eye. Or… the hole where his one eye is hidden under.  "… I do."

"Ask."

Deep breathes. "What is this place? Why are we…"

Slade chuckles and turns away, grabbing at a ring of keys from within one of his pockets. It seems the no locked doors policy doesn't apply down here. "I didn't plan on taking you down here so soon," Slade explains, turning down a seemingly random corner. "I planned for you to know this place… intimately… soon enough. Except, well, something came up. And I supposed this portion of training could begin a bit earlier than planned."

He stops in front of a door, one that's more heavier fortified than the rest they had passed. The iron widow on the door is covered by a steel plate, possibly making the inside completely shrouded in darkness. 

Dick watches with growing anxiety as Slade pushes the key into the door, turns it, then steps back to allow Dick a clear, complete view on what's inside. 

His stomach twists violently. His breath leaves his lungs like he's taken a violent blow to the gut. 

There's chains hanging from the center of the dark room, shackles locking tightly over clenched, bare wrists. There's a boy hanging from them, his uncovered toes just one chain link away from having enough purchase to let his heels touch the grime covered ground. He's not wearing a shirt, and his pants are torn near his knees. 

Wrapped around his eyes is a blindfold. Over his mouth is a painfully tight looking leather gag. Locked over his ears is a pair of what is definitely sound canceling headphones. 

Damian. 

Dick finds himself backing away, his heart in his throat, but he quite predictably runs into Slade's chest. He can feel every single one of his nerves twist violently as Slade wraps his fingers around Dick's biceps to keep him standing there, in the doorway, with the perfect view of his littlest brother hanging in chains. 

Then, his eyes slide to the side of the room where there are metal tables set with… with tools. Knives. Hammers. Whips. Pliers. Brands. 

He almost chokes on his tongue when Slade leans down so his mouth is right by Dick's ear. "He tried to fight me all alone on my last visit to Gotham, demanding to know where you are. I easily took him down, but he needs to be taught a lesson, don't you think?"

Slade’s last trip to Gotham was three days ago. Has Damian been here… hanging here for that long?

"Slade…" Dick whispers, shocked that his voice still exists at all. 

The hands on his biceps tighten. 

"Master-" Dick quickly corrects himself, but it doesn't fix a single thing. Stirn, unmoving hands begin to force him to walk forward until he's fully inside of the cell, able to smell the faint reek of a child's sweat, and the smudges of blood that stick to his skin. Dick clutches his fists so tightly he can feel his fingernails threaten to break skin. The closer he gets, the more wounds he can see on Damian's mostly naked body. 

Slade was careful taking him down. 

"Now here's what you're going to do," Slade growls while Damian continues to hang there. Blinded, deafened, gagged, helpless, probably completely unaware that they're in the room. He lets go of Dick's arms and walks towards Damian. He curls a hand in Damian's hair, causing the boy to tense. 

Dick wants to scream. 

 "You're going to do exactly as I say with no back talk." Slade tugs on Damian's hair, causing a muffled grunt, before he taps the pointer finger of his free hand right onto Damian's left temple. Right where the X-rays showed where the bombs were implanted. "Or else."

Dick can hardly sort his thoughts. He can barely breathe. All he can focus on is the hand in Damian's hair, watching as Slade pulls his head back so his neck is exposed, showing the beginnings of an Adam's apple that bobs nervously. 

"Master-" Dick gasps, he can't even keep his voice even. 

Slade squeezes his hand in Damian's hair, causing Damian to bend backwards even more and release short, almost panicked breaths. The sensory deprivation must not be doing any favors for him. The way his toes barely touch the ground doesn't even allow him to feel for vibrations. 

"Pick up the knife, boy." 

And something shatters in Dick's chest. "Please, Master- I'll do anything-"

"Pick up the knife!" Slade snarls, and Dick can't help a full body flinch. "If you question me one more time, I'll chain you up to watch me break him myself. Only, if I do it, I'll make sure he dies slowly, and painfully. I won't even use the bomb."

Dick wants to cry. Instead, he sucks in a breath and turns to the table, picking up the first knife he sees with shaking hands. He tells himself that he's doing this to save Damian's life. That if he does as he's told… Slade should let Damian go. 

Teach him a lesson. Teach him a lesson. 

Slade's not sending a message. He's teaching a lesson. Which means he won't be forced to kill Damian. 

Just learn how to torture him. 

"Good boy." Dick can practically hear the smile in Slade's voice as he finally lets go of Damian, backing up so the boy is left hanging in his shackles, breathing hard and definitely fighting off anxious twitches.

He holds the knife out in front of him, the light is low in the cell, but he can definitely tell how sharp the edges are. He honestly would rather plunge this knife into his own heart than put it against his kid… but Dick has a feeling Slade wouldn't let Dick go that easily. Somehow, Slade won't let Dick die here. He'll keep Dick alive, then chain him up, and force him to watch Damian gain gruesome death that he doesn't deserve. 

He's helping Damian. He's helping Damian. He's doing this to make sure he lives. That they all live. 

So he holds the knife out in front of him, approaches, and forces his face to not show how much distress he's in. His lips wobbles, and Slade definitely notices it, but he doesn't comment on it. Just chuckles.

God, Dick hates him so much.

"Put the edge against his jaw… but don't press hard enough to cut flesh," Slade says, and Dick crawls away to some corner of his mind to do exactly as he's told. Robotically. Not feeling anything. His brain is screaming. "Run it down his neck, yes just like that. Trail the tip over his chest, not cutting, but let him feel it. Let him imagine the things it can do to him. We will prove his expectations to be underdeveloped in a minute-"

And Dick does as he's told. He trails the knife over Damian's skin, forcing himself not to flinch every time Damian's breath catches. He brushes where Slade tells him to brush, threatens with a small push when Slade tells him to threaten. 

He breaks skin on Damian's back when Slade tells him to break skin. 

I'm sorry Damian, he can only scream inside his mind as digs the blade in at an awkward and extremely painful angle near Damian's collar bone. 

The kid writhes and certainly does his best to ignore the torture… but he eventually screams through the gag. 

And Dick keeps doing as he's told. The shattered pieces of his sole are now a fine, crushed dust. 

"There we go…" Slade compliments happily, when the first tear appears under Damian's blindfold. "You're doing great, apprentice."

And it doesn't stop there. And Dick keeps doing as he's told. He keeps pressing the knife. He keeps trailing it. Tearing skin. Puncturing sensitive places. Using Damian's struggles and tremors against him. 

Like a monster. 

I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry.

Eventually, Slade finally tells him to stop. Dick backs away like Damian’s fire. He watches with wide eyes as Damian sags against the chains and heaves a shaking breath that rattles his entire blood splattered chest.

“Go upstairs, shower, and go to bed,” Slade says, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. Dick can’t help it, he flinches. All he can think about is how Damian is desperately trying to get a hold of himself. Unaware that the torture is over. Unaware that it was Dick who… who… who did this. Slade doesn’t seem to care about Dick’s flinch. He just tightens his iron strong grip and leans closer to Dick’s ear. His mask is off now. Dick can tell by his familiar hot breath against his cheek and ear. “You did good, apprentice. I’m proud of you.”

“What…” Dick breaths, memorizing every line of red on Damian’s skin that he caused. Dick swallows down a mouthful of vomit that tries to rise. “What about-”

The grip on his shoulder shifts, thick fingers squeeze the base of his neck dangerously. “I said go upstairs. Shower. And Go. To. Bed. The brat is no longer your concern.”

There’s a threat in Slade’s voice. One that Dick has been conditioned to immediately obey for fear of worse punishment. Fear of a button being pressed and every single one of his siblings…

He looks at Damian for a heartbeat longer; tells himself that Slade will let Damian go. That Damian will soon be back at the manor and recovering. 

Dick nods his head then turns heel, forcing that little pit of despair to turn into something that could be mistaken as hope. He walks past all the other cells, not looking inside a single door, before he’s running up the stairs two at a time and sprinting to his room.

The moment he’s in his bedroom—a large one at that, but filled with nothing but a bed and a dresser—he beelines to his bathroom and is already stripping his clothes before he can close the door behind him. He tries to wipe his arms and hands with his shirt as he takes off his garment, but he can still see smudges of red on his skin. He turns on the water as hot as it can go then collapses by the open toilet.

He empties everything in his stomach, then continues gagging every time he smells blood on his body until steam has completely fogged up the mirror.

He flushes the toilet and steps into the scalding water, hardly even noticing how his skin burns.

All he’s aware of is the red running pink down the drain, and the drops of water on his cheeks that is definitely from the spray of the shower.

He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself.

He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to fully wash the blood from his body.

All he can do is stand there and let the practically boiling temperature of the water assist his emotional turmoil in becoming something physical.

[shesey]

Excerpts from “She came to stay” by Simone de Beauvoir | Part 1

“She exercised that power: her presence snatched things from their unconsciousness; she gave then their colour, their smell.” “She alone evoked the significance of these abandoned places, of these slumbering things. She was there and they belonged to her. The world belonged to her.” “At this moment she did not in the least regret that Pierre was not beside her: there were some joys she could not know when he was with her; all the joys of solitude.” “I’d like to think that the whole world is asleep, that at this moment you and I are the only living souls on earth.” “I feel calmer now, because I’m convinced that wherever I may go, the rest of the world will move with me. That’s what keeps me from having any regrets. Regrets for what? Said Gerbert. Having to live only in my own skin when the world is so vast.” “It amazes Elizabeth that I’m not ambitious; but that’s precisely why. I don’t want to try to cut out a special place for myself in the world. I feel that I am already in it.” “Where others only saw an impenetrable jungle, Pierre saw a virgin future which was his to shape as he chose. That was the secret of this strength.” “The truth is that I enjoy the early stages. You don’t understand that? Perhaps, said Francoise, but I would not be interested in an affaire which had no continuity.” “If they were not mentioned, it was almost as if they had not existed at all, and this allowed a shameful subterranean vegetation to grow up under the surface of true existence where she felt utterly alone and in danger of suffocation.” “How easy it was to live a full life in a world that held both the ruins at Delphi and the bare Provencal hillsides, as well as this congeries of humanity!” “Each one of these men, each one of these women present here tonight was completely absorbed in living a moment of his or her insignificant existence.” “No longer was she conscious of risk, or hope, or fear; only of this happiness over which she did not even have control.” “Imprisoned in happiness.” “After all, nothing obliged her to resume her work the very next day. It was slightly absurd to spend hour after hour here without dancing, without speaking to a soul, but if one set one’s mind to it there was a fascination to be found in this kind of self-absorption.” “But this yard, cluttered with old stage sets, had lost none of its poetry by becoming an everyday sight.” “Sexual faithfulness is perfectly ridiculous. It leads to pure slavery. I don’t understand how you can tolerate it.” “Nonsense. You’re not going to tell me that it’s never happened to you to feel desire for a man. You’re talking like all the people who won’t admit they have prejudices. They pretend they are subject to them as a matter of personal choice. But that’s just so much nonsense.” “Beautiful things are not easily created. The more precious they are, the more work they require.” “I didn’t say this work was beautiful. I know that beauty lies only in the completed work, but I find it thrilling to watch the transition from the formless to the pure and completed state.” “She only has you and she’s very fond of you. That can’t be much fun.” “Why do people always have to drag so much dead weight about with them? Look, said Pierre, time isn’t made up of a heap of little separate bits into which you can shut yourself up in turn. When you think you’re living purely in the present, you’re involving your future, whether you like it or not.” “I’m very envious of your capacity to feel things so strongly. I understand our putting a higher value on that than anything else.” “If she spoke of it to Pierre, it would become a disquieting and gripping reality instead of a fleeting mood. Thenceforth, he would have to bear it in mind even when she herself attached no importance to it.” “His heart was hidden; that hand on his sleeve could be seen by every eye in the theatre.... but for whom does it really exist, this love that exists between us? At this moment, even she did not believe in it, nothing remained of it anywhere in the whole of existence.” “I wanted to give you more than you were prepared to accept. And, if one is sincere, to give is a way of insisting on some return.” “If he was suffering, she would suffer too.” “The day when I no longer feel anything, I’m not going to look for excuses to feel.” “I admit that people should write. There’s something voluptuous about words. But only when the spirit moves you.” “This separateness hurt her cruelly, but nothing would induce her to set food on this slippery slop of the imagination at the bottom of which yawned she knew not what abyss.” “You’re sensitive and intelligent - gifts that are not everyone’s. They’re trump cards.” “She was wrong to depend so entirely on Pierre: that was a real mistake, she ought not to thrust responsibility for herself upon someone else.” “Things had barely changed during the past twenty years, the atmosphere was oppressive. Whenever Francoise came back to this flat, she felt that all those years had led absolutely nowhere: time was spread all around her in a quiet, stagnant pool. To live was to grow old, nothing more.” “By always avoiding questions of principle, she could easily come to a kind of understanding with her parents.” “She had the painful impression of being in exile. In the ordinary way, the centre of Paris was wherever she happened to be. Today, everything had changed.” “Anguish pierced her: it was not a definite pain, she would have to delve very deep into the past to unearth a similar uneasiness.” “What had happened now was that the present world was out of reach; not only was she exiled from Paris, she was exiled from the whole world. The people who were sitting on the terrace, the people who were walking in the street, were insubstantial, were shadows; the houses were nothing but painted black-clothes with no depth.” “Love was surely less simple than he thought. It was stronger than time, nevertheless it existed in time, and from instant to instant, it was the cause of misgivings, self-denial, and minor despondencies.” “And when you begin to question a decision, it’s always disturbing. Xaviere is a living question mark.” “Introspection is tiring. It’s dangerous... She would have had to re-examine everything from the beginning but that required a superhuman strength.” “Whatever you may say about life, it always seems to me to be just so many words.” “Long periods of boredom punctuated by short bursts of pleasure seemed completely natural to him.” “There was nothing anywhere to envy, or to regret, or to fear. The past, the future, love, unhappiness, were no more than a sound made with the mouth.” “How could her exact tone of voice, the scent of her room at that moment, be described? Words could bring you nearer the mystery, but without making it any less impenetrable; it only masked the heart in a more chilling shadow.” “If she now so often felt estranged from Pierre, it was because she had allowed him to progress alone down these paths of admiration and affection.” “It was a little frightening. In his tender phrases, his affectionate gestures, she saw only an intention of kindness. they were not wholly convincing, they did not register properly... could her doubting ever again be stopped?” “But these were only words; they were two separate persons... the result of her blind trust was that she suddenly found herself facing a stranger.” “But if you study her with a little sympathy you’ll perceive in all that a clumsy attempt to give a definite value to her life and to herself as a person. Even her respect for the social formulas - marriage, fame -- is still a form of this anxiety.” “Isn’t there any country where people can do as they like? No... you’re cornered.” (pg 145-146) “If I could have her to myself, I would love her. This domineering little girl, too, was nothign more than a tiny fragment of the warm, defenceless world.” “She would have to make up her mind once and for all to face up to all the changes that had taken plcae; for days and days now her thoughts had a tinger of bitterness... ‘I want to see clearly’”.

“...there were so many thoughts that she now kept to herself.” “... they must above all pay more attention to each other at every moment.” “Up to now, when she thought: We are separate, that separation was still a mutual misfortune that struck both of them, and that together they would remedy. Now she understood: to be separate was to live out teh separation alone.” “She felt that they dreaded the moment of departure, but that they found no pleasure in staying on there.”

[sparrowrider]

arachnophobia

So I finally got a request done! :D Thanks for requesting, anon + @horseyneigh2002 ! Sorry it’s so late! I had a ton of fun writing this!

Summary: Ochako is so, so screwed.

Length: 1.4k words

Warnings: spiders, minor injury, anxiety, Deku is incredibly awkward

Ochako was so, so screwed.

Her leg throbbed, but even so, she forced herself to stagger to her feet—she couldn’t let her guard down, not even for a second, or else she might become spider food. The very thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she grasped her needle tighter.

It didn’t help that she was out in the open—it was nighttime, so the chances of being discovered were pretty slim, but if the bean did happen to wake up, there was no way she would get out of this unscathed.

The spider inched closer, beady black eyes glimmering curiously. It was a behemoth, almost as big as Ochako with eight hairy legs easily as thick as pencils. She took a step backwards, one hand outstretched and ready to remove its gravitational pull, but a white-hot jet of pain shot through her leg.

Ochako stumbled backwards, hitting the ground with a painful thunk.

No, no, no, nonono…

“S-stay away!” she hissed, jabbing her needle towards the spider in hopes of deterring it.

Unfortunately, that only seemed to exacerbate its anger, and it resumed its venture at twice its normal speed.

Ochako tried to stand—she really did—but her leg gave way almost immediately, and she couldn’t help the yelp that escaped her.

Tears bubbled up in her eyes as the spider continued; it had almost reached her. A breath hitched in her throat; she couldn’t go like this. She couldn’t abandon her parents; they needed her now more than ever—there had to be something she could do, anything—

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the room, strong enough so that Ochako had to brace herself in order to prevent getting knocked away. Green lightning crackled around an enormous silhouette as it launched itself forward—towards her—and in less than a heartbeat, the spider was being batted away by a terrifyingly fast hand.

A hand that, Ochako belatedly realized, was bigger than her entire body. A hand that belonged to a human bean who was now looming directly over her.

Ochako yelped, scrambling backwards, but the burning in her leg forced her to stop. She held her needle in shaky arms as the bean leaned over her; it was the boy, the one with soft, unruly green hair and a smattering of freckles on his cheeks. His lips were parted slightly; awe and concern was reflected in his green, green eyes. If he wasn’t a giant who was probably intent on capturing or killing her, he might have been cute.

“G-get away!” Ochako forced herself to yell. Her throat tightened, but she molded her face into a determined glare, hoping it didn’t betray her complete and utter terror.

“Oh! S-sorry! I...I’m not gonna hurt you.” The human bean’s voice was surprisingly soft as it...apologized to her? Human beans weren’t supposed to be...nice, let alone apologetic.

The human cracked a nervous smile—and really, what did he have to be nervous about?—as he took a slow step backwards and gently lowered his body to the ground in a sitting position.

A moment of silence stretched out between them—Ochako had absolutely no idea how to even begin a conversation—when the bean finally broke it.

“U-um...that’s a cool quirk you’ve got there.”

Ochako bristled—how did he know her quirk? Had he seen her using it in the past? The thought chilled her to the bone—did the bean already know about her existence?

“Shrinking, right?” the bean continued, a finger pressed to his chin. “Or miniaturization…? Either way, it’s pretty—pretty versatile. I mean, the potential for its use in search-and-rescue missions…”

Oh. “You think...this isn’t my quirk.”

Wait a second, did I just say that? Why did I just say that?! Why am I talking to a human bean—

“It’s not?” The human’s expression widened. “O-oh, sorry! I just assumed...so your, um, size is just a natural thing I guess…? I have a classmate kinda like that...well, he’s not, uh, small, but he has a bird head, even though his quirk is something completely different.”

Ochako pressed a hand to her mouth to suppress a giggle. Honestly, the thought of a human with a bird’s head was kind of funny—but now was no time to get distracted. She had to figure out a way to get away.

The human smiled, encouraged by Ochako’s positive response. “S-so...if that’s not your quirk, uh...what...what is? If you have one.”

Ochako’s hands trembled as she thrust the needle forward. “I...that’s none of your business!”

“Ah!” The surprisingly high-pitched sound escaped the human, who actually leaned backwards as if threatened by her. “U-uh...sorry! Sorry, I know quirks can be a sensitive subject for some people. You don’t have to tell me or anything.”

Ochako blinked. This human bean was acting...surprisingly nice. He hadn’t even tried to grab her yet. Is it possible that I just happened to stumble across a nice bean…?

“So...uh…” The human snapped her out of her stupor as he began scrubbing a hand through his mop of green curls. “Why...I mean, if you don’t mind answering, and all...why are you in my house?” Ochako opened her mouth to snap back, but something gave her pause.

She couldn’t reveal the secrets of her race just yet, but maybe...maybe she could test the waters with this human. He had already proven somewhat friendly; and besides, if he did have a temper, she didn’t want to discover it before it became too late.

“I...I live here?”

Okay, of all the things you could have told him you had to tell him THAT?! Nice going—

“Oh!” The human blinked, a dazed look appearing in his eyes. “I-I’m so sorry—are we neighbors? I thought I knew everyone in the complex, but I guess I was wrong, heh…”

It took a moment for Ochako to register the meaning of the bean’s words, but once it clicked, she couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up inside of her.

“Uh...no, no, not like that. I live...um, well...it’s kinda hard to explain.”

“Okay.” She could see curiosity reflected in the bean’s eyes, but thankfully, he didn’t press it. “Uh...your leg...I couldn’t help but notice that, um...well, are you okay?”

She winced, rubbing the back of her neck. “Ah...I landed badly on it. But, uh, I’ll be fine soon! No need to worry.” Her expression lightened into a reassuring smile, which the bean quickly mirrored.

“Oh, o-okay! Good!”

Another moment of awkward silence followed, in which Ochako mentally smacked herself—why was she reassuring this bean? Why did she care what he thought?

“I—“ Ochako heard herself croak. Her stomach twisted as the human’s eyes widened with surprise; looking him directly in the eyes was unnerving. “I need to, um. Go. Will you…?” ...let me go? she finished silently.

The bean blinked, then nodded rapidly. “Ah—yeah, yeah, of course! Um—good luck finding your way back!” His face cracked into an awkward, but charming, smile, and he raised a hand awkwardly.

Ochako blinked, hardly able to believe her luck; it seemed the bean was prepared to let her go. All her life, her parents had impressed upon her the importance of remaining hidden, the danger beans posed—but this one...well, if she hadn’t just seen him smack a spider, she wouldn’t be able to imagine him harming so much as a fly.

Heaving a grunt, she staggered to her feet, careful to keep weight off of her hurt leg. The human’s gaze remained on her, but it didn’t feel probing like before—it felt soft. Friendly, even.

Ochako awkwardly waved, which the bean instantly returned, and she felt herself smile as she began hobbling towards the vents.

A moment later, however, she paused, turning to face the bean, who had already begun climbing back into his bed.

“Hey...um. Thank you. For saving me.”

The bean’s face softened into the brightest smile she’d ever seen at his words, viridian eyes positively sparkling in the darkness.

“It’s—it’s no problem! I hope, um...I’ll see you around?”

Ochako returned his smile with a cautious one of her own. “...yeah. Th-that would be great.”

With that, she turned, hiding her tomato-colored face as she made her way back home.

[kinsbin]

Still Yours [Xena/Darth Maul]

Title: Still Yours Pairing: Xena/Darth Maul [SI/Canon] Word Count: 3358 Rating: T [violence, cursing, angst, mentions of blood]

Summary: [SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 OF THE CLONE WARS] Years after Obi-Wan Kenobi had killed Darth Maul, Xena has been a part of the Jedi’s forces for a long while, and has only finally been able to accept the death of her loved one and previous master... Until a run in with another Zabrak proves her wrong, and she is able to reunite with Maul, however broken he may be. 

A/N: I AM EMOTIONAL OVER DARTH MAUL AND THIS FIC WAS WRITTEN BECAUSE I WANT TO BE THERE TO COMFORT HIM EVEN IN HIS MADNESS. I might write a sequel to it later but I am sleepy now so you get this for now! )b

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

He was dead. He had been for a while now.

It was a fact that Xena, eventually, had to find herself accepting.

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had been gracious in their received of her, of course, but she knew they were weary. She could sense it in the lingering threads of their force when she poked and prodded at it as carefully as she could manage, like a researcher examining a wild beast up close. Sedated as it was, she knew it was still volatile. Still shaky at best as the two claimed her Force Sensitivity in favor of the Jedi who hoped that, one day, she might be ready for the training it took to fully embrace the sight of the light.

It made her laugh. Light... Dark... Neither of those things mattered in the end, did they? Her neutrality could not be removed from her sense of emotion that was for certain, but, Obi-Wan certainly took it upon himself to try at a near constant rate. It bordered on near annoyance each time the two of them found one another alone in their company. 

He could, without a doubt, sense the vaguest harboring of hatred deep in Xena’s heart for what he had done to the man that she loved so many years ago, but, there was only in the present a sense of... acceptance. Of moving on as he might want her to and a particularly deep talk with Kenobi after having a few too many glasses of alcohol at a local bar they had stopped at for information ended with her confessing just that to him. Granted there were a lot more tears and throwing up in the morning, but the point was gotten across as the Jedi Master brought her pain killers the next day alongside a glass of water and a nod of appreciation for their heart to heart.

How annoying, Xena thought, but she had accepted the water anyways.

Just as she had accepted that there was no more Maul. 

It still hurt. Just because she had accepted it didn’t mean that it hurt any less to think of it for too long, just as she was doing as Anakin finally brought the edges of their ship to a safe landing along the edge of a diner she couldn’t recognize the name of. Ahsoka complained somewhere in her peripheral as Anakin declared himself tired of army rations and hurried to get out of the cramped machine, only to find them surrounded with sirens going off in soft, hurried motions as they meandered accordingly to protocol. Xena sat up, suddenly aware of the situation, and her mouth dried for a brief moment in a combination of annoyance and fear.

“Xena,” Anakin’s voice was in that dark tone he always used when he ordered her around, “Stay out here with the ship. See what information you can gather form those passing by, maybe they saw someone leaving.’

She didn’t answer with words, only a nod as he and Ahsoka entered the diner without her. As the door closed she gazed around, the sweeping of her stare intense through the frames of her glasses as she observed the world around her as she was good at doing. She had been good at doing it before she was involved in all of this ‘Jedi’ and ‘Sith’ business. Before she had met Maul and before she had flown off of the planet of Tatooine. She was still good at it now. When the Clone Wars Ended and the galaxy fell apart, she would STILL be good at it.

Which was why, when her sharp eyes and ears picked up the sound of footsteps all too fast to be a casual movement, her head snapped to the side and her eyes narrowed into slivers at the sight of an alleyway. 

The cargo within it was still being moved as it shifted and pushed against itself in heavy metal crates. When she found herself sliding between each squared off pile, her gaze held fast to the dust that coated each one. She took note of the way it was blown, windswept, across the fronts and how some of them (only some) had small markings. Divots of where fingers had dipped and rubbed before passing by with extreme haste. She was no tracker, certainly, but you didn’t need a lot of experience to tell that whoever was moving was doing so with a desperately needed speed. 

She followed, more and more, until she came upon it. A massive cargo ship, pulling its fresh haul as the doors had begun to close on its loading dock. A sudden sharpness tugged in her heart, making her gasp as it squeezed around the organ with a desperate, snake-like movement before tugging and tugging and TUGGING as hard as it possibly could against her skin and her body moved without her permission, running fast and calling upon the force she did possess to jump just quick enough to squeeze tightly into one of the edges of the closing platform on the cargo bay, cementing her fate inside the hold for... well... whatever it may offer her.

The inside was quiet save for the cursed mutterings of something in the cockpit. The pilot, likely, and her heart skipped a beat as she realized just where she was.

Just what she was doing.

Without Ahsoka and Anakin.

Oh she was going to be in so much trouble.

The thought had to wait, however, as she ducked herself as quietly as she could through the sliding door and closed it with equal speed, keeping herself low to the ground behind a small out cove in the wall as she listened with careful patience in her hiding spot, stopping her breathing in the fear that it might alert the massive being before her as he stood, hulking and serious, alongside the annoyed pilot. 

He was big. Golden even in the light of the cockpit and the markings upon his body were so distinctly Darthomirian in nature that she barely even needed to look up at the horns crowning his head to know that that was exactly what he was. A Zabrak. A Night Brother. 

She frowned as her brow furrowed with confusion. What was a Night Brother doing so far out in the galaxy and alone at that? Maul had talked little of his origins with her, but, he had said enough for her to understand the basic matriarchal society that the brothers lived in. Biting her lip, the tug on her heart echoed again. This time, however, it was stronger. Angrier. Something more fierce than she had experienced in a very long time and, oh, the burn was something so nostalgic that it almost made her want to cry as she covered her mouth with a hand to stop the echoing sob. 

“Soon, Brother, I will find you.” The Zabrak finally spoke, his voice deep and his words causing a spur in her heart. A hope that pushed her up as her eyes widened.

“Brother? Who is your brother?”

The Zabrak turned, anger in his eyes, and Xena paled as he pushed towards her without hesitation. In return she ducked, her smaller stature helpful against his larger one as she rolled off to the side, causing the pilot to jostle himself slightly with a curse that fell from his lips. She sidestepped the next touch too and tried her best to gaze at the strange medallion that hung from her attacker’s neck. So soft it was... and yet her heart continued to pull at it with a frantic sort of desperation...

The hand closing on her neck, crushing her windpipe with an angry grip, was enough to draw her from her stupor and she gasped for breath. She gazed down at the Zabrak with fear meeting his fearsome stare. He hesitated only when the device around his neck began to glow in and out of existence with a frantic, pulsating movement, as if trying to get his attention. Looking down at it, his brow furrowed in confusion before he held it in one palm to hold it up curiously to her form. Once close enough to her, the device let off a long... steady glow.

Immediately the being put her down, letting her gasp for air as he glared at her with a confusion written so clearly across his face she might have laughed at it if her windpipe wasn’t moderatley bruised.

“You,” He growled as his hand found the top of her head and tugged hard on her skull, her hair cut too short to provide any leverage with his claws so he simply HELD, “You are not who I’m looking for and yet... It reacts to you. Why?”

“Maul,” the first words fell from her lips in a choked desperation, “I-Is the Brother you’re looking for... Is it Maul?”

His gaze held disbelief. The demand of how she could have possibly known that clear on her eyes as she swallowed hard:

“I... Was his apprentice, once... And I still am loyal to him. So, please... Please take me with you if you’re going to find him. That’s all I ask.”

“Make your decision quick,” The pilot hissed as he lowered them into a suddenly unfamiliar planet, “We’re arriving.”

The Zabrak looked down at her, distrust still in his eyes but with the begrudgingly slow acceptance of her status in the situation. Xena took a breath, flexing and laxing her hands as she chewed on her lip and decided, one last time, to put a foot forward in hopes of being brought along on this journey that she prayed would give her life meaning once again:

“My name is Xena.”

“... Savage,” He answered with an accepting nod, “Let’s go, then.”

And her heart nearly wept.

Because this meant he wasn’t dead at all.

----

It was how Xena had ended up with Savage beneath the ground of Lotho Minor, the calls of her companion echoing with chilling distance across the deep, endless caves they had found themselves within. 

Every movement filled her body with anxiety. With a unique sense of dread that echoed itself so deeply in her veins that she could feel her hairs stand up from their follicles to the tip with every movement she forced herself into. Keen red eyes traced the world around them, but not even her sight could pierce that impending darkness that swallowed them. Savage, as if sensing her insecurity, paused in movements only to reach out and touch at her shoulder, gently guiding her to a small pile of rocks just before a step in the path they were taking.

“Stay here, Little One,” The nickname hurt even from another Zabrak’s lips, “I will go ahead.”

“I can take care of myself.” Her snap was defensive as she pushed against his grip, but it held firm as he watched her with something akin to frustration and protection in his eyes. She wondered if that was just an emotion she had evoked in the species, and the muse was hilarious enough to bring a smirk to her lips at the idea of any male Zabrak filled with the sudden urge to guard her in one way or another.

And then the attack happened all at once.

The creature flew from the shadows with a force she could not have expected from its massive body. Agile limbs like that of a spider’s ripped forward to snatch Savage from her side and drag him into a fight, the echoes of screams and broken laughs piercing against rusted metal and the smell of loose soil. 

Xena froze as she watched the struggle, her body shaking in terror as she watched Savage fight the being. The tug on her heart and her mind was now giving her a headache as it bit its teeth into her skin. Into her blood and very heart as though it were trying to rip it straight from her chest. Her limbs shook as her breath picked up and that medallion around his neck glowed, glowed GLOWED with every tug until-

His face was revealed, worn with hunger and madness as his eyes were filled with nothing but the dark. When Savage spoke, he fled, backwards into the cave with screams that ached on her ears and nonsensical blabbering that signaled just how far he had fallen. 

Oh hear heart tugged.

And oh her heart hurt.

Savage moved forward, as if to say something, but was stopped as Xena pulled herself from the shadows. He cursed something under his breath as he opened his mouth to fully warn her of her movements, but a hand upwards silenced him as she shot him a careful look. A desperate one that seemed to mimic how the tug on her heart felt. When he closed his lips, her hand fell to her side and she continued forward. Towards the web of broken shards and metals and the being that clung to it with shaking, clawing hands as he whimpered and writhed.

She was in front of him now, his taught body the same one she had loved years ago and, oh, still did. Even as the edges of starvation made his ribs shine through his dehydrated skin, the marks were the same. He was still the same.

Reaching out, her hand found his face and he froze, eyes widening in shock at the sudden close contact. She could feel his entire body trembling. Shaking like a leaf in the wind as she drew circles in patterns with her thumb and bit her lip, tilting her head to one side to examine him. His hands had, eventually, fallen to the side. They hung limply with the rest of his arms and he simply stood there, in front of her, with wide eyes that gazed into her own. She simply held his face there, close to hers...

And she smiled, weakly, but a smile.

“Maul...” She whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion, “... What did they do to you?”

He tried to form words but found nothing in them, his quiet clicking and murmurs nothing in her ears as she simply focused on his being. On his existence as the two of them stood like that. Slowly, then, a hand rose up. Reaching out to her own, he held it. His palm was cold and clammy, weak and dirtied with the ground he had been living in for... For so, so long. Too long. Her heart ached again and, this time, she felt the pull of it forward to connect with his own. Invisible threads entwined to create a whole circuitry again and, for the first time in years, she felt something close to alive.

“... Little One?” He spoke with disbelief in his tone as her nickname, gentle and unsure, fell from between his shaking mouth. She laughed then, tears in her eyes as she nodded her conformation and leaned forward.

Pressing their foreheads together brought with it the rough scrape of horn to soft flesh but she didn’t care. All she cared about now was the man in front of her, broken but alive and still there as he pressed his forehead back and something of a sob ripped from his lips, shaking and weak with appreciation for the presence of something that made him feel so complete again. He repeated her nickname over and over again. A chorus of ‘Little One’ echoed against the edges of the chambers and she didn’t dare to move herself away from him as he embraced her close.

“I’m here, love,” She gasped as tears flowed freely from her eyes, “I’m here, I’m back. I promise. I absolutely promise that I’m here.”

She only pulled away when Savage cleared his throat. The two gazed up with sharp eyes at the additional presence they had all but forgotten about.

“It’s time we leave this place,” Savage’s voice was unsure of his presence in the situation, “Unless you two are happy living here.”

Xena couldn’t stop the laugh before she turned back to Maul. Reaching out, she took his hand in her own and squeezed with a careful, reassuring grip that made him startle but focus back on her as he watched her with those angry, deep eyes.

“It’s time to go, Master Maul,” She shuddered at the use of his name on her tongue, “Will you go with us now?”

To her relief, he nodded. 

----

Maul clung to her the whole ride back. His arms wrapped tightly around her form and tugging her close to his body as he nuzzled into her and she kissed at his messy face with a smile to her lips, laughing at the way his spidered limbs tickled her sides as they tried to grab and pull. To cling and absorb her into his entire form as he whispered gentle phrases of ‘mine’ and ‘little one’ in a slow chant as if to himself.

Savage’s presence wasn’t welcome to say the least. Each time he checked on the both of them. Maul would pull her closer, curling around her form like an animal as he bared his teeth with a frustrated hiss deep in his stomach. Xena could only watch with an apologetic look at their traveling companion, who was growing ever-so irritated by the feral behavior of his supposed Brother. Xena could only offer small comforts as Maul slowly released his hold on her in favor of allowing her arm up to his horns to touch and massage at their bases. It urned a lull of his head against her shoulder as he hummed. 

“Maybe don’t come back until we’ve landed,” Xena mused apologetically, “He’s... territorial right now.”

“He’s not an animal.”

“At this point in his psyche? He might as well be,” Xena smiled sadly, “They broke him down so much there... Can your Mother Talzin really repair him? Make him what he was?”

“She can do it,” There was no hesitation in Savage’s voice as he nodded fiercely, “I... Will leave you two alone, then... Do you... Are you sure you’re-”

“I’m fine,” She whispered the gentle tutt as Maul’s teeth grazed her neck and then he went on to nuzzle at her again, making her reach up to continue the strokes of his horns she had offered him before. An eye cracked open and narrowed at Savage for a long, dangerous sort of moment as he pulled her close to him again and scuttled away into the darkest corner of the cargo freight he was able to locate, making Xena stifle a giggle as she watched Savage roll his eyes and give up, exiting the room for the final time until they were landed.

“Mine,” Maul cooed again, pained and choked as he let his hand reach out to touch her face, thumb petting her cheek as he admired her with almost despair-ridden eyes, “Lost... you were lost so many moons ago... So many there’s no way to count now it’s all gone and... You still pull at me. You still tug at me and are still mine. Still mine...”

Xena felt her smile grow on her lips, sad as it was, and she leaned into his touch. She kissed the palm of his hand and nuzzled at his grip until he brought her close and the two of them pressed their foreheads together once again in the darkness of the spaceship they hid away in. 

It was then she kissed him. It was long and soft and careful, willing herself not to push him. Not to break him more than he was as they shared their momentary quiet in reunion and his hands held her closer with a surprised shudder at the closeness of another being after so many years. When they pulled away, she kept her head close. She kept herself near because, gods, she was not going to leave him anytime soon. Not when he was alive. Not when he was HERE. 

“Yes,” Xena whispered that promise in the form of her tone as she hugged him close:

“Still yours.”

[mcrmadness]

I really shouldn’t do this. Just thinking about people who are no longer a part of my life either because they decided to stop talking to me or because I decided it was better to part ways. And it’s making me sad and I hate it. Mainly because I’m again starting to feel invisible and lonely and apparently I then tend to torture myself even more by making me go and do things that I then associate with these people.

But I also hate it how I feel like I don’t have a normal concept of human relation(ship)s at all. Sometimes I wonder if I have played just too much The Sims games in my life (I started when I was 9 so I have played these games for 20 years) because I feel like the way I see the relationships is exactly how it is in the sims games. Don’t interact in a while and soon you get a message “you are no longer friends with X”. That’s literally how I feel friendships in my head. I feel like whenever there’s a long pause, that will mean that the friendship will be automatically reset back to 0 by time. Whenever there’s something we both like and have in common, it’s immediate green plus marks on the friendship and a positive moodlet. When we disagree or don’t have something in common, it will give red minus marks. And maintaining relationships feels as difficult as it is in the sims games too - tell them the same thing twice and it will be minus points. Tell them a thing they don’t like and it’s minus points, if you’re too close to 50%, maybe it drops from friends to acquintances. If you tell a succesful joke, you’re friends again. And right now I’m feeling like I’m “losing” all my friends because there’s been too huge pause with everyone and I feel sad about anything I associate with them because I feel like a friendship is over even when no one has said anything like that. It’s all in my head and it’s like a delusion because the second someone talks to me again, I forget ever even having such feels. But when the next pause comes, I again start to prepare myself for the moment where I’m left alone and never talked to again. Maybe I just have had this kind of situations so often in my life that I’m already preparing myself for that moment so that it won’t be that big of a shock when it happens.

I know it’s not healthy and it’s not RIGHT towards my friends to constantly be like this but can I change? Is there anything I could do to change this? I don’t always even recognize when I’m doing this, only lately I have woken up to this and it makes me feel bad because, like that one post I made several weeks ago, I’m really concerned that am I one of those unstable friends that will drive everyone around them into exhaustion eventually. Are people getting out of my life only to protect themselves? I feel like I’m always just too much to everyone and that I’m left alone in the end because I’m the only one who cannot escape me. I have to live with my brains and listen to all the shit it comes up. I’d love to cancel myself too if I could, but I can’t.

When my depersonalization/derealization was at its worst, I acually felt like I was invisible. Some days I was legit wondering if I was even alive. I was wondering if I was a ghost or idk, in a coma but just had no clue. I felt like people did not see me anywhere, I still can remember being to a grocery store and almost being run over by someone with a shopping cart and so many people almost walked against me and I just remember that moment so well as I got really frustrated and I was almost certain that I must be invisible, how else would people almost run over me with a shopping cart and they did not even look at me, as if I was not even there! Some days I thought maybe my minor car crash in 2010 put me into coma (yeah, Life On Mars uk much???) because I haven’t felt like the time would have passed AT ALL since that. I still feel like I’d be 19 and I’m supposed to be 29. Like, HOW???

And now I’m starting to have that feel of being invisible again. I have a nice amount of followers on Tumblr and this is something that I don’t really want to address at all because I appreciate every single one there and I could not care less about the number itself. But I’m starting to feel like... how could I gain more followers who would be interested in my stuff too? Like, I feel like talking to walls here. I bet no one is reading this post either. I so often feel like venting and writing down my thoughts but then I feel like there’s no point in that because I could as well write in a diary, which I hate, because as many people are going to read these as there’s people who can read my diary. Aka none. Not even me. I don’t like reading my diary and usually I also do not come back to these posts I put in Tumblr. Sometimes I browse my posts and am like “wtf have I been writing???” but I guess that’s the main point too, just to get it out of my system and I don’t need them back, mainly because they never really leave, they just evolve into new stuff I will vent here sooner or later too.

I am an attention whore who is afraid of being the center of attention. Sure if I tagged my posts more I might get more people to find me but I’m also afraid of being found or that my personal posts get reblogged. I don’t really want these to be on anyone’s dash except when it’s my original post. My social anxiety is afraid of notes and my HSP is afraid of the reactions I might get because of notes. But whenever I do something that I wish would get notes, I get none. And every time that happens, my perfectionism feels violated and I feel like a failure and that I suck at everything ever. Sometimes I am even shocked by the fact I post something like this and then suddenly remember that I have no idea how many people out these even is seeing these on their dash. What do they think? Do they see these and be like “oh god again that pathetic creature is whining some shit *eyeroll*” or do they just skip because idc.

I have so many times in my life felt like I am less than everyone else. It’s because when I was 13, my best friend turned out to be a narcissist (if that is possible for a 13-years-old) and we stopped being friends and eventually I made everyone else mad at me too and was alone, lonely and hated by everyone for a couple of years and your teens is the worst time for that to happen. I still don’t know if I was the villain or those girls. So I start feeling like a failure and worse than everyone very easily. AT some point I tried to get attention with my art but I didn’t succeed and I always felt like a failure then. “I should be better at arts, maybe I’d then be seen and approved.” During my worst time I actually thought I was relating to Garfield’ Jon so much and I legit thought I exist in this world only so that everyone else can feel a little bit better about themselves because there’s always at least one person who is worse than them. I literally felt like the meaning of my life was to make others feel better just because of how much of a loser I am. That’s why I feel sad when I see people getting asks all the time. I’m not really jealous or angry, I’m just sad because it just makes me remember how useless I am and how boring my life is and how bring absolutely nothing to this world and how... just invisible I am. I bet all ask posts have been on people’s dashes but no one just find me interesting enough to send questions. But I can’t blame them, because would I send myself asks if I was someone else and saw me on their dash? No. (Well, soon I will if no one else does, let’s see how out of my mind I will look for other people then lol.) I’d probably just unfollow my user because of what a pain in the ass I really am after all.

So whatever, a long post and useless blabber and just letting out some steam. I’ll go to watch some TV now and try to get over this. I’m also feeling like I hate Tumblr, I don’t want to come here to be disappointed because no one wants to know anything about me but I also can’t keep myself away from here because I want to know if I’ve got any asks because that would be some interesting stuff to do for my brains. So it’s like I have my hopes high only to be crushed in a minute and I keep doing this cycle every 5 minutes because I can’t decide if I should be a pessimist or an optimist.

Gosh, am I being selfish or what? I hate being selfish and I hate selfish people. But why am I still constantly talking about myself? Hypocrite much??? I wish I could unfollow the “blog” in my brains.

[citrineghost]

Can we stop romanticizing caffeine addiction?

I’m not saying people shouldn’t enjoy coffee. By all means. But, can we stop normalizing the reliance on caffeine to get by day to day? Can we stop pressuring other people to use caffeine to get by? I feel like this is something that has slowly become pervasive in, at least, American society.

I have a lot of important stuff to say on this, but I want it to be clear that it’s mostly observation and based on things I’ve heard with no source. I skimmed some articles for this to check if I was off-base, but most of them were about chemical effects, rather than social effects. If you follow me, you know I tend to have a lot of opinions about sociological matters, and that’s what this is. I don’t have a degree. I’m not a chemist or a doctor. Take what you read with a grain of salt. If anyone has further information or sources on these topics, I highly encourage you to reblog and share them, both for my own research and for others’ education.

Before reading, please consider taking this survey I made to further study how people consume caffeine. Every response helps! If I get enough survey responses, I’ll create an addition to this post with a breakdown of the information I’ve gathered.

Analysis under the cut

It’s treated almost like how young people treat alcohol.

You’ll see teenagers and college students who go out drinking every day they don’t have school the next morning, take shots on weekdays, and drink alcohol from water bottles when they’re stressed. As long as they’re not drunk 100% of the time - as long as they aren’t a 40 year old surrounded by empty beer bottles and a stack of divorce papers, they can’t be an alcoholic, right? While a lot of people might grow out of their abuse of alcohol, all of those teens and college students who don’t end up growing into those miserable middle-aged people that they felt so separate from - so superior to - as young adults.

The same way alcohol is treated as a solution to stress, caffeine is treated like a solution to fatigue. Again, I am NOT saying that drinking some coffee when you’re a bit tired is some kind of moral dilemma. What I am saying is that, while it doesn’t have the same effects as alcohol, caffeine is an active substance that affects how your body functions. It increases your heart rate. It makes you feel more alert. It is a stimulant.

To get an idea of how caffeine affects the body and mind, consider for a moment that people with ADHD frequently self medicate with caffeine without realizing that’s what they’re doing. The stimulant effects of caffeine do very similar things to what amphetamines do. For someone with ADHD, this can be helpful in focusing. Ask someone with ADHD if caffeine energizes them and many will tell you that it actually feels calming. I know, as a teen, coffee was a before bed treat for me. That’s because, with ADHD, the brain is understimulated and overcompensating for it. By stimulating it, it stops working overdrive and chills out because it’s getting the stimulation it should be producing by itself.

However, when non-ADHD people drink caffeine, it amps them up. It gives them energy and they become chemically dependent on it - i.e. addicted to it. You can see evidence of caffeine addiction by stopping drinking it. If you drink coffee every single day, try going without it for a week. You’ll probably start getting aching, throbbing headaches.

Don’t forget that caffeine is an addictive substance, even if it’s normalized.

“Oh, it’s just a caffeine headache. That’s normal.”

Caffeine headache. Do you know what that is? That’s the normalized term for withdrawal from caffeine. As in, the kind of withdrawals someone with a chemical addiction has.

Most things can be used safely in moderation. That’s the exact reason amphetamines, like Adderall, are safe to use in controlled doses, but methamphetamine is dangerous and becomes immediately addictive. For that reason, drinking caffeine and reaping the benefits of its stimulative properties can be fine if you’re doing so every few days to pick up some slack from a late night or to keep you alert during a roadtrip. However, when you get to a point of using caffeine every single day, or multiple times a day, you are reaching a point of abusing it.

Obviously, abusing caffeine is not the same as abusing something like alcohol or hard drugs. However, it does have negative impacts on the body and psyche. For one thing, your addiction to caffeine makes you dependent on it. Instead of being able to wake up and shake off a little bit of tiredness in the morning, you suddenly feel sluggish consistently until you ‘have your morning coffee.’ Your body has become so accustomed to having its stimulation delivered to it out of a mug that it has stopped doing the work to keep you awake on its own.

Your morning coffee turns into morning coffee, lunch break coffee, Starbucks on the way home, and an extra shot on days where you’re feeling a little extra tired. Again, this isn’t about shaming people for liking coffee. Coffee tastes great. Starbucks is delicious. 

The point I’m trying to make is, are you consciously aware of what you’re doing to your body and mind? If you are, it’s your decision to make. But, I know there are doubtlessly countless people - teens especially - who copy mom and dad, buy coffee for the taste and don’t think about the caffeine contents, or rely on energy drinks to get through finals. For those who haven’t really thought about the extent of the effects of caffeine, I want to provide an opportunity to realize that it might not be just a fun, cool thing. It might actually be doing you harm.

How does caffeine cause someone harm?

When I say that caffeine can end up causing you harm, I don’t mean it’s going to cause liver failure or something. I mean that the way we have normalized caffeine addiction is inherently unhealthy. The way it has become something a large percentage of people have, rather than those who might genuinely need the assistance of caffeine and find the minor addiction worth it, is not okay.

Caffeine addiction causes harm by slowly reducing a person’s ability to sleep, long-term. There are some studies that suggest people with caffeine addiction can develop an inability to get the sleep they need over time. This may be caused by waking up too soon due to the body’s craving of caffeine or it can be caused by difficulty falling asleep from the residual caffeine effects.

Caffeine addiction causes harm by creating a disruptive habit. Consider: do you feel good about the fact that you can’t function without caffeine? Do you get frustrated by the fact that you have to spend money on your lunch break to top up or risk crashing in the middle of work or class? The fact is, the average person doesn’t need to rely on caffeine every morning - they have only grown to rely on it due to a routine that became an addiction.

Caffeine addiction causes harm by amplifying certain medication side effects, which makes getting a proper medication dosage impossible without the side effects taking over. This is true of stimulants, like those used to treat ADHD, among other things. Rapid heart rate, anxiety, and psychosis can be developed or amplified when taking both stimulants and overdoing it with caffeine.

Caffeine addiction causes harm by amplifying existing conditions, such as anxiety, psychosis, insomnia, and so on. If you have any symptoms of mental illness, you are likely making them more pronounced by drinking caffeine.

Caffeine addiction causes harm by permeating social environments. Back to what I said above about people treating caffeine the way young people do alcohol. There is a massive amount of peer pressure surrounding caffeine. And no, I don’t mean coffee in general, I mean caffeine itself. 

People (in the US, specifically - idk about everywhere else) will mock people who don’t like coffee. 

Teens form brand loyalty to energy drink companies and pressure friends into drinking the same things as them. 

If you don’t drink coffee every morning, people act like you’re not really a working adult. There is something about coffee and caffeine that has become synonymous with maturity in our culture.

If you like coffee, but you opt for decaf or half-caf, people treat you like you’re pretentious, childish, or weak in some way, even if you do it for reasons other than an aversion to caffeine dependency. (like medical reasons)

If you go to a coffee shop with friends and order tea or something else uncaffeinated, you may become the butt of jokes. (“What’s the point of going to a coffee shop if you’re drinking hot chocolate?” /scoff/)

Teens are pressured by peers to drink coffee in the morning just like adults do. If your parents don’t let you drink coffee, or you just choose not to, your classmates think you’re lame for it, or some kind of goody goody.

The parallels to alcohol use are startling. Reread that list and imagine it’s talking about alcohol. Every bulletpoint in the list can be translated perfectly.

This social stigma around caffeine and the choice not to consume it is harmful to a person’s psyche and can lead to caffeine dependency that otherwise would not have developed.

And the ultimate question: Why do we feel the need to become caffeine dependent?

Is it all peer pressure and the joy of a hot cup of coffee? I don’t think so. If we take a look at the bigger picture, like most things, it can be blamed on living in a capitalistic society. Caffeine consumption is largely caused by the desperation to rid yourself of exhaustion - to give yourself an energy boost. 

Why do we need to do that so much that we form an addiction and become reliant on caffeine? It’s simple: we are overworked, pushed too hard in school, and are forced to take on a fast-paced, stressful schedule just to keep on top of bills. Coffee becomes one of the only reprieves from a life of fatigue and burnout. If we don’t have the energy to spend three hours on that paper, we fail out of college and lose out on thousands of dollars in student loans - lose out on the opportunity to get a job that will pay enough to live on. If we don’t show up to work with a smile and a spring in our step, we get fired for not representing the company positively enough. 

We aren’t allowed to be tired. We aren’t allowed to rest. It drives us to self-medicate with caffeine so that while we’re working ourselves into an early grave, we can at least ignore the exhaustion that comes alongside it.

The takeaway: Are you actually happy with how you consume caffeine?

Take a moment to ask yourself, do you drink caffeine because you need to to sustain your lifestyle (working night shifts, traveling long hours very frequently, etc.), or do you drink it because you started and you don’t know how to stop? If the answer is that you like the taste of the drinks or you’re not really sure, it’s time to consider healthier-for-you alternatives. You can:

Drink decaf coffee, decaf teas, decaf sodas, and replace energy drinks with something else carbonated that isn’t based around caffeine consumption

Give yourself a withdrawal break for a couple months to allow your body to get back to normal and then limit caffeine consumption to once every few days or less

Find other drink alternatives that don’t generally have caffeine to begin with

If you’re drinking caffeine to survive the type of life you’re forced to live under late stage capitalism, it might be time to start pushing back so that you can remain energized and happy without having to resort to self-medicating. We shouldn’t have to do that. We should be able to live happy lives without caffeine.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!).

I have no idea what I'm doing and I must scream about my friend's OTP

*bangs pots together* I HEARD THIS FANDOM NEEDED MORE SICKFIC SO I CAME HERE TO PROVIDE With angst too! It's simple, even simplistic to a fault in fact, but I'm kind of happy with it? The beginning especially, man I love writing the literal equivalent of suffering. The ending may be a letdown, but I hope it's decent anyway.

also yeah can we all stan my good pal @chess-of-flowering-kingdom's writing in the chat because she's much better than me at this FE3H thing, she’s like an icon or something in this fandom

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Thanatophobia

Summary: [thanatophobia: noun. Literally, “fear of death”; a feeling of dread, anxiety or sollicitude when thinking of or faced by death or the process of dying. Derivated fromthe Ancient Greek "θάνατος", death, and "φόβος", fear or anxiety.] Ingrid almost loses someone again. 

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (post-timeskip) Ships: Ingrid/Sylvain (pre-relationship)

Wordcount: 2.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

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Her vision was blurry from the water flooding in her eyes, her hearing by the sobs she was trying to keep inside, her thoughts from the swirling concerns and confusion hitting it at once. Her head ached, so did her heart, and her stomach was hardly able to keep up with the nauseating worry she was finding herself to be the victim of.

Yet, and it only hurt further to admit it, even the best training in the world couldn’t have prevented this, so all she could do was not let herself get eaten away by her sorrow, as looking like a mourning widow would do nothing to improve the absolutely abhorrent situation that was unfolding right before her helpless eyes.

 It wasn’t like it was her fault, she knew that. She couldn’t have prevented it even if she had tried her hardest: in a way, this was bound to happen, but that train of thought only made it worse. What, was she supposed to just stay here and do nothing because this was always going to end in some tragedy one way or the other? Was she supposed to believe there was fate above all of their heads menacingly staring at them and waiting for the first opportunity to cause them misery to happen?

As it stood, Ingrid hated being unable to do anything, always wanted to do something and be of some use whenever things turned sour; yet reality was forcing itself on her, itself and its terrible sides and toll. It was telling her that no matter what she did, no matter what she was trying to do, no matter where she went, no matter how or why, it was a superior face on her soul bound to its realm by her flesh and blood.

If reality wanted to pain her again and make someone die on her for a second time, it could, and it wanted very desperately to show her this without any possible contestation on her part.

 Perhaps it hurt her even more to know this would eventually happen, no matter what she said or did. Ingrid had always watched over Sylvain ever since they had known each other, had gotten to know every side of his personality to the point she could predict every single thing he was about to go through with. He was a free spirit, someone who took his life lightly, a true skirt-chaser, someone who listened to her and stared into her eyes without ever considering if her words could have an impact on his life.

Ingrid had always found him to take his existence too much on the light side of things, and Glenn’s demise had only enforced his feeling, but she could only confirm that to a whole new extent she had never wished to behold today.

 They were fighting alongside on the battlefield, the two of them, against the enemy forces. She was the prideful knight, he was the free-thinking monk, and they worked better than she’d have expected coming him and his seemingly lack of seriousness about anything that involved life-or-death stakes. Both on the battlefield, sharing a portion of land as decided by their strategist, weapons out and senses sharp, focus undefeatable as she defeated her foes one by one on her fierce mount.

At least, it was in her case, because Ingrid couldn’t stop spotting in the corner of her how sloppy her battle partner was. Usually, and that was one of the qualities she could give him, he was more than competent when fighting, He’d usually slipped in a couple teases and flirtatious lines of banter between two battles, yet all she heard are pants and wheezes coming from his side, her moves slow and unprecise, the absolute opposite of what a warrior was supposed to be standing for in her eyes.

 But the battle was raging on, so she ignored it at first and just made it out to be a minor thing. Must have been because he had been chasing skirts all night again, without thinking of tomorrow’s battle (even if that seemed too easy of an explanation). It was a day like any other, even if the taste of blood wasn’t as strong as it’d have usually been. Nothing wrong to report on, truly, or so she thought (or tried convincing herself of? It wasn’t clear, not even in the heat of the moment where lucidity of the mind was key). And, in her point of view, it all looked fine and usual until she noticed she was alone killing off the last of the enemy’s forces.

As it stood, meddling with the dried leaves of the early autumn metamorphosis, crimson poking out from the light browns and oranges, was the unconscious body of a childhood friend.

 The assault had stopped for them, in the far-end part of the battlefield; yet the feeling of dread wetting her back in cold sweats didn’t give in, nourishing itself from the misery plaguing her mind. Ingrid got off her mount, her stallion’s reins firmly enclosed between her fingers, approaching the suddenly shapeless form of who could have only been Sylvain if she squinted enough with heavy steps and a heavier breath.

She slowly crouched, feet trying to avoid stepping on the leftovers of the battle, until her available hand could touch him, the other gripping harder on the reins as soon she realized what was wrong. A clump formed in her throat, her stomach twirled, she felt like she was about to get sick from the sudden rush of worry nausea taking a hold of her system like a demon possessing her body. Without uttering a word, she put him on his back, finally able to see his dirtied face and harsh breathing, skin paler than the corpses around them, red splattered across his cheeks like blood on a soldier’s attire.

 Ingrid didn’t waste words trying to wake him up, but her hands burned when she let go of the rein to put him on her mount and escort him back to safety, back to their base while she walked, in silent, with a troubling vision and sobs threatening to exit her chest if she wasn’t careful to them even for a moment. Her feet crushing the dirt and leaves, three breathes of different intensities and faraway cries were the only things she accepted hearing for the time being, careful that none of these breathings stopped all of a sudden and forever.

She was sniffling worry in. This was happening, under her eyes, and she couldn’t do anything about it. She was no healer, no priestess of any kind. She didn’t know how to beg a deity for someone’s wellbeing, all she knew was fighting and court codes, in the end. Despite the toll of the battle on the enemy’s forces and her army’s victory, her heart couldn’t scream any cry of war, couldn’t sing a hymn, because it was busy crying while her mind was busy not to let herself do the same.

 And, in this time of great mental distress, sorrowful Ingrid realized something: for the first time in her life, no matter what had happened before since they had been children, no matter what she could say or even think of uttering, she couldn’t do anything for Sylvain.

 The rest of things was a blur from then on. She brought her horse back to the base, couldn’t explain what had happened aside from the idea that he had collapsed while she was looking elsewhere to fend against the enemy, and watched events unfold while her hands went unoccupied and her legs restless. Her entire body turned into lead jelly, stiff like metal yet tender from her weaknesses striking at once. Healers tried their best, but only words of apology came out from them: they had spells for injuries, not illnesses, and they were as helpless as she was.

When she was invited to see him after a more formal exam, shortly before the battle ended with her army’s flawless and stainless victory, Ingrid turned down the offer. She wasn’t ready to face the situation, not at first at last, and went for a walk outside instead to calm down the nausea and stop her thoughts from becoming a tornado inside her skull.

 The air had gone cold since the battle had ended, the warmth of her companions and blood pouring on the floor having given stead to night’s silence and comfortable judgement. Nobody could see her now, all inside either celebrating or getting concerned, maybe both; but even her hunger had gone missing, buried under the thick layers of concern she kept putting on because of her own uselessness.

Her hands rubbed against her arms, her breath emitted clear smoke against the black backdrop of the night embracing her, her feverish skin finally calming down to a point where she felt like she could face her friend again, even if this entire fiasco made her doubt her own feelings’ nature. Perhaps staying for too long in the dark quietness of the deserted paths only accelerated her uncertainties, so she went back inside, the warmth of a group reaching back to her right as her skin was shivering.

 Her heart was wavering with the intensity of a typhoon, even as her footsteps echoed in the corridors as she made her way to the infirmary. She knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply, not expecting any considering it was already fairly late in the evening. The silence of the room reminded her of the outsides, which eased her heart into entering the room, even if immediately the sight of Sylvain in this bed, left to devilish devices, stung her deeper than she’d have thought.

Her hands were fiddling together by themselves as she sat on the chair that was already there, eyes unable to face it. She wanted to weep at last, let her sorrow run free; but that’d have been disgracing Sylvain, disgracing all the cautious words she had ever told him and all the messages she had tried to drill through his skull as much as possible so he wouldn’t ridicule himself again, so she wouldn’t suffer second-hand embarrassment from him.

 Her heart was pounding. In truth, she wasn’t confused about her feelings, more than she wanted to deny them: really, falling for her childhood friend wasn’t something she wanted. It was even worse if she considered how he was such a skirt-chaser, flirting with everything that moved or had a pulse, from her grandmother to their female colleagues: it was going to end badly for her if she truly stopped lying to herself about it, if something made her stop rejecting what she shouldn’t have felt in the first place.

The problem was that this something had already come around. No matter how much she told herself this, seeing Sylvain in this bed was like watching herself lose Glenn all over again: it started small, it always ended terribly, this much she had been taught and she had learnt over the years, throughout her experiences and connections with people. She was afraid of losing someone else, so she denied their value to her and tried keeping her tears inside, even if she knew it was all a lie, even if she was fully aware it had been nothing but a charade of refusal and unhealthy denial.

 Yet, even with all of her efforts, Ingrid was crying, tears rolling down her face and sorrow finally making its way out of her airways, pouring in thoughts and tears. How ungraceful, how weak coming from the woman who had wanted to become Dimitri’s most fellow knight, the one who grief and death shouldn’t have scared like a little girl whom the world had deemed to forever be lost in the eternal penumbra whose last beacon of light had been engulfed by the shadows.

At least, she was alone, unseen from the world, with the only witness being an unconscious man. It was the only consolation she had, the one thing fate had decided to keep her away from being shame and dishonour, but it was minor compared to the pain raging in her chest.

 Until she felt a trembling finger stroking her cheek, stealing a tear away.

 With her vision now restored, Ingrid saw the impossible: Sylvain, awake, the faintest smile he had given her on his face, whose finger was indeed against her cheek despite the weakness she could tell came from it. For a moment, a short moment, time stopped, until he broke down coughing and her heart started stinging again.

“’nice to see you, Ing,” he slurred as he looked at her, breathing still as heavy as it used to, glass-eyed and disgraceful all around. Yet, even in this moment of vulnerability on his part…

“…nice to see you too, Sylvain,” she tried to ignore that fact and hide her relief to see him conscious enough.

 It meant that, in another sense, she could finally do the one thing she should have done all along.

“Never, ever do that again. I don’t want to escort you out of the battlefield after harvesting your body like rotting wealth.”

“That’s not a… nice thing to say…”

“Do you think worrying me was a nice thing to do?”

If she couldn’t have hidden the tears forever, she surely couldn’t have pretended like she wasn’t blushing from embarrassment after dropping such a line. In fact, like a foolush beginner, she had stolen her own speech away from herself. Talk about a bad move on her part.

 “I… I made you worry…?” His voice was unnaturally groggy and low, as if gravel had infected his airways. It was like speaking to someone else altogether if she didn’t focus on his face.

“…of course you did. We’re friends.”

“Ah…” His expression was genuine, this much she could tell, but his sudden solemnity weirded out in some measure. “Sorry… I thought it’d do the opposite, but…” He coughed, yet smiled, and it confused her even further. “’was wrong.”

“You sure were…”

 They fell into some kind of constantly broken silence, wordless moments interrupted by coughing fits she had never wanted to hear and desired to see gone for the rest of their existences. Her heart continued aching against her bones, fatigue never truly coming to her senses, until Sylvain put her hand away from her face and she missed his undesired hotness.

“Y’know, I’ve always l’ved you, Ing…” He slurred, his face’s flushing making her unable to tell if it was genuine, just a delirium kind of side effect, or a plain joke. Considering the context, she scratched the last theory out on her quick mental list.

Not like she’d have possibly had the wittiness to reply to that in her usual fashion, not when she had feared for his life merely an hour ago all evening.

  “I…”

He’d forget that by the time morning rolled around, right? Someone like him wouldn’t have normally laid down his feelings like that. She could, maybe just this once, maybe because he was alive and she was more than happy about this fact, allow herself a confession of her own.

“It may have been reciprocal for a longer time that I thought.”

 Her response must have rendered him speechless, because all she saw him do was blush even further and almost faint on her.

“Hey, are you alright?!” She yelled without really realizing about it. “You should rest, that’s the only way you’ll win against this thing.”

She still didn’t know what the nature of the illness was exactly, but for now, she’d do without that piece of information. It wasn’t like she had dared asking or even thinking about it, it could have sent her into another wave of choked sobs if she had.

“I… s’pose you’re right… See ya later, Ing…”

“See you. Take care.”

 She waited for him to completely fall asleep before leaving the room, her heart still heavy from the concern, exhaustion of the day and sudden revelations that had showered on her out of the blue. It really hadn’t been the right moment to have those, this much was for sure.

Yet, tomorrow seemed a bit more promising now. She still felt helpless, useless on the surface, and her chest ached from seeing such a dear friend (this, she couldn’t deny anymore) in such a pitiful condition. Nonetheless, she left his room before she could give him the one thing he didn’t quite want in her opinion, her pity, and thought sleep would clear everyone’s minds out of whatever had bothered them during the day and made them endlessly stir.

Yeah, she just needed a good night of sleep and for him to be alright. It was a lot to ask for, but she’d be caught red-handed trying to get that to happen nonetheless.

-----------

By the time day rolled around, even if the fever was still clogging his brain, Sylvain hadn’t forgotten about their conversation.

Ingrid didn’t quite know what to make out of that realization.

----------

jokes on everyone (that includes me, a clown) I know very little about the game, it was just to make my good friend Azure smile and write even more angst

As such, I want to formally apologize if anyone is OOC beyond recognition.

[lostinfantasies38]

Tease

Characters: FHawke/Varric Tethras

Rating: M (explicit language, minor sex scenes) [oneshot]

"Hawke?  You feelin’ okay?" Varric looked at his friend and was more than a little unnerved by the anxiety in her eyes as she took in their surroundings.  He and Hawke had been sucked in by a desire demon stalking Darktown. They had only come to this part of town so she could get some more poisons from Tomwise and he needed a face-to-face with one of his Coterie contacts.

Neither of them was wearing their usual armor, which meant that they did not have the extra spirit resistance runes they had obviously begun to rely very heavily on. Even though Varric still had Bianca and Hawke had her father’s staff (and probably six daggers hidden on her person, for extra security) they had not been prepared when the demon pulled them in with her purple tendrils.

"I'm perfectly fine, Varric." Hawke's melodic voice lied.  Even jangled as his nerves were, her voice washed over him and yanked the tangled knot of "I can't deal with this shit, so I'm just going to pretend it's not there" that he had kept under wraps for a good three years.

Varric stared at her, hyperaware of the tight set of her shoulders and the white knuckles on her staff.  Her long black hair that was usually swept in a ponytail when she was working was braided and slung over her shoulder today.  Those piercing blue eyes could freeze a man in his tracks, even without the hard edge in them, at the moment.  And her mouth did not have its characteristic lilt, as though she could be expected to drop a terrible pun any second.  Now it was drawn into a severe line that had alarm bells ringing in his head.  

 The dwarf glanced around, but they didn’t seem to be anywhere that he recognized.  It was just blank, gray wasteland as far as he could see.  “Where are we?”  His voice came out more quietly than he meant it to, giving away some of his own nervousness about their situation.

Hawke’s eyes never stopped scanning the area as she answered.  “We’re in the Fade.”

Varric rolled his eyes, but she didn’t return the sarcasm with her own, like she normally would have.  “I know that.  I mean where in the Fade?  Aren’t there like...realms or something?”  Hawke nodded absentmindedly.

“I can’t be sure where we are exactly.  It was a desire demon, right?”  Her blue eyes caught his honey ones searchingly. 

“Purple?  Nipple shields?  Creepy tail?  Yep, desire demon.”  Hawke snorted and gave him a ghost of a smile and Varric allowed himself to relax just a little.

“Then we must be in her realm.  Though, I am surprised how long it’s taken her to show up.”  Varric cocked Bianca beside her and he could see some of the tension in her shoulders dissipate.

“We should move, Hawke.  Staying in the open like sitting ducks is not a good idea.”  Hawke nodded and together they scouted the gray terrain.  A shape shimmered like a mirage in the distance giving Varric a queasy feeling in his gut, but there was nowhere else to go.  Hawke looked just as unsettled as he felt, however they quickly made their way to the building, in spite of their misgivings.

As they neared the structure, Varric realized it was Hawke’s estate.  Hawke held her staff at the ready and glanced at him for his affirmative nod before she pushed open the door.  Nothing attacked them when they entered the foyer and it looked exactly like the one in Kirkwall.  Hawke’s table with a month’s worth of unread mail, her order sheets for potions and runes, even Dragon was curled up in his usual spot in front of the fire. Everything was normal.

A giggle and running sounded from upstairs.  Varric made for the stairs, but Hawke grabbed his arm and began to frantically drag him back to the door.  “Hawke?” 

He glanced at her in confusion and saw the deep red blush on her face going down her neck and even further.  Her eyes were wide and she was panting in her desperation to escape, but the running gained on them since Varric was slowing them down as he tried to twist his arm from her grasp.  “Mama!  Mama, don’t go!”

Shit. 

A whimper escaped Hawke’s lips right before her hand touched the door handle.  Varric was frozen by the words spoken in a child’s voice behind them and stared at his friend.  He was afraid to turn around and find that her deepest desire was to have half-elven children with Broody.  Isabella told him about the night she and Fenris spent together and how the elf abandoned her afterwards.  The pirate was forced to hog tie him to his stone chair for three hours until he calmed down and stopped raging about going to Hightown to beat him senseless.

Hawke’s entire body was vibrating in terror, but she turned around anyway.  “Mama!  You’re home!  You were gone longer than you said you’d be, but it’s okay.  Uncle Anders has been helping Orana watch us.”

“Bethany.”  Hawke’s voice reminded Varric of a rusted gate scraping open for the first time in decades.  Unable to take the suspense any longer, he turned his head to see this figment of Hawke’s imagination.  The little girl couldn’t have been more than six years old with her mother’s dark, sleek hair and mouth, a button nose, and laughing amber eyes.  There was something off about her, besides the fact that she wasn’t real, but Varric couldn’t quite put his finger on it. 

A baby cried upstairs and Hawke dropped her staff to run in the very direction she’d dragged him away from and Varric followed, in case it was a trap.  Who was he kidding?  This whole damn scenario was a trap.  The girl disappeared into smoke when Hawke ran past her and he shivered – now he followed her because he refused to be alone with all the creepy shit.

Hawke paused outside the door that had been her mother’s and Varric placed his hand gently on her arm.  There was so much that was said between them in that touch and with a shaky breath Hawke pushed open the door exposing the cradle in the middle of the room.  He could see the chubby arms waving in the air under the blanket and for reasons he didn’t understand his heart lurched when Hawke reached down and picked up the babe. 

He expected the baby to disappear when she picked it up like the girl did, but it remained solid.  Hawke sank to her knees and cried softly against the child who quieted at its “mother’s” touch.  It was too personal.  It was too deep.  He didn’t do deep, especially with Hawke, and he felt like an intruder.  Varric turned slightly to walk away when the girl reappeared and put her hand on Hawke’s shoulder. 

“Mama, don’t cry.  Garen missed you, but you’re home now and he’s happy again.”

A chill passed down Varric’s back at the boy’s name.  Hawke cried louder and pointedly avoided looking at him.  The girl looked at him for the first time and then the pieces began to fall into place.  Her limbs were too short for a human child, especially one of her age, and her eyes were not the same color brown that Aveline once described Bethany’s as being.  If Anders was her “uncle,” then she didn’t get that color from him.  And Fenris had eyes that were the exact same shade as moss.  That only left one…

“Hello, Papa!”

His knees buckled and he fell on the floor willing his heart into a steady rhythm again so he could breathe, because right now he was sucking in air like a fish out of water.  Both children winked out of existence into the ether and a throaty laugh echoed throughout the house, but it did not reveal itself.  Which was a blessing because neither of them could have even attempted to stand, much less fight off a demon in their current state.

“Hawke,” Varric croaked.  She shook her head and turned away from him.  “Maeve, please,” he whispered.  The mage jumped at the use of her given name, so rarely used, and suddenly he felt guilty about that.  He moved closer to her.  Slowly, slowly, treating her like a scared cat that could lash out or bolt at any second.

“Mages aren’t allowed to get married and have families, Varric.”  He froze halfway across the room as her raw vocal cords produced sounds that weren’t so gut wrenching.  

“That doesn’t stop it from happening.  Look at your parents.”

Hawke spun around and clawed the front of her clothes.  Her eyes were wild – frantic, panicked, and when she spoke again there was an edge to her voice he’d never heard.  “I do look at them.  They were never happy because worrying about the templars kept them living in fear.  So, WE lived in fear.”  Varric winced.  “I was afraid every time I sneezed that I would set the curtains on fire like I did when I was nine.  Bethany and I grew up knowing that even outside of the Circle we could never be normal.  We could never have husbands or children.”  She laughed hollowly.  “All I’ve ever wanted was to be a mother, but I can’t.  Magic is too strong in my family.  I’m bound to have mage children and I can’t ask them to live on the run like I did.”

A knife twisted in his gut.  “Is…is that why the kids are mine?  Because you hope the dwarven blood will dampen the magic?”

Hawke couldn’t make eye contact with him, but a blush was blooming across her skin again.  She wasn’t giving him any other indicators that he could read, whether positive or negative, but it stung all the same. 

The estate winked out and left them sitting in the gray wastes of the Fade again.  Another building shimmered in the distance and without a word or sparing a glance at each other, they shouldered their weapons and moved guardedly towards it.  It wasn’t long before the upside-down sign of The Hanged Man became visible.

“Oh, goody, it’s my turn apparently,” Varric muttered to himself.  He pulled open the door and it spit them directly into his suite instead of the main tavern.  All their friends, including Hawke and Varric, were sitting around his table playing Wicked Grace.  It could have been any of the hundreds of times they’d played over the last three years, but he recognized it immediately and he backed away until he bumped into a bookshelf.  Hawke watched him out of the corner of her eye as the memory unfolded. 

“Oh, I’m terrible at this game.  I’ll never get it right,” Merrill pouted as she lost another round. 

Isabella laughed sweetly.  “Kitten, you’re not good at it because you play with a bunch of cheats.  Here, take this.  Drink with us and hang out, but don’t worry your pretty little head about Wicked Grace.”  The pirate handed her a steamy romance novel and Merrill’s eyes lit up.  

Hawke chuckled.  “When you’re done with it, let me know, Merrill.  Isabella claims that’s the sexiest bodice ripper she’s read in a while.”  Merrill nodded and started reading.  She wasn’t three pages in before her ears were flaming red. 

Varric shook his head and chuckled softly at the crazy women in his group of friends.  He was especially aware of the raven haired mage next to him and the heat that radiated from her.  It took him a long time to realize it was her magical aura.  He leaned over on the pretense of stretching his side and angled his leg closer to her.  Memory Hawke didn’t notice, but Real Hawke did.

Two rounds and four more mugs later, everyone was becoming sloppy drunk, even Varric.  No one really paid the dwarf and their leader any mind as they leaned in close when they talked.  It was common and had become more so after their Deep Roads excursion that was only six months behind them. 

Varric, Hawke, and Anders refused to speak of the two months they spent trapped underground, afraid they would never see daylight again.  All their friends knew was that it had been traumatic and that Varric and Hawke were plotting the myriad ways to kill Bartrand. 

Memory Hawke was speaking to him and casually laid her hand on his, ungloved for once, but she missed the way he shivered involuntarily at the contact.  Merrill called to her down the table, distracting her so he could grab his mug and hide the ragged breath he exhaled before he took a sip.  When she turned back to him, his face was a perfectly schooled mask of friendliness again.

He shuffled the deck for the last round – he could hear Edwina yelling that everyone needed to be out in an hour.  Varric was so flustered by her presence that he missed Isabella’s slight of hand and she fleeced them all that night.  But he didn’t really care either.  Everyone began to pack up, except for Hawke.  She waved them all goodnight and made sure that Isabella would see Merrill home safely.  Anders shut the door behind them and it was just the two of them – alone. 

It was Real Varric’s turn to studiously avoid his friend’s eye.  Shit, fuck, damn it, damn it, shit!  

Memory Hawke looked up from her mug and sighed.  “Varric, I have a question.”

Memory Varric was trying to play it cool, spreading his hands wide magnanimously.  “I might have an answer, depending on the question.” 

Hawke ran her finger along the rim of her mug a little nervously.  “Are you angry with me?”  Varric sputtered and looked at her incredulously.

“Should I be?” 

Hawke fluttered her hands and she bit her lip uncertainly.  “Well, the Deep Roads were…trying.”  Varric snorted into his mug, but didn’t interrupt.  “I was a little…uh…handsy at times.  Mostly with you and I…” She laughed softly.  “I’m sorry, it’s stupid.  I’ve just felt guilty about it, because you…didn’t seem to…shit, this is awkward.  Forget I said anything.”  Hawke stood abruptly, but was stopped when he grabbed her wrist.

“I didn’t what, Maeve?  We’re friends.  If I hurt your feelings or offended you, I want to know, so I don’t do it again.”  He smiled gently and she ran a hand through her long hair as she sat back down.

“You didn’t seem…to reciprocate…my handsy-ness.  I was afraid I crossed a line.”  A hollow laugh passed her lips and she dropped her voice to a whisper.  “I thought I was going to die.  That we were all going to die.  And Maker help me, I didn’t want to die without…”

“A tumble?  A great shag with a handsome dwarf?”  Varric teased to lighten the tension and Hawke gave a real chuckle.  He squeezed her hand and smiled.  “It wasn’t that I wouldn’t have – it’s just...”

“Bianca?”  Varric closed his eyes so she couldn’t tell that he was lying and nodded his head.  A feather light touch brushed his stubbled jaw and he snapped them open again, trying to figure out if the electricity that danced on his skin was her magic or simply her.  Hawke smiled wistfully.  “Well, I can’t fault you for that, Varric.  I just wanted to make sure we were good.  Sometimes you go out of your way to avoid touching me and our fights a little more stilted than they used to be.  I miss us being more…organic.”

Varric smiled.  “I’ll work on it.  I think the Deep Roads rattled me more than I realized, but I’m getting back in the swing of things.” 

“Good.  I’ve missed you.”  This time when she stood, he did not stop her.  With a final goodnight, she slipped out of his suite and the tavern. 

Once the door closed behind her Varric bent over and laid his forehead on the cool stone.  “Forgive me, Maeve.  I’m such a coward.  I should have told you the truth.  I think you replaced Bianca before the Deep Roads and I wanted…I couldn’t…Fuck.  I’m so sorry.”  Real Hawke watched in stunned silence as Memory Varric sat up and wiped traitorous tears off his face before ambling drunkenly to bed. 

Varric shivered when the demon’s laughter echoed throughout his suite, but he still couldn’t look at Hawke.  The silence stretched between them until it threatened to swallow both of them whole.  He finally risked a glance at his friend and saw silent tears rolling down her face and he felt sick.

“I-I couldn’t...I can’t…” Varric paused to take a steadying breath.  “I can’t talk feelings.  Bianca kinda ruined me there.”

Hawke opened her eyes and her striking eyes were brimming with anguish.  “That’s not the problem, for me at least.  This is a memory.  Mine was my deepest, darkest desire that I hid even from myself.  But now I know that I don’t rank highly enough for you for that.  I’m only surprised the demon hasn’t shown me a heartbreaking vision of you and Bianca running off into the sunset.”

Varric grimaced.  He wanted to explain that he loved her, but the words turned to ash on his tongue.  He wanted to tell her that he had too much respect for her and he was too much of a coward to pursue her because he was afraid of losing her, like he lost Bianca.  But even he knew they would sound hollow and she wouldn’t believe them now.  He’d lost his chance.

The laughter was back this time with form.  The demon clapped sarcastically at their expense.  Hawke spat.  “Tease.  You aren’t even a full desire demon.  You only dangle pieces of enticing visions to ensnare.” 

Tease smiled wickedly.  “It worked for you, didn’t it?  And now you’re here,” she waved her hand and the tavern disappeared.  They were back in the graylands.  “You said you wanted to see the dwarf’s deepest desire.  The one he hides even from himself,” she purred while a clawed hand lifted his chin.  He moved to punch her in the fucking mouth, but he was frozen.  She was speaking only to Hawke, because she was the mage and Tease wanted to own her.

Hawke spared him a quick glance, but then she turned her full attention to Tease.  “What is your price?”

“Let me merge with you, mage.  We can be Hawke together and we can bring so much...pleasure to so many.  Think of it as giving back to the community.”  The demon laughed and Varric felt his length harden.  Tease noticed and swung her hips at him.  “See, Hawke?  How easy it can be...and how delicious?”

“Show me first.  I want to guarantee you won’t go back on your word.” 

Tease flicked her tail and then shrugged.  “Have it your way, my pet.”  The demon waved her hand building substance over them again and disappeared with a seductive chuckle.

Hawke was surprised to see they were back in her estate.  Her bedroom, no less.  Varric was sitting at her desk, but it was full of his Guild documents and ledgers.  Even his father’s signet ring was sitting beside the red wax for sealing letters.

 She glanced at Varric, who was unfrozen, but had his head buried in hands.  Without even looking he knew what he would see.  His fantasy of Hawke and himself in her mansion, living in the open as lovers.  His deepest desire.

Turning back, she watched another version of herself walk into her room and was momentarily thrown off by the oddness of it, before she refocused her attention.  She was wearing finery, but they weren’t her usual maroon, they were dark green and black.  House Tethras colors, she realized.  Hawke paused in the bedroom and smiled softly at the man working hard to keep the family business running.  She moved up behind him and slid her arms around his chest.  Varric sighed happily and put down his quill to run his hands over hers.

“Long day,” Hawke asked.  Varric nodded into her cleavage and then nuzzled them appreciatively.  Hawke leaned over and kissed him, slow and languid, as though they had been lovers for years and knew just how the other liked it.  Still leaning over him, her fingers gently moved down his chest and began to unclasp his duster.  “Let me make you more comfortable,” she breathed in his ear and Varric moaned.

He snaked his hands around her waist, amazed by how small she was all these years later, and let one hand trail up her back along her spine to gently knead out the day’s tension from her back.  Hawke sighed contentedly at his touch and stood up to help pull his duster over his head.  Varric hopped off the chair, clad only in his breeches, and scooped Hawke up in a practiced move and carried her to bed.

The bed was different.  It wasn’t dwarven, but it was lower to the ground than a regular bed, so he didn’t have to scramble in and out all the time.  He laid her gently on the plush mattress, slowly pulling the tie on her robe, and breathed her name.  “Maeve.”

“ENOUGH!”  Hawke waved her hand and the vision disappeared.  Varric was staring at the ground, but she needed to know.  Within a couple of steps, she towered over him and lifted his chin.  “Tell me…is it true or is it a lie?”  He raised his honey eyes to hers – the ones that she always imagined their children would have, because she loved them so much.  His face looked pained, regret perhaps?  His eyes, though, they were full of hope…of want…of desire.

Hawke stepped back with a gasp and clutched her heart.  “Why,” she rasped.  “Why didn’t you tell me?  Maker, Varric…do you – do you know how long I’ve loved you?”  Tears were pouring from her and her lovely mouth was screwed into an unnatural shape by the force of her sobs.

“Probably as long as I’ve loved you, Maeve,” he whispered.  It was a relief to say the words aloud, but the admission was too late, he could see.  All the woman in front of him currently felt was betrayal.  “I’m so sorry.”

Hawke’s eyes jerked up to meet his.  “I just sold my soul to find out what you should have told me years ago.”  She flung her arm behind her.  “We could have had that!  For the last three years, that could have been us and Maker’s breath, I would have been so fucking happy!”

“You don’t have to do this, Mae – Hawke.”  Varric swallowed hard at the way her eyes flashed when he tried to use her given name.

“Yes, I do, Varric.  This is not a normal part of the Fade.  We’ve been enthralled and our bodies are dying on the outside.  If I don’t do this, we don’t wake up and…you die.  No matter how hurt I am right now I could never, ever wish you dead.”

Laughter echoed all around them and Tease materialized between them.  “Such a smart mage, you are.  We shall make a fabulous team, my pet.  Now, say goodbye to your dwarven friend.  Once we merge, I promise that your love for him will end and there will be no more pain.  We can find more lovers.”

Hawke stood firm before the demon and she raised herself to her full height.  “The spell holding him is released prior to my possession or we don’t have a deal.  If you fight me, you lose your host, so be smart about this.”    

“Hawke, no!” 

Tease waved her hand and he was frozen and silenced.  Varric jerked against the invisible bindings and screamed even though there was no sound.  Tease ran a clawed finger across Hawke’s beautiful face.  Azure eyes met honey while the demon smiled and licked her lips.  “Done.”  Tease snapped her fingers.

Varric woke with a start, rolling off the cot in Anders’ clinic and violently vomiting everything in his stomach until there was nothing left, except bile.  Anders rushed over and cast a few diagnostic spells and sent him some healing for the nausea.  Spotting Hawke on the cot next to him, Varric dashed over and shook her shoulders.  “Wake up, Maeve!  For fuck’s sake, wake up!” 

Anders and Fenris were both required to restrain him while they peppered him with questions.  He couldn’t answer any of them, it would have taken too much time so he looked at Anders and said, “Tease has her.”

Justice flared blue and white hot, bringing with him the smell of ozone, as the spirit raged at the knowledge that one of their own was held hostage by a demon.  “If she had been possessed, she would be awake by now.  Maybe she has tricked this demon and fights it in the Fade?”

Varric raked his hands through his hair and screamed obscenities to the Maker and Andraste and the damned Ancestors, for good measure.  That’s exactly what she did!  That’s why she wanted him to wake up first.  That’s what the final look was for – she was fucking sacrificing herself for his stupid, sorry, good-for-nothing dwarven ass.

“There is nothing we can do,” rumbled Fenris. 

Justice shook his head.  “Not on this side.  We don’t even know where she might be in the Fade, but if she bests the demon she will wake because the spell she is trapped under will break.  But if she loses, she will wake possessed.”

“What if…” Fenris paused.  “What if she dies in the fight?”  Justice spared a sad look for the mage and did not answer – which was answer enough. 

Varric had run out of curses and energy.  He sank to the filthy floor without a care and stared at her laid out as if sleeping on the cot, instead of fighting a demon for him in the Fade.  Tears ran down his cheeks of their own accord and for once, he didn’t even hide them.  He deserved the shame, the ridicule, the guilt.  He couldn’t rid his mind of the heartbroken expression on her face when she realized that he loved her that deeply and never told her.  That he probably never would have because he was a coward.  He was too worried about himself to think how his reticence would hurt her until it was too late.  Now, she was doing the most noble (stupid) thing one could do for another – die for them.  Her devotion to him far outstripped his own.

That wasn’t actually true.  Varric thought back to the Deep Roads and the night the darkspawn attacked their camp.  Blondie had given them a heads up so they were prepared for the assault.  They just weren’t prepared for the sheer number of them.  Halfway through she and Anders were about tapped on mana and there were no more lyrium potions.  He was out of bolts, but he snagged a recurve bow and all the quivers with arrows still in them, so he was okay.  He just had to be careful to not get surrounded.

Varric saw a Hurlock alpha with its horned helmet heading for Hawke from behind and he tried to aim at the knee, but the darkspawn was faster than he was.  Realizing he’d never get a shot off before he reached her, Varric rained arrows on the field to slow him down and then ran to her.  He shoved her out of the way and took the hit with the shield that had been meant for her.  It threw him across the battlefield and he would have died had Justice not erupted out of Anders in that moment and given the mage the mana he needed to cushion his landing.  Instead of smashing his brains across the Deep Roads, Varric only ended up with a headache.  And now that he thought back to it, the noise in the background that he always assumed were darkspawn was the sound of Hawke screaming his name hysterically while he flew.

On shaky legs, Varric stood and walked over to Hawke.  He took her hand gently and ran his thumb over her knuckles and pressed his lips on the back of her hand.  He noticed that Fenris and Anders had slipped out some time ago, but at this point, he wouldn’t have stopped even if they were still there.  He had wasted enough time with Hawke and was not going to miss any damn more.

“Please, Maeve.  I was an idiot.  A Maker-damned ass and I know I screwed up royally, but please...please don’t leave me.  I-I don’t know what to do with myself when you aren’t around.”  Varric chuckled softly.  “I love your laugh, your smile, the way you light up an entire room as soon as you walk in.  I love your fucking terrible jokes, even though I pretend to hate them.  You have been the one constant in my life for the last three years.  I know I can count on you through thick and thin.  Damnit, Maeve – I love you so damn much.  If you wake up, I swear I will spend the rest of my life making up to you the time we lost.  Just open your beautiful eyes.  Please, please, please.” 

Varric laid his forehead tenderly on her abdomen and prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life.  His mother was probably rolling over in her tomb with the knowledge that her son was Andrastrian, but he never did care for dwarf shit anyway.

He had no idea how long he stayed that way, but he woke up in that position and moaned happily as fingers massaged his scalp and toyed with his hair.  Wait, what?  Varric jerked upright and saw her brilliant eyes staring down at him, her lips pulled up into a warm smile.

“Maeve,” he breathed and she laughed softly to keep from waking the other patients.  “Is it really you?  No…passengers?”

Hawke smiled wider.  “No passengers, I promise, but I do have a friend in the Templars who could double check.  For everyone’s peace of mind.”

Varric kissed her hand.  “I’ll go get Keeran.” 

Hawke chuckled again.  “You don’t have to worry about demon possession with me, but I could swear you just read my mind, Varric.” 

“I’ll have him check me, too, smartass.”  Varric gave her a shaky smile and turned to leave, but she caught his hand.  They stared at each other for a moment, at a loss for words, until Varric very slowly leaned down holding her stare as he went, in case she changed her mind.  Their lips met for the first time that wasn’t a fantasy and Varric closed his eyes so he could focus on just her.  Hawke.  Maeve.   

So much was said in that first sweet kiss and more was said later that night after Keeran declared them both free of demons and Varric lead Maeve home through the cellars.  The story of Hawke’s elven lover was an invention created to throw off the Seekers and the Chantry, but they came for him anyway, since he was the author of the book.  He was recruited into the Inquisition and was present during the battle at Adamant, but no one realized it was Hawke’s lover who paced restlessly outside the rift. 

Their second time in the Fade together was even more terrifying than the first and he was praying again that she would follow him out.  Varric could see movement behind the tear in the Veil, but it wasn’t until the Inquisitor stepped through that he could see Hawke.  Varric shoved through the gathering crowd and fell in front of her.  She gave him a weak smile, while he in return, kissed her soundly in front of everyone and didn’t stop until he heard the cheers and shouts behind them.  Hawke grinned, blue eyes flashing mischievously, and Varric chuckled. 

“Fuck it,” he muttered and kissed her through her laughter and the sounds of approval from the crowd.  He promised her that first night that he would never tease her again.  And he aimed to keep it.