#lets play Tear Your Muse Apart Emotionally!

[troubatrain]

bad behavior - m. tkachuk

a/n: i don’t know when i started writing consistently but here we are. this another part of this series i was super excited about writing because this song is what put the idea in my head to begin with. quick shout out to @hookingminor​, @tkafuckit​, & @davidpastrsnack​ for reading my work and validating it because i swear i would never finish without you guys sometimes. hope you guys like it!

as per usual i recommend listing to the song while you read!

part of my lovely little lonely series

warnings: smut

“...you tell me, you're insecure, but don't be, stay soft, but don't be gentle, it's altogether mental...” - Bad Behavior - The Maine

I’m not a distraction am I?

Of fucking course you are, Matthew thought, buttoning up his dress shirt while he looked at the fresh marks he bit in your back not even fifteen minutes ago. You were the biggest distraction, Matthew forgoing his pre-game nap just for extra time with you between the sheets. You were a mistake he couldn’t stop making, ignoring the constant pull in his chest whenever you left because you didn’t do anything more than what you gave him.

Really, it was probably karmic punishment for all the shitty things Matthew’s done in his life. The universe would drop his dream girl in front of him but as it turns out, she played the game better than him. It wasn’t like he didn’t get a warning from your best friend Ella who’d been dating Sam from what seemed like the dawn of time. You were a heartbreaker, it was just how it was and that was how it’s going to be. Matthew ignored Ella, taking you home without a second thought because that’s what he wanted too. No Strings Attached. Turns out, he was in over his head when you left one night and the other side of Matthew’s bed felt cold for the first time in his life.

“You’re not a distraction pretty girl,” Matthew nods, curls bouncing against his forehead while he admires you from the otherside of his bedroom, “Are you coming tonight?”

“Are you going to be on your worst behavior?” You ask, rolling out of bed to collect your clothes Matthew never seemed to toss in one place. That’s why you were different, every person in his life telling him to ease up in his game - except you. You loved watching Matthew get into it on the ice because after those games the sex was just better.

Matthew chuckles, watching you unhook your panties from the lamp in the corner of the room and frowning when you saw the tear he ripped in them, “I’ll be on my worst behavior if you’re coming home with me later.”

“Twice in one day is pushing your luck Matthew,” You sigh dramatically, fixing his collar and flattening his tie, “And exhausting for me quite honestly.”

“I’ll be easy,” Matthew suggests, fingers gently pushing a piece of hair from in front of your face. Your eyes flutter shut, enjoying the moment. This made it so hard to keep your distance, the fact that Matthew was more of a gentle giant than he led on most of the time. Sure, he could pull your hair back when he hit it from behind and he made the dirtiest jokes in crowded rooms, but when all was said and done - he was kind. Someone would be lucky to have him one day, but that someone just couldn’t be you.

“You’ve never gone easy on me ever,” You giggle, pressing a kiss against Matthew’s jaw, “Good luck.”

***

Matthew didn’t know why he was so nervous about a silly All Star game, but he was. Maybe it was because it was at home, or maybe Brady’s last minute addition had him reconsidering. Either way, he’d been pacing for the last hour and trying to decide if he should tell you to stay home. He couldn’t do that, as if he was going to deny himself the small sliver of happiness he got every time you decided you wanted to see him. You were in charge, and it changed the playing field for Matthew entirely. It wasn’t like it usually was, Matthew being the one who often found themselves hanging by the phone in hopes you’d call. You didn’t, so Matthew got his hopes up and told you to stop by before he left for St. Louis.

“Hey All Star,” You muse, sneaking inside and taking off your coat. Matthew stops his pacing, smiling to himself that you actually showed up when he asked. No answer to his text, because why would you bother to let him know you were on your way. That would be too easy, and you weren’t by any means easy.

Matthew opened his mouth to ask you how your day was, but shut it once he realized he’d never get an answer. The only things he knew about you were learned from Ella and Sam, not a single detail of anything that happened outside of the walls of Matthew’s apartment was ever mentioned to him by you. You knew tons about him, because he opened up to you so easily it was breaking his heart that you wouldn’t do the same. He wondered why he did this to himself, why he didn’t just find someone who was obsessed with him. He liked the chase, Matthew’s athletic intuitions pushing him to strive for the best prize he could find, and you’d be the best of them all if he could have you.

Instead Matthew did what he always does, he pressed his lips to yours and pushed you up against the door. His hands were on your waist, an ironclad grip as if you’d slip right through his hands if he didn’t stop you. You probably would have.

“What’s wrong?” You question, Matthew confused as to how you knew something was up. His eyebrows furrowed, head cocking to the side like a puppy who was trying to figure out what a new sound was. You laugh, a melodic giggle carrying through Matthew’s almost barren apartment, “Your hands are right above my ass but you failed to touch it once, what’s up?”

“I’m, uh, nervous?” Matthew admits, his weaker parts of his brain succumbing to the pout on your lips. That pout could be what killed him. Matthew wasn’t dealing with it well, it being the newfound pressure he’d been feeling to be a top tier player. People expected him to turn it on for every game, and at first he loved it. Then he realized he no longer got the chance to slack off when all eyes were on him, Matthew had been internally crumbling ever since.

That wasn’t necessarily the only reason he’d been insecure lately. You weren’t helping, but you couldn’t be hurting him that much. Maybe you were. Matthew was trying really hard to be cool, but he was failing miserably. He got jealous more often than he liked to admit, and he was a liar if he didn’t deep dive your Instagram to see if you were very clearly seeing someone else. He was gone a lot, and you didn’t owe him any sort of explanation and he knew that. He knew he respected you enough not to ask but he liked you enough to care, and it was eating him alive.

“Pressure’s a lot, I just don’t feel like, you know,” Matthew explains, fumbling over his words and waving his hands because he didn’t want to say it. His voice got lower, words mumbled together when he spoke, “I’m insecure.”

“Don’t be,” You shrug, a wide confident smile on your face. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little surprised by Matthew, because as far as you knew he was a big bad guy, or at least he thought he was. You thought it was all bullshit, but you did often think that kind of pressure couldn’t be healthy. Every fiber of your being told you to run, that this was getting too emotional and if you didn’t stop you were going to ruin him forever. You did it all the time, your heart wasn’t built for more than a night and you were just accepting it. If you weren’t going to be able to stop self destructing anyone who tries to connect to you emotionally besides your loved ones you protected so fiercely - then you were going to have fun.

Which is what you thought you were getting into. You took Matthew home with nothing but his reputation spinning around in your head that he was the perfect conquest. Then you fucked, and it was too good to give up. So you kept him at arms length, never giving into those damn eyes and his frown whenever you left after you had sex. It was better that way, for both of you really.

“That’s all you got for me?” Matthew asks, stifling a laugh at your simple answer. He was admitting to you something he’s never let another soul know but you simply just shrugged.

“Okay, how about this,” You take a deep breath, snaking your hands under his shirt and grazing your nails against his skin.

You’re Matthew fucking Tkachuk. Your lips pressed against his jaw, a smirk gracing his face. You don’t give a fuck who’s in your way, you’ll hit them. Your lips moved to his ear, whispering softly. You’re what Doughty’s nightmares are made of. Your hands slipped down, playing with the waistband on his boxers. And you can score with the best of them, on and off the ice. Matthew laughed at that one, a smug smile back on his face where it rightfully should be. You have nothing to worry about.

Both of Matthew’s large hands landed on your cheeks, calloused fingers rubbing against your skin and his lips on yours. He didn’t need to say anything, he’d show you just how badly he needed that. Matthew pushed you towards his bedroom, your back hitting the plush mattress. You tossed your hoodie off, Matthew losing his at the same time. You admired him, the way his muscles were defined in the moonlight from his windows. Matthew’s hands slid down your back, unclasping your bra with one hand and smirking to himself when it slid off. You stroked his ego for a reason, one that ran a chill up your spine while he pressed kisses down your body.

“You’re fucking sexy,” Matthew mutters into your skin, sliding off your leggings and eyes practically rolling to the back of his head when a pair of lacy red panties caught his attention. His finger slid underneath them, fingers slick from your core, “And wet too huh?”

“Do you plan on doing something about it or should I call someone else,” You tease, Matthew’s free hand gripped your thigh when you spoke, jealousy coursing through his veins. He finger pulled against your panties, a loud rip catching your attention, “Matthew!”

“Don’t joke like that then, I’ll take care of you just fine on my fucking own,” Matthew growls, lips ghosting your clit. You whimper, running a hair through Matthew’s hair. His tongue lapped at your pussy, trying to remind you just why you couldn’t shake him. He was competitive, and if he had to fight for his spot in your line up he’d do it. You were a mess, a string of curses falling through your lips and your moans echoing in the room.

“Matty, fuck,” You let out a cry, gripping his curls tightly. Matthew flicked your clit with his tongue, a gasp leaving your mouth. Matthew went to overdrive, his well skilled tongue moving quickly to send you over the edge. You grinded against his mouth, his hands holding down your waist so he could keep going while you came on his face. You finally push his head back, unable to take anymore.

Matthew crawls back up your body, capturing your lips with his and kicking off his boxers. You push him onto his back gently, a smug smile on his face and his hands landing behind his head, “A show?”

“Shut up,” You shake your head, letting out a laugh while you straddle Matthew. You pumped him a few times, lining his cock up with your pussy and easing yourself onto him.

“You look so good on top of me,” Matthew muses, a cocky tone to his voice. You grab the overgrown curls on the nape of his neck, rolling your hips against him and smirking when a groan left his lips, “My perfect fucking girl.”

Matthew’s hand smacked your ass while you rode him at your own speed. His free hand gripped your hip, speeding up your pace. Matthew loved being on top, a translation of his control that he desperately craved, but he let you do whatever you wanted. His hand snuck up your body, hand gently gripping your neck, “If you leave a mark this time Matthew-”

Matthew chuckles, remembering the borderline vicious threats you sent him the last time his grip got a little too tight and you didn’t realize until the next day. Matthew pulls you down to meet his lips, flipping you over onto your and back wrapping on your legs around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours, something you noticed he'd been doing more often lately, “Cum for me, fuck, c’mon.”

“Harder,” You nod, eager to chase your high and give him what you knew he wanted. He liked to get you off, the satisfaction of pleasing you did it for him, Matthew often bragging about how much a giver he really was. Your pussy fluttered around him, Matthew pulling his cock out and spilling onto your stomach. He looked down at you, completely fucked out with his cum on you like you were his. Your eyes were glassy, lips swollen from his while you caught your breath, “Shit.”

Matthew laughs lightly, walking into the en suite bathroom to get you a towel. He was always gentle afterwards, taking care of you after he absolutely wrecked you as if it was going to remind you that maybe he deserved more than you were giving to anyone else. You tuck your head into Matthew’s pillow, sleep about to take over your body. You never stayed, your own little rule because you just knew if you let him hold you it would be over, “Just stay, you look tired pretty girl.”

Matthew’s voice was gentle, his finger running along your bareback lightly while he offered you a shirt in the other. He wanted you to stay so badly, “Matty-”

“My flight leaves in a few hours, it’s like a nap,” Matthew whispers, and you smile at his excuse for you to sleepover. You nod, sitting up and tossing on whatever gray t-shirt he’d given you. You didn’t know, but it was his favorite shirt in the world, the fabric soft like a tee that had been well loved.

Matthew was supposed to have woken you up before he left, dropping you off at your place before he headed to the airport to go home. He was going to, he swore he really was, but when he was leaving you looked so damn cute snoring away in his favorite shirt. So he left you a note, telling you to lock up before you left and that he’d see you the day he got back. You woke up peacefully, the light shining through the floor to ceiling windows in Matthew’s apartment and rolling your eyes at his note. You grab your phone, smiling when you notice he left it charging for you. 

You told me it was a nap.

Maybe you shouldn’t look so cute when you sleep then.

You roll over screaming in the pillow because you were going to ruin him.

***

Matthew had enough of the waiting game.

It's been nine days since that night and Matthew was losing his fucking mind. He was playing like absolute garbage, his name off the scoresheet since the All Star break. Matthew was lashing out left and right, both against the opposition and his own friends when they grew concerned. He thought about moving on, even calling up an old fling. That didn’t end well, Matthew moaning your name by accident in bed and then she left almost immediately after. He was frustrated with himself for getting this invested, but you were intoxicating. Matthew left the Saddledome after another shit game and drove to your place, with the intent that you were either going to hear him out or he was going to have to cut you out of his life.

“Hi?” You were confused when you saw him on the other side of the door, you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. You were already pressed, wondering what Matthew thought he was doing banging on your apartment door. He looked pissed, bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days and you were already rolling your eyes at the tweets about him being a bust.

“I can’t do this shit anymore,” Matthew steps inside, stomping into your space and gritting his words, “You have this hold on me, and I know I told you I could be cool about this but I can’t be. I’m fucking jealous of every other dude you could be with and I think about it all the time-”

“And I’m a heartless bitch,” You hiss, every wall you had just got taller. Your words could cut like a knife, and you were ready to let Matthew have it, “I’ve heard it from everyone, I ruin people Matthew, save me the argument.”

“You’re not going to ruin me, I know you, fuck,” Matthew steps forward, every bit of anger in his body disappearing when he saw the way you lip was starting to quiver. His voice got lower, his thumb running along your jaw, “I know you think you bring out the worst in me, but you bring out my best too.”

“I’m going to hurt you, I always do,” You whisper, averting your eyes down so you didn’t have to look at him.

“Then hurt me later,” Matthew took this as his turn to shrug, try and take a page in your book and be a little nonchalant, “For now, could we just try this out? No games, no one else, just us.”

“This is bad for you Matthew,” You give him one more warning, pulling him closer to you and tugging on the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Be bad for me then,” Matthew groans, grabbing a handful of your ass and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Matthew!”

[hansolmates]

hoshi; vowels and veracity (m)

summary: after a blind date that makes you feel like a giddy teenager all over again, you’re forced to grow up and take a chance when you realize that special someone is your daughter’s kindergarten teacher. pairing: teacher!soonyoung x single mother!reader genre/warnings: fluffity fluff nuggets, humor, a lil bit of angst when yn panics, *steve rogers voice* language! alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap the pickle before u tickle), face sitting w/c: 5.2k a/n: i really have nothing to say about this but i’ve been thinking about going back to school all week so this manifested. enjoy a lil sexy but sweet hosh💕 

“Y-you,” another giggle and the press of wet lips to the sensitive spot of your neck, “stop, Soonyoung! I’m ticklish there!” 

You feel a pout imprint itself in the sweet spot between your ear and your jaw, and you sigh at the rumble of his lips against your skin, “But you taste so sweet, baby,” he croons, and you’re practically melting between the door with how much Soonyoung has pressed himself against you, all of himself. 

“What if I don’t wanna stop, pretty girl?” he husks against your soft skin, whispering things in your ear that aren’t for the faint of heart. In your haste to keep a firm grip, one hand goes to his clothes and the other nips at the undercut of his midnight black hair, “what if I just open the door right now and we slip right in, and then I slip right in you?” 

Your breath hitches and suddenly your core feels like a timebomb, ready to combust. 

Go on a date, Joshua says. He’s a sweet guy, Joshua says. He’s a friend of Joshua’s, so you know going into this blind date that at the very least, he wasn’t a serial killer. But what Joshua failed to tell you going into this was how much Kwon Soonyoung packed and how much of a temptor in disguise he is. 

“I really would love to invite you in,” it looks like it pains Soonyoung to admit this, as he presses his forehead to yours and the edge of his fingers dig into your crushed emerald velvet number, “but tomorrow’s the first day of work and I am not emotionally prepared. But, I do want to see you again. I had a great time.” 

The previous mood melting into the night sky, you reluctantly let go of the lapels of his tweed blazer. Unable to suppress your crestfallen smile you nod, “That’s fine,” you reply, inching away from him to send him a pointed look, “I wouldn’t have gone inside anyway. I don’t put out on the first date,” you cross your arms in an attempt to feign nonchalance.  

Which isn’t a lie, although if Soonyoung had asked you two minutes ago to come inside for a cup of tea, you wouldn’t have argued. He is just that tempting. Said date raises an eyebrow in response, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear at the defiance in your eyes. “Oh?” he echoes, “then what date do you put out?” 

“Date seven.” 

“Lucky seven,” he grins, “so if we go on a date every day this week by Friday we should be good to go. How do you feel about steak?” 

You slap his shoulder in his response, and the giggle that erupts from his lips in response has you feeling dizzy and giddy with excitement. Soonyoung has you feeling like a college freshman all over again, floating like Cloud 9 and drunk in anticipation. You peck one, two more kisses on his lips. He tastes like the peach champagne you shared and his own scent as he pulls you in for a much longer, much hotter kiss. 

“Good luck on your first day,” you mumble against his lips, vaguely remembering that he’s a teacher in a school nearby. 

“Mm, text me when you get home,” and with a final kiss to your forehead he unlocks his door, leaving you warm and full of heart-eyes on his front porch. 

The walk home, more like float home, has you feeling all parts exhausted and hopeful for the days to come. For the first time in a long time you feel young and unbridled, thrumming with excitement. Now you’re just playing with your phone, waiting to exchange goodnight texts. 

“Nari’s asleep,” when you walk into your shared apartment, you spot a sleepy Seungkwan on his laptop and sprawled across your couch. “How was it?” 

“It was reealllly nice,” you’re still a little wine tipsy, drunk on the taste of Merlot and a certain someone’s kisses, “he was really sweet, and surprisingly sexy.” 

“Did you get dicked down?” Seungkwan asks only the most important questions. 

You scoff, flopping down on the couch next to him, “As if, we have work in the morning.” 

“Speaking of work, are you sure you’re not able to drop off Nari to school tomorrow? It’s her first day of kindergarten.” 

“I can’t,” saying it feels absolutely awful, but a single mother has to work extra hard to keep her and her daughter happy. 

“It’s fine,” Seungkwan easily waves you off and runs a hand through his fluffy auburn hair, “her favorite Uncle is there, anyway.” 

“Hey,” you lightly punch his arm, “I’ve already talked Nari through it. I’m cooking a big breakfast tomorrow—chocolate chip pancakes, duh, and taking a million pictures before we have to part ways. I packed a little Kit-Kat for her lunch with a sweet note. When I come back in time for dinner I promised her pizza from her favorite parlor and she can tell me everything about her day.” 

“So, you’re bribing her with food.” 

“Sue me, it’s every parent’s weak spot.” 

Seungkwan stretches his arms, cradling you between his chest. You sigh into his clean linen scent, feeling sleepy. “Yeah, I’ve bribed her with my Switch once or twice,” he admits softly, eyes also drooping, “but you’re a great mother regardless. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything tomorrow.” 

“Thanks, Kwannie,” you sigh, feeling more at ease. 

Nari is the light of you and Seungkwan’s life. Five years ago, you promised yourself that if you were more than financially stable and still sick with baby fever, you would adopt. You didn’t want to find a romantic partner for the sole purpose of having a child, you could easily do that on your own. And that you did, you researched and visited foster homes off in the countryside. 

In a little town off the coast of the shore was where you met Nari, only six months old and full with cherub cheeks and eyes that sparkled like the moon and stars. You fell in love with her instantly. Fast forward five years later and she’s the reason you wake up every morning and work hard every day. Seungkwan being your best friend, also wanted rights as the godfather and therefore is also part of your perfect family picture. 

You and Seungkwan sleep warmly tonight, both excited to share yet another year of Nari’s milestones. 

“And then Mr. Kwon said I was an ‘ace’ with my vowels!” Nari has a string of cheese hanging from her chin, and you don’t bat an eye as you reach to pat it away with a napkin. 

“I wouldn’t expect any less, baby,” you coo, carding a hand through her hair so her bangs don’t get caught in her meal, “remember when mommy and Uncle Kwannie taught you the vowels this summer? We sang that song.” 

“Yes! I sang the same song and showed everyone how ‘ta do it,” your heart is swelling with pride, and you fight the urge to tear up because Seungkwan’s already showing signs of waterworks from his side of the table, “I read a book Mr. Kwon gave me today and he said he’s so impressed I read at a Level B.” 

You quirk your brows at the new jargon. You certainly don’t know what it means to be a Level B, but it makes Nari happy and that’s all that matters. Wiping the orange grease off her lips, you muse that you must get in contact with her teacher one of these days.

“What’s a Level B?” Seungkwan similarly looks stumped at the new vocabulary. 

“I don’t know!” Nari shrugs, but nevertheless her teacher’s attention has her glowing. 

You giggle, “I’m so happy for you, baby.” 

“I’m excited to go back tomorrow, I made a new friend! His name is Jeonghan and he helped me with my numbers today. He called my bows cute.” 

“Cute?” Seungkwan perks up from his stupor, “of course you’re cute, Nari. So cute that you’re too good for this Jeonghwan boy.” 

“Jeonghan, Uncle Kwannie,” she pouts when Seungkwan scoffs, in favor of shoving half a slice in his mouth. She turns to you, tugging on your blazer, “Mama, can I go watch TV now? I finished my homework and I wanna see the new Ladybug and Cat Noir!” 

“Of course,” you pull away her plate, gesturing for her to go to the living room. 

“Thank you mama,” and she’s bouncing off her seat, pushing her chair in and off to watch Miraculous Ladybug. 

You sigh, “They grow up so fast.” 

Seungkwan’s eyes widen at your age-old phrase, the words reminding him oddly of his parents when they used to talk down to him. “And here we are, aging twice as fast,” Seungkwan bemoans, already starting to feel the greasy food settle in his stomach. “We used to eat a whole pie! We could eat absolute garbage back in college and here I am weak at two slices—oh my god, am I having a ‘back in my day’ moment? We need to go out. I need to go out. I’ve been practicing consonants and vowels all day. I need a boyfriend,” he playfully narrows his eyes at you, “I need a boyfriend like yours, sweet and sexy.” 

“Sorry,” you stick out your tongue, “but he’s mine.” 

Perfect timing, Soonyoung’s name pops up on your phone. You two have been texting sporadically throughout the day, making plans for your next date. The two of you are going to watch a drive-in movie, a situation that screams teenage-back-of-the-truck-sex but the movie is a much anticipated favorite of yours and you genuinely want to watch it. 

Soonyoung is full of humor and laughs, getting you to smile and relax at the right times during work and always manages to keep you on your toes whenever he says something flirtatious. 

“Are you gonna introduce him to Nari?” 

You stop typing, and look up towards your beautiful little girl in the living room. Her hair is out of her pigtails, drooping tiredly like she is. Her cheek is pressed against her favorite plush cat, fighting for consciousness because she’s waiting for Marinette to save the day. Your heart swells with affection. 

“Dunno,” you shrug, trying not to think too hard about it, “we’re not that serious right now.” 

You’re absolutely winded. You finished work early today, due to the fact that came in early so you could clock out and pick Nari up from school. Despite the fact that Nari says it’s okay for you not to pick her up, you can’t allow it and you want to be the one who she runs into when she comes out the door. 

“Who do you think she’s gonna hug first?” Seungkwan’s elbowing you, baiting you. “Because this morning she gave me a hug and three kisses before I dropped her off.” 

“Three?” you seethe in annoyance, “three kisses is our thing! Two on the cheek and one on the forehead!” 

The two of you slowly steep together, waiting for the colorful blue door to the kindergarten area to file out. The heel of your shoes are digging into the grass, probably making a needle-like  indentation in the dirt as you struggle not to seep into the lawn. You feel like you’re going to flop on your heels, wishing you could go run back into the car and find your flip-flops from last month’s beach trip. But before you could debate on the run the bell rings, and you’re on livewire when you see the students start to file out. 

Your smile grows ten-fold when you see Nari’s jaw drop in surprise, seeing you waiting for her. She fists whatever is in her hands in surprise, breaking into the cutest smile as she screams, “mama!” 

And you’re ready to hold your arms out and throw her around in circles, until you see who follows right behind her. 

Kwon Soonyoung is Nari’s kindergarten teacher. Kwon Soonyoung with his hair down and untextured, wearing a mint polo and looking nothing like the date you had the other night. He looks absolutely soft and so, you are weak. 

Kwon Soonyoung, the sexy deviant who sends you questionable texts and sends you funny puppy videos, is staring right at you and utterly confused when Nari rams straight into your hip. 

Momentarily distracted, you pepper your pretty daughter in kisses (all three of them, two cheeks and one forehead) and tell her how much you’ve missed her. Clearly she doesn’t miss you as much, as she’s waving around a picture she drew during playtime, one of her and Jeonghan in the sandbox. 

“Really, Nari,” Seungkwan mutters under his breath, shamelessly vocalizing his opinion on a five-year old, “can’t you choose a different friend?” 

“Seungkwan!” you chide, but he pointedly annoys you when Nari finally enters Seungkwan’s embrace. He takes extra time to cuddle her, obviously jealous that another boy has taken refuge in your little Nari’s heart. 

The moment is so sweet and simple you have no choice but to revel in it and take out your phone to snap a photo. 

“Mama!” she pops her head off of Seungkwan’s shoulder, “come meet Mr. Kwon!”

And she’s tugging your hand, only you’re much stronger and you stay firmly planted on the grass. Heck, you even sacrifice your shoes by digging your heels in for extra measure.Your eyes widen in panic, but Nari doesn’t notice because she’s paving a path of dirt with her lime green light-up sneakers, trying to get you to move. You nearly forgot your latest tryst is your daughter’s teacher, and you never told him you have a kid. 

But within seconds, there’s an audible slam and the three of you are shattered from your bubble. Turning to the noise the heavy navy door is now locked shut, all the students dismissed for the day. The crowd is gone. Soonyoung is gone. 

Seungkwan’s eyes dart between the closed door and you, the pieces clicking. His mouth forms a little ‘o’ and he nods in understanding. “He thinks I’m your baby daddy.” 

The two of you point out each other like the Spiderman meme. “He thinks you’re my baby daddy,” you echo, horror marrying your face. 

“Mama? What’s a baby daddy?” 

“Shh, Nari—” he picks up Nari in one swoop, mouthing a go to you as he leads her to the car. 

All alone on the grass, you panic as you watch your family grow smaller and smaller as they enter the parking lot. Soonyoung’s just behind that door, right? Looking left and right to assure no one is going to think you’re being that parent and harassing the teacher within the first week of school, you bound up the steps to knock on the door. Your knocks clang heavily, echoing against the building. 

Ten seconds pass. Nothing. 

You deflate, pulling out your phone to shoot Soonyoung a quick text. 

You: hey, can you come out for a bit so i can explain? Please

A minute passes. He leaves you on read. Defeated, you slump against the door. This day is really a whirlwind on your mental state. All you wanted today was some extra time off work, Nari’s three kisses, and maybe a goodnight text from Soonyoung if you were lucky. 

The door suddenly flips open, and you’re braced against someone’s hands. 

“Whoa, you okay?”

Your face crumples in relief when it’s Soonyoung that’s come out to respond to you. He’s bracing your weight by holding your arms between his hands, although keeping a respectable distance between the upper half of your bodies. It makes you a little upset, but you understand. Once you’re stable, he lets you go and leans away from you.

“Why are you waiting out here?” he asks pointedly, looking at you up and down. You seem terribly overdressed in your coral pinstripe suit, mismatching with Soonyoung’s apple sauce stains. 

“Why do you think I’m waiting out here?”

“And if I close the door again?” he retorts suddenly. 

“Then I’ll follow you home.” 

A beat passes, whatever expression he conveys on his face is practiced and primed. You have a terrible time trying to decipher his blankness. Working with kids probably does that to an adult. “Come in,” he says neutrally, and you wordlessly follow him into his classroom. 

The room is decorated beautifully, with rainbows and glitter. It’s also surprisingly organized, all the crayons in place and the play area free of stray toys. Your eyes instantly search for Nari’s desk, and a small smile fits on your face as you trace her handmade name tag. 

“Normally, I don’t let parents in my room until it’s Back to School Night,” Soonyoung says, leaning against his desk. It makes you terribly nervous, knowing the ball is in your court and he’s waiting for you to make a move. His carefree, easy going nature is nowhere to be found, and all you see is walls and a mean poker face. He pulls up the sleeves of his polo, exposing pale, strong arms. Your mouth waters a little (you can’t help it!) and you immediately reach for a bottle of water in your purse. “So, what is it you have to say?” 

“Seungkwan’s not my baby daddy,” you blurt, and you immediately blanch when Soonyoung’s eyes widen. “Wow uh. I didn’t mean to say it like that.” 

“But you did say it like that,” Soonyoung replies slowly, “no child just doesn’t give three kisses to someone who isn’t their father.” 

“I only called him my baby daddy because he said it first,” you grumble, almost childishly, “and Nari’s a baby, of course she’s going to give three kisses to anyone that feeds her and coddles her.” 

“It sounds like an excuse.” 

“It sounds like I’m freaking out because you keep talking back and forth like this!” you cry, slapping your hands against your thigh. You don’t have to look in a mirror to know that you’re quickly getting annoyed, your face morphing into a shade of embarrassment. You can’t tell if this is amusing him or this is a real interrogation. “Let me explain, Soonyoung!” 

He says your name slowly, deliberately. And then, “do you want to take a break in the Calm Down Corner?” 

“The—the what?” Soonyoung’s eyes flicker to a corner at the far end of the room. The radiator is decorated in a sky blue wallpaper, and there’s a yoga mat on the floor. There are chairs next to a desk filled with coloring pages, decorated with fairy lights. Filling three of the chairs are various stuffed animals, a tiger, a cat, and a panda, all dressed as doctors. It’s a child’s therapy corner. “You gotta be kidding me.” 

He raises a brow, and—is that a smile on his lips? “Then explain, why are you here?” 

“Because I think I really like you,” you confess, frustration melting away to reveal the uneasy upturn on your lips. You lied when Seungkwan asked if you would ever consider introducing Soonyoung to Nari. In a different world, you would’ve loved to take the time to take Nari to the museum and introduce Soonyoung there. They’d definitely bond over their love for tigers. “Seungkwan is my best friend, and helps me take care of Nari. I adopted her five years ago.” 

Something softens in Soonyoung’s eyes, and the air feels much more relaxed. But his dark brows remain knit together, and he looks at you with confused eyes. “Then if you like me so much, why didn’t you tell me you had a daughter?”

“Because kids can be deal breakers,” you admit, and the colorful classroom feels smaller as you hug yourself. “I just, wanted you to like me first.” 

It’s the primary reason why it’s taken you so long to date. Sure, there’d be a fling here and there, but nothing that feels as tangible as Soonyoung is. You’re not old enough to find a partner that wouldn’t blink at the sign of children, yet you’re still at that weird age threshold where a partner could immediately run for the hills at the mention of one. Nothing will top Nari, she’s number one in your heart, but the small selfish part wanted you to put the focus on yourself for just one night. 

“You don’t have to hide, I want every part of your life no matter how long we have,” he assures you gently, firmly without an ounce of regret. Soonyoung opens his arms, and you cry in relief when you get to collapse in the scent of his cologne. You tuck your head in the crook of his neck, slightly sweaty from whatever activities he needs to do with the kids, but you don’t mind. His voice is quiet, melting in your ears, “and I really like you too. I really like Nari as well, she’s a great kid.” 

“She is, isn’t she?” 

You two pull away, and he swipes a thumb under your eyes in case some tears manage to escape. “So, Friday? Movie?” 

“It’s a date.” 

“Where’s Nari?” the question is huffed against your breath as you’re pressed between your freshly washed bedspread and Soonyoung’s body. He takes care in making sure the zipper of your delicate dress doesn’t get caught in the rush, easily slipping your dress off and throwing it on your desk chair. 

“At Seungkwan’s, why?” 

His cheshire cat eyes glow under the moonlight, positively devious. “It’s date seven,” he announces sweetly. His gaze betrays his saccarine reply, a look that only tells you that Soonyoung plans to fuck you five ways to Sunday, and you’ll gladly let him. 

You sit up on your elbows, enjoying the show as Soonyoung quickly sheds his clothing. It’s ungraceful, exciting. Tonight was a simple carnival date, easily making you feel like a giddy college student all over again. Soonyoung won you five Pokemon keychains today, you could put a whole party on your hand. 

“It’s actually date six,” you tease, tilting your head as his pants finally come off, revealing black boxer briefs that snug deliciously around the waist. 

“Oh, okay,” he looks at you like you’ve spoken God’s word, reaching to pick up his shirt, “so you don’t want my dick fucking you raw tonight? Okay, I see how it is,” he pretends to put on his clothing, jabbing a thumb out the door. 

You have the audacity to giggle, pulling him over by the waistband, “Come here so I can make an exception.”

You don’t know what it is that makes you want you want to give everything to this man. Heck, five years ago you didn’t even want a man as an excuse to have kids. But as he nudges you in all the right places and places you on top of him, you know this man will treat you like an absolute treasure. Every kiss is laced with smiles and sweetness, filled with vigor and vivacity that fills you up and leaves you afloat. 

He takes care of you first, unwilling to let you budge as he places your core over his face. He makes quick, but effective use of his tongue and fingers, making sure you’re nice and sensitive for his future plans. You’re practically throbbing with pleasure, vibrating from every cell of your body. Within minutes he’s glistening in your arousal, and he pulls you down so you’re lined up with his crotch. It’s involuntary when you pulse against his member, your body shamefully alerting you that it’s desperate with need, and the remedy is right under you. 

Soonyoung looks more satisfied than you, eager to please you. Without warning, he stuffs two fingers in your mouth, “You pretty, pretty girl,” you are keen at the attention, your body is glowing a radiant rose. 

Your tongue rolls against his fingers, sticky and tasting of your arousal. Tilting your hips up you let Soonyoung pull his member out, lining it against your entrance. Feeling the soft tip brush against your delicate folds, you moan against his mouth. With a little ‘pop’ he releases you, lips shiny and parted. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m some kind of hit-it-n’quit-it kind of guy,” he noses the sensitive spot of your jawline, which distracts you momentarily when the plush tip nudges your folds, coaxing you to unite. “Because after tonight, I’m definitely keeping you. Forever.” 

The reply that dances on your tongue is overtaken by your whines when Soonyoung slips in fully, forcing your body to clench tightly against his. You take him, all of him. You feel wet and sticky and hot and swollen with affection as Soonyoung praises you for taking him so well. His pace is firm and passionate, short nails digging deliciously into your hips for leverage as he makes sure to fill you to the brim. 

He’s right, tonight is far from being a means to an end. You feel like you can have nights like this the rest of your life. And when the both of you finish and you’re pulling the covers over one another, you finally manage to grasp the reply that was nearly forgotten. 

Pressing a kiss to his jaw you whisper, “I’m keeping you, too.” 

“So, how long can we keep this a secret for?”

“Ideally? Ten months. Realistically, I’d say Christmas.” 

“Why Christmas?” 

“Because I know you’re going to be dying to get Nari a Christmas present.” 

Soonyoung props his elbow on the pillow, looking at you petulantly. “I could say it’s a good behavior reward. She’s been racking up those gold stars during morning meetings, babe. She’s not even trying.” 

“That’s my girl,” you coo, rolling over to lean your head on his chest. Light has long flooded into your apartment, seeping through your curtains and reflecting on your white duvet. Soonyoung looks absolutely fluffy and well rested, and you can’t help but reach to pat down the ebony bird’s nest atop his head. 

The two of you lay like that for a little bit, playing with each other’s cold feet under the covers and relishing under the touch of bare skin to bare skin. You remind yourself that you need to take Joshua out to dinner one of these days, as he managed the inevitable and set you up with  an amazing partner. 

“Breakfast?” Soonyoung pops the question easily, “let’s get steak.”

“Steak isn’t eaten for breakfast.” 

“Then can I eat you for breakfast?” 

You snort, hiding under the covers while Soonyoung attempts to tickle you. The whole act in itself feels wholly innocent despite the fact that you’re both naked and smell like sweat and sex. Just as you feel Soonyoung’s head dip under the covers to meet you at your chest, the door swings open. 

“Mama!” 

The previously warm room feels like wickedly sharp ice, freezing you to your spot as you clutch the covers closer to your chest. “Baby!” you cry exasperatedly, flinching when she throws all her weight on you. She’s still in her ladybug pajamas from last night, hair falling out of her braid. 

She lifts her head from your breast to give you an adorable one-toothed grin. You try your best to maintain eye-contact, but Nari has impeccable vision. Her grin evolves into a full-on beam when she finds your bed partner.

“Mr. Kwon!” she’s squealing, clamoring over your lap. You do a double-take when you see Soonyoung sitting next to you, wearing a t-shirt. Where on earth did he get that?

Soonyoung’s eyes reduce to crescents at his (secretly) favorite student. “Good morning, Nari-ah. Had a fun time at your Uncle’s house?” 

“Nari,” you force your daughter down to stand on the hardwood, giving her a stern look, “give Mr. Kwon some space, it’s really early and it’s the weekend.” 

Knitting her brows together, she looks between the two of you, “But you two don’t have any space.” 

You wince at her perception, and nudge yourself away so you’re pressed against your nightstand. The oakwood corner digs painfully into your back. 

“We were haviång a very special parent meeting,” you fight the urge to cry when Soonyoung turns on his teacher's voice, sending your daughter a very convincing smile. You watch as your daughter’s eyes go wide, probably feeling very special that her teacher came all the way to her house to have a meeting. “You’ve been doing so well during the read-alouds that I had to tell your mama in person!” 

“I told you mama!” Nari juts out her chest, and you lean over to kiss the crown of her head. “But Mr. Kwon, why are you having it in mama’s room?” 

“Her room is the warmest!” he says like it’s the most obvious thing, his and Nari’s eyes widening simultaneously as he gestures to the open window. “The sun travels directly into your bedroom in the morning, and those rays send heat—”

“Mr. Kwon,” your voice is as steady as it can be, and  you frown when Soonyoung wiggles his brows. You already know he’s thinking of three separate ways you can use the term Mr. Kwon in private, but you’re not having any of that, “shouldn’t we uh, wrap up this… meeting?” 

“I wanna stay,” Nari glowers, obviously nosy as to what you two are talking about.

“I know baby. We just gotta finish up the meeting, okay? Can you—” you cut  yourself off when Seungkwan finally decides to make his appearance, eyes wide at commotion he’s created. He’s in matching pajamas, ridiculously red as he bends down to scoop up Nari. Absolutely sweating and as red as his clothes, his eyes dart between the two of you. You could care less that Seungkwan’s eyes have bags under their bags, and was probably too tired to catch her when she ran inside the house. No, Seungkwan doesn’t deserve the title of godfather anymore. 

“Nari! You can’t interrupt teacher meetings,” Seungkwan pretends to scold, and Nari turns her head so she can hide in her Uncle’s shoulder. 

Knowing that Nari can’t see a thing, you mouth a very explicit I will kill you to your best friend, and he immediately mouths an apology to the both of you as he ushers himself out the door. You wait ten seconds for your daughter to be out of ear shot, before dropping the blanket from your neck and throwing yourself against the pillows. 

But Soonyoung’s chuckling, pressing a litany of kisses all over your bare body in an attempt to comfort you. Instead of reveling in his lazy morning touch, you want to disappear between the sheets, never to be seen. What will the PTO moms say when they find out? How will you stop Nari from telling Jeonghan, and therefore Jeonghan telling the entire kindergarten population? Why isn’t Soonyoung freaking out about this? Instead, he favors to taste your body, in between kisses muttering something about it being kismet that Nari so happened to see right as you were discussing the secrecy of your relationship. Ten years from now, your daughter will be horrified when she realizes that no, teachers don’t normally give housecalls in your mother’s bed.

Your boyfriend pinches your thigh, regarding you with mirth in his eyes. 

“So, that means I can buy her a Christmas present now, right?” 

[bitchassbucky]

.zip

Word Count: 2k

Warning/s: toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, gaslighting and manipulation, abduction, injuries were mentioned, stalking, dark!bucky x dark!reader, emotionally/mentally unstable!reader, dismemberment (not gore-y but still), three very special character mentions, shady corporate stuff, career sabotage?, food mention, sedation/drugging, f-words.

A/N: oh my god, this is the final chapter of CTRL. to all who read from the start, thank y'all so fucking much - from the bottom of my big-ass heart, thank you so much for coming along with this journey. this is my first FINISHED series, oh my god. to @babyboibucky (CTRL's number one fan), @sarge-barnes-sir, and @borikenlove thank you so much for indulging my inner degenerate GHJSDFG and for screaming (affectionately) at me when i first let y'all read the finished draft.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END (just yet), i will be uploading TWO epilogues very soon: the explicit version and the not-so-explicit version. stay tuned!

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

epilogue:

.eps (explicit)

.eps (cut)

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Your demeanor, character, even tone, changed.

Calculated, cold, unnerving.

But you sat there like a housewife in front of her husband, eating spaghetti and meatballs. Acting all dandy like there isn’t a man strapped onto the chair four feet away from you.

“C’mon, darling, eat! I made your favorite,” your eyes twinkled as Bucky helplessly tugged on his restraints, “oh, sorry, you’re tied up.”

Hm, sick in the head, bad for the heart.

“What do you want?” Oh, wow, even talking hurts for him. His throat is all dried up, he tasted something bitter under his tongue.

You chuckled, moving half a meatball around your mostly empty plate, “for you to stop treating me like I’m stupid.” You spear the meat with your fork, swirling it in the sauce, “I know you’ve been… checking in on me, Bucky.”

Oh, fuck.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was-- I mean, look at you--” He’s making it worse. You’re mad. You’re angry because he was being a good friend.

He only did that because you were lonely and he’s right: you are lonely.

So lonely that you’re willing to kidnap a grown man to keep you company, “I’m so sad for you.”

“You’re aware you’re the one’s been tied up, right?” You’re curt as you should be, scooting over near Bucky to feed him.

“I can’t eat that—” If he wasn’t sitting down and tied, Bucky would’ve vaulted over you and called the neighbors, she’s fucking crazy!

You giggled, rolling your eyes as if he had the freedom to make a choice right now, “if you’re thinking of screaming… More than half of my neighbors are felons or on parole, I doubt that they’ll call 911.”

Jutting forward the fork, you let the prongs gently touch Bucky’s lips, “now, eat! We have so much to talk about.”

“No. I don’t-- I’m not hungry.” He shakes his head, the fork hitting his chin and clanking down the floor.

“Just eat the fucking food, Steve!”

Bucky flinched at your sudden outburst. The words—the name—seeping in a moment later. Steve? Who the hell is Steve? Was he your husband? Boyfriend? His head throbbed again, his mouth filling with saliva like he’s about to throw up.

You kneel down, pulling a napkin from the table to wipe the meat and the sauce from the floor.

“This better not stain.”

—

He promised thrice.

Once over pasta and meatballs, once over dessert, and once when you were clearing the table.

You relented, of course. Half because you love him and half because it’s getting annoying.

“As long as you don’t leave me, okay?”

“Yes, I promise. I won’t leave you.”

Bucky’s still seating on the dinner chair, slightly slumped without the ropes holding him up, “look, I’m really sorry about the anesthetic, I went overboard with it.” You look over to him—at least he’s regaining his fingers and arms again.

“It’s okay, babe, I wouldn’t trust me either.” If he could stand up, he’d go over and hug you. Helping with the dishes, peppering you with sweet kisses.

A genuine laugh slips out of your lips, “ugh, still… I’m really sorry.”

The last of the plates were neatly stacked, cups and cutleries were placed gently on a drying rack. It was getting late, you could tell.

“I’m not mad, by the way.” You muse, prompting Bucky to lean forward, listening to you.

“What do you mean?” He takes your hand into his, ever so gently.

“You did that,” you squeeze his hand back, gazing into his soulful eyes, “because you love me.”

Did you know that some people could read microexpressions well? Bucky went through a whole lot of them before answering, “of course, I do.”

Contemplating whether you call him out on it or not, you hum, placing a gentle hand on his jaw, “it’s okay, you’ll learn how to love me.”

He has to. He has no other choice.

Bucky clears his throat, “have you seen my phone?” His tone was hopeful, upbeat, maybe he can reach out to someone, anyone, before you can do any more damage.

“Yeah, ‘s on the couch.”

He tried to move, he really did. Bucky’s fairly strong, he can bench an easy 140 on a good day. But even the beefiest motherfuckers have no match for Propofol.

“Don’t worry about your friends, they’re not worried about you, Buck.” The coolness of your tone sends Bucky into a panic—again. “D’you wanna check your messages though? There’s a lot of ‘em.”

Grabbing his phone, you asked Siri to read him his latest notifications.

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

From Joaquin: Where are you, man?

From John W.: Do you have copies?

Urgent: Notice of Immediate Termination

Urgent: Gross Misconduct

From Joaquin: Bucky, what the fuck?

From Samuel Wilson: Pick up the phone, Barnes. You’re fired.

17 missed calls from an unknown number

From John W.: I knew you were a freak but holy shit, dude!

72 text messages from an unknown number

Bucky never really liked horror movies. It made him jumpy and anxious. Too paranoid, even. But now? Now he’s sure that people have never experienced sheer fright before.

His toes cramped inside his boots, his feet were cold, sweating. The little hairs on his legs stood up, goosebumps littering the entirety of his body. If he held his breath, he’s sure he could hear his heart hammering out of his chest. The blood rushes past his ears and onto the base of his skull—he’s gonna be sick.

“What,” he gulped back the saliva pooling in his mouth, “what did you do?”

You’re irritatingly calm, “well, I mean… We’re already together, what do you need those for, right?”

Putting a warm hand over his forehead, you cooed, “poor thing, you look sick.”

—

Bucky thinks it’s well past midnight when the anesthetic wore off.

His limbs were heavy, he had to lean on the wall every couple of steps to regain his balance. Helpless. He’s helpless and you both know it. As if it’s a bear trap, Bucky carefully took his phone from the coffee table.

Why would you leave it unattended?

The screen lights up as soon as he picked up, his lock screen littered with ‘fuck yous’, ‘sicko’, and his personal favorite, ‘motherfucker.’

Ignoring the glaring messages, he went straight for the emergency dialler and—you took out his SIM card, snapping it into two neat pieces, placing it beside the phone.

Bitch.

The golden surface of the card was scratched too, he can’t do anything, use it as a toothpick, maybe? His phone was just as good as a paperweight.

He looks out of the window, limping towards it. Even if he could climb over, it would take him forever to get onto the street. Your neighbors would probably think that he’s just on a bad trip.

“It’s bolted shut. Perks of living alone as a single female.” Your voice made him flinch back, like a kid whose hand was halfway down the cookie jar.

Bucky plays it off with a cough, he can’t be weak now, “no, babe, I was checking out a noise. You ready for bed?”

You smiled softly, taking his hand and draping his arm on your shoulders as you prop him against you, “almost, big guy. Gotta get you settled in bed first. Are you tired?”

Nodding, Bucky kisses your temple, “yeah.” He just needs to play with your sick little games until he regains his strength.

Where would he go? His reputation and his job are besmirched, his apartment is probably crawling with forensics too.

“You fell down and banged your head earlier. Nasty cut on your head too. I told you to not tire yourself much.”

You hit and drugged me but I digress, “Yes, darling. ‘M sorry.”

“You scared me, Buck. I thought you were dead.” Are these tears forming in your eyes?

“I’m not leaving you, not by any chance. I promise.”

He promises a fourth time.

—

Your bedroom was bigger than he thought. But of course, he only saw your desk and your bed through the webcam.

Save from the Ted Bundy-esque corkboard you have in front of your workspace, he feels weirdly at home. You tucked him in, reminding him to wake up every two hours for the painkillers.

“You’re not going to bed?” He muses from behind you, all cocooned in your blankets.

“Just need to take this phone call real quick, babe.” Your back was turned from him as you work on your company laptop. He noticed that the webcam is covered with white tape.

The sound of an incoming call filled the room before you quickly answer it, your voice turning hoarse and raspy as if you’ve been crying.

Hi, Mr. Wilson. I’m so sorry for the late call. Do I- do I need to come in tomorrow? I just... I don’t feel comfortable facing everyone—I used all my home hours this week and—

Miss L/N, I’m glad you reached out to me. Is it okay if I record this call for security purposes? It’s just for you, me, and the HR department.

You turned to Bucky, your face is stone-cold but your voice belonged to someone so utterly helpless.

No, you don’t have to call into work tomorrow… Or any other day.

A dainty gasp and a fucking sob comes out of your mouth, your eyes were telling a different story.

Am I fired?

God, no. Please, Miss L/N, don’t worry about that. We want you with us through this entire debacle. We want you to take some time off—paid. We’ll also grant you… a grievance package.

You could almost hear what he would say next.

As long as you don’t talk to any members of the press or any journalists until our friends in the PR department can clean this up.

A triumphant smile creeps on your bare features, putting a finger in front of your lips, you mimic a ‘shh’ gesture to Bucky.

You round up another mirthless sob as the CEO drones on about the bureaucracy of this whole thing.

He was really nice to me, you know? He took me out on dinners and lunches. He even brought me to his place and I– nothing happened but I can’t stop thinking about it.

I’m really sorry, Miss L/N. I thought he was…

A good guy? I really thought so too.

Please stay offline for a bit, just for the weekend, alright? Someone from the HR department will be in touch with you for the process. We don’t wanna be a hassle more than what Barnes is. On our behalf, please accept our deepest apologies.

Jesus, this guy had the PR department cook up an apology letter.

Thank you—thank you so much, Mr. Wilson. I’ll keep in touch.

You burst out in laughter a second after the call ended. Hearty laughter, the one where you can feel your belly tightening.

“Did you hear how good I was, baby? Oh my god, we had them fooled.”

We? Fuck your ‘we.’

You slide over the covers, propping up yourself with your elbow as you turn to face Bucky, “don’t worry, you don’t need them anymore. You have me, yeah? We have each other.”

—

Out of the most bizarre things that happened to him last week, finding dismembered fingers in the fridge was the least of his concerns.

“Honey!” Bucky calls out, holding the ziplock bag with a pair of tongs.

You bound down the stairs, your laptop in hand as you squint, “what am I looking at?”

Bucky hesitated, maybe he’s going insane too, “fingers. Dismembered fingers—are these yours?”

Setting down the laptop onto the table, you peck him on the cheek, smiling as if him holding a baggie with human remains is just your Sunday normal, “god, I hope not. I need my hands to do things.”

As soon as you look back at him, you dropped the facade: “those are Steve’s. Well, used to be.”

Bucky’s afraid to ask the question where’s the rest of him?

“You know the term pinky promise, right? Well, it has a dark origin.”

Just as fast as a bustling train, Bucky rakes his brain for all the times he promised you something. Hoping that he won’t end up with a stump for a hand.

One vividly bright memory is seared into his brain though, the days blurred together with sharp edges and mismatched colors: we love how we were taught to love.

So, who taught you how to love like this?

[thedevilsmemes]

      PINTEREST QUOTES I USE IN MY MUSINGS BOARDS                         ~ A SENTENCE MEME - PART 2

                         Change pronouns as / when needed to preferred pronoun.

“I do not do justice, I do damage. I do not do empathy, I do damage. I do not do forgiveness, I do damage. I do not do mercy, I do damage.”

“Like, you can boss me around in sexual situations but you better not try to tell me what to do in regular life.”

“I’m fine, I’ve had worse.”

“I’m meaner than my demons.”

“If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.”

“Well, aren’t you a little ray of pitch black?”

“He was like a storm.”

“You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty!”

{ feels an emotion. } “Who the fuck authorised this?!”

“What the fuck? What the fuck is this? What the fuck?”

“Judge if you want. We are all going to die. I intend to deserve it.”

“Goddamn right you should be scared of me.”

“They wanted a monster; I decided to give them one.”

“Seduce and destroy.”

“What the fuck is intimacy? How does that work? Letting… people be close to you? What the fuck?”

“You couldn’t kill me if you tried for one hundred years.”

“I’ll do this my way.”

“I am severely emotionally unstable.”

“What, from the bottom of the heart, the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take any orders. I barely take suggestions.”

“I send my best regards from Hell.”

“I like my coffee how I like myself: Dark, bitter and too hot for you.”

“Me and God, we don’t get along.”

“Be brave, Angel.”

“Self care is drinking three pots of coffee and getting into a knife fight with God.”

{ takes gulp of vodka straight from the bottle } “My day was fine.”

“Have I stabbed you? No. Then I am being nice.”

“Holy Shit! I’M the demon living in my house.”

“Sir, that’s my emotional support knife collection.”

“I want an ancient elaborate dagger with my name engraved into the blade as a gift. The only romantic gesture.”

“ ‘Are you a top or a bottom?’ I'm a threat!”

“Stop being so defensive! I’m just trying to hit you with weapons.”

“The more knives you have the more valid you are.”

“She’s strong but she’s exhausted.”

“She loves moonlight and rainstorms and so many other things that have soul.”

“My darling, you can’t see it can you? How like the moon you are. Both of you so timid in yourselves; hiding pieces from the world. Then, there are those rare moments when you are both full, and it becomes hard to look away. You are beautiful.”

“Calm her chaos but never silence her storm.”

“She wears strength and darkness equally well. That girl has always been half Goddess, half Hell.”

“She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles.”

“She’s proof that you can walk through Hell and still be an angel.”

“She is both hellfire and holy water. And the flavour you taste depends on how you treat her.”

“Even the mountains can not hold all you have been carrying.”

“Storm with skin.”

“She’s thunderstorms”

“Kindness is a language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.”

“Sometimes it takes only one act of kindness and caring to change a person’s life.”

“You have a heart of gold.”

“Butterflies are the Heaven-sent kisses of an angel.”

“She who is brave is free.”

“Clever as the Devil and twice as pretty.”

“Shut up. I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

“Girls who run in heels should be feared.”

“Family is everything to me.”

“She’s an old soul that believes in chivalry, romance, and love.”

“I hate getting flashbacks from things I don’t want to remember.”

“I run on coffee and grace.”

“I’m glad I’ve got boobs… the last thing I need is people making eye contact with me.”

“Tell me to put on my big girl panties one more time… and I’ll take off my thong and strangle you with it!”

“Please read all my posts in a sarcastic tone. You know, for full effect.”

“I have one nerve left and you’re dry-humping it, go away.”

“If I offend you, cry me a river. I’ll bring snacks and a raft. I will literally float down your tears, eating chips and working on my tan.”

“When she is happy, she can’t stop talking. When she is sad, she doesn’t say a word.”

“Music becomes my best friend when nobody else understands me.”

“Act like a lady, think like a boss.”

“I know I have friends but I feel I have no one to talk to about the shit that goes on in my head.”

“She was special. She combined a mean angel and a kind devil.”

“So much pain for someone so young.”

“She’s one of a kind.”

“Red lips and wine sips.”

“Brave girl, it’s time to love again.”

“She is intelligent.”

“Sometimes, when I say ‘I’m okay.’ I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight, and say, ‘I know you’re not.’ ”

“Because I’m not the kind of girl guys fall in love with.”

“I fear I will spend my life, waiting for a love story that doesn’t exist.”

“You’re a woman, use it; bring every man you meet to his motherfucking knees.”

“She denies it but, the truth is, she’s falling in love with him.”

“Hearing your heels click on the floor sounds like power.”

“She loves deeply, regardless of the love she gets back in return and it’s both her biggest strength and biggest weakness…”

“Experience raised her. Hurt taught her. Neither defined her.”

“She was not fragile like a flower was, she was fragile like a bomb.”

“Life is short; make every hair flip count.”

“I’ve always been someone who looks ‘too deep’ into something or someone. That’s because I realised from a young age that there’s always more than what meets the eye.”

“If I say ‘first of all’ Run away because I have prepared research, data, charts, and will destroy you.”

“Underestimate me, that’ll be fun.”

“You think I’m sarcastic? You should hear what I don’t say!”

“She’s a combination of sensitive and savage.”

“Stay classy, sassy and a bit bad assy.”

“She’s battling things her smile will never tell you about.”

 “Ain't you ever seen a princess be a bad bitch?”

“I was told I was dangerous… I asked why? They said ‘because you don’t need anyone.’ That’s when I smiled.”

“She’s been through hell and came out an angel. You didn’t break her darling, you don’t own that kind of power.”

“Watch me. I will go to my own sun and, if I am burned by the flames, I will fly on scorched wings.”

“Her messy hair is a visible attribute to her stubborn spirit. As she shakes it free, she smiles, knowing wild is her favourite colour.”

“She’s strong. But in the back of her mind she doesn’t think that she was meant to be this strong for this long. And she wonders if there is a man out there, somewhere, who understands this.”

“She’s not for everyone and she knows it. People find her different and strange. She dances in the rain, she laughs when she cries and loves through her pain. People fear the unknown and they never knew a girl like her.”

“Don’t tell a girl with fire in her veins and hurricane bones what she should and shouldn’t do. In the blink of an eye, she will shatter that ridiculous cage you attempt to build around her beautiful bohemian spirit.”

“You provoke her until she roars and then get upset at her for becoming the monster you created.”

“Rip out his ego with your fresh nails.”

“She isn’t the sunrise; she’s the fucking sun.”

“You can’t touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck.”

“Watch your tongue around her. She will bear her fangs and tear you apart with all the grace of a Queen.” 

“If you won’t embrace her madness, then you’ll never taste her magic.”

“Beauty may be dangerous but intelligence is lethal.”

“She is water. Powerful enough to drown you, soft enough to cleanse you, deep enough to save you.”

“Heavy is the crown and yet she wears it as if it were a feather. There is strength in her heart, determination in her eyes and the will to survive resides within her soul.”

“I wish that I could say that I am a light that never goes out, but I flicker from time to time.”

“Spoil me with loyalty. I can finance myself.”

“Shoutout to all the people with brown hair and brown eyes! We basic as fuck but we cute!”

“I feel a nap coming on.”

“Is horny an emotion?”

“I just really like thigh-highs.”

“Even though she looks innocent, she is really a perverted demon.”

“She didn’t sob or wail. Her pain was horribly discreet but as persistent and almost as silent as bleeding from an unstitched wound.”

“I don’t rise from the ashes, I make them. I’m the whole fucking fire.”

“Beautiful but destructive.”

“I’m aiming for the ‘she’s a badass and cute as hell but I wouldn’t touch her without asking’ look.”

“Loving me must be so fucking hard and I’m so sorry.”

“Some women are lost in the fire. Some women are built from it.”

“You glow differently when you’re actually happy.”

“She’s magic, that one.”

“Kicked out of Hell.”

“Red hair: the crown you never take off.”

“You’ve got a fire inside.”

“She doesn’t need a warrior, she is one. What she needs is a devout heart, and strong arms to hold her after her battles are won.”

“You are the love that came without warning: You had my heart before I could say no.”

“You want battle? I’ll give you war.”

“True evil is, above all things, seductive.”

“The Devil’s got nothing on me, my friend.”

“Haven’t I fallen far enough?”

“I’m not like them, but I can pretend.”

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

“Now I grow wings and rage, and learn how to kill.”

“Life is tough, my darling, but so are you.”

“Though she be little, she be fierce.”

“I know what this is; It’s just myself, talking to myself, about myself.”

“You underestimate my power.”

[itsyourimagines]

Faithless || knj

Part 22: Into the Lion’s Den

- Y/N left Korea and her idol life behind for a reason - a big one. Now, three years later, she’s living her best life in LA with her two closest friends and the best fans she could wish for. Until that reason comes crashing back into her life. Will she give in? Or has she truly moved on?

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Warnings: a lil bit of violence, and lil bit of smut, Y/N doesn’t know what she wants. Bad writing mostly.

AN: I’ve been gone a while now, I hope this part makes sense!

‘Come on, just press play.”

Your finger hovers over the screen, shaking slightly, but it refuses to obey your words.The artwork of Namjoon’s new, surprise single stares back at you. Yoongi had warned you before it was released, so it hadn’t been a surprise to you, just the fans.

‘It’s the words Namjoon wishes he hadn’t left unsaid,’ your friend had explained. But what was left to be said? Had he not laid it all excruciatingly bare in his previous work? Listening to those songs had left you with an emotional rawness you hadn’t felt in years. It reminded you of back then, when he’d ask you to sing to him when he couldn’t sleep, or when the words he wrote for you were filled with hope and life. Now they were drowned in guilt and regret. Despite the tone, he still had that magical way with words. Those songs incited the exact emotions he wanted, and that is precisely why you were so hesitant to listen again. What did he want from you this time?

You’re staring so intently at your phone’s screen, wrapped up in your musings, that the sudden text tone startles you. One ping, then another, and then a cacophony of pings until you can’t ignore them anymore. It’s Nari, knowing exactly what you’re up to and begging you to just ‘press the damn button’.

So you do.

It’s beautiful. And tragic. And so melancholic your heart crumbles. He’s done it again: hook, line and sinker. And you’re fucking furious.

The last notes of the song begin to fade, but the apartment is empty. You’re already gone.

***

LA’s streets are still busy, despite the late hour. But the combination of an oversized hoodie and no makeup helps you blend in. You prise your fists open, wincing at the crescent marks left in the soft palm skin, and pull out your phone.

“Hello, Y/N? Are you okay?” The words come quick, like he was expecting the call.

“Fine, Hobi. What’s his room number?” Your words are short, almost barking out the question. Hoseok hesitates, you can hear it in his breathing. “Come on, Hobi. Please.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”

“Hobi, I swear to god if you don’t give me that number I will dig out those messages from back wh-”

“Fine! It’s 325… call me if you need me.”

You hang up after a quick goodbye, stalling only to check you’re turning down the right street. Soft patters of rain begin to surround you, quickly gathering in intensity until it’s a full on downpour. You hurry down the street and dip into the hotel’s lobby, shaking out your soaked hair and sleeves.

“Ma’am, can I help you?” The receptionist flashes a charming smile, and you reply with a flash of the keycard Hobi had lent you last time you visited to speak with him. “Ah, have a great evening.”

Your rain-soaked hoodie is chilling, but the fire in your stomach warms you. It rages through you, writhing and flaring, threatening to boil over at any moment. The rain had only fuelled it. But you can’t let it out yet, you have the full speech planned out along with a counter to every possible response. You practice the words again as you locate room 325 and slam your fist against the door.

What you hadn’t prepared for, however, was actually seeing him. The door creaks open and there he stands, wearing nothing but a pair of low slung basketball shorts, wet hair splashing droplets against his tanned skin. Running a quick scan over him, you can’t help but note the drops trailing down his defined torso. Much more defined than last time you’d seen him.

“Oh hi, Y/N…” The fire flares up again, heating your cheeks and forcing your eyes back to Namjoon’s face. His own eyes are blown wide at the sight of you at his door. His heart is beating so hard he’s sure you can hear it.

“Kim Namjoon, you dick!” You raise your hands to shove him back out of the doorway and step in behind him. He’s about to open that beautiful mouth when you raise your hand again and bring it sharply across his face. Namjoon barely flinches at the contact. “How fucking dare you? Every time I see you I seem to get hurt. I think I know the full picture only for you to reveal yet another part of this fucked up story. Why couldn’t you have just told me all of this the first time? How am I supposed to not forgive you after listening to that?”

You’re crying now - fat, angry tears that merge with the rain from your own soaked hair. You’re a mess, and he… looks like a greek god before you. Namjoon’s face softens, and he drops the hand cradling his red cheek. Instead he reaches it out to you, brushing a tangled strand of hair from your face. He’s so close now, so painfully close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin. He’s so warm, and you’re just so cold.

“So cold.” You mumble. Before you can stop yourself, you’re grabbing for him. Wrapping your freezing fingers over his broad shoulders and pulling him down to you. He doesn’t fight you, even now as you tangle your fingers into his hair and close the gap.

Your lips are cold as ice, but he shivers for a very different reason. It’s been over three years since he last kissed you, really kissed you. God, he’d missed it. He lets you take the lead, scared he could make the wrong move and ruin it all again. The kiss is everything Namjoon could have imagined; soft and deep and so beautifully familiar. Like coming home.

Almost the exact same thoughts are running through your mind. You fit so perfectly together, and he holds you so delicately. As if you may break at any moment. To be fair, no one knew how to make you melt quite like Namjoon. The way his large hands splay against your back, and the small breaths he releases between kisses make your knees weak. It’s textbook really, all of the fiery sparks and blinding light a girl could dream of. It’s maddening.

Pulling back, you’re smirking at Namjoon’s whines of protest. He’s not whining for long when you’re pushing him back again until he’s flopping down onto the plush hotel sofa. “Graceful as ever, Joon,” He’s laughing and your heart is swelling at the sound. You climb onto him, straddling his muscular thighs. The breath catches in his throat. You stare down at him through thick lashes - an angel above him. Despite the bare face and tangled hair, he’s never seen anything more breathtaking. But now you’re kissing him again and all thoughts drift away. Now it’s just your lips on his, your skin on his… your hips on his. The heat sinks from his face, shooting downwards. He freezes.

“Sorry, I can’t help-” You cut off his words with a roll of your hips. The simple moves sends him straight to heaven, and you’re not far behind. Hitching up your skirt, you repeat the action, revelling in the moans you earn from him. His chest is firm under your wandering hands, this physique is new to you and you intend to explore it all.

“Please…” It’s barely a word, just a disguised breath while he presses feverish kisses to your neck and jaw. But it’s all you need to dip your fingers into the waistband of his shorts. He’s already painfully hard, leaking over your fingers when you take hold of him. Namjoon’s hands clench against your ass at the sensation. “Please let me fuck you.”

Should you? Is this a good idea? Will this be a mistake? All questions that fail to cross your mind. With his lips at your throat and his dick in your hand, how could this be wrong? Namjoon nips at the hollow of your throat, sending bolts of pleasure straight between your legs. Shoving your thong to the side and lining yourself up, you sink down onto him. A perfect fit.

***

“Oh shit. Shit, what have I done?” Realisation hits you the second you open your eyes. This is not good. Not good at all. Crawling from under the covers, you spot your now-dry hoodie over the sofa, and your skirt on the coffee table - thong nowhere to be found. Namjoon groans and blinks in the morning light. His hair forms the most adorable birds nest, falling into his equally as adorable fresh face. You stop, hoodie half way over your head, and hit him with a sheepish smile.

“Y/N… what are you doing?”

“I’m leaving. Sorry, this was a bad idea, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Last night was a mistake. I hit you again.. then I kissed you again… then… oh I’m so sorry,” Your whole body cringes as you think about it, but he’s clearly not bothered. Pushing himself up onto an elbow, Namjoon catches his bottom lip between his teeth. A move that nearly has you climbing back into bed. “No! This is wrong, and confusing.”

“No.” Namjoon’s voice is firm and demanding, but there’s an edge to it. Something you’ve never heard in him before: desperation. “I know I’ve hurt you, and I keep hurting you. I want to fix this and fix us. Last night… I know it was just sex, but there’s something else there too. You can’t deny it. It’s been three years, have you found anyone who can make you feel like that? I know I haven’t… I can’t live without you in my life. Please don’t make me live without my moonlight.”

“Namjoon, you can’t say things like that. I do forgive you for the past, don’t get me wrong, but am I supposed to just trust you again because of song and a screw? Am I supposed to just jump straight back into a relationship that broke me?” He was right of course, you’d tried to drown out the memory of him many times. But no one came close. No one touched you like he did, sexually or emotionally. Last night just confirmed how true that was.

“We find ourselves at an impasse,” You scoff at his comment, averting your eyes when he pulls the covers back and climbs out. While he locates his shorts, something hits you.

“Huh, it’s like the beginning of our relationship… just the other way round.”

“That’s good! It means it will be different this time, right?” He finally covers himself with his shorts, still leaving too much skin bare. As much as you enjoyed his new body, and the extra confidence that came with it, you weren’t going to crawl back into the lion’s den. Not before you could be sure it was fully tamed.

“No, this was a mistake. I’m sorry for confusing things… please let’s try being friends first. I’ve got to go.”

With that, you dashed to the door and yanked it open, running straight into Kim Seokjin. Of all people, why him? All you offer is a quick ‘Jin oppa’ and another sheepish smile. Then you’re off down the corridor, prepared to run commando all the way home.

Jin stared after you for a moment, trying to fit it all together. The last piece of the puzzle clicks into place when he spots a shirtless Namjoon at the door.

“Christ, what have you done now?”

Taglist: @bbyjoonies @agustdpeach @tiddieshakeshownu @ambersaesthetics @igotarmyofarohas @jinjccns @moon-and-solar-smiles @dreamyvans @bts-bambi @katandnanca @littlebabysandboxburritos @deiky @diamonddia-mond ond @s0obinie @maryseesthings @mipetronella @netflix-batman-sleep

[dadsbongos]

Brother’s Keeper

Movie/Game/Show: The Boy Dynamic: Brahms Heelshire/Reader (Platonic) Warnings: idk The Veldt spoilers if you’ve never read it (it’s really fucking good), the parents suck and they’re emotionally manipulative Summary: Brahms likes to play with his baby sister. ~~~

“What a pouty little face you have,” Mrs. Heelshire pinched at her daughter’s cheeks, stretching them upward, “Come on, let me see a smile.”

(Y/n) swatted at her mother’s hands, “I don’t want to.”

Brahms adjusted his tie as best he could for the family picture, letting his father take over after a minute of fumbling, “She’s not going to smile; little brat.”

“Hey!” the three-year-old girl whined, lips pulling into an even deeper pout, “You can’t be mean and the birthday boy at the same time, it’s not fair!”

The boy rolled his eyes, “You’re just upset your birthday isn't for five more months.”

~~

“I’m seven, I’m too old for dolls,” (Y/n) muttered, not wanting to mention why exactly she didn’t want the porcelain doll, “Besides, he’s too fragile, if I drop him he’ll die.”

Death was a new fascination with the young girl after the incident. Though, to be fair, most fascinations didn’t last four years nor did they start with the horrific death of your older brother.

“Nonsense,” her father grinned, taking the doll from his wife and holding it out to his young daughter, “he was Brahms’ favorite.”

Brahms was a word that had become similar to “fuck” in the parents’ minds. Off-limits by the punishment of spanking or grounding unless you were one of them.

“Oh,” she murmured, carefully taking the toy and holding it to her side, “I never saw him play with it…”

“Too scared to break the poor thing,” Mrs. Heelshire reasoned easily enough, “Named after him.”

(Y/n) looked at the glassy object, “Why do I need to have him?”

“You’re going to take care of him, Brahms would want you to,” Mr. Heelshire brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead before leaving a small kiss to the patch of skin, “Be good to him, sweetheart, won’t you?”

Mrs. Heelshire nodded from behind her husband, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint Brahms, would you?”

She glanced between her pleading parents and the doll, pursing her lips before hesitantly nodding, “Alright, I guess…”

~~

By the time 1999 rolled around and the only living Heelshire child was to turn eleven, there were no more friends to play in the house with. Emily, who in many ways had been an older sister to the girl, was murdered by some sick monster who lit the playhouse she was inside on fire. Well, maybe the killer didn’t light the playhouse on fire.

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?”

Instead, (Y/n) was left to play with her doll. With a party hat on her head, courtesy of the new grocery boy, Malcolm, she wandered aimlessly through the halls. Birthdays were no longer a celebration in the manor; unless it was Brahms’, of course. She held the doll to her hip, looking at the series of paintings decorating the wall; most of them portraying her big brother.

She frowned, settling a hand on the wall just below the largest mural in the hall. Her fingers brushed upon a small crevice dip in the split of colors in the striped wallpaper, brows furrowing at the ledge. She curled her fingers around it, beginning to pull when suddenly it popped apart from the wall. A panel opening up in the middle of the hallway, she looked down each end before climbing through.

Her eyes adjusted quickly enough, arms squeezing Brahms tighter to her form. She began creeping down the secret passageway, not noticing the sounds of her parents screaming her name.

A sudden turn and she took it. A curve in the path and she rounded it. Losing herself in the hidden walkways within her home. It was only when she realized how lost she was that panic settled in, “Mama…?”

She held Brahms even tighter, freehand leaving the doll to bang on the interior of the wall, “Papa! Mama?!” 

It was half an hour before the panicking parents found their weeping little girl hidden behind a panel close to the fireplace. She was crying into the sweater on her doll, cheeks heated in the force of her tears. Not even Mr. Heelshire’s gentle hugging and cooing could relieve her of the emotional aches.

“You’re to never go in those walls again, do you hear me?” her mother grit through clenched teeth.

Never? As much as (Y/n) wanted to be on board with the idea, she wasn’t sure about never being able to go in again. Maybe… maybe she just had to be older, more mature - yeah - that sounded about right.

“Just once more,” she immediately calmed down, now speaking through a raspy, whiny post-crying voice, “I won’t get lost this time, I promise.”

Mr. Heelshire looked over to his wife, “Just one more couldn’t hurt, she should learn about the walls, shouldn’t she?”

As soon as the words left her husband’s lips, Mrs. Heelshire shook her head, “Not a chance. Haven’t you read The Veldt? That’s how the parents die.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened, glancing between her parents as tears began springing into the surface, “You guys will die if I go in the walls again?”

Neither parent confirmed it, though they didn’t deny it either, before sending her off to bed with Brahms. Leaving her to question what the walls were in the dark solitude of her lavish bedroom; empty winnings for a girl who felt guilty enjoying them.

~~

By fifteen, there was an influx of nannies coming in and out of the Heelshire home to care for a supposedly haunted doll. She wasn’t sure if she believed it but the messes and thumping and flickering lights were beginning to be too much to ignore. They all started after the wall incident - the second incident she could add to her fault - and she was forbidden from going back inside.

Panels were left open and soft, high-pitched whines ringing from behind them; it was more terrifying than alluring. 

With no more Brahms by her side, in the real body or in doll form, (Y/n) was left to wander aimlessly down the halls thinking about how unfair it was of her parents to rip the doll away from her. All due to the walls’ tunnels.

They handed her a memento to her older brother - they used her guilt; her fault against her - just to steal it away eight years later. She hated her parents for it, no, not her parents. Her mother. Mrs. Heelshire barely even let the nannies do their job half the time, she just wanted Brahms all to herself. She gave that doll a surplus of her attention and countless replacement caretakers and never even gave (Y/n) the acknowledgment of their shared grief.

Barely gave her the mind to say, “It’s not your fault.”

Whipping around at the frail whisper, (Y/n) peeked around every visible inch of the hallway to see if one of the nannies was following her or her father was finally ready to free her of guilt. Yet nobody was there, no mouths to whisper and no audible drafts to blame.

She turned back around and continued walking down the hallway, not as alone as before.

~~

“I’m nineteen, don’t you think I should, I don’t know, explore the real world?”

Mrs. Heelshire simply shook her head, “You can’t leave us!”

“I won’t be leaving!” (Y/n) tossed her arms out in a display of exaggeration, “I just can’t be in this house for the rest of my life!”

“So you will go eventually,” the older woman huffed, crossing her arms, “Brahms and now you.”

That made the teenager freeze. Nothing like the mention of her dead brother to make her question herself. She pulled back from the yelling match to judge and critique every inch of herself. Her leaving the nest wasn’t comparable to dying - and Brahms didn’t abandon them, he couldn’t control the flames. It wasn’t like he purposefully lit the playhouse on fire at his own birthday party.

No, but she could’ve stopped it. She knows she could have.

“That’s not fair,” (Y/n) muttered, though it sounded less like a genuine response and more like she was trying to point it out to herself.

“You know what else isn’t fair?”

“Don’t.”

“Having two kids and the only one alive wants to abandon you.”

Mr. Heelshire watched from the kitchen table, sipping on his afternoon tea quietly to give more space for the sound of his wife and daughter’s argument to permeate through the room. Through the room and into the walls where even the biggest rat hiding inside could hear.

(Y/n) rubbed at her arm, regretting her decision to even bring the topic up, “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, honey,” Mrs. Heelshire cooed, cupping her daughter’s cheeks and pulling at any fat her fingers could get to in the pockets, “It’s okay. Don’t be so pouty, it’s alright.”

She didn’t bother pushing her mother’s hands away this time.

~~

(Y/n) silently dipped her paintbrush into a dollop of vibrant, cherry red on her palette, glancing over her canvas to the muse every so often.

A house can appear incredibly eased and soothed from the frontline and nobody would ever know that inside a family of four was being murdered. They wouldn’t know until the corpses were discovered and the extended family was beating at each other. Vultures flocking to the values left to them by death.

Maria, the newest in the line of nannies, was holding position rather well for somebody who’d never modeled before. Clutching Brahms to her hip with a bright, pearly-toothed smile.

“I saw a few of your works around the house earlier,” the black-haired woman spoke, “Impressive for only twenty-three.”

“Thanks,” (Y/n) strained a grin, she didn’t necessarily prefer silence - you could hear the walls whispering when it was silent - but sadly, her focus wavered with noise, “I just like to paint the nannies; don’t like to forget them so quickly.”

“Oh,” Maria awkwardly chuckled, “well, that sounds nice of you…?”

“Just a personal thing,” the young woman shrugged off before catching something in the frame of her eye, “You’re about to drop Brahms.”

“Shit!” the other woman murmured, readjusting the doll in her arms, “Thank you so much.”

“My mom will go crazy, I don’t want to watch her yell at somebody over nothing,” she pursed her lips, “Not nothing; just something small.”

~~

“Are you serious?” (Y/n) narrowed her eyes at her mother, “You and Dad are leaving for a two-month vacation right before my birthday?”

“You’re turning twenty-eight, dear,” Mrs. Heelshire smiled faintly, “I think you’ll be fine, now if you don’t mind, I’ll go downstairs and teach the new nanny how to properly care for Brahms.”

(Y/n) crossed her arms, watching her father continue to pack his bags, “You’re really just letting her drag you out of town right now?”

“She didn’t drag me into anything, honey,” he sighed, whether he knew how much it hurt her feelings to hear that or not didn’t exactly matter.

“Fuck you,” she grumbled, rushing out of the room and down the stairs, the twenty-seven-year-old woman went into her bedroom, fully prepared to ignore her parents and the new nanny. Blissfully unaware of the pest in her walls, watching with sad eyes and wanting to see her smile.

~~

“Knock it off!” (Y/n) cried out to the man swinging the doll around - a protective instinct burning at her gut as she thought of him breaking it. She immediately regretted the harsh tone when Cole’s furious gaze snapped back to her, “Please… just give him back…”

“Watch it,” Cole threatened, holding the doll further away from her than before, “Pull any funny shit and I’ll break in your pretty little face.”

Yet another mistake against the brute, not that anybody but the secret rat was counting. The first, of course, being his arrival. The last, naturally, was bashing the doll’s head against the lip of a seat.

(Y/n) hiccuped wildly, her burst of tears nearly choking her as Cole shushed the room during one of Brahms’ fits. She’d experienced countless ragers with that doll to blame but this was the worst. Cole put a finger to his lips, commanding the people behind him into silence as he went to the wall, knocking a few times with his ear pressed to it. He went to the mirror next, grinning slightly, “There’s something- “

Before he could finish his sentence, the glass burst apart and forced him onto his back.

As Greta screamed and (Y/n) held her head in her hands in the midst of her hysterics, Malcolm called to the two women.

Large hands pulled onto the mirror frame first, then out came a fully grown man. Brahms Heelshire was alive - and he was big.

(Y/n) fell onto her ass, watching as her previously dead big brother stabbed Colt in the neck with a piece of his broken doll. Brahms lunged for Greta only to be beaten down by Malcolm and when the two were away; (Y/n) did not leave.

She crawled over to his sprawled out form, taking his shoulder into her hands and shaking him slightly, “Brahms…?”

He jerked once - then twice, then pushed himself up, taking a moment to look at his little sister before standing. In a fashion similar to when they used to sneak around the manor as children, he pressed a finger to his mask’s lips before running off.

~~

“I came back for you, Brahms.”

(Y/n) fiddled with her fingers as her older brother was swept upstairs by Greta, following after them like a lost puppy. As Greta pulled back the covers, (Y/n) felt her heart thump wildly in her chest.

Of course, it never helped when he threw a woman across the room.

“Brahms!” (Y/n) shrieked, latching onto her brother’s back and attempting to pull him off Greta, only succeeding when he fell back from his own stab wound.

Greta stopped at the doorway, turning to watch as the Heelshire girl cradled her big brother’s head in her hands in her panic-rich state, “(Y/n), come on. We have to go.”

Looking between Greta and her brother, (Y/n) felt the memories creep back up from the dip of her spine.

“Is that Papa’s lighter?”

Emily nodded slightly as Brahms watched the flame flicker, the little boy speaking up first, “I was interested in it, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

(Y/n) clutched at a lock of her own hair, “You better give it back or I’ll take it myself!”

“You’re three, how are you going to take it from me?” he scoffed before shooing her out of the playhouse, “If you tell Dad, I’ll break all your toys and cut up your dresses.”

She hadn’t told Father - she didn’t take the lighter.

Shaking her head, (Y/n) looked back to her older brother, burn scars on the visible half of his face and suddenly the guilt was rising to her throat again. Her hands smoothed over to the clasp of the mask, carefully unclipping it as Greta ran off to find Malcolm. A wicked sob racked her throat, her voice squeaking up soft and whiny, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”

A hand came up to brush her tears away, Brahms watching his little sister continue to cry, a small, childlike voice peeking through his lips, “Please don’t cry, (Y/n)… I don’t want to see you cry…”

Calming down only slightly, (Y/n) helped her brother sit up, “I’ll stay, I’m sorry.”

Brahms continued to watch his sister’s tears spill, “You’ll stay.”

It wasn’t a question, he barely even bothered to disguise it as such.

“I’ll stay…”

She didn’t really have a choice, not when her parents kept her under lock and key so strictly. But maybe they anticipated Brahms coming back; maybe they wanted her to have no independence so she wouldn’t leave her big brother.

Not that she’d be able to ask them.

[specterchasing-a]

Sucker Punch || Alfie & Eddie

TIMING: The day after I Swear It’s The Truth

LOCATION: Eddie’s apartment, downtown White Crest 

PARTIES: @yikesimonfire​​ and @specterchasing​

SUMMARY: Nothing will ever be the same for Alfie and Eddie, and now they know why.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia tw, homophobia tw, emotional abuse tw

(This is an emotionally heavy thread. Let one of us know if you need a summary.)

It wasn’t often that Alfie found himself at Eddie’s apartment. For the most part, the time they spent together was almost exclusively at his place. Even when he dog-sat Bucket, the pomeranian was dropped off at Alfie’s. He never complained. In fact, it was more convenient that way, even when he was decidedly too busy to entertain guests. But things were different now. Bex was in the picture; not as one of Eddie’s friends, but his girlfriend. Not even 24 hours in, Alfie was struggling with the concept. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. It should have been fine. He should have been happy for him — he wasn’t. The thought made him sick.

He thought about cancelling. Throughout the day, Alfie composed several messages to his friend as a means to get out of their plans, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit send. He couldn’t back out. Not now; not on Eddie. Not when the plans were made before the events of last night. So he persevered. He wanted to be a good friend, no matter how much emotional distress he was in; no matter how many silent tears he shed before finally falling asleep.

Taking a deep breath, Alfie rapped his fist against the door to Eddie’s apartment, the sound causing him to flinch. He didn’t exactly know why he knocked. The front door was unlocked. Alfie knew that. After a moment of hesitation, Alfie managed to still his trembling hands long enough to crack the door open and slip in, mindful enough to not let Bucket bolt out of the door at his arrival. 

“Hey,” he called out. “Just me.” Obviously. Who else would it be? Bex, maybe, if the time hadn’t been reserved specifically for Alfie. He didn’t want to think about that.

Until last night, Eddie didn’t know how much change a single kiss could bring about. He felt disoriented, partially because the knots in his stomach kept him from getting any sleep. It didn’t make any sense. He should be happy. He wanted to be happy. Instead, he felt worse than before. Alfie’s reaction to finding out about him and Bex didn’t add up. He sounded distant, disappointed even, as if Eddie having a girlfriend changed something between them. That was a line of thought Eddie decided against pursuing as bile gurgled in his stomach. He didn’t want things to change.

Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door followed by the sound of Bucket’s paws skittering across the living room floor. He only did that for one person, the man in question, Alfie. Eddie half-expected him to cancel after the way he acted last night. Realizing he assumed wrong, his heart leapt into his throat before plummeting into his stomach to be eroded by the crashing waves of acid. Why didn’t his heart leap like that for Bex? Never mind, he didn’t want to know.

“Hey!” Eddie called out from his office, rising from his chair to meet his visitor. At the sight of Alfie, Eddie’s heart thumped pitifully as it drowned. “Fancy seeing you here.” He tried acting casual. Fake it ‘till you make it. “Everything’s all set up, even brought in an extra chair.” Why did he leave the office in the first place? Alfie knew the layout of his apartment, he would’ve made it there fine without him. Did he really need to see him so badly that a few more seconds of waiting would hurt? So many questions and not a single answer he wanted to acknowledge.

“Warning you now,” he said, walking back to where he’d come from. “It’s boring. All we’ll be doing is staring at my face and deciding what can go.” Eddie plopped into his chair, rolling back a few inches from the force. “You sure you wanna subject yourself to this?” Please say yes.

The sight of Bucket rounding the corner to meet him at the door gave Alfie a momentary rush of relief. A sense of normalcy, although fleeting. He crouched down to stroke behind Bucket’s ears as Eddie came into view. His heart lurched at the sight of him. It shouldn’t have. He wished it didn’t. Yet there Eddie was, beaming at him like everything was fine — or at least, almost. There was a sadness twinkling in his eyes that Alfie couldn’t quite place. It didn’t make sense. Surely, he must have imagined it. 

“I could say the same to you. Come here often?” Alfie foolishly flirted. Stupid. He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips. What was happening to him? He wasn’t usually like this. Or, if he was, he wasn’t usually so aware of it. But even now, standing in Eddie’s apartment, chittering off cliche pick-up lines, there was a stark contrast between Alfie’s tone and the look on his face. He tried to smile — to pretend that everything was normal — but his features mirrored the same despondency he could have sworn he saw in Eddie’s.

Without another word, Alfie trailed behind him to the home office, wriggling his fingers and clicking his tongue for Bucket to follow. At least he had Bucket. Even if he was about to subject himself to spending hours staring at Eddie’s face on the computer screen, the pooch served as a welcome distraction. 

“I doubt it’s boring,” Alfie retorted. He wanted to say that he didn’t mind staring at his face. To take his words out of context and insist that none of it ‘needed to go’. Not only would that have been uncharacteristic of their friendship, it would have made Alfie seem pathetic. Instead, he eased himself into the spare chair next to Eddie, careful to keep his distance. “Absolutely. I’m eager to see your, uh… process.” Had he said that nearly verbatim last night? Shit. 

And there they were, standing face to face in mutual mourning over something that never existed in the first place. Or, did it? Eddie had to wonder. Grief like this didn’t appear out of thin air. He had a girlfriend now, did that come with a hidden cost? If he looked at the fine print, should he expect to see Alfie’s name crossed out? When he kissed Bex, it didn’t occur to him that the average life he wanted so badly might exclude the one person he thought he couldn’t lose. The dejection written on his best friend’s face registered immediately, years of memorizing his expressions and the meanings behind them made it obvious. 

“Cute,” Eddie quipped, trying to pair the word with a laugh, but it came out hollow. He didn’t know he could miss someone standing only a few feet away from him. Deep within his chest, he felt something awful clawing its way up. If it managed to reach his throat and break free, he knew regret would quickly follow.

“Mm,” Eddie hummed skeptically as he pushed his hair away from his face, hands shaking as he did. His chair scooted forward, closer to the desk. Even when he wasn’t looking at Alfie, he was imagining his face. He tried removing the sadness from his eyes, but it didn’t work. He struck a key and an application opened. “So,” he started, clearing his throat. “This is Premiere, it’s the, uh,” Eddie trailed off, blinking at the computer screen. It wouldn’t come into focus. “It’s the editing software that I use,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “Adobe, y’know.” What was he saying?

Eddie pushed back from the desk and brought his hands up to his face, letting them slide down a moment later. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He needed a moment to regain control, he couldn’t let Alfie see him like this. “I haven’t taken my meds yet, it’s making it impossible to focus. Give me just a sec,” he explained as he stood up and slipped past Alfie, leaving the office in pursuit of his bedroom.

He closed the door behind himself and pressed his back to it. Eddie stressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and let out a pitiful, but quiet sob. “Why are you so fucking useless?” he berated himself internally. “Get it together, it’s just Alfie. It’s just Alfie.” The words repeated in his head, an endless loop, never successfully convincing him. His hands fell to his sides and he straightened up. If he kept acting like this, the chances of Alfie leaving would skyrocket. He needed to keep him there for as long as he could. Eddie shook out his arms and bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to get his blood pumping. A sharp exhale escaped his nose. He could do this.

Eddie waltzed back into the office and reclaimed his chair. “Okay, where was I?” He gripped the mouse, sounding more invigorated than he had before. “Right, Premiere. It’s expensive, confusing, and constantly crashes, but we love disappointment in this house.” A video opened on-screen, a mirror image of Eddie. He turned his chair to face Alfie, their knees brushing in the process. He tried to ignore it.

“You want the whole editing process, right? Technically, it starts as soon as I have an idea for a video. You always plan a concept with editing in mind,” Eddie explained, his hands falling limply in his lap. “Camera angles, movements, position, all of that should be mostly figured out before filming starts. But, uh, I’ll ease up on the behind the scenes talk and get to the feature presentation. We’re gonna have to watch this about 10 times, so,” Reaching towards the desk, he hit play on the video. His voice played through the speakers, spilling information about fae. “Someone actually warned me against making this one,” he mused. “Something about dire consequences. People are so dramatic.”

This wasn’t right. None of it was right. Clearly, Alfie’s behavior was affecting Eddie. Even last night, he called him out for being quiet. Just tired, Alfie had responded. He tried to cheer up, to act like the news didn’t eat him up inside. But it was easier to hide in a world of pixels and code than it was being next to him. “I’m vaguely familiar with Premier, if that helps,” he said monotonously; a desperate attempt to encourage Eddie to push forward. It didn’t help. 

In an instant, Eddie was rattling off an excuse about his medication and removing himself from the office altogether. “Yeah, sure. Take your time,” Alfie murmured, his voice breaking in the process. His eyes — and Bucket — followed Eddie out of the room. Suddenly, he was alone. Even as Bucket strolled back into the office, giving Alfie a confused head-tilt and a pitiful gaze, Alfie was alone. 

“What?” Alfie questioned the ginger ball of fluff. Bucket’s tail thumped against the floor, eliciting an exasperated sigh from Alfie. “You have no idea, do you? Not a single clue.” Not one brain cell was firing off behind the dog’s eyes. “You’re lucky,” he added. 

Coming here had been a mistake. He could probably still leave — slip out the door while Eddie was gone. But Alfie couldn’t bring himself to budge from the chair. Instead, he sat in silence and watched Bucket watching him. 

Before long, Eddie returned. His gaze didn’t meet Alfie’s as he elected to focus on the monitor instead and dive straight back into where he’d left off. Ignoring the fact that Eddie’s meds were not immediately effective, Alfie turned in his seat to give the other man his undivided attention. He had to put on a brave face; he didn’t have any other choice. But then Eddie’s face was on display. He seemed happier in the still shot. There was passion behind his brilliant eyes, and it made Alfie’s heart swoon. He stared longingly at the image on screen, interrupted only by Eddie’s knees brushing his as he turned towards him. 

Alfie swallowed the knot in his throat, glancing down at the space between them. Making eye-contact would be a mistake. There was no hiding the vacant gloss of his eyes, no matter how hard he tried. “Just… pretend I’m not here, if that helps,” his voice wavered. Alfie looked back up at the screen when Eddie started the video. Please pretend I’m not here, he thought, catching a mere glimpse of his friend’s face in the screen’s reflection. Two entirely different faces greeted him. 

Nervously, Alfie ran his tongue across his bottom lip. His hands clasped tightly together in his lap. “Like that’s ever really stopped you in the past,” he absentmindedly chided. This was going to be absolute torture.

It felt unfair, seeing Alfie in so much pain while working hard to keep his own out of sight. At the same time, it felt familiar, but that only made it worse. Eddie, in a desperate attempt to keep people close, became a stranger to himself. Put on a show, keep them entertained, but don’t let them know what’s lurking beneath the surface; they’ll love you less. And Alfie did love him, he knew that now, which was also unfair.

“Don’t,” Eddie pleaded softly, gazing at the ground for a moment before an unprecedented surge of irritation flooded his mind. “I didn’t know, okay? How could I?” Either Alfie would understand what he was referring to, or he wouldn’t. In a way, he preferred the latter option. 

“The first time I came into your apartment through the balcony, it was because you wouldn’t answer the door. And I think that pretty much sums up our entire friendship.” Anguish settled in his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to fight it. “I turn my music up too loud because I know you’ll message me to complain. I bribe you to spend time with me. I do whatever it takes to get you to notice me.” His chest heaved with every breath. Eddie didn’t like being so honest, so vulnerable, but he didn’t deserve to be cast as the villain in this scenario.

“The past few months have been a little different, I didn’t need to work so hard, and I’ve always thought it was worth the effort, anyway. I know how you are, you’re not loud like me, you need a little convincing. That’s fine, I like that about you sometimes, but if you do this…” Eddie gestured at the way Alfie held himself. “If you make me feel guilty for having something in my life that doesn’t revolve around you, then I…” He trailed off, biting back tears as they formed in his eyes.

“I just wish you’d take a second, one second, to look at me and notice that you’re not the only one who's scared. Alfie, you are so important to me in ways you don’t even realize. Ways that I can’t make sense of without throwing my entire world off its axis, and that’s why I need this to work with Bex. With her, it’s simple—it’s expected. So, just… I can’t ask you to be happy about it but, for my sake, try to understand that I can’t be what you want me to be.”

Don’t. The word shook Alfie to his core. At that moment, he knew he fucked up. His shoulders tensed — his entire body did, actually. He was frozen, still locked onto the computer screen and staring straight past Eddie. Leave it to Eddie to see right through him. He anticipated a lashing of reproach; that Eddie was disappointed in his behavior. That’s exactly what he got,  tenfold. 

Alfie tore his eyes away from the monitor as he shifted his gaze to finally look at Eddie; a look of pure bewilderment. His thoughts began to run rampant as he processed what was being said. With each line came a blow to his gut and Alfie’s throat constricted, forbidding him to speak. But he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Not when Eddie very plainly laid his grievances out on the table for Alfie to see. “If you make me feel guilty for having something in my life that doesn’t revolve around you, then I…” Guilty. He made him feel guilty. All because Alfie couldn’t bring himself to pretend for one goddamn second that he was happy for Eddie. Because he was consumed with jealousy over a relationship that was “simple” and “expected”. 

After a painstaking lull, it was Alfie’s turn to speak; to say something — anything — that might smooth things over. An apology would have been a good place to start. But “I’m sorry” were not the words that came out. 

“You think it’s easy for me?” Alfie scoffed, choking on the knot that threatened to suffocate him and forcing back the tears brimming in his own eyes. “That I haven’t even considered how I’ve made you feel over the years? How horrible I’ve been to you because I couldn’t deal with—” It didn’t matter that Eddie had pieced it together; he still couldn’t bring himself to say the words aloud. “What do you have to be afraid of, anyway? That I’d try to hold your hand? Or, god forbid, kiss you?” 

Eddie didn’t deserve the backlash he was receiving from Alfie. Nor did he deserve to be saddled with the responsibility of carrying their entire friendship. But Alfie was terrified to face the reality that they were both now painfully aware of. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry I ever tried to push you away. I’m sorry I’m not happy for you and Bex. I’m sorry, Eddie.” An errant tear ran down Alfie’s cheek and he flicked it away with a terse laugh. 

“I didn’t ask for this. I tried so hard to not— to not feel the way I do about you. I’m still trying. But I look at you and I—” Alfie cut himself off by biting his bottom lip. It wouldn’t do any good. Nothing he said was going to change the fact that Eddie would never reciprocate his feelings. He made it evident that he couldn’t be what Alfie wanted him to be — his own words. “I’m sorry,” he reiterated, once again unable to meet Eddie’s gaze. “I’m trying, really. I want you to be happy.”

Over the past few months, Eddie and Alfie reached a new level of closeness. As Alfie became more receptive to him, Eddie realized how thin their boundaries were becoming. It terrified him how much he liked the idea, so much so that his only option was running away. Enter Bex. He thought the answer to all of his problems started with her, but Alfie proved him wrong when he plunged into a comeback diatribe. 

At the mention of physical affection, Eddie bolted upright and out of his chair. He needed to put distance between them. His legs carried him to the farthest corner of the room, which still felt too close. Alfie didn’t do well with subtext, he should have known better than to rely on it to get his point across, but the idea of openly admitting to how he felt made his chest tighten. 

A barrage of apologies hit him in quick succession as he nervously combed his hair out of his face. Eddie couldn’t let Alfie think he was afraid of him, not even to save himself.

“I’ve never been afraid of what you might do, Alfie.” His voice shook as he gave his confession. “What I’m afraid of is that I’ll like it.” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, as if bracing himself for whatever came next. “You’re not the monster here, I am.” He wanted this to be easy, but shards of glass lined his throat in the wake of truth. 

“Neither of us asked for this.” Eddie found it impossible to look at Alfie. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on a gap in the wood flooring. “But it happened anyway.”

Alfie was certain that he’d hit the nail on the head as soon as Eddie shirked away to the other side of the room at the notion of romantic advancements. Between the two of them, Eddie was always the one to initiate physical contact. It was never intimate; Alfie knew better than to believe it ever could be, and his friend’s present reaction only solidified this theory. If Eddie felt the need to withdraw himself from the situation, he wasn’t going to stop him. He didn’t move in his chair or turn his head to follow his movements. He stayed put, staring at the space the other man previously occupied. In fact, Alfie was so convinced that he was correct in his assumption that Eddie’s next words gave him whiplash. 

Afraid that he would like it?

Bewildered, Alfie shifted in his seat to face Eddie. His eyes desperately tried to search a face that couldn’t bear to look at him. It was impossible for Alfie to discern the truth behind these statements without proper facial cues. He was forced to take Eddie’s words at face value. 

For a second time in the twenty-four hour period, Alfie’s heart shattered all over again. “Oh,” he breathed, unsure of what to say. Nothing he could say would relieve Eddie of the sheer panic and shame he felt. Eventually, he settled on a single-minded question.

“Do you really believe that? That it— that you’re a monster?”

Alfie didn’t have much to say, only offering up a simple question. A simple question that Eddie choked on. His hand raised to cover his mouth as an influx of contradicting emotions lashed out from within. He nodded wordlessly, closing his eyes tightly to fight back tears. He wanted to beg Alfie to tell him how wrong he was, to dissuade him from believing the lies his parents told him, but the words wouldn’t come out.

His back hit the wall and Eddie slid to the floor. He bit back a sob, trying to stay quiet. His dad lived half-way across town, but he still half-expected him to suddenly appear and tell him to keep it down. According to Jim Carridine, Eddie only cried for attention or to make people feel guilty. It never stemmed from anything real, only girls cried their pain out.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie instinctively apologized as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He noticed his position on the floor and cringed; he wanted to shrink his existence. Eddie did the next best thing and pulled his knees to his chest. 

“I don’t know why it hurts so much,” he admitted with a sniffle. “I don’t think less of anyone else because of who they wanna be with, I really don’t, but when it comes to me…” Eddie shook his head sadly. “I’m already so different. People don’t need another excuse to tell me what I’m doing is wrong. And, yeah, it’s just their opinions, but it’s still too heavy. I can’t carry any more.”

He didn’t know what to expect from a question like that. Honestly, Alfie wasn’t even sure why he chose to focus on that part specifically. Maybe it was because he was afraid that Eddie did think he was a monster, but chose to carry the burden himself as a martyr. Or, maybe it was because he knew how fragile Eddie’s sense of self-worth truly was and that suggesting otherwise wouldn’t have accomplished anything. 

But then Eddie continued to break, all because he asked him if he actually believed it. Of course he did; Alfie should have known better than to doubt how much hatred his friend harbored for himself. 

“Hey, hey— whoa, whoa, whoa,” Alfie sputtered, more or less flinging himself from the chair to join Eddie on the floor. This wasn’t the first time that he caught Eddie in a vulnerable state. He’d seen him emotional, probably even shed a few tears. But moments like that never lasted long. Eddie was an expert at masking his emotions.

This was different.

Not only was Alfie bad at comforting people in general, he was entirely clueless as to what Eddie needed right now. A friend — he could give him that much. Alfie managed to swallow his own pain just enough to drape an arm over Eddie’s shoulder. He wouldn’t blame him if he pushed him away, but he had to try. 

“Eddie, listen to me,” he began softly. “That’s not true — none of it. Okay? This sucks. It fucking sucks. But you are so much more than what anyone says you are, alright?” New tears pooled in Alfie’s eyes and he quickly brushed them away with his free hand before extending the gesture to Eddie. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. I’m sorry I was an asshole. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to—” 

A deep frown etched onto Alfie’s features and he let out a trembling sigh. If he kept this up, he’d likely make things worse. “You’re my best friend, Eddie. That’s not going to change, alright?” He wasn’t in the position to make promises like that, no matter how much he wanted to believe it. At the end of the day, he still had to go back to his apartment where he’d only be left with his thoughts. “Bex’ll be good for you, right? So… so, okay. Give it a chance. You owe it to yourself to try, right? And you’ll still have me.” He hoped that wasn’t a lie; for both of their sakes. 

Turning points, both big and small, happen every day. Intentional or not, change is both constant and inevitable. As Alfie embraced him, Eddie knew nothing would ever be the same between them again. The truth about their feelings stripped away the comfort of denial and ushered them into a new chapter, one that terrified Eddie. As far as he could tell, he had two options. The first involved swallowing the truth and dating Bex. The second was wiping away his tears. It didn’t occur to him that his choice should include his feelings as well as Bex and Alfie’s, Eddie didn’t think in those terms. 

When Alfie encouraged him to keep playing house with Bex, claiming nothing needed to change, Eddie sprung forward and wrapped his arms around his best friend. He knew a lie when he heard one. No matter what choice he made, things were irrevocably different now. No amount of pretending would undo the past two days, but he appreciated Alfie’s dedication to the fabricated life he said he wanted.

Eddie breathed in Alfie’s scent, unsure of when he might get another chance. So much begged to be said, additions to his initial confession, but he stayed silent as his grip tightened. In a perfect world, the two of them would stay like this and the rest of the world would leave them alone. But they didn’t live in a perfect world. Alfie would eventually return to his apartment, the change would set in, and their friendship would slowly dissolve. Eddie wondered how much damage a kiss would do. Just one, to know what love felt like pressed against his lips. Too much, probably.

“You changed my life, Alfie,” Eddie whispered with his eyes closed. “No matter what happens, I want you to know that, at least. And I don’t regret any of it.”

Eddie released his hold on Alfie and pulled away enough to look him in the eyes. “One of these days, I’m gonna catch up to where you are. Until then, keep the balcony unlocked for me, okay?”

[iidigestive-readerii]

Story of Tonight

A hand touched her elbow. “Come look at this.”

Padmé glanced at her husband in confusion, gently setting down the mugs on the counter. “What?”

Anakin grinned, gesturing to the threshold of the kitchen and putting a finger to his lips.

She frowned, glancing into the sitting room. 

Obi-Wan was sitting on the couch, legs crossed and arms cradling a sleeping Leia. He was murmuring something to low for the Skywalkers to hear, smiling when he stroked one of her cheeks. It wasn't the first time he'd met the twins, but it was the first time in two months Satine had been on planet to meet them.

Whatever he had said caused Satine to say something and nestle into his side, head on his shoulder. She reached out a finger to touch Leia’s hand, a quiet laugh echoing when Leia grasped it tightly.

Neither Duchess nor Jedi seemed to notice their audience, focusing only on Leia.

“They’re smitten with her,” Padmé whispered, feeling a smile work its way onto her face.

Anakin smirked, leaning against the molding. 

Obi-Wan glanced over at his wife, pressing a kiss to her temple and muttering something to her. He rarely showed affection in public - a trait leftover from growing up in the Temple. The look in his eyes was intense and loving, even from far-away.

Padmé recognized that look - it was the same one her Ani had given her when he had first seen her playing with their niece's or comforting Ahsoka after a particularly difficult mission. The moment they were witnessing was an intensely private, one that she wasn’t comfortable witnessing. She tugged at her husband’s hand with the intent to lead him back into the kitchen.

She took the kettle off just before it started to screech, pouring the water in the mugs without a word.

“I give it a year,” Anakin decided, digging around the cupboards for different kinds of tea. 

“A year until what, Ani?”

His voice was muffled inside the cupboard. “Until Obi-Wan had an ankle-biter.”

Padmé couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head at her husband. 

"Angel?” Anakin closed at the cupboard door, putting the tea on the counter and frowning at her. “You’re quiet.”

She shrugged, studying her husband for the first time in a few months.

Anakin's hair was tousled, his blue eyes filled with concern, and his frown seemed rather displaced. The past few months had loosened the tension in his shoulders and made his step lighter despite the bags under his eyes. Laughter came from him easier than it ever had, thanks to the twins.

But he still held the demons of war in his mind. He woke from nightmares every now and then, paced the halls when he couldn’t sleep, and jumped at a bang in the kitchen. 

There were scars on his body and face, from blasters, whips, lightsabers, shrapnel, burns…

The man she had married was different, she realized with sinking clarity. Different, but not gone. Changed was probably a better word for it.

Nothing would bring back the carefree days of Naboo - not anymore. She would have to accept that.

She let her musings drop upon seeing Anakin’s frown become more prominent.

“You want to bet when Satine will have a child?” A smirk worked it way onto her face. “Oh, I don't know, Ani. I don’t want to make assumptions like that.”

Anakin sighed in exasperation, watching her fix the tea up. “Come on, Padmé.”

“Fine.” She set the tea on a platter, barely suppressing her laugh. “Tonight.”

“What - oh, I don’t need that image in my head!”

***

“I can’t promise you the galaxy will be perfect, but I can promise that you’re always going to be loved. There were so many times I wanted to give up, Leia.” Obi-Wan had to blink backs tears while he watched the small, twitching face of the infant girl in his arms. He stroked one of her cheeks. “Holding you and your brother for the first time made all those days of fighting worth it. I can only pray you never have to fight for your future.”

“Her uncle is the great Negotiator. I hardly doubt she will ever have to fight.” Satine curled into his side, putting her head on his shoulder. She reached out a finger to touch Leia’s hand, giggling when the infant clutched it. “You will have boys doing your bidding, Leia.”

He glanced at Satine, studying her face for a few long moments. A certain kind of happiness shown in her eyes that hadn't been there in years - he half-wondered if it had ever been there. The twins had brought it, he realized, the twins, the war’s end, Palpatine’s death...me. 

Satine met his gaze, closing her eyes when he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“You'll be a good mom,” he whispered, giving her a second kiss on the corner of her mouth. 

She smiled, shifting closer to him. She didn't move when Padmé and Anakin came back into the living room bearing a tray of tea and cookies. Even Obi-Wan - the man who barely touched her arm in public - didn't move. If anything, he seemed to become more content, leaning into the couch while Leia slept in his arms. Luke had been sleeping when they came into the apartment an hour ago, and was probably still out cold. 

“So what's the plan with you guys?” Anakin asked, taking two cookies. “I mean, Satine, you're no longer the ruler of Mandalore - are you moving here?”

“Not exactly.” Satine waved away the mug of tea offered, and tucked her legs closer. “If all goes to plan - I'll be traveling between here and New Mandalorian controlled planets for the next three years, overseeing rebuilding projects and working beside the Senator for Traditional Mandalore. We’ll work together in the Senate, and establish the Mandalorian embassy.”

“Who will have control of that?” Padmé asked, sipping at her tea. 

“Probably the same as most systems - the ruling Court and the Senate.”

“Hmm - sounds like you'll be busy.” Anakin glanced between them, a question in his eyes. “Master - what exactly will you be doing?” 

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, glancing down at Leia when she snuffled and gave a small smile. “What do you mean?”

“Well - since Satine will be traveling for awhile and you're on the Council - ”

“Probably wherever the Order needs me.” Obi-Wan looked at his wife, who seemed entirely distracted by Leia. "And I presume the Council will want me to protect the Dowager Duchess Satine Kryze more oft than not."

The rest of the evening passed quietly. They touched a bit on every subject, never lingering for long, too tired to care and terribly relieved to be enjoying the relative peace. Ahsoka swung by at one point, dragging Rex and Cody with her. Everyone chattered, though most of the attention was focused on the twins.

He grudgingly relinquished Leia to her uncles, watching almost zealously while they fawned over her. 

Satine - still tucked into his side - squeezed his arm.

“What’s wrong?"

"I don't want to wait seven more months for the baby to be born,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes shining.

Obi-Wan pressed hips lips together and nodded, watching Rex trying to get Leia to smile and Ahsoka - now that Luke was awake - hold him gently and laugh while he grabbed at her montrals.

“Me neither.” He swallowed, thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Should we tell them?"

Satine glanced at him, a bit stunned before she gave a watery smile. He grinned when she shook her head no, wiping her tears away before carefully tilting her chin up and giving her a kiss.

“Oh - come on Master Kenobi!” Ahsoka rolled her eyes dramatically. “Save it for later!”

“Shh, Ahsoka - let the emotionally repressed man have some fun.” Anakin grinned at the glare he received. “You love me.”

“Mmm - sure.”

@mytardisisparked to fuel your Obitine baby fever 😆

[troubatrain]

the times when things got hard...

two blurbs following want you to want me

read the rest here!

Matthew was having a hard time.

Everything was just bad. Changes were coming in Calgary and Matthew was falling behind for the first time in his life. He was down to the third line, he couldn’t score a goal to save his life, and while he was falling apart - he was enviously watching you succeed. Matthew had maybe three more weeks until you’d be at his doorstep from a training camp you had to attend. He was being patient, trying desperately not to call and make you feel upset for not being there when he was having a rough time. He’d been on his own for long enough, Matthew knew how to handle it, but everything was different now.

You were the first person Matthew talked to in the morning and the last one he talked to before bed. Your apartments in your cities had both of your names on the leases. Every piece of the homes were littered with relics of both of your accomplishments. Those things were important to your relationship, but the only thing Matthew had yet to do was lean on you for emotional support when he really needed it. Chantal once told you it might never happen, years of watching his father come home with nothing short of a smile on his face and advice to his kids to just leave it on the ice.

And you were fine with that.

Well, you were trying to be fine with it. You knew Matthew was having trouble, cringing when you saw him snap a stick in half in the penalty box the night before. He had bags under his eyes, exhaustion clear in his voice over Facetime right after. Those things were obvious, but when you were bed alone and Matthew didn’t ask you once for phone sex, you knew he was down bad. So you snuck a flight to Canada, keeping your secret to yourself until you unlocked the door to your shared apartment.

You put your things away quietly, throwing on a pair of Matthew’s sweats you were secretly missing because all of the ones you’d stolen just didn’t smell like him anymore. You missed him more than you realized, down the way he always made your coffee in the morning, and even though it wasn’t the way you usually drank it - you took it with a smile.

Then you heard a door slam, causing you to jump. You’d caught the last bit of the game in the car, listening to the radio with your cab driver who had nothing kind to say about the current state of the city’s hockey team. It wasn’t pretty, a ten minute major throwing Matthew out of the game and just as you suspected, he was pissed.

“Babe?” You call out, stepping out the bedroom and taking Matthew in. Fresh black eye, cut above his brow making it clear that even if he’d won that fight it wasn’t pretty. His tie was long gone, loose around his neck with a few buttons undone. He looked sad, a deep sigh leaving his body when he finally saw you.

Matthew didn’t say a word, emotionally overwhelmed to the point where he was speechless. You were standing right in front of him, like he desperately needed you to be. He didn’t have to ask, beg for you to be there for him, and something about that was so important to Matthew he didn’t have a word to describe it.

“I’m awful,” Matthew mumbled, pressing his head into your neck. You could feel the tears freely flowing from his eyes. Your heart was breaking, a guilt washing over you that maybe you could have been there sooner.

“Matty, you’re having a tough time right now but that doesn’t mean shit and you know that,” You try to reason with him, running your fingers through his overgrown curls. He shook his head no, his fingers digging into your hips, “Babe look at me.”

“No,” Matthew shook his head again, and you just took a deep breath, “Everyone wants me out of here, you’ll probably be next.”

You grab his hand, holding it out for that same silly handshake Matthew made up when you started dating. His lips twitched, forming a smirk while he slapped his hand against yours. Left, right, and a sweet kiss to your lips just like he always did, “I’m not going anywhere… except for back to camp.”

“You’re allowed to be here right?” Matthew questions, voice raspy and his lips ghosting over yours. It was a weird guilt he felt, like you’d left before you were supposed to for him and that if you were in some shit it would be his fault. He never wanted to be the reason you felt held back, a constant battle with his own selfish need to want you around but his unselfish want to see you flourish.

“You needed me and I’m here,” You whisper, leaving out the part where you really shouldn’t have left but if you were back by Monday nobody would know you were ever gone. You grab his cheeks, gently wiping away a few stray tears that had fallen from his eyes, “Please don’t ever think you’re a burden for talking to me about the hard times. I’m here for the good and the bad, the way you’re playing isn’t

going to change that.”

“I love you,” Matthew mumbles, pulling you into his chest and pressing his lips to your forehead, “And I missed you so much-”

“I did too, we have some time to make up for, I think,” You look up at Matthew, who had a smug smile and his brows raised at you. His hand landed on your ass, a chuckle following.

“I think my dick missed you the most.”

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

****

She’s barely even with him.

It was one comment on your instagram photo, some stranger deciding they knew more about your relationship with Matthew than you did. A series of comments followed, all because Matthew insisted on using that stupid rocket emoji on your picture, all of them the same.

I heard it’s all for PR so he doesn’t look like a bad guy.

He’s definitely cheating on her.

It wasn’t just that, things had been hard on you lately. You hadn’t scored in weeks, your loss column just getting higher while wins seemed to slip out from under you. Every part of your body was sore, that terrible habit you had of pushing yourself to the point of exhaustion was hard to break. It was even harder when Matthew was all the way in Canada and he couldn’t be there. You didn’t want to complain about it, there were plenty of times you weren’t there for him and whining wasn’t helping either of you, but you needed to see him.

You deleted the text on your phone a thousand times, a please come see me cry for help that Matthew couldn’t answer. He was on a road trip in New York, and there wasn’t anyway possible he could leave. Besides, it would’ve been unfair to put him in that kind of position.

Except Matthew knew you were struggling, keeping tabs on you while he was away because that was part of being a good boyfriend. Every loss your team took was breaking his heart, and you were way too stubborn to admit when you were upset. Which is why he started with a simple text.

Hey, I love you, and I’m proud of you.

No answer.

Matthew furrowed his brows, laying back on his hotel room bed and wondering if you were mad at him. Did he miss something? There was no way, a promise Matthew made to himself that he wasn’t going to fuck this up for himself by forgetting something as simple as an anniversary. He settled on Facetiming you, and when the phone only rang once before you ended it, he knew you ignored him. He called, two rings before you finally picked up, sniffling into the phone.

“I’m still enough right?” You whisper, your position much like his all the way in New York. You were laying in your bed, the one you’d shared with your boyfriend dozens of times, trying to fight off your own personal demons.

“You’re everything to me, you know that,” Matthew rushed out, his eyes widening at your words, “Babe-”

“You wouldn’t cheat on me?” You ask, Matthew mentally trying to figure out if he could swing a quick trip to Chicago and be back to play the Rangers by seven the next night.

“Never in my fucking life,” Matthew promises, shocked that you’d even think that. You were different, and he didn’t play games when it came to your relationship, “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“It was just some comments on my Instagram picture about how we’re barely together, and, fuck, Matty they’re right,” You cry, Matthew was silent on the otherside of the phone, “I miss you and I can’t see you and I knew this would happen-”

“They’re not right,” Matthew growls, running a hand through his hair, “Y/N, I love you more than anything else in this world and if you asked me to hang it up tomorrow I would. Except you wouldn’t, because this is special, and fuck what other people have to say about it.”

“Promise?” You whisper, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath, inhaling whatever scent was left of Matthew’s on his hoodie you were wearing.

“Yeah you’re stuck with me babe,” Matthew hums, smiling when he finally heard you let out a laugh on the other side of the phone, “I’m ordering you dinner, and go relax because you have a game tomorrow.”

“You have one too you know,” You muse, feeling lighter than you did when he called.

“First one to score wins?”

“Oh you’re on!”

“That’s my girl.”

[followyoursecretsmutblog]

the lies you tell IV.

Summary: You and Henry dated for 2 very happy years, when it all came crumbling down. Protection was the only thing on your mind. And now, 3 years later, on a lunch with a common friend, you are hit with the lies you told.

the lies you tell. the lies you tell II. the lies you tell III.

“Chris, are you fucking kidding me? You just find out that I dated someone, and that he was just in my home. And you set me up with someone? Are you out of you fucking mind?” I shout, pulling my hair.

This man cannot possibly be this dim!

“Ava, you said it yourself. You guys can’t be together. You are one of my best friends, I can’t just stand by and see you slowly killing yourself because you are too scared to look for love again.” 

“I’m not scared.” I mumble, folding my arms across my chest.

“Yes, you are. Or you would have already dated other men. Or women.” I shoot him a glare, he holds his hands up in fake surrender. 

“There is no one else I want. Henry is all I want.” I say, my voice cracking, arms falling to my side.

“Don’t take this personally babe, but if he wanted you, he would have fixed the problem as soon as you told him what it was.” Chris points out. 

I look down, not able to meet his gaze. “But, I love him.”

I hear movement, and arms wrap around me. “I know. But sometimes love isn’t enough.” Chris whispers, kissing the top of my head. 

I burry my face into his chest, his shirt soaking in my tears. He just holds me, as if he is keeping me from falling completely apart.

Pulling away, I look at him with tear stained cheeks, red eyes and a runny nose, “Do I still have to go on this date?”

Chris chuckles, pushing my hair from my face, “Yes. You aren’t getting out of it.”

“I hate you so much.” I groan, hitting my forehead against his hard chest.

“I love you, too, Ava.” With one last kiss on my head, he spins me around and shoves me toward my room, slapping my ass.

~~

“Who is this dinner with?” I ask, smoothing my hands over my dress, check myself out in the mirror.

I look good. Well, as good as I can.

“It’s a surprise.” Chris replies, poking his head into the bathroom, looking at me. “You look beautiful.”

A smile blush covers my cheeks and I smile at him in return. 

“Everything will be fine, I promise. He isn’t some crazy person who is going to kidnap and kill you. He’s a friend of mine. I think you even met him once.” He explains as you two walk out of your apartment and to his car. “Sweet guy. Totally awkward around pretty girls.” He chuckles.

I turn to face him, stopping dead in my tracks. “What have you told him about me?!” I shriek, eyes wide. 

“That you are helplessly in love with someone and in need of a good night out.” He looks me dead in the eye. “And then some.” Wiggling eyebrows included.

I don’t know what my face was doing, but Chris’ response to it was hysterical laughter.

“I hate you with everything in me right now.” I huff, stalking toward his car once more.

“Come on, Ava! I told him nothing but good things. I swear!” He laughs as he follows behind me, unlocking the door and opening it.

“The date isn’t with you is it?” 

“First, why do you say that with such distaste? I’m wounded, honestly. Second, no. I will not be there. I am only an escort.” I slide into the seat, adjusting myself comfortably.

“I will kill you. I promise.” I grumble as he slides into the driver’s side and starts the engine.

“I would like to see you try.” He chuckles as he pulls away from the carpark.

The time spent driving goes fast. We talk about new projects, vacations and the upcoming holidays. 

“You know you are more than welcome to come home with me. My family loves you.” 

“I actually think I’m going to go home this year. I miss my family, I haven’t seen them properly since I left.” A sad smile falls on my lips at the thought of when I last saw them. Mum and dad were so supportive of me leaving, thinking it would be best if I were to leave London and start fresh. “But thank you, I know I will have a place in your home and that means everything to me.”

Chris just smiles as he changes lanes. “You are always welcome.” There is a beat of silence. “It’s right up here. Having any second thoughts?”

“Yes.” I answer honestly, “But you are right, I need to get out and try something new.”

“Everything will be fine. Just let loose and be yourself.” He pulls up to the curb, signaling to the attendant to hold on for a moment. “The reservation is under my name.”

“Okay. Thank you, Chris.”

 “Ava.” His voice sounding a bit strange, I look up and meet his eyes. “If for any reason you feel uncomfortable, or want to leave you call me, okay? I’ll come back and get you. Okay?” 

“I will. I promise.” I give him a smile and lean over to kiss his cheek. “You are an amazing friend, thank you.” He nods and my door opens.

I step out to Chris calling out the window, “Use protection!” I just flip him off, my smile never faltering. 

The restaurant is nice, a little to posh for my liking, but nice none the less.

“Hello, Miss, can I help you?” The woman at the hostess stand asks.

“Yes, I’m under the Evans reservation. Chris Evans.” I say softly, trying not to bring attention to myself. 

Damn having famous friends.

“Ah! Yes, your other guest had arrived just before you. Please follow me.” With a fake smile and swaying hips, she leads me deep into the heart of the room. 

There are so many people here, some that I recognize from tv and magazines.

“I ordered the 1957, not the 1959!” An older gentleman hollers, causing the poor waiter to tremble slightly.

Ohhhkaaayyyyy, a little too rich for my blood.

I turn my attention back to the hostess as she makes a left turn into a nicely lit corner. “Here you are ma’am. Enjoy your dinner.” She says, gesturing toward a table with a candle in the center.

I let out a small thank you and walk closer, trying to see who the man was before he saw me. But he is facing the window, watching everything pass by in a blur.

Come on, Ava. You are a big girl, you can do this. If anything, it’s just one night. Breathe in and out.

I close my eyes for a second, take a deep breath, and open them back up, taking the final step toward the table.

“Hello, I’m Ava.” I say sweetly, my accent making the ‘Hello’ come out as ‘’Ello’. 

He turns his head, a nervous smile on his face. 

I can’t help but giggle at him, “If it wasn’t Chris, of course it would be you.” Shaking my head, he stands up.

“You know how he is. Like a dog with a bone.” He chuckles, kissing my cheek.

“He’s a child, and we both know it.” I kiss his cheek in return.

With a nod, he pulls away to pull my chair out. Once I sit, he tucks me in and takes his own seat.

“Are you disappointed?” He asks, taking a drink.

“No, of course not. I honestly didn’t know who to expect. But I am happy to see a friendly face.” I look up, meeting the bright blue eyes of Sebastian Stan.

“Chris said this would be your first time out in a while.”

“I am going to kill him.” I roll my eyes as he laughs.

“You know he means well.”

“I could sell him on the black market. Get a pretty penny for him.” I muse as the waiter brings me a glass of wine. “He is very sweet, but sometimes he needs to know he can’t fix everyone’s problems.”

“That won’t stop him from trying.”

We watch the waiter leave after we order, as if we are children waiting for the adults to leave before running amuck. 

I turn back to him, his dark hair and blue eyes reminding me of someone else.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sebastian asks, settling back in his chair.

“About what?”

“Chris asked me to this dinner for you because he knew I was safe. I’m friends with him, and every time we are together we get along. But, I see that every time you look at me, a piece of you isn’t for this.” He answers honestly.

“Seb, I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t want to be here. You are a great person, and I care for you deeply. I just...” I trail off, looking out the window. 

Breathe.

I turn back to him, seeing no judgment in his eyes. “I haven’t gone out on a proper date in years. I dated a guy and now it’s over. First heartbreak sucks.” I laugh at myself, downing half of my glass.

“I get it. So, why don’t we do this.” He sits forward, arms on the table. I watch him, a sneaky smile playing on his lips. “Fuck the idea of this ‘date’, why don’t we just eat, drink a few beers and talk about whatever we want?”

A genuine smile comes from me, “That sounds perfect.”

“Good.” He nods his head, motions for the waiter. “Two beers please.” And turns back to me. “Now, wanna play twenty questions?”

~~

“I swear to you, he did!” Sebastian says as I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.

“There is no way! You have got to be lying!” My sides hurt, I have no idea how I am standing up right. “I know he is a free spirt, but to go skinny dipping? In the middle of winter with all his cast mates? He wouldn’t.”

“I have proof.” I look at him, eyes wide.

“No.” I lean against the wall outside my apartment door, a hand over my heart. 

“I do.” He fishes his phone from his pocket, trying to find the video.

“You have a video of Chris. Naked. On your phone?” I wheeze, tears falling.

He stops scrolling, looks at me and nods. “Of course, I do, he’s my friend.” As if it was the most normal thing in the world. “Here it is!” Turning the screen to face me, I watch my drunken friend get undressed and decides to go for a swim.

“He is an absolute nut-case!” I lay my head on Sebastian’s shoulder, both our bodies shaking from laughter. 

“I was lucky to get it on camera! I was actually trying to get me singing, but this was way better!” He howls.

We stand there for a moment, one of his arms loosely wrapped around me and my head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Sebastian. Tonight, was wonderful. Better then I could have imagined.” I say as I pull away. 

“Of course. I enjoyed tonight as well.” 

“Maybe we can do it again?” I ask, uncertain if he would even want to.

Why would he? I already told him I am emotionally unavailable. He can do so much better.

“I would like that. It was nice getting to know you. Maybe next time it can be more casual.”

“Yeah, not a huge fan of lavish things.” I giggle.

“I’ll call you.” He smiles, leaning down and kisses my cheek. “Until next time, Ava.”

“I look forward to it.” I put my key in my lock and turn, watching him at the elevator doors close.

I sigh as I push the door open. Tonight wasn’t bad at all. It wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. 

I close the door and kick my shoes off as my phone rings.

Chris.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I answer.

“I just wanted to make sure you made it home safely.” He defends.

“I did, thank you. Sebastian was nice enough to walk me to my door.” I pick my shoes up and walk to my room.

“That’s good. How was it?” 

“It was fine. We decided to just hangout instead of making it a big deal.” Tossing my shoes in my closet, I start on unzipping my dress. 

“Well I’m glad. I knew he was a good choice!” Chris laughs, I can hear Dodger barking in the background.

“Yes, yes. Seb was a good choice.” My straps fall down my arms, “At least you picked someone I had something in common with.” 

I turn around, dress falling to the ground, phone slipping and landing with a sharp crack as a small scream falls from my lips.

“Ava? Ava! Are you there? Answer me!” Chris shouts, his voice getting increasingly louder and more aggressive. When I don’t answer, he curses, “Fuck it, I’m on my way!”

I don’t move, my body trembling at the man sitting in my desk chair. I open and close my mouth, trying to say something, but nothing comes out.

The man stands up and take a step toward me.

Tag-list: @thiccgeralt - @mary-ann84- @omgkatinka - @suueeeeeee - @hell1129-blog​

A/N: Can you tell I’m a whore for dark haired men with blue eyes?

Also, feedback is greatly appreciated! 

[atsuminthe]

AD INFINITUM

I — AD IDEM

→ SYNOPSIS: They got to feel the ‘end of the world’ on their own skin—they’ll live to see another day, together. Alternatively, Atsumu and Osamu go on a journey of self-discovery, forging new bonds and strengthening their own, as they navigate through a post-apocalyptic world riddled with dangers in hopes of reuniting with their parents.

→ listen to... YIRUMA — RIVER FLOWS IN YOU

“ask not the sun why she sets—why she shrouds her light away...”

Earthquakes weren’t uncommon.

    They occurred regularly, sometimes like clockwork—most of them were small, somewhere around 2 or 3 on the Richter scale—you’d be barely able to feel them if you planted your hands firmly against the ground. Everyone was used to them—yet the one that brought doom upon the entire nation was virtually unpredictable, happening between two ‘planned’ ones and absolutely throwing any effective evacuation plan out the window.

    It was one of the many around the world that almost shattered the continents, rattling the globe itself to the core. Something of a chain reaction, the seismologists said, that triggered every other natural disaster you could think of: tsunamis, landslides, volcanic eruptions.

    A 10, kind of like the highest setting in terms of power levels. The most effective way nature could use to wipe out humanity.

    The first day was what everyone calls ‘the beginning of the end’, where reality hits you in the face and you scramble for safety only to realize that nothing is safe, except for the underground shelters—yet they’re stuffed, some exceeding full capacity as everyone is trying to survive.

    Survive.

    It’s probably a weak word, compared to what everyone is feeling. The self-preservation instinct went crazy in every living organism as fights erupted everywhere, tearing families apart and destroying every bit of decency humanity had left—massacres at every step, every corner, every blink.

    It would be later described as ‘«The Exorcist», but make it ten times worse’ by the eventual survivors. The few that remained, the few that held onto that sliver of hope with their teeth.

    With every collapsing building and each shockwave obliterating everything in its path, life expectancy got lower and lower. Somehow, the masses that huddled together lasted longer than the aristocracy, with their fancy equipment and private housing.

    The second to seventh day was a blur—mostly dying people, scavenging for essentials, trying to find the remnants of your family. On the eighth day, some sort of parasite invaded certain target dead bodies, preventing them from rotting in the scorching heat that settled after the eruption of a seemingly inactive volcano in mount Adatara.

    ‘Undeads’ started rising and they quickly became a problem because of their ability to spread both diseases—similar to rats during the European Black Plague—and infect others with the mysterious parasite through biting, scratching or wounding in general.

    Sendai, along with Tokyo, Hiroshima, Fukuoka and Sapporo, became epicentres of high-risk areas. Anyone within a radius of 100 km was advised to leave immediately, if they could, and head towards a decontamination camp—Niigata, Nagoya, Osaka, Kagoshima or Hakodate.

    The Miya twins took that advice—or, at the very least, tried to.

    They were in Tokyo when it happened, waiting for their match. Who were they playing against? That was the last of their concerns when the rumbling started, shaking the entire building—normally, everyone panicked (not that something else was expected, no matter how organized you are). The more fragile parts of the gym collapsed suddenly, before anyone had a chance to react, and Osamu and Atsumu found themselves outside, pushed by the crowd—but all alone. Where was everyone? Did they not get out? They probably have—Kita most likely steered everyone clear of the falling debris.

    They didn’t have time to worry about that. They’d meet somewhere, sometime.

    Confusion overtook them. What were they supposed to do? The rumbling didn’t cease, nor did it falter in the slightest, so the only option left for them was to continue getting pushed by the crowd and see where they end up.

    It wasn’t great. If anything, their days were fuzzy—no Internet connection, no signal, no way to communicate with anyone. The streets ended up empty by the time they reached Niigata and the deserted buildings creeped them out in a weirder way than they would have in normal circumstances. They were too late, they realized—far too late for their liking, but since they had to go on foot all the way from Tokyo, they supposed it couldn’t be helped. Atsumu complained about the heat, the humidity, the cold nights, the scarce water supply, the even scarcer food ration—everything he could think of, while Osamu groaned and put up with it, as he was used to his twin’s antics. His annoyance didn’t go unnoticed, though—when the blond realized that whining won’t get him anywhere (and he was losing energy over it, too), he stopped. All he said were little comments over the state of the world, cracking some jokes here and there and trying to make his way-too-serious twin smile for at least a few seconds—and he succeeded at some point, when he heard Osamu snort in front of him, even if his back was all Atsumu could see.

    Everything was in shambles—none of them expected anything else, but the only thing they could seek solace in was the other.

    Such was the truth.

    Miya Atsumu only had Miya Osamu. Miya Osamu only had Miya Atsumu.

    They were alone in a world that wanted them dead and they refused to give up.

    They’d hold onto each other until their last breaths.

    “A told ya, we need to stop and eat. We haven’t sat down since we passed that mall in Iiyama!” Atsumu huffed, tugging on the tattered sleeve of his brother’s tracksuit, which prompted the silver-haired man to groan and turn around—his eyes were tired, slightly unfocused, with dark circles under them as he glared.

    “Shut yer trap, ‘Tsumu. We almost reached Suzaka, and from there we have 10, maybe 20 minutes until Nagano,” Osamu muttered, shrugging his twin’s hand off his sleeve. “Quit yer whinin’, we can rest then.”

    “Yer gonna collapse and a ain’t carryin’ ya all the way ta Nagano,” the blond warned, scowling. With a stomp of his foot, he stopped in his tracks and plopped on the ground, refusing to budge even after Osamu’s harsh gaze. “Ya ain’t scarin’ me with that shit. Sit yer ass down and let’s eat whatever the fuck ya found.”

    “At least help me set up some makeshift camp, ya pig,” the grey-eyed man groaned, giving in to his brother’s insistence. Truth be told, he felt the fatigue catching up to him, realizing that he couldn’t go further than Obuse and it would actually be a good idea to rest. Atsumu wasn’t the brightest in many things, but—even he had to admit—he was an emotionally intelligent cookie. Muttering an ‘sorry for that’ under his breath, Osamu lit a little fire with whatever flammable stuff he found lying around as Atsumu took out the blue tent they found under the rubble of a sports store in Tokamachi.

    “So what do we have?” the blond asked, zipping up the flaps of the tent and sitting next to his twin, who was trying his hardest to not drop the tin cans containing their dinner. Incoherent mumbles fell from Osamu’s lips in an attempt to answer and Atsumu only sighed,  gingerly plucking the utensils from his brother’s hands and taking care of the food himself. “Just rest, dumbass. A’ll wake ya up when it’s ready,” he reasoned when Osamu whined something about ‘doing it himself’—his eyes closed a second later, a soft snore escaping him as his head bobbed up and down, making his twin puff a laugh through his nostrils.

    “A’ll stay watch tonight, but ya gotta do the rummagin’ next time we go lookin’ for food,” Astumu explained as he fed his brother some canned soup, smiling gently at the sleepy state he was in—he could barely sit straight, but the smell of food suddenly gave him enough energy to eat. A slight nod was the only confirmation he needed—he patted the grey locks, settling down with his own can of soup. “Could have been worse,” he mused, swirling the cheap liquid in the can. “We could have been dead.”

    “Guess what we have is better than nothin’,” Osamu reasoned in his sleep-laced voice and Atsumu watched him put the can down and stretch. “A’ll take over after a little nap, ‘Tsumu. Ya need yer rest too.”

    “Since when did ya care so much about me, huh?”

    “Since ya decided ta cook for me, even though ya suck ass at cookin’.”

    “Fair enough. Now get ta sleep, else a’m makin’ ya take over watchout duty.”

“As if. Try not ta scream like a girl when ya see another Undead again, yeah?”

Atsumu grunted, looking to the side. With a last laugh, Osamu lied down on the blanked in the tent, falling asleep instantly. His blond twin smiled gently, watching his chest rise and fall peacefully—he turned his face to the still-burning fire, the heat hitting his face welcome against the crisp cold of the night.

Don’t worry, ‘Samu. A’ll watch over ya, like a always have.

taglist: @risjime;

[tonks32]

Aiden Trevelyan X Cassandra Prompt “Hold On to Me”

There was no point in struggling or screaming. Logically, Casandra knew that, but it didn’t stop her from fighting against the metal shackles or crying out till her throat became raw. She’d be damned if she were going to be idle while these deranged blood mages bled her dry for some Maker forsaken ritual. They would not kill her in the same way they had her brother.

   “Silence!” One of the masked mages commanded. “I told you before no one can hear you. No one will find you.”

   Wrist bleeding from the metal biting into her skin, Cassandra starred at the man through the dim light. They had her bound on a stone alter in nothing more than a swash of cloth surrounded by flaming black candles. Their glow was the only light source since they blacked out the windows. “Fuck you!”

    Wrapping a hand around her throat, he slammed her head back hard enough to leave the warrior dazed. “Such a mouth for a Chantry woman. This all would’ve been so much easier if you agreed to help us.”

    Cassandra fought to clear her vision. If she passed out then she was good as dead. She had to hold out until her companions found her. Surely, they would have started looking for her when she didn’t return from bathing down by the stream. She’d let her guard down and now was playing the price. “I will never willingly help a blood mage.” Though she couldn’t quite see her mark, she spat in the man’s face. “Especially ones that murdered my brother.”

   The man let out a long sigh and motioned for another in the room to flank the altar. He swept his finger over the streak of blood leaking from her raw wrist. “He could not see his true purpose. He failed to see the tremendous power within his blood.”

   “Look at her struggling.” A third man stood at the foot of the alter. “Look at how she’s wasting that power.”

    “We must hurry before she throws away more.” The first man rubbed his blood coated finer over the bridge of his nose making his eyes glow red. “Tell the others to come inside and we will begin.”

   Cassandra became paralyzed by fear the moment the cold steel of a blade touched her throat. Just like the night her brother was killed, she could do nothing to stop the actions about to happen. They were about to drain her blood to appease some sick dragon ritual She was going to die bound and helpless. Her greatest fear.

    Chanting filled the dark room, filling her veins with ice.

    Would her brother be waiting for her on the other side? Would incomplete actions in life follow her into the Fade? Would the Maker remind her how foolish she’d been in playing it safe when the risk was worth the reward?

   The knife gleamed in the candlelight as it was raised and poised to strike. She closed her eyes on a prayer to the Maker to bring her a swift death.  

    If only she had more time.

   There was a grunt and Cassandra felt the warm thickness of blood spatter across her face. No pain, she silently mused waiting for the heaviness of death to take her. Thank Andraste for that.

   Something whistled through the air before there was another grunt and something heavy fell against the alter, scattering the candles and casting the room into total darkness.

   “Cassandra?”

    Odd, she thought. To hear his voice on the other side of the veil. Or was this the Maker’s way of providing comfort? To ease the transition of death by hearing the one voice she wanted the most in her last moments.

   “Someone find the damn keys!”

   “I can’t see a fucking thing!”

    “Open your eyes. C’mon, Seeker.”

   Feeling the familiar touch on her cheek, Cassandra’s eyes shot open to find Aiden’s glowing blue orbs staring down at her. Cassandra’s heart leaped. He found her! Tears burned the back of her throat leaving her incapable of speaking.

   “Stand back, Boss,” Bull Commanded. After throwing a lifeless blood mage to the ground, the Qunari raised his massive sword above his head and came down hard against the link holding her chains together. “We need to move. More are coming.”

    “Up you go, Seeker.” Aiden snaked an arm around her bare shoulders and lifted.

   “You will not take her from us!” The leader roared charging forward through the darkness.

   Only Aiden could see the blade going for Cassandra’s heart. Cursing, he dove across the alter, dragging the Seeker along so the blade dragged across his back and not into her chest.

   “Get her out of here!” Dorian shouted.

    “Hold on to me,” Aiden whispered against her ear. “Don’t let go.”

    Cassandra latched her shackled arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

   Not known for his strength, Aiden called on all his adrenaline as he pushed to his feet and waded through the small battle raging around the pitch-black room. “Hold on.”

   Sun blinded her when they stumbled outside. She had no bearing to where they were or where Aiden was taking her. All she knew was that with him she was safe. And that’s all that mattered. Aiden had come for her. It seemed the Maker was listening to her please after all.

   Once he was sure they were safe and no one was flowing them, Aiden fell to his knees, holding Cassandra against him. “Are you okay?”

   Cassandra couldn’t seem to find her voice. The man who was beyond terrified of the dark breached its depth to save her. The man, who detested being touched or making any physical contact of any kind, was clutching her for dear life. Overwhelmed with emotions, she buried her face into his scarred throat.

   “Are you hurt?” Drawing away, Aiden began to search, needing the reassurance before he went mad with worry. All he could think about was the knife against her throat and the utter terror he felt at the thought he’d been too late.

   His hands seemed to be touching her everywhere at once. His warmth and reassurance were the only things keeping her from falling apart. “I’m okay.”

   Aiden skimmed his fingers along her throat. “There is blood.”

   “Not mine.” Tears began to burn again and this time she let them fall knowing with Aiden she was safe to do so. “Hold me a little bit longer.”

   He pulled her tightly against him. “I got you.” Aiden felt her fingers twist in his hair almost as if she was anchoring herself. There was no flash of discomfort or any sickening sensation that hit whenever someone touched him. There was only the overwhelming relief that she was safe and unarmed. “Maker, Cassandra.”

   “What took you so long?”

   A strangled laugh worked up his emotionally clogged throat. He wasn’t used to feeling so much. To his astonishment, Aiden felt tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. The face she believed that he would come to save her left him breathless. “Had to make the save as dramatic as possible for when the dwarf writes about the grand tale.”

   “You cut it a bit close there, Trevelyan.”

   “I’m sorry.” Taking her face in his hands, Aiden pressed his brow against hers. “I’m so sorry.”

   “I’m okay,” She reassured hands drifting over his shoulders. Her brows scrunched together when she felt something damp against her fingers. “Andraste’s light, Aiden! You’re bleeding!”

   Aiden twisted trying to catch a glimpse of the wound. “It’s nothing.”

   “I’ll be the judge of that.”

   “Everyone okay out here?” Dorian asked pushing through the thick brush they hid behind.

   “Blood isn’t hers.” Aden shifted, taking her shackled hands carefully in his. “Did you find the key?”

   The mage tugged it from his belt. “Bull and Varric are ensuring no one else is lingering. We need to move out if everyone is able.”

   Seeing the great care Aiden was taking in assuring he didn’t cause any more discomfort as he unshackled her nearly made Cassandra weep. He thought of himself as a broken man with nothing by rough edges, yet here he was showing her all the gentleness and comfort in the world. “I can walk.”

   “Good.” Dorian handed her a healing potion. “For your wrist until I can heal them properly.”

   Once the mage walked off, Aiden shrugged out of his hunting coat and bundled Cassandra in it. “Take the potion,” He softly commanded.

   She pushed the vial into his hand. “You need it more than me.”

   “I beg to differ.”

   “Well, you can’t see your back.”

   Aiden shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

   “That does nothing to make me feel better. Especially since you sustained a wound meant for me.”

   “I couldn’t… Couldn’t…” Aiden brushed his hand along her blood stained cheek. How could he begin to explain that losing her was a pain that he couldn’t bear when he was still struggling to understand the sheer importance of her in his life.

   Seeing emotions flooding his gaze, she clamped a hand over his scarred wrist pleased he hardly flinched. “Aiden.”

   “We need to move out,” Varric called out. “In case they have any friends nearby.”

   “Drink.”

   “We’ll split it.” Cassandra downed half the vial and shoved it back into his hand before he could protest. “Don’t argue, Trevelyan. You’ll never win.”

   Chuckling, he swallowed the rest of the potion. “I have no doubt.”

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Okay

Summary: Rami needs his brother to make him feel okay after the intensity of filming Mr. Robot, Episode 407.

A/N: Well, this is a bit of a grey area for me because Sami isn’t a celeb; however, the muse bit and she would NOT let go. Also, if you haven’t read @bohemian-napsodyy​‘s HC about the Reader x Rami on set during Ep 407, do it. Their Anon beat my own muse by a few hours 😉 

Warning: Spoiler-ish for Mr. Robot, Episode 407

When Sami stepped off the plane, he grimaced.

The air inside LaGuardia was stifling, almost putrid compared to the air of his west coast home. Sami hated coming to New York City in the summer, but when Rami had called and asked him to hang out for a few days on the Robot set, there was something in his twin’s voice that Sami couldn’t ignore.

“I’m supposed to come in July, Ram. School just let out. I’m exhausted. Are you sure it can’t wait?”

“Uh, well, uh, I don’t know. I guess so,” Rami had stammered.

Sami knew there was something his brother wasn’t telling him, but why he wasn’t telling him was what concerned him.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Rami said immediately, and Sami knew that the vulnerability Rami had just let slip was being hurriedly caged away. He could practically hear the door slamming shut as Rami changed both the subject of conversation and the tone of his voice. Sami knew his brother better than he knew his own self.  

And that was the thing with being an identical twin; they were quite literally your other half, and even though at times Sami wanted nothing more than to knock his brother senseless, he loved him with a depth that few could ever understand.

When they had hung up, Sami was still uncommitted to visiting the Robot set early, but an unease settled in the pit of his stomach and didn’t let go until he texted his brother later that night to say he’d catch the first flight out in the morning.

Rami’s reply was short, a simple “OK,” but Sami could feel his brother’s relief and knew it was mirrored in the way his own body had relaxed when he finally sent the text. It didn’t matter that they were literally on opposite ends of the country, 2,800 miles apart; Sami always knew exactly what Rami was feeling.

Despite having worn sunglasses, a hat, and earbuds, Sami was approached three times as he navigated his way through the crowded airport, remembering another reason why he hated New York City. In LA, people just didn’t approach celebrities like they did on the east coast, and they especially did not give a shit about the brother of a celebrity.

The first person to approach was someone who recognized him as “the other one” once they got close enough, and then comically turned on their heel and tried to walk away as if they hadn’t just made a beeline for the wrong twin.

Next, it was by someone who knew exactly who he was and asked for a picture anyway.

And finally, it was by someone who, despite his protests, insisted that Sami was Rami, clearly preparing for a new role. Sami shook his head and smiled for the camera, thinking Rami’s people would have fun with that one if it picked up any traction online.

The taxi ride to Rami’s apartment in Soho was too long, but Sami caught up on his texts, first making sure to tell his mom he had a safe flight.

Sami paid for his taxi and made his way into the building that housed Rami and a few of the other cast members, including Carly. Sami liked Carly and hoped to run into her even though his visit was going to be a short one. She never failed to tell some sort of embarrassing story about Rami, which Sami mentally tucked away for the times when Rami would get his head stuck too far up his own ass.

Rami was still on set, so when he knocked, the door to the apartment was opened by one of his brother’s assistants. It was still strange to think about the level of fame his brother had achieved. Rami had always done too much, had always been totally in control of his career, but that way of life was now forgotten, rather it had to be forgotten because way too many people wanted a piece of him now.

Sami honestly didn’t know how his more introverted brother handled it—the press, the fans, the relationships he had to build and maintain, and then the work itself. Being a teacher was hard, thankless, and often emotionally draining. But at the end of the day, Sami got to stop, got to be himself free from most societal expectations and got to hide himself away able to function in unnoticeable ways, unlike Rami.

And it bothered Sami to know that his twin was struggling to adjust to his new life, too. He felt even more guilty for hesitating to come for a visit when it had been so long since he’d even seen Rami.

Sami had seen more of Rami inadvertently than intentionally since winter. He’d walk by magazines in the grocery store or pop online and see images of his brother, exhausted and unhappy.

“Rami has a bit of a long shoot in Central Park today, but he should be home around 7. I know he’s going to be glad you’re here,” this woman Sami barely knew said.

Fuck. A stranger knows more than I do, Sami thought as he gave her a smile. He didn’t miss the way she looked at him—the same way most people who knew his brother first did. They see the resemblance and wonder just how alike the twins are.

As Sami settled in and walked through his brother’s somewhat sparse, definitely lonely apartment, he worked to stifle his guilt. It wasn’t like he could just take a few days off and follow his brother around the world. When a teacher took a day off, it was usually more work than it was worth.

Sami flipped through Rami’s mail before opening the fridge and finding next to nothing inside. He rolled his eyes, and despite his distaste for New York, Sami was glad he came. Clearly, his brother needed him, even if he wasn’t able to say those words.

* * * * *

Sami had visited the Robot set quite a few times over the years, but he had never been to set on a day like this. The entire atmosphere was tense; it felt like something dirty had slid under his skin and stuck there, and after awhile it began to pulsate until its presence couldn’t be ignored.

Rami had explained that this was it; today’s shoot was the culmination of all of Elliot’s suffering, and Sami could clearly see just how invested everyone who worked on the show was.

When Rami emerged from his dressing room, no longer his familiar twin, but as Elliot Alderson, Sami gave him a small smile which Rami returned before he wiped his features clean again, fully Elliot in an instant.  

From his perch behind one of the cameras, the assistant director was watching the screen with their eyes glued to it. Sami had the luxury of looking between the screen and the set, and the luxury of letting his mind wonder. It was so strange to hear the scene delivered with the scuffle and echo of noises that would be removed during post-production. And even eerier to watch without the carefully scored background music.

Sam said, “Cut,” for the umteenth time that day, which gave Sami time to stretch, moving around to observe the other actors.

Rami had kept himself isolated today, talking only to Sam between takes. There was no joviality. Normally, Rami would be watching the playback or offering a critique, and on easier days, playing a joke on someone, or laughing about some awkward quirk of his that belonged to him and not to Elliot that he needed to erase for the next take.

Sami watched as the makeup crew rushed in to touch up the character of Vera, making his brow even more sweaty than before.

Sami found this amusing because the same effect could be produced for next to nothing by simply opening a window and having the actor stick his head into the New York humidity for two minutes.

Hollywood was weird.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his twin begin to bounce back and forth, heel to tow, before he broke out into his signature jog in place.

Rami settled in and sat down on the sofa across from Elliot’s captured therapist.  

This was it.

Sami watched with wide eyes, not even realizing he was holding his breath as Krista peppered Elliot with questions—the questions that were leading him to his monster.  

As Elliot began to remember, Sami forgot he was watching his brother, his mirror since birth, and felt himself completely lost in Elliot’s revelation, and Sami even stuffed his fist into his mouth to tamper down the groan of horror that threatened to disturb the entire scene.

Sami felt like he had experienced something transcendent, and instead of calling cut, Sam just walked up to his Elliot and put his hands on his shoulders; it took a few moments, but then Rami melted into his director and rested his forehead on Sam’s shoulder as he talked softly to him.

Sami swiped at the tears he hadn’t even realized had fallen, unable to take his eyes off his brother, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and bring him back to just being Rami.

But there was another take. And another.

“I can do it better. I can do it better,” Rami repeated, pouring drops into his eyes to clear the redness from crying to restart the scene.  

By the fifth take, Sami was uncomfortable. His brother was pushing himself too hard, taking longer and longer to collect himself between takes.

Sam was behind the camera, his face serious, and he had his assistant get Sami.

“We’ve got the take, but he wants to do it again. He won’t listen to me.”

Sami glanced at the screen and watched the tears fill his brother’s eyes and knew that Rami had nailed it on that very first take. But he also knew that his brother had been carrying around the character of Elliot for years—he owed everything in his life to Elliot because if it wasn’t for this show, Rami would still be the weird kid who was in The Pacific and the funky little pharaoh who was in Night at the Museum, recognizable, yet still struggling for success.    

Rami came out of the dressing room, once again looking like he hadn’t just performed the most gut-wrenching scene television had ever seen.

“I’m ready,” he said in a voice that said the exact opposite.

Sam said, “We’ve got it Rami. No more.”

“I can do it better.”

“Rami, it’s done. You’re done,” Sami said stepping toward his brother, grasping his shoulders and forcing him to look at him, really look at him.

Rami turned his eyes on his twin and blinked slowly.

“Done?”

“Done, Rami. You fucking nailed it.”

Rami took a shuddering breath and swayed on his feet. His eyes filled with tears so quickly it took Sami and Sam both by surprise.

Sam reached over and grasped Rami’s shoulder.

“You’ve done Elliot justice. We can see every thought. Feel every feeling. It’s brilliant—you were brilliant.”

Rami swallowed and gave Sam a heartfelt nod before Sami walked his brother back into the dressing room.

As soon as the door shut, Rami broke.

Sami was there to catch him, to hold onto him as he purged the emotions he had built up during Elliot’s revelation.

Neither of the twins moved for a long time, stuck together like they had been their whole lives, drawing comfort from the other’s warm presence.

Sami finally spoke in his mirror voice that was just a bit higher than Rami’s.

“You realize once this airs you can tell everyone who said you won an Oscar for lip syncing and wearing fake teeth to eat a dick?”

Sami felt his brother suck in a laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly under his hands.

Rami pulled away to look into Sami’s eyes, mirror eyes of the same undefinable hue as his own, eyes that never looked at him as some sort of other, a celebrity, an actor, a movie star. Sami only ever looked at him as Rami.

“Thanks for being here.”

Sami sighed, a soft smile on his lips as he pulled his scrawny brother in for one last tight hug, the unspoken you’re welcome settling over Rami, letting him know he was going to be okay.  

[thosequeenboys]

Put a Little Love on Me (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

Summary & A/N: This fic was written for @acdeaky​ for the Secret Santa event, based on her request for a ‘homecoming, friends-to-lovers’ story.’  I selected our lovely lovelorn Joe.  The event was expertly planned and organized by @sohoneyspreadyourwings�� - Sabrina, Darling: so appreciate your clever idea and caring efforts to help us celebrate the holiday season!  And, MANY thanks and props to the amazingly creative – and supportive -- @warriorteam1924​ for providing story and title song ideas!  Happy holidays to you all!  

Warnings:  Here at The Fluff and Angst…

There’s no place like home…Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz was right, you mused, as you pulled your suitcase, clutching your purse through Heathrow Airport with one goal in mind:  curling up in your own warm bed in your tiny apartment and falling into a deep sleep tonight.  A museum fundraising consultant, you just wrapped an exciting gig at Tate Modern, rushing out of your last meeting to get to the airport on time.  Security took forever, and once you grabbed your bags and put on your shoes, you felt panicked upon hearing your flight was boarding--you had to go to the bathroom-and of course, the gate was the last one at the end of a long corridor.

As you glanced at your phone to check the time, you saw a message on your screen from your oldest and dearest childhood friend, Joe, an actor, who was taping a new show in LA.  You and Joe had been through all of life’s benchmarks and vicissitudes together: graduations, career ebbs and flows, romantic ups and downs, friend drama -- and every emotion under the sun.  You socialized with each other’s families and knew them all intimately.  As kids you set up intricate stories playing Pirate Ship and House.  Joe always added humor and mischievousness into the pretend games.  As college students, you travelled cross country.  Joe and you could always pick up where you left off, though these days, you often weren’t in the same place for very long.  It had been months since you had seen each other.  Nevertheless, you trusted each other implicitly.  You knew each other’s phone passcodes.  You served as each other’s emergency contacts. You had exchanged home keys in case of emergencies.  

You glanced at Joe’s message:

CHANGE OF PLANS

CHANGE OF PLANS.  You were dying to stop and read more, but you had two literal streams of urgency to address. You tossed your phone into your bag and moved your uncomfortable self as quickly as you could.  After ducking into a bathroom and accomplishing mission one, you tore out of the doorway and resumed your quick clip, eyeing yellow gate signs in your peripheral vision. 

Upon hearing ‘Final boarding, British Airways Flight 1907 to JFK New York’ you sprinted down the corridor and arrived at the gate panting, lining up behind the last few stragglers.  The agent welcomed you and you smiled, handing him your ticket.  You inched your fingers into your purse to grab your phone as you stepped forward down the boarding plank.

Your heart started to flutter as you read the rest of Joe’s messages:

Taping postponed, long story  

Headed back to NY

Catch up when you get back.  

HOT DATE TONITE!!!

You threw your phone back into your bag.

As you proceeded onto the plane, you felt your heart pounding, as those last three words kept repeating in your brain like an uncontrollable tick. HOT. DATE. TONITE.  As you walked down the aisle, you felt tears well up in your eyes. Sad and jealous feelings were kicked up like the autumn leaves that fluttered skyward when you and Joe jumped into the big pile his dad raked up every Autumn.  The emotions cascading through you overtook any rational thought, but you tried.  Of course he has a date. Why wouldn’t he have a date.  He should have a date….you tried to convince yourself.   But the problem was, you admitted as your vision became blurry through your tears, it wasn’t a date…with you.  It never was.  You didn’t let yourself think about it often, but when your guard was down and the thoughts crept in, you rationalized it was for the best, adding all the usual platitudes: you wouldn’t want to risk ruining the friendship; you probably weren’t the best match for each other anyway; you knew each other too well and would drive each other crazy; your careers were too complicated; it just wouldn’t work.  

With shaky hands, you hoisted your suitcase to the overhead bin and crawled into your window seat on the 777. You wiped your eyes and took a deep breath, which hitched as you fought your emotions. The Captain came on, “Uh…sorry folks, we have a bit of a delay.  Looks like we’re about 15th for take-off.”

The entire plane groaned.  Good thing you had an engaging novel to keep you entertained-and distracted.  You read, but your concentration didn’t last.  You finally let yourself think about the offer presented to you in the middle of your trip-a full-time job at The Getty Museum in LA.  You’d be able to settle down and not have to run from gig to gig-and through airports with a full bladder.   You needed to make the decision in the next few days – a scary, fork-in-the-road decision that would shape your career, your future and your home. You closed your eyes and conjured images of a possible West Coast future: I’d be safe and warm if I was in LA. California Dreamin’… (1)

Your thoughts of LA led to images of Joe who had been living there the last few months.  You retrieved your phone and started to type your response to his texts:

On the plane at Heathrow

Due to land JFK 6:00 EST

Let me know when you’re free so we can catch up

Your finger swayed over the phone keyboard.  You would wish any other friend a fun-and successful-date.  Here you were hesitating. Your conflicting feelings were out in full force.  You decided to don your Big Girl Pants.  Seriously though: you were over adulting at the moment.  You quickly typed the final line.

Have Fun!!

You sent the text and shut off your phone just as the plane turned the corner to the take-off runway and picked up speed, sinking you back into the seat. Feeling drowsy as the plane lifted through the clouds, you let sleep take over. You woke several hours later to a neck ache and a meal.   You ordered a glass of wine and settled in with your book.  

Once the wheels touched down in The Big Apple, on the other coast, you turned on your phone.  A few texts from friends and news updates appeared. Nothing from Joe.   Of course not, he must be on his date, you sighed. Perhaps, finally, your separate lives would prevent you from maintaining the relationship and the easiness - and comfort - you always found with each other. 

Your warm bed feeling more tangible, you got yourself through customs and out to a cab, which whisked you toward home as the skyline’s lights flickered outside your window.  Suddenly out of the corner of your eye, you saw a light beaming in your purse. You pulled out your lit phone and saw the message from Joe:

Wrong date.  Sigh.

Wrong lots of things, but now I realize what’s right.

Welcome home. Talk soon.

Wrong date? What the heck did that mean? Did he mix up the day for his date? What else is wrong?  Did something happen with his show?  And what is right? Thinking about it all made you more tired and emotionally overwrought.  You put your phone away and vowed to keep it away for the rest of the night.

The cab stopped with a sudden halt in front of your apartment building. You paid, gathered your bags and walked slowly toward the wrought iron lantern fixtures that adorned the front door and gave off a welcoming glow.  It was after midnight London time, and your body felt ready to fall into bed, the weighty duvet-covered comforter lulling you to sleep.

You dug into your bag for your keys as climbed the steps.  You opened your front door and saw the small light on your entry foyer table on.  That was strange.   But before your tired brain could slip into worry, you heard a familiar voice bellow ‘Hello, Madam’ in a British accent.   And you breathed.   Your face lit up instantly.  Your body relaxed and felt energized all at once, because you realized:  that voice, in your apartment tonight, unexpected, has always, always been the voice to ground you, warm you, soothe you, entertain you….love you. The voice of home.

Joe emerged through the kitchen, with a wide grin, carrying a wood tray with Hunan Delight take-out containers and a few lit votive candles.  You were entranced, but also a bit perplexed.    

“Um, Hi, uh, wow, this is a pleasant surprise.”  You uttered, truly shocked.

He walked past you a few steps into the living-dining area and put the tray down on the dining table, which he had set with placemats, dishes, cloth napkins, wine glasses and silverware. A low bouquet of freesia and tulips in yellows, pinks and purples dipped gracefully over a small glass vase. A bottle of Moscato was breathing.   After unloading the tray and flashing you a wink, he moved over to the stereo, and you followed him.  He pressed the button and the familiar strains of one of your favorite songs filled the air and Joe, ever the showman, able to emote and entertain in any setting, moved his hands in grand gestures as he sang along…

“Put a little love on me, put a little love on me. When the lights come up and there’s no shadows dancing I look around as my heart is collapsing ‘cause you’re the only one I need…to put a little love on me.” (2)

You sank into a chair watching him sing, enjoying his performance and letting the words sink in.  His playfulness and grandiosity turned serious and a bit sullen as the song progressed, and you could tell he was getting emotional.  By the last chorus, he had trouble getting the words out and he stopped singing. The song ended with Niall’s voice framing the moment.

When the track finished, he stared at you and started to speak:

“So, finally, for once, I ended the date tonight- such a bad date - before we finished our drinks. It was just so wrong. And then, afterwards, I had an entire conversation with myself, quite engaging actually, complete with jokes, historical and pop culture references, and a dollop of self-pity, followed by a kick in the ass – the Uber driver must have thought I was high.   And I realized, I admitted, finally – it’s you I was really having the conversation with. I knew just what you’d say.  And it’s you, I wanted the date with.  It’s always been you.  You’ve always been what’s right.  Always.”

You covered your mouth, feeling tears welling again.  “Oh Joe…..I’m so happy.  I…I can’t believe it,” you said as you stood up.  You felt that time and reality were suspended.  You stopped for a moment and replayed the last few minutes over in your mind, testing reality.  Finally, you spoke:  “I have to admit, when you wrote me you had a hot date, I felt really upset …..i finally admitted that I wanted your date to be me.”

“I’m so glad you felt that way. And, hey, thanks for jinxing my date,” Joe huffed, jokingly.  You both laughed.  “I felt it was time to just be honest.  I worried if you’d feel the same, but…I…felt it was better to know. And, I figured wooing you with your favorite song by your favorite celebrity crush, would hopefully seal the deal.” 

You laughed.  “It most certainly did.”

“It was the perfect song, though, I gotta hand it to that dude,” Joe smirked.  “So…will you…will you…put a little love on me?”

 “A lot of love” You smiled, and then more tears started to drip from your eyes.

“Babe…what’s wrong?” Joe touched your arm with concern.

“It’s good actually…I have this job offer from The Getty and…”

“OhmyGod! That’s fantastic!” Joe leaned into you and gave you a hug.  “Are you interested??”

“I am, but it’s hard to picture my life changing so much. Not travelling.  Leaving my family, my home…it’s a lot of change to imagine. And, that California sun will wrinkle me like a raisin.”  You smirked.

“True on all counts.  It’s an adjustment.  Well, LA’s felt like my second home for a while now….so we can create a new home together on ‘the OTHER coast’…. Home could be the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Indiana’s early morning dew, high up in the hills of California.  Home is just another word for you. (3) Let’s celebrate your new job – and our journey - with some Hunan Delight.” Joe kissed you gently on your cheek and pulled the chair out for you, before taking his own seat.  

You sat and poured the wine.  Raising your glass, you said, “Here’s to us-past us, present us, future us.”

Joe raised his glass and clinked yours, “Here’s to love.” (4)

Song Notes

 1.       California Dreamin’ by The Mamas and The Papas

2.       Put a Little Love on Me, by Niall Horan

3.       You’re my Home, by Billy Joel

4.       Here’s to Us, by Halestorm

[dansiere]

—    BASICS.

▸     IS    YOUR    MUSE    TALL    /    SHORT    /    AVERAGE ? Pearl stands at 5′10″ (178 cm) which renders her rather tall whenever compared to most women/humans in general. However, compared to most Gems she seems of average height. After all, she is easily dwarfed by Gems that stand higher in Homeworld’s hierarchy such as quartzes, jaspers, agates, bismuth, or, most strikingly diamonds. There are some exceptions, however. Pearl (i.e) towers over most peridots, lapis, sapphires, larimar and rubies. 

▸      ARE    THEY    OKAY    WITH    THEIR    HEIGHT ? She is not necessarily bothered by it but isn’t too fond of it either. Pearl is rather self-conscious about her appearance, given how much of it is linked to her status as former servant. The underlying discomfort notwithstanding; similar to her age, her height is but a number to her. 

▸      WHAT’S    THEIR    HAIR    LIKE ? Predominantly peach in colour, it can be considered orange from time to time [you may call her a ginger]. It’s relatively short & cut in a pixie cut at the front while styled up in the back. It reaches slightly beneath chin-length when wet but usually keeps its form due to well, Gem magic. Pearl used to wear a messier version of her standard hairstyle in her “youth”; indeed, during the war, she proudly donned a more “wild” look to complement her status as a renegade, whereas her hairstyle during her days spent in servitude featured a ‘rosebud’ kind of cut. Shortly after Rose’s death & Steven’s birth, Pearl eventually donned a very tidy & clean-cut look [for reasons that I will elude on further below]; no hair is allowed to pop out of its place. -- her hair itself is surprisingly soft & fluffy to the touch. 

▸     DO    THEY    SPEND    A    LOT    OF    TIME    ON    THEIR    HAIR     /    GROOMING ? Sadly, yes. She does not need to tend to her form per se but does so anyway in order to keep up a flawless & orderly appearance at any given time. -- however, ever since CYM, Pearl has gradually become more laid-back again & thus donned a messier hairstyle more reminiscent of the one worn during the war.

▸      DOES   YOUR   MUSE   CARE   ABOUT   THEIR   APPEARANCE   /   WHAT    OTHERS    THINK ? Absolutely, yes. While she will never admit it, Pearl is very, very self-conscious out of various reasons (one being her abysmal self-esteem). Never one to bring up physical attributes (why, in theory, she does not necessarily believe that she has much to offer in that regard. Her body is a hardlight projection & she perceives it as such), she is nonetheless hyperaware of what exactly her appearance entails. Pearls are designed to look "pretty” & are EASILY recognized based on their lanky & delicate built (i.e their noses, slim & rather ‘androgynous’ physique, posture, voice, & even more ‘individual’ traits such as hairstyle or the colour of their clothes). Needless to say, the fact that she possesses the physical traits of a pearl will always mark her as something or someone ‘special’ in a negative sense; more an object than a person, to be exact. Due to that, she has been changing her form quite often in the past, always trying her utmost to go against any classically pearl-esque trait.

—    PREFERENCES.

▸     INDOORS    OR    OUTDOORS ?  both ▸     RAIN   OR    SUNSHINE ?  sunshine, though she is fascinated by Earth’s weather in general. ▸     FOREST    OR    BEACH ?  again, both even though she has a preference for the beach due to basically having lived right next to one for approx. 5000 years. ▸     PRECIOUS    METALS  OR    GEMS ?  ... hm. Swords. ▸     FLOWERS    OR    PERFUMES ?  flowers by a long shot. ▸     PERSONALITY  OR    APPEARANCE ? personality; though admittedly, she developed quite the type regarding appearance. It is canon that most of her ‘flings’ resembled Rose.   ▸     BEING    ALONE    OR    BEING    IN    A    CROWD ?  being in a crowd; she feels at unease in both cases but loneliness is something she is absolutely terrified of (she is prone to self-isolation during or after a breakdown, however: partially out of the desire to punish herself); Pearl is someone who needs people around her, preferably two. She may retreat to her room rather often or like to sit outside on her own but she only feels truly at ease whenever Garnet, Rose / Steven & Amethyst are in her proximity. ▸     ORDER    OR    ANARCHY ?  order, without a doubt. Her younger self was certainly more fond of anarchy, however. It is also important to state that she sometimes WISHES she could simply solve her problems in a duel again; after all, to her, as a fan of logic, fighting is less stressful than dealing with her emotions. ▸     PAINFUL    TRUTHS    OR   WHITE    LIES ?  white lies., without a doubt. Pearl is an excellent liar; not necessarily by choice but... well. She is fairly good at twisting words. ▸     SCIENCE    OR    MAGIC ?  science. ▸     PEACE    OR    CONFLICT ?  another quite difficult choice; while she fights for peace, conflict is where she thrives. It is one of those ironic cases in which a person defines or rather defined herself by participating in a war & for Pearl the war was ... well, detrimental to her identity. She romanticizes it to NO END. ▸     NIGHT    OR    DAY ?  both; it does not make much of a difference to her in the end. She might prefer night time simply because she loves to stargaze but well. She is fond of the sun too. ▸     DUSK    OR   DAWN ?  dawn; Pearl loves watching the sun rise. ▸     WARMTH    OR    COLD ?  again, it makes no difference. Pearl cannot feel either. ▸     MANY   ACQUAINTANCES    OR    A    FEW    CLOSE    FRIENDS ?  few close friends; as I stated earlier, she needs people around her because she cannot really be alone. That urge notwithstanding, Pearl is a very introverted person who struggles with social norms; in fact, she often forces herself to socialize to a ridiculous degree. In SU:Future, she is constantly trying to meet new people that are capable of a) giving her the validation she requires, b) still fill the hole that Rose left & c) to distract herself from whatever uncomfortable thoughts are on her mind post-CYM. Her prime focus remains the Crystal Gems, but it is safe to say that she is lowkey trying to emulate an environment she revelled in during war times; she likes to be admired by people since it gives her confidence & stability. -- there is a reason why she calls her human acquaintances “her fanclub”. ▸     READING    OR    PLAYING    A    GAME ?  reading; she loves games that include strategic thinking or logic in general, however. Or anything that allows her to ramble on & on about topics of interest.

—    QUESTIONNAIRE.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    OF    YOUR    MUSE’S    BAD    HABITS ? She is a nervous wreck; a mess. Pearl’s biggest issue is her inability to let go of the past or deal with her emotions in a healthy way. Her tons of personal growth notwithstanding, she is fond of white lies & emotional self-destruction. While she is usually selfless by nature, most of her rather reckless actions have proven to be quite damaging to those around her (i.e. Garnet, Amethyst, Steven & even herself). Pearl is furthermore emotionally unstable & spins out of control hard & fast, is prone to extreme jealousy, possessiveness & obsession may it be with Rose or details/symmetry, what if’s & cleanliness as such. Pearl is quick to judge, over-protective, terribly patronizing at times (even though she does not mean to be), incredibly controlling & just “does too much” whenever pushed. She is also fond of blaming herself in quite the fatal way & lives “inside her head” way too much. Low-self esteem & lack of confidence leads to her lashing out rather than handling situations in a calm manner; while appearing steady & being quite the strategist, she can turn into a bundle of nerves within a second, usually yielding to hysteria & knee-jerk reactions that do more harm than good. -- she means well & she is a very loving/caring person who has her heart in the right place but sometimes she just... messes up. After all, she never truly had the time to deal with her own myriad of trauma & it shows. 

▸      HAS    YOUR    MUSE    LOST    ANYONE    CLOSE    TO    THEM ?      HOW    HAS    IT    AFFECTED    THEM ? Yes, her partner/lover Rose Quartz. It is a loss that is still haunting her 16 years after the other’s death; needless to say, she did not handle it well at all. While she knew that Rose would die to give birth to Steven (mainly due to her having been told in advance / her suspecting so after Rose fell in love with Greg), Pearl held on to the thought of her ‘changing her mind’ until the very end. When the time came, Pearl utterly collapsed. She spent the first few months in utter self-isolation (either sitting next to Rose’s statue at the fountain or in her room, laying on her back & staring at the wall / ceiling or knees to her chest), barely speaking to anyone; the very mention of Rose or Steven made her burst into tears. It went so far that she... basically tried to shatter herself after around six months. Pearl was, however, stopped by Garnet who showed herl a future in which Steven would come to grow & live alongside them, just how Rose had wanted it to be. Pearl still poofed herself but emerged later with a changed form, apologizing for her behaviour & swearing to never try something that selfish ever again.

     Her newfound hope notwithstanding; coercing herself to function normally (after just a year) despite her looming agony put a serious strain on her & most of her already damaged relationships to the other two remaining Crystal Gems. She stopped confiding in Garnet, & her relationship to Amethyst broke apart; she was moody, screamed at the others, ran away, lost focus during missions which eventually endangered the life of her comrades & her own. She got poofed several times & as a consequence took longer to regenerate up until the point were she got more & more lethargic, volatile & eventually depressed with no drive, trying her utmost to function via hyperfixating on Steven. Additionally, she (i.e) developed a neurosis & a serious obsession with cleanliness & details as a consequence, busying herself with her role as Steven’s caretaker & housekeeping duties, with Garnet serving as her rock in her weakest & most volatile moments. -- she eventually managed to make the conscious decision to move on around Steven’s 15th birthday & has been working on herself ever since. Needless to say, it is a slow progress.

▸      WHAT    ARE    SOME    FOND    MEMORIES    YOUR    MUSE    HAS ?   Most of Pearl’s happy memories pivot around pretty much everything that happened during the Gem War, with a heavy focus on whatever Rose & her did together. -- one of the most striking experiences she told Steven about was the discovery of the Lunar Blossom Grove that ended with her & Rose “dancing all night” in a pause between several battles, or the time she sat on top of a cliff above Strawberry Fields, where Rose & her made the promise to stay on Earth & spend their future together. Other happy memories include heroic battles alongside Garnet & Bismuth, fusions between her & Rose or discovering Earth’s beauty. She has thousands of memories that go into the same direction which she will fondly talk about whenever asked. 

▸     IS    IT    EASY    FOR    YOUR    MUSE    TO    KILL ? Yes. She is a veteran who fought in a thousand-year war for Earth’s independence. She shattered & poofed various Gems; efficient, precise & took no risks. 

▸      WHAT’S    IT    LIKE    WHEN    YOUR    MUSE    BREAKS    DOWN ? Oh, it’s ugly. She gets very emotional (hysterical, almost); a lot of tears, a lot of balled fists & screaming. In the worst cases, she gets aggressive, vocal, & even physical from time to time. She will punch walls, shatter objects, run her hands through her hair. She will lash out, say things that HURT & won’t apologize either. Most part of the time, Pearl runs off whenever it is too much. When alone, she will usually collapse & cry until she can’t no more. After that follows a period of her staying silent for hours. -- sometimes she calms down & pretends nothing ever happened or tries to make up for her actions by doing favours for those she has hurt.

▸      IS    YOUR    MUSE    CAPABLE    OF    TRUSTING    SOMEONE    WITH    THEIR    LIFE ?

Partially yes, partially no. Pearl does not value her life as much as she should. The only person she ever blindly trusted was Rose & even that came around to bite her in the end. She trusts Garnet to always have her back & watch over her, while she herself considers Steven & Amethyst people she ought to protect. -- however, Pearl is the type to willingly throw herself off a cliff almost immediately if it will spare someone she loves from an untimely end.

▸      WHAT’S    YOUR    MUSE    LIKE    WHEN    THEY’RE    IN    LOVE ? Pearl is an extremely romantic person; usually very physical & devoted, she will go miles for her s.o (imagine every romance movie cliche ever & you may get a good idea of how she will behave). Rather old fashioned, she is the kind of person that writes love letters or poetry; the kind that takes her s.o. to secluded places to spend the night with dancing under the stars, bring flowers or wine & simply take the time to make her s.o. feel loved. She is passionate through & through; her love is the yearning kind, extremely loyal, thoughtful, and all-consuming. Why, if Pearl falls for someone, she falls very, very hard.

tagged by : @foxcharmed, expect a letter from my lawyer soon. This meme came for me. tagging :  @reantte, @huntershowl, @kissafist, @ndeavor, @spiraledheart, @spnel, @carvedbones, @handspoken, & @enshijou.

[veridium]

dragon age day

I know today might be a bit overwhelming for the fandom since it is, of course, the day (the day of all days). When I thought about what I wanted to contribute, if anything, I could only think of saying thanks. As I am in the midst of finals and grading assignments, I don’t have many spoons to spare, except to reiterate what I have said so many times before: dragon age has provided me with so many blessings. 

CW: discussion of toxic relationship, emotional abuse.

Some of you know that around the time I joined the fandom in 2018 (after having only played Inquisition for several months beforehand), I was in the midst of an incredibly toxic, emotionally abusive, and failing relationship. I had just graduated college and was at a crossroads. Because the relationship was the longest and most serious I had ever known I was incredibly attached to it, even as it became detrimental to my happiness. We were planning on getting engaged this past summer. Our entire lives were planned and I was in it for the long haul. 

Earlier that year my ex had gifted me Inquisition after I kept seeing it in GameStop and saying I had always wanted to try it. I played it once, got infuriated by the Hinterlands, and put it down for a long time. Around the time I finished undergrad I decided to give it another try, and quickly became hooked. I would spend hours and hours in front of the TV learning by trial and error how to play. My ex was the more prolific gamer but that quickly started to change. 

That wasn’t the only shift that was happening. 

One of the symptoms of my ex’s and her family’s toxicity and its impact on me was that I had become incredibly detached from art. I have been artistic since I was strong enough to hold a crayon in my hand. My family swore for years I’d be an artist, or an actress. But I have learned that, what all-too-often happens when you choose to love something that doesn’t love you the way you deserve in return, you lose touch with all the things that remind you of why you’re so worthy of a great love. You don’t invest in it, you don’t nourish it, because it becomes all about preserving this person in your life and what you believe they bring to it. When things turn dark the natural inclination is to sacrifice more in order to save it: to prove that you can be as loyal as your promised. 

A year later and I am still unpacking the trauma that was inflicted upon me during that time of my life, trauma I didn’t know by name as it was happening because I had given my all to someone I loved and the future we wanted. But not everything was rosey and blissful, and I am reflecting upon that. I think back to what finally woke me up, and it’s quite literally this: I turned into a huge, enthusiastic, and clumsy nerd. 

Playing a game with such a vivid world took what was perhaps one of the last surviving matchsticks there was, lighting it, and dropping it on me. My imagination consumed Thedas like water after a 40-year drought. I began theorizing characters, researching the prior games, and scrolling through the wiki site hunting for lore. I realized the universe was so much bigger than what Inquisition represented. 

Then, I bought the first sketchbook I had in over a year. 

My characters became my muse, and over time, their portraits grew into stories. I looked up Tumblr and rejoined specifically to engage with the fandom and see what sharing my love with other people could do for my creativity. Even though art and writing were lifelong passions of mine, I had no intention whatsoever of writing fanfiction until I read other people’s work, saw the fun they were having with it and what it was doing for their healing, and I decided to go out on a limb.

The more stories I wrote the more I remembered my marrow: I was so much more than what my relationship, and my partner’s family, warped me into seeing. My original characters started out as projections of the qualities and traits I loved and missed about myself, as well as love letters to the women and queer people in my life. And in the canon characters I grew attached to I saw hope and inspiration for surviving adversities. Tests of faith, conviction, and courage under pressure. In their stories I found refuge and reliability for a terrible era of my life where I felt so completely alone.

As I gave more and more time to my passions, my relationship strained even further than it had. I was no longer hopelessly devoted to its endurance, I had something that was purely mine again, and my partner’s encouragement waned. It turned into jealousy -- for this and many other parts of my life I used as an escape from the sadness -- and rather than bend as I had done before, I pushed back. I protected what was my own and I did not sacrifice it. To be fair it wasn’t always healthy: I would log hours and hours into the game to escape the stress of the relationship, to distract myself from the fact that my mental health was the lowest and frailest it had been in years, and the cold, hard truth: it was over, or else I was going to commit my life to something terrible. 

Months later, I said enough. I ended the relationship once and for all. I was moving my life out of an apartment I had lived in for years, saying goodbye to everything I had fought so hard to build. In your early 20s everything feels like a vast unknown and you have a manual with no writing on its pages. Every serious decision feels like invoking a storm you have to hunker down in. I still deal with that, and am learning from it with every new season. I have also learned that sometimes destruction, and creative recklessness, is about so much more than loss. I had given up security I was paying for with my emotional well-being. 

But I kept me, and my sketchbooks, and my art supplies, and my stories. I had my cat, too, but you know, technicalities (haha).

So, for as imperfect as my fandom experience has been, and for as grumpy as I have become with society’s bullshit (which is quite the high level), I will always be grateful to these games for existing. For giving me something to hold onto when my life was falling apart, a world I could slip away to when I wasn’t ready to face the evils in my own. Because when I was finally ready, and willing to be my own warrior, my imagination was ready to make something out of nothing. These games and this universe helped me save myself.

Thank you to Dragon Age, to the fandom community I have made in its name, and to everyone who makes it worthwhile. But it wouldn’t be me without saying: fuck off to every single bullshit game writer who used its medium to perpetuate harmful tropes and norms, fuck off to fandom racists and racist apologists, to queerphobes who hated my meta on account of it using the word queer even though it was my explicit voice as a queer creative on queer issues (did I forget to say queer? queer!), to Vivienne haters, sexist gamer bros, fetishists; but explicitly to romanticizers of unhealthy power dynamics between couples and friends alike. These horror stories (yes, horror stories) exist enough in real life, take it from me. We don’t need them made into romanticized, co-opted, and misused fictions here. 

The reason why I and so many others write for this universe, and participate creatively, is to combat these influences. With our own blood, sweat, and tears as artists, might I add. I am so, so proud to be included in that community. 

So, happy Dragon Age Day, ya’ll. Let us keep warm on this, our trash can fire.