#my own question cause this quote keeps wandering through my thoughts

[stairwaytoeast]

"As we go through life we gradually discover who we are, but the more we discover, the more we lose ourselves."

is it possible to be able to know who i am and for my essence to prevail at the same time?

[crash-cinematic-universe]

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!!  (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names ,  @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling​ 

1. 

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up. 

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew. 

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture. 

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love. 

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames. 

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in. 

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him. 

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though. 

“That would be nice,” He said softly. 

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24. 

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.” 

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces. 

2. 

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway. 

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower. 

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights. 

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it. 

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about. 

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around. 

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though. 

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head. 

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

3. 

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers. 

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive. 

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death. 

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be. 

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep. 

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.  

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

 “What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants. 

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask. 

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.” 

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape. 

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away. 

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--” 

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins. 

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid. 

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away. 

 “Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed. 

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that? 

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top. 

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside. 

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.” 

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made. 

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.” 

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

4.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it. 

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun. 

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology. 

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet. 

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.  

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways. 

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it. 

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine. 

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back. 

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad. 

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet. 

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear. 

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do. 

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

5.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him. 

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face. 

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime. 

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

[spacedikut]

“i want to love someone and be loved” ; spencer reid - part 2

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer decides it’s time to tell you, but he needs some help. 3887 words. part 1

a/n: THIS is the longest fic ive ever written but im actually kinda proud of how it turned out? i hope this is a good sequel :)

Spencer chickens out of telling you the next day.

He avoids you all weekend, actually. You resisted texting him the day after Rossi’s because you assumed he’d be busy – with his big plan involving a girl that isn’t you. You’re not bitter – but Sunday comes around and you message him not long after you wake up and six hours later there’s no response.

Twelve hours later - there’s no response.

Monday, you don’t have time to say hello to anyone – there’s a case waiting for you, somewhere in Florida.

Reid avoids your eyes. His body language tells you something is wrong, so you assume whoever he confessed to didn’t reciprocate (they’re insane) and he’s dealing with it. So you don’t press.

Spencer pretends to sleep the entire jet ride. He’s avoiding everyone, not just you.

He spent the whole weekend beating himself up. He drove to your apartment on Saturday, sat outside for so long a neighbour knocked on his window and asked if he was lost, but couldn’t bring himself to step foot out of his car.

So he locked himself in his room, away from you and your loveliness and away from his phone because he knew you texted him and he knew you’d send some soft message about being there for him if he needs anything and he didn’t need to be reminded of how beautiful and out of reach you are.

Derek seemed to be waiting for him Monday morning, arms crossed as he held a cup of coffee. It was weird seeing him in before Spencer.

“How’d it go?” He immediately asked.

“How’d what go?” Spencer mumbles, flinging his bag on the floor by his desk. He slumps in his seat.

Derek raises a dark eyebrow, “You know what, pretty boy. You had a big thing? Big plan?”

“Didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take a profiler to realise Spencer is very clearly saying leave me alone. Leave it alone.

Derek isn’t one to leave it alone. Especially when it comes to Spencer.

He sighs and moves a little closer to Spencer’s desk, just in case someone overhears them.

“What happened?”

“That’s exactly it,” Spencer slams open a file, “Nothing happened.”

“And why did nothing happen?”

“Because I’m an idiot that can’t even tell a girl how I feel.”

“Whoa- hey!”

Derek spins Spencer’s chair so they’re face to face. Derek takes one look in Spencer’s eyes and knows what’s going on – he got too into his head and backed out at the last minute.

“You’re not an idiot. Why didn’t you do it?”

Spencer shrugs, “I got to her apartment. I had flowers, too. I don’t know.”

Derek’s evidently concerned – Spencer’s beaten up over this, over whoever this girl is, and he deserves the chance to experience love. Spencer deserves a lot more than he himself thinks he does.

“You seemed really excited, man. You can still do it. Just cause you try once and it doesn’t work out doesn’t mean you can’t ever try again.”

Spencer stares off into the distance, accidentally ignoring Derek as his thoughts slip out of his mouth, “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway – I was stupid to think I could get someone like her.”

“Hey, no.” Derek nudges Spencer’s shoulder so he looks at him again, “Don’t talk like that. You’re one hell of a guy, Reid. All you gotta do is get that confidence that you had Friday night back, and you’re all set. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Spencer gives a feeble nod. Derek moves back to his desk, knowing he isn’t convinced, but he isn’t done yet.

+++

Later, in Florida, Spencer’s making a coffee in the precinct’s kitchen after waiting twenty minutes for you to leave. Luck’s on his side, for once, and you’ve been working non-stop with Prentiss going crime scene to crime scene so he hasn’t had to actively avoid you. You smile at him every chance you get, though, and it distracts him.

Someone clears their throat behind him. It’s Penelope, whom Spencer didn’t realise was invited on this case.

She looks guilty. Spencer recognises that face; the face she has when she’s done something she shouldn’t have or knows something she isn’t really supposed to. Given current circumstances, Spencer bets it’s the latter reason.

“Morgan told me something he shouldn’t have.”

Bingo.

He leans against the kitchen counter, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.

“What did he tell you?” He asks, feigning tranquillity. Inside he’s screaming non-stop.

She’s got her hands clasped together in front of her, almost innocently, and fiddles with her fingers, “He told me you needed assistance in the love department.” Before he can object, she continues, “And I am willing to do anything if it means our resident weirdo-slash-genius falls in love and gets to experience some much needed cuteness.”

There’s no point in lying to her. There’s also no point in being mad that Morgan told her about his situation – they’re kind of a package deal. And, who knows, Garcia might be able to help.

“So…” She sways, trying (and failing) to appear nonchalant, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer shuffles on the spot, scuffing his shoes against the floor. He debates whether he should tell her, since, you know, you’re in the next room over, but Spencer worries that Garcia is so good at her job she’d somehow find out through hacking Spencer’s phone, or maybe somehow hacking his dreams. His subconscious. He’s terrified of Garcia and her abilities.

“You can tell me.” She insists, “I’m much better at keeping secrets than Morgan.”

Spencer turns away from her, she steps closer, and he mumbles your name.

“What?”

“Y/N.”

“WHAT?!”

Spencer spins, hands coming up to tell Garcia to shut up and Garcia immediately covers her mouth in both shock and hopefully so she doesn’t shout again.

“Since when?!” She screeches. “How could I not have known?! Oh God, almighty Doctor Reid, I feel like I’ve failed you by not realising earlier.”

Her enthusiasm makes him smile, for the first time in far too long. Garcia has that power – this innate skill to comfort those around her and make them feel special, make them smile when the world feels like its collapsing.

“Let me help!” She requests.

Spencer’s clearly hesitant. He knows it’s a bad idea.

“Please!” She begs, “I just- I have so many ideas of how you can go about this. Let me brainstorm, get back to you, and if I’m too over-the-top you can tell me no and we’ll pretend it never happened!”

He takes a deep breath. Yes, Garcia is the definition of over-the-top, but that’s one of his favourite things about her. It’s your favourite thing, too. And he did tell Morgan he had big plans. Anything involving Garcia is a big plan with big payoff.

“This is between us.”

“I’ll take it to the grave. Unless you realise how amazing my ideas are and use one to tell Y/N how you feel and then years later I get to commend myself during my maid of honour speech at your wedding.”

She looks ecstatic, hands now together under her jaw as her eyes twinkle. Spencer can’t help but laugh at her eagerness.

+++

The next day, the team returns to Quantico after a semi-successful case. The general mood is good and Morgan invites everyone out for drinks – Spencer declines, but you have your first full conversation since last Friday.

“C’mon, Spence,” Your head rests against the jet seat and you blink sleepily at him, “I feel like I haven’t spoken to you for years!”

Spencer gives you a small smile, “I promised my mom I’d call her tonight. Sorry, Y/N.”

You nod in understanding, “Will you tell her I say hi?”

“Of course. She loves you.”

You grin at eachother, immediately lost in your own world. You’ve missed him more than you realised, and you have no idea what’s going through his head, but you’re happy that you’ve had this – a Spencer Reid smile that makes you feel at home and on top of the world simultaneously.

Spencer has to tear his eyes away before he blurts something stupid, like she’s not the only one that loves you.

+++

“Spencer!” Garcia greets, Cheshire cat grin on her face. “I need to see you in my dungeon, please. Immediately.”

Spencer drops the file he’s holding. Unfortunately, Penelope’s request caught the attention of the whole team.

“What business do you have in the villain’s lair, Reid?” Derek asks. You’ve looked up from your computer, Emily smirking and leaning back in her chair in expectation.

“Uh…”

“Important nerd business. Go away.” Garcia says, eyes narrow as she tugs Spencer’s hand. He’s whisked away from any further questioning, leaving the befuddled team behind.

He isn’t sure what to expect when he stumbles into Penelope’s second home, but the display in front of him explains why he overheard a conversation about missing evidence boards earlier. Penelope’s obviously been using the new printer in her cave to her advantage – there’s at least twenty different pictures printed out on one board titled “date ideas”, then the board on the right has a picture of Spencer and you in the centre with a perfectly drawn heart around it. Under and around that is a mixture of love quotes, including song lyrics and quotes directly from romantic movies. He notices “The Parliament of Fowls” on there – Garcia remembers that he mentioned it’s considered the first Valentines poem?

“Whoa,” Is all he can say.

“I know it’s a little intense,” Garcia squirms, “But! I started scrolling through Pinterest and couldn’t stop. I don’t know what came over me, maybe some type of love deity, but I started thinking about you and Y/N in a classic love film in, like, black and white and I…”

She’s out of breath from animatedly explaining.

Spencer laughs through his nose, almost a scoff, but he’s impressed. He shouldn’t have expected anything else from the Penelope Garcia.

As Spencer wanders towards the first board, Garcia follows him like a shadow, “My personal favourite is-“ She points to a picture of chocolate fondue with faceless people in very little clothing, “-this one.”

Spencer awkwardly clears his throat when he begins to think of you and him like that.

“A little much for your declaration of love, though, I get it,” Garcia nods.

He scans the board – heart speeding up when he moves from idea to idea and picturing you and him in each one. He can’t help but think no, that one would be good for our anniversary – ah, she’d love to do that one for her birthday.

“What’re you thinking?” Garcia asks quietly. She knows his brain is whirring like her computer drive, so she approaches him gently.

“This one.” He says. “Where should we do it?”

Garcia grins behind him. The one he’s referring to shows a dinner table set up outside, brown wooded table with white wooden chairs opposite eachother. There’s flowers at the centre, a bottle of wine already poured in each glass in front of a basket of cookies, and the area around is shrouded by shrubbery, fairy lights hanging delicately from every-which-way.

It’s perfect. You love fairy lights, Spencer loves cookies, and the set-up looks private enough for Spencer to feel confident when he empties his heart and soul to you.

“The roof.” Garcia says wistfully.

“We have access to that?”

“Yes.” They both know they don’t. “Leave it to me. Oh… one more thing.” She adds, hesitantly, “Can Morgan help? I’m a lot of things, including emotionally strong and your love guru, but physically I’m gonna need some assistance.”

Spencer doesn’t even need to agree – Morgan’s gonna involve himself no matter what.

+++

Five o’clock is quickly approaching and you’re slumped over your desk, lost in your work. You need to be lost in it, because ever since Garcia released Spencer from her office right after lunch he’s been sneaking glances at you (he’s not sneaky) and has made several attempts to approach you but decided against it, sharply turning and pretending he meant to go another way instead.

You are beyond confused. You assume it’s to do with the girl he’s been trying to get over – you hope he’s been trying to build the confidence to tell you exactly what happened and maybe, you really hope, he’ll invite you over for the weekend so you can slip back into your old routine.

“Psst.”

You assume they’re not trying to get your attention, so you don’t move.

“Psst!”

You still don’t move.

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up to Spencer leaning over the divider between your desks. He looks alarmed – which is odd, given he’s the one who called you – and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally speaks.

“Are you busy tonight?” He sits back and, if he wasn’t so goddamn tall, all you’d be able to see would be his eyes. His added height means you can see his eyes and his nose. You wanna kiss it.

You smile – this is an olive branch, “I am completely available for whatever it is you might need.”

You sound incredibly eager, which you are. You miss him.

His cheeks move upwards, a smile, “Can I talk to you, later, on the roof? Uh-“ He clears his throat, “-I need to tell you something.”

You raise an eyebrow, “You’re not gonna push me off, right?”

“No,” He laughs.

“Promise me.”

Now he guffaws, “I would never, Y/N!”

“Promise me, Reid!”

“Alright, alright! I promise!” He’s jokingly raising his hands in a form of surrender.

You give him another smile and turn back to your work. You feel at ease, now, thinking he’s finally gonna tell you what happened on the weekend – finally you’ll be able to help him and go back to normal.

Spencer, on the other hand, is the exact opposite of ease. He’s about to pour his heart out to you.

He takes a deep breath and looks back to his computer, which is open on a tab titled “How to Tell Someone You Like Them.”

Step 3: Be Confident.

Spencer opens a new tab and searches, “How to be confident.”

+++

Garcia hacks into Spencer’s computer to open a document and type that the roof is ready. She wishes him luck, tells him she loves him, and calls dibs on being the godmother of your future children. As if she doesn’t have enough godchildren as it is.

He clears his throat and your head snaps towards him. You’ve been done for a while, playing Tetris on your phone, waiting for Spencer to take you to the roof where he swears he won’t kill you – you’re not entirely convinced.

“Um-“ He scratches his neck, “You ready to go?”

You nod and give him a weak smile in hopes it gives him some type of reassurance.

“Whatever happened, it’s okay, Spence.”

All he does is nod in return, gathering his coat and bag. He doesn’t really register what you say, or he would’ve been very confused.

You follow him up to the roof. The elevator ride is silent and Spencer is jittery; his hands twitch and tap against his legs, he’s bouncing on his toes and he keeps looking at you through the corner of his eye. You’ve taken several deep breaths to calm your racing heart – you hate heights, and this is the closest you’ve been to Spencer in a week. This will be the longest conversation you’ve had with him in a week, too.

The second the doors open, Spencer leaps in front of you.

“Wait!”

You jump back in surprise, “What? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine. Just… when we get there, let me explain first, okay? Before you say anything.” He’s pleading, as if you’ve already told him no. You look at him with furrowed brows and mumble an ‘okay’.

You’re visibly confused as you trek up the flight of stairs to the roof. Spencer pushes open the fire door and the first thing you notice is how bright the roof is – you always assumed it’d be dark, little light, especially at night like this.

Wait.

There’s fairy lights… everywhere. You’re pretty sure this isn’t the norm for the FBI roof.

Spencer is equally as awed at what he sees before him - it’s exactly the photo he saw in Garcia’s cave brought to life, but he’s too distracted by you to fully appreciate it. You look like a child on Christmas; eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly agape. You’re gorgeous.

“What…is this, Spence?” You wonder, noticing the set table, fingers grazing the roses that sit in a vase in the middle. They’re fresh and smell wonderful.

He stands a little behind you, fiddling with his hands, and clears his throat, “Would you like to take a seat?”

You do. When he finally sits, he pours you a glass of wine and you immediately take an anxious sip. Although Rossi is a big fan of wine, you rarely take interest in it only when Spencer’s involved. You’ve come to associate wine with him – a smile peeks out from your glass as you stare at the man opposite you.

“I need to get something off my chest. But there’s cookies, if you want one,” He picks one up from his plate, breaking it in half and giving it to you. He’s stalling, but you seem to take the bait and bite into it.

“Are these from the bakery two blocks away?”

“Yeah,” He replies, but he isn’t really paying attention. He doesn’t know where to begin.

You wait patiently for him to open up. You’re still unsure of what to make of all of this – the beautiful setting, the wine, the flowers, the lights. God, the lights are dazzling in the Virginia night sky. You need context, and you need it now.

“Spence-“

“Listen.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just…” He trails off, “I need to say what I need to say before I back out again.”

You fold your hands in your lap. You’re ready for whatever’s to come.

“Do you know how long we’ve known eachother?” He asks. His head tilts like a puppy.

“Nearly five years. Our friendaversary is coming up, you know.”

You realise, then, that this must be a celebration for that – that explains the… typically romantic setting. Before you can open your mouth to ask if that what’s this is, Spencer speaks.

“Four years, three-hundred and sixty days. That’s how long we’ve known eachother.”

“If we were dating, we would’ve been my longest relationship the second we passed a year.”

You don’t know why you said it, but it flusters him. He has to pause to take a breath and collect his thoughts.

“I’ve been in love with you for four years and three hundred and fifty-eight days, Y/N.”

It’s silent as you process and he figures out how to continue.

“I knew you were special when you were introduced to us. Hotch already had such a soft spot for you, and you had this way about you that made us all fall in love instantly. I remember Garcia did a background check the second she found out your name and she said you remind her of me and I… that freaked me out, to be honest. I thought you’d try to replace me.” He huffs a laugh, but can’t bring himself to look you in the eye, “I realised I was in love with you when you drunkenly defended me. Do you remember that?” His eyes flicker to yours for half a second – you’re wide-eyed, “You’d known me for two days at that point, but we’d already done a case together so we were celebrating. And these guys at the bar were whispering about me, acting like I couldn’t hear them, and the second you realised what was happening you stood up, stormed towards them and gave them a piece of your mind. It was incredible.

“You barely knew me, at least personally, but you thought so highly of me you scolded a group of drunk bodybuilders without a second thought. You made them apologise – it was hysterical watching someone half their size force them into submission like that – and when you were done you asked if I wanted to leave and go get ice cream. We couldn’t, cause you vomited on the way there, but I knew in that moment I loved you and I feel so hard, so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. And you never… you never indicated you thought of me as anything other than a friend so I didn’t try. Then you dated Greg who, in my opinion, sucked on his best days, and you encouraged me to date Abigail and I…”

He’s run out of breath and of things to say.

“I just love you, Y/N. I’m in love with you.” He adds, “I hope that’s okay.”

He finally looks at you, then. You’re just staring and he panics when he can’t make out what you’re feeling. He’s always been able to read you, you’ve always hated the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul because your eyes are always your tell, but now they’re… glassy.

You’re crying.

“Spencer…” You gasp, throat tight.

“It’s okay.” Spencer gives a tight-lipped smile. He knows what’s coming. He should’ve expected it. He has been expecting it.

“I love you too, Spence.”

Spencer chokes on air. He takes a gulp of wine.

You give him a teary smile in disbelief, “I’ve always loved you, Spence. I thought you knew that – I thought that big brain of yours knew exactly how I felt and… you didn’t do anything about it so I thought you didn’t feel the same. Spencer…”

He slowly moves a hand to place it palm-up on the table. Immediately you place your hand in his, your grip tight as you lovingly stare at him. This feels unreal.

“I’m in love with you too, you idiot.” You half laugh, half cry, “If you’ve really loved me this long, we’ve wasted so much time! God, we’re both idiots.”

Spencer’s crying too, now, and he starts laughing with you.

You’re two idiots in love, sitting opposite eachother on the roof of your place of work in a dream-like surrounding filled with fairy lights and flowers, and you could’ve been doing this for years.

Spencer sniffles, looking at you through his wet eyelashes, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“If I say yes, will I get more dates like this?” You tease.

“Well, Garcia has a whole evidence board of date ideas she stole from Pinterest. We have enough ideas to last a lifetime.” He giggles.

“Penny was in on this?!”

Spencer gives a heh, “This is all thanks to her, so yeah.”

“She’s always had our backs.”

“She’s also now going to be convinced she’s cupid.”

You laugh again, and can’t help yourself when you lean across the table, still gripping Spencer’s hand, and letting your lips fall on his. Spencer leans into you, lips moving against yours as you both try to suppress grins.

You pull back slightly, Spencer’s lips following you, and whisper, “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again, just cause he can.

Big plan, big payoff. You’re worth every little stress and more.

[thedemonstherapist]

Tension Solution

Summary: “I think this tension between us needs resolving. Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”. 

Wordcount: ~4,2K

Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x GN! Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Enemies to Lovers, Sexual innuendos, Small mentions of blood

Author’s Note: Here it is! My Kaeya enemies to fuckers piece. A huge thank you to @gnocchi-ghoul​ for Beta reading this for me! I had such fun writing this, and you all know I’m a sucker for some good tensioned sworfighting, and this smug bastard has been on my mind ever since starting to play the game. I know this is not my usual content, but I write when I want, about who I want, ok? I’ve had so little inspiration over the past months that I’ve got to take chances like these and go with them.

Banner is not mine! If you know who to credit it to, let me know, I couldn’t find it!

There he came again. That stupid coin between his fingers, flung into the air at random intervals. That stupid grin softening his face, cheerful greetings echoing through the noisy hall. Oh, and above all, that tremendously stupid way his eyes find you immediately, just trying to do your work.

You lower your gaze, pressing your pen down onto paper with renewed determination. Jean and her new open doors policy be damned, you couldn’t wait to slam it in his face. Of course it’s the last few minutes of visiting hours that he decides to come back from his commission. Three blissful weeks of calm while he was stationed out near the Liyue border, no comments, no irksome remarks, no-

“Don’t tell me you’re too busy to greet me”. 

You sigh. Kaeya observes you with his arms crossed, casually lent against the doorframe. His sword is still strapped to his back, droplets of water running down the blade, and he clearly hasn’t gone to take a shower yet, covered in dirt, mud and sporadic dried blood. 

“Captain”. You can’t help your displeasured tone. “I see you’re back”. 

“Inspector”. He raises a brow in retaliation. “I sent a notice stating my return three days ago”. 

“Oh, that”. You pick the unintelligible letter from your desk with two fingers, holding it at an arm’s length. “Apparently your messenger didn't go for a swim on the way here. Could you confirm?”

His jaw tightens momentarily, as you note with satisfaction, but it doesn’t deter the grin. “You should be used to my handwriting by now”. 

You place it back on your desk with contempt. “I am not. Hopefully your report to Jean is a little more… readable”. 

He shrugs, beginning to peel off his gloves. “She’s never complained about it”. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself down. Kaeya tends to make you irrationally angry, and no, it wasn’t just the absolute nonchalante recklessness he treated his position and commissions with. You couldn’t count the times he’d risked more than his own life in battle, somehow always managing to pull it off in the last second. And of course, that was his surefire way to getting out of trouble, no matter how much Jean grilled him for it afterwards.

“Go clean up”. You try your best to make your dismissal abundant, leaning back over your work. “You’re dripping water on my carpet”. 

“Oh, we’re touchy today, aren’t we?” Kaeya’s grin widens into a smirk, pushing himself off the frame. “Did Fawks hit on you during your patrols again?” 

“That’s none of your business”. You shoot him a glare, tapping your nails impatiently. As if you still had the opportunity to go out on patrols, you’d been holed up in your office pretty much ever since becoming Inspector. You wished you could get out again, your body had been aching for some action for weeks, but he was the last person you’d ever confess that to.

Kaeya hums lightly, and instead of exiting, takes another step into the office. His eyes wandered your shelves with staged disinterest, but you knew he was looking for something to use as ammunition.

“I’m assuming you couldn’t hear me” you state, sarcasm adding a bite to your tone. “I told you to clean up. You look like you haven’t seen soap since leaving Mondstadt”. 

“Oh, Y/N, always so worried about my appearance” he muses, drawing closer to your desk. God, you hated that stupid cat-like expression he bore, so sly and pretentious. “I’d be more worried about yourself, frankly”. 

“I’m not playing these games, Kaeya”, you reply sharply, fingers tightening around your pen. “Go take a damn shower, and stop ruining my carpet. I don’t know why your immediate goal seems to piss me off, but I’d like to maintain some level of professional dignity between us”. 

He rolls his eyes. “By Barbatos, you really are wound up today. I doubt that’s just my fault”. 

“Be delusional, then”. You shake your head. “I don’t think Jean would appreciate another formal complaint, so do her the favour, if not for me, and get out of my office”. 

“Fine”. He turns around, but not before throwing you another glance, and damn it, you know he has one last trick up his sleeve, just by the way he says it. “However, before I forget-”. 

“What?”

“You’re pre-reading my report for Jean. Her orders”. 

---

“... and that bastard didn't even take the time to brief me about the mission outcome, the entire time he was dirtying up my office!” You end your rant with an angry flourish, slamming your hand down on the table. “I don’t know what he intended with that whole interaction, he just likes making my day so much worse!” 

Your friend chuckles, stirring her drink idly, an ocean of calm in comparison to your raging fury. “Man, if we weren’t close, I would never guess Kaeya to be such a pain in the ass. Each time I’ve encountered him he’s been so chivalrous and kind”. 

“He just can’t keep it in his pants”. You cross your arms, sitting back in your chair with a huff. “If you ever end up in his bed, I will personally hunt him down”. 

She laughs. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t put you in that position”. 

“I just don’t understand it”. You run a hand through your hair, glancing around the tavern. It was unusually crowded for a Thursday night, you’d been lucky to get your usual table. “Why he has this stupid grudge against me. We used to be normal colleagues, back when we were both only trainee’s and officers, but then one day the switch flipped and it’s like we can’t stand the sight of each other ever since. The worst thing is, he has every last person in Mondstadt wrapped around his finger! So nobody understands my frustration!”

“First of all, Diluc exists. Second of all, aren’t you higher ranking than him?” she asks, and you regretfully shake your head. 

“No, Captains and Inspectors are on the same level. I personally didn't feel ready to be a leader in combat situations, so I passed on the opportunity. Now I miss active commissions so much, my poor sword is nothing more than an ancient relic at this point”. 

“Surely, you’ll still be sent out?” 

“I don’t have a command, the only times I might be are on extraordinarily dangerous or sizable sightings, or for assistance to Captains. Rue the day I get sent out with Kaeya”. You shudder at the thought. “That would end in total disaster”. 

“So you really have no idea why Kaeya began to dislike you so suddenly?” your friend inquires, tilting her head aside. You shake yours. “And there wasn’t some kind of incident that caused this?” 

“Not that I know of”.

A grin spreads over her face. “Hey, you ever considered that he likes you a little too much for his own good?” 

“That’s some misogynistic bullshit”, you snort. “Guys are rude to people because they like them, yeah right. That’s just trying to normalise shitty behaviour in the name of quote-on-quote love”. 

“I know that”. She gives you an exasperated look. “But… you have to admit that the two of you have some serious chemistry”. 

“What are you even talking about?” you question, downing the rest of your drink. 

“Every time you two interact”. She raises a brow knowingly. “Remember that time you were bickering on patrol through Mondstadt? I swear, even without a vision, I could see sparks between the two of you, and I wasn’t the only one, you got the entire town talking. You get on each other’s nerves because you have some unresolved tension you need to work out, and neither of you wants to admit it”. 

“Shut up”. Your cheeks suddenly feel suspiciously warm, and you firmly decide it’s the alcohol. “Fine, Kaeya’s attractive, but he’s so fucking annoying because he knows that. He messes with me ‘cause he knows how to get in my head, and gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from it”. 

Your friend makes an attempt to interrupt you, but you don’t let her, motioning to her to let you rant. “Let me finish. He was nice enough up until he got that damn ego boost after being promoted, I think, and even then I could still talk to him without the need to stab myself in the eye. He’s just so frustrating, never thinks twice about anything he does, and always gets away with it, plus he has this weird urge to always show off that stupidly toned chest of his and - by the Seven, I hate that idiot smirk of his, and the fact that he’s so damn perfect at his swordsmanship, I can’t even deny how good he is in battle, Jean has said he rivals her, and I despise that he knows he looks good while doing it, he-”

“So, how much longer were you going to let them just talk?” A voice offhandedly asks from behind you, and the blood in your veins turns to ice. Your friend smiles lazily, winking at you. 

“Oh, you know, however long they need. Y/N’s been ranting quite a bit this evening, you really get on their nerves”. 

You whip around, and sure enough, there he is, the cause of this mess. Kaeya has his arms folded, grinning down at you with thinly veiled satisfaction. You’re pretty sure half of the tavern is watching, and your blood turns from freezing to seething within seconds. 

“How long have you been there?” you ask stiffly, glaring at your friend. She pulls an innocent face, leaning back in her seat with performative disinterest. Traitor. 

“Just long enough to hear what I needed to”. Kaeya’s grin is threatening to split his face in half. “You really think I’m that attractive, huh? I never would have guessed”. 

You jump up from your chair, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. “Fight me”. 

He actually laughs, a few of the tavern occupants joining in. “What? Are you sure you’re not mixing up a couple words there?”

You clench your jaw, deciding to just go with it. “Fight me. Knights of Favonius training ring, tomorrow morning. I’m sick of your attitude”. 

“Oh?” He cocks a brow at you. “I hope you’re ready after wasting away in that office of yours”. 

“I could beat you blindfolded”, you reply presumptuously, mimicking his stance, unable to ignore the fact that he smells a little too good for your tipsy state. At least he finally took your orders. You hold his stare regardless, unwilling to give in.

“Thank the Seven, you’re working this out at last”, your friend sighs, sipping at her drink. “And here I thought you’d take the sexual tension to the grave”. 

Kaeya’s lip twitches in amusement as he extends one hand. “Tomorrow morning at seven. I’ll try not to kill you then, for that sake alone”.

You give him a dirty look, reluctantly shaking his hand. “Your chance of me doing the same is decreasing with every word that leaves your mouth”. 

“I can live with that”. He suddenly leans closer, and before you can pull away, whispers in your ear, sultry tone leaving the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. “You’re going down, darling”. 

Like Hell you are.

---

The training hall is usually relatively empty at this time of day. Some dedicated trainee’s use the morning to get their routine over, but otherwise, not many knights exercise this early. And though at least a few of them must have heard of what happened last night, not many are to be seen. Even if you could live with an audience, you decide this way is perfectly fine, especially in case of the (distinctly undesirable and should-be-impossible outcome) of you losing to him. You’re a bit out of breath from warming up, fixing your shirt before making your way over to the ring.

Kaeya is waiting for you there, clad in athleisure and in the midst of testing out a beginner’s sword. His vision is nowhere to be seen, and you curse him a little for not giving you something more to berate him for. Nevertheless, you straighten up as you approach.

“Good morning”, you greet him nonchalantly, walking over to inspect the racks of weapons. 

A grin flashes across his face as he turns around, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Hello, darling”.

“Sweating already?” You raise a brow at him, deciding to ignore the nickname. “And here I thought I’d have a challenge”. 

Kaeya laughs, rolling out his wrist. “You are cute when you’re acting tough”. Tilting his head aside, he watches you take your pick of one of the swords. The morning light bathes him in a soft glow, falling through the high windows, hair tied up in a messy bun at the back of his head, and- wait. Your cheeks grow hot as you realise what absurd directions your thoughts are heading to. Your friend must have gotten under your skin more than you realised last night. 

Shaking your head a little, you roll your shoulders back and face him head-on. “Whatever makes you feel better. For the rules, as by training code, drawing blood is an immediate end”. 

“No visions, no hits near the head or vital organs, dull blades and stop means stop”, Kaeya counts up calmly, making his way to the center of the ring. His blue eye gleams playfully in the light, and he swings the sword near aimlessly while walking. You grit your teeth at his relaxed manner. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all, huh?

“Don’t worry, Inspector”. He winks as he comes to a halt before you, maintaining the mandated arm’s distance. “I know the rules”. 

“I’d hope so”, you reply, getting into position and watching him do the same. You decide to stir the pot a little, knowing it’s best to get into his head, and feign a smile. “I can’t wait until the rest of the knights hear about how royally I kicked your ass”. 

He laughs lowly, and is immediately on the attack. Anticipating such, after years of observing him in battle, you parry it easily, ducking aside to avoid the next one. You wait until he’s nearly backed you into the corner, ego visibly growing with every move he makes, and take a rolling dive, knocking his legs out from under him with your own. 

He manages to catch himself, and you’re relieved by the split-second of surprise in his expression. You withdraw towards the middle, blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face and, in a rush of adrenalin, smirk at him. “Not so confident now, are we, Captain?”

“You’re not as out of shape as I anticipated”, he counters, slashing his sword through the air as he repositions himself. Brows narrowing playfully, he adds: “It’ll make it more fun to thoroughly take you apart”. 

You don’t give him more time to prepare. Blades crash onto each other as he masterfully deflects your attacks, and it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get out of breath. Neither of you can land a hit, no matter how feasible it seems. He handles the comparatively bulky sword with enviable ease, and you grow frustrated quickly, unable to break through his defences. In turn, you don’t let him back you into any corner, constantly keeping the playing field level and returning every new strike with your own.

“You know what, I’ve missed this”, Kaeya pants, quick to switch hands as you sidestep him, attempting to land a hit on his blinde side. 

“Huh?” is all you can answer in return, deflecting his counter aimed at your back, and darting aside. 

“Training”. He nearly misses the parry, forced to back up if not to risk a blow to his abdomen. “With you”. He shoots you a brash smile, easily twisting out of your range.

You huff, irritated at the fact that he still has the mind to flirt. “Your silver tongue isn’t getting you out of this one”. 

“I meant it”. And of damn course, his tactic worked, the point of his blade sinking into your shoulder. “Remember when we used to practise together?” 

“Before you became a dick, you mean?” you shoot back, attempting an aggressive strike at his lower thigh. Your body is getting sore, heart pounding against your ribcage, breaths coming out short and strained, but despite it all, you’re enjoying this. In any case, you’d rather die than admit to him that you’re having fun. 

You really needed to get out of your office more.

Kaeya laughs, equally exhausted, before advancing at an alarming speed. “I’ll give you that one, darling”. 

Your blades cross, metal clashing loudly, and you can see an opportunity form as he shortly weakens his hold. Rotating your sword in the opposite direction to try and hook beneath his, you’re so distracted by the possibility of disarming him that you don’t notice the satisfaction that washes over his expression as you do. One swift swipe of his foot and you’re falling backwards, weapon nearly ripped from your hand. 

Your back hits the mat with full force, air knocked out of your lungs, causing you to give a strangled gasp. Kaeya is smirking down at you, but he’s as out of breath as you are and there’s sweat soaking his shoulders. You don’t think before you move, so infuriated by the words you know are about to leave his mouth, fingers tightening around the handle. 

The hit against his shins sends him to the ground, but not sideways as planned, instead straight onto you. You don’t have the time or the mind to roll out of the way, and he tries very hard to catch himself, hands landing on either side of you. You yelp as most of his weight hits you, momentarily forgetting what’s even happening. 

 “Fuck”, Kaeya groans, arms shaking as he tries to brace himself. “You like playing dirty, don’t you?” 

Slowly regaining the ability to breathe after nearly being crushed, your eyes dart to see him dangling over you, legs and lower body resting on your own. If anyone hears of this out of context, you’re moving to the other end of Teyvat. He’s panting, no doubt as shocked as you are, strands of his hair tickling your nose. His face is mere inches away from yours, heat seeping through his clothes onto your skin. 

Decidedly too close.

Your blade kissing his throat is a much better sight. You know you’re technically breaking the rules, but the way his eye widens, corners of his mouth twitching and brows raising to the sky is just too good of a picture. 

“Get off me”. You growl, trying to steady yourself with your other hand. 

His laugh sounds astounded, but contrary to your demand, he does not. Instead, his chin juts forward, pressing the metal into his skin for earnest. There’s no blood, of course, all these swords are dulled to near uselessness, but it does leave you speechless at the amount of reckless pride he seems to possess. 

 Kaeya hums, clearly satisfied at your reaction. “I’ll be honest, this is not how I initially pictured you under me”. 

What a smug son of a-

“Oh, fuck off”. Your knee makes contact with his stomach and he rolls off you with a grunt. You scramble to your feet, grimacing at what you're sure will be a bruised tailbone later. He’s already composed himself, twirling his sword idly as you get a proper grip on your own. Looking you up and down, his grin widens into a smirk.

“Though you do look similar to the imaginary aftermath”. 

“I am going to kill you”, you hiss, red flashing before your eyes as you charge at him. Kaeya begins to laugh once more, but it quickly dies down as your moves become more and more aggressive, driving him out of the ring and towards the wall. The thought of whoever may be around again crosses your mind, but honestly, you can’t care about who may be watching, every last bit of strength you have left is focused on Kaeya and his stupid fucking face and the way he evades your strikes with a precision that only leaves to be desired to every onlooker. It makes you want to actually scream. You finally land two hits on him, arms beginning to shake from exhaustion and overwhelming adrenalin. 

But once more, Kaeya catches you off guard. The switch flips just as his leg hits the wall and you’re just beginning to notice your own smile, sure of your victory. His expression darkens, lip caught in his teeth as his eyes narrow down at you. 

Your blades clash as they did before, and of course he uses your own move against you, managing to perfect it. Your sword goes flying to the ground, and the moment you lose your grip is the moment you’re being slammed against the wall that he was nearly backed up against mere seconds ago. The tip of his sword is digging into the soft skin of your throat, positioned perfectly above your Adam's apple. 

Suddenly, it goes very quiet, the silence only interrupted by your laboured breaths. Maybe it’s the fact that he near literally has a knife to your throat, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. His hand is pressing on your shoulder, pinning you to the wall, keeping you in place. His leg is slotted between yours, barring you from moving an inch. 

For the first time since you’ve met him, you have nothing to do but to admire him. Sweat is making his hair stick to his skin, an exhausted flush upon his dark cheeks. His body is visibly tense, stare boring into yours with a kind of intensity you’ve only ever seen during active combat. There’s nothing unintentional about the way he’s restraining you, nothing hesitant about the placement of the blade against your skin. His chest is heaving, teeth digging into his lip in constrained effort, fingers digging into your shoulder as if expecting you to fight back.

You don’t. 

Instead, you let out a shaky breath. The adrenalin is still surging through you, but you can’t feel the constant urge to punch him in the gut anymore. Huh. Weird. 

“You won”. Your voice is calmer than it ever has been talking to him, accepting of your defeat. Plus, your body is beginning to realise that whatever just happened hurt, and quite a bit at that. You wince, knowing you’re going to need some ice to get through the rest of the day. 

Kaeya shakes his head determinedly, stare not wavering. “You had me in practically the same position less than a minute ago. You could have flipped me over with ease and won. You didn't. That’s the only reason I got you here”. His grip on your shoulder eases up. “We’re equal”. 

Withdrawing the sword from your neck, he takes a step back, relinquishing his hold on you. You feel strangely dazed, automatically reaching to check for cuts on your neck. “I guess?”

“You okay?” He sounds relatively quiet as well, nearly uneasy, which does not fit the overconfident persona he usually bears. Whatever tension there was before has yielded to something more cautious, like strangers navigating their way across broken ice. 

You nod, reaching to pick up your sword. “Fine”. You pause briefly, debating your words before meeting his eye again. “That was… good exercise. Thanks for fighting me”. 

He laughs a little, and you’re taken aback by how much you don’t feel like reacting. What was going on? At the latest after that laugh you’d usually be back at his throat. 

“Sure”. There’s the typical amusement in his face, but his smile is less egregious and smug. It’s… kind? “I’d have no problem repeating it”. 

You raise your shoulders, unsure of what to do now. “I guess… I wouldn’t either?”

“Good”. He runs a hand through his hair in an effort to fix the mess it’s become. You’re beginning to hear the confidence you’re used to re-enter his words, but it doesn’t appear to bother you. “Friday’s at seven, then. We’ll make it a regular thing”.

“Trying to kill each other?” You surprise yourself with the attempt to ease the tension, and why in the world do you have the urge to smile at the sight of his?

“If that’s how you want to see it”. He shrugs, placing his sword back on the racks. Glancing over his shoulder, he regards you for a long moment. “I think your friend is right”. 

“In what regard?” you ask, in principle fully aware of what that expression means for you. 

Kaeya’s shit-eating grin has made its way back onto his face. “I think this tension needs resolving. Whatever means it takes”. 

You can hear the words in your head before he says them. 

“Be that with swords against each other’s necks or in my bed. You decide”.

[tobiosmilktea]

amor vincit omnia — akaashi keiji

     ↪︎ O2. I CHOOSE YOU

masterlist | prev. | next

a/n: i absolutely hated rewriting this chapter after it glitched out the first time 😔

since the beginning of your first year of university, you and the rest of your lovely friends had been eating in the library, specifically the large round table secluded and at the very corner for every meal without fail, and nobody really cared to stop you guys for two reasons. For one, no one really goes into that corner of the library that only collected dust, and two, you guys were there so often that you all befriended all the librarians to the point they stopped coming by to tell you guys to leave and eat in the canteen instead.

you were placed between daichi and kiyoko, counting the seconds by as they worked diligently in silence, munching on their lunch in the process. daichi tapped on the keys on his laptop rather quickly, the impact of each click being unnecessarily loud while kiyoko was cross-referencing documents and highlighting lines of never ending texts in a nice muted green color. tsukishima, on the other hand, was too preoccupied reading his book. eyes completely glued to the novel resting in his hands as he readjusted his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. sugawara was out and about somewhere in the sea of towering bookshelves to find a book to read, mentioning something along the lines of—and you quote, ‘something to quench his thirst for entertainment.’ 

it was honestly just his fancy way of saying that he was bored out of his goddamn mind. perhaps you were the same, eyes wandering your surroundings for something, just something to capture your attention for a few moments. it wasn’t at all difficult, actually, considering how pretty your university was.

higashi university had always been your dream college. not just by its blatant aestheticism, but the academia as well. with tanaka and nishinoya being your main friend group during your high school days, it feels rather refreshing being surrounded by other incredibly smart individuals than constant brain rot.

(no offense to tanaka and nishinoya, you loved them to pieces)

and as your mind began to wander, so did your gaze. from admiring the library’s interior to looking out the window, your lips slightly curved down into a frown.

it was only noon and the clouds were already darkening the sun’s piercing rays that usually shone through the large domed windows of the library. it was going to rain soon and for a couple hours as well.

it’s quite peculiar to think about now after you received that damned chain letter. earlier this morning, while shoving on your wool sweater and trousers, that even the weather app on your phone didn’t show any signs of inclement weather until an hour after you texted your group chat in an awkward panic.

you didn’t really pine yourself to be so superstitious. if anything, you were the complete opposite, and yet, here you were worrying over the sound of rumbling thunder in the distance.

tsukishima lifted his gaze from the words printed on his novel as he pushed his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. he flickered a look at you, a smirk appearing on his visage the moment he noticed the way you stared at a single drop of rain on the window, flowing down rather slowly.

that stupid letter of yours was still in your hand as well. he watched you fiddle with the corners, careful not to mess with the mahogany red wax stamp that sealed the envelope.

“have you thought about which poor, unfortunate soul you’re going to give it to?” he asked, smirk still annoyingly evident. this was the third time he asked you this question in a span of three hours.

you flicked your eyes towards him coolly before it fell onto the letter in your hands. "ask that question again and i’ll be sure to send it your way, tsukishima.”

“i’d like to see you try, honestly.” he muses, “your best bet is probably slipping it into one of your professor’s inboxes. maybe professor oshiro, by chance?”

“please,” you snort, “she only gave me one failing grade that i eventually made up in the end.”

“just give it to a random stranger,” daichi cuts in, eyes still glued to his laptop as he typed his fingers away. dark circles dusting his eyes like a dark shadow. law school was certainly doing its works on the likes of poor, poor sawamura daichi.

he shrugs, evidentially fatigued when he meets your eye.

“that way your grades won’t have to potentially deal with the consequences if your professor finds out.”

you nod, humming in response. that would be terrible.

sugawara then emerges from the maze of bookshelves, holding up a book towards you with a smile on his face. “found one,” he beams, tossing it atop the messy table.

you reach for the book as sugawara pulls out his chair whilst he mutters something to his daichi about his whereabouts.

“wuthering heights?” you say the title aloud and capture kiyoko’s attention along with it.

“yeah. have you guys read it?” the silver-haired boy asks. he takes your opinions quite seriously knowing how much of an avid reader you and kiyoko were. whenever he needed book recommendations or opinions, he would always go to you two.

you nod, “i quite liked it.”

“some parts tend to be slow, though.” adds in kiyoko, taking the novel from your hands and flipping through the pages briefly before slipping back over towards sugawara. “it should keep you occupied for a few days.”

you chuckle slightly, giving her a look. “you forget how slow suga is at reading. the few days it takes us to finish a book is a good month for him.”

offense coated sugawara’s expression as he lets out a scoff in retaliation. “don’t you have a chain letter to give to someone?”

“she’s stalling,” tsukishima teases.

“am not!”

“then want to go give it to a random stranger then?”

your brows draw together, “right now?”

tsukishima nods as he stuffs his belongings back into his bag. “i’ll come with you for shits and giggles.”

a sigh escapes you, rolling your eyes as you take a look at the letter one last time and wanting to laugh at yourself for doing all this. a full chain letter from front to back, with the first quarter of it is you viciously apologizing that you had to do this in neat cursive handwriting, all written in fifteen minutes.

you gave in.

“fine,” you huff as you grab your own bag as well.

“good luck,” kiyoko muses up at you as you squeeze past her.

tsukishima waits for you until you’re by his side, strides shorter than usual just to match your pace as you two navigate through the labyrinthine arrays of bookshelves. the letter was in your hand, all small and discrete for a quick and easy delivery to an unsuspecting victim. your palm perspired slightly as you kept your eyes open, scanning for an easy person as you were aware of the possible repercussions.

you could easily get in trouble for doing something this childish, but you were in too deep already.

“hurry up and find someone, we’re almost at the entrance already.” tsukishima hisses in a harsh whisper.

“i’m working on it!” you hiss back.

“working on what?” a familiar voice asks then, capturing both you and tsukishima’s attention, whipping your heads towards the owner.

kuroo combed his freehand through his hair while he had two textbooks tucked under his other arm. he gave you a smile.

you never really got close with kuroo despite meeting him at nationals a few years back. despite only talking a few times due to him being good friends with tsukishima, you knew he was nice, incredibly smart in the sciences, and yet oddly awkward for someone as good looking as he.

not him, you thought to yourself, too nice.

“a little project,” the blond immediately answers just like that. “our majors tend to overlap sometimes, so we decided to partner up.”

“nice, i’m here with my friends to study as well.” kuroo states, causing your eyes to scan behind them for any evidence of their rambunctious selves.

like kuroo, you weren’t close with any of them either. if anything, they were just mere acquaintances on the precipice of becoming strangers. regardless, they all seemed quite nice too from your lack of interaction with them.

tsukishima says something in response then, igniting a short little catch-up conversation with an old high school friend as you lay distracted. your eyes flicked down to a study table in front of you, one of the chairs just a foot shy from you had a satchel hanging off of its side. the brown leather flap was wide open with its owner nowhere in sight as you gave your surroundings a once over.

carefully, you made your way over the table, pretending as if you were taking something out of your bag as kuroo was being distracted by the blond. neither of them were looking at you fortunately. as you placed your bag back over your shoulder, you slipped the letter right into the open satchel right at the same time–the envelope falling and disappearing into the depths of the bag.

“i’ve got to get to my next lecture,” you say to the two men, giving tsukishima a sly wink that it was a job well done. “i’ll see you guys around.”

checkmate.

fun facts! —

after kiyoko graduated and moved to tokyo, (y/n) and kiyoko kept in touch by sending each other cute handwritten letters

no one really is aware of that area in the back of the library since no one goes in that section often (this is uhh,, an important detail for later 😳)

taglist: (comment or send an ask to be added!)

@channiechanchan @elianetsantana @suhkusa @agaashesmilktea @dwcljh @duhsies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @kitsunetea @morpheus-rex @noeminemi @ntimacy @kurokenchan @kittyddandnyla @amboisez @komouri @stargirlara @itsmeaudrieee @immxnty @spicyshinsou @bombardia @yammerss @crescenttooru @tadashi-simp @sunanyaa @saikishairclip @marvel-ing-at-it-all @seijqhigh @normalisthenewnorm @allielozoya @peteunderoos @inflxxtions @peg-legz4 @kawafika @apollochjld @bap-kingdom @yongboxerrr @kenssister @galacticyoongs

[im-whatchamccallit]

Crushcrushcrush//Kim Hongjoong (ATEEZ)

Request:  Hi i was wondering if you could do a soulmate werewolf hongjoong x human female reader angst and fluff like she over hears hongjoong saying something and she gets sad and shy and worried and stuff.....

Pairing: Kim Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst with fluff at the end, Werewolf!AU, Soulmate!AU, a bit of College!AU

Warnings: Hongjoong’s kind of a dick with irrational thinking, cussing I guess

Word Count: 7.2k

(A/N: Lets just pretend I didn’t disappear for 6 whole months, but i am back and my medication is no longer giving me the big sad so I’m a little more motivated to write.This isn’t the best work I’ve done, this is actually idea 10 for this prompt and idk if it’s executed properly but Imma keep trying and hopefully, to keep from falling back into a slump, I’ll start a new series so I have a regular scheduled fic for everyone. Also, I think I botched expressing the AUS here but just let me know what you think. Sorry for always disappearing, I can’t promise I won’t go off the grid again but I’ll try harder to be active in anyway)

Your mother always said crushes stayed crushes for a reason: they hurt. Bad. But you thought she was wrong, that your feelings for someone could one day be reciprocated later if not sooner, and that’s what led you to him. Kim Hongjoong. The day you met was a complete accident, your body slamming into his as you wandered aimlessly during your freshman year of high school. He was gorgeous with wide brown eyes, beautiful pink lips and cheeks, his hair styled differently from the other boys to reveal his forehead, showing his individuality. He was perfection.

“I’m so sorry. Are you alright?” Those were the first words he spoke to you, his voice so gentle, so sweet. And the way he reached out to help you with no hesitation, holding your hands as he pulled you up effortlessly.

It was love at first sight, all until he looked down to your hands, eyes catching a glimpse of your wrist, a row of zeros peeking through the sleeve of your uniform jacket. He slowly pushed the fabric up, both your eyes widening to see your soulmate clock had finally timed out, his hands releasing yours to check his own wrist, a quiver to his lips as his clock matched yours, his once soft eyes now hard as he stared you down.

“Stay far away from me.” He warned, not saying another word as he headed to his homeroom, your body frozen as you watched him disappear. He was so harsh, yet you liked him. Maybe suddenly finding his soulmate scared him, but it was no problem to you! You were bound to end up together so you played the waiting game with him, being the perfect soulmate you could possibly be whether he accepted it or not.

And that led you here, now seniors in college and still acting the way you were when you met. Hongjoong was still cold, treating you like some plague while you could only smile along. You weren’t sure how you missed the fact you lived in a predominantly werewolf area until a public service announcement came on your television one night to remind humans to stay indoors during the full moon, that night dedicated to werewolves being as free as they could be, but it made you even more hopeful when you were on your way home from work one night, taking a shortcut through the woods since it lead right to your backyard.

You were 16 at the time, so the sight of a shirtless person would obviously make you flustered, but a shirtless Hongjoong? Enough to cause a nosebleed. He was 16 as well, the exact age a werewolf develops a mate bond and, seeing as you’ve already been confirmed as soulmates in the human world, the sudden desire to latch onto you and never let you go once you locked eyes only made your lifelong attachment more real, and he was freaking out. He didn’t speak, opting to shift without removing the remainder of his clothes, your eyes wide as he moved deeper through the thick trees and towards the horizon where the orange sky was in full view and, the grin on your face just couldn’t stop growing. You knew werewolves had a stronger drive to their mates, so the idea that he could avoid you forever was laughable. Sure, you were both 23 and he has uped his disdain for you from staying silent to calling you any vile name he could think of, but it was only a matter of time before he came around. You just knew it.

“(Y/n), stop gawking.” Miyeon joked, poking your side to snap you from your daydreams, your eyes widening when you noticed a few of Hongjoong’s friend’s catching your gaze, a blush painting your face as you turned away.

“I wasn’t gawking, just making sure their table was okay. I am their waitress tonight.”

“And every other night because you said, and I quote, ‘I wanna work at any table my Joongie’s going to be at!’” She mocked, your eyes rolling as you looked back towards them.

You took a job at a diner just a few blocks from both your apartment and college campus, the pay great and the distance convenient. It was the only time you had to yourself instead of lingering to Hongjoong, figuring out his classes and breaks to give him snacks and lunches you’d personally make for him since you overheard him complain about the campus food before, only to be told they tasted like shit and he’d find his own food. It was a bit of a kick to the face to hear that, but you had one saving grace: his pack. The first time Hongjoong sent you away with a bitter remark, they were curious about you, tracking you down when they weren’t with their alpha to get more info on who you were and what you found so loveable about the man treating you like some demon. They were surprised by how sweet you were and how accepting you were to be the unwanted luna of an eight-wolf pack. They could never hate Hongjoong but they sure as hell loved you just a little more than him. Unbeknownst to both of you, Yunho and Mingi found out where you worked, making a plan with the others to take Hongjoong there as much as possible so he would have no choice but to interact with you, even if he stayed silent to not appear like an asshole in front of the various strangers dining as well. Hongjoong would honestly never return if he had the choice, but something about the restaurant’s signature burger kept bringing him back, which is why he was here, sipping his soda angrily as he waited on his meal that would be served by his worst nightmare, you.

“I don’t know why you don’t just find someone else. Isn’t it easy for humans to reject soulmates? You could move on with no problems.” She said, helping you grasp onto the steel tray covered in various meals, a huff leaving you as you put on a bright smile.

“Because I know it’s harder to move on for wolves. You guys don’t have a choice on who your mates are, and you just accept it once you meet them. I know Hongjoong will accept me eventually, it’s just gonna take some time.” You gave one more smile before wobbling towards the table in question.

Hongjoong tried not to follow the gaze of his pack as they watched you happily approach them, letting out a huff as you adjusted the tray onto your shoulder, grasping the plates and placing them in front of the respective person, Hongjoong’s nose twitching at the smell of his burgers and fries, not wasting anytime to dig in as the other’s thanked you, but you shyly looked at the male before you, the tray pressed to your chest as you tried to find a casual way to speak with him.

“I-uh- I-I remembered last time you asked for extra cheese, so I decided to put cheese in the burger too! I hope you like it better than the tofu stew I made you for lunch the other week.”

“I didn’t ask for extra cheese this time, so why put it inside my burger where I can’t take it off?” He said spitefully, mouth still full as he set the half-eaten burger down.

Your smile faltered but bounced back as you reached towards his plate.

“O-oh! Well, I can take it back and make you another! This time I ca-“

“’This time’? You should’ve just done it from the start. Your job is to listen and do what you’re told and you can’t even do that? What can you do right?”

You swallowed hard, your eyes wandering to the people now staring at you as the scene unfolded, your heartbeat ringing in your ears as you tried to hold it together. The worst he’s called you in an idiot and that was usually under his breath, so to practically say it out loud, in front of strangers while you were in the middle of a shift and forced to do nothing but smile like you usually would, felt like you were being stabbed and burned simultaneously. You couldn’t keep smiling, looking down as you tried to apologize, only for him to cut you off once again.

“Go bother someone else. Or hide in the back if you’re just gonna keep fucking up this much.”

The space was eerily silent, even with the soft music playing, your eyes not leaving your shoes as you shuffled away. It was a pitiful sight, Seonghwa releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as you went to a neighboring table to retrieve plates and glasses left by a couple from before. He was ready to tear Hongjoong’s head off, not as a gamma to an alpha but as one friend to another, his jaw tight as he prepared to berate him the way he did you but, somehow, Wooyoung beat him by asking a question none of them thought to ask before.

“What did she ever do to you that you have to treat her like that?”

There was a strange but tense silence as they awaited his answer, watching him taking small bites of his fries as he stared ahead at nothing before turning to them with what could only be described as a sadistic smirk.

“Imagine being 13 and finding out the best years of your life, the years of dating, hooking up, just discovering who you are, are gone because your mate decides to show up and take that from you.”

“Are you fucking stupid? That’s the reason we have mates, so we can do those things with one person instead of random people!” Seonghwa nearly yelled, trying to keep his voice low as to not alarm anymore spectators again.

“For the past 7 years, I’ve been trying to get her to leave or just reject me, but it’s clear to me now that she’s just an idiot that doesn’t understand she’s not needed, by me or anyone. And, if you’re as dumb as her, I’ll simplify it for you: she’s unwanted.”

Whatever pain you felt before suddenly disappeared into a numbness you couldn’t explain. He knew you were there, that you could hear him, that you would hear him, and yet he still said it. You were conflicted and sad, your lips curling in a mixture of disgust and anger before settling on a bright smile. Never mind the fact your tears finally spilled over, that your heart ached with every beat and your body felt heavy with the weight of being rejected by someone you waited so long for, you just had to smile. Soulmates were supposed to be a sure thing, supposed to be your happily ever after, yet it just turned out to be a crush, one that you should’ve let die the day you met him.

“(Y/n/n)…” Miyeon spoke cautiously as you made your way towards the bar, your other coworkers watching from beside her as if you were some strange spectacle.

“We have to start cleaning, y’know? It’ll help us get out of here a lot faster tonight.” You said in your usual cheerful tone, tears still flowing and a faint crack to your voice.

“How about you just head home for the day, (Y/n)? We can handle everything from here.” Your manager said, her eyes scanning your face as you moved past them and to the kitchen, their bodies following instinctively.

“What? No! I’m fine! We still have 4 more hours to go and I think if I get a head start with the chefs for tomorrow lunch specials I ca-“

“(Y/n), please-“

“I’m fine, Miyeon! Really! It’s not like I got broken up with or anything, I never even had a boyfriend! Just a crush on someone that thinks I’m a waste of space! Isn’t that super ironic? Spending most of your life chasing after someone that wants nothing to do with you? That’s really funny, right?” You choked out, lips pursing into a thin line to keep in your sobs but your attempts were futile, everything slowly starting to hit you at once until your body collapsed, one of the other servers catching you before you hit the ground.

It was all a blur from there, the words of comfort everyone offered turning into muffled noise as your cries of agony came out freely, the way Miyeon dragged you from the emergency exit at the back of the building and to her car to take you home, and even when you crawled into bed and managed to sleep despite the pounding headache. 7 years came and went and there was nothing to show for it. No soulmate, no boyfriend, no romance, not even a friendship. You were empty and for some reason the only thing filling your heart and mind was the person who broke you.

It felt like time stood still yet hours had passed, Hongjoong back in his own bedroom pressing away at his keyboard, stopping occasionally to write a few notes down from his new composition, but he wasn’t distracted enough to hear his door open, various footsteps entering and even a few bodies settling in on his bed, his eyes not bothering to leave his notebook as he figured this moment would come.

“You don’t need to lecture me.” He grumbled, going back to play a few more notes only to find his keyboard unplugged, Mingi tossing the cord away as his alpha stared him down.

“It’s only a lecture if you listen and learn, which you won’t, so we’re gonna make you feel as bad as possible for driving away the only person that gave a shit about you.” San said with a bright smile, a scoff leaving Hongjoong as he finally turned in his chair to face them, eyes scanning the room to see this situation wasn’t playful but truly hostile, almost like an ambush.

“So, you guys don’t care about me?”

“Trying to get you to accept your soulmate so you don’t die shows we care a lot more than we should.” Yeosang spoke, making himself comfortable as he sat against the pillow and headboard.

“But we’re the real assholes for trying to force her with someone as shitty as you.” Seonghwa finally said, Hongjoong’s head snapping in his direction as he let out a dry chuckle, shifting in his seat so he was leaning backwards, arms crossed as he told himself to stay calm during his friend’s potential tantrum.

“I feel like you have the most to say since you’ve been in love with my mate the longest, so go ahead, tell me how I’m such a bad man, Seonghwa. I’m all ears.” His smugness made the tension worse, Seonghwa stepping closer with clenched fist.

“I’m not in love with you mate, but if I didn’t know someone was waiting for me because we were fated to be together, maybe I would have asked (Y/n) out, because she deserves better than a lowlife with the brain function of a dead goldfish. But I respect her too much as your mate and my luna to not push those boundaries so I tried to help her get closer to you because I know you, Hongjoong. You’re not an asshole or a jerk, but to her? You treat her like shit, when really you’d have no one without her. You’re a short, scrawny, nerdy moron that locks himself in a dark room for days on end just to complete a single project, then emerge to eat cold pizza and watch Despicable Me because your pea-sized brain can’t comprehend anything that isn’t brightly colored animation. If you take away your alpha status, no girl would even look in your direction but you have someone literally at your side, the only human not afraid of you, trying to figure out everything there is to know about you, yet you can’t give her the time of day. You probably don’t even know a damn thing about her.”

“Unfortunately, I know more than enough about her.” Hongjoong spoke, all amusement gone as he glared at the older male, their mindlink clogged with threatening growls and barks, trying to keep their fight from getting physical.

That first sentence alone made Hongjoong’s blood boil, his face contorted in a mixture of pain and disgust. How could Seonghwa even say that to him, plotting to steal his mate all because he was a bit uncertain? That all it was, uncertainty! He didn’t hate you, or wish you weren’t around, he actually grew to anticipate and enjoy your ramblings about your day or whatever new thing caught your attention, he actually even loved the lunches that you’d make for him. He couldn’t help that over the years he grew to crave you more, but the thought of fully accepting you and solidifying that the best years of his life were about to be gone, restricted to one person forever before he could even determine for himself his likes and dislikes, what he considered real love rather than what fate wanted him to feel, was terrifying. So he distanced himself from you, spending the years watching you from afar in hopes that if he didn’t get too close he wouldn’t lose his free will completely.

But it was a bad habit that seeped into your college years, everyone assuming he cared so little for you when he knew everything there was to know. He knew where you worked before any of the boys did, where your apartment was, the fact you were a business major planning to open a bakery once you graduated, he knew you didn’t have classes on Fridays but always came back on campus because you prepared meals for the men’s and women’s wrestling team which is where Jongho first met you, he knew you hated mint chocolate chip ice cream just like him but loved chocolate ice cream with mint chips, he knew you were always cold but overheat at night and wake up at exactly 3am to change into shorts and a tank top to be more comfortable, he knew about the birthmark on your lower back and a scar on your hip from a cat scra-

“Holy shit, you’re insane.” Wooyoung breathed out, Hongjoong’s eyes focusing on the room in front of him, a mixture of shocked expressions and amused ones filling his vision.

“I liked it better when we thought you hated her but, hyung, you’ve been stalking her since your freshman year of high school?” Jongho asked cautiously.

It was a weird feeling bubbling inside Hongjoong, the primary one being embarrassment. He knew he’d sometimes unintentionally rant in their mindlink whenever he was upset but to make an almost decade long secret public to his pack, revealing the intimate details of how you slowly but surely ingrained yourself into not only his brain but his life until he felt like he was going crazy? It made him tear up, his face burn with a blush as he was finally forced to face the truth. He pushed you away but wanted you more than anything. He wanted to spend his years free to explore before finally settling down only to reject every girl that came close to him simply because they weren’t you, and he took that anger out on you. What was he so mad about? The fact you stood by his side with a smile happily accepting him while he tried and failed to lust after other women? Was he that pathetic? He could admit now that he was and, if he could turn back time, he would’ve introduced himself and walked you to class. Just the first step of fully accepting you.

“You’re still ranting in the mindlink, you know?” Seonghwa said softly, regaining the once again lost focus of his alpha who was too consumed in his own pity to notice the tension died down, their gazes soft as they tried to sympathize with their leader.

“Sorry. I wish none of you heard that stuff.” He admitted, sniffling as he realized he’d been crying, hand hurriedly wiping away tears from his cheeks.

“Well, it’s a good thing we did. We still think you’re a moron, but at least we know you’re feeling guilty about all of this.”

“Don’t worry, Joong, if you know (Y/n) like we do, she always sees the best in people, so she’ll forgive you. But you still have to apologize.” San followed up Mingi’s words, wrapping an arm around Hongjoong shoulders while giving a bright smile in response to his weak one.

“She’s my TA in Calc 3 and I have that class around noon tomorrow. She always stays after in case anyone has questions, so I can stall until you get there.” Yunho offered, Hongjoong feeling a slight warmth in his chest thinking about it all. He’d let go of his insecurities, fix everything he’s done wrong, and finally have you as his. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

And tomorrow did come, but you were nowhere to be found. When Hongjoong arrived to Yunho’s class, he was met with a sympathetic apology on the account that you didn’t show up that day, you weren’t even at any of your other classes. The boys even tried to find you at work only to be met with a mob of your pissed coworkers led by Miyeon, threatening to rip their heads off if she saw their faces again. And that lasted for nearly 3 days, Hongjoong’s hope slowly dwindling away until he noticed two figures sneakily meeting halfway at the school’s entrance to exchange a large white cooler.

He recognized those bulky arms anywhere, and the thick Aussie accent was a dead giveaway as well, especially when it was followed by a distinct giggle. There was no mistaking it was Chan, but he could barely see the person with him, their voice low as they spoke to him and face hidden beneath a hood, but the scent emitting from them was strong, and beautiful, his eyes widening as he finally took it all in. You looked different, wearing a dark grey matching sweat suit which was a complete 180 from your usual attire, and you smelled faintly of passionfruit, possibly a change to your normal shampoo in an attempt to disguise yourself, but that thought only made his heart hurt more. Were you intentionally avoiding him? He could understand you hating him now but you were even ignoring the others in his pack, going from friends to complete strangers in a matter of hours and leaving them all devastated. He was going to fix this, here and now, if not for him and you than for his friends.

“Jongho’s been pretty upset about you not responding to his text. It’d really help if you stopped by to at least let him know you’re okay.” Chan pleaded, giving you a dimpled smile and hopeful gaze that made it impossible for you to hide your blushing face and grin.

“I just need a little more time, Chris. It’s like if you broke up with your mate and all the friends you made through her left you too. Except it’s me being broken up with by someone who was never my boyfriend and his friends came to me instead of me going to them. But, still, it hurts all the same.” You laughed slightly, trying to find some humor in the situation.

“You’re the only person that still calls me Chris.” He commented, trying to redirect the conversation as you clearly weren’t fine, neither of you noticing the burning glare just a few meters away.

“I just think it fits you best.” You admitted, neither of you breaking eye contact until you gasped, staring down to the box of food and drinks you bought.

“You should hurry to practice. You need to eat beforehand otherwise you’ll be weak after warmups alone. And I worked hard making those sandwiches and cutting that fruit, if it goes bad because you stayed here to cheer me up, I’ll really be mad.” You tried to put on your best scowl, your scolding undermined by his amused laughter.

“Alright, fine. Just stay safe, please?” You nodded, waving as you watched him turn to head to the school’s gymnasium, missing the way Chan glared at Hongjoong as he continued forward. Chan and Hongjoong’s packs were close, family almost, so the news of what Hongjoong did and why reached them in no time, and Chan was hoping today things would be fixed soon because, apart from you being the wrestling team’s beloved personal chef, you were like a sister to him.

You wasted no time leaving the campus behind, ready to go back into the darkness of your bedroom to forget you existed. You really wish you could disappear, that the ground would split beneath you and swallow you whole, but you couldn’t just leave when your phone was filled with calls and messages from friends and coworkers wondering where you were and if you were fine. So many people cared, what kind of person would you be to leave them all alone like this, especially when all they wanted was to help you? But being alone helped, trying to live life as normal as possible while adjusting to a Hongjoong-free lifestyle helped. It would take some time, but you’d find your normal someday. All you had to do was avoid-

“(Y/n)!” Your body froze.

He rarely called you by your name but his voice was distinct on its own, and it was the most sickly sweet thing you’ve ever heard. You wanted to run, to never have him see you like this. Dear god, how did you even look right now? You felt like shit, you probably looked the part. Dammit, Hongjoong was right all along, you were shit. You were worse than shit, you were just pathetic. A pathetic, lovestruck loser itching to just turn and say hi, to have the conversation you always dreamed of but you knew that wouldn’t happen. He’ll yell at you again. He’ll-

“(Y/n)? H-hi…” Hongjoong said shyly, standing right in front of you as you shrank into yourself.

His brows furrowed as you looked away, mentally arguing with yourself as you went over the days of self-reflecting you did, trying to find some lesson from your solitude to aid in this situation and it was starting to scare him. You were never quiet with him, you always had something to say even if it wasn’t important but, luckily, he had something important to say and hopefully you’d listen.

“I- T-the other day…. I w-was…. I-I’m sorry.” He stammered out, this confession a lot harder than he thought, especially now that you were facing him, eyes just as innocent as the day he met you, but he couldn’t run away this time.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, honestly. Everyone told me I was an idiot and I think they’re right. I treated you like you were garbage for years, all because I didn’t want to be mated so young. I just wanted to date around before I finally settled down with someone and, m-maybe I could’ve just said that, so you didn’t have to wait around for me all these years but, I never hated you, and I can’t hate you. I know you won’t forgive me right away but I think it’s only fair that I can be a good mate to you now.”

He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the desperate ‘please’ he wanted to add as your pupils began to shake, almost as if you were a machine malfunctioning, none of your self-reflecting preparing you for this moment, the only thing coming to mind being some sad blog article you found during your second day of isolation. ‘Forgiving and forgetting too soon is dangerous. Find yourself’. It wasn’t what you wanted but maybe what you need, what he needed. So, without hesitation, you smiled brightly at him although it never reached your eyes, clearing your throat as you tried to keep your voice steady.

“Hongjoong, I can’t forgive you easily. I waited for you, I tried to make you accept me and it always ended up with me getting hurt. Honestly, if I just treated you like a regular crush, maybe we could’ve forgotten we’re meant to be together until after graduation or something.” You laughed awkwardly, wanting to look away as his eyes softened in the saddest way, but you needed to do this, eyes locked on his as you exhaled through your nose.

“I couldn’t be by your side all the time, so whether you dated anyone is still a mystery to me but, I’ve been alone for seven years hoping you’d come around, and I think it’s time I take those years back. I’m not sure if what you said counted as a rejection or if we’re still mates but, if we are, we’ll come back to each other eventually. For now, I just need some time.”

You managed to walk past him without completely collapsing in tears, speed walking back to your apartment as you tried to swallow sobs, not even taking in the way Hongjoong stumbled to follow you, almost like a zombie as he attempted to plead for you to reconsider, to force himself to accept your decision but ask how long you needed, but he couldn’t do that. He tried to picture himself in your shoes, seven years of pining only to be publicly humiliated by the person you were meant to spend the rest of your life with. He couldn’t blame you for not forgiving him, and he sure as hell couldn’t force you, so he let you go, trudging in the opposite direction to his two story apartment just to hide in his bedroom until he didn’t feel like dying anymore.

But as more days passed and it only got harder for Hongjoong. He barely left his room but also never slept, every song he created was played in minor scales to fit his now melancholy life. The charisma he typically exuded was hidden with puffy red eyes from crying and a yellow knit sweater a few sizes too large for his body but it was the only thing that comforted him at this point, especially when knowing you had reconnected with everyone but him.

After exactly one week of distancing yourself from the world, you caved and meet with the boys individually (sans Hongjoong), apologizing for needing space although they completely understood, but the way each interaction ended made your guts churn with guilt. ‘Stay safe, luna’, that’s how all of them addressed you before they left, leaving you filled with the desire to return to how things were before. You missed your friends and, the fact your mate was finally ready to claim you, only made you want to forgive Hongjoong sooner. But you needed to be your own person for once. You had seven years worth of relationships to catch up on and you wouldn’t let them keep you from that.

Except when they did.

You should’ve known it was risky letting them know you had a date so soon, just some other human on campus that had yet found his soulmate. They sounded happy for you, Wooyoung going so far to ask where you met and where your date would be and what time, giving suggestions on what to say and wear since it was “your first”. It was a sweet gesture, and you thought nothing of it, but that information meant everything to him which led to now, the boys huddled together in their living room with a slightly paler and sickly looking Hongjoong curled into the corner of their loveseat.

“So they’re going bowling tonight at 8:30? We could ask her about it tomorrow in case she’s into him because hyung isn’t looking too great.” Yeosang commented, everyone looking to Hongjoong as he managed to drown his entire body within the sweater, only his head visible as he stared ahead like some lost puppy.

“He’s just weak from not being around her for so long, but their bond is still there so he’s fine. But we have nothing to worry about. She won’t fall in love with him so don’t get too involved, she’ll just stop talking to us again if we meddle too much.” Seonghwa warned, a chorus of ‘Okays’ confirming their dismissal as they all stood to retreat to their bedrooms.

“Wait, who is she going out with anyways? There’s only 10 other humans at that school.” Mingi’s question cause everyone to freeze, the silence in the room contrasting with the faint answer Woooyung gave in their mindlink, Hongjoong turning to look at him with hurt and pain.

“Why didn’t you say it was Yugyeom?!”

“I did! Just not to you, until now because I forgot to tune you out.” He said shyly, flinching as Hongjoong ran past him and right out their front door, none of them sure of what to do at that point.

It was such a minor yet major detail. Kim Yugyeom was admittedly the most wanted person any of them could think of. Human girls wanted him, werewolf girls wanted him, most guys couldn’t help but stare whenever he passed by. He was gorgeous with eyes that sparkled every time he smiled. He spoke about his soulmate with so much passion despite never meeting her, following his words with how he’d treat any girl before her with the same love and care. It was a pick up line meant to hook any hopelessly romantic girl in, the sweetest way to say their relationship wouldn’t last. But this was Kim Yugyeom, they knew it was only meant with good intentions, not wanting to string someone along with the false hope they’d be together forever. And that’s exactly what you needed. To explore while knowing you’d always come back to Hongjoong. But that’s not what Hongjoong wanted. He didn’t want you dating anyone else, finding temporary happiness when he was supposed to give you a lifetime of it. And humans were more flexible with their soulmates, they had the privilege to move one without the pain or withdrawals of losing their mate. Werewolves just died if they were rejected, heartbreak and loneliness consuming them, so there was no telling how your heart would react to someone exactly like you. Maybe you’ll fall in love with him. Maybe he’ll abandon his soulmate for you once he learns how amazing you are. Maybe Hongjoong would die from lack of food and sleep before he even reached your apartment, which he was still sprinting full speed towards. It was only 7:30pm, meaning he had an hour before you and Yugyeom went out, but he didn’t have a plan. He had no idea what he was doing, but he needed to stop you before you found yourself in love with someone else.

It was like some scene in a drama, Hongjoong’s chest heaving as he finally came to a stop just outside your apartment. His body felt like giving out as he climbed the two flights of stairs to your door, only to find you waving shyly to Yugyeom just as he turned away, trying not to lock eyes with Hongjoong but Hongjoong’s eyes were only trained on you, yours finding his as a panicked look crossed your face. Should you look away? Go back inside? What was he even doing there? You never told the boys your address… You gasped as he approached you, swallowing hard as you tried to remain calm, but how could you stay calm when you finally got a good look at him?

“Oh my god, are you okay?” You didn’t hesitate to ask, stepping further from your door to examine him, reaching for his face only to stumble back to your original position. You were making great progress, you can’t do that now.

“I’ve been better, but even then I wasn’t fine.” He said with a dry chuckle, your lips curling into a fake smile to not show how much his appearance affected you. He looked like he was on the brink of death. You knew wolves would get sick without their mates, but was it really killing him? Were you killing him?

“Joongi-Uhm, Hongjoong, how about you sit down? You look like you’re going to faint.” You offered, stepping back to allow him inside, watching him stumble past you and straight to your sofa as if he owned the place.

It was such an awkward moment for you, watching the poor boy curl into himself as his sweater practically became his body, a sigh leaving your lips as you shut your door. Instead of healing yourself, you had to heal him. It was oddly pitiful but your instincts screamed at you to do it.

Hongjoong shut his eyes as he eased into your sofa, feeling more comfortable than he was in his own home, even more so with your scent invading his senses, your body warmth radiating onto his as you carefully took a seat, trying to figure out what to do.

“Do you need food, or water? Or a doctor?” You asked, the giggle he let out this time weak but still enough to make your heart beat a bit faster.

“I just need you near me.” He admitted.

You let out a squeak as he shamelessly fell into your lap, head comfortably resting against your thighs as he laid face up. You couldn’t stop your hand from easing through his unnaturally colored locks, melting at how soft they were, bottom lip trapped under your teeth as you had to fight off the desire to cup his face. You’ve never gotten this close to him and he wasn’t telling you to go away, instead letting out content purrs as he nuzzled closer to you, your eyes burning with unshed tears. Why couldn’t he just want you from the start? You’d would’ve been able to hold him like this all the time, to see him happy and healthy rather than a shell of his former self. But he didn’t want you, and now he was at your apartment just to keep himself from dying. It was silly to think he cared about you as much as he did himself.

“Of course you do.” You whispered, laughing bitterly as your hand left his hair, moving to his arm to ease him back up into a sitting position.

You couldn’t get past him no matter how hard you tried, nor did you want to, but every word he said, everything he’s done, followed you like a ghost haunting some poor unsuspecting soul. Why did you have to love someone who didn’t love you the same? Why was this your life?

“Can you just hold me a little longer? P-please?” He asked with a cute whine to his voice.

You sighed and grabbed his arm, gently pulling him back into his previous position, fingers massaging his scalp as he finally opened his eyes to look at you. You were beautiful, even with the frown lines etched into your face. He wonder how long they’ve been there, especially when he’s only seen you smiling. Maybe you spent your alone time more upset than he thought. Where you upset before he came? You couldn’t be when Yugyeom was here, no one could be upset with him around. Except Hongjoong. He felt a grudge building inside him just from the mere thought of him with you. He felt like interrogating you on what he was doing here in the first place and why you gave your address out to just anyone, but it wasn’t his place to ask and probably wouldn’t be for a while, but jealousy and rage was all he felt so any reasonable thinking was thrown out the window.

“I don’t want you to see Yugyeom anymore.” He said definitely, your eyes widened as you stared at him incredulously, an amused giggle leaving your lips.

“That’s not for you to choose, Hongjoong. I told you I need time-“

“Those seven years you’ve been waiting I couldn’t be with anyone else. I always compared every girl I met to you and none of them came close to being as perfect, now I have to watch you date some dance major with pretty eyes because I was an insecure dumbass? He has a soulmate, and he’s always going to choose them no matter how much you like each other, so why not save your feelings? I’ll wait as long as you want me to, but just don’t fall in love with anyone else.”

You tried so hard to hide your smile. This wasn’t something you typically liked, possessive guys being on the list of things you found annoying, but considering it was Hongjoong, his soft eyes hard and sharp as their hue seemed to go pitch black as his words were both sweet and demanding, made you fall in love just a little more than you already were. You wanted to take this as his confession, as a truce in your previous one-sided enemyship, to tell him that you told Yugyeom you couldn’t go out with him because you could only see yourself with Hongjoong, but you needed time. Not time to date and explore the way you thought he had, but to watch him work as hard as you did to prove he was ready and willing to love you. It was a little malicious, sure, but it was all in good fun. He’d always be your mate after all.

“I don’t know, Hongjoong, you really hurt me…”

“It hurt knowing I wasn’t with you.” Your smile cracked through, causing his own to appear, your game already over.

“And how do you think I felt? You think you can make up seven years worth of waiting so easily?”

You squealed as he shot up, magically seeming more alive than when he arrived, eyes full of life and his lips and cheeks the same rosy color as when you met him, hands warm and soft as he cupped your face.

“Good thing I have forever to do it.”

The silence was comfortable but unbearable, especially as he hesitated to lean closer, your lips puckering to guide him but he didn’t seem to be catching on and, when he did, you shifted back, laughing awkwardly as you stared at one another, both of you taking a deep breath as you finally closed the gap between you, a weird electric sensation you could only dream of as your lips slowly grew accustom to one another, moving so slow yet feeling so urgent. It was all still new to the both of you, romance and dating only now becoming part of your lives, but it was exciting knowing that you had years ahead of you to perfect it, your entire lives dedicated to loving one another. And it only took a seven year crush to get you here.

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Prime Time,Bitch!

Tagged: @spnquotebingo the keep reading function is messing up for me

Sam said he was locked up tight in the dungeon. He was never locked in with her. She was locked in with him. The hunter becomes the hunted with no where to run.

Warning: Mature Language,Blood,Gore,Character Death?

-"Thoughts"- (they are red for those who can see)"Quotes" 'Reading'

"I'll be right back. This demon side is fighting to stay in control. I just need a few more pints of blood." Sam said as he slung a bag on his shoulder. "Yeah I got it get some food to!" Y/n said with a smile as she walked him to the impala. The roar of the engine rumbled as she waved him off going back inside what she didn't know was Dean knew that Sam just left and a chilling smile grew on his face.

Y/n popped popcorn as she sat in her room a horror movies playing as she got comfortable. A scream came from the movie drowning out the sound of the dungeon door opening up. The youngest Winchester laughed as a girl tripped over nothing her and Dean always make fun of them they had no real reason to hit the ground so they should get right up. This made her slightly sad. Was Sam going to fix Dean or was it already to late for him? Shaking off the thought the killer was about to crush the women's skull when the power cut out,but the red emergency lights didn't cut on yet which was weird. "God damnit." She grumbled getting up and grabbed a flashlight and went to the breaker to fix it walking right past the open door. Flipping the switch the normal lights don't turn on only the red ones and she turned around to get her phone to call Sam when she dropped her flashlight. Y/n gazed at the empty chair in the center of a devils trap she took off running to her room,but paused he knew she would run there for her phone and Dean or the demon he's become won't let her get help. She changed course to Sam's panic room to hide.

"Oh N/n where are you? I miss my little sister don't you miss me?" A metal sound of something dragging on the floor made her tense. Thinking of all possible things it could be of how she's going to die.–'It could be a bat,but we don't have any metal ones in the bunker. Maybe a sledgehammer,but that would have ment he when into the garage and the power going out would have locked everything.''– Her eyes widen as she released what it was he must have been carrying around she was sharpening it with the rest of the blades earlier that day."Have you figured it out yet? I know how you think when a horror movie is playing you see ever scenario before the movie can catch up. No wonder Sammy says you cheat at Clue!" Dean laughed as he seemed to wander to each room. The sound of wood splitting as he yelled "Here's Johnny!!!" It seemed so much worse that Dean was the evil this time a normal demon would know her so personally this seemed almost cruel him quoting films they watched together. "What to clichés? I admit the axe is old school."

The panic room the size of a cubbie it was so small,but just big enough I could calm down and think properly. Looking up another version of myself sat in front of me...my conscience. I could speak,but she could she's in my head after all. –"You can't run. There's nowhere to go doors locked down the moment the lights went."– I saw a illusion of myself running through the halls just to hit a corner and get a axe to the chest before it faded away. –"Can't go for your phone or your laptop he probably broke it the moment he noticed you weren't in your room."– I saw myself creep into my room just to see a shattered phone and my laptop with a cracked screen buffering to open instant messenger to text Sam. The laptop was slammed shut on my fingers causing some to break and get sliced by the glass looking up the sick grin of the Demon caught my eye before the axe ended that path. –"The burner. The one in your dresser Dean doesn't know about it so neither would the demon.Get it and get back here as quickly as possible. "– It was settled call for help. Listening for any foot steps I creep out of the hiding space a faint whistle going off down one of the many halls way from my room. Sneaking down the hallway staying low I get to my room where the door is torn to shreds as I open my drawer and fish out the phone. Going back down the hallway I get back to Sam's room and immediately call him.

"This call has been forwarded to a automatic voice message at the tone ples–" Hanging up I call again and again with no answer. At this point help was no longer a option. The whistling seemed to get closer and I rushed to the panic room until I paused. –"A enclosed space in a closet. There's not much space to move around if he finds you there your done for."– I back away slightly. –"Behind the door offers a easy place to hide and get out,but if he does the same to Sammy's door he did to yours it's not much of a hiding spot then."– A axe goes through the door creating a massive hole and Dean peaks inside and sees the white of you tank top in your (f/n) flannel. The door was whole again as I looked around the sound of metal getting louder running out of time. –"Under the bed allows you to see him without him seeing you,but like the panic cubbie not a lot of wiggle room if he hears you your done."– It was too late running to the metal door of the panic room she slams it shut not to loud to sound like she's trying to hide it,but just loud enough for the demon to register it. Sealing it shut I slip under the bed and wait for the time to get out and hopefully find a weapon.

Boots walked into the room turning to the closed closet. "Oh N/n!~ There's only so many places to hide in such a small room. Did you really think I wouldn't hear that heavy ass door close?" He chuckled darkly as he opened the closet and went to the small door. Dean tried turning the wheel to unsealed it,but it seemed to dawn on him that it could only be opened from the inside. With a huff anger he began pulling the brick of the wall started to bend outwards and crack. I was glad I wasn't in there. Going to slip out from under the bed while he's distracted the burner phone rang its annoying ringtone. Not even bothering to stop it I rush to get out faster,but a firm grip caught my ankle and dragged me out. Turning onto my back Dean stood their his apple green eyes staring at me. "Found you." He lifted up the axe having let go of my ankle lifting up my feet I put as much strength as possible into kicking his stomach. The demon was knocked back into the closest hitting the ground. Unfortunately axe still in hand. Stanfing up I ran leaving the phone behind. -"Sam took Baby so the trunk armory is out of the question. The garage has so pretty handy tools too bad that it was sealed along with the front and only entrance. Kitchen has knifes none that can hurt him,but just enough to slow him down. Library demon blade was in there last you checked,but Sam could have grabbed and put it on a high shelf."– Too many options and the kitchen was closer so that was the first stop grabbing a knife I held it tightly as a stalked slowly to the Library to see if there were any supernatural weapons.

The library was dark and the red lighting barely lit up the large room. "Would you like to play a game?" Dean mocked in a deep voice as he went around the bunker his voice echoing no real pinpointing where he is. I can't call Sam and prying to Cas hasn't worked meaning Dean made angel banishing symbols in most of the rooms. Y/n was getting desprit the bunkers massive size most of it was unexplored by them so being lost in a underground maze b wasn't the best option. "Are you scared yet Y/n? Well be afraid. Be very afraid. I'm what goes bump in the night sweetheart! Never thought the Winchester’s downfall will be by the hands of the oldest. What a twist!!! Right?" Dean yelled turning to the table I saw the supplies I cleaned with,but the weapons were gone and a note was left on in their place. 'Hey Y/n I put the weapons back into the trunk for tomorrow's hunt so you wouldn't have to...you're welcome and your blade was just sitting on the table so I put it up. ~Love Sam' I wanted to cry oh chuck nothing can save me in this buncker Bobby was sending us gallons of holy water next week because we were low...all rooms were demon proof,but he seemed to be a exception now,so no calling Crowley either.

Turning around the library doors open and I duck behind one of the many shelves. "Welcome to my nightmare!~" He said with a chuckle that bounced from every wall. Dean knocked down books and destroyed anything in his way while he looked around. Crawling on the ground I go to leave when the sound of something whooshing in the arm made me drop like a bag of rocks. The axe meet the shelf and I gazed at the red illuminated face of my brother eyes now black and demented. Laughter bubbled out of his chest as he mumbled. "Carful dear wouldn't want to lose you head." Yanking the axe free many books tumbled down. Taking the kitchen knife in hand I slash his calf and go for his thigh when the knife is flung out of my hands. "You little bitch!!!" He hissed now holding the knife and showing it into my stomach. A silent cry came from my lips bot to give him the satisfaction of my screams just yet. I look up at him and just past his head where I couldn't normally reach was the handle of my blade peeking over the shelf.

I begin to giggle and it turns into fits of laughter. Black eyes flicker back to confused green ones. "What's so funny?" I catch my breath as I lean up slightly. "You picked the wrong place to corner me. Wanna play?" Grabbing his knee and pulling it buckled under him causing Dean to hit the shelf letting the blade fall freely. Reaching out I catch it "Let’s play." Stabbing upward into his stomach the same place the knife was lodged in my own stomach. He howled in pain as I removed the blade and ran keeping pressure on the knife wound as I turned corners just to get away. -'He played with your head play with his. The intercomes...a good distraction can lead him away and let you get the jump.'- I hurry to the intercoms not before making a pit stop.

Demon!Dean POV

I growl at the wound on my body the little shit stabbed me. This makes killing her so much easier then she can be just like me. Grabbing the axe I stomp through the bunker. "What a excellent day for an exorcism." Her voice sounded through the speakers now I know were she is. "Would you like that?" I said aloud with a grin. "Intensely." Y/n said trying to make her voice horse before the clipping sound of the intercom stopping rang out before being replaced with a creepy melody that always scared her. "There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." My ear drums almost burst at the loud deep voiced scream ears still ringing I didn't register the blade being driving into my sholder flinging her back I turn around as she's running down the narrow hallway taking the axe with both hands throw it straight and the axe hit her almost dead center in the spine. The audio cut off after the song and I stood over her. Y/n had her face turned coughing up blood I definitely hit her lung. "Thanks for catching it for me." I smile as I heavily put my foot on the small of her back pulling the axe out. She screamed out it was mildly gurgle from the blood. Turning her over my little sisters eyes shined with unshed tears. "Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." I said with a small whipping the few that slipped by she whimpered Sam's name and I grew frustrated. Lifting the axe again. "Looks like you couldn't make the cut,N/n. Just another extra that stuck around for too long." Dropping the axe down it went into her chest the creaking of her collar bone and sternum were whispers compared to the blood curdling cry. They soon died out as her skin paled and her breathing stopped she'llmake a strong demon. "See you soon." Taking the axe out I begin to drag her body.

The lights in the bunker cut back on meaning Sammy was home. Having placed her perfectly in the chair I was tied to I wait until he finds her standing next to the door. "Y/n?! Y/n!?" He yelled most likely having gone to her room rushing the the dungeon his heavy foot steps abruptly stopped. "Oh God! Y/n come on!" The moose of a man rushed in the room cradling her face in his hand. "You were too late, Sammy. She called your name before she went,but I guess five missed calls wasn't enough for you to rush home. N/n fought for so long waiting it out just for you to never show." I said closing the door as he turned to me standing infront of her corpse. "You didn't make things easy on her. I mean you took all the weapons and put the only thing to defend herself on the top shelf...like keeping the cookie jar way from a child. In some way you killed her before I could." Lifting the demon blade that had his own blood on it. I stalked towards him cornering him in the room. "Sure you won't give me a good chase,but woah she wore me out." Holding the blade to his throat when a gun shot fired and a sting hit my arm causing me to drop the knife.

Y/n stood colt in her left hand the axe keeping her up in her left. "Demons always so sure that what's dead is dead and can't be undead. Ever heard of a pulse jackass. " so distracted that she was alive Sam was able to restrain and she held a handful of bags of blood. "Let's get this over with." She bagan to inject me and I felt myself become mire human and I started thrashing hard. With the last vile in hand she looked into my eyes. "You should be dead." I hissed as she pushed the needle in. "Sorry. I'm into survival."

————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

A/n This is the last one in round one of the Spnquotebingo and I ended with a dozen quotes.

Title: "Prime Time,Bitch!" Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors

"Here's Johnny!" -The shinning

"Would you like to play a game?" - Saw

"...be afraid. Be very afraid"- The fly

"Welcome to my nightmare."- Nightmare on Elm Street

"..lose your head." Alice in Wonderland

"Wanna play?"- Child's Play

"What a excellent day for an exorcism...Would you like that?....Intensely." - The Exorcist

"There was a crooked man. He walked a crooked mile he had a crooked six pence upon a crooked stile." It went on with childish like tones until it got further in the song it was so god damn loud though. "The crooked man stepped forth and... rang the crooked bell and thus his crooked soul... spiraled into a crooked hell.Murdered his crooked family... and laughed a crooked laugh." - The Conjuring 2

"Oh,no tears,please. It's a waste of good suffering." - Hellraiser

"See you soon." - Coraline

"She called your name before she went,but I guess..." -Hadestown

"...what's dead is dead and can not me undead." -Jacksepticeye (DBD playthrough)

"I'm into survival." ‐Nightmare on Elm Street

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!

[a-queer-seminarian]

Hello, you seem to be knowledgeable about god. Do you know where to find him and what his weaknesses are? I have dedicated my life to hunting him down and killing him for the indescribable amount of suffering he has directly or indirectly caused.

cw: violent language, including about fighting / killing God; as well as discussion of the Shoah / Holocaust later on in the post

(gonna start this long-ass response by saying that yes, i know this anon is probably joking about dedicating their life to hunting down God, but i’m gonna answer it like they’re serious because that’s the kind of person i am haha)

honestly anon, all power to ya! it sounds like my own understanding of God is quite different from yours (for instance, i would claim that God’s main weakness is actually Their best strength, which is compassion and steadfast solidarity) -- but the question of why God allows suffering is one i come back to all the damn time.

if you do track God down -- if God turns out to be a Being that can be tracked down to one location and time -- please do deliver my regards and my sincerest “WTF??”

you’re not the first to demand God answer for the suffering that’s happened on Their watch --

for if God is truly omnipotent, and truly all-loving, why don’t they do something about all this pain??? Indeed, the Bible is rich with similar demands -- from the psalmists to Job to Jesus himself from the cross (quoting a psalm, he cries, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me??”).

You might already know all this, but if not, the question of God’s place in suffering is often referred to as theodicy, at least in Christian circles.

That term comes from the Greek for god + justice, so what it literally means is “justifying (or vindicating) God”....which I’m not a huge fan of, because it implies that when we explore this question of where God is in suffering, we already know the result will be that God will be proven innocent (or at least “not guilty”).

But do we know that?? See the bottom of this post for an example of a time people of great faith found God guilty!

Anyway, theodicy describes intellectual efforts “to jerry-rig three mutually exclusive terms into harmony: divine power, goodness, and the experiences of evil.“ - Wendy Farley

If you want to learn more about theodicy and the way some theologians have “made sense” of suffering, check out this introductory post I’ve got.

Or wander through my whole #theodicy tag over on my other blog.

I invite you to explore theodicy not in any attempt to convince you of anything, but so you know some of the arguments you’re up against! Honestly, the more i explore theodicy, the less satisfied i am with any justifications for why God doesn’t intervene in the face of so much suffering...so if you do the reading and still conclude God is guilty, i’m not gonna tell you you’re definitely wrong.

Anyway. Like i said, you’re not alone in wanting answers for why God -- however, i don’t know that i’ve seen anyone else with your determination to find and kill God!

(Except, and i hate that i know this lol, that’s apparently the plot of the final season of Supernatural -- they find out God’s a total ass who not only is guilty of negligence but also directly responsible for a lot of suffering for his own sadistic enjoyment. so. they kill the bastard.)

Still, while i don’t know that i’ve seen too many people who want to take God out, the idea of wrestling God is pervasive -- especially within Judaism, but also among some Christians.

i’m very into wrestling God, myself, finding it far more faithful to the God who gifted us free will and invites us into true, mutual relationship than unquestioning obedience.

i have a whole #wrestling God tag over on my other blog.

For the most intense example of wrestling with God i’ve yet seen, with God put on trial and found guilty, keep reading.

_________

cw: discussion of the Shoah / Holocaust below

You might connect to Elie Wiesel’s play The Trial of God, or the movie that was made based off it. Wiesel survived Nazi concentration camps but ceased to believe in God after what he suffered. His play was inspired by something he witnessed while a teen at Auschwitz:

"I witnessed a strange trial. Three rabbis—all erudite and pious men—decided one winter evening to indict God for allowing his children to be massacred. I remember: I was there, and I felt like crying. But nobody cried."

Robert McAfee Brown wrote more about this trial Wiesel witnessed:

“The trial lasted several nights. Witnesses were heard, evidence was gathered, conclusions were drawn, all of which issued finally in a unanimous verdict: the Lord God Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth, was found guilty of crimes against creation and humankind.”

Note that in 2008 when commenting on this event, Wiesel clarified that “At the end of the trial, they used the word chayav, rather than ‘guilty.’ It means ‘He owes us something.’”

In the chapter “No God, Only Auschwitz” of his book Embracing Hopelessness, Miguel A. De La Torre comments on this verdict by explaining that if God wasn’t going to intervene, then God must at the least speak -- but instead, God was silent:

“God must be held accountable for refusing to speak to those yearning for God’s voice. Something. Anything. A note of solidarity. A testament of love, accompaniment. But they hear and receive nothing. The trial...ends with God owing us something.

De La Torre goes on to describe the play Wiesel wrote based on this memory, which actually takes place in a 1649 Ukranian village, rather than at Auschwitz. The Cossacks raid the village and kill all but two of its Jewish residents.

“In Wiesel’s play, he has the inkeeper Berish voice the same questions those sitting in death camps centuries later asked, if not audibly, then silently:

‘To mention God’s mercy in Shamgorod [Auschwitz] is an insult. Speak of his cruelty instead. ...I want to understand why. He is giving strength to the killers and nothing but tears and the shame of helplessness to the victims. ...Either he is responsible or He is not. If He is, let’s judge him; if He is not, let him stop judging us. ...

‘[I] accuse Him of hostility, cruelty and indifference. ...Either He knows what’s happening to us, or He doesn’t wish to know! In both cases He is...guilty! Would a father stand by, quietly, silently, and watch his children being slaughtered?’”

De La Torre continues with his own thoughts on all this:

“The horrors humanity faces indict God as being less loving and attentive than sinful parents. I hesitate to make any pronouncements as to the character of God because in the final analysis, I lack any empirical knowledge upon which to base my study. Still with all my heart and being I want to say: my God is the God of the oppressed who incarnates Godself among the least of these.

I want to make this bold claim based on the testimony of the gospel witness. But in the midst of the dark night, I confess this hopeful belief is at best a tenet accepted by faith, lacking any means of proving the truth or falsehood of the claim. In the shadow of Auschwitz, though I am not Jewish, nonetheless I am left wondering if the precious Deity who notices the fall of a sparrow is blind to God’s children crushed in the winepress. Do I dare wonder if God is the God of the oppressors?

...Or maybe this is a God who really wants to do good, but lacks the power to do anything in the face of inhumanity. ..."

There’s one more piece to this tale of Wiesel’s witness of the trial of God at Auschwitz. And that is that, after declaring God guilty (or chayav)...

...after what Wiesel describes as an "infinity of silence", the Talmudic scholar looked at the sky and said "It's time for evening prayers", and the members of the tribunal recited Maariv, the evening service. (McAfee Brown)

...That ending is the part that astounds and awes me. These Jewish prisoners at Auschwitz find God guilty -- and then proceed to pray as they always do. I am reminded of what my Jewish friends as well as various Jewish scholars have told me: that Judaism is totally compatible with wrestling with God and even with disbelief. Whether these Jewish prisoners believed God even existed, they prayed -- because that tradition of prayer is what unites them to one another, to their people.

As De La Torre closes his telling of Wiesel’s story,

“At the conclusion of the movie God on Trial, based on the events Wiesel described, shortly after the barrack inmates find God guilty, and those chosen are marched to the gas chamber, they cover their heads and pray. ...

Believers and unbelievers who took the audacious act of placing God on trial do what is totally illogical -- in the midst of their hopelessness they demonstrate their faith as they march toward the gas chambers, or they defiantly embrace who they are while still remaining in heated conversation, damning God. It matters not if God still hears their prayers, or if there even is a God to hear; they still pray, they still debate -- not for God’s sake, but for their own.”

And that brings me to the one bit of actual advice I’ll give you, anon:

If you want to spend your life “hunting God down,” as I said, all power to you! But I do suggest you ponder for whose sake you do so -- and whether you do so for justice or just revenge. What good does such a quest do for those who are suffering now? Are their other paths you could follow that would bring more good? What about your own healing? I imagine you’re not interested in repairing any relationship with religion -- would walking away from God rather than hounding God be a more healing and fruitful path for your finite life?

I’ll close with one more quote from De La Torre, from the very end of his chapter:

“As I stroll through what was once the concentration camp of Dachau, I am cognizant that this space witnessed the unspeakable horrors that befell God’s children at the hands of Christians hoping for a better, purer society and future. ...So do not offer me your words of hope; offer me your praxis for justice. ...In the midst of unfathomable suffering, the earth’s marginalized no longer need pious pontifications about rewards in some hereafter. Nor do they need their oppressors providing the answers for their salvation. What is needed is disruption of the norm to push humanity toward an unachievable justice.

When there is nothing to lose, when work does not set you free, not only are multiple possibilities opened up with new opportunities for radical change unimaginable to those playing it safe; but also a venue is provided by which to get real with whatever this God signifies. ...”

[feeling-weirdy]

A quote prompt if possible- “holy f*cking guacamole?!?” (bc the idea of Vision saying that is really funny imho? 🤣)

"Just stay still for a bit, okay? This'll only take a second,” Tony stated plainly, his face inches away from one of the many projected screens that surrounded him.  Vision nodded, his eyes trailing down to the cord that connected him to Tony's computer.  The update was unnecessary, but clearly curiosity had finally gotten the better of Mr. Stark and it was only a matter of time before Vision eventually gave in.  Vision did exactly as he was told, sitting quietly in the chair next to the large table to held Tony’s primary screen.  He watched helplessly as Tony tapped randomly in the air, picking out pieces and wires that seemingly connected his internal workings.  

"It's quite alright. I have no place to be."  Vision smiled over at him awkwardly, uncertain whether this had been a good idea. Tony had assured him that it would be a quick and easy process, so he had hoped he would keep his word.  On the other hand, he wasn’t exactly known for his honesty.  Regardless, Vision kept an eye on every move Tony made.  He would be the first to know if something was amiss.

Wanda peeked around Tony’s shoulder, curiously scanning the screen.  She had followed the two of them down and was adamant that she be allowed to stay despite his insistence that this room was a “boys only” space.  Vision knew that was a lie as he had seen Miss Potts down here many a time, but perhaps that had been different.  Tony was right about one thing: There were many dangerous objects in this room and it was best for Wanda to not go poking around unsupervised.

"So...what exactly are you doing to him?"  Wanda asked, watching intently.  Her face gave away just how much she understood what she saw, a concept that caused Vision to chuckle softly.

Tony crossed the room, grabbing a small gadget from the other table before he answered her question.

"Oh you know...just some minor nicks and tweaks, recipes, satellite coordinates, Thank You note generator, upgrades, that sort of thing."  His tone made it difficult to pinpoint how much of his list had been serious.  Vision had yet to fully understand his sense of humor fully and while he had spent a great amount of time with Mr. Stark, actually processing humor and understanding it was a completely different set of skills.  One J.A.R.V.I.S. wasn’t able to fully comprehend.

Wanda squinted, eyeing Vision thoughtfully.  "He doesn't really need any of those things, does he?"  Vision smiled at her nervously.  “I thought he was...pretty perfect.”  She smiled back at him, her eyes lingering a bit longer than usual before she caught herself.  “Capable of those types of things on his own, I mean...”

Tony shrugged, oblivious to the staggering air that materialized between the two.  "Can't hurt. We wanna keep our boy in shape, don't we?"  Tony slapped Vision's shoulder, giving a breathy chuckle.  Moving to the other side of the counter, Tony created another screen, sliding his finger back and forth in random zig-zag patterns in a way only he could comprehend.

"It's just a regular procedure.”  Vision finally spoke up, reached out to grab hold of Wanda’s wrist in an attempt to calm her worries.  “There’s no reason to be concerned.  Trust me."

Wanda smiled again, looking a bit more relieved.  "It's not you I don't trust."

Tony scoffed, releasing a high chuckle. "Oh come on, Red.  I'm not gonna hurt him.  It's just routine, anything extra is just icing on the cake."  He continued poking around through Vision’s programming, scanning numerous lines of command prompts and coding lingo that was being transferred into his system.  “Plus, I practically built him.  Mentally anyway,” he added, mumbling under his breath as he continued.

"If you say so."  Wanda shrugged, curiously scanning the room as she looked at the other tech that filled the tables around her.  She wandered about the room, careful not to touch anything that may get her in trouble with the man who was watching her warily from his working position.  

Tony kept himself unusually quiet, a fact that began to bother Vision as he went deeper and deeper into his core programming.  Something wasn’t right.  A fact that became glaringly obvious as he felt one of his internal personality systems shut down.  His eyes blurred, gripping onto the table as he felt himself begin to lose balance.  A loud whirring sounded in his head, his visual slowly shutting down.

"Except...we may have a bit of a problem," he could hear Tony say.  

"What's that? You're routine maintenance not going so routinely."  Wanda asked, the two making their way back over to him.

"You play nice or you get a time out. I just uh...I might have...uploaded something with a bit of a bug.”  Tony snapped in Vision’s face, causing a strange jolt that woke up part of his system.  “Vision, you alright, bud?"

"I-I'm not sure. I-"  Vision stuttered, trying to hold himself together.  The bug had found its way into his internal processes, ripping apart anything it got its meaty little pixels on.  Even with a short scan, it t was impossible to locate just where it was hiding.  A sharp pain shot through him, confusion keeping him from locating just where the bug was hiding within his system.  Vision grabbed at his face, unable to hold himself together any longer.  "Holy fucking guacamole!  Can someone please, j-just-"  His visuals flickered, keeping him off kilter and only adding to the intensity of whatever emotions were flooding through him.  

"Yeaaah that was definitely a bug..."  Tony mumbled, running back over to where he was initially working.  Frantically tapping on the projection, throwing things back and forth from his virtual monitor.

"Tony. Fix him."  Wanda demanded, gripping onto Vision’s shoulder to offer some sort of comfort.  “Vis, are you okay?”

Vision couldn’t stop the outburst.  Wherever the little bugger was, it was messing with his language processes.  "Can you please turn this God damn thing off?  Just put it back, exactly how you fucking found it!  It's too much. I can't-I can't-"  He tried to calm himself, fighting through his inability to finish his sentences.  The pain became nearly unbearable, but he had to search for a way to correct the error.   Vision activated the anti-virus scan to locate where the little bug had lodged himself.  “My systems are overloa-”

"Young man, if you don’t watch your mouth..."  Tony joked, clearly not as focused as he should have been and having a ball during the entire interaction.  Vision didn’t find the exchange very funny.  “Sorry.  Not the time.”

"Tony!"  Wanda yelled, kneeling down in front of Vision as she kept one hand on him at all times. 

Tony pointed directly at her.  "Alright alright hey!  I don’t do well with a chaperone.  Can you back off?  Please?  Thank you."  The scan finally located the little bastard, and with the help of Mr. Stark, it was annihilated.  Tony let out a deep breath, leaning against the counter.  "Better?"

The pain stopped as his systems began to reboot, restoring his visuals and other senses.  Vision nodded, taking a moment for himself before fully answering.  Wanda sat quietly beside him, holding tightly onto his hand as he came to.  His settings seemed to have been reverted back to their original state before any alterations had been made.  Vision ran a quick scan to ensure that the bug was gone for good, only responding once the scan completed.

"Mr. Stark, I no longer wish to be subjected to your particular brand of upgrades."  Vision stated, patting the top of Wanda’s hand as a smile reappeared on his face.

"Harsh..."  Tony mumbled, turning off his monitor as he gave up on whatever else he had been working on knowing full well that Vision would not allow it after what had transpired.

Wanda looked at him with a worried expression.  “Are you alright?”  

“Yes, I’m quite alright now.  It seemed the bug stowed away into my personality chips and altered some settings.”  His eyes had fully stabilized and everything seemed to be back to normal.  He would make sure to do more in-depth scans once he was alone and able to fully concentrate, his trust to allow Tony to perform them himself entirely shattered.  “I must apologize for the foul language.”

“It’s okay, Vis,” Wanda chuckled.  “You weren’t yourself.”

"Maybe that should be yourself.  It was pretty funny,” Tony chuckled.  “And hey, at least we know now where the party button is.” 

Check out my other drabbles here or feel free to request some!

[evaxsombra]

Kadeu: Indvidual Task

; ON FAMILY & SELF-DISCOVERY an interview with Four of Spade, Evangeline Santiago

Tell us about how Eva feels about the resistance!

Eva is sprawled out on the floor, arms reaching out for the armadillo wandering around the barracks. Chupa makes a beeline for the Shifter’s welcoming arms and proceeds to make itself at home on Eva’s stomach. A furrow is forming between her brows, but she answers easily.

“I’m not against them, but I’m not for them either. I’m…curious about them. I’ve heard about them from all sorts of people and I get why the resistance is so appealing. Honestly, I almost considered joining them back when I was still a Club. Mostly ‘cause I heard they helped any lowranker who had nowhere to go. It was right after that gang I was part of left me for dead.” She rubs at the scar that peeks out from under the collar of her Spade uniform. “I figured I’d fight for any cause if it meant I didn’t have to live like that anymore, but that was then. Now, I have goals and dreams that don’t line up with the resistance. At least, not the way they go about it. I like the way I’m doing things…and between you and me, I worry ‘bout the idea of the resistance becoming something to me like that gang was. I can’t go through that again. I just can’t…Anyway! Next question! Lay it on me!”

Did finding out her parents were involved with that group change her opinion of them?

Eva startles at the question. Her eyebrows raise in surprise, a flash of hurt showing before disappearing behind a small smile.

“Wow, asking the hard questions, huh? Umm, I’m not sure. I think it’s made me want to know more about the resistance. Not join them, but figure out what exactly they’re fighting for. If I learn more about them will I learn more about my parents? Will I get to know what they were like, what they believed in if I know more about the resistance? I don’t know if I can say my opinions changed because I still don’t know enough…but mom and dad must have believed in them for a reason, right?”

What about Anton and Mallick’s involvement?

Eva sits up slowly with Chupa cradled in her arms as she moves to the bed. Her long hair masks her face. Armor that resembles the armadillo’s own starts to form on the Shifter’s skin, but she doesn’t seem to notice. It’s quiet for a moment. Eva speaks quietly, so unlike her usual, vibrant self.

“TonTon…TonTon had his reasons. I’m sure of it. He was a good person; he always looked out for me, and we always got up to trouble that we could laugh about later. I trusted him and if he—if he were still alive that wouldn’t change. No matter what the resistance stands for, TonTon deserved better than what happened to him. Instead, everyone trash talked him. And I had to listen to all of that. And not once…not ONCE did I hear the resistance speak up for him.

…

“Maybe I do have an opinion about the resistance.

“And Mallick? What is there to say?” A angry glint crosses Eva’s expression when she finally lifts her head, eyes unseeing but still managing to appear as if she’s seeing something far off.

“How can I have an opinion on someone who abandoned me? Mom and Dad trusted him and he left me with someone who he may have trusted, but turned out to be a jerk. If Mallick was a leader for the resistance…if he was part of the group that claims to help lowrankers down on their luck, why…why didn’t he help ME? But…I’ve heard all the good he’s done. He’s helped others so he isn’t a total jerk, right? I just…haven’t figured out how I feel about Mallick yet.

“…It doesn’t matter now. I have family and friends now who I know will always have my back. I love them and they love me and I’m never going to be alone again.”

Does she blame the resistance for taking her parents away from her, or will she seek them out for answers?

“Yes,” Eva answers without hesitation. Her hands are curled in her lap. Chupa cuddles closer to her in an attempt to pacify the agitated Shifter. “I blame them. I blame the resistance, but I’m not a kid anymore. I know better now. I know my parents made their decisions, that they chose to join them, to leave me. I blame the resistance, but more than anything I blame my parents. And between you and me…I’m still angry at them. I act like I’m over it because I don’t want anyone worry over me, but I’m so angry at them.

“But just because I think the resistance has some fault for my parents leaving me doesn’t mean I won’t go looking for answers from them. They owe me that much, I think. I deserve to know what caused mom and dad to walk away from the life we had together. I deserve to know what part the resistance played in making the hole I feel when I think about my parents. Don’t I?”

How has this changed her perception of her parents?

The anger is still visible, but there’s an unmistakable air of sorrow and fondness mixed into her voice.

“I love them. I always will. But now some of those very few memories I have of them are tainted. Certain things I heard around them, from them—they make more sense. It makes me wonder what exactly Mom and Dad were doing that they were able to keep their very hungry Shifter child alive for five years, if just barely. That blood I always associated with my dad’s scent…it’s hard to wrap my head around what that scent actually was when that scent is mixed with the memories of his soft singing and deep laughter.

“And Mom? I’m pretty sure she worked at the Forge…at least I think she did. She always smelled of fire and metal. Her armor was rusted…a metallic stench would sometimes cling to her. She didn’t like me hugging her when she smelled like that. She’d get so upset and even if I cried she wouldn’t come near me until she cleaned herself off and the smell wasn’t so strong.

“…I’m afraid that the memories I have of them, that all of them are being ruined by what I’ve learned so far. And I’m so scared that the more I find out, the more likely I’ll end up hating my parents.”

Of herself and her place in Kadeu?

This question seems a bit easier for Eva to answer. She smiles and it’s warmer than it’s been for most of this interview.

“I don’t think my parents’ life has to define me. I do think, though, that learning what I have about them haas changed how proactive I am in my own life. All my life, I’ve depended on others to help me, even if I wasn’t consciously doing it. Sparrow, Rook, Hilo, Anton, Shu-Ling, Ara, Prospero—they’ve all helped me to be who I am today. But after seeing what happened in Clubs three years ago and discovering my parents involvement in the resistance, I realized how helpless I was. I wanted to be able to stand on my own two feet like Mom and Dad and all those Clubs. To make decisions for myself even if they weren’t the right ones.

“I have to thank them for that. If I hadn’t gotten that push I never would have trained as hard as I did. The Spade highrankers would have never noticed. They’d never have offered me a position at the Triage as a non-magical healer. I love that job even more than I did the administrative work because I can see—well, not see, but you know what I mean—all my hard work, my parents’ influence paying off. I’m doing more and I’ve never felt prouder of myself.”

How have these revelations affected her relationship with Prospero?

The smile that had bloomed on the Shifter’s face dimmed at the question. She ducked her head to press it against Chupa’s armored body. The armor of Eva’s skin which had nearly disappeared during the previous question returned once more. She whispers:

“Prospero…hasn’t been very happy with me. We got into a fight when I first started looking into my parents and the resistance. He called me, and I quote, ‘a foolish brat who finds trouble in the sewers if she can’t find it in the sky’. Lilith got upset with him, but I couldn’t say anything. He wasn’t wrong. I always cause problems for him, but…but I couldn’t just give up on the only lead I had about my parents. All my life I’ve had questions I thought I’d never get answered, and now they’re right there in front of me, so close I can almost grasp it.

“…But I think I’m making Prospero feel like he isn’t good enough as a father. He is, I swear! I love him just like I love my dad. Well, not in the same way. Dad is dad and Prospero is Prospero so I love them both in the way they’re them if that makes sense. But I know I’m not being a good daughter. I keep hurting him. He doesn’t talk much these days. Spends most of his time in front of the fire with his drink in hand. When I try to talk to him, there isn’t any banter anymore, just grunts and grumbles. Sometimes he talks to me first and that’s when I know he still cares because he’ll tell me not to forget my coat or to have Lilith pack me a meal. Lilith says Prospero always asks after me to see how I’m doing, but that grumpy old Strongarm is too stubborn to ask me himself.

“I just want Prospero to stop being angry at me. He has to be angry. I want my grumpy, but sassy dad back…”

The interviewer thanks Eva for her time. Eva waves off the gratitude with a forced smile, stuffs the interviewer’s hands with pouches of dried fruits. She waves them off from her barrack door until they’re footsteps no longer even echo. She quietly shuts the door and huddles in bed for the rest of her day off. Eva can allow herself one day to cry, right? Then she’ll be happy again in the morning.

[theficplug]

l Next Lifetime l Erik Killmonger l

warnings: none, but the usual 18+ for the eventual smut and a possible tw for grief but i promise it gets better and its a romcom

synopsis: reader grieves Erik until she doesn’t (i’m trying not give too much away). I really want to make it a series that i actually keep up with (sorry Girls Trip readers) because I have up to part 4 written. alright thats all i hope yall vibe with it. 

erik killmonger x black reader 

Every night since Erik crossed over into the ancestral plane he has visited you in your dreams. You went through every single stage of grief before you began to accept the facts. 

At first you sat and festered in your anger for him and refused to talk to him. The audacity of him,  after you begged him not to follow through with the idiotic plan of trying to take on all of Wakanda. 

You told him that his ideas and his heart would’ve been in the right place had they not have been clouded by rage and carrying years of hurt and anguish. You understood where he was coming from but you knew and he knew that the way he was going about it was only going to leave him with one ending. 

He loved you more than anything but once his mind was made up about something there was nothing in Heaven or Earth that could change it. 

You knew that he would have to see it through even if that meant to his own demise . 

On the first night you would be lying if you said that you didn’t cuss him out for leaving you like that and going off and getting himself killed. You told him that he had done the same thing to you that “King” Azzuri had done to his father. Left you feeling alone and to deal with the loss of not having your heart with you. 

“I COULD HAVE LOVED YOU THE WAY YOU WANTED TO BE LOVED. I COULDN’T HAVE LOVED YOU MORE EACH DAY IF I TRIED. FUCK YOU E. THAT WAS SO DAMN SELFISH OF YOU. FUCK YOU. I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. AND YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO INVADE MY DREAMS LIKE THIS. YOU AREN’T EVEN REAL.” you would yell into his face and watch as his demeanor was a lot different there. 

It was as if his Earthside worries didn’t bother him as much his face seemed much more relaxed and his scars had healed over. 

You would run your fingers over his chest as the tears well in your eyes and you take in the sigh of him for a moment. 

“I know… It wouldn’t have been enough. I couldn’t contain it. It felt like something had come over me . Possessed by the idea of revenge. I needed it. I felt like my father’s memory was worth avenging until I sat down with him here. He and moms sounded a lot like you at first. They were pissed off, but they understood. The ancestors told me that “a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth”. I wanted their warmth at first. To know what it would feel like to have what T’Challa and Shuri got to experience their whole lives. But it was something about the heat of fury that felt different. But I realized somethin’.  On this side, don’t none of that matters. None of it. The only thing I see and think of is you and how I wished I would have focused on growing old with you instead.” he explains and you fall into his arms to let out the sob that you had been holding in for a while.

You wake up in the dark room in cold sweats and gasping for air. You realized that you had been crying in your sleep and wiped your eyes before trying to shake it off and smack at your phone to get the alarm to stop. 

For weeks it would go on like this every night. You would settle into bed and fade into hues of reds and purples as you wander around finding him sitting in different sections of the flowers and creeks. He was holding a little bouquet of random tulips and wildflowers in his hand for you. 

You settle on the grass next to him and rest your head on his shoulder as he turns to kiss your head. 

“You ever wonder what life would be like if it wasn’t like this? If we could truly do anything, be anything and not have to worry about everything else.” you ask him and he takes your hand in his. 

He looks at you pondering your question for a moment before tucking a lilac into your hair.

“Nah, I can’t let myself think like that because I'll get stuck in wishing I were there. Instead of getting to enjoy these moments and building my own lil slice of heaven with you.” he says quietly thinking things over before leaning into kissing you softly. 

You wipe at the tear falling down his cheek before replacing your thumb with a kiss. 

“Take me back to being 6 years old in the cool murky ass Toll Plaza waters,feeling weightless, not caring about a damn thing.”

 “We’re reaching out for each other with our popsicle stained hands and laughing at shit that doesn't even make sense but it made sense to us. My gramps yelling at us to not go too far out so that he can get to us. We called him crab pawpaw for the rest of the day...What I wouldn't give to be sitting on my grandmother’s porch swing, trading cards with you. Our birthday is coming up soon. I’m going to miss getting charms from you.” you say to him softly as you run your fingers through his thicker beard and take in every second that you get with him. 

“I’ve been promised that I can give you something more special than a charm. You gotta just trust that everything gon’ be alright.” he reassures you and pulls you closer into his arms 

“GIRL IF YOU DON’T GET UP RIGHT NOW. YOU LEFT THE ROAST IN THE OVEN-” your best friend Tika yelled from the kitchen as she flailed around with the extinguisher and you wake up puzzled for a moment before letting out an “oh shit”. You remember that you laid down on the couch  to scroll while your roast baked and the next thing you know, you were sleeping and that that old ass oven is smoking. 

You spring up from the couch grabbing a towel and fanning the fire alarms trying to get them to stop blaring before the Super comes pounding at your door. 

“Alright. Alright, stop hollering. I was trying to surprise you with a nice dinner to thank you for being there for me over the last 9 months. I know it ain't been easy having me mope around and not be myself. I swear I sat down for 10 minutes tops and I was just flat out asleep. Them doubles at work has been kicking my ass and grad school-.” you explain and Tika shakes her head.

She puts the extinguisher down and holds up her hands. “When my dad passed junior year of college, you and your entire family were there for me and my mom. You guys made sure that we had food for weeks and were able to make rent on time and everything in between. I know what grief looks like. I couldn’t imagine losing the love of my life like that. I know that we didn’t know Erik like you knew him but the way you talk about him. You’ve convinced me that he hung the moon itself in the sky.” she reassures you and you nod while looking over at the blackened roast that's sitting in the pan, burnt to a crisp. 

“It’s only 6:30. Wong’s is still open. I'll just go get something real quick. Do you want vegetable noodles and the teriyaki chicken again?” you ask as you pull on your shoes and grab your umbrella. 

“Surprise meeee and you owe me flan for cleaning up this messss.” She sing songs as she grabs the mop.

“Leave it up to a theatre major to turn nearly burning down our apartment into a song. I got you.” you reply, laughing on your way out the door. 

You couldn’t shake what Erik had told you in your dream this time though. He had been promised that he could give you something better than a charm. What the hell did that mean though? You were sure you were probably just overly stressed and exhausted from working and classes. You were going to enjoy your birthday beach trip this weekend with your friends and try to put everything else behind you. 

Somehow as lost in your thoughts as you were you managed to make it to Wong’s and back home just in time to greet an overly dramatic Iridia at the door. 

“What the hell happened here?” she asks, sitting down her bags and surveying the burnt roast and little residues of foam still left to clean. 

“She fell asleep and almost turned our overpriced condo into dust.” Tika answers for you and you give her a small nod.

“I got you spicy egg rolls?” you offer and she hesitantly takes her order from you with a small smile.

“Got something to lift your spirits. It’s new dresses to wear this weekend cause girl I get it. I do, but grey is just not your colour sweets. You’ve got yellow undertones, you need scarlet reds, ochre. Something, not, this…” she trails off pointing at your baggy sweats and oversized sweatshirt. 

You laugh softly at her bluntness finding it kind of nice that some things have remained normal. 

“Whaaat? I thought this was hermit chic?” you retort sarcastically. 

“Thank you. That’s almost sweet of you.” you reply by taking the bags from her. You look at the red mesh dress and admit that if there’s one thing about Iridia is that her bougie self got style and you missed getting dressed up. 

 You thank the girls one final time before retiring to your room to finish some of your assignments up. You look over at the clock and notice that it’s 2 am. You crack open the fortune cookie on your nightstand and eye the quote etched across the small piece of paper 

“Pfft. If only that damn 10$ that i lost last week could circle back around to me. That’d be nice.” you thought to yourself before closing your laptop and trying to get some rest to have enough energy for this weekend. 

As you settle in the usual hues of lavender, violet, and scarlet come into view and you are taken into the field of flowers and you giggle as the butterflies land on your shoulder and one on the tip of your finger. 

Your plan worked. You only thought about E’s favourite double chocolate cake and hoped that you’d be able to bring it into your dreams with you.

You carried it proudly as you scan the field of flowers and beautiful willow trees for him. 

“E? E ! Happy Birthday to us! E. Where you at?” you call for him and look around but he’s nowhere to be found. You sat on a large boulder by the water hoping that he was just exploring and would find you eventually. 

You didn’t get much sleep that night after waking up shivering and in tears thinking about how the only connection you two still had left was broken. 

You do eventually fall back to sleep only to dream about running across campus and being late to a final even though you were nearly done entirely with university. 

A few restless hours later and you were already dressed and enjoying your fresh brew while watching the world awaken from the kitchen window. 

“Good morning.” you startle Iridia and Tika who were trying to sneak into the kitchen with breakfast and set everything up for you. 

“Damn we can’t get anything past your insomniatic self. Buon compleanno bambina!” Tika says sliding on her little party hat. 

“You’re wearing the dress! You look so pretty and is that eyeshadow I see on you? Okay lemme find out our girl is slowly coming back to herself.” Iridia says smiling at you. 

“Thank you, do I smell pancakes?” you question and they laugh as they hand over the box to you. 

After you have all gone over plans for the little weekend trip you grab your bags and are ready to hit the road. 

It was only an hour to The Smith’s beach house for the weekend but all 3 of you were well stocked with snacks and playlists. 

“We are heerrrreeeeee” Tika announces while parking the car.  

You get settled into the lavish and snazzy beach home, courtesy of Iridia’s parents. You hadn’t been since junior year of college and was just glad to be in a different setting.

“They said that the wine bar is open to us and we can have the party here as long as it looks the same as when we found it.” Iridia says already getting ready to change into her neon bikini to compliment her rich complexion and hit the beach. 

“What, it’s summer? You never know who the winds of adventure are going to blow in-”

 “FUCK MEEEE” you both hear Tika call from the bathroom down the hall. 

“HUN?” you call back and you both laugh at the long sigh followed by “guess who Mother Nature decided to surprise 2 weeks early? I didn’t even think about it and didn’t pack any tampons.” she explains

“On it. I’ll be back in like .2 seconds in the meantime toilet paper pad it and figure out which boutiques we’re going to damage our savings with first.” you say before hearing Tika’s protests. 

“It’s your birthday. I’ll go.” Iri suggests and you shake your head. “I love y’all but it’s our first birthday that we don’t get to spend together apart from when he joined the military and I know he wasn’t perfect and he had his flaws but I really wish that I could get to hug him once more. To make him feel special even if just for a second… So please, I'll get the tampons. I could use the fresh air.” you say quickly dabbing at the tears prickling the corners of your eyes. Iri pulls you in for a hug before nodding and starting the conversation with Tika through the door about if she would prefer to go for the street festival first or the carnival games.

- - - -

You pull at the top of the sundress getting it to hit just right and not fall down as you make your way down the aisle of the market and pick up a few things that y’all might need for the weekend like the small cups for shots, fresh fruits for your ‘cure to a hangover’ smoothies, and food. 

You pick up a small double chocolate cake with ‘happy birthday’ written in cerulean letters.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry ma. I don’t mean to bother you right now but  I got a head splitting migraine right now and can’t find the Advil for nothing and was hoping maybe you’d know which aisle? That’s what I get for listening to my friends talking bout,  drink “the beast”. Niggas had me dreaming in colours and flowers. I felt like I was traveling through space or something... It’s my birthday too. Happy Birthday “ you hear the man ranting away behind you and his voice reminds you of E’s. You chuckle softly to yourself before turning away from the cakes to see the man's face. 

You let out a loud scream and drop the cake on the ground . It crumbles instantly across your sandals and everything fades to black before you faint. 

When you came to you were sitting in the break room of the market with Erik and the store managers who were opening a ginger ale for you and asking if you were okay. 

You nod slowly, coming to, and closing your eyes again to count to 5 as they leave the room. 

“This can not be happening. I know that this is not happening right now.” you say to yourself and you look up at him again to see that he’s still standing there. 

“It’s hot as fuck outside. You probably just got a lil overheated. This ginger ale is cold so you should be alright.” Erik says to you and you shakily take the ginger ale from him. 

“Who are you? I don’t know what kind of joke this is or who put you up to this, or if my girls thought that this, whatever this is would be funny but it’s not. It’s really insensitive.” you say as tears fill your eyes again. 

“I’m N’Jadaka Stevens? My parents, I’m adopted, but those are my parents regardless, own Aloha Oakland so you ain’t gotta worry about paying for this” he gives you the bags of items you collected before you fainted.

“ I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. I never come down here so I don’t really know where shit is in this place. I'm actually here with my own friends, celebrating my birthday. So, I don’t really know what’s going on. You good?” he asks again before asking you to follow his finger. 

You wrap your arms around him and break down sobbing. “Happy Birthday.” you whisper to him and he looks at you puzzled for a moment. 

“Ma, you lowkey weird but everybody needs a hug and I can’t have my birthday twin crying on her special day so come here.” he says squeezing you a little tighter. 

“If you’re here through the weekend. I’ll catch you around. Try to stay out of the heat but if you go out try to keep something cold with you to drink so you don’t pass out again.” he advises and you take him all in. 

 You slowly give him a once-over noticing that his hair was now faded and it was neatly lined up on the sides connecting with his beard. He slid off his hoodie and left the black tank top underneath, you quickly noticed that there were no scars or keloids. His jaw was unclenched and there was no vein popping from his forehead. There was a serene and relaxed look etched across his face despite him stating that he had a migraine earlier.

“But shiiit if you don’t mind. Can I get your number? Cause for some reason. I don’t know why I feel like I know you? To be honest I don’t remember much from before being adopted.” he admits 

You nod your head before putting your number into his phone and you grab your bags and quickly make your way to your car. 

You breathe in deeply through your nose before looking around. “I’m losing my fucking mind.” you say to yourself quietly. “I gotta be. This can’t- This can’t be happening right now.” you say resting your head on your steering wheel.

- - - -

“What happened to you? It’s been like an hour almost. Are you okay?” Iri questions as she eyes you and the bags. 

“I just. I fainted that’s all and they wanted to make sure I was okay before going home.” you explain and Tika thanks you for the tampons as Iridia overly dramatic self sighs and presses her hand to your forehead. 

“Poor thing, I knew I should’ve gone with you. Sit down, I’ll get you a cold glass of Stella Rose.” she says laughing at the wine part and walking to the kitchen. 

Group Text from DakaStevens84: Party @ Royal Rochelle’s Roller Rink. Yes, the roller rink cause who says you’re too old for a roller rink? Come skate fast and shake ya ass.

You laugh softly at the message knowing that this is something that he would’ve totally wanted to do but never took his eye off his plan or gave himself time to just breathe and be. 

“My fault.  It’s Daka from Aloha Oakland btw. My friend Orleans really tryna go through with this. Man a whole ass party planner and this the best he could come up with. Y’all can still come through though if you want. I wouldn’t complain if I got to see you again, and them pretty ass coffee eyes.” he texts to you and you smile softly at the butterflies fluttering in your stomach while looking at the text

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” you ask Iri as Tika joins you at the bar.

[tag list @doublesidedscoobysnacks @chaneajoyyy @mirandkimy​ @doitforthevine67 @dasia21 @depressionandfandomsinc @sinfully-dope @ambitionwood @heybriheyyy @wholelotta-melanin @theesotericqueen @mbakuwife @spookys-girl @teardropzih @bigchoose @ceo-of-baby @sweetpeachjones @lost-ssoull @love17us @beautifullmelodyxx​ @ghostfacekill-monger​ @shyblackgurl​ ]

[amanda-glassen]

Reality Bites

It's the last day of school in 1992 and Alex is finally going to tell Olivia how she feels...if only she can get five minutes alone with her.

Previous chapters can be found here.

Chapter 7: Slushies and A Hickey the Size of Texas

She may have only known her for about seven hours, but Olivia had already gotten her into the backseat of her car...just not in the way that she had expected. The car had won her a superlative and she was probably the only girl to win the category of Coolest Car in their school’s history, but popularity contests didn’t matter to Olivia and it was evident by the way Olivia tried to shrug it all off while they flipped through the yearbook in the parking lot of a convenience store by their school. 

“You look so cute in this picture!” Alex told her and she did look cute posing for the superlative picture with her red 1991 Mustang GT. Olivia’s car was her pride and joy and, although Alex always skipped the superlative pages in the yearbook, she didn’t want to stop looking at Olivia’s picture. 

Olivia covered the picture with her hand. “Stop! I do not look cute! Superlatives are nothing more than a lame popularity contest, anyway. They don’t mean anything.”

“Says the girl who won one of these lame popularity contests.”

When Alex became distracted with stirring her blue bubblegum flavored slushie－trying to make sure it had the correct ice to syrup ratio－Olivia  grabbed the yearbook and put it in the front seat. Alex began to wonder why Olivia didn’t want to look through the yearbook with her until she remembered the superlative on the next page was “Most Desirable Girl” and along with that title came a picture of Jenna Crossley. Jenna－Liv’s fling throughout the entire school year－and the girl she hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of the summer comparing herself to. Did she hook up with Jenna in this very backseat?

Olivia scooted over as close as she could so she could rest her head on Alex’s shoulder. “I know what you’re thinking and, no, I didn’t hook up with Jenna or any other girl in this backseat. You’re it for me and, if we ever break up, I’m swearing off women forever. I’ll never love again.”

“You need to stop that,” Alex laughed.

“What?” Olivia asked. She had slurped too much of her cherry slushie, bringing on the inevitable brain freeze. “Son of a...ow…ouch...why do I do this to myself every time? I never learn.” She held her hand to her forehead and squirmed in her seat－anything to keep her mind off of her brain freeze. “Okay, I’m better now.”

Alex noticed Olivia had moved further away when she was squirming, so she wrapped her arm around her waist and pulled her in again. “Every time I try to be introspective, you pull me out of it. You need to stop that and let me wallow in self pity about not having the nerve to ask you out on the first day of school.”

Olivia took another sip of her slushie and, it dawned on Alex that Olivia really never really did learn her lesson, but she thought the brain freeze was cute nonetheless. “Like I said earlier today, it’s my compulsive adorable syndrome,” Olivia responded, trying to downplay the effect of her second brain freeze. “And you can’t place the blame on yourself. I could have asked you out, too. I could have asked you out every single weekend. Plus, there was prom and homecoming and winter formal and Sadies, but we can’t waste our time thinking about that. We just have to make the most of the next three months.”

That morning, Alex’s friends had asked her what she liked about Olivia. She told them, physically, she liked everything about Olivia and she did, but with every passing moment, the list of things she liked about Olivia grew longer. Beyond just her smile and her figure－the two things that first attracted her to Olivia－Alex liked how Olivia’s hands fit so perfectly with hers, how Olivia’s lips felt against hers, how Olivia, in such a short period of time, had seamlessly integrated her into her world and, it made Alex smile to think about it, but she even liked how Olivia used three Ninja Turtles band-aids on her knee to cover some scrapes that she got from a failed skateboarding trick. Most importantly, there was now the list of non-superficial things she liked about Olivia. No one had ever made her laugh the way Olivia did. No one had ever comforted her the same way Olivia did and no one had ever made her feel as alive as Olivia did.

During the drive to the convenience store, they both discovered that the other had a love for the classics and, although they were still in the parking lot, they left the radio on so they could listen to some of the feel good songs that reminded them of childhood or, in Alex’s case, the childhood that she had fantasized about having. When a Beach Boys song came on, Alex noticed Olivia smile uncontrollably.

“I heard this song with Tim the other day and it gave him the not-so-brilliant idea that he and I should go surfing this summer,” Olivia shook her head. “Because he said, and I quote, surfing is just like skateboarding but on water.”

“Are you going to try it?”

“No way! It’s nothing like being on a skateboard. I can’t get swept away by some strong current or bitten by a shark while skateboarding. There’s no way in hell I’ll try it and nothing can change my mind.”

Alex gave her a chaste kiss and it made her heart happy to see how that single kiss made Olivia shy all of a sudden. “That’s too bad because I think you’d look so hot on a surfboard. I can already picture you in a wetsuit top and some bikini bottoms. I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll try it!” Olivia said almost too enthusiastically. “And, yes, I’m well aware of how easy you can make me change my mind about anything in your own...special...way and I’m okay with that.”

Seeing that Olivia was finished with her slushie, she took the cup from her and put it in the cupholder in the front seat along with her own. While bent over the center console, she rummaged through her backpack until Olivia playfully pulled her back over and she accidentally or maybe not so accidentally landed on top of her. “Liv!”

“What?” Olivia laughed. “As much as I was enjoying the view of you in that position, I missed you.” 

“What did you miss?” Alex asked playfully.

“Kissing you,” Olivia responded before gently biting Alex’s lower lip. “Touching you.” 

Alex didn’t know what had come over her and the girl she was that morning wouldn’t have believed it, but she straddled Olivia right then and there in the backseat of her car. “Is this okay?” she asked, her shyness suddenly returning to her.

“Alex,” Olivia said softly, her hands now caressing Alex’s back, underneath her Harvard t-shirt. “Anything you ever want to do in this position is okay with me.”

“Liv!” Alex blushed.

“I’m serious!” Olivia said in between kisses. “With a single kiss, you convinced me to go surfing. I don’t even want to know other ways you can convince me to do things. Wait, nevermind. I actually do want to know all the ways you can convince me to do things.”

“Olivia!” Alex laughed. She wanted to maintain her composure, but instead she leaned in so she could bury her face in the crook of Olivia’s neck. She started to delicately kiss her neck, smiling when she noticed one of her kisses had tickled Olivia, but it wasn’t long until the playful gesture wasn’t enough for Alex. She gently nibbled on her neck, tasting just a hint of saltiness on her skin. Alex didn’t want to admit it, but even the taste of Olivia’s sweat turned her on. Was it Olivia’s sex pheromones or some other term from 10th grade honors biology causing this? Why am I thinking of my 10th grade bio class right now? But when Alex heard Olivia moan, she no longer cared about that class or anything other than making Olivia elicit that sound again.

“Kiss me,” Olivia said, the tone of her voice making her words sound somewhere between a question and a command. 

Alex felt Olivia’s hands gripping her thighs, pulling her in even closer. Olivia’s hands on her body made her feel even more turned on than she had ever felt before, almost to the point where it hurt and feeling Olivia’s tongue in her mouth did nothing to ease her tension. It wasn’t her first time making out with Olivia that day, but Alex knew this was different－unbridled even－and the way she felt Olivia’s tongue moving in her mouth made her wish she could feel it on one part of her body in particular.

...and that’s when she heard the perfect song start playing on the radio. It was the perfect song while she made out with her perfect girl. The song was nearly thirty years old and, whenever she listened to it in her bedroom on one of her mom’s old 45s, she thought about Olivia and what it would be like to kiss her and slow dance with her. Slow dancing with her would have to wait until tomorrow night, but until then she was still able to kiss her as much as she wanted. She hoped Olivia wouldn’t notice, but her mind started to wander. With every kiss, she realized it wouldn’t be long before she fell in love with Olivia－if she wasn’t falling in love with her already. 

Alex had found the 45 in a trinket box in the attic just a few months ago. There were five trinket boxes that Alex had rummaged through one autumn night. Each box was identical except for the boy’s name that it was labelled with and inside were old photographs, love letters, and records with love notes written on the sleeve. These boys were all a part of her mother’s youth－the carefree time in her life before she had a husband and children. Mrs. Cabot never kept her children’s old art projects and Mother’s Day cards, but she kept all of her old photographs and love letters there in the attic as a testament to who she once was and Alex wished she could have known this version of her mother. 

With Olivia leaving in three months, she began to wonder if their relationship would eventually become nothing more than little trinkets in a box that she’d occasionally revisit. She figured the two of them would continue a long-distance relationship for the first semester until winter break when Olivia would tell her that she had met someone－maybe she lived down the hall or they met at a party－Alex wasn’t sure, but she knew it’d be Olivia that would find someone because being clear across the country from her family and friends would leave her wanting to feel something or even someone again. They’d share a night of angry breakup sex, or so Alex assumed based on what she had seen in movies, before never seeing each other until their later in their adult lives, at their 20-year high school reunion or some other cliche meetup. They’d both be someone’s wife and maybe even someone’s mother. The two of them would share a few minutes of awkward conversation and, in that brief period of time, she’d wonder what might have been before realizing Olivia was no longer that playful, grungy girl with piercings and a Ninja Turtle band-aid, but it wouldn’t matter because that eighteen-year-old girl would live on in that trinket box filled with some mixtapes and whatever else Alex was able to collect during the summer and maybe autumn of 1992. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Olivia pulling away from her kiss. Those dark brown eyes were looking into hers with so much concern and so much sincerity that they were all Alex could focus on until Olivia started to kiss her newly-formed tears. “Let’s stop, okay?”

“Why?” Alex asked, although she felt it was obvious why Olivia wanted to stop.

Olivia held her as close as she could while Alex rested her head on her shoulder. “Because the place you were in right now－where making out is just going through the motions while you’re thinking of something or someone else－I’ve been there before and I know how much it hurts.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I’m just thinking about the future and－”

“And me leaving in September?” Olivia asked as she continued to hold Alex. “Like I said on the football field, I’m leaving this state, but I’m not leaving you. But, really, you don’t know me that well yet, Alex. Maybe in September, you’ll be glad I’m leaving.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You say that now, but wait until we have an entire three months at each other’s side,” Olivia teased. “Let’s see...my IQ goes down a few points every time I hang out with my brother and Travis. My favorite show is Beavis and Butt-head. You just witnessed that I never learn my lesson with brain freezes. My parents think I spend most of my life looking like I just woke up. That’ll go over well with your parents at the country club. Can you imagine? They’re expecting their daughter’s girlfriend to be some cute, preppy girl and instead they’ll get me in ripped jeans and a men’s flannel shirt. No, I’ll clean up nice for them and I’ll make sure to clean up nice for you tomorrow night. I’m sure there’s a presentable young woman somewhere underneath all of this.”

“Olivia!” Alex laughed. Although she wasn’t out to her parents yet and she didn’t know when or if her parents would actually meet her, Olivia had managed yet again to make her laugh when she was feeling low.

“There’s my girl. You have the cutest laugh and I’m willing to do anything to make you laugh, even if it’s at my own expense.”

Alex was about to kiss Olivia again when they heard the sound of someone hitting Olivia’s driver’s side window with the palms of their hands. “Get it, sis!”

“Tim!” Olivia glared at him. Olivia may have been frustrated, but Alex found the whole situation amusing and she knew that as long as she was with Olivia, she’d be subjected to teasing from Olivia’s stepbrother and their friends.

“Get out of the car. I gotta show you something.”

Olivia gave Alex one last kiss. “Let me go settle him. I’ll be right back.”

“Brainiac Barbie, too,” Tim told her. “I have a present for her. Wait, the grape slushie is here now? Old Man Henderson said not until July.”

“...no?” Olivia gave him a confused look.

When they got out of the car, Alex noticed Travis was now standing out there with Tim. There were two guys in the backseat of Tim’s car and it didn’t take long for Alex to realize it was her brother and her brother’s best friend, Carisi. 

“Minor niners, out of the car!” Tim ordered.

Carisi was completely unscathed, but Alex tried to control her laughter when she saw her brother. Tim had put maroon lipstick on him, some glittery eyeshadow, and an obnoxious amount of bright pink blush on his cheeks. “Forget something?” her brother Josh asked. “You and Olivia promised that you’d be there early to pick me up.”

Their fifteen minute window of opportunity to get slushies before picking up Josh had turned into the two of them hanging out in the backseat of Olivia’s car for nearly an hour. “Josh, I’m sorry.” Alex tried to sound sincere, but her laughter made Josh think otherwise.

“Sure, you are,” Josh folded his arms and glared at his sister. “I got dirt on you, Alex, so you－wait, why is your tongue purple?” His tone of voice was no longer angry. “Is the grape slushie here now? Old Man Henderson said not until July.”

Before she could respond, she noticed Casey pulled up into the parking lot with Connie in the front seat and Amanda Rollins in the back. “Amanda’s gonna see me like this?” Josh smacked Tim on the arm and Tim shoved him in return. 

“Like you had a chance,” Tim snickered. “Amanda doesn’t like either of you clowns.” 

With Connie, Casey, and Amanda now with them, Alex felt bad for how embarrassed her brother was until she remembered that he was probably going to spend the rest of the summer blackmailing her. 

“Change of plans,” Casey told Alex. “We’re not going to the park.”

“We’re going swimming at Abbie’s instead,” Connie added. Swimming at Abbie’s house? That means Olivia in a bikini.

“But Georgia Peach, here, still has to do our snack run,” Casey pointed out.

“A snack run?” Josh asked in disbelief. “Is that what girl hazing is?” But the girls ignored him while they looked at Alex and Olivia.

“The grape slushie is here?” Casey asked in disbelief. “Last week, Old Man Henderson said it wouldn’t be here until July.”

“What’s everyone’s obsession with the grape slushie?” Olivia asked. 

“Look where you’re at,” Connie reminded Olivia. “You’re not in Manhattan anymore. The only thing to look forward to in this town is a new slushie flavor.”

“Wait a minute, you weren’t even excited about the grape slushie,” Josh reminded his sister. “You’re predictable when it comes to slushies. You always get blue bubblegum.”

“Liv always gets cherry,” Tim added. “I tease her every time about her wanting a cherry in her mouth and then she slugs me in the arm. It’s a thing we have.”

“There’s no grape slushie!” Olivia said in a frustrated tone of voice. “Why do you all think Alex and I had grape slushies? I had cherry. Alex had blue bubblegum. Can we shift our focus to something else now?”

Casey started laughing uncontrollably before hugging Alex. “I’m so happy for you. You, too, Olivia.”

“What’s going on?” Carisi asked. “Old Man Henderson wasn’t lying? There’s really no grape slushie?”

“You guys are so dense,” Amanda told him. “Think back to kindergarten. Combining red and blue gives you…”

“Purple!” Josh responded. “If Alex had a blue slushie and Olivia had a red slushie and both of them have purple tongues...then that means...eww, that’s disgusting! I got hazed, Alex, because you were too busy sucking face with Olivia to pick me up?”

Alex didn’t know whether she wanted to keep laughing at her brother’s misfortune or hide because of how he had just announced to everyone what she and Olivia had been doing, but just as she had been doing all day, her girl made it better for her.

“Leave her alone,” Olivia told him and she put her arm around Alex to hold her close to her side. “...or I’ll make you leave her alone. What Tim did is nothing compared to what I can do to you.”

Tim roughly patted Josh’s shoulder. “She’s not lying, man. She is not lying. By the way, Liv, you got a hickey the size of Texas on your neck. Tomorrow’s your graduation day and you know Mom and Dad are gonna lose it.”

Alex expected Olivia to be as embarrassed as she was, but Olivia was in control of the situation. “I’ll just put some neutralizer and foundation over it,” Olivia smirked. “No big. Being with Alex is worth any trouble I’ll get in.”

“Don’t soil our valedictorian’s good name,” Travis said jokingly. 

“She’s soiling it herself,” Casey responded. “Finally!”

They were teased mercilessly for the next few minutes, but none of it phased Olivia. In fact, she took it in stride. She held Alex and kissed her cheek and told her how beautiful she was regardless of how much teasing they got for it. Before long, Alex stopped caring about the teasing and just revelled in the feeling of being in Olivia’s arms. Pretty soon, her world would change and she knew she’d miss this when she moved to Boston－hanging out with her friends and her girl in the parking lot of a convenience store in a town where a new slushie flavor and a new couple were a big deal.

“So, there’s really no grape slushie yet?” Josh asked. “You’re saying if I go in there and ask Old Man Henderson－”

“For the last time, Josh,” Olivia began. “There is no grape slushie and if you ask about it again...”

[danny-williams]

in sickness and in health

set immediately after s8.6, because i think Danny being worried about Steve’s health is literally the most married thing ever

1. change his diet

It doesn’t happen overnight. It doesn’t happen overnight because Danny knows that it can’t happen overnight - otherwise Steve will notice and all of his efforts into our sneaking the SuperSEAL will go to waste because he and Steve will fight, and Chloe made it very clear that he and Steve fighting was not good for Steve’s health.

Even if it significantly improved Danny’s mood everytime he got Steve riled up. His serotonin levels could take a hit for a bit (he’d just finagle more time with Charlie from Rachel).

It takes a lot of back and forth, and a promise to let Kamekona buy into their restaurant (currently un-named because he refused to have an italian joint named Steve’s) but Kamekona finally agrees to reduce the amount of butter he puts on his shrimp.

“But only for Steve’s plate bruddah,” he says, a frown on his face, “I’m not changing my recipe for anybody else. This is prime shrimp you’re messing with here - I hope you know that. This shrimp won me awards.”

Danny grimaces, “Technically, Chef Morimoto sabotaging your competition won you that award, but we’ll go with your version of things. As long as you keep this from Steve. I do not need him knowing that I’m messing with his food.”

“You got it bruddah.”

Everything else after that is slightly easier. Even with Junior home, Steve still comes over to Danny’s a lot - so Danny starts shopping smarter; buying low fat food and including more greens in his diet.

The jersey in him is crying, weeping for some good grease - the kind that slithers off the meat and onto your fingers, but he reminds himself it’s for a good cause. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t still eating good food - he’s just eating it less.

That’s not a terrible thing.

2. to do list 

He’s in his office, finishing up the last reports of the drug bust they made earlier that day - when there’s a sharp rap on his door. Danny looks up to see Steve standing on the other side, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

He waves him in, and Steve slams the paper against his desk. “What are you, some sort of caveman? Did they not teach you how to politely put things down in the Army -”

“ - Navy - “

“Why do you gotta,” he gestures at the paper, “now my ink is all smudged.”

Steve ignores him, which is par for the course at this time, “What is this?”

Danny looks at the paper, and then back at Steve, “What do you mean, what is this? How should I know? You’re the one that brought it in.”

Steve points at the paper aggressively, “Look at it, and explain to me what it is.”

He smoothens out the paper, “It’s looks like a to-do list. Are you getting old babe? Do we need to take you to an eye specialist, maybe get you fitted for some glasses? Reading goggles?”

“Danny I don’t need -” Steve cuts himself off, and honestly, Danny is really enjoying how worked up Steve is about this whole thing, “I mean, what is it doing on my desk?”

Danny bites his lips, spreading his hands out wide, “I don’t know maybe you uhh, maybe you decided that you needed to make a list, make sure you know everything you had to do for today. Did you hit your head or something during our drug bust today? Maybe get a concussion - lose a couple of braincells?”

“I didn’t write this Danno,” Steve says in a frustrated tone, “Lou sure as hell didn’t write it, Tani’s too new to even think of pulling something like this - and we both know Jerry doesn’t have the balls for this kind of thing. That just leaves you. So I’m gonna ask you again, what is this doing on my desk?”

“Okay look, we’ve both been really busy with the restaurant right?”

“Steve’s.”

“No, not Steve’s because I’m still undecided on the name - but the point is, we’ve both been busy. So I thought you might you know, benefit from having a list of things that we had to do for it. So that you could plan your day better.”

Steve opens his mouth and shuts it again, furrowing his brows at Danny. 

“And that’s all this is? Making sure I keep up to date with the restaurant?”

“That’s all it is babe.”

“You’re up to something,” Steve grabs the paper, pointing a finger at Danny accusingly, “I don’t know what you’re up to - but you’re up to something.”

“Just making sure our restaurant doesn’t fail!” Danny calls after him, but waits until he’s out of sight to pull open his drawer and pull out the pile of unfinished to-do lists.

He’s going to have to be sneakier about them this time.

3. less bickering

Danny ponders over this one for a while, mainly because Steve expressly told him not to change. It would defeat the whole purpose of sneakily managing Steve’s stress if he notices, so Danny’s careful about it.

Mostly because after her day with Steve, Chloe pulled Danny aside and gave him enough of a scare to last him ten lifetimes.

“Look,” she’d said, “I don’t mean to tell you how to manage your relationship with your partner. From what I hear, you guys have been together for close to seven years, and I’m sure you worked out some sort of rhythm. But from what I can see Detective, you fight him on everything.”

“What do you mean I fight him on everything, I,I, I let him drive my car, I let him eat at my house, he even sleeps at my house on occasion - and what do I get for it? I get shot at and almost killed three times before lunch.”

“You guys don’t have an easy job, I agree. But I don’t imagine that for the Commander, someone who’s come from the Navy and is used to absolute obedience, that it’s easy when you question even his smallest actions.”

She had a point, which is Danny is now trying to figure out how to organically stop fighting with a man he literally punched just hours after they met.

“Okay here’s what’s going to happen,” Steve says, just as they pull up at the suspect’s house. They’re chasing the kidnapper of a twelve year old girl, so everybody’s a bit ramped up, especially Danny. He hates cases with kids. It makes it easier to take a backseat and give up control to Steve on this one.

“I’m going go through the front door,” he gestures with his hands, “Lou, Danny - I want you to get the back. Tani? I want you out here, in case our perp tries to make a run for it?”

Danny has to physically swallow back the words on the tip of his tongue, because asking Steve if they should wait for back-up would be questioning his actions - and Chloe said that was bad for his health.

Steve gives him a look, like he knows that’s something’s wrong - but before he can say anything there’s shot fired inside the house and everything goes to shit. 

Danny and Lou turn the corner as quick as possible, just in time to see someone run outside the back entrance and jump across the fence.

“Lou, get back to the truck, see if you can cut him off like that,” Steve jumps after him, panting into his ear-piece, “Danny?”

“Right behind you buddy,” he says, even as he aims and shoots at the two guys who wander out behind their perp, clearly looking for him, “our friend over here had company over.”

Thankfully, there doesn’t appear to be anyone else coming out of the house, and when Danny makes his way in - 12 year old Danielle Rodriguez is tied to the radiator, shivering despite the constant sweltering heat that is the fine island of Hawaii.

“Hey hey,” he swings his gun behind his back and lifts his hands up, “my name is Detective Danny Williams okay? I’m with Five-0. I’m one of the good guys. Now how about I get you out of this and back to your parents?”

Later, when they’re back at HQ and Danielle has been reunited with her teary-eyed parents - Lou mutters to Danny, “so how come you didn’t ask Steve to wait for back-up?”

“I’m trying something new.”

4. well bred social behaviour

“Danny!” The door swings open, even though Danny is fairly certain that he locked in, but he doesn’t reach for his gun, because there’s only one person on this entire island who walks into his house like they own it.

“In here!” he calls out, and sure enough, Steve walks in a couple seconds later with coffee and a brown bag.

“Are those malasadas?” he asks, reaching out for the coffee in one hand, looking up briefly from floor plans to ensure that there’s contact between his palm and the coffee cup, “Did you bring me malasadas?”

“No I bought myself malasadas, but since I’m generous I’ll give you one or two.”

“What’s this?” he asks over a mouthful of malasada, peering over his shoulder and Danny bats at him because he’s dripping sugar all over the plans, “Is this Steve’s?”

“For the last time, we’re not calling the restaurant Steve’s I don’t know how many times I have to go through this with you. But yes, to answer your question, these are the tentative plans that our interior decorator drew up for the restaurant.”

“Interior decorator?” his voice comes out all muffled, and Danny sends him a withering look, “You’re disgusting you know that? Can you finish chewing before you talk? Please? Is that too much to ask for?”

Steve swallows obnoxiously, and grins at Danny. He’s got cream on the edge of his mouth, and it should disgust Danny - instead he’s thinking about leaning up and licking it off.

“Thank you, for the coffee by the way,” he says instead, “I appreciate it. That was a nice thing to do.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve replies, and Danny can hear the surprise in his tone, but he resolutely ignores it - instead pulling Steve into a conversation about the booths.

5. sex

There’s probably a code of conduct somewhere, Danny muses, that involves something about not having your ex-girlfriend spy on your partner. Well, spying might be a bit extreme.

He and Melissa split months ago, because it was clear after two disasterdly Valentine’s Days, that it just wasn’t working between them. Her exact words were, and he quotes, “You’re never going to love me the way I love you. Not when Steve occupies all the real estate in your heart.”

She wasn’t wrong, was the thing, and after they’d gotten past the initial awkwardness that the fact that Danny was in love with someone that wasn’t her - they actually fell into a good friendship. 

It helped that Melissa didn’t know a lot of people in Oahu except Danny, and that their relationship had been a lot like a friendship in the first place. Except with more sex.

Like a lot more sex.

Honestly, given that Steve was the reason they broke up, Melissa was surprisingly gamely when Danny asked her to stay in touch with Lynn, and let him know how things were going with her and Steve.

(He thinks it’s pity, but he doesn’t actually ask because then she might actually answer)

“They broke up,” Melissa says with little fanfare, over their weekly coffee, “Lynn won’t tell me much. But they split about a week ago. Guess she got tired of waiting around for him too.”

It might also be the fact that Melissa is convinced that Steve is just as much in love with Danny as Danny is with him, nevermind the fact that Steve has never showed interest.

“What do you mean they broke up?”

“I mean they’re over. Ended things. Done.”

“Huh,” Danny says, over his coffee, trying to figure out the best way to convince Steve to let Danny take him out for a guy’s night to get over Lynn without revealing how he knows that Steve needs a guy’s night to get over Lynn.

In the end, he doesn’t even have to be all that sneaky about it, because Steve comes to him - asks him out for drinks; so all Danny really has to do is play the dutiful wingman.

“I’m sorry about you and Lynn,” he yells over the music, after the alcohol has sufficiently loosened his tongue, “you guys were good together.”

“It was never going to work out,” Steve yells back, and gives Danny a significant look, “bit like you and Melissa.”

“How do you - how do you know about that?”

“What you think that you and Melissa are the only ones who engage in pillow talk? Lynn talks too, on occasion. When we weren’t you know, busy with other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” Danny chuckles, “Is that what we’re calling it now? You can say sex Steve. This must, must put a damper on your whole two or three days a week thing. Oh wait no sorry, how many days did you say it was? Five?”

“I’ll have you know,” Steve says, staggering on his feet as he and Danny stumble outside the bar, “that me and Lynn had a lot of problems. But sex wasn’t one of them.”

“Well -” he furrows his brows, and stops suddenly, pulling Danny close to him, “Sex might’ve been one of them.”

“What happened? You need tips in bed? Smooth dog?”

“I am very good in bed!” Steve says, affronted, “It was not my skill that was the issue here.”

“Then what was it? No come on don’t clamp up on me now, I have to hear this. What was the issue?”

Steve turns bright red, “I might’ve - I might’ve said the wrong name in bed, a couple of times.”

“Babe, you are unbeatable. No really, you are. First you, you leave the engagement ring that you were going to give Catherine just lying around - then you take off with Catherine in the middle of a romantic dinner, and now you’re yelling her name in bed? Buddy I’m surprised she didn’t break up with you sooner.”

Steve’s giving him this look, like he can’t for the life of him understand what Danny’s saying. “No it wasn’t Catherine why would you think it’s Catherine. No it was - “

And that’s about as far as Steve gets, because a second later, he’s retching their dinner all over the side of the road.

//

+ 1: love him

They’re all out on his lanai: Danny, Tani, Junior, Kamekona, even Duke’s made it out - and Steve’s got the grill set up just a couple feet away from the chairs. Half his attention is on the grill, the other half is on Danny - the way he’s stretched out on the old chair; loosened from the beer he’s been nursing, and smiling at something Tani said.

“Keep an eye on that meat,” Lou says, startling Steve, “I don’t want my dinner burning.”

“I’m not gonna burn your dinner Lou jeez, have a little faith. When have I ever burnt your dinner before?”

Lou looks over at Danny, and back at Steve with raised eyebrows, “you’re a bit distracted today. Forgive me if I’m cautious.”

“He thinks I don’t know what he’s doing,” Steve says in lieu of a response, “but I found his list the other day. All the things that stress management specialist said, Chloe or whatever her name is - he’s got it all written down. He’s driving himself crazy, worrying about this thing.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider why he’s so worried?”

Steve turns to Lou with a frown, “it’s not that hard to put together Lou. He’s worried about my health. I get it, I am too - but I’m not running myself into the ground thinking about it day and night.”

“Look man, I’ve been with you guys for a couple of years now, and let me tell you something about Danny. Now I’m not pointing fingers or any of that, but I’ve seen that man care about a lot of things - but nothing the way he cares about you Steve.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but Lou just holds up his hand, “you didn’t see him Steve. The day you got shot? The day you almost died? You didn’t see him that day.”

“Danny was - he had broken ribs, and scratches all over his face. They told him to land the plane in the water did he tell you that?”

Steve shakes his head silently.

“The people in Air Control or whatever you want to call them, they told Danny that his best chance at survival was landing the plane in the water, swimming to shore. But he knew that landing the plane in the water meant that you might die, and it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. He didn’t even stick around long enough to watch you get taken in for surgery, he was already on his way out looking for the sons of bitches that shot you up.”

“And I’ve never seen anything like it Steve, I’m telling you - I didn’t know he was capable of that kind of violence. There was this one guy, their ring leader, who managed to limp his way over to the helicopter. When me and Kono got there, Danny was standing over him with his gun out, and he had this look on his face - I was worried if I stepped in, he might shoot him just to get to this guy.”

“And after all that was done, he marched right back into that hospital, barrelled right past all of us, and offered up his liver. There wasn’t even a second’s hesitation. Apparently he’d already had the blood-work drawn up, in case anything like this happened.”

Lou claps him on his shoulder, “I love you man, I do. But I don’t love you the way Danny does. I don’t think anybody does.”

“Would you -” he gestures at the steaks, “would you watch over the grill for me? Just for a bit. There’s something I gotta do.”

He doesn’t wait to hear Lou’s reply, just stalks over to Danny and grabs him by his elbow - hauling him up.

“Hey where are we - why’re we going inside, you Neanderthal I was in the middle of a conversation what’re you tugging me around for like I’m some sort of -”

The rest of Danny’s sentence gets lost against Steve’s lips, as Steve turns him around and braces him against the nearest vertical surface. His mouth is already open, which Steve uses to his advantage; pressing his full weight against Danny and licking into his mouth; memorising it with his tongue.

They break up with a wet sound, and when Steve opens his eyes, Danny’s pupils are blown black.

“What was that for?” Danny whispers between their lips, and Steve half smiles at him, “that was me saying thank you. I know what you’ve been doing, trying to manage my stress for me. This is me saying thank you.”

“Huh,” Danny slides a hand around his neck, squeezing, “Why don’t you run that thank you by me again one more time?”

Fin

[lamortexiii]

Cryptic Mystic: Kindred Spirits

Do you believe that living beings have souls? If you believe in souls, chances are that you also possess the ability to feel strong emotions. On the opposite side of that coin, there are people who feel no emotion at all. What causes such a huge difference in the capability of our brains and the way that we process information? What do souls have to do with this anyway? Are we born this way or simply molded through our environment and experiences? Maybe it’s a little of both…

I’ll start by saying the words “soul” and “spirit” are often used interchangeably - just so there is no confusion with the title versus the term I am choosing to use within the text. Now onto the good stuff.

The term “soul” as we know it today in America was originally derived from the Old English word sáwol first quoted in the 8th Century poem Beowulf. However, this term and its meaning has been seen in other countries including East German Gothic (saiwala), Old High German (sêula), Old Saxon (sêola), Old Low Franconian (sêla), Old Norse (sála) and Lithuanian (siela). The Germanic definition of “soul” is said to mean “coming from/belonging to the sea (or lake)”, because of the Germanic and pre-Celtic belief in souls emerging from and returning to sacred lakes.

Various religions use the term “soul” within many forms of context. All share an abundance of differences within what the term means and how they choose to use it, but all define their beliefs/experiences within a similar concept. For example, ancient Egyptians believed that people were made up of a combination of both physical and spiritual elements that are of the soul/spirit. Shamanism posits that people are composed of two or more souls (termed soul dualism) often called the “body soul” and the “free soul.” The body soul is the vessel in which you live day to day while you are consciously aware of your surroundings, while the free soul wanders when you are sleeping, meditating, or in a trance-like state. While even different yet, Scientology doesn’t believe that people have souls, but that people are souls. Within this religion, people are viewed as being immortal and can choose to become reincarnated if they would like once their life is over within their current physical body. Lastly, Wiccans tend to believe in the eternal nature of the soul; that the soul is immortal and can never die. Most Wiccans believe in reincarnation and view physical death as part of the natural cycle of life/birth/death; that while the physical body may die, the soul can never die.

As you can tell, there are definitely mixed views on what constitutes a “soul.” Most beliefs in the soul are tied to various religions. These are just a few examples, however, there are MANY more religions that believe in the soul and just as many more definitions and viewpoints! For those who believe in the soul, strong emotional ties are present within their respective religions. Remember earlier when I suggested that if you believe in the soul you probably possess the ability to feel emotions on a strong level? Makes sense now doesn’t it? It’s all tied together and comes full circle when explained. Now, I will say there are just as many people who do not believe in the soul, and I do not discredit them in any way. It’s like I always say, you choose what you believe - all are respected here. Learning more about one another gives us all a better understanding of the differences we possess; what makes us unique. I encourage you to do your research on other cultures/religions/etc., but I also feel like that is part of my purpose here - to expand your mind. So... you can just keep reading my blogs to get that monthly dose of information if you’d like. Your choice.

I’ve always found this particular conversation interesting due to the many possibilities that surround us. There is so much that is truly unknown. We take the influences around us: environment, culture, religion, social influences, etc. and we form opinions. We form beliefs. It would be foolish to believe that we know everything, for we do not. However, we can imagine, dream, research, have a conversation about it - we can strive to learn.

The Shamanistic belief in the two souls is quite interesting to me in particular due to my own personal experiences with dreams and meditation. I am sure many of you have had those dreams that felt so real that whenever you woke up you weren’t sure where you were for a moment. I have experienced this several times. My dreams are always so vivid. When I am meditating I find that I experience almost the same intensity that I feel whenever I am sleeping. I have jokingly wondered to myself if the people we see in our dreams are actually there with us because they are sleeping too. Maybe we are all in another dimension together in our dreams or when we meditate? I don’t have the answers to why these instances occur, but I enjoy speculating over them. I have also wondered if the people in your dreams don’t remember being with you, maybe you were in the part of their dream that they didn’t remember. Have you ever awoke from a dream and for the life of you, couldn’t remember it at all? Or maybe you remembered bits and pieces, but were unable to put them all together because of the fragments that you had forgotten? Another thought - maybe the people that you don’t know that you see in your dreams/during meditation are people that you have unknowingly met or will meet in the near future? There are so many unanswered questions. Sure, we have labels that we throw onto these phenomena as we do with everything else, but do we actually know? I don’t believe so. As a matter of fact, I think we are further off than we even begin to realize because the human mind is not capable of understanding these things that we do not know or understand. Again, you be your own judge - that’s just my opinion.

The premonitions that I have had (as mentioned in one of my earlier blogs - go check it out for the backstory/context), have frightened me to my core. The pure emotion and accuracy in my dreams have baffled me for several years. I have learned to accept that I apparently possess some sort of gift and move forward with my life. When I have a premonition it is always random, but due to the repetitiveness of this phenomena, they don’t really come as much of a surprise anymore. There have been times I awoke and I was screaming, crying, and one time I even swung my fists at someone (yeah… whoops). I feel silly using the terms “soul” or “spirit” so I personally stay away from them. However, I do believe that we are composed of something magical that we have labeled and viewed in different ways. For me, to know the human anatomy inside and out, to know how the body functions, to specialize within my career in brain functioning, and knowing the complexities within both neuro, mental, and physical health; it completely blows my mind that we are just these living, walking, breathing, beings that are so powerful - and that there is nothing behind that. That’s it? It just is? We just are? I think not. There are things we don’t understand and may never understand. I believe that we all possess something special inside of us. Call it what you want: a soul, spirit, or any other combination of terms - we are more powerful that we give ourselves credit for. Whatever you believe in, just know that you are a strong being that can overcome any challenge in life. You possess the power to change your life and could possibly go on to change the lives of others if you so choose. Embrace yourself for who you are and what you believe, because regardless of anything I respect the hell out of each and every one of you for simply being your badass selves!

Now, let’s talk about something that lies on the opposite end of the mushy gushy emotional spectrum. The absence of emotion can technically happen to anybody at any given time. For me, I have had 2 memorable points in my life where I went through a several-month period where I felt nothing. There was an absence of emotion. I felt hardened. I couldn’t cry and I most certainly did not feel happiness. 

The first time this emotional numbness happened was during/after my divorce. For about a year after that train wreck was over I couldn’t emotionally feel anything. I tried to date (ew) and I couldn’t feel love or pleasure. I remember telling a very nice man that was absolutely wonderful to me in every way that I wanted to end things because I couldn’t feel - I didn’t love him. I didn’t want to lead him on, and after a month of dating and not feeling anything I couldn’t bear to see him so attached while I felt absolutely nothing. It was horrible, and I felt a sense of helplessness because I couldn’t just turn my emotions back on like a light switch. It took well over a year for me to bounce back and actually start to feel emotions again, but eventually, I was able to regain them. However, I do feel like I was forever changed in a way. I still carry that hardened exterior, I don’t trust easily, I have a permanent resting bitch face, in conversations, I am way too logical/realistic and cynical for people to even begin to handle, and I struggle with allowing myself to open up to others. Nobody is perfect, and I am sure at least a few of you can relate.

The second time this happened to me was recently. The emotional numbness lasted for a few months, beginning in September of last year to January of this year. For the first time in my life I decided to see a therapist. I didn’t want to, but a couple of people in my life who care about me said that I needed to seek help from someone other than myself (haha). I feel like it may have helped a bit, but I attribute my ability to bounce back to myself and work to change the way I was thinking. I also needed to engage in more self-care because I was extremely lacking in that department last year. So I began doing things on a daily basis that served myself, even if it was for only 15 minutes. Amidst my busy schedule, I needed to make that time for me and so I did. Both instances revolved around heavy stress times in my life - the heaviest I have experienced as an adult. For me, I think that in order to protect itself my the body just shut down and shut off everyone and everything around me. I couldn’t feel anything because feeling and experiencing emotion became seen as a threat. Funny - I still see it that way at times.

Similar to what I have experienced in my life, but much more severe, prominent, and chronic, is psychopathy. Psychopathy is defined as a mental (antisocial) personality disorder in which an individual may appear to hold no morals and exhibit antisocial behavior. These individuals also show a lack of ability to love, empathize, experience emotions, or establish meaningful personal relationships. Psychopaths are sometimes egocentric in their behavior and possess an inability to learn from experience and other behaviors associated with the condition. Take for example Ted Bundy: a calm, collected, calculated, suave serial killer. He appeared to be just like anyone else if you were to see him on the street. He engaged in relationships but did not possess the ability to truly love the individuals he was with (sound familiar?) Even in court he failed to empathize with the families of his victims and appeared to be unbothered - because he was. However, as one of the most well-known serial killers of the modern day, Bundy also had a fascination with murder and necrophelia - which, and I want to reiterate this very clearly, is NOT a common thread with those diagnosed with psychopathy. A lot of people use the term psychopath incorrectly and do not actually understand what constitutes psychopathy. Does being a psychopath mean that you’ll be a murderer? No. Does it mean you can never have a meaningful relationship? While questionable, the answer is no - there is no obsolete here. Does being a psychopath mean you are crazy? Hell no - and I don’t like to use the “C” word in a mental health context because (shocker) it’s fucking offensive. Interestingly enough, there is no written formal diagnosis in the DSM-5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Health Disorders-Version 5) specifically for psychopathy. Instead, the formal diagnosis for someone who meets the criteria of antisocial personality disorder is said to mimic what most characterize as psychopathy. However, some mental health conditions may have a specifier such as psychopathic features. For example: in the DSM-5, under "Alternative DSM-5 Model for Personality Disorders", Antisocial Personality Disorder with psychopathic features is described as characterized by "a lack of anxiety or fear and by a bold interpersonal style that may mask maladaptive behaviors (e.g., fraudulence)."

While there is an ongoing argument on whether a psychopath is born or made, I say it is a little bit of both - and researchers agree. Children that show a lack of empathy, lack of guilt, and have shallow emotions, defined as callous-unemotional traits, are at increased risk of developing psychopathy in adulthood. These children are more likely to display antisocial behavior, such as bullying and aggression. Will every aggressive child develop psychopathy? No. Will every child who experiences some antisocial behavior develop psychopathy? No. There is a combination of factors that “when the stars align” create a predisposition for psychopathy to develop. It is truly a combination of individual genetics and the environment. So while the genetic factors are what is born within the individual, the environment further aids in shaping how this individual will develop. For example, a child who is aggressive, antisocial, and comes from a home where they are constantly physically and sexually abused is more likely to develop psychopathy, but may or may not depending on their specific genetic makeup. There are literally millions of combinations of neurons and other items that must connect and fail to connect to shape and form a psychopath. As time goes on these traits may become more dominant (indicating psychopathy) or may taper off and fall away (indicating that the person is likely not developing psychopathy and likely has just gone through “a phase”).

It is important to note that psychopathy can also be present and comorbid with other mental health conditions in any individual. The combinations here are endless. I have found that some individuals who experience psychopathy also experience delusions and hallucinations, while others who experience psychopathy have never had a delusion or hallucination in their life. The prognosis relies heavily on a special combination of genetics and environment. Genetics are a predisposition, while environment consists of direct exposures that can predispose but may also be manipulated. Each individual who experiences psychopathy experiences it in a different way and comes from their own unique background, therefore it is hard to pinpoint exactly what “type” of person truly defines a psychopath. Just like anything or anyone else - there are all kinds. We are all alike and the same but yet so very different. We are “kindred spirits” you might say. Whether or not you believe in souls, an afterlife, how we came to be, or what constitutes psychopathy - your opinion is still valid and you believe whatever you choose to believe. Open your mind before you open my blog. Sending you nothing but positivity and love. Until next time, creep it real ghouls and gals.

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

[ryttu3k]

Night Road quote text dump, because I've been deluging a friend with quotes and want a place to keep them all.

We're a bit like that, yeah:

They direct you to a hulking Malkavian named Severian, and the sullen giant directs you in turn to Gibberish Mike.

Fortunately, it turns out that "Gibberish" Mike is just Australian.

Practical concerns:

"That's it!" Elena says, leaning over your shoulder. "That's his yacht. Oh, and this is all about him. Very useful." She snaps a picture of the email with her phone, then the two of you get out of there before the technician returns. You head down the elevator and then back to Elena's Datsun.

You're so pleased by how well that went that that it takes you a few minutes to remember you're in Arizona.

"His yacht?" you finally ask.

Fun with bungalow ownership:

After a day of fitful dreams, you throw on your leather jacket and engineer boots and get ready for another night. You step outside to check your Integra. A neighbor parks next door in her Ford Super Duty and gives you a friendly little wave. You've been practicing this. You're ready.

"Howdy, neighbor."

"Howdy!" she responds before heading inside.

Fucking nailed it. You're one of them.

This is legitimately how I got the Messy Critical achievement:

You grab a hoe.

You rip through the underbrush with savage efficiency, staying a few steps ahead of the pushcart as Julian scans. You work in a trance, chopping and hammering. Only when you hear Julian shouting do you realize that you're holding a busted length of wood.

The head of your hoe is buried in the beautiful round black door of Prince Lettow's Rolls-Royce.

Raúlblocked:

You head to Raúl's place, but he's not there. You find a note hidden above the door that reads, "Problems in Phoenix. (Jesus Christ has returned? Stole a car?) Contact me right away for major jobs and I'll come back. Already missing you." And there's a ProtonMail address with some of the security contact codes you agreed upon earlier.

But it looks like Raúl will be occupied dealing with the Lord and His automotive crimes, and he won't be able to wander around Tucson with you.

Pattermuster doesn't get paid enough:

"Hello? What? Well, the blood can't be 'everywhere.' Surely that's an exagger—okay—okay, fine. Okay. Okay, I'll get—okay. Five minutes. What? No, Sissy Spacek. No, Sissy—you're thinking of Rosemary's Baby. No, Carrie had the prom scene. With all the pig's—yes, it was Sissy Spacek, I'm sure. That much blood? Jesus. Okay, hold—five—okay, five minutes."

Valid question:

Do they teach ax fighting at Quantico?

Julian Meyer:

"Man, it's been a while," Julian says, leaning against your door frame. "I remember the nights we spent keeping that elder asleep with offerings of blood, the days curled up together in the desert. Wasn't it romantic?"

"That never happened, Julian. You made up our relationship and tried to sell it as a novel until the old Prince of Tucson threatened to execute you." '

"Vampire romance was big at the time," Julian says with a shrug. "And I changed our names. I still don't know why no one wanted to buy it."

Dammit I thought I was done with uni:

"Awful," Dr. Caul says with a little shudder. "But now your real studies can begin."

Your real studies consist of a syllabus (thirty pages) and a trunk full of books (35,000 pages).

"Are you disappointed, Rook?" she says with a little laugh. "Were you expecting something more mystical? A bolt of cosmic enlightenment? A conversation with your Holy Guardian Angel, who would reveal the answers you seek?" She bangs the trunk as technicians get ready to load it into your car. "Get reading."

An enthusiastic boss:

You reunite with Pattermuster down in the morgue, where he's pumping his fists as a thin-blood on a gaming laptop watches with a worried expression because she can't tell if he's incredibly happy or insanely mad.

"Rook!" Pattermuster shouts, his eyes full of Blood, "you did it! You brilliant child, you did it! We're safe. Oh, thank God, we're safe." He pulls you into an embrace, then punches a brick wall because he's so happy, showering all three of you in dust.

I thought that was Finland?:

You catch all sorts of whispered gossip as you cross the rooftop garden.

"Camp Scheffler?"

"Gone. That Outlander courier had something to do with it."

"I heard the Russians helped the SI burn it down."

"That's ridiculous. There's no such thing as Russians."

Pot, kettle:

"Julian," the Eagle Prince says, "you will locate Reremouse with the equipment Vane brought. Once we find him, we will strike shortly before dawn. I have prepared a stake sufficient to pierce even his old hide."

"That easy, huh?" Julian says.

"No, but—"

"Your plan is ridiculous, convoluted, and dangerous," Julian says.

"And you have a better one?"

"Absolutely," Julian says. "We use Stonehenge to teleport him to Mesopotamia."

The must-have appliance:

He's a black outline in the glow of a single yellow bulb... and then the bats descend.

And then the bats get torn to pieces, because Pattermuster pulls his two katanas out of nothing and turns into an undead Cuisinart for a few seconds.

But aesthetic:

Leave it to a vampire to bring a sword to a gunfight.

It is pretty cool though:

"Oh my God," Julian says. "You're going to use the car engine to fling Prometheus into Reremouse's heart."

"Dammit, Julian, I am not doing this because it's fun. I am scrambling for every advantage I can because we only have one chance to stop Reremouse, and if we fail, the Second Inquisition will descend on us like wolves on a wounded deer."

"It's still cool," Julian mutters.

A e s t h e t i c:

The Camarilla looks unkindly on vampires who dress like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, but what's the point of being dead if you can't look the part?

#JustToreadorThings:

You sleep badly and awaken to an aching and acute Hunger that crowds out other thoughts. But when you approach the Rolls-Royce, you find Lettow and Julian seated on a blanket, evidently in fine spirits. They're holding stainless steel mugs as they watch the last purple streaks fade from the western sky. There's something perfect about the composition before you: the two Kindred in their working clothes with their backs to you, the blue-black clouds, the faraway mesas framing the scene.

"I fear we've lost the Aesthete," Lettow muses. "Luka? Luka!"

It's just good sense:

A lot of keypads use 0911 as an emergency override for police and fire. That doesn't work, but a common default password causes the elevator doors to slide right open.

Change your defaults, people.

They draw the line at 31%:

Not all problems can be solved by putting a brick through a window, but at least 30 percent can.

Descriptive:

That's when your Nissan makes a sound like a bunch of typewriter keys dropped in a blender, and the whole truck lurches to a halt.

Munch munch:

"There are tags attached to all the payroll numbers," you say. "FNMA. PFC. What are they?"

"FNMA?" Antonio says. "That's Fannie Mae. The loan commission. Privatized in 1968. PFC…"

"Pavlodar Fried Chicken," Janet says. "Damn Commies."

Courier what did you do:

When you try to start your Mercedes, it vomits black smoke. That's not good. You kill the engine.

"Pop the hood," Julian says. "I'll get it up and running."

He checks the motor. There's a long pause.

"Did you melt a bunch of cheese in here or something, Vane?"

“I remember crawling out of a Nieuport 20 outside Gibraltar," Prince Lettow says. "The engine looked like that. Of course, ours had been on fire."

"Engine looks like Vane fed a bunch of sardine cans into a paper shredder," Julian says.

Almost!:

So Lettow is cute. I'm going to talk to him and see if he might be interested in a handsome young courier who almost has his own car.

Scientist life:

A beaker of cold coffee on her desk has a pencil in it; she flicks the pencil away and drains the entire beaker, then looks you in the eyes.

Domesticity:

"Wow, Vane," the Banu Haqim says, "did you finally settle down. Where's the wife and kids? Why don't you get me a beer, and we can talk about football and quote some Bible verses at each other?"

I really want to know where the fake werewolf came in:

"...so the whole fucking Cadillac is on fire, and I'm kicking and kicking, trying to get the window to break!" Dove says.

"Right, right, because —" You're trying to follow this story, and it isn't easy.

"Because I'm still handcuffed to the guy who was pretending to be a werewolf, right. And I finally kick through the window, rip half the dead fake werewolf's arm off to get free — I'm out of my fucking mind now, with all the fire — and I finally crawl out of the car."

"And get clear before it — do they blow up?"

"Escalades? I dunno, probably not," Dove says. "But anyway, I'm finally clear, so I run across the parking lot, laughing because I'm just thrilled not to have met final death chained up to that guy. And I barely have time to look up before Lettow comes screaming around the corner in a Ford Bronco with the lights off and runs me over. I was in the wrong Cadillac the whole time."

"No!"

"Two black Cadillac Escalades in the parking lot of the Marriott," Dove says. "How was I supposed to know which one — anyway, that's why I don't get to drive anymore. That's why Lettow wants assholes like you driving."

"Driving what?" you ask. "Because I need a car."

Dove shakes her ugly head. "I'll get you something. Give me a few hours to work on it, and I'll send someone to find you."

Cars are everything:

You still don't know how Julian plans to go from "divert a few funds and data streams from the Camarilla" to "transform the global information panopticon in a way that ends the Masquerade but keeps vampires safe," but he has a nicer car than last time, so he must be doing something right.

Guys please be nice to Raul:

"There appears to be a vampire hunter outside," he says, "investigating your electric vehicle."

"Send your bird to peck his eyes out," Julian says. "I'm not going outside until I find my sneakers."

Cheese?:

Over the next few minutes, you cough up a glorious wad of bullshit involving MKUltra, the Philadelphia Experiment, Star Wars (the movie), Star Wars (the Reagan-era government program), Jackson Pollack's CIA connections, the history of federal cheese, and the secret mastermind behind the seventies gas crunch.

In fairness it's a pretty rare sound:

You're way up in Limberlost, near the mall and the Walmart, when Riga settles on the roof of a Safeway. You reverse into the parking lot in case you need to get out fast and scan the cars at the pumps. It looks quiet. Then you hear a faint ringing.

The sound is musical, hypnotic. It reminds you of your childhood, and for a long time you just sit there in the driver's seat, remembering what it was like to be alive. But what is that sound? What memory from…?

Oh, right.

The pay phone next to the ice merchandiser is ringing.

It's a skill!:

Not every member of Clan Toreador joins their august ranks because of their great beauty or artistic genius. Some people end up vampires because of their extensive knowledge of Adobe After Effects.

Big Pirates of the Caribbean energy:

"I'd kind of like to give Lettow here a horse and a sword and let him tear through an entire police barracks," Julian says. "Tell me that wouldn't be fun."

"One thing I learned from Napoleon," Lettow says, "is that the most powerful cannon is useless if you cannot see your target. We know the location of one small encampment. That isn't enough to start shooting."

"You knew Napoleon?" Julian asks.

"Napoleon was my horse," Lettow says.