#not sure if it holds up anymore because malaise

[crazycatsiren]

Mother Lorelei, I apologize in advance, but I need your advice.

My birth mother is disabled. She suffers from severe chronic pain and fatigue, and physical exertion, unsurprisingly, causes her to feel far worse. But it often seems as if she prides herself on pushing herself past her limits despite that, and that she thinks because she's always forcing herself to do more than she should to her own detriment, that should be the standard everyone else holds themself to. Any less, and you've disappointed her.

While I find her willpower admirable, and I understand the pain she goes through daily to get things done, I wish she wouldn't expect me to do the same. I don't suffer from the same illnesses as she does, but even so, I'm incredibly weak, and have next to no energy or stamina at all. Even walking across my school's campus can get exhausting and painful, so any form of actual labor is pretty much impossible for me; almost immediately, I start to feel incredibly dizzy with vertigo and and feel faint, my muscles begin to ache and/or start to give out, and I become exhausted and unstable. This is to say nothing of the post-exertional malaise. I'm beginning to suspect that I myself am chronically ill, but no one seems to know what's wrong with me, other than that I'm an absolute wet noodle of a person.

Whether it's because I'm as weak-willed as I am physically pathetic, or because I, unlike my mother, know my limits and refuse to push myself to a breaking point, I always fail to "do my best" or "put in the effort" enough when I have to help do physically demanding tasks (like moving/carrying things out of storage, for a relevant example). I'm consistently below my mother's expectations, and she gets upset at me every time, saying how I need to try harder and that I'm being dramatic because I don't want to put in the work to get anything done. It's true that I'm not very good at doing these things and that I never get much done, but even though I give up so easily by her standards, I work my hardest until I quit. It's emotionally as well as physically painful and exhausting at times. But she keeps telling me I'm being lazy, and I don't know whether to believe her anymore. Do you think I'm in the wrong for not trying hard enough, or that I'm being lazy? Once again, I'm very sorry to complain and overshare to you in your ask box, but I'm not sure who else I can ask.

Internalized ableism is the devil, that's for sure. Not only does it distort your own perception of what's reasonable for you, but also it greatly skews your expectations of others.

And I think your mother is filled to the brim with internalized ableism.

Believe me, I tried the mind over matter method. All it did was made me sicker. It didn't make me any more abled, and it didn't change one bit of the reality that I will most likely never be abled again.

Capitalism glorifies grind culture. Anything less than pushing yourself past the breaking point is deemed unacceptable, and the solution is you just have to try harder.

It doesn't work this way. It never has and never will. And people keep wondering why so many are burnt out, even though the answer is literally right in front of them, and everyone knows it.

Our society doesn't want to allow anybody to become disabled. It's become so deeply ingrained into every aspect of life, that it's almost human nature. All the toxic positivity and inspiration porn sure as hell don't help.

[filthforfriends]

You Can't Own Me

Part (2/2)

Read Part 1 here

Its finally done! @homesicam @lifeofa-fangirl @superchrystaldrug @shadowy-lady-collective @tiaamberxx @bfb-sides-hoes

Damiano x fem reader

Word count: 4243

Summary: An evening out with friends ends unexpectedly awful. Now you have to put the pieces back together.

TW: swearing, panic attack, angst, mention of BDSM dynamics

You haven’t finished tying your coat by the time the bar door swings closed. A couple drunkards catcall you while you’re ordering an Uber. Once you’re finished, you turn around and hiss at them like a mountain lion. The look of horror and shock on their faces  indicates that you may have successfully scared them off.

���Babe, you forgot your vape!” Jules steps outside, cursing the cold. “Couldn’t let you leave without your nicotine tonight of all nights.”

“Shit, thank you for being a friend. Must’ve fallen out of my pocket.” You take long pull after pull, blue raspberry flavored vapor surrounding you. It doesn’t stop the shaking, not in your fingers and not in your leg. You doubt anything could calm the jitters right now. You feel so worked up about Damiano that you’re about to make yourself nic-sick like a highschooler.

“Y/n, did something else happen? You don’t drunk cry over mean boys. Or did that Carlo asshole freak you out?” You nod, staring hard in front of you.

“Damiano’s not some boy though, Jules. I know understanding heterosexal attraction isn’t really in your repertoire, but imagine if Rhi just started acting the complete opposite of themselves. It's freaky.” You start bouncing on the balls of your feet, your whole body vibrating, like nothing can contain the nervous energy.

“And that's all? You were really upset when you came back to the table.” The sentence wasn’t phrased like a question, but Jules said it like one.

“He just said some stupid shit that isn’t true.” Even talking about your conversation with Carlo was making you angry. You wanted to punch something, or scream, or kick one of the guys you hissed at in the balls.

“Y/n, if it was nothing then you’d a told him to ‘fuck off’ and grabbed Damiano.” Except Damiano was giving you the death stare after your unwelcome chat with Carlo. She was pressing too hard for the whole truth right now and it was aggravating you further.

“Fine Jules! Okay?” You finally made eye contact with her. “He was talking about our sex life.” She made a face of disgust. “Yeah, exactly! He made it sound like Damiano was being some bro in a locker room.” That was technically an exaggeration, but it didn't feel like one.

“So what did he say? Let's go call him out! Rhi has been taking karate since they were like eight.” You go back to a smoldering stare, directed across the street. If you reveal your cards like this you’ll just cry. Jules reads your expression, and quiets her tone. “Was it about that thing, your dynamic or subbing or…” You give a single decisive nod. “Isn’t keeping it secret part of the point? Privacy?”

“Yep.” Your tone is flat, but you stop bouncing and start shaking with malaise. The way Damiano had built up a persona to use as a rockstar, you’d created a facade so men couldn’t victimize you anymore. You took kickboxing. You knew how to shoot a gun. Always being on your guard was draining, and being Damiano’s submissive was your only break from that. You could be vulnerable and trust that you’d be taken care of. Damiano would make sure that you were never in danger, so you didn’t have to worry for yourself. He controlled the environment, so personally giving up control was possible.

Damiano loved giving this headspace, not just for the sex, but for your own well-being. The whole premise is that you can make yourself vulnerable, because you’ll also be made safe. Part of that feeling of safety was privacy. So if he’s been mouthing off to his buddies about you submitting, he’s not holding up his end of the deal as a Dom, or even as a boyfriend. If Damiano had flayed you living you wouldn’t have felt so exposed. That you can, and do, tell Jules.

“Christ you’ll barely even talk to me about it.” You give another curt nod and check your Uber. Why isn’t the driver any closer to you than he was before this conversation?  You hear someone come out of the bar and stop behind you, instead of going off to smoke. You don’t turn to look, but can see the very particular expression Jules gets when men have the audacity.

“Ah yes, like shit on my shoe.” You speak up, fearlessly when you’re not without things to be afraid of. “Carlo, you keep mistaking me for some nice girl you can sexualy harass. I am not a nice girl. I will make you into a choir boy with a rusty fishing knife and my own two, god given, hands.”

“Sexually harass?!” You whip around and Daminao looks horrified, even a bit shameful. Jules melts into the background. You can think of half a dozen sharp-tongued things to say, but for the first time in your life, maybe ever, you say nothing. You're done with public displays of emotion tonight. Part of your consciousness turns inward as protection. You purse your lips in anger, to keep them shut, because if you open your mouth to speak you're afraid you’ll scream.

The Uber pulls up a few seconds later. Damiano spots the sticker on the windshield as well. You don’t look back when you step off the curb, trying to reclaim some of your power.

“Hey! Y/n, c’mon. This is stupid, I can drive you home.” He takes steps towards you, you can hear his desperation because you’ve never done this before. Apparently both of you are getting a new, unrecognizable version of their partner tonight.

“The car’s already here Damiano,” your hand opens the door, but he moves to close it. “And I want to be alone for a while,” you bite, turning to meet his gaze. You know the look on your face right now: indestructible, jaded, cold, with tightly controlled rage. He’s rarely seen this look because he’s never treated you like the average man did. It's off putting enough that Damiano freezes. You take the opportunity to throw your purse in the car and climb in after it, closing the door hard.

Inside, it smells strongly of strawberry air freshener that's aggressively covering someone's body odor. You wonder if it's the driver. The thicket of neon charging cords tangle around your heel and the clicking of the blinker is loud as the car pulls into traffic. As soon as you’re out of Damiano’s sight, you crumple like a coke can under someone’s sneaker.

The arrival home should be a relief, but it's not. It feels as if you mentally propel your body up the stairs, with your limbs contributing bare minimum effort. Even the lock fights you, having to jiggle it before you can turn the deadbolt. When you get inside, you just throw your shit on the ground: purse, vape, coat, shoes. Keys clatter on the table and all the jewelry you’re wearing next to them. When a ring gets stuck on a knuckle you just yank harder and individually curse everything whilst getting undressed.

Fuck these spandex shorts that you wore under the dress. They were insurance for the dancing you never got to. Fuck these stalkings that get a run in them as you peel the nylon off. Fuck the red pedicure you painstakingly gave youself for only Damiano to see. Fuck the fake eye lashes you now have to rip off. Fuck that hour you spent with a hairdryer in the bathroom. Fuck this dress so very much. You hear stitches break as you yank it off. Fuck the meticulous titty taping that now really stings to remove. Fuck the thong that has felt like razor wire in your ass crack for the last hour and a half.

Yep, that about covers it. You have this thought while waiting for the water to get warm enough for a shower. Ah yes, fuck the makeup that you’re not bothering to take off. After the shower you’ll walk around looking like a racoon, with about a dozen strokes worth of mascara under each eye. When the water hits you, however, the anger fades. Without its energy, you just feel defeated, lonely, and crestfallen.

You try to put things in perspective: this was just one shitty night. However, the implications of Daminao’s behavior were not limited to tonight. What if he’d been using your dynamic as an anecdote? It seemed unlikely, however, reason did nothing to change the way you felt. Emotions are removed from rationality; you felt truly frightened, deeply betrayed. Somehow, you’d have to repair this and that was overwhelming in its own right. But, it was only one night, certainly not break up worthy. The question that stuck though was why? There was always a motive and it was totally lost on you.

The only mundane reason you could come up with was that Damiano was punishing you. Maybe for wearing a revealing dress for him, then forgetting about him? Maybe the amount of skin you showed? Maybe for being so insistent on not needing his protection, chastising him for being territorial and protective? Regardless, him punishing you like this was - as Rhi so eloquently put it - fucked.

Damiano was dramatic to a fault. When you fought he always said something he wanted to take back 20 minutes later. Maybe he was just plain jealous and immature, but when he tried to apologize you literally slammed a door in his face. Of course your brain inevitably provided the thought therapy couldn’t do away with: what if it's just all your fault? It was easy to reframe this evening that way, but that's not what had you sitting on the floor of the tub crying. What had literally brought you to your knees was how convoluted and detached from reality your brain could be. Your perception has to permeate through all the barricades your mind puts in place when you’re fearful. By the time the information got to you it was gibberish.

You didn’t hear the door. Not with the sobs and water pounding on your head. You didn’t notice him come in the bathroom, not with the hyperventilating. This is why you held on to control tooth and nail; because when you lost it, you panicked.

You only noticed Damiano when he was sitting at the bottom of the tub with you. He grabs at your folded arms, pushing at your bent legs, gently coaxing you to unfurl. You hate how well he calms the panic attacks, so you try to resist his help when he’s there. That way, you never need him. But right now you can’t conjure up any harsh preemptive action against codependence.

Damiano holds you as best he can while you’re tucked inside yourself and making ugly, desperate noises. He rocks you back and forth, the same way you sooth a cholicky baby. Back and forth while he chants.

“Don’t think, just breathe. Don’t think, just breathe. Don’t think, just breathe.” He knew what typically triggered your anxiety attacks, and it wasn’t his first rodeo either. Victoria developed panic disorder after her mom passed. The two of you weren’t dissimilar in a lot of ways.

You’d like to say it worked right away, that it wasn’t 10 minutes of your nose running, snot going down the drain. That you weren’t breathing in so roughly you started to inhale pieces of your dirty, tangled hair. That would be a lie. You even forgot you were mad at Damiano, reduced to clutching him for comfort while your nervous system and brain went to war. Things got worse before they got better. The anxiety was severe enough that Damiano had to switch affirmations for a minute.

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, none of it's true!” What? You were confused enough that it broke through some of the panic. “Jules told me what that asshole said, baby none of it's true. None of it’s true, y/n. I would never betray your confidence like that, ever. I’d be the most piece of shit Dom in the world if I bragged about us like that. I wouldn’t do it.” You manage to nod your head. That, at least, brought some comfort.

Damiano resumed chanting with you while you rocked, and things became bearable. Your self consciousness returned and you realized, for the first time, that you were naked and Damiano was wearing all his clothes, soaking wet.

“Your shoes, Damiano! Christ, those were a gift from Gucci!” For a few futile moments you try to take his shoes off to salvage them, but the whole outfit is wrecked. “Damn it!” You turn off the water. Then you brace, because you’ll have to face him now, for better or for worse. You turn to him, and no words come, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen while surrounded by it.

“So you’re going to give me the silent treatment?” He cocks his head to the side, face muddled with emotions.

“No! No, I...I’m just not sure what there is to say. Thank you, I guess?” Your tone wasn’t snarky and disingenuous, you were just at a loss. “Thank you for helping me and I’m sorry I ruined your outfit and your shoes and -”

“Fuck the shoes, y/n.” Daminao shakes his head, looking to the ceiling like god will bestow some clarity on this convoluted evening. “Just...fuck the shoes.I don’t care about the shoes.”

“Okay, um…” you could feel yourself crash landing into reality. You awkwardly step out of the tub, aware of your nakedness, and wrap yourself in a bathrobe. The cold water droplets still cling to your skin and you shiver, the stubble on your legs raising. “I’m gonna go get a plastic bag for your wet clothes.” He observes you as you stumble to the kitchen and back with a grocery bag. “Just put them in here and I’ll put them in the wash.” You didn’t like that your voice sounded small and frail, but practicality brought some comfort.

“Fuck the clothes,” Damiano says, as he stands up.

“Okay, what then?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Okay, what then! Are you going to walk around the house getting water on the hardwood floor until you decide otherwise? What then? How are we to proceed from here?” He just stands there, palms turned upward, gesturing in exasperation. “Because right now, Damiano, right now I am trying to calibrate my emotional response to whatever the fuck tonight was. I am trying to make my reaction proportional, but I don’t even know what to make it proportional to.”

“I am sorry that I was a dick to you in front of my friends.” You stand wide eyed, and waiting for more, but apparently that was Damiano’s contribution in its entirety.

“Anything else? Like a reason, perhaps?” He makes a face, as if he’s tasted something sour.

“You know the reason,” he spits out.

“The dress? A fucking dress. That's the reason you threw me to the wolves and gave me a look that would have liquified lesser men?”

“Listen, I’m sorry about Carlo. I didn’t know he was gonna be there.” Damiano is speaking way too casually for the situation. Again, you wait for Damiano to be forthcoming, and he is not.

“Stop it. Stop acting like other men.” You try to keep a brave face, jabbing your finger at Damiano for emphasis, but he sees your lip quiver. He sees that underneath it all you’re terrified, and his face softens. “Stop being cavalier and acting like you don’t feel something. Or you’re above it. The emotional dismissal, unavailability, evasion, I fell in love with you because you didn’t do that shit. You never made me think I was crazy because I fucking felt something and I never did it to you either. It’s cold and hollow, the way you’re acting now. I won’t do it.”

“Okay, fine!” It's angry, but it's also a concession. “I just don’t understand why you did what you did tonight. I tried to be cool about it, but I couldn’t fucking do it.” Damiano is not quite looking at your face, maybe one inch to the side and a couple upwards. It’s his tell. He does it when he’s very upset, but trying to maintain control. “Why? Why would you just try to make me jealous?”

“Make you jealous?” You’re mystified, and you sound it. Obviously he’s a human being, but you didn’t think Damiano really got jealous. “Of Carlo?” He nods in a way that must give him a headache. “Baby, no. Jealous of what? He takes so many steroids I doubt he has any balls left.” Damiano scoffs at that, eyes scanning the bathroom tile sheepishly.

“Then why were you trying to get the whole bar lusting after you? Why did you make sure that everybody knew you weren’t mine?”

“I’m not yours,” you retort, reflexively. “I’m my own person. I belong to no one.” He rolls his eyes at that, like he’s tired of hearing it. “So this really is you just punishing me because I won’t let you be territorial? That I don’t need you to save me like some princess?”

“How many times are we going to have this conversation?” That makes you see red.

“Okay then! Let's have a different conversation. This one is about me waiting for you to be protective, when I actually need it, while some creepy guy trying to ruin my evening won't leave me alone. But you never come. Why?”

“I’m not punishing you. You just never want my help so I thought I wouldn’t burden you with it!” You’re both yelling now, and it echoes in the tiled bathroom.

“You’re literally describing punishing me. To teach me a lesson, what, that I need you?” You’re just goading Damiano at this point. You know he’s never stoop this low, which is why his response absolutely floors you.

“Yes, well, no! No, not like that. Ugh!” He lets out a noise of frustration and puts his head in his hands. “You talk about how you don’t need me or want my help so goddamn much that a part of me is just waiting for you to leave!” You’re stunned at his confession. You don’t expect this type of mixed-up macho egotism from Damiano.

“I’m not going to leave! Being warm and fuzzy isn’t my strong suit, but I’m not going to leave. What the - Dami you can’t not tell me you’re feeling this way. I did need your help tonight.” He looks uneasy, shifting his weight back and forth

“I’m sorry. Regardless of the context, it's inexcusable that I did nothing. I could have put you in danger, I’m sorry.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful, looks so sick with guilt, that you feel the weight in your gut as well.

“I forgive you for that, Damiano, but what about the rest of it?” Your voices have returned to conversational volume, which is reassuring.

“What about the dress? Obviously you can wear what you want but…”

“I wore it to surprise you, but then I took one too many vodka shots with Rhi and I forgot. It's that simple.”

“I wish we never went out tonight,” Damiano groans, rubbing his already flushed face harshly. “I’m not as good at compartmentalizing our dynamic. It’s not just during sex for me. Shit triggers me and then I have to disengage or I lose it. Like you showing off for the whole damn club tonight.”

“Okay, but that wasn’t my intent, Damiano. I can wear what I want -” He growls in frustration, pushing by you as he storms out of the bathroom.

“You never fucking get it. I don’t want to possess you or own you as some sort of object. I just don't want anyone else to either.” Who was he even talking about?

“Wait, you think I’m cheating on you? Because I would never do that!”

“I know that, and you know that, but no one else does! All those people thought that they could just take you from me. Like -” Damiano focuses on the language he uses next, “like we weren’t exclusive.That you wore that dress to seduce them, and you won’t let me do anything about it so I just have to sit there and take it.” He couldn’t do anything to assure himself of his place in your life because you reject protectiveness, possessiveness, ownership, territorialism, which resulted in jealousy. Perhaps not all those impulses found their roots in sexism and toxic masculinity.

“So if you don’t want to own me..? But, as a Dom, I just thought -”

“I don’t want to own you like a thing I can put on a shelf. I want people to know that I’m the only guy you’re with, I want you to know I’m the only guy you’re with.” It finally clicks into place: Damiano is insecure. You thought it less possible than jealousy.

“You’ll feel better, if I remind you, that I know, you’re the only one?” It's a mental tongue twister.

“I know it sounds confusing and stupid, but -”

“No. It makes sense. Remember that I’m not a mind reader, Dami.”  He nods, bashful. You’ll have to reassess the emotional articulation in your relationship later. For now, you’re so relieved that the tension is being resolved, it feels as though you take your first breath of the evening. He exhales sharply as well.

“I’m the only person you kiss. I’m the only person you fuck. I’m the only person you submit to. I’m the only person you bare your soul to. I’m yours and you’re mine.” You nod, Damiano’s phrasing finally translating into something you comprehend, something you agree with. “Okay?” He looks desperate for you to understand this.

“Okay,” you return. You’re naked underneath a damp bathrobe and he’s in soaking wet clothes, so you bundle up while he showers. You try to do soothing things: put on nice scented lotion, lighting candles, drinking a glass of ice water, dressing in Dami’s clothes. You put on a clean t-shirt, but miss his smell, the calming pheromones, so you walk over to the laundry basket. The first shirt you grab is cotton with a logo on the front, printed to look already faded. First, you lift it to your nose and inhale lightly, before burying your face in the fabric, trying to breath in enough scent that you can almost taste it. It’s a gym shirt, reeking of his body on a hot day. It smells slick and golden. Huffing his dirty clothes is objectively gross, but can negligibly feel your serotonin levels rising in response to Daminao’s musk.

He taps on the door frame twice with his middle knuckle and you startle, pulling the garment away from your face, but you’ve already been caught.

“You’re just in your own little world today aren't you?” He’s smirking and saunters towards you, confidence returning. “You know you can have the real thing right?”

“Yeah, but this shirt didn’t need Jules to talk some sense into it tonight. Much lower maintenance,” you tease, but it serves a purpose. If you can joke about something, you can also move on from it. The right kind of humor is like taking bullets out of a gun.

“Oh yeah, because you’re known for being easy going.” He smiles lovingly and you know that he’s referencing your ability to accidentally intimidate all men around you. It's not really a critique of you, but rather of the world. That masculinity would view female power through a negative lens and feel threatened by it. “Half the guys were terrified of you today.”

“I didn’t even fucking talk to them!” You and Damiano chuckle and you’re so relieved to be laughing that it just makes you laugh harder. All of tonight's emotional labor has you so exhausted that you’re giggling like fools, a bit delirious, but happy.

When you’re both upright, you hold your arms out and Dami pulls you in for a kiss. Your mouth’s move slowly, expressing fondness for the other. He holds you against him, not in a bone-crushing embrace, but with tenderness. He runs one hand through your hair again and again, stroking it, tucking pieces behind your ear. When he does this Damiano caresses the shell of your ear between his thumb and pointer finger, moving down until he pulls gently on your earlobe.

Instead of throwing your arms around his neck, you wrap them around his chest, like a hug. You sway, dancing without music by shifting your weight, alternating feet. You’ve been together long enough that you’ve found your rhythm when kissing. You know when to switch the angle of your head, when to chase lips and when to let your lips chased. Except this time you’re so sapped of energy that both devolve into giggles. You’re still embracing, but with your heads thrown back in laughter. When you attempt to go back to making out, it's too much teeth and not enough tongue. It’s like you’re teenagers who haven’t yet learned you can’t kiss and smile at the same time. Just kids, giddy with their own inexperience.

“Oh my god, I need to sleep,” groans Damiano. But you don’t get ready for bed, you just stand there, hugging. You’re not sure for how long, but it's not long enough.

Notes: holy shit writing this was like pulling teeth. I'm sorry it took so long. I am so very grateful for all the support I've received. I really really hope this doesn't disappoint. Jumping right into smut felt unrealistic here, but I can right a bonus part for you horny motherfuckers.

Masterlist

[ktmarison]

album  sentence  starters.

’  at  least,  that’s  what  google  told  me.  ‘  

’  but  sometimes  critics  would  murder  all  the  artist.  '  

’  an  album’s  not  forever.  '  

’  it’s  a  dangerous  endeavor.  '  

’  an  album’s  not  forever,  but  the  writing  on  it  is.  '  

’  when  i  was  born,  i  looked  like  a  hairy  gnome.  '  

’  i  imagine  a  future  version  of  me,  it’s  the  man  who  i  would  become  if  i  could.  then  i  think  of  my  current  reality.  '  

’  i  look  nothing  like  the  anxious  boy  in  photographs  whose  dreams  felt  so  completely  far  away.  '  

’  now  life’s  worth  living,  but  the  self-doubt’s  still  at  play.  '  

’  kids  are  completely  bewildered  by  the  idea  of  music  that  you  can  hold.  '  

’  the  slang’s  outdated,  but  the  point  is  still  well  heard.  '  

’  family  is  forever.  '  

’  passion  is  forever.  '  

’  dreaming  is  forever.  '  

’  memories  are  forever.  '  

’  theatre  is  forever.  '  

’  critics  are  forever.  '  

’  breakup’s  not  forever.  '  

’  existence  is  forever.  '  

’  anger’s  not  forever.  '  

’  your  struggle’s  not  forever.  '  

’  when  a  fire  starts  in  the  hull,  how  much  time  do  you  have  before  it  spreads  to  the  deck  ?  '  

’  how  do  you  tell  your  family  that  you  wanna  quit  school  and  just  play  with  your  band  ?  '  

’  when  a  fire  starts  burning,  how  much  time  do  you  have  before  it  burns  itself  out  ?  '  

’  why  do  i  feel  like  i’m  choking  lately  ?  '  

’  maybe  for  once  i’ll  really  try,  or  fuck  it  all  and  just  get  high,  'cause  that’s  an  answer.  '  

’  what’s  the  furthest  distance  a  ship  can  be  from  the  shore  before  it  loses  its  signal  ?  '  

’  maybe  i’ll  practice  my  guitar,  or  read  a  book,  or  steal  a  car.  '  

’  i’ll  get  a  job  and  get  paid,  or  get  a  girlfriend  and  get  laid.  '  

’  i’ll  join  the  army,  go  to  war.  '  

’  i  need  an  answer.  '  

’  maybe  it’s  okay  that  i  don’t  have  a  plan,  and  i  don’t  have  a  clue.  '  

’  i’m  nineteen,  and  that  doesn’t  mean  that  i  should  know  exactly  what  i  wanna  do,  right  ?  '  

’  i’ve  got  time  to  make  mistakes.  '  

’  but  i  am  scared  and  i’m  afraid  that  a  decision  won’t  get  made,  and  i’ll  be  like  this  forever.  '  

‘  time’s  up.  ’  

’  to  beat  malaise,  i  think  i’ll  clean.  '  

’  that  doesn’t  look  like  me  at  all.  '  

’  i  remember  taking  this.  i’m  all  aglow  because  he’s  giving  me  a  kiss.  that’s  how  i  know  how  long  ago  it  was.  '  

’  ignore  the  black  marks  on  the  wall.  '  

’  i  know  she  did  it  to  provoke,  'cause  she’s  exactly  like  her  dad.  '  

’  nothing’s  wrong,  and  i’m  no  longer  crying.  '  

’  that  mailman  likes  what  he  just  saw.  '  

’  aw  shit,  i  love  to  clean  the  house  !  '  

’  rip  the  pictures  off  the  wall.  '  

’  i  love  it  more  than  i  love  (name).  if  i  could  marry  it,  i  would.  '  

’  it  drives  me  wild,  it  does  the  job.  does  what  that  asshole  never  could.  '  

’  my  daughter  used  to  love  me.  she  doesn’t  anymore.  '  

’  every  time  you  make  a  compromise,  it  comes  at  quite  a  price.  '  

’  my  day  was  fine.  and  how  are  you  ?  '  

‘  i  feel  no  sorrow  because  i’ll  see  you  tomorrow.  ’  

’  i’m  sorta,  like,  the  neatest  guy  in  school.  '  

’  when  things  get  chilly,  that  is  when  i  want  them  hot.  '  

’  it  might  sound  silly,  but  it  bother’s  me  a  lot.  '  

’  they  know  the  way  their  whole  lives  will  play  out.  but  me  ?  i  don’t  have  a  clue  of  what  i’m  gonna  do  or  even  what  my  story  is  about.  '  

’  he’s  never  making  up  his  all-american  mind.  '  

’  i  hung  my  barbie  with  a  wire,  then  i  set  her  hair  on  fire.  she  looked  better  that  way.  '  

’  i  brought  her  carcass  to  class  to  keep  me  company.  a  move  which  was  apparently  not  cool.  '  

’  i  don’t  crave  acceptance.  '  

’  i  like  studying  bugs.  '  

’  no,  i  don’t  want  your  hugs.  please  just  leave  me  alone.  '  

’  i  am  a  strange  and  unusual  girl.  '  

’  i  need  a  place  where  i  show  my  face  and  strangers  don’t  tell  me  to  smile.  '  

’  i  need  a  place  where  a  girl  can  just  be  herself  for  a  while.  '  

’  you  need  a  pill,  you  need  a  bed.  that’s  what  they  say  when  mommy’s  dead.  '  

’  i’m  sad  my  mother  died  for  sure,  but  i  was  so  this  way  before.  '  

’  it’s  dumb,  just  let  me  be  numb.  '  

’  is  that  place  really  far  ?  '  

’  is  there  room  there  for  me  ?  '  

’  we’ll  be  together  there  in  the  nether,  laughing  as  death  knells  sweetly  chime.  '  

’  i  know  you’re  fine.  '  

’  i  know  you  don’t  need  me.  '  

’  i  just  get  scared  and  act  like  a  jerk.  '  

’  nothing’s  going  to  hurt  you.  not  on  my  watch.  '  

’  i’m  gonna  protect  you  from  former  mistakes.  '  

’  i’m  gonna  protect  you,  i  swear.  '  

’  i’ll  be  there  to  protect  you  from  all  of  the  bad  things  that  happen  in  florida.  '  

’  please  don’t  shout.  '  

’  i  know  you  know  what’s  best.  '  

’  it’s  not  that  i  don’t  trust  you.  it’s  just  i  don’t  just  trust  this  town.  '  

’  yeah,  i  really  didn’t  wanna  argue  today.  '  

’  if  you  really  listened  to  the  things  that  i  say,  you’d  hear  they  come  from  a  good  place.  '  

’  i’ve  seen  what  can  happen  to  people  like  us.  it’s  enough  to  make  you  sick.  '  

’  i  know  it’s  silly  that  i  worry,  but  i  do.  '  

’  i  wish  i  had  someone  who  said  this  shit  to  me.  '  

’  you’re  looking  blah  as  ever.  '  

’  my  daily  routine  is  all  such  an  endeavor.  '  

’ ��no.  not  gonna  happen.  '  

’  he  got  his  hoodie  at  the  fulton  flea.  '  

’  i  see  ironic  patches  and  my  soul  detaches.  '  

’  i  can’t  feel  a  thing  anymore.  '  

’  it’s  all  been  done  before.  '  

’  everything’s  a  horrible  bore.  '  

’  living  is  a  terrible  chore.  '  

’  there’s  nothing  new  to  do  in  brooklyn  anymore.  '  

’  i  didn’t  always  use  to  be  this  way.  '  

’  remember  how  i  felt  on  move-in  day  ?  i  was  so  young  and  connected.  '  

’  i  think  i  need  a  change.  '  

’  i  need  to  feel  some  heaven.  '  

’  i  don’t  care  where  you  were  on  9/11.  i  mean,  you  didn’t  even  live  in  new  york  at  the  time,  so  it  wasn’t  really  a  thing  for  you.  '  

’  it’s  totally  late.  '  

’  we’re  by  that  club  that’s  owned  by  beck.  ’

  ’  that  was  kind  of  whatever,  but  it  was  mostly  dumb.  '  

’  would  i  feel  different  if  i  lived  in  queens  ?  '  

’  it  doesn’t  matter  anyway.  '  

’  there’s  nothing  new  to  do  in  new  york  anymore.  '  

’  there’s  nothing  new  to  do  in  america  anymore.  '  

’  there’s  nothing  new  to  do  in  the  universe  anymore.  '  

’  it’s  all  been  done  before.  '  

’  i’m  feeling  alright.  a  little  depressed,  but  mostly  alright.  '  

’  oh,  how  i  love  a  novelty  mug.  '  

’  you  can  tell  that  she’s  got  guts  !  '  

’  she  struts  so  effortlessly  and  delicately,  she’s  so  different  from  me.  '  

’  i  don’t  want  her  to  think  that  i’m  some  perv  on  some  voyeuristic  trip.  '  

’  i  promise  i’m  not  looking  out  of  carnal  frustration,  it’s  more  i’m  just  observing,  rapt  in  admiration.  '  

’  you  make  me  feel  so  clean.  '  

’  please  show  me  what  to  do.  '  

’  i  wish  i  was  just  like  you.  '  

’  i  think  it’s  time  that  we  meet.  '  

’  wait,  how  did  i  even  get  on  the  street  ?  '  

’  a  couple  couples  see  me  fall  all  over,  but  none  of  them  cares.  '  

‘  i  wonder  what  you  think.  ’  

‘  your  life  will  be  the  same,  but  i  am  not  the  same.  ’  

’  i  dream  about  a  time  many  years  ago,  back  when  things  were  better  in  many  ways.  '  

’  at  least  we  still  got  one  thing  that  looks  the  way  it  did.  '  

’  it  might  be  safer  for  you  to  walk  to  school,  but  you’ll  never  be  as  cool  as  raul  julia  heading  to  rehearsal  in  the  fall.  '  

’  new  york  at  the  moment  is  a  troubling  place.  '  

’  take  me  back  to  the  way  back  when,  'cause  i  know  that  life  was  better  then.  '  

’  change  is  good,  but  at  what  price  ?  sometimes,  i’m  just  not  sure.  '  

’  i  know  we’re  better  for  the  progress  made,  but  i  still  dream  of  when  the  city  was  pure.  '  

’  better  now,  or  better  then  ?  how  do  you  compare  ?  '  

’  it  wasn’t  all  perfect,  last  i  checked.  i  know  that  things  look  different  in  retrospect  and  with  every  cause  comes  so  many  effects…  good  lord,  nostalgia’s  so  complex.  '  

’  man,  i  envy  girls  like  that.  '  

’  everybody’s  all  hypnotized  by  her  little  display.  '  

’  i’m  not  surprised,  i  see  it  every  day  of  my  life.  '  

’  i’m  playing  the  whore  and  the  wife,  but  that’s  fine.  i  don’t  wanna  play  the  princess  anyway.  '  

’  i  will  not  blend  into  a  crowd.  '  

’  please  let  it  be  understood  that  even  if  i  could,  i  wouldn’t  wanna  play  the  princess  anyway.  '  

’  confidence  is  not  a  skill  i  learned.  '  

’  they  get  pretty  far  playing  rough,  but  i  kinda  wish  i  was  that  tough.  i  mean,  i’m  fine.  '  

’  i  mean,  i’d  do  it  as  a  joke.  '  

’  i’m  allergic  to  flowers.  '  

’  i  bet  she’s  not  allergic  to  flowers.  '  

’  as  much  as  i  do  hate  to  say,  i  think  that  it’s  sorta  okay,  if  she  wants  to  be  that  way.  '  

’  she  had  potential.  '  

’  i  think  it’s  worth  a  shot.  '  

’  yeah,  you  should’ve  heard  the  cheering  in  the  place.  '  

’  her  skin  was  in  a  mushy  pile  of  blood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  '  

’  it’s  amazing  how  quick  things  can  move  when  unique’s  not  in  the  way.  '  

’  there’s  no  more  passion.  she  just  sees  it  as  logistics.  '  

’  see,  the  star  don’t  need  a  mouth.  she  just  needs  a  name.  '  

’  her  stratospheric  rise  and  fall  is  nothing  new.  '  

’  somebody  help  !  '  

’  she  just  keeps  crying  on  and  on  and  on.  '  

’  she  was  usually  screaming  anyway,  so  her  yelling ��didn’t  cause  dismay.  no  one  checked  on  her  for  at  least  a  day.  '  

’  here’s  the  moral  of  the  story:  if  all  you  do  is  just  sing  loud  and  high,  when  you  die  nobody  cares.  '  

’  it  doesn’t  feel  good.  '  

’  things  are  just  weird.  '  

’  words  don’t  come  easy  for  me,  i  can’t  really  explain.  '  

’  how  could  you  leave  me  this  way  ?  '  

’  what  you’ve  done  to  me  is  wrong.  it’s  been  your  fault  all  along.  '  

’  i  promise  i  won’t.  but  if  i  did,  would  you  be  mad  ?  '  

’  you’ve  got  no  heart.  '  

’  you’ve  got  no  soul.  '  

’  your  brain  is  what  is  wrong.  '  

’  i  don’t  care  if  you  can’t  or  you  can.  if  you  can’t  say  it  to  my  face,  then  you’re  no  kind  of  man.  '  

’  hey,  at  least  change  my  fucking  name  when  you  goddamn  write  your  song  about  me.  '  

’  all  the  mistakes  that  he  made  about  the  girl  don’t  bother  him  as  much  as  everybody  things.  '  

’  all  the  mistakes  that  he  made  about  the  girl  are  different  from  the  mistakes  he  makes  when  he  drinks.  '  

’  i’d  bet  you’d  like  to  think  he’s  got  so  many  regrets,  but  the  way  he  sees  it,  he  did  nothing  wrong.  '  

’  the  anger  and  the  objects  he  would  hurt  were  not  the  things  that  made  life  unlivable.  '  

’  so  what  if  he  had  trouble  letting  down  his  guard  ?  it  wasn’t  his  fault  she  was  so  quick  to  feel.  '  

’  she’d  melt  every  time  that  he’d  sing.  '  

’  what  are  you  scared  of  ?  '  

’  yes,  there  were  mistakes.  but  it  doesn’t  matter  anymore  because  she’s  not  coming  back.  '  

’  all  the  mistakes  that  he  made  about  the  girl  keep  fucking  with  his  life  in  such  surprising  ways.  '  

’  he  likes  to  think  that  if  he  had  to  do  it  again,  he  could  fix  the  things  that  he  did  all  wrong  and  he’s  not  the  same  as  he  was  back  then.  '  

’  the  one  thing  that’s  totally  clear  is  he  wishes  she  was  still  here.  '  

’  he  tries  to  be  different,  but  he’s  still  out  of  touch.  '  

’  well,  that’s  what  i  would  do  if  it  were  me.  but  it’s  obviously  not.  '  

’  i’m  filled  with  sorrows  in  a  million  ways.  '  

’  i  hate  today.  '  

’  i’m  just  not  meant  for  these  times.  '  

’  i  try  to  be  like  other  guys  and  everybody  rolls  their  eyes.  '  

’  i  pretend  that  i  don’t  care.  '  

’  most  people  think  i’m  weird.  '  

’  all  my  friends  have  disappeared.  or  i  guess  they  were  never  there.  '  

’  my  social  life  would  be  on  fire  if  only  i  was  born  sixty  years  prior.  '  

’  everybody  on  their  phone  makes  me  feel  so  all  alone.  '  

’  life  is  complicated,  things  don’t  go  as  planned.  people  act  in  ways  that  i  don’t  understand.  '  

’  it  all  came  crashing  down  through  no  fault  of  my  own.  '  

’  i  tried  to  fit  in  and  they  told  me  i  could  not.  '  

’  the  outside  world  is  overrated  by  a  lot.  '  

’  i’ll  build  a  fort  all  by  myself,  alone.  '  

’  man,  it  sucks  that  there  is  no  one  who  really  understands  me.  '  

’  if  you  try  to  enter,  you  will  be  denied.  '  

'  i  have  been  away  so  long,  been  afraid  to  show  my  face.  but  i'm  a  man  now.  '  

'  i'm  not  a  man,  i'm  just  a  shape.  '  

'  everything  looks  weird  and  new.  '  

'  i  went  back  to  the  old  house.  it  was  crumbling  like  a  grave.  '  

'  if  i  can't  get  you  back  today,  i'm  gonna  make  this  whole  town  pay.  '  

'  welcome  home.  '

'  i  let  you  take  advantage  of  me  because  i  like  it  when  you  shove  me.  i  know  it  makes  you  feel  good.  '  

'  although  it  is  understood  that  you'll  be  the  death  of  me,  still,  i  got  the  sympathy  for  the  killer.  '  

'  i'm  grateful  every  time  you  choose  me.  '  

'  we  agreed  to  our  roles,  and  we  may  not  be  couple  goals.  .  .  '  

'  darling,  i'm  a  dying  breed.  '  

'  danger  is  impending,  i  can  guess  the  ending.  i  should  run.  '  

'  poor,  poor  baby.  '  

'  i  let  you  take  advantage  of  me,  it's  how  you  show  me  that  you  love  me.  '  

'  i'm  glad  that  you're  in  my  life.  '  

'  here's  where  you  put  the  knife.  '  

'  darling,  sweetie,  look  at  me.  '

'  i  try  to  focus  on  the  work,  but  it's  hell.  '  

'  i  try  to  not  just  go  berserk,  but  that  is  not  going  well.  '  

'  these  days  it's  harder  than  it  seems  to  ignore  that  she's  accomplished  all  my  dreams  then  some  more.  '  

'  i  know  that  jealousy  should  not  be  allowed  in  my  heart,  but  then  i  see  a  poster  of  her  and  i've  got  to  just  rip  it  apart.  '  

'  i  try  to  channel  all  this  hate  into  good.  '  

'  i  wanna  sing  about  hope,  about  faith,  about  loving  and  persevering.  '  

'  i  wanna  sing  about  me  and  you.  '  

'  my  psychotherapist  is  great.  well,  except,  when  she's  not.  '  

'  she  says  i  must  eliminate  this  fixation  i  got.  '  

'  i  swear,  someone  would  think  i'm  ill  if  this  didn't  make  sense.  '  

'  it's  not  lost  on  me  you're  here  at  my  show.  with  your  support,  i  try  to  let  my  anger  go.  '  

'  as  i  look  out  at  your  face,  i  can  tell  you'd  rather  be  with  her.  '  

'  i'm  gonna  sing  until  the  anger  and  jealousy,  illness  and  horror,  just  numbs  me.  '

'  without  her,  i  would  not  survive.  '  

'  she  feeds  me,  comforts  me,  she  is  my  family.  '  

'  my  thoughts  start  to  splinter  and  she  keeps  me  sane.  '  

'  you  say  she's  not  my  type,  but  i  don't  think  you  understand.  '  

'  she's  not  the  one  who  keeps  me  here.  no,  i  am  the  one  who  wants  her  near.  '  

'  i  could  leave  her  if  i  choose.  '  

'  it's  not  like  i  wanna  quit.  ’

‘  i  just  pull  away  a  bit.  .  .  she  does  not  like  that  very  much.  '  

'  thanks  for  all  you  gave,  but  i  am  not  your  slave.  '  

'  she  burns  me  and  beats  me  and  ties  me  to  bed.  '  

'  she  loves  me,  she  hates  me.  '

'  aw,  shucks,  it's  no  big  deal.  '  

'  i  mean,  it's  not  like  i  didn't  know  that  this  was  your  m.o.  '  

'  if  i'm  buying  beer,  you're  dear  and  kind.  but  if  i'm  not  near,  you're  deaf  and  blind.  '  

'  i  try  to  not  hang  on  too  tight,  but  if  i  don't  you'll  just  take  flight.  '  

'  i  hate  you  until  we  reunite.  '  

'  it  aggravates  the  piss  outta  me,  'cause  i  thought  we  had  a  history.  '  

'  doesn't  it  count  for  something  ?  '  

'  if  you  knew  just  how  bad  that  it  hurt,  you'd  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  '  

'  if  you  knew  just  how  hard  i  cried,  you  wouldn't  look  in  the  mirror.  '

'  i  know  you're  really  not  that  bad  of  a  man  and  that's  what  makes  it  all  worse.  '  

'  if  you  can't  really  see  all  you've  been  putting  me  through,  i  hope  you  try.  at  least  try.  '  

'  safe  travels.  '

'  the  saddest  thing  about  having  one  leg  is  that  it  isn't  the  saddest  thing  about  me.  '  

'  it's  becoming  clear  everybody  does  fine  without  me.  '  

'  condescending  pity's  not  my  fave.  '  

'  i'm  just  being  real.  no  need  to  smile  or  frown  or  get  all  pouty  and  weepy.  '  

'  he  don't  have  to  be  from  france,  i  just  want  somebody  to  spoon  with.  '  

'  see,  i  have  never  been  touched.  '  

'  ew,  get  away.  '  

'  he  don't  have  to  taste  like  honey,  he  can  be  a  fuckin'  slob  !  '  

'  i  don't  want  a  rose,  and  i  don't  want  the  moon.  all  i  want  is  a  dude  who'd  be  down  for  a  really,  really  good  spoon.  '

'  i  just  want  her  to  feel  alright.  '  

'  we  all  get  a  little  sad  sometimes.  '  

'  i  want  to  watch  her  chew  her  food.  '  

'  we  all  act  a  little  bad  sometimes.  '  

'  if  you  rearrange  the  letters  in  both  our  names,  you  get  one  away  from  normal.  '  

'  we're  not  in  love,  i  wish  we  were.  '  

'  i  can  tell  you're  hungry  and  you  need  some  food,  and  if  i  didn't  offer,  i'd  be  awfully  rude.  '

'  baby,  let's  go  to  bed.  '  

'  the  moonlight  taunts  me.  '  

'  now  i  have  to  run  away  from  you.  '  

'  i'll  be  back  here  in  the  morning.  '  

'  if  you  could  see  me,  you'd  be  frightened  half  to  death,  even  if  you  knew  the  motions  i  was  going  through  i'd  done  a  thousand  times.  '  

'  there  are  times  i  don't  feel  as  guilty  as  i  should.  '  

'  i'll  seem  innocent  as  ever.  '  

'  please  try  to  be  discreet.  '  

'  feed  your  filthy  hunger,  but  clean  up  the  evidence.  '  

'  i  say  it's  just  because  i  love  you  so  much,  but  i  think  we  both  know  that's  a  lie.  '

‘  i’m  sorry  for  the  times  i  ran  away.  ’

'  there  won't  be  no  snow,  won't  be  no  joy,  because  i  had  to  go  and  be  a  naughty  little  boy.  '  

'  she  shed  a  tear  when  i  said  she  wouldn't  see  me  on  the  25th  this  year.  '  

'  i  committed  a  crime  at  christmas  time,  so  i  won't  be  coming  home.  '  

'  i'll  serve  my  time,  unless  santa  stuffs  my  stocking  with  a  pick-axe  and  a  file.  '  

'  i  never  cared  for  christmas  much  before.  '  

'  now  i'd  atone,  i'd  scream  amen,  if  it  meant  i'd  get  to  taste  my  mama's  stuffing  once  again.  '

'  they  tell  me  that  my  songs  have  gone  out  of  style.  '  

'  what  else  you  got  ?  '  

'  if  you'd  come  in  here  in  '73,  you're  the  kind  that  i  would  have  signed  instantly.  but  it's  now,  not  then.  '  

'  they  don't  like  my  sound.  they  tell  me  my  singing's  out  of  style.  '  

'  i  remind  him  of  a  girl  who  used  to  work  in  this  place.  she  made  it  big.  '  

'  i  could  smell  the  alcohol  upon  her  breath.  '

'  they  were  friends  but  kind  of  competitive.  '  

'  they  were  real  new  yorkers  down  to  the  core.  '  

'  things  in  new  york  are  temporary.  you  can  beg  it  to  stop  changing,  but  it  won't.  '  

'  remember  the  thing  you  once  admired.  '

'  you're  used  to  thinking  about  him  in  a  certain  way  from  the  persona  that  he  displayed.  then  something  changes,  and  he  changes  from  a  guy  that  you'd  never  be  into  into  a  guy  that  you'd  kinda  be  into.  '  

'  i  don't  always  relate  to  other  people  my  age,  except  when  i'm  on  the  stage.  '  

'  why  am  i  telling  this  to  you  ?  i  guess  there's  a  part  of  me  that  wants  to.  who  knew  ?  '

'  i've  got  a  little  problem  that's  really  got  me  low.  i've  got  a  crush  on  this  beautiful  boy,  but  nobody  can  know.  '  

'  if  we  were  ever  seen  together  in  public,  my  friends  would  scream  and  mother  would  die.  '  

'  his  hair  is  dirty  and  he  paints  his  nails  black.  '  

'  he  curses  like  he's  got  tourette's,  and  he  tokes  and  smokes  clove  cigarettes,  and  i'm  in  love.  '  

'  we're  like  mickey  d's  and  fine  wine.  '  

'  in  that  instant,  i  saw,  i  knew  that  his  nipples  were  pierced,  but  his  heart  was  too.  '  

'  he's  in  love  and  he  wants  me  to  know.  '

‘  i’m  in  love.  ’

'  it's  no  big  thing,  i  swear.  '  

'  i  was  bored  and  she  was  there.  '  

'  you  wanna  talk  a  while  ?  '  

'  i  went  because  i  was  feeling---  well,  no,  feeling's  not  the  right  word.  no,  i  went  because  i  was  crying.  well,  not  crying,  more  like  choking.  '  

'  what's  happening  to  me  ?  '  

'  sometimes  i  think  about  something  that  i  can't  stop  thinking  about.  '  

'  i  care  so  much  it  scares  me.  '  

'  i  mean,  it's  just  like,  whatever.  '

'  i  fell  in  love  in  juvie  hall.  '  

'  i  used  to  freak,  i  used  to  cry.  i  wanted  to  kill,  wanted  to  die.  '  

'  would  an  angel  such  as  she  ever  get  with  me  ?  '  

'  the  way  she  looked  at  me  in  anger  therapy...  it  made  all  my  defenses  fall.  '  

'  i  just  gotta  tell  you  that,  um,  i  think  you're  pretty  fine.  it's  not  just  your  looks,  it's  everything  about  you.  '  

'  people  say  that  i  got  too  many  feelings  for  one  little  body.  '

'  there's  a  crazy  little  dance  that's  sweeping  the  nation.  '  

'  it's  an  easy  little  cure  for  your  frustration.  '  

'  now  it's  time  for  everyone  to  dance  with  me  !  '  

'  i  hope  your  body's  feeling  limber  !  '

'  when  you  get  made  fun  of  at  school,  they'll  tell  you  them  bullies  are  jealous  and  stupid  because  you're  so  cool.  '  

'  when  it's  time  to  go  to  prom,  they'll  give  you  a  condom  and  a  shot  of  binaca.  '  

'  you're  the  bomb.  '  

'  they'll  made  disapprove  a  little  and  grit  their  teeth,  but  they  will  understand  what's  underneath.  '  

'  they  love  you  so  much  that  they  will  tolerate  all  the  silly  crap  you  say.  '

'  i  heard  him  coming  from  miles  away.  '  

'  we'll  be  friends  until  the  day  we  die.  '  

'  that's  nice,  you  say  i'm  a  stand  up  guy  even  though  i  have  terrible  scoliosis.  '  

'  have  you  been  taking  dance  classes  ?  '  

'  we  very  rarely  fight.  '  

'  when  life  gets  tough  or  too  intense,  i  know  he's  got  my  back.  '  

'  i  love  it  that  you  have  skin.  '  

'  i  love  you,  you  old  bag  of  bones.  '

'  it  always  seems  like  i'm  out  of  place.  '  

'  everybody  screams  when  they  see  my  face.  '  

'  i  try  best  at  the  latest  fashion,  but  my  issues  still  feel  unresolved.  '  

'  my  awkwardness  is  so  distinct.  '  

'  i  wonder  why  i'm  still  alive.  '

'  i'm  beautiful.  i'm  perfect  too.  '  

'  i'm  a  celebration  of  time  and  modulation.  '  

'  i  am  confident  in  who  i'll  become.  '  

'  honey,  don't  be  dumb.  '

'  who  i  am  currently  isn't  who  i  am  gonna  be.  '  

'  i  don't  care  and  i  don't  mind,  but  what  if  this  transition  is  the  thing  by  which  i  am  defined  ?  '

'  i  think  i'm  starting  to  forget  his  face.  '  

'  i  think  i'm  starting  to  forget  his  hands.  the  way  they  looked,  the  way  they  felt  when  holding  mine.  i  think  i  remember  they  felt  strong,  but  i  can't  be  sure,  it's  been  so  long.  '  

'  he  gave  me  a  kiss  and  whispered  something  to  me,  but  i  can't  remember  what  he  said.  '

'  don't  you  fall  down  now,  you're  almost  to  the  other  side.  '  

'  if  you  don't  pull  through,  you're  gonna  scar  the  children  who  had  faith  in  you.  '  

'  as  you're  choking  on  a  cloud,  think  of  just  how  freaking  loud  they  will  scream  when  you've  returned.  '  

'  every  compliment  you  field  is  another  wound  that's  healed.  '  

'  my  power's  gone.  i  need  to  pay  the  bill  to  get  it  turned  back  on.  '  

'  i  think  how  lately  i  just  feel  beat  down  and  tired.  the  motivation's  not  the  same,  my  drive's  expired.  '

'  i  can't  dance  in  the  rain  because  i'll  corrode  and  rust  up.  '  

'  i  wish  i  was  flesh  and  bone.  '  

'  i  know  that  next  to  them  i  just  look  like  an  appliance.  '  

'  i  keep  keeping  everybody  at  an  arm's  length.  '  

'  i'm  more  than  some  discarded  steel.  '  

'  i  can  freak  out  and  feel,  i  think  that  that  means  that  i'm  real.  '

'  i  threw  out  my  tickets  to  the  opera  because  nobody  wanted  to  go.  '  

'  i  thought  i'd  just  sit  here  contently.  '  

'  i'm  gonna  put  a  party  hat  on  my  cat.  '  

'  we'll  be  laughing  and  doing  the  lindy,  and  i'll  be  the  belle  of  all  things.  '  

'  you  back  the  hell  up.  i  don't  want  no  part  of  that.  '  

'  why  do  i  do  this  ?  '  

'  it's  better  than  living  in  a  dumpster  !  '

‘  you  are  quite  something.  ’

‘  that’s  what  my  therapist  says  !  ’

'  you  better  thank  your  lucky  stars  that  i  exist.  '

'  i'm  hanging  around  and  dreaming  of  chicks.  '  

'  i  would  thrive  in  the  caribbean.  '  

'  sometimes  my  mom  forgets  to  feed  me.  '  

'  they  don't  understand  when  i  make  a  noise  or  when  i  try  to  escape  or  break  my  toys,  that's  just  how  i  communicate.  '

'  he  was  supposed  to  be  watching  me,  but  he  was  stoned.  '  

'  when  he  slept,  i  went  through  all  of  his  stuff.  i  found  pills,  and  a  gun,  bit  a  beer,  bit  a  snuff.  '  

'  you're  the  best.  '  

'  we  love  how  you  play.  '  

'  i  was  nervous  and  nerdy  and  totally  shy.  '  

'  this  is  better  than  anything  else.  '  

'  my  acne  is  gone  and  my  mom's  not  divorced,  and  it's  all  good.  '

‘  it  hasn’t  all  been  perfect,  but  it’s  been  better  than  anything  else.  ’

'  i'm  gonna  find  the  bastard,  get  my  woman  back,  and  be  with  her  again  beneath  the  setting  sun.  '  

'  they  done  me  wrong,  i've  been  abused.  '  

'  revenge  has  long  since  been  defused.  '  

'  the  only  thing  i  know  how  to  do  is  to  live  and  breathe  and  die  for  you.  '

‘  no  one  else  would  understand.  ’

'  i  would  never  last  on  land.  '  

'  the  rules  that  we've  invented  allow  us  all  to  play.  '  

'  when  exits  are  presented,  we  stay.  '  

'  there's  so  many  strangers  there.  '  

'  everybody  lives  so  far  apart.  '  

'  we  find  the  solution  to  escape  our  fates.  '  

'  i  don't  know  where  i'd  be  if  you  weren't  here  with  me.  '  

'  lord,  what  would  i  do  if  i  didn't  have  you  ?  '

'  someone  else's  success  is  not  your  failure.  '  

'  hey,  it's  okay.  i  still  love  you.  '  

'  if  life  don't  give  you  what  you  need,  just  try  and  try  again.  '  

'  you  gotta  know  that  even  though  it's  so  cliche,  you  must  go  on  with  the  show.  '  

'  just  dust  yourself  off,  honey,  and  respect  that  that  was  a  sign.  '  

'  if  your  suicide  goes  bust,  then  you  absolutely  must  not  try  again.  '  

'  fuck  those  bastards,  find  a  friend.  '

[willadisastercry]

Keith relapsing and not being able to stop once he starts...

tw: in depth depiction of acting on self harm ideations/urges, scars, relapsing, becoming ill from blood loss, someone discovering a person after they relapse, rationalizing their self harm because the alternative is suicide, contradicting oneself and later very much deciding they would rather be unalived, panic attack symptoms, reopening a wound, allusion to surgery (stitches)

Keith’s coping skills are admittedly not his strong suit, neither are his self destructive tendencies that either have him isolating himself from the team or sacrificing himself for them. Believe it or not though, those weren’t even the worst of his bad habits. He hadn’t seriously been addicted in years, just here and then relapses. But he’d been looking at his scars a lot lately and wanting to make more, cut deeper. He hadn’t hurt himself while they’d been in space but was having more and more moments that he wanted to. And then when he finally concedes he sort of loses himself in it, not realizing what he’s doing and how far he’s pushing it until he’s on the verge of passing out.

(((( Please, please, please read the trigger warnings and proceed with caution before reading this. I vividly describe Keith’s internal struggle as he relapses from third person pov where he then passes out and is found by someone... if anything even remotely regarding self harming or someone discovering a person who has is sensitive to you I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ )))) Also it’s just very emotionally heavy so that is something to consider too!!!!!!

Part 1 / Part 2

He isn’t sure what it was that made him want to again.

The stark change in environment definitely didn’t help. Neither did the pressure of being the universe’s only hope. But he mainly attributed it to the lingering depression that he figured he was now just supposed to ignore.

Maybe it was none of it.

Or maybe it was all of it.

He just knew that the decision didn’t come after a particularly rough day or week. It didn’t come with tears or a surplus of emotions. It came when he thought he couldn’t possibly feel number.

The weight of his entire body on top of his legs as he walked to the showers didn’t convince him he was standing. The heat of the steaming water burned for only a moment and when it ran cold it didn’t shock him for much longer.

His vision tunneled as his gaze bore into the tiles in front of him, a soft static clouding it and making the bright lights of the communal bathroom appear to dim.

This happened occasionally, that he didn’t feel much of anything. Definitely not happy, but also not sad or frustrated or angry. Painfully neutral. Agonizingly numb. Like he was trudging through a thick fog and everything was too dull to feel strongly about so he was desperate to simply feel anything.

That’s why when he wrapped the towel around his waist and the rough fabric brushed against his thighs, he shuddered at being reminded of what was beneath, the sensitivity tempting him like an itch he needed to scratch.

He knew he shouldn’t do it here, that it was too risky. But his heart clenched and sunk at the thought of how empty he felt, devoid of all feeling except the urge to do something that might take away the awful nothing.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to help himself this time as he moved robotically across the washroom, his eyes still unfocused as he dug the razor he shaves with out of his toiletry bag. He had it disassembled in seconds and stood over the counter, mesmerized at how the blades glinted in his hand.

“Shit...” he breathed as he set them down.

He went to the pile of clothes he brought to change into and shrugged on his boxers, dropping the towel on the bench with the rest of his stuff before shrugging on his sweatshirt.

He stared at the old marks on his legs as he stepped through his gym shorts. They were mostly thin and pink, some white, some raised and a darker red. Most of them parallel to each other and only a few straying from the otherwise neat arrangement.

His heart lapped expectantly his chest. The desire felt more like a compulsion now, like nothing else would possibly help the way picking up the razor would. He knew it was his disordered mind making him think so irrationally, but in that moment he couldn’t see a reason to believe otherwise.

He walked back to the sinks and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser before picking the razor back up.

“Shit...” he whispered again.

It wasn’t that he was actively trying to stay clean but for one reason or another he had managed to be for a while. And then, however fleetingly, something in him recognized that he was breaking. That he was betraying a sort of progress he hadn’t intended to make by turning back to his worst habit, one that seemed more like an actual addiction when he really thought about it.

But it was better than the alternative. This was always better than the alternative.

(willa here-NO ITS NOT!)

His hands start moving in a way he knew all too well, tucking the leg of his shorts up and bringing the razor down with a steady hand.

He started in a sort of empty spot on his left thigh, a familiar ripple of nerve endings sparking in odd places, down his leg to his toes and up his back to his shoulder blade as he dared the blade deeper with each line.

With his other hand he caught the blood as it dripped with paper towels, occasionally pressing them against the wounds and noting how the harsh lights lit the bloody papers up when he held them a certain way.

It still shocked him how easy it was for him to do this, how desperate he was for more. More blood, more adrenaline, more lines on his skin.

He shuddered again, the hair on his legs perking up at how cold he was.

He stared down at the mess that was now his thigh, a pleasant hum running through his body as his breathing picked up now that his brain was making the connection that his body was hurting.

That was a start, but ne wanted to feel the rush. The dizzying malaise he usually got from going deeper but he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d be able to get all the way to the infirmary with the state of his thigh already and retrieve the right supplies to take care of himself after he did more damage to it.

So he steeled himself and pushed the waistband of his underwear down on his right hip, holding his sweatshirt up under his arm. The skin there was taught and smooth, he’d cut there before but nothing more than a few thin white lines remained. It had hurt more doing it on there, he had to press harder and it stung worse, whatever he managed also took longer to heel because it’d constantly open back up.

But he didn’t care anymore. He wanted to feel the pain even after it was over, wanted something there that he could aggravate to remind him he was still a person for when he felt like he wasn’t.

And so he pressed the razor down. The bloody towel from before falling to the ground as he took a new one to his hip. Red began coating his leg in thin trails, a small puddle of it gathering at his foot but he couldn’t find the energy to bother with the mess at that moment.

Because, fuck.

It hurt just like he knew it would and he breathed out a heavy breath. His legs were beginning to feel heavier, like he’d been floating and was coming back to the ground, slowly getting reacquainted with the weight of his body.

As soon as he started on his hip he sort of knew he’d fucked up because the high came so quickly, his mind traveling somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t see himself ever stopping.

The deepest gashes on his leg throbbed and bled freely as he fixated on the opening skin of his hip, the lines becoming rushed and sporadic as the only thing on his mind became producing as much of that feeling as possible.

He only stopped when he went so deep his eyes literally watered and had him clamping the towel over the wound before he saw the blood well from it because he knew if he did he’d have wanted to see more of that much pink.

“Fuck, fuck...” he managed through gasps.

His breathing was becoming ragged, his body light and his mind quiet. The high was intoxicating, the adrenaline rush more intense than the ones he got from battle. He struggled to analyze how that was even possible as it grew harder and harder to form a coherent thought through the haze.

He knew he should get cleaned up. That if he felt like doing more he could later, but he just really needed to not be openly bleeding with a razor in his hand the next time someone needed to pee. So he tried to blink through the blur and really look at the condition of his leg.

Blood dripped in several continuous streams that met around his ankle and pooled at his feet, the main bleeders deep enough to elicit a small spark of fear in his gut.

“Well that’s not good.”

He almost laughed but turned the sink on instead, splashing water onto his leg and watching the red dissipate until the majority of it had flowed through the drain in the floor.

Moving around made his head swim so he figured he should probably take care of the bleeding sitting down. He threw the dismantled razor back into his bag and scanned the sink area for blood before dazedly leaning against the wall to glance back down at his leg.

The sight of his thigh was almost as mesmerizing as the glinting metal of the blades. It stung and pulsed as blood both beaded and gushed from several cuts still, his side faring the same although the pressure from the waistband of his shorts holding a quickly dampening bunch of paper towels to the wounds was almost worse. Both pains made his heart lurch pleasantly somehow. He felt so mentally at ease despite his body sort freaking out over the blood he was still very much losing.

Keith couldn’t tell why he was shaking but decided the answer wasn’t good as he pressed more towels to his thigh, focusing on keeping as steady a pressure as he could muster so they’d clot and he could go back to his room.

But soon his head started to swim without him moving at all, the tiles shifting before his eyes in a nauseating swirl as he lowered himself to the ground more carefully than he cared to. The bunch of towels he’s holding limply in his hand were soaked through and he didn’t think he could get back up for more without passing out.

He breathed a heavy sigh and resolved that he would just put pressure on his leg until it stopped bleeding and he felt less dizzy.

It was eerily peaceful as he sat there while his body buzzed and his skin burned. It’s the most present he’d been with himself in weeks and it made him sad how this is what it took to feel like that.

To feel anything at all.

He registered briefly that he could cry if he considered it any longer, so he just pressed harder on his thigh and drew his elbow in closer to his hip.

Time felt weird after that.

There were moments he remembered feeling incredibly alert as his heart pounded and his head pulsed angrily. Others where the darkness boardering his vision encroached dangerously, at times succeeding where he’d jolt up after slumping forward like when he’d caught himself nodding off in class at the garrison.

Keith didn’t know he’d closed his eyes again until they were shooting open but this time at the whoosh of the door to the bathroom. He tried to get up but moving hurt and made him feel even more floaty and so he settled back down with a small whimper.

“Keith? Is that you?”

It was Lance.

Of all people, of course it was Lance.

He wasn’t sure wether to be relieved or not, because it could’ve been someone worse like Hunk or Pidge or... Shiro, but it was also Lance.

“We’ve been looking every—Keith...?”

The way his voice broke when he rounded the corner and took in what must have been a sight almost broke Keith as well, but he was riding a disorienting high after doing what he did and couldn’t find the energy to feel more than the faintest twinge of shame.

“Wait, woah, what the fuck dude... what-what did you do?”

Lance stood frozen for a moment. Eyes wide as his mind wrapped itself around what he was seeing. And then his demeanor shifted entirely as he strode toward Keith’s prone form.

He knelt in front of his sprawled legs and studied the saturated towels that lay over his thigh and the small pool of blood beneath him.

“I... I fucked up...”

Keith’s chest ploomed with anxiety as he said those words, the weight of them hanging on his tongue as his mind processed just how unfortunate it was that he’d been found like this. Lance’s brows wrinkled at that statement until he looked at his other thigh and saw scars, old scars.

“Oh... shit, dude.”

Keith’s lazy eyes met Lance’s worried ones for a moment, each boy waiting for the other to push one way or another. He was fairly certain he’d be more embarrassed if he didn’t feel so heavy.

It was Lance who finally caved and broke the silence and it’d be a lie to say Keith wasn’t relieved.

“Can I-can I help you?” his voice was as gentle as Keith recalled ever hearing it.

“I get it if you want nothing to do with me right now, I probably wouldn’t either, but you seem a bit out of it... so is that okay? I could get Shiro if you want—”

“No! Don’t get Shiro. There’s n-no reason to worry hi-him about this, m’fine.”

Keith mentally cursed himself for not being able to get out a full sentence without stuttering. But his entire body was trembling now, the pleasant buzz slipping farther and farther away as the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong made itself more apparent.

Which made sense.

The bleeding hadn’t let up much and he’d seen a good amount of blood disappear down the drain. This was probably worse than his hazey mind was letting him perceive it to be which was evident in the way his eyes had started to flutter shut again.

“-eith! This not really the time to take a nap,” Lance urged grimly, his bottom lip already raw from where he was worrying at it.

“Hm?”

“I was just saying how I think you need a refresher on the definition of ‘fine’ but if you really don’t want me to get Shiro, I won’t. I am going to get a first aid kit though, don’t uh-don’t go anywhere.”

“Ha, don’t think you need to worry about that,” Keith assured as he closed his eyes once more and let the warm buzz under his skin be the only thing at the forefront of his mind once he heard the door close after Lance.

It was only when the other boy was shaking his shoulder that he opened them again. He wasn’t sure why he kept falling asleep. He was certain he wasn’t like bleeding out or anything but his body felt so heavy and weak that keeping his eyes open was a chore.

It was probably a mix of things, he hadn’t slept much at all that week and had trained twice that day, barely eating before the group session in the morning and not having much after his individual spar either.

He’d also hurt himself worse than he’d like to acknowledge in that moment, so he kept his gaze focused anywhere other than down after the other boy roused him.

“Some of these are pretty bad,” Lance noted as he took away the towels on his leg and pressed thick squares of gauze against the deepest, pouring some clear solution on another sterile pad before bringing it down on the lesser wounds.

He was strangely calm for stumbling across something so jarring, somehow mustering the strength to not objectively freak out just yet and do what needed to be done first.

“Sorry, probably stings...” he offered when he saw Keith’s face twitch up.

He only hummed in response. He was really tired still and didn’t see the point in wasting his energy talking.

Lance peaked under the quickly saturating squares and frowned, sitting back on his heels with an exasperated sigh, using the middle of his arm to wipe the sweat on his forehead because his hands were too bloody.

“Keith...”

He decided that this was the demeanor he must have saved for when he had to be a protective older brother, his tone stern but soft, eyes large and serious.

“...some of these need stitches. I really do get you not wanting me to tell anyone but—“

“Glue,” Keith huffed, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with gauze like the gashes on his leg.

“Heh?!”

“Ya, know? Like super glue...”

Lance gulped down the lump in his throat that was threatening to break his composure.

“Did I hear that right? You want me to-to glue them shut?”

If he didn’t look mortified Keith would’ve thought the bewildered scrunch to his face was sort of adorable.

“Course not... I would. M’just a little dizzy but I can do it, you don’t have to...” Keith assured as he moved to sit up more, wincing when the cuts on his hip pulled and gushed, his new position revealing the small puddle that had been gathering at his side.

“Keith, shit! Oh god, what the hell is that from—let me see,” Lance ordered as Keith’s hands moved to his sweatshirt, but they were stiff now and not working right.

Lance bypassed his useless hands that were still covered in dried blood and pulled his sweatshirt up enough to see smears of red trailing up his side and back from just below his boxers.

“Can I—uh, can I move this?” he asked worriedly, the edge to his voice softening.

The urge to tell Keith he shouldn’t hurt himself like this for whatever reason he did, because no reason he’d give would be good enough, passed as quickly as it arrived. It was replaced by a more pressing worry over what was beneath the alarmingly darker patch on what should be payne’s grey boxers shorts.

Keith breathed shakily and nodded, squirming when the other boy released the tension on the elastic to slide the blood soaked towels out, the wounds pulsing with vengeance as the pressure was lifted. Lance drew Keith’s eyes to his own once more.

“Gonna move this down a bit further where it’ll stay...”

“Kay,” Keith whispered, his glassy eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his head against the wall.

Lance fought to stifle his shock at the sight that was his hip as he uncovered the even worse mess and pressed gauze to it.

The wounds were... different. They were all different directions and of varying severities. Some were just scratches, but some showed so much pink Lance had to repeat to himself multiple times that it was just tissue and not bone.

He didn’t even know how to go about cleaning these wounds. They were so wide. The skin so tight that when cut it stretched apart so much more.

“Keith...”

Lance stated his name as more of a concession, his firm voice finally losing it’s assurance. He didn’t even have to finish for Keith to know what he meant.

“Can you bring the med kit closer?” he asked casually, his eyes lidded now.

Lance slid it within arms reach and Keith rummaged through it for a minute before pulling out a large bottle of more clear liquid.

“It’s wound wash, not harsh like straight up disinfectant but it needs some of that too... press down hard after I get everything cleaned out, okay?”

He waited a beat for Lance to nod, his face had paled considerably and Keith couldn’t blame him. This was so fucked. All of it. He had to work to push the guilt building in his stomach down over how he’d put this impossibly traumatic experience on him, no emotional preparation, just the shock of finding one of his best friend’s like this.

He almost relished in the seering pain that followed the cold liquid as he flushed the wounds on his side, humming in approval when Lance quickly covered the area and pushed down forcefully. Both boys took in heaving breaths, the tension in the air taught with anxiety and sadness and guilt.

“Hey...” Keith deadpanned, the levity in his voice almost scary until it shifted into something more admonishing for being so ridiculous. “I’m-shit, I’m so sorry you had to—“

“Don’t. Whatever you’re about to apologize for, don’t.”

Lance was serious again. His gaze fixed on the rapidly reddening gauze underneath his hands.

“No, I have to. It’s not fair of me... that you have to do this,” Keith managed before he had to take a second to let the blood rush dissipate, blinking rapidly as the rumbling in his eardrums died down.

Lance laughed breathily once he saw what had stopped his unnecessary apology.

“Hmm, I’ll compromise. You can save it for when you feel less like shit, but you have to shut up for now or I will go and get Shiro—ah, that’s what I thought.”

Keith grumbled lowly as he pressed his fingers on either side of his forehead, the headache that he thought was dulling back in full force.

“Okay, so I don’t know what you mean about super glue...” Lance said as he shuffled through the contents of the kit.

“Do alteans even have something like that?”

“Yep... blue glass, rubber stopper...”

“Gonna put a pin in why you just know that off the top of your head alongside all the other things we’ll be discussing later and—oh jeez, this stuff smells vile!”

“Breathe through your mouth then. Hand it to me I’m gonna hold it closed,” Keith ordered, his words slow and overly emphasized as he tried to make the way he would occasionally slur less noticeable.

His hands still trembled as they clamped the sides of one of the deepest gashes on his leg together, but it was only when he switched his grip to receive the stopper that his strength wavered. Blood seeped through his now weak hold on the wound and prevented the glue from adhering correctly.

“Oh, fuck...” Keith groaned as he wiped away the goo before it could get into the wound, not really getting there in time and hissing when it burned a new sort of fire into the sliced flesh.

“Just let me do it—“

“No, I got it.“

“Keith...”

“I can do it—“

“Keith.”

Lance pulled his shaking hands into his and searched his bleary eyes, willing his distant gaze to focus on him for just a second.

“Let me do it.”

Keith cursed himself silently for not being able to summon tears any other time than now, unsteady hands holding his own skin together as one of his best friends sealed it shut.

They were silent for a while, Lance working diligently as he kept an eye on the rapidly deteriorating boy. It wasn’t as bad as he imagined, his initial disdain probably for how nonchalantly Keith had suggested it, like he’d done it plenty of times and it was nothing.

Because it wasn’t nothing. And it broke Lance’s heart each time they moved to another uncloseable wound, their hands working together to keep it shut until the glue hardened.

They repeated this process dozens of times until his leg and his side glistened unevenly under the puckering glaze. By the end of it Keith could barely keep his eyes open, his body buzzing visibly now, breaths rushed and shallow.

“Looks like the bleeding has pretty much stopped... I’m gonna, uh, bandage it up now. Hang with me for like 5 more minutes and then we’ll figure out how to get you to your room...” Lance offered as he tapped Keith on his knee to get him to lift his leg.

It took him a minute to make sense of his words but he didn’t give resistance when the other boy propped his leg up against his own to get a stretchy wrap around the thick layer of gauze he’d placed on top. He’d applied a layer of medicated salve that would both numb the area slightly and make sure it didn’t get infected.

His hip would be a tad trickier.

“I think it would be easier if you laid down...” Lance suggested and placed his hand on his shoulder to guide him as he moved, his head coming to rest in folded arms, hip presented more accessibly than before.

He’d have probably been more embarrassed to be so exposed if it wasn’t Lance and his entire ass cheek practically being out was the least of his sources of shame and regret in that moment. Not regret for what happened, it would’ve regardless, regret for having been so stupid to get caught.

Keith’s consciousness wavered again, his mind falling into a void of bliss as his thoughts tapered out until the burning on his side brought him back with a slight start.

Lance apologized as he cleaned the area again, gently scrubbing at the dried blood around the wounds and on his stomach. He applied the same medicine and packed the gauze on top of the glue that binded them together precariously but taped the edges down instead, going around and overlapping the first set of strips to ensure it’d stay before pulling his shorts over it. Keith was trembling so heavily once he was done that Lance thought he could almost hear his teeth chattering.

“I’m gonna go pack up your stuff. I’ll be right back.”

Keith murmured something unintelligible into his arms in response and brought his legs up to his chest, the cold tile beneath him not helping his inability to stop shaking. The sting of the wounds on his body even as they stretched was duller now, only a difference in the normal heat of his skin reminded him they were there.

He felt like he was bone dry of all energy and wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers on his bed and sleep for a thousand years. His mind wanted to spiral and process what had just happened but the fog that addled it prevailed and made concentrating too hard, too painful. He was surprised he hadn’t fully nodded off before Lance was shaking him again.

“I’ve got your stuff. Don’t be a tool about this and give me your hands,” he ordered as he held out his own, Keith’s towel thrown over his shoulder and his toiletries packed up in his shower bag with his dirty clothes.

Keith moved his feet under him and reached for Lance’s wrists who used the grip to pull him up slowly, watching as the deep set grimace on his face gave away just how bad he was feeling. The orientation made him a whole new type of woozy.

Lance watched as the color in Keith’s face drained but before he could react he was stumbling try to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he breathed unevenly as Lance’s hands were suddenly on his back and pulling him close as soon as his legs buckled.

“I’ll be okay in a minute... just—“

“Dizzy?”

The laugh that escaped Lance’s lips was dry.

Keith nodded into his shoulder, his grip on Lance’s arm tightening as he fought the vertigo making him want to lose what little was actually in his stomach.

“K-kay, we can go...”

Lance held Keith by the shoulders as he stepped away from him to come around on his other side, picking up his arm and slinging it around his shoulder.

They made their way slowly, Keith’s legs were weak and though he was terrified someone would approach them before they made it to his room, willing them to go any faster would have been dangerous.

So he pushed through, ignoring just how lightheaded he was until Lance was shifting his weight to reach the keypad, the door of his room whooshing open as his legs turned to jelly and wobbled dangerously, unable to bear being left to support his own weight.

“Shit, Keith...” Lance yelped as he struggled to get a hold on him before he went down.

Lance shushed Keith as he tried to apologize again for twisting his hands up in Lance’s t-shirt as they took an experimental step forward only to waver again. The firm arm around his middle was all that kept him standing this time.

“I’ve gotcha—no, it’s happening. Don’t bother fighting it.”

Without another moment of consideration Lance was tossing Keith’s things to the side then hoisting him up and over his shoulder on his better side with his hands carefully placed behind the crook of his knees, completely tuning out the weak protests as he gently deposited his now very flustered friend onto his bed.

“That was... unnecessary...”

“Don’t care. How do you feel?” Lance asked seriously, his features set like stone as he sat at the end of the bed and searched his friend’s face for any sign of further discomfort.

“What do you mean?” Keith’s voice was quiet, hesitant.

“You almost passed out again, do you need water?”

“Lance—“

“Food’s probably a good idea, it’ll get you’re energy back up since you missed dinner. I could go run and grab something—“

“Lance, stop!”

Keith’s entire body seemed to still for the first time in forever as he visibly tensed, his eyes wide with indigo and fear.

“Stop what...?”

“Acting like—“

“Like what? That I care if you’re okay?!”

Lance’s voice took on a bite of hurt that made Keith’s skin crawl.

“Because of course I do! I can’t just not care because you don’t want anyone to give a shit about what happens to you.”

“I’m sorry that you’re contractually obligated to give a shit...” Keith’s tone was flat and emotionless.

“...but you shouldn’t.”

“Why?! I care about you even if you don’t want me to, neither of us can help that but—fuck. You hurt yourself tonight, Keith! And I know it’s not the first time but you still did and that deserves to fucking matter to you too.”

Keith’s eyes were burning holes into his floor with how intently he stared anywhere other than Lance’s face.

“Look we don’t have to get into all of that right now, I just need to make sure you’re physically okay at least. So, please answer my question honestly. How do you feel?”

The room spun as he fought tears back once more, not breaking his eye contact with the ground when he answered.

“Shitty.”

“Okay, what brand of shitty are we dealing with? Still dizzy?”

Keith thought for a moment and nodded, his eyes now stuck in an unbreakable gaze as he stared. Dissociating was easier than being fully present for a conversation regarding how he felt, even if it was only about how he felt physically, he was still woefully uncomfortable.

“Okay, what else? Does your head hurt? Yeah? Do you think Coran’s advil stuff would help...? Kay, i’ll try and dig some up. Anything else extremely pressing before I go? On a scale of 1-10 how much do you think you might pass out before I get back, 1 being very unlikely and 10 most likely...”

Keith’s eyes lidded as he tried to blink back to reality, they met Lance’s for a second before he looked at his hands that he couldn’t really feel now with how much they tingled, pricks from phantom pins and needles the only thing that convinced him they were still there.

“Mmhn, dunno... I feel really weird.”

That seemed to snap Lance right back into emergency caregiving mode as he moved closer to Keith and examined his still palid face, eyeing the sheen of sweat coating with a wary frown.

“Lay down. No, on your side in case you yak—well, no not that you will, just in case.”

Lance had to ammend his statement when he saw the worry spread across Keith’s face, his hand dropping to smooth the tension out of the shoulder drawn nearly up to his ear for a second.

“You’re okay.”

The assurance seemed to be more for Lance than Keith in that moment but both boys seemed in desperate need of hearing it out loud.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And with that Lance was leaving him again, dimming the lights before he did to ease the strain on his eyes and the pressure behind them.

Even when he pressed his eyes closed he couldn’t escape the sensation that he was spinning, the room tilting as he rocked back and forth in attempt to calm himself down and replace the phantom feeling with actuality. The rocking was hard to maintain though with how tense his muscles were as they spasmed, his breathing becoming more labored as he struggled.

Keith soon found himself on the cusp of crying yet again as he tried to keep himself awake. It wasn’t that it was hard, but a familiar anxiety was taking root, one similar to how he’d have trouble falling asleep when he was restless at night. Except he wasn’t supposed to sleep now, he desperately wanted to though.

He wanted to sleep to forget but also knew that Lance would worry and wake him up again. But even though he wasn’t trying to fall asleep, the mounting frustration of not being able to relax and stop trembling pushed him over the edge of everything, leaving him with no choice other than to give in to the tears that he’d been withholding.

The tremors that racked his body once he did were born from hysterical sobs. He was so tired. He just wanted to be asleep already, but the kind of sleep he just happened to continue forever. Not that he wanted to die, it was simpler than that. He just couldn’t stand to be him and sleeping would make it easier.

A gnawing itch seemed to spread across his body then, one that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted so desperately to not be there when Lance got back. Wanted to evaporate like he’d never even been there in the first place.

Soon he lost the ability to supress it at all.

He was fairly certain he was wailing then, his back arching and chest pumping as he tried to gasp between cries, the latter only making him more disoriented as he fought his rapidly dulling senses. It was like he’d been possessed, his body ridding the emotion he’d been subconsciously repressing any way it could despite what he did in effort to stop it.

The lights turned back on without warning and his eyes clenched tighter as he cried out even louder. Each breath he took closer and closer to a wheeze, the tears not stopping even though he’d blown well through his energy reserves.

“-ith! Keith, Keith! What’s wrong, what’s happening?!”

He couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to after he made the connection that it was not Lance, but he couldn’t open his eyes to check with the lights still on.

“Shhhh, c’mon you’re okay. Breathe, bud.”

The person’s hands were on his shoulders as his body worked mercilessly, shuddering and hitching with each breath. He could barely hear their assurances over the ringing in his ears and the sounds of his chest working.

“You’re alright, I’m here—“

But Keith heard the door when it whooshed opened this time.

“Wha-Shiro...? Oh, fuck.”

Ugh.

No, no, no...

That was decidedly the worst thing he thought could happen while he tried to regain his composure, Shiro hearing him and finding him like this.

He needed to get away from his hands as they tried to soothe him, he didn’t want to be soothed, he wanted to disappear. He writhed on the bed and he fought to turn himself onto his back, hands grasping at his chest as his breathing became more ragged when he did, kicking his leg over and curling onto his other side to try and alleviate it.

The scream that tore from his throat was a shrill one as he opened several of the wounds on his hip. He could distantly hear Shiro agonizing over not knowing what the fuck was happening when Lance cursed.

“You idiot! Shit. Crap. On your stomach bud, come on...” Lance ordered as he yanked Keith’s legs away from his chest and pushed his hips so that he rolled over.

“Lance,” Shiro breathed cautiously. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t, like I really can’t. It’s not my, uh, place but he also didn’t exactly tell me either so it’s not like I could if I wanted to. He’s okay, though! Well, relatively, I guess.”

Lance actually winced at the death glare Shiro gave him when he finished.

“Alright! I went to get him water and something to eat but he was fine when I left, I think he’s a little overwhelmed is all. Had a pretty bad headache before,” Lance added as he moved over to the switch and turned the lights down once again.

“Okay, but this is more than just being overwhelmed, Lance. He sounded like he was having a nightmare but he’s not even alseep...” Shiro pressed, retracting his hand from where he tried to rub the middle of Keith’s back when he shrunk under the touch, whimpering lightly and stuttering breathily into the pillow he’d shoved his face into.

Lance eyed his side with concern when Shiro looked back to Keith’s trembling frame. His heart hurt. The kid was practically his brother and he couldn’t tell him what had happened. He wasn’t sure Keith would ever speak to him again if he did.

“You’re right, but you’re gonna have to press him yourself because I would enjoy keeping all of my digits.”

“Lance, I swear. I will be the one removing your digits if you don’t tell me what the hell—wait, Lance is that-is that blood?”

“Mierda. Keith... ugh. I’m sorry, man,” Lance ushered and reached for his friend’s hand when Shiro forwent all courtesies as he roughly pulled him over onto his other side, hands searching wildly.

The sounds Keith made once he knew what was happening threatened to bring Lance to a similar state. His expression pleading as clumsy hands fell onto Shiro’s with desperation.

“N-no, n-n-no, don’t. Don’t—Lance! Lance, p-please. T-tell-tell him n-tell h-him not t—”

But it was too late, there was no stopping Shiro as he hiked up his sweatshirt and stared for a moment before spotting the hint of white tape peaking out from below where his underwear rose up. Lance scratched his head nervously while he watched Shiro peel the edges of the bloodied bandage up.

“Oh...”

No one spoke while Shiro processed what he was seeing, the only sounds were Keith’s pitiful cries as he covered his eyes in the crook of his arm, clamping the other over his mouth to try and quiet his sobs.

“I thought you’d stopped, Keith...”

[ga-yuu]

“Confinement for treating malaise”~ Yoshitsune story

(So this is actually a reward for making Yoshitsune the ‘Best man’ in the Ikemen Genjiden General election held in the celebration of 1st anniversary. Before when I saw Yoshitsune’s naked sprite I felt like Benkei was not feeding him enough. But then when I saw this cg, I was all wrong. He does have a good body.)

.......................................

That one evening, when I was helping the maids....

Maid 1: “By the way, Yuno-san used to stay in this building as a hostage, didn’t she?”

Yuno: “Hm? Oh, yes. I did.”

After work, I suddenly find myself talking about my times being a hostage.

Maid 2: “It must be exciting to be a prisoner and fall in love with an enemy general, that too none other than Yoshitsune-sama?”

Maid 3: “I’m sure must have you so many wonderful memories.”

(I’ll feel little shy when you put it like that....)

I could feel my cheeks getting hotter, the more I think about it.

Yuno: “Yes, I did. But at that time, I was so desperate that I probably didn’t have time to enjoy it that much.”

(Because I was worried about being attracted to Yoshitsune-sama while being a member of Shogunate.)

........

At the same time, In Yoshitsune’s room....

Yoshitsune: “There are no more meetings tomorrow, right?”

Yoichi: “I received a letter of apology from the other party. He mentioned that he has a sudden illness.”

Yoichi and Yoshitsune sat face to face while he was giving his report.

Yoshitsune: “Let’s add a sympathy gift to our reply. I’ve got a day free in my schedule, then. Yoichi, I’m postponing my work for the day after tomorrow-----”

Yoichi: “Oh and by the way, I’ve already adjusted most of Yoshitsune-sama’s appointments from now until the day after tomorrow.”

Yoshitsune: “Hm?”

Yoshitsune blinked while Yoichi smiled back.

Yoichi: “You haven’t been giving Yuno much attention lately, have you? You guys have been together for a while now, so you have to be careful not to get tired of it.”

Yoshitsune: “...Tired?”

Yoichi: “Yeah. They say, if a man and a woman have been together for a long time, their relationship won’t have the same freshness as they had in their first time. What would you do, if she says ‘Yoshitsune-sama, I hate you. I’m tired of this...’ then?”

Yoshitsune: “I'll die.”

Yoichi: “That’s extreme. Okay, it was joke. Yuno would never say something like that.”

Yoshitsune looked at Yoichi, who had his eyes down.(He really meant it, even Yoichi got scared for moment!)

Yoshitsune: “......”

Yoshitsune: “How can I avoid that from happening?”

Yoichi: “Eh...well, generally speaking, it’s good to put yourself in a different environment. Then try doing some of the old stuff you did together back then.”

Yoshitsune: “I see. I’ll think about it.”

Seeing Yoshitsune’s serious face, Yoichi laughed mischievously.

.......

(When I think about my time as a hostage in this mansion....I realized that I came a long way.)

When I looked back, my mind flashed memories I had about this place.

Maid 1: “But what now? Now that you have a peaceful life, don’t you find it a bit lacking?”

Yuno: “Hmmmm...”

I wanted to deny it, but I stopped myself...

(It’s not that I’m unsatisfied by any means....)

(If I were to go back in time now....what words would I say to Yoshitsune-sama and what choices would I make?)

We have caused pain to each other and have taken many detours.

(But now that I know Yoshitsune-sama’s heart much more, I wonder if I could have fallen in love better now.)

Maid 1: “Oh.”

(Hm?)

When I was in deep thought, the maid’s voice suddenly interrupted me and I looked up.

Yoshitsune: “..........”

Yuno: “Yoshitsune-sama!”

(Why are you here.....)

The maids turned pale as they saw Yoshitsune-sama’s intimidating expression.

Yoshitsune: “I’m going to be free until the day after tomorrow, so I came to ask you out....”

Yuno: “Hey, did you hear what I just said?”

Yoshitsune: “I understood that you felt something missing in your peaceful life.”

(Oh god, he’s overthinking again and totally misunderstood me...)

Yuno: “No that’s not it. I’m just---”

Yoshitsune: “Its fine. Not need to take it back, I’m not angry with you.....And the others of course.”

He gaze that told ‘you can step back’ was enough for the maids to bow and walk away.

Yuno: “.....Yoshitsune-sama?”

When we were left alone, I looked up at Yoshitsune-sama...

Yoshitsune: “This is good,.”

(Huh)

He pulled me by the wrist and his beautiful face was so close.

Yuno: “What’s good?”

Yoshitsune: “I’m thinking of going back to the start and lock you up forever.”

Yuno: “Ha!?”

And like that he kidnapped me before I myself could process what he just said.

.......

Yuno: “Yoshitsune-sama, where are we......?”

Yoshitsune: “It’s one of a samurai’s residence we have as rebel base.”

I looked around the well furnished and luxurious room that I was in.

Yoshitsune: “They don’t use it much, but maintains it regularly so that we can stay any time.”

Yuno: “Well, I didn’t know there was such a place....”

(But what’s more important than that!)

Yuno: “So....what did you mean by ‘locking me up.’?”

Yoshitsune: “To end the malaise.”

Yuno: “Malaise?”

(What are you talking about!?)

Yoshitsune: “Yoichi advised me about this. A man and woman, who have been together for a long time, may lose freshness in their relationship. Of course , for me you’ll never fade away.”

(Oh....)

His long fingers stretched and scooped my chin. My heart bounced when I saw silent flames flickering in his eyes.

Yoshitsune: “The only way to get rid of that, is to put yourself in a different environment and do the same things we did before... First, I brought you here so I could change the atmosphere. I was just trying to give you a sense of freshness. But I’ve discovered that you find more exciting being a hostage than it  is now.”

Yuno: “No, its a misunderstanding..”

(Nn)

He pressed his index finger on my lips to keep me quiet.

Yoshitsune: “To be honest, I was shocked. But now, I’m looking at the problem positively.”

(I feel like this conversation is going in a strange direction....)

Yoshitsune: “If I lock you up in here and give you  a taste of what it felt like to be a hostage, then it’s like killing two birds with one stone.”

(What the.....?)

(This is really extreme, but Yoshitsune-sama seems serious.)

That’s how serious I could tell he was about me feelings. I felt a warm feeling in the back of my chest.

Yoshitsune: “Am I thinking wrong?”

Yuno: “Maybe....I’m a little of in general. But I’m very happy about it.”

Yoshitsune: “I see.”(smiling)

As Yoshitsune smiled softly, my cheeks relaxed. And that’s how I ended up being locked up by Yoshitsune-sama for a while.

........

Yoshitsune: “I’m in trouble.”

After changing into our sleeping wear, we sat on the bed facing each other.

Yoshistune: “Are you saying I can’t sleep with you if your a hostage?”(troubled expression)

Yuno: “Now now, that’s what happens when you’re enemies, right?”

(When I think about it, back then we had limited time to meet in the first place, right?)

Once, Yoshitsune-sama was injured in a battle with another country. I took care of that, which barely gave us time to meet.

Yuno: “So...maybe I should go to the other room...”

Yoshitsune: “No...I don’t know what it would be like to only see you for a little while.”

He pulls me closer and hugged me tightly.

(Yoshitsune-sama....)

Yuno: “I feel the same way. We’re alone now and I don’t want to leave.”

When I confessed my true feelings in his ears, my body started getting hot and snuggled up to him.

Yoshitsune: “Thank goodness.”

(Really, this person is....)

Yoshitsune, who is a beast in the battlefield and is worshipped by everyone. A single word from  me can shake you up so much.

That fact made my heart ache with sadness.

Yoshitsune: “Yes. I was much more hesitant to touch you back then. When you smile like that, it felt so precious and when I see you gloomy, my heart aches.”

The deep, dangerous voice brought warmth up to my core, flooding me with emotions.

Yoshitsune: “I have this urge I don’t understand....it always confuses me when I tried to touch you.”

Yuno: “But I’m always happy when you touch me. Even before I realized my love for you.”

Yoshitsune: “-----what about now?”

Yoshitsune-sama’s eyes shined dangerously and I felt like I was completely trapped  in them.

Yuno: “I’m even more excited now, I know how cool Yoshitsune-sama is now. The happier I get, my love for you only keeps growing. I love you so much that I’m scared even for myself.”

Yoshitsune: “.....Yuno.”

I put me arms around Yoshitsune-sama and hugged him tightly.

Yuno: “I don’t have time to feel bored. The reason I didn’t tell you was....Because I was thinking that if I were to go back to the past, I would be able to make Yoshistune-sama happy even faster.”

Yoshitsune: “.....” (completely red)

Yoshitsune: “The memory of my struggle with my feelings for you is now a treasure to me. But I’m so glad that you feel that way about me. Thank you.”

(oh, I see....)

(Even the scars are part of us now.)

(Because I don’t think I want to lose any of my memories of those days either.)

Our thoughts overflowed, we looked at each other, and slowly Yoshitsune-sama’s face came closer.

Yuno: “Mm.....”

I shuddered at the warmth our lips coming in contact. The tip of his tongue slowly enters my mouth letting me sigh sweetly.

Yuno: “......Mm..ah.....”

I was devoured so deeply that my breath hitched. Our kiss ended with a dreamy wet sound....

Yoshitsune: “I can’t help but want to touch you, just like back then.”

I felt shy, but still nodded my head to Yoshitsune-sama to express the same feeling.

Yoshitsune: “The only difference is that....... I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

(Ah)

I gasped as he pushed me down onto the bed. Yoshitsune-sama frowned slightly, as if he was being swayed by an uncontrollable passion.

Yuno: “.....Yes, I’m already yours, Yoshitsune-sama.”

(My mind, my body, even my beating heart.)

Yoshitsune: “.....”

Yuno: “Mm..Yoshitsune-sama......”

He kisses me on the neck as a sign of possession and his hand crawled over body.

Yoshitsune: “The voice you make now is so adorable. It makes even more precious to think that such a voice could not have been heard in the past.”

Yuno: “.....Don’t say that.”

Yoshitsune: “Why?”

With one hand, he quickly unties my obi and pulls the sleeves down my shoulders. His eyes lit up after seeing my exposed body.

(If I hadn’t been in love with him, I wouldn’t have known that my body could make him happy this way.)

Yoshitsune: “...Yeah, it’s not just your voice.”

He smoothly lifted a bunch of my hair and kissed it gently. He then dropped a kiss on my ear as well.

Yuno: “Mm....”

Yoshitsune: “When I do this, your body trembles sweetly and you also have a dreamy look in your eyes. They are all so lovely and special to me.”

Yuno: “Hmm.....I’m flattered but at the same time embarrassed.”

Yoshitsune: “Don’t worry. You’re beautiful, even down to the way you’re tainted with embarrassment. So keep looking at me....Yuno.”

He whispers to me, and I look into his eyes as if I’m being drown in to it.

(Hm.....)

At the same time, Yoshitsune-sama’s palm slid down to touch my breasts....

Yuno: “Wait.....ahh,,”

When tried to resist, Yoshitsune-sama pried my lips open with his tongue. His hot tongue twirled and a series of hushed voices were drawn out. The core of my head was feeling hazy and I can’t think of anything else.

Yuno: “Yo....”

Yoshitsune: “Don’t like it? Then tell me, will you? Tell me how and where you want me to touch.”

(That’s....)

Yuno: “I can’t say that...”

Yoshitsune: “Please. I want you to know, how I felt when I made love to you for the first time.”

(so unfair.)

Yoshistune: “See, like this......”

His fingers that were tracing my soft curves, pinched my nipple.

Yuno: “Oh..there....”

Yoshitsune: “Feel it.”

Yuno: “Ah,,,,,”

My back bends to the irresistible stimulus of his fingers tracing my soft bulge.

Yuno: “Oh, Mm....You already know everything.”

Yoshitsune-sama has taken control of my body, night after night to a frightening degree.

Yoshitsune: “I know. But I did mention, didn’t I? Tonight, I want to go through your body all over again.”

(If you do that to me....I won’t know anything else.)

There was nothing I could do stop my thoughts from melting.  Our bodies joined tightly and all I could do is simply scream at the stimulation being given to me.

Yoshitsune: “I love you, Yuno. Both in the past and in future.”

There was no way a sense of malaise would come to me as long as I’m trapped in Yoshitsune-sama’s arms like this.

[trashogram]

Ryuk/Reader 4.5: Not my best 

A/N: This is leading up to the next part, but it’s definitely filler. Feel free to skip?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You trembled, but not from the rain still slicked over your skin.

You’d come home drenched, hopping inside the foyer and up two flights of stairs to your apartment with keys already held out in shaking hands. The trek from work to home had been arduous and you were cold and tired, heartbeat just now coming down from walking alone at night.

But when the door closed behind you and you leaned down to peel off your soaked shoes, you froze. In the corner of your eye, you could see slivers of yellow and red in the far corner of your living room. You weren’t safe after all.

Behind your ribs, your heart seemed to stop altogether as the presence looked at you from above.

“Sorry.” A gravelly voice came from the darkness, not sounding sorry at all. His words came like a ripple, or better yet a riptide; oscillating with his deep, throaty laughter. “- Thought I’d just let myself in.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

---

“Hey.”

Your shoulders instinctively rose up to your ears, feeling goosebumps beginning to take over your skin.

Playing it off as a stretching exercise, you leaned back and put your weight on the heels of your basic black flats. The bakery floor may have looked shiny, but you were certain that you didn’t have to worry about falling with how sticky it actually was.

You exhaled with relief, pressure alleviated from the blisters reforming on your toes for a moment of mercy.

“Don’t ignore me.”

Your coworker was in the backroom, stacking boxes in an otherwise unkempt pantry of pastry ingredients. Above you, the built-in speaker that played music from your supervisor’s computer in the back office filled up the silence of a currently empty store. The songs from a Top 40 station went in and out of your consciousness, most of them bad and bland.

But they provided some cover. “Quit it. You know I can’t talk to you here.”

Ryuk snorted, having planted himself on the floor behind the register. He peered up from the counter, claws tapping playfully on its surface while his yellow eyes locked on you.

“Yeah, not when there ‘re people around.” He muttered. “But ain’t nobody around right now.”

Despite half-hiding from view, you could see the shinigami’s blue lips stretch upward as he grinned up at you. You sighed.

It was Tuesday, and predictably there hadn’t been that many customers coming round for cake and tarts. Your workplace offered coffee too, but there were multiple shops along the cobbled streets offering the same thing and a few particulars with better publicity and further outreach.

“Well,” You spoke softly. “What do you want?”

“Tell me where we’re going this weekend.”

There was a rattling sound that came from the stockroom, and it muffled the laughter bubbling from your lips. “Oh my god, you’re still on that?”

The gray-blue grin shifted, and you could imagine Ryuk hiding a pout just out of your sight.

You waited as movement caught your eye, and you straightened up to stand on your feet as a woman paused in front of the storefront window. Tufts of her dark hair poked out from beneath the thick woolen scarf around her neck and the heavy designer overcoat wrapped around her shoulders, like straw sticking up from a scarecrow. Her eyes scanned the display cases from outside, ignorant of the smile you plastered on while being watched.

Ryuk was still sitting on the ground, looking at you, but his presence went unchecked. Any stranger on the street would never be able to see the literal god in their little shop, not unless they came in contact with the death note that you always remembered to leave at home.  

“You made it sound so interesting.” Ryuk followed, despite you being unable to answer. “But then you never actually told me what we’re doing.”

The woman walked away after another moment, reaching into her oversized purse and grabbing her lit up phone. It made you sigh again, this time in relief.

Shinigami or no, you were always mollified when someone decided against coming into the shop. It could get boring, sure, but you preferred to be paid to just stand there than to potentially come in contact with busybodies and demanding folk, descriptions that fit that lady to a T.

“I mean, technically we aren’t doing anything.” You turned your nose up at Ryuk teasingly. “I’m the one who got invited, so I’m really the only one that has to be in the know.”

Ryuk pulled himself up off the floor and hunched over you, easily overshadowing your much smaller figure. “That’s not fair.”

You smiled at him, only partially confident until he made your insides squirm.

“But you want me to go with you.” He teased back, bopping your nose with one black talon. “You want me with you wherever you go.”

Instantly, you stuck your tongue out at the demonic entity, snatching up his finger as he continued to tap, tap, tap on your nose just as he’d done with the countertop. “Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.” He mimicked.

Your hand wrapped around his finger without you thinking, and you didn’t let go as you shook your head vehemently, sliding down to rest your fingers on his knuckles. The two of you were practically holding hands, though his dwarfed yours by a wide margin.

“Nuh-uh. Obviously, you’re coming with me because you have to.” You retorted. “I don’t really get to decide.”

Your eyebrow raised at Ryuk’s light snickering. It was a lot softer than his usual hacking laughter. “Bullshit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but stopped short, in part due to confusion. On the other side of the room, a loud thump was heard before your coworker John came out of the storeroom, dragging his feet behind him.

“What’s up?” He nodded to your hand after a cursory glance.

Ryuk’s hand tightened around yours until you had to bite back a sound of surprise, at that and the rumbling that came from him upon being interrupted. It was unusual as, though Ryuk never invested much interest in any of the people you worked with, he was at least genial where John was concerned.

With a tug, you retracted your hand and smiled warmly.

“Just, uh, waving at somebody.” You said. “Waving back, anyway. People are way too friendly, sometimes.”

You moved out of the way to let John get behind you, and watched as he discarded wrappers and tape with a laugh laced in hysteria. “I’d rather they were too friendly than if they were assholes.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Your eyes narrowed. “I think you’re not considering the full spectrum of ‘too friendly’ like I am.”

“Well, okay, I mean that’s different.” John grimaced. “Tourists and old ladies with no teeth aren’t that bad compared to that.”

“What? No, the old ladies with no teeth are exactly the ones I’m talking about.” You smirked, eyes rolling up to the ceiling where Ryuk stood, this time hanging upside down. “They’re the real fiends, with their… loose gums… How dare they.”

It made you warm as both John and Ryuk chuckled at your silliness.

---

Out the door and into the crowded streets you went, immediately jamming earbuds into your ears and staring down at your phone. “Finally.”

You merely looked at the screen, not really doing anything but swiping through multiple apps as Ryuk floated beside you.  

“What now?” He asked, head tilting from one side to the other, cracking his neck though you couldn’t hear a thing.

You hummed, starting to walk down the street. “Home. My feet are killing me.”

“Aww,” He had risen higher to avoid the crowd, but you could still hear him as if he were speaking right into your ear. “That’s all?”

“Well, I don’t get paid until Friday, so anything extra automatically costs too much.” You reasoned. “Even if I did have the money though, it would still be better to use over the weekend.”  

“Wait! Yeah!” Ryuk exclaimed. “You still haven’t told me what we’re doing!”

You smirked, standing a little taller as you crossed the street onto another block. Honestly, you weren’t that ecstatic about having plans. If you thought too much about what was essentially going out of your comfort zone come Friday, you would definitely second-guess going at all.

That would only lead to another malaise of self-loathing, which would most definitely lead you to becoming helpless and spiralling into another soul-crushing depression.  

“Are you listening to me? Helloooo?” Ryuk’s voice surfaced in your mind, registering a little later than it should’ve. “Hey, don’t ignore me. We’re not at your work, you can’t pretend I don’t exist anymore!”

The fog around your brain was clearing, but not completely.

“I never ignore you because I want to.” You said monotonously.

Ahead of you was the entrance to the rail station, and you hoped that you’d be able to catch a train without too long of a wait. You weren’t the most patient person on the planet, not after a work day. And in your experience, you often found yourself in the midst of something questionable or creepy while waiting for too long at any stop.

A cursory look around you showed that you’d made it to the tunnel entrance following a lunch rush. There were fewer people this uphill, cramming into the station to head home, with the sun still shining for another hour or two.

“I keep forgetting that the sun sets at like 4 P.M. now” You mused aloud. “I swear I’ll never get used to it, no matter how old I get.”

The lack of a response made you halt, pivoting around to see Ryuk a few feet behind you. Obviously, he’d noticed the lack of people around them and had been freed to meet the ground again, but your head tilted in confusion as he stood back and stared at you.

“... What?” Your brow furrowed. The persistent quiet apart from a few cars passing by and the flicker of street lights coming on unnerved you. “What’s wrong?”  

“Come on.” Awkwardly you simpered, offering a gloved hand to your companion. He looked at your hand, but otherwise didn’t move. Inexplicably you thought back to a few hours prior, when the death god had insisted on trapping your hand in his and not letting it go, not even when John came back to the front.

“What? Are you mad at me or something?” You asked. Your foot began tapping on asphalt, and your blisters screamed. “Because I haven’t told you what we’re doing?”

“Huh?”

You blinked as Ryuk shifted in place, sounding distant. His eyes flitted from your hand back to your face, bright and dazed. “What? Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“If I wanted to, I could write your name down for keeping secrets from me.” He cleared his throat. “Better spit it out.”

Weariness following the weight lifted off your shoulders at the obvious bravado in his tone (because you had no idea what Ryuk was like when he was actually mad), you cracked a smile.

“It’s not the big deal you’re making it out to be. When I tell you, you’ll think it’s stupid.” Your racing heart began to slow, respite increasing as Ryuk took to following you again.

[blushingwithafever]

hi friend!! i'm here with a prompt!! i was thinking--what if, during the month that they were out of the institute after the worm incident, jon's wounds get infected? possibly he calls tim because he's like "oh SHIT if i feel this bad i someone has to check on tim" and tim, who is healing and healthy, has to go get them and help out? :)

Thank you for the prompt friend!! 💙💙

It’s a common fact that Jon doesn’t take proper care of himself. The man has absolutely zero self preservation skills, everyone that’s had the pleasure, or displeasure in some cases, to get to know him quickly found that out.

He’ll do exactly the bare minimum of what is absolutely necessary and just push through the rest of whatever he’s dealing with. It’s a bad habit that he adopted when he was under the, so called, care of his grandmother. In her exact words— It doesn’t matter how rubbish you feel, keep it to yourself.

So he does.

And continues to do, well into his adult life.

He’s barely moved from his spot on the couch in days, even with the high tolerance for pain he thinks he has— every small movement tugs at his wounds and leaves him breathing through gritted teeth. The ‘mandatory leave’ he’d been forced to take seeming like a spectacular idea after realizing he really needed it to recover.

It’s hardly been a week, at least he thinks, he’s been losing track of time since then, since Prentiss attacked the Institute and about 4 days since he’d been to A&E with Tim for the damage they both sustained.

Tim ended up needing a sling for his shoulder, and while his injuries weren’t pretty, at least they weren’t as severe and permanent as Jon’s were. Jon was given crutches and the possibility of needing the use of a cane later on after his hip and thigh healed as much as they could on their own. He hadn’t needed a surgery, which was good, but the doctor said that the damage was deep enough, down into the bone at some parts, to leave him with chronic pain and some limited mobility.

The overall feeling of malaise and residual pain was to be expected, of course, but it was getting to the point that it was bothering him enough to reach for another one of his prescribed painkillers. He shakes two pills out, swallowing them dry even though there’s an untouched bottle of water on the coffee table, and waits for the drowsiness to nestle itself behind his eyes when the meds kick in.

He dozes off, against his own volition at first, head blissfully fuzzy and pain barely above a whisper anymore for the time being. It’s not the best sleep of his life but it’s sleep nonetheless, and he could use as much as he could get.

A dull ache pulls him slowly away from the dark embrace of sleep. He shifts, ever so slightly, in a feeble attempt to find a more comfortable spot to chase the darkness before it has the chance to fully recede. He doesn’t want to wake up yet, he really doesn’t, dreads it even, but his plan is dashed when pain flashes white, hot, and blinding from his hip down to the knee. His eyes shoot open, breath coming out heavy and labored through a series of low groans on the exhales, and mind going blank from it all as he rides it out. It doesn’t fade. But it becomes manageable, to an extent, as long as he stays still. Very still.

He knows he should have changed the bandages, or at least checked on how the holes were healing, sooner, probably days ago by now, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d let them fester.

A shiver rips through his frame as he gradually hitches up the oversized shirt, grimacing as it clings uncomfortably to his skin, to take a look at the bandages by his hip. He runs cautious fingers lightly over the dressing, not careful enough, though, to avoid hitting a tender spot. Even with a featherlight touch, it’s enough to have him pull his hand away like he’d been burned. The wrappings suddenly feel too tight, claustrophobic almost, like they’re aggravating the swollen wounds more than helping them. He doesn’t dare touch it again, can’t bring himself to peel it off either. He doesn’t think about trying it again until—

Oh god.

Oh god.

Tim.

If he felt this bad off, Tim had to feel the same.

He should call him, check in, make sure he’s okay.

Because Jon certainly isn’t.

He grabs for his phone, suddenly aware of the heaviness in the pocket of his sweatpants, and squints passed the brightness to scroll through his minimal contact list.

He notices that he’s panting as the phone rings, gasping, almost, and tries to get his breath evened out before Tim answers, swallowing air reflexively in an attempt to slow it.

He nearly chokes when Tim answers in a tick with an upbeat “What’s up, boss?”

“Ah, Tim. I mean, hello, um, I was just—” Jon forces a slow breath out, inhales sharply, and tries again, “How are you?”

“Awwww, boss, didn’t think you’d care so much about little ol’ me.” Tim teases, slightly unnerved when he doesn’t hear an immediate scoff on the other end of the line. “But, I’m doin’ alright. A bit sore, I guess, but I can’t complain. How are you holding up?”

“I’m, I—” Jon swallows again, gripping his phone tighter, “I don’t know.”

“Jon?”

“There’s—it’s— I cant.” Jon’s head feels fuzzy again, but not in the way the meds make it feel. It’s not good. He knows that. Ever the articulate man, he expresses his distress, “Bad.”

Jon continues rambling on the other side of the line, voice tired, strained, and a bit confused the longer he goes on, like he’s lost his train of thought or forgotten what he was calling to say. If Jon was in his right state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed by the way his words were starting to slur together.

“Woah, woah, hey, Jon, slow down for a sec—” Tim puts a hand out in a placating gesture, not even thinking about how Jon can’t even see it.

It’s concerning how incoherent Jon sounds.

No.

It’s Terrifying.

“Alright that’s it, I’m coming over. Do you still keep a key under the mat?”

“Mm’yeah.”

“Good. I’ll be there in 10.”

Tim hasn’t heard Jon sound this bad since he was absolutely delirious and out of his mind with fever a few years back, when they were in research together. Jon had come down hard with the flu and felt bad about having to call out when they were already so understaffed as is. Tim, like the good friend he was, had made the executive decision for Jon and took him back to his flat.

It was just like that time. Tim smiles sadly.

He hails a cab, forgoing the idea of driving his car for the benefit of his healing shoulder, and makes his way to his boss’s flat.

Requests for tma and good omens are open!

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, theydraggedmein!

For @theydraggedmein. I hope you like this story!

Fic inspired by Melsephant's Monster of the Week Comic, specifically Solidarity and by the freedom of creation from my Secret Santa giftee

Tags: Supernatural is somewhat known, Stiles is a Selkie, Alive Hales, Friends to Lovers, Quickburn, Workplace Setting, Light/Background Angst, Communication

Read On AO3

*****

Selkie Solidarity

Stiles’ alarm doesn’t go off when it’s supposed to and he wakes up about two hours late for work.

Thankfully, he has an understanding boss with even more understanding bosses, so when he calls in, they just tell him to get himself there safely and don’t worry about it.

Stiles hops in and out of the shower so fast his suit doesn’t even have time to dry before he stuffs his clothing into a waterproof bag, chucks his phone and wallet in too, and leaps off his balcony to do a perfect seal dive into the water below.

He makes good time swimming, but nothing changes the fact that he’s late and he and his office mate were supposed to be running expense reports all day today.The final step before the merge negotiations happening next week.Thankfully they got most of it done this past week, but still, Stiles feels bad about slacking when his office mate is such a good sport. Without him there, Derek’s probably gone a little grumpy around the edges, the way he always does whenever Stiles is inevitably late.

Stiles passes a delicatessen and backtracks. He’s already late, so a few minutes more isn’t a huge deal, and Derek does love everything bagels.

Stiles climbs out of the water, ducks behind some brush, and sheds his suit. He tugs on his clothes, checks his phone for messages—none—and grabs a twenty out of his wallet.

Then, bag slung across his back, he troops into the deli and orders three everything bagels, two for Derek and one for him because he hasn’t had breakfast yet.

Then, it’s an exchange of his clothes for his suit, making sure the bag with the bagels is secured in his bag, and then leaping back into the river to finish his commute.

He’s already apologizing when he races into his and Derek’s office.

“Dude, I know I’m so, so late, but, look, I got us bagels!”

He stops short at the sight of Derek, shifted into his full werewolf form, hunched over his computer and poking at his keyboard.

He looks miserable, his snout long and dripping with saliva where his teeth are too big to retract anymore. His claws keep catching on the keys and he stares at them sadly before huffing out a sigh and starting again.

Stiles digs out the bagels and plops the bag onto Derek’s desk. Comically, Derek’s nose twitches. He looks at Stiles with his baleful eyes before gently opening the top of the bag and with far more care than Stiles is used to seeing from Shifted-Derek, he plucks out a bagel and pops it whole into his mouth.

As Derek chews with the power of a ravenous wolf, Stiles glances at the little calendar Derek keeps pinned to his side of the office.

“Oh man,” Stiles remarks, tracing the outline of the day. “Full moon? That’s rough, buddy. I’m sorry.”

Derek shrugs and picks out his second bagel. “s’okay,” he mumbles, spraying saliva and crumbs everywhere. “T’nks for bagels.”

His over large teeth and flopping tongue make his words nearunintelligible and kind of fascinating. Stiles wishes Derek would talk more during his shifts, but he also knows that Derek doesn’t like making messes even though he’s good at cleaning them up, so he tries not to make messes. And talking with his shifted mouth is about the messiest Derek can be. Second only to eating while shifted.

Stiles takes his bagel and sits down to boot up his computer. Derek hasn’t eaten his second bagel, and instead seems to be waiting for Stiles to start eating his. A quick bite confirms this, and Stiles smiles at Derek.

“So, shall we get those expense reports done?”

No argument from Derek, who seems to be trying to savor his second bagel.

Whatever. It’s cute. That’s why Stiles got them for him. He likes doing things like that for Derek, even when he isn’t almost two and a half hours late.

After a few more minutes of Derek struggling to type with his claws, Stiles turns to him. “Should I shift too?” he asks, gently. Derek barely moves his head, but Stiles feels stared at all the same. “I mean, if you’re stuck in your form, wouldn’t it be less awkward for me to be shifted too?”

“Work?”

Stiles shrugs. “I was late today. How productive am I really going to be?”

Derek looks at his keyboard. It isn’t really functional, and he’ll probably just keep tapping at it and then replace it on Monday when he can shift back. “Broken?”

Stiles waves his hands. “They’re flippers, dude. I don’t think they can do that much damage.”

Derek tilts his head while he thinks about it. It’s such a cute pose that Stiles has to physically turn back to his computer and enter his password before he accidentally squees out loud or something equally embarrassing.

“Okay,” Derek finally says. “T’nks.”

“Be right back!” Stiles grabs his bag and skips off to the bathroom where he exchanges his clothes for his suit and then happily bounces back to his and Derek’s shared office.

Derek straightens for a few minutes when Stiles gets back. At first, he thinks it’s because Derek is laughing at him. Stiles isn’t the most graceful in his human form, but in his seal form, he’s simultaneously better and worse at moving. If the office were water, he’d be grand.

Derek huffs a few times before slowly stepping off his chair and motioning Stiles to his chair. And, whoops, yeah, Stiles forgot that he’d have to climb all the way up there.

He gives Derek a hopeful bark and Derek nods. Together, mostly because of Derek’s brute strength, they get Stiles situated in his chair and ready to do as much work as his flippers can manage on his keyboard.

Surprisingly, despite Derek’s general malaise of being a werewolf in the midst of an uncontrolled shift, and Stiles’ selkie solidarity, they get a lot of work done. And surprisingly, Derek just holds half of the second bagel in his mouth for a long time before it disintegrates into mush and he swallows it.

Their boss pokes his head and shoulders in around lunchtime, some request dying on his invisible lips.

Stiles gives him a happy bark, and Derek follows it up with a less-pained wuff than he’s been giving lately.

“I just wanted to see how those reports were coming along, but I guess never mind.” Kindly, he adds, “If you ever need time off something like this, just let us know. We have a secondary set of time off for supernatural afflictions.”

Derek growls lowly before nodding. He stands up, hands his ruined keyboard to their boss, and walks out.

Stiles waits a few seconds to see if Derek will come back. It’s insulting to call their supernatural abilities afflictions, but Stiles can kind of see where their boss gets it from. He is invisible after all. There’s so many things he can’t do anymore because he inherently gets called a creep. In fact, he has to wear clothes on top of his invisible clothes constantly or risk being called out for being naked.

To him, being invisible is an affliction. To Derek, being a werewolf is like being human: natural.

Same with Stiles and his selkie side. He doesn’t even think of it as an affliction.

Derek doesn’t return, and Stiles decides that he might as well shift back and actually get something done, so he bounces off to the bathroom, tucks his suit away, and walks back to his office.

He finds Derek’s sister Laura standing by his desk. She has a note in hand and a tray of coffees. Stiles doesn’t think he was gone that long.

“Derek wanted to apologize for running off,” Laura says, thrusting the coffee tray at Stiles. One cup is already missing.

She hands him the note after he selects a mocha cappuccino. Then she installs a new keyboard at Derek’s computer and heads out.

Stiles opens the note. It’s a shaky apology written by Derek. Stiles flips it over and, avoiding the tears made from Derek’s claws, writes an acceptance of the apology and leaves it on the brand new keyboard. He’s not insulted by Derek needing time off. This full moon seems rougher than normal.

If Stiles really thinks about it, Derek’s tolerance and control during the full moons has been getting less for a long time. Almost six months. Something to think about.

He decides that he’ll bake Derek some of his prize winning double chocolate chip cookies when he sees him again.

It’s Friday today, so that means that Stiles won’t see him until Monday, and they have a meeting, so maybe he should do the cookies thing on Tuesday?

For now, he focuses on his computer and manages to complete all the expense reports they had planned.

5:00 rolls around and Stiles all but dances into the bathroom, switches into his suit, slides his bag on, and bounces out into the river for his commute home.

~ * ~

All weekend, Stiles does his normal routine, which involves staying up way too late and playing online games with friends halfway across the world. Then, he takes a quick, two hour break to make his apology-accepted-sorry-your-full-moons-suck cookies, because why not?, and clean his apartment.

Monday, he makes sure he has everything, including an actual suit for the meeting with their new clients, the ones he and Derek were doing expense reports for, slides into his suit, and speeds off to work.

He barely gets to greet Derek with the tin of cookies before they both have to change into their suits for the meeting. Stiles slings his bag on his back. He doesn’t like leaving it out of sight for too long, his mom and dad impressing upon him at a young age that selkies can’t trust people with their suits when they’re not in them. In fact, Stiles has a cousin who only just got away from her abusive partner that kept her suit locked away the whole time they were married.

Their boss is standing at the door to the conference room. He is made up to look as if he’s got an actual face for once. He’s wearing gloves and is dressed fully in the required suit. It’s a little uncanny valley, but has the desired effect of making all of him visible.

“Sorry, Stiles, you need to leave your bag somewhere secure.”

“What? Why?”

One of Derek’s ears twitches as he squeezes past them and sits next to Laura, who in addition to being Derek’s sister, is the head of their IT department.

“The clients. They’re human. We’re presenting as human today. I’m sorry, but you have to leave your bag off for this meeting.”

Stiles wants to bite out something about discrimination, but he knows how hard the supernatural world has worked for this. Their firm is the first human-supernatural merger, and if it goes well, there will be others.

“Isn’t this the meeting we reveal ourselves?” Stiles asks. That was the rumor around the water cooler a few weeks back.

“No.” His boss shakes his head. “We merge. Business goes on as usual. Another, more visible, supernatural business merges with another human business. The humans are told at that merger, and if there are any uprisings, we represent cases of discrimination.”

“What if our partners end up being discriminatory against us?” one of the more timid department heads asks. Stiles thinks his name is Boyd. He’s a werewolf, like Derek. It’s a good question, and it’s good coming from Boyd. He was rescued from a hunter farm where they bred and-slash-or forced werewolf creation so that they could “find out what makes them tick.”

Thank fuck that had been shut down right quick.

That’s what these mergers are all about: eliminating the humans’ natural instinct of being afraid of or hurting their supernatural counterparts.

“This firm has been heavily vetted. There can be no room for error here,” Stiles’ boss says. “Unfortunately that means that, for the press release, there can be no evidence of supernatural. Stiles, I am so sorry, you have to leave your bag somewhere. You will be compensated for your time without it.”

Stiles scoffs. “You think you can name a price and buy off my anxiety about my suit?” He looks at Derek, who looks murderous, at Laura, frowning, one hand on Derek’s arm, like she’s restraining him, at Boyd, who looks terrified. He sighs. “Fine. I’ll go hide my bag. But,” he adds, vehemently, “only because not doing so would endanger more than myself.”

“Hurry back,” his boss says. “The meeting starts in fifteen minutes.”

Stiles mutters a curse under his breath as he heads back to his and Derek’s office. There’s no place here at work that he feels safe enough to hide his suit, and there’s not enough time to call his dad to guard it for him.

Then he thinks about the file cabinet. It’s kept locked all the time. Paper copies of all the files he and Derek work on. He and Derek have keys, as does their boss. If he locks it in there, it should be safe for the meeting.

And he can check on it at lunch to make sure it’s still safe and sound. Stiles unlocks the top drawer, shoves the bag as deep as it can go, and heads back to the conference room, pausing to sneeze as some scent tickles his nose a little much. He slinks to his seat next to Derek and sits down.

Derek pats his arm, whispering, “I’m sorry,” without moving his lips.

Stiles shakes his head, turns to watch as the merging firm marches in, and the meeting begins.

~ * ~

Four hours later, Stiles heads back to his office under the guise of a quick refresher break.

When he gets to the room, he stares in shock at the destruction he sees there.

His and Derek’s computers have been knocked over, the towers scratched and smashed. Thank goodness for external servers. At least their work won’t be too disrupted while it’s fixed.

He turns to survey the rest of the room and his heart freezes in his chest.The file cabinet is leaning against the wall, all the drawers jimmied open, their contents spilled everywhere. Derek’s meticulous filing system ruined in a few moments.

But most heart-stopping of all is the fact that Stiles’ bag is gone.

It’s not anywhere in the mess and it isn’t still in the drawer he left it in.

Stiles runs around, digging frantically, in case he missed it. He also sneezes again and again, and finally pauses. He’s been gone too long. He’ll be missed at lunch, which they’re having catered in the conference room.

No. This is too important. Stiles isn’t hungry. He feels rather sick and on the verge of a panic attack.

He knows his nose is good, better than a human’s, but he knows better noses. He remembers when he first met Derek, and Derek was an awkward co-worker who claimed that Stiles stunk of the river even though, at that time, Stiles only went swimming on the weekend and used regular transport like his less aquatically-inclined counterparts.

Stiles hurries back to the conference room, grabs Derek’s arm, and drags him out, muttering something about a number or some shit.

Derek reverses their grip, holding onto Stiles as he leads him back to their office. Derek stares at the mess.

“What happened?” He doesn’t sound like he’s asking Stiles, so Stiles doesn’t bother to answer. He just goes to the file cabinet and points at the drawer where he’d stashed his bag.

Derek nods sharply, inhales deeply, and then points back out to the hallway. Stiles follows him as he goes through the building until they’re out on the street.

Lunch is probably being served now, but Stiles can’t find it in himself to worry about it. He and Derek already presented their expense reports. They’re clear for the rest of the day. It’s just that the firm wanted representation from all departments to be there for the whole of the negotiations. And lunch is also negotiations for some reason.

“Here,” Derek says suddenly, jerking Stiles into a coffee shop down the block from their building.

There’s a few customers in line and they all jump, muttering angrily as Derek budges.

He stops in front of the barista, a woman in her twenties, with long brown hair pulled into a requisite ponytail, green visor “protecting” her eyes.

“Sir, the line starts back there,” she says, bored.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Derek asks.

Stiles frowns at him. Girlfriend? He leans closer, catches a whiff of something spicy on her. It tickles his nose, and he stifles a sneeze into Derek’s back. Oh hell. They’re both still wearing their suits. It makes a hysterical laugh bubble up in his throat. Derek pats at him clumsily but comfortingly.

The barista blinks. “My girlfriend is none of your business,” she snaps.

“She is when she steals something from my boyfriend,” Derek snaps back.

Stiles chokes on his spit. Boyfriend?News to him.

Derek gives him a quick, apologetic glance, before turning back to glare at the barista.

She caves rather quickly then. “Sorry. She’s in the back. What did she take?”

“A green bag, waterproof. Everything that was in it had better be in it when you get it back. My boyfriend will confirm.”

“I’m sorry about this. I thought she’d gotten over it.”

Derek just points to the back.

Behind him, the line takes a collective step back, some of the people mutter about being late, but for the most part, they all look too intrigued to leave. Shame.Stiles really doesn’t want to reveal to a whole roomful of people that he’s a selkie.

Derek grips his elbow and steers him to the far side of the counter so that they’re no longer in the line’s way. Another barista steps up and things start flowing again. No one leaves even after they get their orders. Crap. It’s like daytime TV, so hilariously bad as to be completely riveting. Stiles could do without the starring role though.

The first barista comes back, leading a pinkish-tinged woman with bright pink hair and cat ears headband by the hand.Stiles sneezes as soon as he catches her scent, the same spicy one on the barista, and definitely the same one in his and Derek’s office.

The pink woman has Stiles’ bag clutched tightly in one hand, the other is still being held by the barista.

“She’s sorry about taking your bag,” the barista says. She squeezes her girlfriend’s hand, and wordlessly, she offers Stiles his bag. Stiles grabs it, digging through to see that everything he’d left in there is still in there, including his suit. He strokes it before hugging the bag to his chest.

The pink woman nods at him. “Soft,” she says, voice low, sweet.

“I’m so sorry about that,” the barista says. “It’s just, she’s a pixie, y’know? She has compulsions.”

“Soft,” the woman says again.

“Yes,” Derek agrees. “It is soft. But it’s his.” He draws his eyebrows down, but it’s not his mad face. Stiles has become quite the expert on Derek’s faces after a year as office mates.

He knows they’re friends now because Derek doesn’t make his I-hate-you-and-want-to-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teethface anymore, but he hadn’t known Derek thought they were dating. They haven’t gone on any dates. It’s an oversight Stiles will have to correct, and soon.Unless, a stray thought mocks, Derek only said that to get the bag back quicker. Stiles’ stomach drops. They’re still friends, so whatever direction Derek decides to go in after today, Stiles will respect his choice, even if it doesn’t include him.

“Soft,” the pixie repeats, making a gimme motion with her free hand.

“I’m so sorry,” the barista says again. “I used to have a coat like that, but it got lost.”

Derek’s brow furrows. “Where did it ‘get lost’?” he asks. Stiles leans closer. Derek has his I’m-going-to-solve-this-even-if-it-means-an-international-incident face on. Stiles has seen that face exactly once: when he ousted a hunter cell that was operating near their firm. Derek’s mother, high level ambassador in the supernatural-human merges, had come down swiftly and kept other hunter groups from retaliating. Stiles surreptitiously slides out his phone and picks out Laura’s number. He doesn’t dial quite yet though.

Derek’s faces, while always a clear sign of what Derek is going to do, are not always indicative of the trouble they may or may not cause. Mostly, it depends on the other parties’ reaction to 200 pounds of pissed off werewolf suddenly appearing in their faces.

The barista makes a face. “My ex-boyfriend stole it one night. And I couldn’t exactly tell the cops what it was, so he’s still got it. I’m unharmed for the most part. Sometimes,though, I can feel him stroking it.”

“That’s good that he hasn’t hurt you through it,” Stiles says. He hasn’t really gotten into dating specifically because of the horror stories from his mom and dad. From the look on Derek’s face, this ex-boyfriend is going to be dead when they meet him.

“What’s his name? Where does he live?”

Derek is speaking lowly, but even the pixie draws back, a look of fear on her face.

Stiles pats at Derek’s arm. “The full moon was just yesterday,” he explains. “He’s really good with control, but it might still be affecting him.” He shows the barista his phone. “This is his sister. His whole family will help you get your coat back.”

She covers her mouth, tears already running down her face. The pixie turns to her and starts swiping at them, making little distressed noises.

“No, no. they’re happy tears. They’re going to help us get my soft back.”

“Soft?” The pixie gives both Stiles and Derek a long, assessing look before nodding fiercely. “Friends.”

They get more information from the barista before she checks her watch, flinches, and says, “I have to get back to work. Thank you for doing this. Bye.”

Stiles checks his own watch. They’ve used up all their lunch break and if they don’t leave right now, they’ll be late for the other half of their meeting.

Derek seems to realize it too, because he deflates a little. “I’ll call my mom. She and my uncle can go get her suit back.”

“Coat,” Stiles corrects. “I call mine a suit. She calls hers a coat.”

Derek smiles then. “Remind me that I have to tell you something when all this is over.”

“What?”

Before Stiles can attempt to get it out of him now, Derek starts running, and Stiles has to run to keep up with him. As much as Stiles knows Derek, Derek knows Stiles too. It’s frustrating sometimes, like now, when they’re running half a block back to their firm.

When they get back to the conference room, their boss, looking a little less visible with some of his makeup worn off, ushers them into the room. Derek fakes needing the restroom, promises to be back in two minutes, and runs off. Stiles sits down and pretends to pay attention.

Derek comes back in the promised two minutes, sits next to Stiles, and together they just listen as the finer details of the merge are finalized and suddenly, they’ve doubled in size.

Derek and Laura both get a call as soon as the workday ends, and before Stiles can ask what’s up or what Derek needs to tell him, they’re both shifted and gone.

Stiles sighs. There’s always tomorrow.

He changes into his suit, glad to have it back, and swims home.

~ * ~

Tuesday dawns bright and early without sun and with a dripping wet werewolf sitting on the end of Stiles’ bed.

Stiles screams and throws the first thing he can grab—his alarm clock—at the werewolf, and Derek tumbles to the floor with a muted oof.

Stiles flicks on the light and points at Derek. “Explain,” he says. “Why did you try to give me a heart attack in the middle of the night?”

Derek rolls his shoulders in a self-conscious shrug. “’snot the middle of the night,” he mutters, pettily.

Stiles points at his clock. “Well, I wouldn’t know. I had to use my timepiece as an improvised weapon.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go. I didn’t mean to—” Derek spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. Stiles can’t read it. He’d gotten so good at reading Derek’s facial expressions and tones but he forgot to learn his body language as well.Mostly because Derek doesn’t use body language. He sits still and doesn’t give clues. Stiles takes a metaphoric step back, studies Derek for a long, solemn moment, and then offers his hand to pull him up on the bed.

“Why are you wet?” he asks, more gently.

Derek rolls his shoulders again, like he’s trying to work out a kink, but it’s probably embarrassment that’s pinching his nerves.

“I wanted to update you on the pixie and the selkie,” he says, eyes fixed on his lap. “I only know you smell like the river a lot, so I followed it up.” A flush creeps up his neck, and he ducks his head down more. “I fell in,” he says miserably.

Stiles can’t help the laugh that comes out of him. He slaps his hand over his mouth, but the damage is done. Derek shakes his head once, and moves to get up. Stiles grabs his wrist.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you—well maybe a little. I mean, you’re a werewolf and you fell in the river?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Derek says.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Derek says, and then mumbles the next part too low for even Stiles’ selkie ears to hear.

“What was that?”

Derek repeats himself louder and faster. It’s still just a jumbled mess of syllables that mean nothing to Stiles.

“Couldn’t catch that, dear, repeat again please. And enunciate.”

Derek lifts his head, determination burning in his eyes. “I said,” he speaks slowly, more, Stiles gets the feeling, to get the words out, than through annoyance at having to repeat himself for a third time, “that I fell in because I caught your scent and got distracted.”

Stiles doesn’t know how to respond to that, because, aside from the pretend-to-be-boyfriends to get Stiles’ suit back, Derek has expressed zero interest in Stiles like that. So why would he fall in the river after catching Stiles’ scent?

Stiles decides it’s too early and goes with a less confusing topic of conversation. “You said you wanted to update me on the pixie and the barista?”

Derek nods, grabbing the offered opportunity gratefully. “My mom and uncle found the ex-boyfriend easily. And because werewolves, they were able to locate and secure the coat quickly. Turns out he’s just a regular human obsessed with selkie lore and just wanted to have control over her.”

“Is he in jail?”

Derek shakes his head. “How can we arrest him? Humans aren’t exactly aware of the supernatural yet. My mom is going to keep an eye on him, and my uncle promised to put the fear of Peter into him.”

“‘The fear of Peter’?”Stiles raises an eyebrow. “That’s awfully cocky of your uncle Peter.” He gets a quirked smile in response. Stiles has met Peter once, and that was enough for Stiles to realize that Peter, if he didn’t like you, could make your life miserable.

Thankfully, Peter seemed to like Stiles, and he hasn’t been subjected to more of his particular brand of Peter-ness.

“Anyway,” Derek continues, “I wanted to tell you that Ari got her coat back, and Livie is sorry for taking yours.”

“I get it. She probably thought it was Ari’s.”

“Yeah, and one more thing: I think I love you.”

Stiles blinks at the confession. Blood rushes in his ears and it’s a little difficult to breathe.

“What?” he manages to whisper.

Derek makes eye contact with the wall past Stiles’ head. Choked, he says, “I think I’m in love with you. It’s why my full moons have been getting worse. My anchor is shifting. It’s you.”

“What?” Stiles repeats. Derek’s head drops, his shoulders droop. Confused, Stiles just stares at him.

“My anchor isn’t what it was before. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you. It’s too much. I’m sorry.”

He stands up almost too fast for Stiles to grab him again. “No!”

Derek looks at where Stiles is gripping his wrist. “No?” he asks, and it sounds so, so hopeful.

“No,” Stiles says, settling back, tugging Derek gently until he’s back on the bed. “Don’t go. Tell me more about your anchor. Tell me more about you. ‘Cause, Derek, you’re not the only one who thinks they’re in love.”

Derek’s eyes go to Stiles’ chest—his heartbeat. “I love you,” Stiles says, and the skip in his heartbeat isn’t from a lie. It’s because he’s realizing the truth. He may have been able to reason with himself at the coffee shop yesterday, and even explain away all the little anomalies of being attracted to his officemate as being friends, but he knows with certainty, he wants to be actual boyfriends with Derek.

He wants Derek here, in his space, wants to help him get his wolf back in control during the full moons, wants to get him bagels every morning, wants, wants, wants, so steady, it’s like his heartbeat.

And when Derek leans in, asks, “May I?” so gently and carefully before kissing Stiles’ like he’s the most precious thing in the world, Stiles knows, Derek wants too.

Warmth surges in his veins and he deepens the kiss, holding it like a breath, kissing like their lives depend on it, and trying to climb into the space in Derek’s heart that is already calling his name.

~ End ~

[a-broken-bough]

"It was at this location ten thousand years ago that Shaohao, the Last Emperor of Pandaria, defeated the Sha of Despair and imprisoned it within the land."

The ornate wall scroll hung above a quaint little shrine at the foot of a grand staircase. Incense burned and stung at Mistra's nostrils as she read on, trying her best to keep her eyes diverted from the fire. Her gloved hand fell to a pouch at her belt, and from it she drew an old coin. Absent-mindedly, she thumbed at the square-shaped hole at the center. A "Lesser Charm of Good Fortune" the monk had called it.

She stooped, gently laying the coin alongside an engraved charm, and several of its fellows. The language wasn't one she spoke, but Mistra recognized the type of shrine. It commemorated something. Perhaps the life of a soldier who had fallen in the battle the wall-scroll spoke of? Even if not, it would be best to pay her respects all the same.

It was the least she could do for indulging the temple's hospitality.

With a deep breath, Mistra rose. Her steps were shaky, but she followed the corridor down, and into the grand meditation chamber. The sunlight only barely reached this lowest room in the temple, and it was lit by a series of braziers that could only provide a pale imitation of the radiant morning light above.

The room fully oopened up before her, and Mistra's eyes tracked along the curvature of the back wall. Grand, stone pillars rose from ceiling to floor, and beautiful red and gold tapestries hung above every alcove that surrounded the grand dais.

At the center of it all, stood a giant crane, with feathers that glowed with all the warmth and color of the sunrise above. Chi-Ji. Surrounded by his followers, and finishing up a lesson. A great many of the monks in his flock were Pandaren, but there were people from every nation in Azeroth. All gathered here in search of the celestial's wisdom. Just as she was.

"One step..."

Her voice was barely a ghostly whisper as she took a seat against the back wall, patiently waiting for the last monk to file back upstairs.

When the last student had left, she heard his voice. The Red Crane did not speak aloud, but that voice sounded in her mind. It was soothing, and song-like. With beautiful notes of color. Images and designs that glittered in her mind's eye when she closed them.

"What brings you to my temple, little wanderer?"

"I-" The words caught in Mistra's throat. "I do not know, Master Crane."

"Do you not? Or are you just afraid to give it a voice?"

She swallowed.

"One step at a time, shall we? How about we introduce ourselves first? I'm sure you already know my name, but there's power in a proper introduction. Wouldn't you agree?"

Mistra took a deep breath. She repeated the mantra under her breath.

"My name is Mistra. Mistra Brokenbough," she finished. It felt dishonest, somehow, though it'd been her name for years.

"... and I, am Chi-Ji. It is lovely to meet you, Mistra Brokenbough. Now, surely you didn't make the trek to my temple just to be a tourist?"

The Crane doesn't smile physically, but she heard the smile in his words. Felt the accompanying warmth of mirth as his song swirls inside her mind.

"No," Mistra offered at last. Her brow furrowed, and she droped her gaze to her boots. "I did not. Or, perhaps I did at first, but..."

"You've found the visit enlightening?"

"Yes," she agreed. "Very much so. I read the tale of your Emperor Shaohao, and his battle with the Sha of Despair. I was curious. The masks from the story -- the ones that draw the despair from you, and turn it to something physical. Do they still exist?"

"No longer, I'm afraid. The Sha of Despair was a complicated being -- and the mask was a strange tool for an incredibly complex situation."

Mistra looked up into the Red Crane's eyes, and she could see the sorrow and pity in his gaze.

"... but it can't be the solution to your problem. The Sha amplified the negative emotion in our hearts. It's evil clouded the temple like a malaise from which even I struggled to keep my head above water, but-"

"If I could just-" she interjected. Her voice echoed around the circular room as she grew louder and louder. "If I could just... pull it out here where I know how to deal with it -- the way Emperor Shaohao did for his despair -- I am convinced that I could finally put it to rest for good... because I know how to fight, Master Crane. It is the only thing I'm good for anymore."

To his credit, Chi-Ji was patient. He waited for Mistra to catch her breath, he waited for her to wrangle the last stray tinge of frustration from her face before speaking.

"... but Shaohao didn't put the Sha to rest for good. He simply buried it... and many years later -- when Pandaria was most vulnerable -- it reared it's ugly head once more, and threatened to overwhelm us."

Mistra's brow furrowed, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Embarrassment at her outburst taking hold.

"The mask does not work in the long term, Mistra Brokenbough. It simply does what all masks do. Cover, and hide."

There was a pause in the Crane's song, and the finality of the silence threatened to overwhelm. Mistra pinched the bridge of her nose, skin hot with embarrassment, and she blinks the sting of tears from her eyes.

"What you wish to do will take time. It will not be easy, and you will rarely know what to do... but you will not be alone in that. Nobody knows how at first, and very few can help themselves. Many of the pilgrims who visit me seem to think that theirs is a struggle that must be overcome by grit, and determination alone... but that isn't how this works. Progress is incremental, Mistra Brokenbough. Yes, sometimes it is an inspired burst... but more often than not, it is the decision to take a single step when you would rather stand still."

She felt a knot forming in her throat as the words echoed. A single step. The Red Crane used her own words. A shuddering breath tore free from her lips in a rush, and with it the words:

"... but what am I supposed to do when it's hard?"

"Remember that the sun will rise again tomorrow -- just as it has done every day for all of creation -- and that it will have been the same sun that was above the head every single person that has ever struggled. With problems like, and unlike yours."

The Crane pauses a moment, and Mistra's mind fills with a warm watercolor sunrise when she clenches her eyes shut tight.

"It is okay to have a bad day now and again, Mistra. Some days we sit and conserve our strength for when the sun next rises. Don't let your hurt be the thing that shapes you. Let hope."

... and this time, when the Crane's song left her mind, the tension bled from her shoulders, and -- for the barest moment -- that silence sounded like peace.

[yalejacobson]

💢 : your muse picks mine up & carries them over their shoulder .

[ symbol meme ] / flashback, pre-kidnapping.

there had been very few things to laugh about in recent months - in fact, yale couldn't remember the last time she'd let herself get absolutely sauced. sure, there was a certain level of alcohol in her blood almost daily - a concerning amount for a general person - but she'd always had a higher tolerance. she considered it the one gift her mother had given her - a preference for whiskey and dangerous men who pissed her off as much as they intrigued her.

those who worked at the bar knew her well enough to leave her there when their shifts were done - the rest of the town was asleep, probably, but she and vic were still working their way through the shitty homebrew that was hitting her harder than she expected. too much yeast, or not enough, or something about the fermenting process - she didn't pretend to understand how to make alcohol, just knew it kept her nerves at bay. the worry about her sister when she was out in the open world, her general malaise at the state of the world, the constant discontent that settled in her bones.

"i dunno about you," she groaned, laying back against the vinyl of the booth they were in, her vision blurred and her head woozy, "but i may just accept my role as town drunk and crash here tonight." the thought of walking back - even the few streets over to her place, her bed warm and inviting and beckoning her - was torture. "every small town needs a drunk, right?"

"not you," victor replied, his voice somehow steadier than hers, warm like honey in her mind as she smiled up at the ceiling, "not tonight."

it was really infuriating that he was more sober than she was - maybe he'd stopped drinking before she had, which was also rude, or maybe it was just because he was twice her size that he could handle it better. or maybe hers had been stronger - did they still make roofies these days? she couldn't imagine anyone willing to risk it, considering how she'd kick their ass when she was sober again, but she supposed crazier things had happened.

"c'mon," he said, grabbing her hands and pulling her up, her feet taking a moment to find solid ground as she swayed against him. she hummed in something like agreement, though she wasn't sure which one of him was real as she tried to steady herself, his image doubled in front of her as he held her hands to keep her upright. "can't have people talking about you just yet."

"they already talk about me," she retorted, her tongue sharp even if her mind wasn't, but she let him guide her out the door anyways, heading in the direction of the small brown house she was sharing with her own sister and the other two. "they always talked about me back home," she rambled, her inhibitions always lowered after too many drinks - he probably knew her whole story by now, she'd never know, could never remember what they spoke about when she got this far gone.

"i was the one who fucked up ann jacobson's life," she muttered, leaning her forehead against his arm, closing her eyes even as her feet shuffled forward, her boots heavy against her feet as she moved. "the one who fucked everyone up and left 'em all behind and then did it again." everyone talked shit in braedon, mocked her, called her the prodigal daughter of the town slut, tested her and her anger at every turn. she'd given them a run for their money - tried to find out who murdered colette's best friend, helped frame it on the man who was probably her real daddy though she'd never know for sure before disappearing again. "they're all so fucking stupid, did you know that? just like here. do you know the things i know?"

how many of them had killed, not just in defense but in anger, in defiance. how many of them had left behind a life they didn't want to acknowledge anymore, how yale kept their secrets from them because the council didn't need to know.

she held everyone's life in her hands and no one even bothered to respect her. no wonder she was so angry.

his hand was warm on her back and she realized with a start she'd been talking aloud the entire time, the filter between her thoughts and her mouth gone completely, and she stared up at him wide eyed - "i wasn't supposed to say any of that."

"let's just get you home," he replied instead, and that was when the tears started - a surprising torrent of them because he didn't get it, she'd never had a home, never would have one. she was a transient person and one day colette would want her gone and then what would she have? she wasn't supposed to be someone who stayed in someone's life long term, she was supposed to appear and disappear like a flash in a pan and one day, even vic would hate her too.

she'd stopped in the middle of the street, and while vic had seemed amused at first from her ramblings, she could see the twist of his lips, a frown on them as he considered what to do with her. leave me she thought, and that time she knew she didn't say it aloud because it was her worst fear - that somehow even he would find her despicable, would hate her and everything she'd done and allowed and walk off and never look back.

instead, he simply said "alright," surprising her with a quick grab at her knees, lifting her up with surprising ease and tossing her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes - she didn't even have the energy to be surprised, or angry, simply deflated there as he carried her. not towards her own house, but his, his hands firm against her thighs as he held her in place to make sure she didn't fall. she could feel his back against her cheek, her body empty of any fight until he got back to his home, placing her gently down on the couch.

"stay," he demanded, and she didn't fight him when he brought her a glass of water and what had to be expired aspirin, holding it out for her. she took it anyways, draining the entire glass and handing it off for a refill, which he obliged her with immediately before settling down on the floor next to the couch.

"thank you," she said quietly, her fingers threading through his hair - shaggy, too long, she should offer to cut it when she was sober again, but her eyelids were already dropping shut and he merely hummed in response, easing into her touch in a moment of his own weakness.

she knew, even as she could hear his breathing even out into a sleep and her own found a pattern to match, that they'd never speak of this. that she'd get up in the morning and slip back into her own home and they'd get drunk again and he'd just cut her off before she got this far. but she could only hope he knew how much she appreciated him - his friendship, his presence, his quiet ability to take care of her in a way she'd missed for so long.

she was going to mess it up, one day. she only hoped it would be a long, long time from then.

[stellar-imagines]

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝malaise pt 3.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki ]

「The villain attack certainly did damage to you, physically. But there was a good side to it too, Bakugou comes to visit everyday which brightens your mood. The two of you began to build up your supposedly lost relationship. Even so, there are still unsaid things that needed to be said.」

Slight Angst ahead!

[ Part 1 || Part 2 ]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

"Good work out there, Bakugou! Its a bit late but how about we go grab some dinner together!" 

Kirishima peeked into the locker room to see Bakugou packing his Hero Costume into the metallic suitcase. The blond haired hero spared his co-worker a glance, noticing that he had already changed out of his costume before returning his attention to his unfolded clothes. The red head slowly approached his long time friend who gave no response at all. He knew. Kirishima's smile fell at Bakugou's ignorance. He already knew that the blonde wasn't going to accept any of his offers, he had done this every single day after work and he'd receive whenever he invited Bakugou out to eat or do anything.

"No, I'll pass." the male rose from the bench, carried his suitcase with him and brushed past Kirishima, keeping his head down. 

The red head watched as his co-worker trudged down the hallway, his steps a bit slow and sluggish. In the field, he was hardworking like usual, kicking ass and using his quirk to its full extent. But after the chaos in the field, he'd be silent, not saying a single word. He'd still give replies and responses but Bakugou doesn't seem like himself anymore. When Sero and Kaminari annoyed him, he'd explode and tell them to fuck off or shut up. But now, he'd just brush them off, giving a half-hearted threat. Shortly after Bakugou left, Kirishima jogged up to the blonde and matched his pace and started a conversation about today's work.

As soon as the two boys made it out of the building, they were both greeted by their former classmates, Kaminari, Ashido and Sero. The three were talking with one another not too far away from the building, dressed appropriately to hide their identities from public. Ashido was the first one to spot the two boys leaving together, waving over and calling out their names before jogging over. Both Kirishima and Bakugou stopped as the pink haired girl talked about where they should go to celebrate another successful mission. Kaminari and Ashido soon joined in, throwing in a few suggestions of their own.

"Yakiniku! A celebration calls for meat!" Kirishima raised his hand excitedly.

"How about you, Bakugou? What do ya wanna eat?" Sero turned towards the blonde who had been oddly silent the entire time.

"I don't have time for celebrations. I have places to be." Bakugou grumbled, pulling his mask to cover his mouth before walking off. The four exchanged glanced before their eyes landed on Bakugou who had left on his own. Instead of loitering about, they decided to head over to the chosen yakiniku restaurant.

"Hey. Is it me or recently, Bakugou has been rejecting all our offers to go out?" Kaminari questioned. The half cooked meat sitting on the grill was flipped over by Kirishima while the cooked ones were being picked up by Ashido who put them all on a plate. It was odd that the electric quirked hero noticed after a long time when it was clearly obvious that Bakugou is behaving out of the norm.

"Well, you can't really blame him for ditching us." Ashido huffed, adding a few slices of meat onto her plate.

For Bakugou, it was the same routine everyday. Wake up early in the morning, get ready for work, make breakfast and then go to work. At least every day, work was always different. Different villains cause mischief while he was out on patrol. There'd be some that gave him trouble but he was always partnered up with someone who assisted him in battles. After work it was the same routine, it was the same path every single day. From the agency it would be a few minutes to the station and a few stops to his destination.

The hospital. To be precise, a hospital specially for heroes which is under heavy surveillance. The receptionist recognized him almost immediately, handed him a visitor's pass before wishing him a good day. The blonde walked past the people in the hallway, paying them no heed as he walked towards his goal. Despite being in such a confusing and wide place, Bakugou has completely memorized the path to the room he wanted to go to.

”Hey, I’m back.”

Sitting on the bed, staring at the television was you. The phone on your lap was still on, indicating that you had been playing around with it earlier. As Bakugou stepped closer to the bed you were resting on, he noted that you seem to be doing much better than yesterday. It felt strange to be seeing him under such circumstances. Ever since that incident, he came to visit every day, never skipping a day. You even heard from your nurse that he asked the receptionist to extend his visiting time when he came late. He had a lot of things to say to you. Practices apologies he always revised in his head and bracing himself for the worst. That day when he said he wanted to have a talk with you, he was going to ask for forgiveness.

It's been a month since then and he still haven't conveyed his feelings. He prepared for the worst, for you to completely break up with him and move on with your own lives. Honestly, he thinks that's the most likely outcome but before that happens, he wants to tell you one more time. Bakugou wants to make sure that he gets his feelings through your head. He still loves you, even if you don't love him anymore or hate him for what he did, it doesn't matter. All he wants is for you to be happy. Clenching his fists, he looked down at his lap

"Listen, I want to—" he started, finally gathering enough confidence to talk to you.

”Aren’t you tired from work? Why don't we eat together? Mina bought me some curry, a little bit too much." you laughed softly. Bakugou raised his head, only to see you avoiding his gaze and looking out at the window.

"I don't think you've eaten. Let's eat before the food gets cold." you handed him a plastic bag that was previously placed on your bedside. 

Even though he wants to tell you, you're the one preventing him from doing so. It was obvious that you were avoiding the topic, because every single time he starts to get a bit serious, you'd change the conversation or come up with some excuse. Bakugou wanted to get mad but he couldn't because of the look in your eyes — sad and afraid. But maybe, it wasn't so bad at all. Being able to see you everyday, getting better each day and talking with you like you're both lovers again. It always made him forget about the real situation anyways. But living in this delusion wasn't good, for you and himself. You're both just denying reality and keeping things to yourselves.

After his visit, you'd be left alone to do whatever you wanted. Normally you just continue watching TV until you fall asleep but tonight, you decided to look outside. As your bed was by the window, you were able to see Tokyo's beautiful city lights and clear skies. You could see Bakugou walking alone with his disguise, a cap and a surgical mask. He seemed to be preoccupied with his phone, calling someone. At that time, you heard your own phone ring. Taking your eyes off the male, you picked up your phone. Your eyes widened when Bakugou's name flashed on the screen. Even though you both drifted apart, you still kept his name as 'Katsuki' with a heart in your contacts.

"Hello?"

"Stop staring at me. I can feel your eyes on me." he said, voice slightly muffled by the mask he was wearing. You turned quickly, seeing that Bakugou was looking at you from a distance.

"What are you talking about? You're the one staring at me. How else would you know I'm staring at you?"

"Yeah, whatever." Bakugou clicked his tongue. Honestly, it was nice that you both can joke around like you normally do again. Behind his mask, Bakugou finds himself smiling. He was worried that you hated him or something and was only putting up a front. Hearing you talk back almost feels nostalgic. At any rate, he was glad that you were behaving like your usual self.

"Take care out there. Be safe. Text me when you get back, okay?" you managed to say without stuttering.

"Yeah, you get better soon too." he said before hanging up.

When Bakugou returned to his apartment, it didn't feel that cold and uninviting anymore. He instinctively pulled out his phone and sent you a text, telling you that he made it home safely. It was odd, he never felt so nervous waiting for your response in a long time. It felt that he was back in the past where he didn't even have the courage to send a text and spent a long time thinking about what to say to you. When his phone dinged, he was already looking at it. You told him to wash up and take a break after work. In addition, you told him about how you saw him in the news today and congratulated him for defeating the villain all on his own. His heart skipped a beat at the fact that you were watching him.

Your stuff was still there, the cute little cups that you insisted on buying when you first moved in and the snacks in the pantry that you loved was untouched. Seeing them didn't make him feel sad for reminding him of you, instead, he looked forward to when you finally hears him out and move in back with him. It was a good sign but He had the day of tomorrow so he vowed to himself that he would tell you tomorrow. 

On the other hand, you sat on the hospital bed as your nurse went through your files and updated you about your condition. The entire time she was talking, you had your attention elsewhere. The only thing you were thinking was telling Bakugou something that you should've told him. It's been a month and you have yet to tell him. Exhaling a breath that you have been holding in, you looked down at your phone and texted Bakugou a goodnight while the nurse sighed. She was aware that you weren't paying attention, the file was placed on your bedside, she told you to have a look yourself before leaving.

The following day came by faster than you both expected. You woke up in the morning, ate and did your usual morning routine in the hospital. When Bakugou arrived, he came with sime of his home cooked food, something you didn't know you missed until you saw it. The two of you ate in silence while the television played whatever show in the background. It wasn't until you both finished your meal that Bakugou decided to make his move.

"Hey, I have something to say to you."

He took a deep breath in, before looking at you. He was somewhat relieved that you were actually looking at him right now instead of avoiding his eyes. Even though he said he was gonna tell you today, he was still concerned over a few things. How the hell should he start? Address the problem? Apologize first? Damn, he should've practised more! 'Fuck it!"he cursed to himself. He exhaled and decided to just do it in his own way.

"I still love you, I really do. Even if I apologize a thousand times, you might not forgive me for what I've done. I can't undo that shit. I want a second chance, begging for it would just make me look miserable and you'd be embarrassed by it. But I want you to know this. I need to tell you this before I regret just keeping quiet."

"I want another chance with you. I'll do anything it takes to earn your trust back. I just want to live with you again." he said seriously. It was obvious from his body language, eyes and tone. He was serious and to be honest, you could say that he was actually close to tears too.

"Whenever you apologize, you mean it. I know that more than anyone. If you weren't that sorry, you wouldn't be so desperate. Deep inside, I know, giving you another chance would be worth it. You're stupidly loyal after all. But, I don't think I'm the right person for you anymore. Not because you cheated on me or anything okay! It's just that—"

"You're always like that, avoiding things and dragging the conversation to avoid closure. Why can't just you just tell me what's wrong!?" 

"My legs are the problem!" you screamed back, tears streaming down your face. Your nose was red and you were sniffling. There's no doubt that you look incredibly ugly with snot dripping from your nose and haired dishevelled like you had just woken up.

"What do you mean.....? What is wrong with your legs!?"

"They're....paralyzed. Even if we can live together again, would you want someone who can't even live on their own to just bring you down?" you muttered

"You're a Pro Hero and you're needed at the site for battle! It's your dream right? To be number one? I don't want to be the one holding you back from your dream. Not when you're already so close into being top ten!"

"I want to live with you again too.....but if I'm just gonna be dead weight to you then its better if we just break things off." you sniffled, rubbing at your eyes to wipe away the tears.

Bakugou was stunned but the entire time you rambled, he remained oddly silent. He sat down in the bed, right in front of you. When you felt another weight in the bed, you raised your head to see the blonde sitting in front of you before you could question his actions, he grabbed your wrist gently and moved it away from your face.

"Hey, let me ask you one more thing." he mumbled. You sniffled but nodded anyways, wondering what he wanted.

"Do you still love me?"

That was it. The question that you have heard from your friends, whether you still love him or not, despite what he did. Your answer was the same and every time you said it, you were confident. But being face to face with Bakugou made the words die in your throat. Perhaps it was because of how emotional you are right now. 

"Y-Yes! I still do! I love you so much!" you cried. You didn't care how dishevelled you look. You didn't care about the fat globs of tears that were falling onto the blanket. At least you managed to say it.

"Then, what more of a reason do you need?"

"I'll do everything I can to support you. I'll ask the old hag to come and take care of you. Hire a personal maid or whatever. Paralyzed or whatever, I don't give a damn." he closed in the distance between the two of you, moved his hand to cup your face. Using his thumbs, he wiped away your tears and rested his forehead against your own.

"The only answer I needed was that you still love me."

Total: 2570 words Published: 28.02.2020

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ Due to unpopular demand, we finished off Malaise! Not the ending that I really wanted but I guess this will have to do. We’re almost finished with the request in the ask box and we actually have an announcement to make! We hope you enjoyed it!  ― author Hibiki/Lou

Thank you for requesting! Here we are with the last part of Malaise We hope you liked it. We have an announcement to make tomorrow. It might be delayed but it will be tomorrow. Not much people read the announcement anyways so.....― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

[notjusthespongenextdoor]

you know that is actually interesting, because in looking at the “boss yells at you diagram” i feel like i lot of us can really clearly imagine the “i’m worthless” side of things. you get yelled at, you get scared, you mentally curl up in a little ball and start going over in your head how you could prevent that from happening again and what you did wrong to cause it, and you feel like shit about it

but when looking at the “boss yells at you, you realize it’s their problem not yours” side of the diagram, what do you picture there? because my brain sort of automatically went to a happy, careless sort of “oh he’s just having a bad day :)” kind of person who just completely brushes it off and isn’t bothered by it at all! because yknow, “no depression” means happy and fine, right?

but the important difference there isn’t actually that in one case you feel bad and in the other case you feel fine, the difference is whether you’re internalizing or externalizing what happened. if you internalize it, you blame yourself, and those bad feelings just sort of feed into each other and you don’t really ever get closure for it. because of course, if you blame yourself for everything and decide that you need to change, you’re essentially relying on yourself being perfect at all times, and that’s never going to happen.

but if someone yells at you and you fully realize it’s not your fault, but theirs... you get pissed off! you get indignant! you might yell back, or seek out revenge, or be petty about it...or get angry, hold your tongue, and rant about it later to someone who will listen and help you process that anger through listening and validating that feeling. and then you feel better. sure, some of those options aren’t healthy ways of dealing with it and might cause more problems, but they’re not depression.

I think i get caught in this line of thinking that if i’m “not depressed” it means i’m generally fine all the time but... actually, not depressed probably means i feel a much greater range of emotions, both good and bad ones. this heavy gray cloud of malaise turns into... ugh, i’m so mad that they said that to me! / wow, this meal is amazing, i feel so satisfied / i miss talking to that person, i’m kind of sad we don’t anymore / etc etc etc.

and that’s kind of scary to me because... depression tells me that if i’m angry or sad i’m just going to feel bad forever and ever and ever. but.......that’s just how depression works. that’s not how fully experienced emotions work, and if you learn (through lots of practice, don’t feel bad if it takes a while) to let them flow through you, you actually discover that emotions aren’t anything to be scared of at all. even fear is just a series of bodily reactions that will swell and dissipate quickly if you learn to move through it.

[komorebirei]

Ladynoir Kiss Drabble: Serendipity

@veroocasanova Here’s your request for real. ^_~ Ladynoir!

[ Prompt: An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose. ] (AO3 link)

Serendipity

Today was the day Ladybug finally realized what was wrong with her.

After months (literal months, how had time flown so quickly?) of dating Luka, and watching Adrien canoodle with Kagami, her insane crush on Adrien had faded somewhat.

She loved how Luka made her feel admired, respected, and heard. His talent impressed her. She was just waiting for the moment she’d fall as deeply in love with him as he seemed to be with her.

But that was the problem. It didn’t happen. Instead, she was filled with an odd sense of frustrated malaise, and she couldn’t place why. The only thing that was clear to her was that her heart was not changing at all. 

Toward Luka, anyway.

She wasn’t sure what exactly had sparked the realization. Maybe it was the way Chat Noir had cracked a joke and gripped her hand encouragingly before launching their elaborate plan of the day, chasing away her anxiety. Maybe the hundredth ‘Ladybug’ was the last straw that made her realize how much she missed him calling her ‘Bugaboo.’ Whatever it was, as of today, she was completely sure that she was in love with her leather-catsuit-sporting partner.

And she shouldn’t be thinking about this in the middle of battle, because that was a close call, and now said partner was tackling her down the subway stairs to dodge.

With a series of grunts and crashes, they tumbled unceremoniously down the steps, thanking their super-suits for preventing too much bruising.

The subways were deserted. The city was on lockdown. The silence was palpable, and even their breaths echoed down the tunnels.

Chat Noir had her pinned against the ground. As he raised himself up, Ladybug turned her head slightly—too quickly. He was still so close. Her lips brushed against his by accident, sending a tingle into her stomach.

Green sclera filled her vision. He was frozen in place, eyes wide with awe. Surely, he felt it too.

Placing one hand on the back of his head, Ladybug pulled him down and kissed him, long and languidly. She felt like she was breathing mountain air for the first time, like the sickness had been banished from her heart. He was what she had been longing for.  He stroked a hand down her side, to her hip.

Then abruptly broke the kiss. “L-Ladybug, I… we shouldn’t be doing this.”

She looked to the side, blushing furiously. “S-sorry. I know you’re not in love with me anymore.”

“It’s not that.” He rolled over so he was no longer crushing her, and propped himself up on an elbow. “I… have someone, actually.”

Ladybug’s gut twisted. Of course. That’s why he had stopped with the pet names. But the fact that he hadn’t even told her before threw salt in the fresh wound. Then again, was she any better? She had Luka. “Me too,” she forced out numbly.

How had she gotten herself into this situation?

Chat Noir wasn’t finished. “… but I don’t think I love her. Not the way I love you.”

Ladybug gaped, hurt evaporating at the last three words. “… O-oh. Me too. I don’t love him. I… thought I would eventually, but I realized…” She trailed off.

Chat Noir leaned closer. “Realized what, Bugaboo?”

A crash made the entire subway tunnel vibrate.

“I’ll tell you later.” Ladybug scrambled to her feet, holding out a hand for her partner. His hand in hers, and the nickname she had grown to adore, filled her heart and gave her strength. “Let’s go!”

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #20: What Do You Think the Future Holds?

The sun was barely up, the air holding a cool blue color as the celestial shadow began to cast across the earth. Kon-Mai was already up, making slow rounds through the dimly lit hallways. Dhar-Mon’s snoring could be heard across the hallway from where his room was located. And in a strange and unusual turn of events, Gur-Rai was awake, bright eyed and bushy tailed. He strolled into the infirmary, a whistle on his lips. “Oh, good morning, Doctor!”

Tygan seemed to glare at him. “It is morning, yes.” His voice sounded tired. Most of the lights were off except the ones around a few specific beds and Tygan’s very, very messy desk. A half-full cup of coffee teetered precariously on the edge of the desk.

“You look like you just got mindfucked by a Priest.” Gur-Rai chuckled. “I’ve been there~”

“I did not.” Tygan grimaced with a look of disgust. “I had a late night, is all.”

“Doin’ what?” The Darkstrider leaned over Tygan’s desk, reading over his work. Tygan quickly pulled his papers away, glaring at Gur-Rai like a cat.

“That is below your paygrade, Darkstrider.” Tygan muttered.

“Oh Tygan, you know your secrets are safe with me~” Gur-Rai winked.

“I do not believe you.” Tygan stood up. “If you must know I had several patients come in last night so I am already behind on my work.”

“Aren’t your nurses supposed to do that?” Gur-Rai asked.

“Do not talk badly of them. They help.” Tygan answered. “But they need their sleep.”

“Yes. But so do you.” Gur-Rai took a few worried steps towards him. “Does the Commander know you’re up all-”

“Why are you here, Darkstrider?” Tygan asked. 

Gur-Rai seemed to deflate, but only for a moment. “I actually came to see our strange lil Sectoid patient.” He crossed his arms. “If he’s still alive.”

“Oh he’s alive.” Tygan nodded. “I’ve been trying to get some answers out of him but the painkillers affect Sectoids...strangely.” He made a face. “We must wait for them to wear off before we’ll be able to speak with him.”

“Well, where is he?” Gur-Rai looked around in an exaggerated motion. “Can I see him?”

Tygan seemed to hesitate a moment. “...Fine.” He beckoned him over to a bed that was far out of the way, in a small, darker corner. “I put him here because the other patients were gawking.”

“Can’t have people gawking.” Gur-Rai nodded. “It’s quite rude.”

Verge the Sectoid. Gur-Rai smiled slightly as he sat beside his bed. Already, around the painkiller induced malaise and the gunshot wounds, he could tell this Sectoid was...different.

“He has lips.” He mused.

“Hm?” Tygan looked over Gur-Rai’s shoulder. “Oh. Yes, he does.”

Gur-Rai’s hand strayed to Verge’s fingers. Long and spindly, but strong. Five on each hand. Wrinkly knuckles. Very human. As he touched them, Verge whimpered a strange noise, and almost seemed to lean toward Gur-Rai. The Darkstrider patted his arm and Verge noticeably relaxed.

“I like this Sectoid.” Gur-Rai said.

“Well, I sincerely hope he reciprocates the feelings.” Tygan scoffed. “It’ll be easier to get him to talk.”

“Interrogating him so soon?” Gur-Rai chuckled.

The deep quiet that followed was broken only by the ticking of the clock and the gentle clinking of Tygan’s tools. It made them both anxious.

As he waited, Gur-Rai passed the time doing what he always did when he was bored: picking at that one scab on his hand he never let heal. Maybe he’d get a tattoo over it someday. Now that he wasn’t in the Elders’ care anymore, and now that he wouldn’t be restored to factory settings after every major fight, a tattoo might actually be fun! Well not fun to get. But creative, something to show he truly was his own man now.

Verge made a strange noise, and Gur-Rai snapped out of his trance, looking down at the strange Sectoid. At first he didn’t move and Gur-Rai assumed he’d imagined it, but then Verge reached up and began rubbing his black eyes, blinking in the bright light.

“Well, well, well.” Gur-Rai chuckled. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Verge startled noticeably and scooted away, as far away as he could in bed. He winced, his hand moving to touch the holes in his chest.

“No need for that. I’m unarmed.” He tucked his arms behind his back. “See?”

Verge groaned. “Your...attempt at humor does not console me…” His voice was quiet, but his English was fluent.

Gur-Rai raised a brow. “You can talk AND write? However did you learn that trick?”

Verge took a shattering breath and shook with the very effort of it. “I learned...from the humans.”

Gur-Rai sat on the edge of his bed. “You are quite the impressive Sectoid, Verge~”

“Why do you keep calling me that…?” Verge mumbled.

“That’s your name.”

“It is not.” Verge shook his head. “I have no name.”

“Then why did you write it in the dirt?”

Verge sighed, then broke out into a fit of coughing. “I was trying-” He inhaled, deeply, and nearly choked.

“Hey, hey, gently.” Gur-Rai said. “Gently now.”

“I was writing...V 5 R 9 3.” Verge grumbled. “That is my designation number.”

“Well that’s boring.” Gur-Rai scoffed. “Can you imagine if the Elders just handed me a ‘designation number’ and sent me on my way? I wouldn’t be the godlike creature you see before you today~”

Verge finally turned to face him fully. “You are...different.” He whispered. “You are their son.”

“So are you.” Gur-Rai growled. “They were just more overt with their bullshit when it came to you.”

Verge’s eyes grew slightly wide.

“Oh, do you not know?” Gur-Rai smiled. “I handed in my resignation. XCOM gave me a better offer and I took it.”

Verge relaxed significantly. “XCOM? Where...am I?”

“You are on the famous Avenger!” Gur-Rai said with flair, extending his arms in a sweeping motion. “Don’t worry, this is just one room. There’s a lot more too it~”

“Then I was not recaptured.” His soft, agonized voice finally sounded joyous. “I made it…”

“Of course you made it, you little oaf.” Gur-Rai smirked. “ADVENT would have let you die.”

“That is...certainly true. But to be fair, I have been vividly hallucinating all morning.”

“Never knew pain meds had that effect of Sectoids.” 

“We are expendable.” Verge sighed. “There was never a need for it.”

“Well you aren’t expendable anymore.” Gur-Rai assured him. “And now that you’re awake, maybe I can get the Commander to come talk to you.”

.

.

On the banks of the Aquiqui river, there she sat.

Assassin. Shrinemaiden. Many names she had. Many titles. Mordenna. Kon-Mai. There were others. What else?

The shriek of a child from the nearby resistance heaven sent her spiraling back into consciousness, and she opened her eyes and sat forward, head in her hands. Perhaps if she just stopped trying so hard to relax, then the peace of meditation would finally come to her.

The settlement here was, surprisingly, a large one. The people in Aquiqui had been mostly isolated from the initial invasion. And while ADVENT left no stone unturned, it was hard enough to get down the deep banks of the river, and through the thickly laid jungle, that these people were relatively well protected. In fact, they had at first insisted they didn’t need an XCOM patrol and were almost outright hostile, especially when they saw Kon-Mai and her brothers.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear: Kon-Mai heard a cough behind her and turned to see Dhar-Mon, standing tall behind her with his arms crossed, as though he was trying to look intimidating. However, the expression on his face was more curious.

“What are you doing in this place?” He inquired.

“I am meditating.” She sighed. “Or I am...attempting to meditate.”

He raised a bare brow. “Why are you meditating?”

“It helps me organize my thoughts when they are in chaos.”

“Are your thoughts in chaos now, Sister?” Dhar-Mon stepped up so he stood beside where she sat.

She thought for a moment. “Yes, I suppose they are seeing as I cannot seem to get my mind to stop racing along the wind.” She leapt to her feet. She hated to leave so soon but it was clear peace was not coming to her today. 

“What troubles you?” He sounded so genuinely concerned.

She shook her head. “I wish I could remember. My memory was always dependent on the chip, moreso than I first thought. Now that it is gone, I feel the rot of memories I had within the Elder’s grasp. And in turn, I fear old wounds are reopening…” She paused, the silence hanging over them as Dhar-Mon pondered her words. She met his gaze. “Why are you out here, Brother?”

“Malinalli and I were going to train, but she was...called.” He pouted. “She has patients that need tending.”

Kon-Mai giggled. “Well, I’m sure she will not forget you, Brother. You are her favorite after all~”

She saw Dhar-Mon blush noticeably, and he stayed silent. She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer, but his thoughts seemed to be occupied.

“You are mad, Brother.” She chuckled.

“I’m not.” He looked puzzled. “Why would I be angry, Sister?”

“I do not mean angry.” She tapped his arm, indicating for him to follow her as she began to walk. “I mean you have lost your sanity.”

He seemed to ponder this as he followed her back onto the slightly battered grass that resembled a trail. “My sanity...yes. I wonder if I ever had such a thing…”

Kon-Mai sighed, nodding in agreement as the two turned and began walking further away from the village. Spending life since “birth” under the Elders meant her own point of reference was iffy at best, and she’d always been the “normal” one of her siblings. 

For Dhar-Mon, “sane” had a very different meaning. When he was “sane,” he’d spend hours praising the Elders’ names, but he could see now that that behavior was far from rational. The Elders had told them it was the humans who had no faculties, it was the rebels who had lost their minds in defying their rule. Now...what did it mean to be “sane?”

“How do you feel then, Brother?” She asked. “When you think about her, I mean?”

“I feel sweet and light.” He smiled so genuinely. “I want to tell the world her name. Any little thing she does, brings me such joy to see. When she laughs, it rivals the most magical song.”

Kon-Mai chuckled. “You should ask Gur-Rai for help with this. I must admit I have no experience with love.”

Dhar-Mon stopped. “Love?”

She thought for a moment. “From the way you describe your feelings for her, Dhar-Mon, I would hasten to say you feel romantic desire for her.” She met his gaze. “That you desire a future with her.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was silence. He crossed his arms, huffing. “What future would I have, Sister, that could ever involve a human like her?”

“I don’t know.” She admitted. “...What DO you think the future holds?”

.

.

Verge tugged on his hospital gown. How he wished he could take it off, but Tygan had dissuaded such action. He claimed it would “scare the soldiers.” He did not understand why. Many humans had seen him without clothes.

“And I bet they were scared of you.” Gur-Rai said, leaning against the wall beside Verge’s bed.

“Could you read my thoughts?” Verge asked, his expression hopeful.

“Didn’t need to, it was written on your face.” Gur-Rai hopped up and sat cross legged on the end of Verge’s bed, taking out his pistol and playing with the rounds. Verge began to scoot away, flinching with every noise the gun made, and Gur-Rai stopped and quickly put the weapon away.

“What, don’t like guns?” He chuckled.

“I have never liked them...” Verge admitted. “Sectoids aren’t trained with guns.”

“Seriously?” Gur-Rai sputtered. “The Elders truly have fallen far since losing the Commander. They don’t even train their soldiers.” He leaned forward. “Or WERE you a soldier, Verge?”

“I specialized in espionage.” Verge said, laying back against the pillow. “In the early years of the ADVENT Empire I was in charge of consolidating the minor governments, making them...bend to us.”

“Psionics, then. Like my brother.” Gur-Rai leaned back on his hands. “I think you two would get along.”

“I am unsure about that.” Verge admitted. “Your brother seems quite...eccentric.”

“Well...okay, fair. But he’s gotten a lot better since we left ADVENT.” Gur-Rai admitted. “He can actually talk to people now without yelling! Mostly.”

Verge seemed to stare at him with those big black eyes. Gur-Rai met his gaze and smirked, causing Verge to falter just a bit.

“And you want to say something.” Gur-Rai mused.

“Yes.” Verge gripped at the blankets, and it became clear to Gur-Rai that even out of the grips of ADVENT, the Sectoid was still scared of the Darkstrider. “...Why did you leave?”

Gur-Rai snorted. “You mean leave ADVENT? Why NOT leave? They don’t pay us half of what we deserve, they have shitty benefits, they’re evil tyrannical monsters who slaughter all within their path…” He chuckled, but his voice was heavy and cold.

Verge looked up at him again, waiting for him to continue the thought.

“Well, why did YOU leave?” Gur-Rai asked. “YOU are a Sectoid. A literal genetically-bred slave. You’re not even supposed to have higher cognitive functions.”

“Yes, Madron, I realize that.” Verge snapped.

“Well, you certainly have attitude.” Gur-Rai smiled. “And you wear it quite nicely.”

“At this point, I am not sure if this is an interrogation or a date.” Verge grumbled.

“You’ve been on a date?” Gur-Rai asked in mild shock.

“Not I. But I have experienced them by proxy…” He trailed off. “In the minds of the people I controlled.”

Suddenly it clicked. “You walked around in human suits?”

“Moreso I...remote controlled them with mind-melding.” Verge seemed to have to force the words out. Speaking was painful. Gur-Rai wondered if that was a result of his injuries or...something else.

“You piloted them like drones.” Gur-Rai nodded.

“I did.” He fell quiet for a moment. “And when you spend that much time in the human brain...you realize they have something that the Elders don’t have.”

“And what is that?”

“Empathy.” Verge said. “Humans can...feel the pain of others, without being hurt themselves. They see another human in distress and they help them.”

“Not always.” Gur-Rai mused.

“Not always. But in the majority of my time with them, they would.” He stared at his spindly hands. “And I...I began to feel it too. Even when I was not human. I began to feel deep sadness for my fellow man.”

“And then you became a real boy.” Gur-Rai chuckled.

Verge stared at him blankly.

“That’s a reference.” Gur-Rai hopped off the bed. “And once that happened, ADVENT realized your brain wasn’t working the way it used to, and you ran?”

“Not at first. This shift may have been gradual but I gained awareness before you were even born.” Verge finally seemed to smile at that, especially when Gur-Rai looked surprised. “I was funneling information to various resistance groups through an...associate who was also working within ADVENT, but with a bit more freedom. I had to pretend like I was still brainless, but by consequence, the people above had no qualms about sharing confidential info around me.”

“And then you’d let the resistance groups know.” Gur-Rai nodded. “Clever.”

“It was clever.” Verge sighed. “Until they caught me.”

“They were going to eventually.”

“No, this one was my fault. I got too excited with the discovery. I was...careless.”

“Well if it was that big, I’m sure it was worth dying over.” Gur-Rai looked over to the clock. Half-passed three. He knew the Commander liked to sleep in but Hot Neptune…

“It was very time sensitive, and I’m not sure it’s even worth sharing anymore…” Verge said back again.

“Well, if it’s useless now, why don’t you tell me?” Gur-Rai asked.

Verge looked away, obviously in hesitation.

“Hey.” Gur-Rai gently nudged him. “Do you really think I’m gonna blab?”

Verge looked up, studying Gur-Rai with his eyes. “...Well...I discovered the whereabouts of Colonel-”

“Do not say Colonel Zhang.”

“That is the man.” Verge looked over at Gur-Rai. “...Why?”

Gur-Rai doubled over, laughing hysterically. “Oh, by Andromeda’s brilliant asshole! That is amazing! That is just poetry!”

“What…?”

“We got your message!” Gur-Rai exclaimed. “Or, at least someone did! Nuwa Shen from the Black Market said one of her lil birds picked it up!”

“Black market…?” Verge looked confused. “Little birds?”

“You’re not one of those birds, I take it.” Gur-Rai shrugged. “Well, however you got out the message, it worked! Colonel Zhang is safe and sound on board this very ship.”

Verge’s face relaxed. “He is?”

Gur-Rai smirked. “I bet that’s a load off your chest.”

“It...it is.” He nodded, smiling genuinely. “Thank you, Darkstrider.”

As Gur-Rai opened his mouth to speak, the door to the infirmary opened.

“Sorry I’m so late!” A musical voice sang. Gur-Rai heard Verge gasped, and he himself gestured outward and bowed.

“V5R93, might I present Commander Senuna of XCOM.”

“...Call me Verge.” Was all he could muster.

.

.

Dhar-Mon had remained silent as they walked. Kon-Mai was comfortable in silence by herself, but it always felt like Dhar-Mon was about to say something but stopping himself. The anticipation was killing her. She wished he would spit it out already.

He suddenly stopped, and she had to double back around to see him. “I have never thought about a future without the Elders.” He admitted softly. “Before I met Malinalli, I was sure I was to claim this world as my kingdom. I would rule in their name, as I did from my stronghold, but even then I would not have to think. I would just know.”

“And now we don’t know.” Kon-Mai nodded.

“What dreams do you have, Sister?” He asked her. “For our future?”

“Us.” She said simply. “You, and me, and our brother.” She sat down against a tree, looking up at the sky. “I imagine XCOM would still employ us for...however long we are needed. Perhaps I could teach the new recruits.”

“Teach?” His face seemed to light up.

“Yes...” She cried, her eyes widening. “Dhar-Mon, you can teach psionics.”

He straightened up, and for a moment she saw that arrogance her brother once held in his face. “Of course! They would be honored to learn from a true master such as myself. Why did I not think of that?” He looked down. “You are truly a genius, Sister.”

“Perhaps you can begin with Gur-Rai.” She giggled. “He certainly needs to practice the gift.”

Dhar-Mon scoffed. “Gur-Rai has no appreciation for the gift. Not like me and you, Sister. I would much rather instruct you.”

She felt herself blushing, and smirked. “Well then, Master Madron.” She stood and dusted herself off. “Instruct me on the ways of a true warlock.”

.

.

The Commander pulled up a chair beside the Sectoid. “How are you?”

Verge seemed to falter for a moment. “...Considering my recent encounter, I’d say I am doing fairly well. Though I am still full of holes.” He sat up. “Commander, forgive me but I must know something. Colonel Zhang-”

“Yes, what about him?” Senuna giggled. “My, he’s very popular among the aliens lately. How ironic.”

“...Is he safe?”

“Yes.” Senuna nodded. “Well...physically. Emotionally...that’s another matter.” She clapped and leaned forward. “But this meeting is not about Zhang, is it?”

Verge blinked as he met her gaze, and she laughed.

“Well, why else are you here?” She giggled. “You want to join XCOM, yes?”

“With all due respect, Madam.” Verge said. “My main goal was to get away from the ADVENT troops chasing me with semi-automatics. I have never given thought to...joining your resistance.”

“Oh, bullshit.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “Verge here has been feeding info to the resistance groups! Maybe even us, who knows~”

“Really? That’s impressive.” Senuna’s eyes sparkled. “We could definitely use someone with a skill like that.”

Verge seemed to go pale. “...Please don’t send me back.” He whispered. “They will kill me if they ever see me again…”

Gur-Rai reached out and put a comforting hand on Verge’s arm. “Don’t worry, no one will send you back. You’re safe right here. Right, Commander?”

Senuna looked irritated for a moment, like this had just destroyed the brilliant plan she was thinking of. Then she sighed. “No. That’s fine. You may stay.” Her eyes were slightly harsher behind the smile. “In that case, we could also use a psionic soldier that isn’t at the mercy of Geist’s whims.”

Verge nodded. “In that sense I can be of service. I have seen much combat in my day.”

“And now you have the scars to prove it.” Gur-Rai chuckled. 

“I suppose Bradford will need to draw up yet another contract.” Tygan chimed in, causing the three to startle. “Seems he’s been doing that a lot lately.”

“The more help we have, the better.” Senuna stood. “And I certainly accept it, Verge.” She held out her hand. “Welcome to XCOM.”

Verge weakly took her hand, looking up at Gur-Rai in confusion. Gur-Rai just gave him a thumbs up.

.

.

The cascade of psionic power cut through the forest, toppling the smaller trees that could not withstand it’s might. The boom it created echoed through the forest and shook the very ground, as though thunder had just rolled in. Kon-Mai’s sword smoldered with purple sparks as the light died.

Dhar-Mon nodded. “That is a powerful ability.”

Kon-Mai straightened up and twirled her sword in her hand, smiling proudly. “Thank you, Brother.”

“But it is very imprecise.” Dhar-Mon added.

Kon-Mai grimaced and sighed.

“I do not say this to belittle you.” He insisted. “It seems very uncharacteristic of you, Kon-Mai, that your psionic ability only allows you to blanket an area in force.”

“I have always known this technique.” She protested. “Where else could I have learned it if it was not mine?”

He fell silent at that. She had a point. “If you are happy with it’s effect, I will not press you further.”

Kon-Mai looked down at her sword, then back up at her brother. “...What would you suggest, if I were to...perfect this?”

He stood behind her and lifted her sword arm, feeling how it sat in her grip. “...If you extend your arm like this, in this motion…” He made a slashing motion with her arm, pointing the tip forward. “Concentrate on the blade. Let your power flow through the metal. Then swing.” He stepped back.

Kon-Mai closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and holding it. She pulled the blade sideways across her chest, then gently flicked it in front of her.

A bolt of purple lightning shot from the tip of her blade and struck a tree, cutting a hole right through the bark. The wood smoldered with purple sparks but surprisingly did not catch alight.

Kon-Mai gasped and looked down at her weapon. “It is like a gun…”

Behind her, Dhar-Mon smiled. “Indeed. No longer must you rely on close range.”

“I am very inaccurate at long range.” Kon-Mai pointed out. “My eye cannot perceive depth.”

“It does not need to.” He stepped in front of her. “Do it again. Aim at me.”

Kon-Mai gasped. “No!”

“Yes.” He nodded. “I will be fine.”

“I will not shoot at you, Brother! Even if you can deflect it!”

“Did you not say that your aim is poor?” He raised a brow, a smile all too much like Gur-Rai’s crossing his lips. “Perhaps you shall miss.”

Kon-Mai still hesitated. Then she backed up even farther away, until she was a good hundred paces from him. She looked at him again and, even focusing her eyes as much as she could, his figure was slightly blurred. She pulled her sword to her chest, confident her attack would miss him.

She slashed across, and a purple bolt of lightning shot forward, missing the Hieromonk by an entire foot. Before she could yell to him, however, she saw it circle back around, as if drawn to his very form, coming straight at his back. He held up his arm, shattering the projectile into a thousand purple sparks as Kon-Mai screamed.

She sprinted back over to him as he looked at her in shock. “Sister, you did well, what’s-”

“Are you injured?!” She shrieked, grabbing his arm.

“I am well.” He assured her. “Sister, you did not hurt me.”

“How did that happen?!” She cried. “It missed you!”

“It did.” He smiled. “ And yet the missile seeks it’s target, and it shall find it unless stopped by another. You shall never miss, Sister. Not with this.”

She pouted. “Well...that’s certainly useful…” She smacked his arm gently. “But do not ever force me to shoot at you again, Brother!”

He chuckled. “I have rarely seen you so riled, Sister.”

“You are becoming like Gur-Rai.” She shook her head. “I am riled because you’re my brother-”

“-and I am unharmed.” He assured her. “Nothing shall become of me, Sister. Not by your hand.”

She seemed to relax, just a bit, and he took her hands and looked them over again.

“Now…” He took her sword gently from her hands. “Try it again.”

“I need my blade for that.”

He lifted her palms. “Try and imagine a weapon entirely of energy.”

She looked at him skeptically. He stared back, waiting for her to comply, as if he had no doubt she would. Finally, she closed her eyes, her fingers twitching just a bit. He could see the energy was there, within her reach. A little nudge from him and-

She gasped, her eyes flying open, as in her palm materialized a handful of tiny purple blades, shaped like circles. “Shurikens.”

Dhar-Mon looked at her with glowing pride. “Now throw one at me.”

“We have been over this!”

“Sister.” He almost whined. “You must practice this art, and I promise, I will be fine.”

She shook her head. “You and our brother both…” She stepped back several paces and held the star between her fingers. This felt familiar as well, but again, she could not place the memory.

Kon-Mai tossed her star. Her aim, of course, was bad, but she watched with wonder and horror as the star circled past his head, spinning almost like a boomerang, and came around behind him toward the back of his skull. This time he barely turned in time to catch it in his arm, crying out.

She gasped, the rest of her psionic weapons disintegrating, and ran over again. “I warned you! Your arm-!”

“It’s only a scratch.” He said. “Sister, you look so…” He took her shoulders. “You are pale. Do you feel faint? Let us sit.”

“I am faint because YOU insist on getting yourself injured!” She whimpered. “I do not want to hurt you, Brother!”

He paused at that, then smiled. “...Would you have said the same thing last year?”

“Do not jest with me!” She looked like she was on the edge of tears and he guided her to a nearby tree, where they sat. “The Elders fostered nothing but animosity between us, but I still loved you!”

His expression softened noticeably, and as she curled her knees to her chest, Kon-Mai felt Dhar-Mon wrap a strong arm around her. She leaned into his chest, letting herself melt for just a moment. Her muscles were so tense as she curled up into a ball against his chest, like a child against her father. The idea brought forth rising sadness and a sting of tears against her eyes. Dhar-Mon rubbed her back.

“I love you too, little sister.” He said softly. “I always have.”

“Did you?” She asked softly. “Even when the Elders were kind to me? Even when they scolded you? Even when you were angry?”

“I see now that I was angry at them.” He said. “I was angry at them for their betrayal towards me. I hated them for far longer than I ever knew. But I could never hate you.” He kissed her forehead. “From the moment you emerged from your tank, you were my little sister, and it was my duty to protect you.”

She laughed, but it was more of a bark through tears. “Everyone says that. Gur-Rai said that, now you, and here I am juggling between protecting the both of you.”

“You do so much for us.” Dhar-Mon agreed. “It was a mantle you should never have had to take up.”

“Oh please.” She scoffed. “All I do for you and Gur-Rai, I do because I want to.” She looked up at him. “To care for and guide you two makes me happy.”

He raised a brow. “Does it, Sister? Why ever would that be?”

She felt a familiar pang in her heart, on top of the joy and warmth and safety that encircled her right now. And so, instead of answering, Kon-Mai buried her face in Dhar-Mon’s shoulder and let the fragrant wind surrounding them lull her to sleep.

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(Bit of a shorter chapter today! Again, I had another planned but it needed some padding. Enjoy some sibling cuteness in the meantime!)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

[juniperwindsong]

Dragonology 101 (9/10)

Summary: These feelings will fade, Felix assures himself, they have to. It's not as if they have any other choice. Juniper Windsong is no more viable a prospect than Dragonology is a career.

A few notes on the dialogue: Underlined dialogue is taken directly from the Farewell, My Prefect questline. A * at the end of dialogue means I've changed up the wording to make it sound more natural, but maintained the integrity of the line from the quest. Anything else is my own interpretation/addition.

-

One evening in April, a group of Slytherins holds an informal conference in the common room to discuss the issue on the mind of the entire house: the strange behaviour of their senior prefect, Felix Rosier. While uncharacteristically absent most of the first term, Felix has spent the second term breathing down everyone's necks like a vulture. He has little patience for anything he deems too frivolous (such as exploding snap or over-loud laughter), and none at all for attempts at outright rule breaking (a boy caught with dungbombs was given a weeks worth of detentions).

The general opinion of the older Slytherins, who know Felix from years previous, is that he must have had a secret dalliance that ended rather badly. It would explain the negligence of his house through the fall and his uncharacteristically vitriol spirits this spring. A lively debate ensues over the identity of this secret girlfriend or boyfriend (a consensus never being reached on this finer point), and it's an embarrassingly long time before anyone realizes that the prefect in question has entered the common room.

After docking twenty-five points from his own house for malicious gossip and sending everyone to bed, Felix sits on the sofa brooding until well after midnight. If they only knew how close to the mark that rumour really comes.

-

Felix continues to miss Sparky with a fierceness he did not know he possessed. The new term has allowed him to fall back into his old routines, and he has no end of classwork and NEWT revision to occupy his time, but he cannot put himself back together again exactly the way he was. Being a senior prefect and top of his class hold no satisfaction for him anymore. Nothing Felix has ever done sets his heart aflame the way the dragon did, and he understands now that dedication and passion are not quite the same thing.

Almost equal to the loss of his dragon is the loss of his fledgling friendship with Juniper Windsong. There's no denying that in one term Juniper has become the closest friend Felix has ever had. No one else, at Hogwarts or at home, knows him so well, and he feels certain his malaise this term would be easier to bear if he only had her to talk to again. 

But Felix has seen Juniper only a handful of times since January. His scattered attempts to engage her in conversation always end with Juniper being dragged away by Murphy McNully to talk Quidditch strategy, or Bill Weasley to discuss the cursed vaults, or that Ravenclaw troublemaker Tulip Karasu for Merlin knows what reasons. She has no end of friends of her own to revise with so Felix cannot even use schoolwork as an excuse to spend time with her. He reflects bitterly that while the dragon may have been his defining adventure at Hogwarts, it hasn't been much more than a side story for Juniper.

The perfect excuse finds Felix in the end when Professor Snape asks him to submit recommendations for next year's Slytherin prefect. He takes an evening off from revising to look over the house roster, but no name immediately stands out. One of Felix's greatest pet peeves is students who vie for the position of prefect merely to use the bathroom without paying a bit of attention to the duties that go along with it. He runs his quill down the list, assessing the leadership capabilities of each person and finding himself extremely disappointed. Having ticked off only a couple of names for further consideration, he comes to the end and sees at the very bottom: Windsong, Juniper.

Felix sits up a little straighter in his chair. Windsong. A prefect. Now there's an idea...

Her absolute unconcern with rules would, admittedly, be an issue. But perhaps not so much as he would have thought three years ago. After all, Felix himself has broken nearly as many rules as she has this year, and he still considers himself an excellent prefect, doesn't he? More important than mindless rule following, he now believes, is loyalty to one's house, dedication to one's responsibilities, and a genuine concern for one's fellow students: all attributes Juniper has in spades. It doesn't hurt that she's also been the top points earner for Slytherin three years in a row now.

Of course, Juniper is only a third year. She won't be up for the position until next spring. But that doesn't mean Felix can't recommend her. And, perhaps... prep her a little for the role? A plan begins to form in Felix's head and he feels more animated than he has in months.

Felix sends Juniper an owl on the last Saturday of the Easter break asking her to meet him in the common room at her earliest convenience. Nearly all the other students will be in Hogsmeade or the library that day, he reasons, so they should be able to steal a bit of privacy. Except that her earliest convenience turns out to be just before dinner, when everyone has arrived back from their outings and there isn't a free corner in the whole common room.

Felix is more than a little put out at having been kept waiting all day, and he regards Juniper superciliously as she picks her way through the crowd to the back of the room where he's been forced to stand.

"Well, well, the curse-breaking Slytherin finally comes to see me."

Juniper has the decency to look a little sheepish.

"Sorry, couldn't get away," she says vaguely. "What's up? Your letter said it was a personal matter*."

Felix clears his throat, aware of the eyes of the surrounding students on him as he speaks. "When we first met, I had just become a prefect. Now I'm a seventh-year, and come June I will leave Hogwarts forever. "

The corners of Juniper's lips twitch, and Felix can tell she's having a time of it keeping a straight face through his ceremonial little speech.

"Don't worry. I won't let you down. I'll make sure Slytherin crushes Gryffindor at every opportunity," she quips through stifled giggles.

A fourth year at the table next to them gives a little cheer at this and Felix scowls. For once, he would rather the entire house wasn't listening to what he has to say. He glances sideways at the eavesdropping students before continuing.

"I know you will. It pains me to admit it," Felix sighs heavily for effect," but you are the finest student in Slytherin. After myself of course." A fair bit of laughter and a few scattered cries of "What?!" and "Since bloody when?" erupt from the students around them, and Felix has to raise his voice to be heard. "I want to teach you a few things. Skills that will prepare you to be a leader of the house."

Juniper cocks her head, ignoring the minor uproar around them. "Like what sort of skills?"

Felix lifts an eyebrow mysteriously. "Meet me on the training grounds after dinner. It's time to begin our final lesson."

-

Juniper strides purposefully across the grounds as Felix finishes setting up the dueling dummies. He's surprised to see she's wearing her Quidditch robes and carrying her broomstick.

"Skye wants to try and squeeze in extra chaser trainings every night until the cup match,” she explains upon seeing his expression. "So I can't stay long." Juniper takes in the dummies lined up on the field ahead of them. "What's all this about, then?" she asks curiously.

They're alone, finally. Felix has been waiting for this moment all term, but now that it's here he isn't sure what to say. It's been months since they've talked, really talked. Felix knows they used to chat easily, he just can't remember how they went about it. He falls back on formality.

"I want to teach you the freezing charm, Immobulus."

Juniper's eyes widen in recognition.

"Immobulus has served me well - especially when it comes to helping Slytherin win at Quidditch." Felix winks. "Just don't tell Madam Hooch."

"As if Slytherin needs to resort to such tactics to win at Quidditch!" scoffs Juniper indignantly.

Felix smirks. It's true. They're favoured to win the cup for the first time in years, due in large part to her. "Pick a dummy and I'll talk you through how the spell works."

Felix spends the next hour correcting her stance, her wand movement, her pronunciation, while Juniper, as always, asks too many questions. As they discuss the minutiae of the spell, he's relieved to find them slipping back into their old banter like a favorite jumper and for the first time since before Christmas, he feels truly relaxed. Standing just behind Juniper to monitor her arm raise, Felix recognizes the scent of lavender and something else that hangs around her. He's smelled it often enough before, but for some reason it seems exceptionally pleasant now. Probably because it reminds him of their nights spent with the dragon, he decides.

Juniper is uncharacteristically slow to master the spell. Felix is forced to repeat his instructions and demonstrations more than once, and in spite of her caveat that she cannot stay long, Juniper takes her time perfecting her movements. Felix wonders if she's missed spending time with him as much as he has with her. Finally, as the light begins to fade, she throws a perfect freezing charm at the middle dummy making it go entirely rigid.

"Well done!" Felix compliments her, clapping her on the shoulder. The contact makes his hand tingle slightly; he isn't sure why, but he removes it quickly just the same. "If you ever want to trip a Gryffindor, use Immobulus on his shoes."

"Or a dragon?" jokes Juniper, looking at him sideways.

Felix smiles wistfully at the memory. "I'd recommend starting with something a bit smaller."

Juniper tucks her wand away and faces him. "Well, thank you for teaching me." she says in mock solemnity.

There's a brief pause in which Felix wonders how long he can press her to stay, when they hear a whistle from the direction of the castle. He turns to see Skye Parkin tapping her foot impatiently and pointing to her broomstick.

Juniper sighs. "I've got to dash."

"Wait," Felix blurts out before she can disappear. "We're still not done." She looks at him quizzically and Felix casts around for something else he can show her.

"There's a potion that Snape hardly ever teaches but you should know it all the same. Meet me Monday night in the potions classroom."

Juniper's brow furrows a little, but she nods. "Alright."

"Windsong! C'mon!" yells Skye, and Juniper sprints toward her without a backward glance.

-

Felix is already seated at a cauldron, potion book and ingredients laid out in front of him when Juniper bursts into the dungeon, late and wearing her Quidditch gear.

"There you are," he sniffs disapprovingly.

"Sorry!" Juniper pants, out of breath, flinging herself onto the stool next to Felix. Her face is red and sweaty and she's still carrying her broomstick.

She must have run directly from the Quidditch pitch, Felix realizes, and he feels a brief pang of guilt for monopolizing her limited time. But the thought of talking to Juniper again has carried Felix through the intermittent days in exceptionally high spirits and he can't bear to disappoint himself now by sending her back to the common room. So he gets right to the point.

"I'm going to show you how to brew a potion that Snape would never teach you." Juniper looks up interested, as he continues. "It's called Babbling Beverage."

She emits a snort of derisive laughter, then taps a finger to her cheek in feigned thoughtfulness. "Let me guess. Drinking it makes you babble."

"With a mind that sharp you'll be head girl one day," Felix comments dryly. " Yes, drinking babbling beverage makes you talk uncontrollable nonsense."

Juniper cocks her head to the side. "This seems like a particularly pointless potion."

"Really?" Felix lifts an eyebrow. "You can't think of anything to do with it*?"

Juniper shrugs. "I don't know. Use it to get out of class*?" Her face lights up as a thought strikes her. "I could trick a teacher into drinking it. If they couldn't talk the class would be cancelled*!"

Felix's eyes widen a little, and he smiles, impressed. "You are wicked, Juniper Windsong."

Juniper nods her head in a sarcastic acknowledgement of his faux praise.

"Grab your cauldron and I'll show you how it's done."

Felix reads off ingredients and instructions while Juniper pours over her cauldron. He's picked the most finicky, overly complicated potion he's ever heard of that can be completed in one sitting. Partly, to make their lesson last as long as possible, and partly because he's interested to see how she'll react. Prefect duties are often tedious, and Juniper, while patient and focused with things that matter to her, tends to balk when forced to spend too much time working on anything she considers unimportant.

Felix is therefore rather proud when she sees the potion through, though not without a good bit of complaining and mild cursing. Its just after midnight when Juniper finally pushes away from the table and runs her hands through her hair, now soaked flat to her head with perspiration.

"Well done!" applauds Felix. "Even Snape would be impressed."

"I doubt that." Juniper yawns. She squeezes her eyes shut and grinds the heels of her hands against them hard, as if to rub away her exhaustion.

"Now for the best part,” announces Felix with relish, unable to suppress a mischievous grin. "The taste test."

Juniper's eyes snap open to stare at him. "Why do I feel like this is the real reason you showed me this potion?" she asks suspiciously.

"I'm not going to apologize. I could use a good laugh."

Juniper heaves a dramatic sigh. "Alright," she concedes, with the air of a martyr. "Consider this your going away present." And before Felix can stop her, she ladles a bit of the potion out of the still steaming cauldron, and gulps it down.

Felix is entirely speechless. He had meant it as a joke, fully expecting her to refuse. It never occurred to him for a second she might actually drink the bloody thing. Juniper smacks her lips, face screwed up at the taste of the potion.

"Well, what do you think?" asks Felix with anticipation. He has never seen this potion in action before, never known anyone foolish enough to drink it, and he has no idea what will happen. An echo of the excitement Felix now associates with dragons creeps through his veins.

Juniper opens her mouth cautiously.

"I think it tastes very- " is all she's able to get out before a stream of nonsense syllables erupt from her mid-sentence. She claps a hand to her mouth, eyes comically wide and laughter explodes from Felix, louder than he knew was possible.

Juniper seems more shocked by his response than her own reaction to the potion, and opens her mouth again, probably to comment on it. But all that comes out is gibberish.

Felix actually pounds the table with his hand, tears leaking from his eyes at the force of his laughter. Distantly he knows it's not even that funny, but a dam has broken somewhere inside him and all the emotion he's kept pent up this term bursts forth behind his hysterical laughter.

Juniper watches him in some concern and tries to speak again, babbling nonsense with an inquisitive inflection at the end.

Felix wipes the corners of his eyes and attempts to pull himself together. "Okay, okay. Stop talking before I pass out from laughing so hard."

Now distinctly pink, Juniper folds her arms crossly and mumbles something else Felix can't understand. His grin is still glued to his face, but his laughter subsides.

"Well I suppose that's it for tonight. Can't do much else with you babbling like a lunatic. " Another chuckle escapes him and Juniper glowers. "Can you meet me in Greenhouse Three tomorrow after dinner*. I have a plant I want to show you."

Juniper shakes her head and points at her Quidditch uniform.

"The next night, then?"

She continues to shake and point.

Felix huffs impatiently. For some reason, the thought of her spending so much time with other people makes him irritable.

"Okay, well when are you free?"

Juniper pulls a timetable out of her bag and consults it. Felix is more than a little surprised to find her so organized. He makes a note of this in the mental file he's compiling of her potential prefect skills.

She taps a space to indicate a morning the day before the last Quidditch match. Felix hesitates. He has a revision session with the other prefects that day that he really shouldn't miss. But a sudden recklessness in him rears its head, as if it's missed throwing his common sense to the wind since the dragon's been gone, and Felix agrees before he can stop himself.

-

In the days leading up to their next scheduled meeting, Juniper occupies Felix's thoughts more than his rational side thinks she should. He finds himself going out of his way to take hallways he knows Juniper frequents in the hopes of receiving a wave and a smile as she passes. A girl with similar coloured hair sits a few rows in front of him in Transfiguration, and he can't stop himself from glancing at the back of her head every few minutes. And something in the Potions classroom one lesson emits a powerful waft of lavender that distracts him so badly his Draught of Living Death is unusable.

Felix tries to assure himself that this is normal. People enjoy having friends and miss them when they're not around, that's all. He has spent the last seven years cultivating accomplishments, not friendships, so it's only to be expected that the newness of the experience excites him. The rational part of his brain finds this theory hard to swallow, but Felix ignores it (he's an expert at that now). Instead, he channels his energy into planning out the details of their next meeting.

-

For once, Juniper is not only on time but actually arrives at Greenhouse Three before Felix. She turns as he walks in and flashes a smile that makes his stomach lurch. Just a typical friendship response? inquires his rational voice. Felix banishes it with a grimace.

"Watch yourself," He says, his greeting a little brusque to cover his sudden self-consciousness. "There's a Snargaluff over there and it could attack you when you least expect."

Felix gestures over Juniper's shoulder and she spins around quickly, taking a step back. He notices with a pleasant shiver how much nearer she is to him now. His rational voice wonders why this observation is relevant.

"Snargaluff?" Juniper asks in some alarm.

"It's a violent plant known for its green pulsating pods," explains Felix automatically, relieved that he prepared what to say in advance since the dialogue in his brain is very distracting. "Sixth years learn to extract them. I'm going to teach you."

"Sounds brilliant," Juniper says enthusiastically as Felix leads her to the back of the greenhouse. He's hyperaware of her shoulder brushing against his slightly as they walk, and the fleeting contact is so distracting he can only nod and agree, "Snargaluff is amazing," then groan inwardly at how inane this sounds.

The plant resting placidly in its pot seems harmless enough. Its long tendrils rustle very slightly as if in a breeze, though the air in the greenhouse is still. But Felix knows better than to be fooled by the Snargaluff's benign appearance.

"But it's wild. It requires cunning to keep it contained." Felix glances at Juniper. "Perfect for a Slytherin."

Juniper tugs on her dragon hide gloves and inspects the plant in front of her, head cocked a little to the side. She reaches a cautious hand toward one of the bulbs and the Snargaluff springs to life in an instant. Its vines writhe and strike like angry snakes, complete with a sinister hissing sound as the bulbs rub together. Juniper draws her hand back quickly.

"So...is there a trick to this I should know?" she asks, keeping her eyes on the angry plant.

"You distract it with one hand, while the other immobilises it," Felix replies with a small smile. "Here let me show you."

Juniper waves her left hand in the air above the Snargaluff, its tendrils stretching so far to reach her the pot almost tips over, while Felix closes his fingers around the back of her right.

"Plants like these need a firm hand," he murmurs as he guides Juniper's hand to the plant's base and shows her exactly where to grasp it to soothe the Snargaluff's frantically waving vines. Immediately, the plant's movements subside to a gentle rustling again, and Juniper can now use her free hand to collect the pods.

Felix steps closer, under the pretense of showing Juniper an easier method of extracting a pod and breathes in her perfume again. It's as strangely exhilarating as it was on the grounds, but he refuses to be baited by the part of his brain that questions this. His decision to remain standing directly behind Juniper while she works is entirely for her protection, and has absolutely nothing to do with how much he enjoys being close to her.

Juniper does an excellent job, as Felix knew she would, gathering the pods from the plant's bulbs decisively. But as she extracts the last, her hand on the stem falters and the newly awoken Snargaluff shoots an angry vine toward her face with lightning speed. Juniper jumps back at the same time Felix grabs her shoulders to pull her away, so that she falls against his chest momentarily before righting herself. The unexpected contact sends lightning through Felix, and his brain becomes strangely fuzzy. He gasps a little at the powerful sensation, but Juniper does not appear to notice.

"The vines of that Snargaluff nearly got me!" she exclaims, glancing reproachfully at the plant.

Felix clears his throat and smooths his hair back unconsciously. "You did well. I'm impressed," he mumbles, then clarifies hastily, "With how quickly you collected those pods."

Juniper beams at Felix and his stomach flips again. "Is that it, then?" she asks, carefully moving the bucket of pods out of reach of the violently thrashing Snargaluff.

Felix makes a supreme effort to clear his head. He doesn't want this to be over, but he can't think of anything else to show her. He stalls.

"Well, you learned to cast Immobulus, you brewed babbling beverage, and you learned how to extract Snargaluff pods." He ticks off their lessons on his fingers, wracking his brain for any excuse to keep her here a bit longer or to see her again later.

"Yes..." agrees Juniper suspiciously. "And thank you for all that. But I still don't understand why you're showing me all these things*."

Yes, why has he done all of this? demands his rational side. His flimsy excuse of determining if she's really prefect material just won't hold water with his better sense anymore. Juniper hasn't proven anything about herself that he didn't already know.

Well, I've missed spending time with her, then, that's reasonable isn't it? We're friends! Felix clings to this argument like a life jacket in which his rationality immediately pokes holes. Being friends doesn't explain the strange visceral reactions her presence is causing in him, sensations he never experienced in all the time they cared for the dragon together.

Juniper is watching him expectantly while his brain battles itself, and he has to say something.

"You haven't...figured it out?" stutters Felix, doing his best to seem enigmatic instead of just as perplexed as she is.

Juniper tries to raise her eyebrows, that ridiculous looking expression that crinkles her forehead. Only now, Felix realizes it's actually adorable. He wonders how he's never noticed this before.

And then something clicks in his brain. Felix understands. His eyes widen involuntarily. Some primal instinct demands that he run, and for once his rational side is more than happy to obey.

"Think on it. Then meet me back in the common room later," says Felix abruptly, already moving past her. He comes dangerously close to the wriggling Snargaluff in his effort not to touch any part of her.

"What? When?" Juniper calls after him, confused.

"I don't know. After dinner,” he babbles without thinking. For the first time that day, Felix's entire brain is focused on the same goal: getting out of the greenhouse and away from her as fast as humanly possible.

-

At the beginning of Felix's fourth year, competition to be the next Slytherin prefect was vicious. It seemed everyone his age was dead set on the position, and perfect grades and a nearly flawless school record would not be enough to guarantee anyone the title. Felix was just beginning to despair that the badge he so longed for would slip through his grasp, when a miracle occurred: the Celestial Ball. 

Almost overnight, hordes of formerly serious students dedicated to their grades and their goals now had eyes only for each other, leaving the path to prefect wide open for someone who could just keep their focus. Felix was more than happy to take advantage of his peers' childish behavior, and he assured himself smugly that he would never allow himself to become distracted by anything quite so ridiculous and fleeting as feelings.

Which makes his newfound fancy for Juniper so much harder to bear.

Safely ensconced in his dormitory, Felix buries himself under all the blankets he can conjure until his outline is barely distinguishable, attempting to hide from his own embarrassment. Why her, he thinks desperately, of all people? She's almost four years younger than he is, and nothing special to look at it. She's rash and reckless and unreasonable, far too many Gryffindor-like traits for any self-respecting Slytherin. Admittedly, she has talent and power, but her academic carelessness and general disregard for order has always driven him mad. Do they have anything in common except their house and a predilection for dragons?

There is no reason, insists the rational voice in his head. It isn't logical. It's a sickness. You catch it from the people you're closest to. This revelation soothes Felix's humiliated ego just a little. It isn't his fault. He's just spent too much time with her this year, that's all. More time than he's spent with any one person.

Felix sits up slowly, disentangling himself from the bedclothes. He takes several deep breaths, willing the horrid fluttering in his stomach to settle so he can come up with a plan. If it's being around her that causes him to feel like this, then that's easily solved. He graduates in a just over a month; all he has to do is stay away her till then. And since finding any time to spend together this semester has been such an arduous task, avoiding her for just a few weeks should be no challenge at all.

There's a familiar wave of grief rising in him, but Felix stifles it, flattening his hair to his head ferociously. These feelings will fade, he assures himself, they have to. It's not as if they have any other choice. Juniper Windsong is no more viable a prospect than Dragonology is a career.

-

Felix seriously considers skiving off his meeting with Juniper as part of his new resolution to keep his distance. She might not even notice, he thinks bitterly; she has so many other friends, she probably won't have the time to come looking for him if he stands her up. But this line of reasoning runs dangerously to the question Felix refuses to ask himself under any circumstances whatsoever: how Juniper might feel about him. There's no good answer, and he wrenches his mind away from the thought forcibly.

In the end, the part of him that still aches from the abrupt loss of Sparky insists on saying some sort of goodbye. Closure will allow his feelings to fade more quickly, he decides, therefore seeing her one last time is a rational decision.

The common room is less crowded than it was the last time they met here. A few scattered fifth and seventh years are using dinner to catch up on revision at the study tables, and both sofas remain vacant, but Felix eschews the available seats. Just looking at the sofa calls to mind all the times they've sat there together this year, everything she's said to him and every emotion he's been forced to confront.

Lost in his memories, Felix is suddenly startled by a tentative hand on his arm. He turns to find Juniper watching him warily.

"Is everything alright?" she ventures cautiously. Her fingers against the exposed skin of his forearm set his nerves on fire, but he steps away purposely, rational side fully in control.

"Oh, Windsong, there you are," comments Felix airily. "I was just looking around the common room. I'm going to miss our den of mischief when I graduate." He executes a perfect smirk and eyebrow raise combo.

Juniper tilts her head a little, bemused, and Felix knows she's trying to see past his affectations. He redoubles his effort to remain aloof.

"And all of Slytherin will miss you," she assures him before pressing on, refusing to be distracted. "But seriously, Felix. What's going on? Why did you give me all those lessons?"

"You still don't know?" Felix allows his smirk to widen. "Come on... surely you have an idea what I want you to do." He can practically see her brain working behind her eyes, trying to pick apart his strange actions over the last few weeks and discern his motives.

"I don't know, earn more house points*?" Juniper shrugs. "Or make up an excuse to give me house points*?" She narrows her eyes at him slyly but he only continues to look inscrutable.

"Something else, then." Her jocularity vanishes, replaced by the focused expression she wears when she's concentrating on something important; a face so familiar to him now.

"You said... you were teaching me leadership skills. You want me to step up and be a leader?" Juniper finally concludes, cocking her head to the side curiously. "Like you?"

And in spite of his carefully crafted dispassion, Felix feels warmth spread through his chest the way it always does when she compliments him, when her attention belongs to him fully. He can't bring himself to voice his haughty rejoinder. He wants her to smile at him. To see him in that way only she seems to, where he isn't disappointing or unworthy or unsuitable.

"That's exactly right, Juniper," answers Felix softly. He watches her face light up just a little and he wants more.

"You are a born leader," he tells her in a voice entirely free of sarcasm or humor. "I see the potential in you. You're going to bring pride to our house."

Juniper blinks, so thrown off guard she forgets to hide the expression in her eyes. And for a brief moment, the two Slytherins each see the other without masks. He wonders if the same feeling is spreading through her chest, like a brilliant bubble inflating and inspiring him with confidence.

"And I am awarding Slytherin twenty five house points for all your hard work."

The moment ends, and Juniper laughs, shaking her head at him. "I knew it."

"I'm also going to put in a good word with Dumbledore and Snape," adds Felix. "I'll tell them you would make an excellent prefect."

That stops her laughter in its tracks.

"What?" Juniper cries, so loudly a fifth year near them hisses at her reproachfully. "You're joking, right? A prefect who's broken nearly every single rule at Hogwarts?"

Felix smiles at her. A real smile. "There's more to being a leader than following rules."

Juniper looks at him as though seeing him for the first time. There's so much in her eyes that can't be identified. Felix wishes desperately to know what she's thinking now. Rationality wants to refuse him hope, the hope that maybe he means something special to her as well. That one day, maybe...

"Felix," Juniper intones his name. Her gaze is almost too much for him to bear. "Thank you," is all she can say.

His disciplined rationality is strong, but it's never encountered this, and Felix cannot suppress a tidal wave of desire. He wants her to look at him like that a bit longer. He wants to be standing closer to her when she says his name. He wants her to be seventeen, leaving Hogwarts with him, maybe running off to find dragons together. At the very least he wants to hug her, to feel the tingling sensation that comes with her touch again.

Before he can think about it further, Felix reaches out his hand for her to shake. It's an acceptable compromise. Juniper looks at his hand and then at his face before extending her own and clasping firmly.

Felix knows he will miss her. Knows how badly it will hurt later when he's gone. But she won't be fourteen forever, and if he's learned anything from her its to expect the impossible. The thought of Juniper Windsong is a small ray of sun that breaks through the darkness of his future.

"Good luck with the rest your Hogwarts journey," offers Felix simply. "Hopefully we'll meet again years from now."

He gives her one last smile and lets her hand go.

-

Chapter 10 | Masterpost