#perception of the world and shit sometimes i wonder how the light reaches my eyes to form comprehensible shapes

[ches-nogat]

Me listening to an ASMR video: I'm terrified of death, arent i? Damn

[velvett-tearss]

Checkmate — Eren Jaeger

summary: A vicious cycle where you and Eren fight over who gets to light the match while dousing each other in gasoline.

warnings: toxic relationship, manipulation, domestic altercation, slut-shaming, gaslighting, cheating, heavy cursing, suggestive themes, mentions of alcohol and marijuana use, fem!reader (she/her)

genre: modern au, angst (?)

word count: 3.4k

a/n: my venus scorpio hates to love Eren lmao pls don’t think this is a healthy relationship, (lmk if i forgot any other warnings pls), this was on repeat while i wrote, hope you enjoy it <3 (again, pls lmk if I missed anything!) and stay safe!

You knew it was wrong. Everything about you and him was wrong. Nothing could justify it anymore, you knew that much. You didn't think you could lose yourself in the game, but you had.

And, all of it was Eren's fault.

He didn't worry about feelings, responsibilities, or duty. He didn't care if he came back later than he said he would you, if he left you waiting in that pretty dress you had picked out just for him.

And, you loathed that about him. You loathed that Eren Jaeger was free. Totally and utterly free of everything and anything. Nothing would hold him back. He wouldn't allow it to come to pass.

He had his freedom, but you had something else.

You questioned things when you weren't satisfied with the answer you had been given. You did things just to see what would happen after. You pushed people just to see how long it would take from them to fall over the edge.

You had often been told you were simply too much to deal with. That you pushed people's buttons until they no longer wanted to be around you. That you stole parts of their sanity until they had no choice other than to run away.

But, you never saw it like that. You didn't mean to be a parasite who ate away at people's peace and patience. You simply liked testing your boundaries.

So, you preferred the word curious.

Maybe Eren had been walking around the earth without shackles his entire life, but you knew everyone was a prisoner to something, even someone like him.

Naturally, you wanted to see what it would take for Eren to break. He was so shameless, so completely free of any care in the world. Eren obeyed his own rules and his alone. He was such an inconsistent asshole half the time, but you couldn't help yourself.

You wouldn't forgive yourself if you had looked away from that charming smile and those pretty teal eyes.

Despite the facade of him being a simple-minded person, you found out what was truly hiding underneath the mask.

Eren was intemperate with a sharp tongue and a loud mouth. He did things his way, and there would be no other option. There was such a mix of emotions boiling inside him, it was like it was asking to be disrupted.

How could you not indulge yourself?

You knew it would be gratifying to see how he would react when backed into a corner. Would he cry like the others? Would he fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness? Or, would he shut down?

How long would it take for him to leave you?

Eren was already known to be hot-headed, and you wondered what it was like to burn. You figured it wouldn't take long to find out how far you could push him. He was the crybaby type, so you didn't think he would be hard to crack.

But, he wasn't like the others.

See, Eren Jaeger wasn't a person who would easily crack. He wasn't the guy who gave up under pressure. In fact, he was the complete opposite. He was a fighter, and he would stop at nothing till victory was his.

It was only too bad for him that you were the same. Your thirst would only be quenched when you saw him break. You needed it more than you had ever needed anything.

You pushed, and he pushed harder. You shouted, and he shouted louder. You bitched and moaned and complained and did awful things to him, and Eren did them right back.

It was an endless cycle between the two of you.

You would do something to tick him off. Maybe it was telling him how Jean looked so sexy in black or how Armin's intelligence was out of this world you didn't know how he wasn't dating anyone.

Perhaps you were a parasite who ate away at your own liberty to do what you wished. You stretched yourself to push him into a corner, and it always worked.

Whatever it was, Eren would explode on you. You knew it pushed his buttons, it fucked with his mind, and that's why you did it. Because maybe it would be the day he finally gave in to the pain you inflicted on him and leave you for good.

Sometimes it would be him doing something that rubbed you the wrong way. Perhaps you wore something too short, so he called you a whore before fucking you like one. Or, he didn't answer your texts all night because he was with God-knows-who.

You shouted at him, called him all sorts of different names, and even trashed his apartment if you felt like it. Eren would fight with you, blame you for pushing him far enough as to dip a toe in the unforgiving pool of infidelity, and the two of you wouldn't speak for a week or so.

"I can't even walk around my own damn apartment without you being so annoying!" Eren shouted with so much force you held back a flinch. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, green eyes wondering about the room.

You didn't know if he was shit-faced, high, or a mix of both. You didn't care anymore. It seemed like you had been arguing for hours, but who really knew? All perception of time was lost on you when you were around Eren.

All this started because he asked you to stay the night at his apartment. He usually preferred to go out and have some fun around town, but this was his way of making it up to you for leaving you stranded at the restaurant on your last date.

Well, it was a way for the both of you to make up with each other. Before Eren decided to steal your phone and drive away without you, the waiter serving you had left his number for you. It was only the consequence of your actions earlier that night.

You spent most of the evening flirting with him every chance you got. Batting your eyelashes at him, leaning against the table the slightest so he could get a peak of the dainty little necklace that sat pretty on your cleavage.

He wasn't even that attractive, really — you and Eren both knew that — but he still let his emotions get the best of him. If there was one thing you could trust to be consistent it was his red-hot anger.

"Don't leave when I'm talking to you!" Eren ordered, green eyes blazing hard at the back of your head. He watched you walked around the house, following you to continue your argument. "What? You're gonna go and cry like a little bitch now?"

"Why can't you leave me alone, Eren?!" you screamed, grabbing your sweater and shoving it into your bag. You turned around only to find him inches from your face. "I'm not staying here if you're gonna be a dick!"

He let out a dry chuckle as you continued gathering your things. "What a perfect fucking excuse to go fuck that jerk in your class, right?" Eren hissed, reaching to grab your arm. "Gosh, can't you ever just keep your legs closed for a night?!"

"Keep my legs closed?!" you shot back, shoving him away from you. "You're the one who's been out doing who-knows-what, Eren! You're the one who comes home with lipstick stains from whichever whore you fucked!"

"You shouldn't talk about your friends like that."

You snapped your neck to him.

His face was stony with his jaw clenched, and his hands balled up in fists. None of those things frightened you, though; it was those eyes of him. Those pretty green eyes that had once stared at you so sweetly, so lovingly long ago.

Now, all you could see were glaciers in his irises.

You swallowed down the thick lump in your throat. "You are such a fucking dick." you declared, averting your gaze from his cold one. You advanced to the door, but he caught your arm in his grip again.

"Let go of me." you ordered, attempting to pry his hand off your arm, but he wouldn't budge. "Fuck, Eren. Are you fucking stupid and deaf? I said—"

Your voice got caught in your throat when he shoved you against the wall of his bedroom. He had you caged in, one hand pinning you to the wall and the other right beside you.

It seemed like Eren learned from the last time he tried to keep you from escaping. His last efforts of getting you to stay put were always futile, and you somehow still managed to break away every time.

He always tried to grab you a second time, but you left his cheek with a bright red outline of your palm, smacking him good and hard before leaving his apartment in a fray.

None of your past escapes mattered right now, so you continued squirming around in effort to release yourself from his iron clutch. "Wow, I guess you're not as stupid as you look." you scoffed, your other hand clawing at his.

"Don't be such a bitch." Eren ordered, but you continued your attempts to leave that were only feeble against his strength.

"Why don't you go with your other girlfriends, hmm?" You scoffed, reaching for his wrist and struggling to release your arm. "Tch, Eren, you're fucking hurting me. Stop—"

He brought you towards him, pulling you into his arms. You let out a grunt of disapproval as you tried to shimmy out of his crushing hug. "Oh, my gosh, let me go! I don't want you!" you protested, pushing your hand against his hard chest to create space between you, but he thrusted you back into his chest.

"Don't be such a bitch." Eren murmured into your ear. He had one hand wrapped around your upper back, keeping you close to him, while the other held your wrist tightly to stop you from pushing him away.

His shirt still smelled like the cologne you gifted him for his last birthday. Eren was extra kind to you that day, holding your hand and giving you kisses on the cheek.

The fresh scent was familiar on your nose. You breathed it in, allowing yourself to give in to his touch. "I'm not a bitch." you told him, closing your eyes. You hoped it would help you travel back in time to that beautiful spring day.

He only grunted in response, leaning his head against the top of yours. You felt the slight brush of air down your neck when he let out a sigh. The hand that held your wrist released it, finding purchase on your waist.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you. Eren's fingers found solace in the ends of your hair. You hadn't realized how much his words affected you until you felt your hair twirl around his fingers.

Did he really think you were a bitch? Is that why as much as you loved his cologne, you could still smell the unfamiliar scent of someone else on him?

If he cared about you, why would he leave you alone in his messy apartment all night? Why would he even bother inviting you? Why did he make an effort to speak to you so lovely that your heart fluttered?

"I just wanted to have a nice time with my girl, and you're making that so difficult. Why?" Eren questioned softly, a strand of your hair between his fingers. "Why do you go out of your way to do shit that irritates me?"

Tears prickled your eyes. "I could ask you the same thing." you replied, holding back the urge to sniffle. How could you not cry when he hurt you? You loved him with so much of yourself, and everything he did seemed like it was just to cause you harm.

"You're so mean to me, Eren. You never treat me like you should."

"I know." he said, the movement of his mouth against your head. "I don't mean to treat you like that, baby. I'm sorry. I really am." You didn't believe him, though. You didn't even want to look into his eyes because you feared you would be right.

You let out a sigh, wiping the tear that escaped the corner of your eye on his shirt. "You're bad for me, Eren." you stated, turning your head to rest against his shoulder. "You're a bad guy and a bad boyfriend. You cheat on me and call my names, and you make me cry."

Eren hummed, rubbing your back in circles. "I'll be better. I'll try harder this time." he offered, his tone almost sounding pleading on your ears. "I promise I'll do better for you."

You didn't believe it. Eren couldn't do better. He was sick with an incurable disease. He no longer felt safe in his own body. He couldn't trust his thoughts to lead him to the correct answer. It all started when he met you, and your infection spread throughout his entire system.

You had infiltrated his way of thinking and acting, his way of feeling and speaking. Eren Jaeger would never be the same person he was before he met you.

He couldn't hide his disdain when he was around his friends, not with all the remarks you made of them. Did you really think Jean was better looking than him? Was it his hair?

Maybe he should start spending more time in the library. Would that make him him look smarter in your eyes? Would you come to him for help with your homework or would you still go to Armin?

And, it was in your silence that his questions of doubt were answered. "You don't believe me." Eren stated as if he were reading the very thoughts from your mind.

A bolt of lightning shot through your spine at his tone. This was the side of your boyfriend you hadn't quite figured out yet. He could loving and playful and crack jokes all day, and mean and standoffish where he wouldn’t even look at you, but he could also be fucking sadist.

His fist curled into the roots of your hair, yanking your head back to meet his gaze. There was a sharp ache pounding on the back of your head, but you forgot all about it when you saw the slight curl of his lip.

"No one else would put up with you. You know that, don't you?" Eren asked you, green eyes appearing darker than they ever had. "You know no one would ever give you the time of day like I do."

"I know." you managed to tell him, leaning into where he gripped your hair to ease the pain you felt.

"Do you?" he questioned, raising a brow.

You tried your best to keep the hammering of your heart against your chest from showing on your face. Eren may have been a sadist, but he wasn't the only one.

"Yes, Eren." you stated, deciding to take a risk and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your touch. "You misunderstand me. I only what what's best for you and me. That's all I ever wanted."

He furrowed a brow at your words.

Sure, you would admit that Eren had power over you. He was stronger than you, taller than you, quicker than you. He was the one who had your back against a wall, and it was your hair in his fist.

But, you had something he didn't. You honed the skill he wouldn't be able to polish for years to come. He may have been overly aggressive and carried the ability to make an environment where he would always be the person with the most power, but you had experience.

And, that was something he couldn’t create.

"I've done so much for you, Eren. Why would I go through all this struggle if I didn't want to be with you?" you explained, forcing a pout on your lips. "Is that how you feel about me?"

His grip on your head began to loosen. "No," Eren forced out, eyebrows so scrunched forward they lost their sharpness. "That's not what I want. I was—"

"If you know that, then why would you stand me up?" you demanded, gazing you at him. "If you know all I want is for you to be happy, why would you start a fight with me? You know I would never hurt you like that, baby."

"I didn't mean to start a fight." Eren admitted, swallowing. "I just don't want you to leave me. I don't want to be alone. I don't know what—"

"I know. You don't have to explain it to me, baby. I know exactly what you're thinking." you told him, reaching for his hand to hold in yours. "It's okay, Eren. I know you wouldn't ever want to hurt me, right?"

He nodded, teal eyes watching as you brought his hand to your pillowy lips. You placed a feathery kiss against his knuckles. It had been so soft, so sweet that he wanted to cry.

He had just had car sex with one of the girls who lived in your dormitory's building, and you were kind enough to give him another chance. He did something that hurt you, and you still only wanted what was best for him.

"I love you." Eren sputtered out. His eyes were wide at you, and his voice sounded like he was begging you for something you refused to give him.

You let out a sweet sigh, eyes snapping to his. "You love me?" you repeated, taking a moment to savor the way the words felt on your tongue. Your brows furrowed at the words. "Do you really?"

He nodded quickly, maneuvering his hand to hold yours. He peppered kisses along your fingers, your knuckles. "I do. I really fucking do. I love you." Eren assured, kissing the inside of your hand before grabbing the side of your face.

You raised a brow as he planted soft, needy kisses along your cheeks. "How much do you love me, Eren?" you inquired, bringing your hand to massage his scalp.

Eren swallowed, looking up at you. He was quiet. You blinked back at him, waiting for his answer. You had been so surprised to find he had nothing to offer you in that moment.

You quirked a brow at his silence. "How much, Eren? How much do you love me?" you repeated, voice advancing from a curious tone to a demanding one.

He shook his head, bringing your lips to meet his gently. He tasted like . . . was it honey? Or was it just how sweet the lies he told sounded on your ears?

You weren't able to tell what his mouth tasted like, but you knew you had earned another spit sister? Had he kissed her the way he kissed you? Did he feed her the same lies he did you? Could she taste him? Was she able to put a finger on what the candied flavor on his lips was?

Eren pulled back from you slightly. You couldn’t tell if it was his turquoise eyes that were glassy or if it was yours. "Too much." he told you, lips brushing against yours. "I love you too much." He collided his face with yours, tongue slipping into your open mouth.

His kisses travelled lower — along your jaw, down your nec. He sucked hard when he found your pulse-point, only stopping once a soft moan escaped your swollen lips.

There really wasn't a way you would ever leave him, even if you tried to. Despite all the fights, all the times you professed your hate for him, all the times you tried tried to break it off, Eren stayed with you.

But, it was the same for him. Even if you hurt him, flirt with his friends right in front of him, cuss him out and manipulate him the way you had already done a profuse amount of times in the past, Eren would always love you. How could he not?

Maybe it was because both of you were equally fucked in the head, or because you both loved the concept of pain whether you be playing the role of the inflicted or inflicter, but in some twisted way, you never wanted to leave him.

Somewhere in the messed up relationship that you two had, you realized you loved him. God, you fucking loved him, even if he treated you like a pet.

And, he was your favorite toy. Yours to use and to lie and to fuck. Whether Eren Jaeger was so free he couldn't help but trample over you, or you were too much, too curious that you pushed him to the very brink and a little more, one thing wouldn't change.

You knew it was wrong. Everything about you and him was wrong. Nothing could justify it, you figured that much. You didn't think you could lose yourself in the game, but you did.

And, all of it was Eren's fault.

note: welp they were toxic huh

[inkwell1013]

Feeding the Starving artist - Persona 5

Pairings: Various platonic ships. Mostly Yusuke and the Phantom Thieves, but also includes Yusuke and Sojiro (familial)

Genre: Angst, but also fluff, oneshot, found family, friendship

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: This fic deals with some difficult topics including disordered eating habits and child abuse/neglect (implied/referenced).

Summary: Yusuke Kitagawa is the epitome of a starving artist - in more ways than one - and when Ren find out that his friend is dangerously underweight, he and the rest of the Phantom Thieves hatch a plan to help Yusuke with his bad eating habits. Because sometimes the solution is just as simple as it sounds.

- - - - -

Yusuke was stick thin. He always had been, even as a child. The reason was simple: he had never had enough to eat. When he lived in the atelier, complete meals were rare, and he was used to eating meagre scraps of whatever Natsuhiko could find in the cupboards. There just wasn’t enough food to go around.

Even after he left that place in the wake of Madarame’s arrest, unable to shirk the dark memories that clang to it like a thick fog, Yusuke stuck to those same eating habits. It was a comfort. It was familiar. It was enough.

As much as the school nurse told him that he was underweight and insisted that he needed to eat more, he refused to believe her. He was eating the same amount that he ate as a child and saw no reason to change his habits.

He was fine.

In truth, he was not fine. His diet was beginning to affect him, as much as he hated to admit it. He was tired constantly, and every time he stood up too fast, he felt his head spin wildly. Yusuke’s constant exhaustion meant that he was falling asleep at every possible opportunity – on Ren’s shoulder while they drove around mementos, at his desk at school or while they were just hanging out. No one minded, just like no one minded how Yusuke stole food from them when he thought they weren’t looking, chalking his behavior up to his usual eccentricity. It took a few months of this for any of them to notice that something was wrong.

And it was easy to not notice, as Yusuke was good at coming up with excuses. “I’m fine,” he would say. “Just stayed up late finishing a piece. Don’t worry about me.” Or “I just forgot my lunch. Thought I’d borrow some of yours.”

Even so, the more perceptive of the phantom thieves, especially Ren, Makoto and Haru, couldn’t help but worry about their friend.

It all came to a head during their summer vacation. Yusuke had come to visit Ren and left Le Blanc at about six o’clock, insisting that he needed to get back to the dorms before curfew. Ren had gone to take out the trash a little later that evening, and found his friend, sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.  

“Sojiro!” he yelled. “It’s Yusuke. He’s fainted!”

“What do you mean he’s fainted?” asked Sojiro. “I swear to God, if this is some stupid prank…”

“No. I swear he’s really unconscious. I think he might be hurt. Please.” Ren could hear the terror in his own voice, and he knew that Sojiro could hear it too, because there was a great clatter in the kitchen and Sojiro came running. He swore under his breath when he saw Yusuke, and quickly placed a finger to his wrist.

“His pulse is weak, but it’s there,” he said finally. “We need to get him inside. Can you pick him up?”

Ren dug his hands underneath Yusuke’s shoulders, and hoisted him upright, throwing one of Yusuke’s arms over his shoulder and putting his arm around Yusuke’s waist. He was horrified to see that he weighed almost nothing. “Is he heavy?” asked Sojiro. ��Do you need help?”

“No… I don’t. He weighs nothing.”

“He can’t be that light. Pass him here.” Ren complied, allowing Sojiro to take on most of Yusuke’s weight.

Sojiro’s eyes widened. “He’s lighter than Futaba,” he whispered.

Futaba was a good foot shorter than Yusuke. He should have weighed much more than her, not so much less.

“We need to get him inside,” said Ren. From his hand’s position on Yusuke’s side, he could feel every one of his ribs. This was bad. How did he not notice that something was wrong before?

He shouldered Yusuke’s slight frame into Le Blanc and laid him down in one of the booths. “Fetch the doctor,” ordered Sojiro. “I’ll watch him.”

Ren wasn’t a particularly fast runner; he wasn’t slow, but he wasn’t especially fast either. Even so, as he ran to fetch the doctor, the world became a blur behind him. A single word repeated in his mind, repeatedly:

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

He burst into Takemi’s clinic, grabbing her by the arm. “No time to explain,” he panted, trying to drag her out the front door. “You have to come.”

“Give me a second to lock the door kid,” said Takemi. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Yusuke… my friend… he fainted… and somethings really wrong. He weighs literally nothing. He’s so light.”

“That does sound serious. Where is he?”

“Le Blanc. Hurry.”

***

Takemi’s face fell when she saw Yusuke - who had thankfully begun to stir slightly - and Ren understood why. Yusuke’s appearance was almost ghoulish, he was white as a sheet and there were deep bags under his eyes.

“Is he another one of yours Sojiro?” asked Takemi, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. “How many kids do you have tucked away back there?”

“No, he’s not,” said Sojiro. “He’s… He’s Ren’s friend. Just spends a lot of time here. You know how it is.”

“You called the doctor?” whined Yusuke, trying to sit up. “That was completely unnecessary. I’m fine.”

“Yusuke, you literally fainted. You’re not okay,” said Ren, placing a hand on Yusuke’s chest and pushing him back down. “Don’t try to stand up, you might faint again.”

“But I’m fine!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, thank you,” said Takemi, reaching into her bag and pulling out a stethoscope. She pressed it to Yusuke’s chest, and listened a moment. Frowning, she lifted in away. “You have a weak heartbeat. I’ll bet you have a dangerously low blood pressure too. Do you feel any numbness or coldness in your extremities?”

“A little. I thought that was normal.”

“It’s a sign of poor circulation, likely due to your weak heart. Do you know how much you weigh?”

“Umm… the last time we had physical examinations at school I weighed fifty-three and a half kilos.”

“And how tall are you?”

“A hundred and eighty-one centimeters.”

Takemi pulled her phone out her pocket and jabbed a few numbers into it. She scowled. “Your BMI is 16.3. You’re severely underweight. It’s no wonder you’re having health problems.”

Somehow, to Ren, even the word ‘severely’ feels like an understatement.

“I’m surprised your parents weren’t contacted,” she continued. “This stuff is serious.”

Yusuke stared down at the ground, not saying anything. Sensing the tension, Takemi spoke again. “I feel like I’ve touched on a sensitive issue here. You are under no obligation to tell me, but is everything alright at home?”

“He’s in jail,” came the quiet response. “My fathe- my mentor got arrested… for child abuse. And my mother is dead.”

Takemi took in a sharp breath, looking desperately at Ren and Sojiro. “You have a place to stay, right?” she asked. “Because if you don’t, I’m sure Sojiro will…”

“I’m living in my school dorms. I’m fine.”

“That’s good. Look, I can prescribe you some medication to lessen some of your symptoms, like your fatigue and low blood pressure, but the best thing you can do is try to get to a healthy weight. Given your height, you should aim to gain roughly ten to fifteen kilos over the next few months.” She handed him a business card. “If you need any further help, you can call me or come to my clinic.”

She packed up her things and pulled Sojiro to one side, safely out of earshot. “This kid has some serious problems,” she whispered. “I don’t know if it’s an eating disorder or just bad habits, but he’s going to need help. I know it’s a lot to ask but—”

Sojiro interrupted her. “I will. I’ve done this before with my daughter. She had similar issues. I know that I can help him.”

Takemi nodded, begrudging respect in her eyes. “Besides,” continued Sojiro. “The kid has good friends. I’m sure they’ll help him out too.”

Sojiro saw Takemi out the door, but once he was sure she was gone, he headed back to check on Ren and Yusuke. Sojiro’s heart broke a little in his chest as he saw Yusuke’s expression. His eyes were watering, and he looked so confused and lost. When Ren patted him on the shoulder, Sojiro couldn’t help but notice that Yusuke jumped a little at the touch.

“I need to get back to the dorms or I’ll miss curfew,” he mumbled, sitting up.

“Let me drive you,” said Sojiro.

“That’s not necessary,” replied Yusuke, a tad sharply.

Sojiro sighed. “Just accept my help kid. It won’t kill you.”

Yusuke begrudgingly allowed Sojiro to drive him back to the dorms, after Sojiro insisted that he’d rather not find him passed out on the street again.

By the time Sojiro got back to Le Blanc, Ren was already asleep upstairs. He went to lock up the café, craving a cigarette for the first time in years. For the first time since… Since Wakaba died.

It was funny to think that just a few years ago he didn’t consider himself to be a fatherly person and now he had a whole troop of kids. Sighing, he put the key in the lock and turned it, before making the slow trudge home.

***

Ren let out a deep sigh. Pulling out his phone, he made a group chat and invited all his friends, save for Yusuke.

Ren: I’m calling an emergency meeting. Don’t tell Yusuke.

Ryuji: Why not?

Makoto: This is about him, isn’t it? About the thing we discussed.

Haru: I hoped we were wrong.

Ren: Yes, it’s about that.

Ryuji: Why are you all being so cryptic?

Ren: Meet me at Le Blanc at 10am tomorrow. Don’t be late.

Ren: That means you Ryuji.

Ryuji: Dude!

Ren: @Ann Make sure Ryuji gets here on time.

Ann: Will do.

Ryuji: Don’t encourage him!

Ryuji: Seriously, what’s going on? I’m so confused.

Ren: I’ll bring Futaba. Remember, do not tell Yusuke. He can’t know about this.

Turning off his phone, Ren set it down on the table and took in a long, deep breath. He needed to tell them. He needed to be a good leader. He needed to be who everyone else needed him to be.

He was a Joker, expected to fit into any gap, and designed to be a wild card. He could do anything, fill any role, and tomorrow, his role would be that of the messenger, bearing terrible news. He didn’t want to do it, but he had no choice.

***

When Ren stirred the next morning, memories of the previous night flooded his mind. Shit. He dragged himself out of bed and went to feed Morgana. Anticipating the promise of food, Morgana jumped off the windowsill, and onto the table, where Ren portioned out a tin of tuna for him.

“What are you sighing so much for?” asked Morgana between bites. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s about Yusuke,” explained Ren. “And it’s pretty serious.”

“How serious?”

“I had to call an emergency meeting.”

“But those are only for—”

“When someone’s life is in danger. I know.”

Morgana cocked his head. “It’s that bad?”

“Yeah, it is. He fainted, he’s so thin, he’s not eating enough, and I’m really worried about him.”

Morgana flicked his tail. “I had to deal with some food insecurity back before I met you all,” he began.

“When you were a stray?”

“I wasn’t a stray. I’m not a cat!” snapped Morgana. “But yes, when I was homeless, food was hard to come by. Maybe Yusuke’s dealing with something similar?”

“Maybe. He is technically homeless…”

It sounded bad when he said it, which it was. Yusuke had technically been homeless for several months. Even so, it had never been a problem, as he had been living in the Kosei dorms since Madarame’s arrest. It wasn’t like he was out roaming the streets or something.

Maybe the dorms were the problem. There was no one there to check that Yusuke was eating. He could engage in whatever unhealthy habits he wanted, and no one would ever find out.

Ren threw the empty tuna can in the bin, and went to help Sojiro with the café, hoping that having something to do with himself would lessen his anxiety somewhat. It worked, but only a little.

 Ren dragged Futaba - who was still groggy, having just woken up moments ago - to the meeting, before setting her down at the table with a fresh cup of black coffee. Morgana came slinking down the stairs a few minutes later. Makoto was the first to arrive after that, followed shortly after by Haru.

Ten minutes after the agreed upon time, Ann and Ryuji both burst into the room, bickering as always. “I can’t believe you made us late,” snapped Ann, sliding into the booth.

“I didn’t make us late,” replied Ryuji. “You were the one who just had to fix your hair before we left.”

“Only because it got messed up while I was helping you find your housekeys.”

“I didn’t know they would be under the sofa! I have no idea how they even got there!”

“You’re such a moron.”

“And you’re not much better.”

Ann rolled her eyes. “I love you anyway dumbass,” she said, giving Ryuji a peck on the cheek.

Once everyone was settled at the table, Ren retold the story of the previous night. A hush fell over the table, and Ryuji was the first to speak up.

“What can we do to help?” he asked.

Ren sighed. “I really don’t know. This is some serious shit. I mean, you guys weren’t there, but it was terrifying. I could count his ribs through his shirt.”

“We have to do something,” said Makoto.

“But Yusuke doesn’t want to be helped,” sighed Ren. “He insisted that everything is fine, even though we both knew it wasn’t.”

“We could just… give him food,” said Ryuji. “We don’t need to make this complicated.”

“Don’t be stupid Ryuji,” snapped Morgana. “There’s no way that would work.”

“No, I’m with Ryuji on this one,” said Ren. “It’s a simple plan, but it could work. So, are we in agreement?” There was a murmur of acknowledgement around the table.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” said Futaba, taking a sip of her coffee.

***

Makoto - always the most organized of the group - was the first to enact her part of the scheme: making Yusuke eat lunch. Her plan was simple and would hopefully work. She had prepared the first phase of her plan that morning, all she had to do now was ‘coincidentally’ run into Yusuke and enact phase two.

It wasn’t that hard to spot Yusuke on the train platform, as he tended to tower a good few inches over people, just as he was doing here. She reminded herself to play it cool.

“Hey Yusuke. Fancy seeing you here,” she said, walking up to him.

“Ah, Good morning Makoto. It’s not that unusual. We do catch the same train line up until the first stop.”

“You’re right,” said Makoto, shifting a little in place, and rearranging her grip on the bag she was holding. Just come out and say it already… The words just wouldn’t form on her tongue.

Thankfully, Yusuke brought it up first. “What do you have there?” he asked.

“Oh this? I accidentally made too much lunch today, and the rest wouldn’t fit in my backpack. It’s such a pain to carry it around though…”

Come on. Get the hint already.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Yusuke, glancing up at the noticeboard for train arrival times. This absolute moron…

“Why don’t you take it?” she offered. “You’d be doing me a favor; I really don’t want to have to carry it around all day.”

Yusuke frowned. “Are you sure? It’s your food.”

“I’m certain.”

“If you insist.” Yusuke took the bag from Makoto with a cautious reverence. He glanced at her one last time, as if making sure that it was really okay to take it, before opening his backpack and placing it inside.

“Oh. I’ll need the lunchbox back,” said Makoto. “You can just come by my house after school and drop it off.” At that moment, the train came screeching onto the platform, and she and Yusuke both stepped in.

Mission accomplished.

***

Yusuke was working on a new painting when his phone rang. He was about to decline the call, but he recognized Ann’s number and picked up. Clearing his throat, he spoke. “Good afternoon.”

“Hey Yusuke! I’m going to that new café in Shibuya tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?” asked Ann.

“Are you sure?” asked Yusuke. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“It’s fine. I want to hang out with you.”

Yusuke thought for a moment but shook his head. “As kind as that is of you, I must decline, as I don’t have the money.”

“I’ll pay for you. Come on, it’s my treat.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“I have pictures from that art showing I went to last week. I could show them to you.”

Yusuke was about to scoff – did Ann really believe that he could he bribed with pictures of an art showing? – but he stopped himself at the last moment.

He really wanted to see those pictures. He had been unable to attend the exhibit as it was during his exam week, but he had been following the artist online for some time and found their work both beautiful and inspiring.

Who knows if he’d get this chance again?

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”

The next day, he arrived at the café at precisely the agreed upon time. Yusuke was one of those people who believe that being late was a terrible sin, comparable only to leaving one’s brushes in their water pot or wasting paint.

His eyes swept around the small café, and recognizing Ann’s distinctive blond hair, he walked over and sat down. There was already a wide array of cakes and pastries spread out across the table. Yusuke couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the glorious sight, but he quickly reminded himself not to be greedy. This was Ann’s food, not his. He pulled his hands onto his lap, restraining himself.

Ann gave him a bright, cheery smile, and slid a slice of lemon cake towards him. “Here,” she said. “You like lemon cake, right?”

Yusuke stared down at the neat piece of yellow cake in front of him. His mother had made lemon cake for him once, when he was young. He didn’t remember the occasion – a birthday perhaps – but he remembered how it tasted. It was sour, yet sweet, and blindingly bright, like a drop of sunshine.

“Its my favorite,” he said, forcing back the memories. It wouldn’t do to cry over a piece of cake, like some kind of idiot. “How did you...?”

“Do you remember when Haru brought over those pastries the other day? When she offered you one, you reached right for the lemon cake without even stopping to look at any of the others. I assumed that’s because it was your favorite.”

“That was weeks ago. You remembered all this time?”

“Of course. It something that makes you happy, so I remembered it.”

“Huh.” Yusuke took the fork from the plate and cut himself a slice of the cake. It tasted just as good as he remembered.

He couldn’t help but remember what his mother said, as she handed him the piece of cake all those years ago. “That’s the great thing about this recipe. It lets you take something bitter and sad and turn it into something of melancholic beauty.”

“So, you wanted to see those paintings from the exhibit,” said Ann, pulling out her phone.

Ah, yes. That’s why they were here, wasn’t it? Yusuke almost didn’t care about it anymore; he just wanted to savor this flawless taste for one more moment. Blissful.

Even so, he pulled his attention towards Ann’s phone, where she had various pictures from the exhibition. He studied the artwork with a careful dedication, trying his best to etch every line and color into his mind. It was just as good as he expected from the young artist whose early work had enraptured him so.

As Ann rambled her way through many interpretations of the art that was on display, she made a point to push a few plates of sweets in front of Yusuke, who ate them dutifully.

Ann gave a secret smile.

***

Yusuke damn near tumbled over as Ryuji clapped him on the back, and he had to take a moment to steady himself. “Sup dude,” said Ryuji. “I’m going to the gym later. Wanna come?”

“I’m not really a fan of… those places…” mumbled Yusuke.

Ryuji was blissfully unaware of his friend’s apprehension. “I’ll treat you to beef bowl afterwards,” he offered.

Yusuke’s mouth watered at the promise, and he found himself nodding, quite without the preapproval of his mind. “Awesome man!” beamed Ryuji. “You don’t have to workout or anything if you don’t want to. You can just spot me. Anyways, I’ll see you there. What time do you wanna meet up?”

“Whatever time works for you.”

“Is like… five o’clock okay? I have to get changed into gym clothes and stuff.”

“As do I.” Did Yusuke even own gym clothes? He wasn’t certain. He had dropped out of gym class at the end of his first year of high school and never looked back. Even so, he was sure he’d find something to wear.

Rooting around in the deepest, most forgotten crevices of his drawers, he managed to find a pair of frayed, grey shorts and a tank top. These were classed as sporting attire, right? He pulled on the clothes and felt them completely dwarf his body.

He really didn’t want to ‘work out’ as Ryuji would put it. The last time he had done any massively strenuous exercise outside of the metaverse, which was sometime the previous year, he had fainted rather dramatically. It had been a particularly embarrassing moment, as it had happened in front of his entire class during gym and ended with him being carried off to the nurse’s office. He couldn’t help but fear that history would repeat itself.

He took a deep breath that did nothing to quell his nerves and left the dorms.

The gym smelt bad – that was Yusuke’s first thought. It absolutely reeked of sweat, and Yusuke couldn’t help but be a little intimidated by the various pieces of exercise equipment scattered around him that, in his opinion, looked more like torture devices.

Sometime while he was thinking, Ryuji snuck up on him and gave him a bone-crushing hug. “Sup dude. I’m so pumped about this!” said Ryuji. “I was gonna start with some cardio and then do some lifting. Do you want to join in?”

“Um… maybe?” mumbled Yusuke.

“Let’s just start and you can see how you feel. But go at your own pace and don’t push yourself too hard.”

Yusuke let out a murmur of agreement and headed towards the treadmills. If he was remembering correctly, running was cardio. He really didn’t want to run - it just made him feel tired and dizzy - but Ryuji was already setting up his machine, so Yusuke couldn’t drop out now.

He fiddled with the buttons until the treadmill was moving at a suitable pace and set himself into motion. It was invigorating, in a strange way. He even found himself somewhat enjoying the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

And then, once around half an hour had passed, Yusuke stumbled and had to grab ahold of the handle to keep from falling flat on his face. How graceful.

Ryuji turned off his machine and turned to his friend. “I think you’re a bit worn out,” he said. “Let’s take a break.”

Yusuke nodded breathlessly, and scrambled off the machine, desperately trying to catch his breath. When did he get this out of shape? He was startled when Ryuji threw him a bottle of water, which nearly smacked him on the side of the head.

“Go on,” said Ryuji. “Drink it.”

Yusuke’s thirst had gone unnoticed up until then, but he gratefully gulped down the drink. Somehow it had stayed graciously cool, even in the summer heat. Once he had drank all the water, Ryuji pressed something into his hand, going to drink his own bottle.

It was a protein bar. Yusuke had never had one of these before, but he knew that athletes ate them a lot. Even with the promise of chocolate chips – the message for which was printed on the side of the packet - Yusuke was cautious; he had never been a fan of new food.

He watched Ryuji tear open the packet of his bar and take a large chomp, looking for… something, though he wasn’t sure what. Permission maybe? He was used to asking others for food, whether that be Madarame, Natsuhiko or the school cook, and he wasn’t good at just taking things for himself.

Ryuji looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Why aren’t you eating? It’s really good. Give it a try.”

That’s all the permission Yusuke needed, and he took a bite. Not bad, actually. No one was more surprised than him when the entire bar was devoured in seconds. Maybe he was hungrier than he realized…

Ryuji took the empty bottle from him and threw it back into his backpack, before tossing the empty wrappers into the bin. “I’m going to do some weightlifting,” he said. “Will you spot me?”

“Of course.”

***

It was a hot day, and Yusuke was sweating like a pig. His back hurt too and he slightly regretted offering to help Haru with her gardening. Even so, Yusuke was a man of his word, and stubbornly refused to quit because of something as trivial as a little pain.

He rubbed the sweat from his brow and bent down to pull up the radish he was attempting to harvest. The damn thing just refused to move. He gave it one last tug and it suddenly came loose, sending him stumbling backwards, only just catching himself before he fell. Throwing the radish into the cardboard box at his feet, he went to start on the next row.

Haru appeared behind him and passed him a can of soda. It was chilled – she had probably got it from the vending machine – and Yusuke gulped it down in one go. Haru sipped her own can, glancing over at the box of vegetables she and Yusuke had spent all morning pulling out the ground. There was a good collection in there: some carrots, some radishes, a decent sized head of lettuce, a bag of green beans and more potatoes than Yusuke could count.

“We’ve had a good harvest,” said Haru.

Yusuke hummed in agreement, going back to pulling up radishes. Around an hour later, they were finally finished, and Yusuke said his goodbyes, about to collect his things and leave, when Haru stopped him.

“Wait a moment,” she said, pulling a plastic bag from her coat pocket, and picking a few handfuls of vegetables from the box. She handed them over to Yusuke with a smile. “Here, take these.”

“Are you sure?”

“Think of it as payment for your hard days work.”

Yusuke tightened his grip around the handle and nodded. “I’ve got to get home,” said Haru. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

Yusuke had spent the day with Ren, doing nothing in particular. At half past six, he announced his departure, but when he tried to leave, Sojiro stopped him, setting a hand on Yusuke’s shoulder. It was a strangely gentle touch, something Yusuke wasn’t used to, but he tensed under it regardless. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?” offered Sojiro. “I’m making curry.”

Ren appeared in the stairwell. “When are you not making curry?” he said.

“Watch your mouth young man,” laughed Sojiro.  Futaba giggled from her seat, and Ren smirked too. Yusuke couldn’t help but feel a little melancholic at the sight, longing for something he never really had. His hand twitched toward them, greedy and wanting, but he stopped himself.

“I want to stay,” he said. “But I’ll get in trouble. Curfew is at seven.”

“I’ll call your school and explain things. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Hesitation fluttered through Yusuke’s mind, but he forced it down. He wanted this, more than he had wanted anything in a long time. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

He let Futaba drag him all the way to Sojiro’s house, rambling all the way about an anime that she was watching, while Ren and Sojiro exchanged a secret grin behind him.

Yusuke had been in Sojiro’s house before, but this was the first time he had gotten a good look around. It really was just a normal house, with a slightly less normal family inhabiting it. Ren went to set the table, and Sojiro went to serve the food, Futaba helping him. Yusuke was caught in the middle, unsure of what to do. He didn’t want to get in trouble for doing something wrong, but at the same time, he hated just standing there, useless, and idle.

Eventually he settled for helping Ren lay the table, desperate to be at least a little helpful, and Ren did smile as he went over, which was a good sign. They laid the kitchen table together, and Yusuke surveyed the landscape. The kitchen was quite small, but a good enough size for a family of three. He wondered, briefly, if they ate breakfast together in the mornings.

The realization came to him, deep and cutting, that he hadn’t eaten breakfast, let alone a complete meal, with anyone since Natsuhiko left.  These days, he had grown used to eating his meals, when he remembered to eat them at all, alone in his dorm rooms, usually while working on something else. Food was always an after thought for him.

It was strange how much he missed it.

Sojiro came over, holding two plates of curry and Futaba trailed behind him, doing the same. Futaba handed a plate to Ren and Sojiro handed a plate to Yusuke. Once everyone was sat at the table, Yusuke waited for permission to eat, but wasn’t granted it.

It took a few moments for Ren to notice that something was wrong, but he eventually did, giving Sojiro a sharp nudge in the side and gesturing toward Yusuke. Sojiro quickly got the message and asked, “Why aren’t you eating son?”

The reply is simple, at least to Yusuke. “You didn’t tell me I could.”

“You can always eat here,” said Sojiro. “Whatever you want, and whenever you want it.”

Yusuke nodded slowly, picking up his spoon. Taking one last glance around the table, checking that it was really okay, he took his first bite. And then another. Soon, the plate was empty, and Yusuke had never felt so full in his life.

Futaba brandished her plate towards Sojiro like a knife. “I want seconds,” she demanded.

“Okay, okay. I’ll get you some more,” said Sojiro, standing up.

“I’ll have some more too,” said Ren, handing Sojiro his plate with just the slightest hint of a cocky smirk on his face. They all cast an expectant look to Yusuke.

Why not? He had room for a little more. “I’ll have seconds too,” he said. Sojiro smiled at him – a real genuine smile, something he had never seen from Madarame – and Yusuke decided he liked the feeling.

[jinkicake]

Kuroo, Iwaizumi, Akaashi with a bubbly extroverted s/o that is good at hiding her feelings.

TW// Depression, Depressive Thoughts

Truthfully, I found this difficult to write and am not really confident in how it turned out but I hope you still enjoy it! (☍﹏⁰) I liked writing this because I hope it will bring more self-awareness that it is always important to check on your loved ones. If you're ever going through a rough patch please don’t be afraid or embarrassed to reach out, sometimes it is important to just get somethings off your chest. I have my inbox and messages open so please feel free to talk to me. 

Also! I listened to EXO’s Beautiful while writing this because the song just makes me feel so light-hearted, it’s like a warm hug for people who don’t like hugs. I recommend you listen to it too! 

WC- 2,752

~~~

Akaashi 

Akaashi is pretty perceptive of everything, he’s so quiet that it makes him seem like he doesn’t care or he doesn’t pay attention to little details but he does

He notices a lot of things

One of the many reasons he admires you is because of the way you care for your classmates and how easily you get along with them 

At first, he thought you had no worries but he would soon notice small changes

He would notice how carefree you look while talking to classmates, he would also notice how your eyes fall whenever you’re done talking to them

Akaashi wouldn’t think much of it until he started noticing more of it every day, how for split seconds he can see your resolve fall

He’d want to ask about it, talk to you but you were so good at keeping a front up that sometimes he wondered if what he noticed was real

If you always looked that tired, if your smile didn’t reach your eyes as it once used to, he can see your eyes are clouded with something but he can’t figure out what

When he finally realizes what’s going on, he’d feel like such a fool for not picking up on it earlier 

Akaashi would comfort you with actions more than words, it would be easier for him to just hold you tightly

He is good at using his words though, he would be able to figure out what the best thing to say is and how to easily calm you down 

Yet, he’d want you to let it out first before he says anything so he can assess how you feel and find the best ways to comfort you

He’d push his feelings for you aside in exchange for being there for you, sometimes you just need someone to listen 

Though over time you'd both acknowledge your feelings for each other, and once he has you, Akaashi would make sure you never feel alone again

You told yourself that you'd never let yourself falter at school and always try your best to remain the friendly student everyone knew you to be. School was a place that distracted you from reality, there you weren’t focused on your own feelings but rather on your friends or your club activities.

Sometimes school helped ease your mind, sometimes it didn’t.

However today was just not a good day, you woke up feeling like shit and it was hard to find the motivation to continue on with your day. When you made it to school you got to talk with your classmates and no matter how much your friends provided you with a great distraction you still felt that nagging voice at the back of your head. Despite having a classroom full of people, friends who care about you deeply, you felt isolated.

That’s how you found yourself in the bathrooms late after school hours, the sink turned up so no one could hear your soft sobs. You tried to calm yourself down, tell yourself it would be okay but stupidly you made the mistake of looking at yourself in the mirror. That only made yourself feel more pathetic and numb. 

It makes you think, when was the last time you actually felt something other than pain.

Akaashi finds himself wandering the empty hallways late after volleyball practice, looking for a notebook he swears he left in his desk. When he finally makes it to the classroom he lets out a relieved sigh when the book he had been searching for was under his seat, yet when he bends down to pick it up he notices your bag still hanging on the side of your desk. He thinks back to earlier in the day, how upset you were. 

Gentle he lays the notebook on his desk before quietly walking around the hallways, trying to figure out where you would be if you were still here. Maybe you went home and just left your bag? Akaashi shakes his head at that thought, that wasn’t like you. 

In the distance, he could hear water running, and he decides to go and turn it off. When he peers inside his heart drops at what he sees, you're leaning over the sink with one of your hands gripping the edge hard while the other covers your mouth. Akaashi knows now that what he noticed earlier in the day was real and he mentally kicks himself for not doing something sooner.

“Y/N?” He gently calls out and you freeze before turning towards him, tears still gushing down your face like there isn’t any sign of stopping. You can’t figure out if you want to kick him out or run into his arms, you don’t want to tell him anything but you want comfort.

“Come here” His voice remains soft and your face contorts as a new wave of pain washes over you, the quick strides over to him feel like nothing when you’re finally in his arms. His heart feels torn, he realizes the way you’re feeling isn’t like ‘Bokuto’s game emo-mode’, it's much more than that. 

“I think it will be good for you to tell me what’s on your mind, to acknowledge what’s going on.” Akaashi gently rests one of his hands on the back of your head, holding you close and trying to ignore the way his heart aches whenever a new sob erupts from your throat. 

When you finally calm down and explain how you’re feeling, how tired and alone you feel, Akaashi’s eyes would never leave yours. 

“Please whenever you feel this way, tell me, let me be there for you.” When Akaashi sees the surprised look in your eyes he feels his face heat up and he pushes your face back into his chest so you won’t see him blush. He'd feel relief when you smile against him and the grip you have on his shirt softens. 

It will be okay.  

Iwaizumi 

Out of the three, Iwaizumi would get the most frustrated, not at you but the world

Having a best friend like Oikawa who can hide his feelings as if they don’t even exist, Iwaizumi would be used to the feeling of hurt when someone he cared about is suffering 

When he starts realizing his feelings for you, that he quickly fell for his caring manager, he would start paying more close attention to you

Iwaizumi may seem like he only has three things on his mind at all times; volleyball, Oikawa, and Godzilla but that isn’t the case

He has four things on his mind! Volleyball, you and Oikawa, Godzilla

Even before he knew how he felt about you, he picked up on the way you’d close yourself off after practices when everyone left

After he develops feelings he would worry about you more and more, asking his friends if they noticed anything off with you

They didn’t notice

Iwaizumi would want to know what's wrong and wouldn’t be afraid to ask you about it because he is that worried about you

He might come off rather strong about it

If you start crying he’s holding you in an instant, Iwaizumi wouldn’t leave until you tell him what's wrong 

He might seem overbearing but he that isn’t his intention, he just wouldn’t want you to bottle up your feelings

If you tell him that you don’t want to burden him, Iwaizumi would get upset 

Your feelings matter to him and he’d hate for you to feel so terribly

When you tell him, Iwaizumi would be so much softer around you

Iwaizumi’s heart is as big as the size of his massive **ck (sorry could not resist) 

He was always soft, let's be real it’s Iwa-chan but, he is much more gentle when he notices you're in a bad spot 

Iwaizumi will always be there for you and will take care of your heart as best as he can because he knows depression isn’t something that will go away overnight

Overall, where is my Iwaizumi I genuinely need one

Iwaizumi’s eyes followed you as you move throughout the gym, you are picking up stray volleyballs and chatting easily with Kindaichi and Kunimi. His eyebrows furrow together as he watches you carefully, narrowing his eyes as if to pin you in place. Hanamaki snaps him out of it as he hits the back of the ace’s head with his hand resulting in a choked laugh leaving Matsukawa’s lips.

“What are you looking at?” Hanamaki tosses his hand in front of Iwaizumi’s eyes, waving as if to catch his attention. Iwaizumi swats his hand away and looks at where the spot you were, tilting his head in confusion when he doesn’t notice you there anymore. 

“Anyways dumbass you walking home with us? Oikawa is throwing a hissy fit cause he wants to go home and start his stats homework.” Hanamaki tosses over his shoulder as he starts walking towards the gym doors yet Iwaizumi shakes his head.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later.” Iwaizumi glances over at his two friends who shrug and walk out of the gym. As the tallboy makes his way over to the supply closet he notices the gym is nearly empty. Everyone has left except the two of you, you always stay late to finish cleaning or put away equipment. 

A perfect manager. 

“Oh, Iwaizumi! What’s up?” You smile brightly at him as you finish folding clean towels.

“I wanted to talk to you.” He mumbles, staring at the floor as heat floods to his cheeks. You let out a laugh as you try to mask your nerves.

“Mmm about what?” Your hands slightly shake as you finish folding the last towel and you nearly fall over at the sigh that leaves his lips. 

“Are you okay?” His question makes you blink rapidly, your brain running to find excuses for why he is asking you this. Deep down, you always wanted someone to ask, to check up on you but now that it's finally happening you’re not sure what to do. “You just seemed not like yourself.”

“Huh? What do you mean Iwaizumi?” You try to laugh it off but by the hard eyes that meet yours, you're not getting out of this easily. “I’ve just been tired recently, don’t worry about it!” 

“But I am worried about it, I’m worried about you.” Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck and glances to look over at the wall rather than your face.


“What?” You’re starting to feel corned but you try to hide it, giving him a wobbly smile. 

“I know something has been bothering you.” He pushes and you find yourself taking a step back, bumping into the table that you had just put the towels on. “You can tell me.” 

You smile at his kind words, not sure how to react to them.

“I don’t want to push my problems onto you Iwaizumi, don’t worry about it!” You press harder this time, the fakest smile resting on your lips. 

“I want to know, I want you to tell me.” He repeats, giving you consent and you nearly wince at this. 

“I’ve just felt alone recently.” The words fall from your lips in a hushed whisper as you rub your sweater sleeve. “Shitty and alone.” You laugh and a sad smile paints your lips as your eyes stay trained on the floor. 

“(Y/N),” Iwaizumi breathes out and you turn your face to hide from his pitiful gaze. “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling that way.” 


“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Iwaizumi’s words make your head snap up and you press your lips together not to cry. “Listen, I’m always here for you.” 

Your eyes widen and you look up at him in shock at the intimate words. 

“We all are, Oikawa, Makki, hell even Mattsun!” He gently grabs your chin and makes you look up at him. “Always, we care about you so much and-“ Iwaizumi glances at the floor trying to think his words carefully. It would be wrong for him to confess his feelings right now, it would be selfish, he thinks. 

“We never want to see you hurt like this.” This time you give Iwaizumi a genuine smile and wrap your arms around his body, resting your head in the crook of his neck. 

“Whenever you feel bad, please come to me.” You nod at his words and his arms wrapped around your shoulders squeeze you tightly. Iwaizumi doesn’t let go until you’re ready, he continues to hold you tightly against him until he knows you feel better.

Kuroo 

Growing up with a best friend like Kenma who is self-aware of everything around him, Kuroo has the habit of picking up on small changes in a person

When you first started dating, Kuroo became almost hyper-aware of how easily you hide your feelings and he feels like an idiot that he didn’t pick up on it before 

He’d wait for you talk to him about it, unless he thought something was really upsetting you, he doesn’t want to push you

Since you’re good at hiding how you feel, Kuroo would gently try to get you to open up

You can take as long as you want and he’d listen to it all, comforting you the best he can

Whenever you feel particularly down, Kuroo would try to help you ease your mind, take you places and do random activities

Spontaneous late-night convenience store run, anyone?

If you would rather stay inside and just hide, he’d do it with no hesitation, he’d hold you tightly until you’re pushing him off 

When it comes down to it, Kuroo is just naturally a caring person

He might seem like a petty volleyball player but he cares about your feelings more than anything

“What’s wrong kitten?” Kuroo peers down at you as you both rest on the empty train. It’s late in the evening, the city just settling down. You hold your frown, cheeks puffed out as you stare hard at the seats in front of you. The way the city lights light up the darkness outside makes your heart tug oddly. 

The two of you had just come back from hanging out with a few other third years in the city. You were laughing and talking with each of the boys the entire time, even when you two bumped into Daishou -much to Kuroo’s dismay-. It was fun and you had fun yet, there was an odd feeling settling in your chest. Softly, you lean your head on your boyfriend’s shoulder before mumbling out a response.

“My social battery just ran out.” You slowly draw shapes on his clothed leg with your fingertip. Kuroo frowns at this, he is used to 'social batteries' with both you and Kenma but something else is bothering you. When you glance up at him you can see the knowing looking in his eyes and you shift uncomfortably. 

“I got into a fight with my family this morning, I just feel like I’m destroying my relationship with them.” You let out a shaky breath as tears well up in your eyes and you glare harder at the ground like it’ll make them disappear. “I keep being mean to them but I can’t control it, I don’t mean to do it, I just feel so shitty.” 

Quickly you cover your face with your hands, trying to hide away as humiliation floods through your veins at your own words and feelings. A warm hand wraps around your wrist and you shake your head stubbornly.

“Look at me (Y/N).” Kuroo’s voice is soft and you feel more tears well up in your eyes at this. “It’s okay.” 

And the tears finally fall, soaking your skin with salty trails. 

“It is,” An arm wraps around your shoulder to bring you into his chest, tightly holding you as if you’ll slip out of his grasp. “You might not feel good now but you’ll feel better with time. I’ll help you, you’re not alone.” 

His words provide you with a comfort you’d never felt before and you nod your head against his shirt. 

“You might not believe me but it’s true.” Gently, Kuroo cups your cheek with his warm hand and forces you to look up at him. His eyes are unbelievably soft as he stares down at you before he leans down to rest his forehead against yours. 

You’re glad at this moment that the train car is practically empty but even if it wasn’t, it doesn’t matter because you feel safer in his arms than anywhere else.

[anonniemousefics]

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Six

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Six: Dear Nina

Hello, lovely,  

Some news and a request. I am going away on an assignment for the next several months, and this one’s rather sensitive. It means I’ll be out of reach for a time. Don’t worry your wonderful Inej brain about it, though. You know very well I’ll be just fine.  

Here’s how I’m thinking we make due in the meantime. I’m writing down all my adventures and silly thoughts to send you as soon as it’s safe, and then we’ll be able to catch up in no time at all when all is right with the world again. You should do the same. Once I’m able, I’ll send a giant wad of letters along with where I can be reached to the Van Eck mansion for Wylan to hold on to for you until your next trip to Ketterdam. There. Not so bad, right?  

I miss you more than cake. And that’s not an exaggeration. Be safe, lovely. And give them all hell.

All my love,

Nina

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

(enclosed in an overstuffed envelope marked “Nina”)

(translated from Kerch)

Dear Nina,  

Your last letter has made me grouchy. I don’t know if there would have ever been a good time for you to fall off the map, but I think there could have at least been a better time than this. I’ll take your suggestion, though, and settle for trying to imagine your face when I tell you these things. When you read this, let’s imagine that we’re at that cafe in West Stave. The one with the little white tables outside. You’ve ordered enough waffles to feed five men, and I’m all hopped up on hot chocolate, and we can’t stop snickering. It’ll happen again someday, right?  

I’m going to use this letter to take a break in entertaining you with stories of battle at sea and the many delightful ways in which bad men beg. I’m docked in Ketterdam today with my head dangerously full of some truly mortifying events. I don’t know what to do, Nina. Keep eating your imaginary waffles – I’m going to offload a great many details and bring you up to speed.

I’ve told you that Kaz and I write letters. That they’re sort of a romantic nature. I know you think I’m crazy. I’m well aware that I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know -- there’s just something about him I can’t give up yet. And I love these letters. They’ve become the first thing I pick up at every new port. They’re these little slices of Ketterdam – all of the good stuff, that is, and none of the bloodshed.

It’s dangerous, though, isn’t it? Only getting the good side of things. It messes with your perception of reality.  

It should surprise no one that Kaz Brekker is good with pen and paper, considering how we’ve seen him con. Sometimes I worry that’s what letter-writing really is to him. Another way to con. He says things in letters that you could not even imagine, Nina. He can be affectionate. He can be really funny, maybe even playful. He can also write the most sincere, heartfelt sentences. You read them, and you really forget he’s, well, Brekker. It’s almost like, when he writes me, he’s not. Like some other side comes out when he picks up a pen, and it’s the side I’ve always hoped was really there all along.  

I’m such a goner for this other side, Nina. It’s become a problem. Try not to spit out those imaginary waffles.  

It’s a problem because, in person, when I’m in Ketterdam, he’s still Kaz Brekker, the persona, the enigma. It started messing with my head, because there is such a stark contrast between Kaz Brekker the enigma and the Kaz who writes me these insanely charming letters. That’s not to say Kaz Brekker isn’t trying to be less enigmatic, but it’s little things. He can take off his gloves more now without having violent reactions to a brush of skin. He’s managed to hold my hand for a few, brief moments. I’ve tried to cozy up to him, but I don’t know. It’s impossible to know what he thinks of it, if he likes it, if he hates it, if he resents it – until a letter shows up. And then he’s writing, “I miss you” and “I’m dreaming of tasting your lips.” (I’m imagining you making that silly fanning yourself gesture, and I really hope that’s true. Saints, I miss you.)

I’m rambling so much. I wish you were just here instead.  

He wrote me this letter after Jesper’s birthday, Nina. Ughhh, why are you so far away? It was a really good letter. A really, really good letter. We had a moment during this hot air balloon ride (yet another reason you need to come back to visit Ketterdam – we do birthday experiences now). Jesper and Wylan were on one side of the balloon’s basket, wrapped up in each other and all the sights with their backs to us. And, out of nowhere, he pulled me close, tucked me right up against his side, close enough that I couldn’t help but hold him back. At first, I could actually feel his heart racing and thought maybe he’d pull away. But he settled after a minute, and we rode in the balloon for a good while like that, stars overhead, city lights below. That was all, and it was more than enough for me. I still think about it all the time. He told me later that he thought it was a nice night, and so I thought it best to leave it at that. We had a nice night. Nice, like when your dinner isn’t ruined or someone opens a door for you.

But this letter that awaited me in Os Kervo. You know Suli, right? So, if I use the phrase (nearest translation: “I shit a brick”), you’ll understand just how shocked I was. He wrote how he never wanted to forget that night and the way I looked and the way he felt. It was perfectly un-Brekker-like. It might have made you cry.

The contrast has never seemed so stark.  

And so it came down to this: I needed to know that Kaz Brekker in Ketterdam was capable of actually being this person who keeps showing up in envelopes and using his name.

Which brings me to my most recent trip to Ketterdam. This was the trip after the hot air balloon ride. Before I arrived, he asked if I wanted to stay in the Slat this trip – with him. Don’t choke on your waffles, please. Nothing was going to happen – he can barely hold my hand for more than a few minutes, and at least one of the times it’s happened, I had to bribe him with Ravkan toffees first.

I had one condition for this arrangement. I wanted to bring letters for him to read aloud. Perhaps most incredibly, he agreed.

Right. This is where it gets ugly.  

I’d spent the day at The Slat. Usually my first day on land, I find I’m unusually exhausted, and everything in The Slat is fresh and new since Seeger’s fire – I’d even venture to say comfortable. I slept most of the day, a luxury I know you’d appreciate. I was up around dinnertime, and he’d brought in dinner. (It was those meatballs and mash pots we used to love so much. I hope I’ll be able to eat them again after this without wanting to hurl.)

Dinner seemed like a good time to try out the letter reading. We’d spread out the food on his desk and passed a bottle of kvas back and forth to lighten the mood before he rolled up his sleeves and I gave him the first one. I had tried to pick a variety of his letters to bring along, the ridiculous ones right up to the one I can’t get over – the one after the hot air balloon ride.

Before you get too excited, we didn’t get to the hot air balloon ride letter.

It was going so well in the beginning. My cheeks were hurting from smiling so hard, listening to so many charming words come from that voice. He seemed to be enjoying it even – feet up on the desk, a sip of kvas here, read an old joke there, and he’d try not to smirk to himself when it made me laugh. He even let one of his own laughs slip once or twice. It was just what I wanted. I felt like I was finally putting together a whole picture out of two halves.

But then we came to this letter he’d given to me on the docks of Fifth Harbor, thanking me just before I left after Seeger’s fire. I was getting ready to hand it over to him, and my heart dropped right into my feet. Nina. I’d forgotten I’d written something really, really, REALLY embarrassing in the margins. Just. Sankta Alina. I don’t know if I can repeat it.  

I tried to skip over that one, but he was having none of it. Everything had been playful and a little flirtatious up until that moment, and he swiped it from my hands. Sankta Elizabeta, my face is burning up while I’m writing this. Tell me this is salvageable. Oh, wait, you’re in backwoods Fjerda or something. Ugh, why, Nina, why?  

Everything got really quiet – he’d seen it right away. I could tell he was surprised, but that was it. I have no idea what else was happening in that brain of his.

What it was was this. I’d made a note of how different he was on paper and labeled that Kaz by his original name. I’d written that I like Kaz Brekker, but after these letters, I was in love with Kaz Rietveld.  

NINA. (Untranslatable Suli vulgarities)

I snatched the letter back – he wasn’t even making eye contact with me. He hadn’t even budged. It was too horrible. The silence felt never-ending. So, I left. That was yesterday. Now I’m staying on the Wraith. Maybe forever.  

I have to say something, and I wish you were here to help me figure out what to say. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there are fragments of lessons and sayings my father would have about this, if I could only cobble them in to something coherent. I’m trying and trying to imagine how he must be feeling.

He couldn’t have been that surprised about my feelings, could he? Not after all this time, not everything we’ve written. It’s not as if I’ve been terribly coy. I’m forcing myself to believe he would not be horrified to know how I feel. No, there’s something else.

How awful it must feel to think someone you trusted finds only a part of you lovable.

I have some soul-searching to do, Nina.

Come back.  

Inej

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

(hand-delivered, unaddressed envelope)

Dear Inej,  

I’ve spent the whole night thinking, and I have some things to say. I won’t read this one out loud, so if you have a hard time believing it’s me, I guess you’ll just need to get creative.  

I know you’re embarrassed. You might remember I have intimate knowledge of what it’s like to be in your position. At first, I wanted nothing more than to ease your mind and put everything back the way it was. There was a large part of me that was awestruck that you’d find even a small, half-dead remnant of myself worthy of loving. I was ready to crawl back to you and do anything to erase this moment from time.

But then I realized that’s not a fair deal to Kaz Brekker.

And before you start making faces, I’m not becoming one of those politicians that likes to bloviate in the third person. Just for the sake of clarity in this letter alone, I’ll use the labels that you used.  

Inej, Kaz Brekker saved my life. Yours, too. And a lot of other people’s. Kaz Brekker could find me food and dry clothes and shelter when there was no one else. Kaz Brekker has fixed and built and risked and fought and salvaged. And yes, there are a good many things he’s terrible at, like not being an unmitigated asshole. He is not friendly or particularly kind, and he’s rarely truthful. There are many things he should never have done. He’s done unthinkable things he’s not even sorry for. Trust me, Inej. When it comes to hating Kaz Brekker, I have a front row seat.  

But the only reason there’s a Kaz Rietveld here for you to love at all is because Kaz Brekker brought him this far.  

At first, my instinct was to write a letter detailing all the many ways I can become more like the man you love. And that’s not to say there isn’t some wisdom in trying to coax him out a bit more – you tend to have good taste in most things. There’s probably some value in striking a balance.

But Kaz Brekker is part of the deal. You can’t have one without the other. There is a lot about him – about me -- that I would not and will not change. So, I need to know that you see the same value in him. In all of me. Because, if you can’t, I’m not sure it will matter how much I’m in love with you, too.  

And to think we might have avoided this whole mess if I just would have let you bring a flute. To that I say, mati en sheva yelu. I am in love with you even if you play a damn flute.

Are you smiling at least a little bit? I hope so.

Sincerely,

K. Rietveld

[imaginationcemetary]

Swapfell Purple, Swapfell Red, and Underfell skeles reactions to having a kid that acts like a villain but really just has a hard time processing and expressing feelings? Evil laughter, plots world domination, lots of pranks that they boast about being a part of their masterplans,acting like they don't care about anything or anyone. And it is convincing until they find out the kid cares for stray kittens they hide in their closet. Cue kid's denials. Sorry if it is too specific. Have a nice day.

Nah, don't be sorry for being specific, it actually helps me out a lot more than you think. If you tell me what you're looking for then I can make sure I'm actually giving you what you want. You gave me some wiggle room so the answers won't be too similar, and I actually think the prompt is really, really cute. Also, you're the first person to ask for my Fell boys, so I hope you like them!

(Underfell Papyrus) Bamf:

Bamf sees a lot of himself in his kid and is really proud of his little mini me. When he was younger he used to act a lot like they do now. He wasn't really allowed to process his emotions due to how he grew up, so he'd put on an air of confident standoffishness and assholery around others, only getting to work on things when he was alone. So he gets it, and does his best to encourage his kiddo in whatever they do, giving them the time they need to process things their way. You wanna laugh like a cartoon villain? We're going to practice evil laughs together until you get it just right. You've come up with a plan to conquer the world? Let me just look it over for any holes or blind spots. Unfortunately, much like Sadie's mom Barb from Steven Universe, he has a bad habit of being overly supportive. He wants his kid to be happy, driving them to be the best at what they do, which can lead to the feeling burnt out and unable to fulfill his high Hope's and expectations. He'll never let his kid pretend not to care though. This is the surface and they don't have to live like that anymore. If something hurts, then it hurts, even if you don't know why.

When Bamf was just a bitty bones, he hid a kitten in his closet and raised it himself when his brother Fell told him that they couldn't afford to take care of it. She was a pitiful white furball that eventually became his truest companion. She was dubbed Doomfanger, because someone as terrifying and awesome as him had to have a just as terrifying and awesome of a pet, but he calls her Doomie when no one else is around. When he find out that his kid is doing pretty much the same thing he did, he gets really proud and feels like it's something else they can bond over. He tells the kid that they don't have to hide the small litter of kittens in their closet any longer. Doomie winds up adopting the litter as her own and soon the house is over run by a small army of kittens that both dad and child dote on together.

(Underfell Sans) Fell:

Fell gets it, he raised his little brother Bamf when they were bitty bones; he's dealt with this once already. The fake accents, the evil cackles, the plans for world domination, the pretending not to give a shit about anyone else because they're scared about what others think about them. He gets it, really....it just...gets annoying sometimes. He's totally down for diabolical prank wars with them though. Fell is pretty content to let his kid figure things out on their own, and when he's not, his involvement is a lot more subtle than his brothers. He's got ways of making his kid open up to him that'll make them think it was their idea the whole time.

Let me just say, that Fell hated his brother's cat, he thought she was evil incarnate. Despite not wanting her around though, he never actually thought about making him get rid of her. So when he finds his kid hiding a kitten in their closet, he has some flash backs to Doomfanger and her irrational hatred of anyone who was not Bamf, and is understandably pissed that his kid has been keeping this from him. He doesn't like the kitten, the kitten doesn't seem to mind him, but he doesn't actually tell his kid to get rid of it despite not wanting it around. The kid can keep the cat as long as they promise to take care of it themself and keep it in their room....It doesn't stay in their room for long and Fell eventually just accepts his fate to be plagued by fluffy things with a penchant for scratching him and then using him as a bed. He just hopes this kitten will help his kid soften up like Bamf's did.

(Swapfell red Papyrus) Rust:

Heh, you're plotting world domination? That's cute. Need your dad to help you build world dominating contraptions for your plans and props for your pranks? He's totally down. Wanna ramble about your plans and how much you don't care about anything? He'll chill with you and listen to whatever you're rambling about now. Need someone to hide behind when one of your ingenious pranks back fires on you? He's not gonna let anyone fuck with his kid, he'll dispense his own consequences if they go too far though. He actually pays a lot of attention to his kid's behavior and tries to engage with them in creative ways, figuring that they're acting out like this because they want attention. He's not gonna let his kid act like a total little shit, but that doesn't mean he's not gonna be laughing in the background when situations call for it.

Rus isn't the type of parent to snoop through his kid's room without a decent reason, but he is really perceptive and bears his kid quietly hushing their kitten's meow in the middle of the night. He's surprised at first to find out that his kid took in a stray, but then he feels pretty proud of them for it. He knew there was a soft spot in them somewhere and now he knows exactly how to nurture it. He'll wait for his kid to bring it up with him before he says anything, but he'll also secretly leave food and treats for the kitten outside his kid's door so that they feel comfortable and ok enough to talk to him about it, knowing that he'll support them.

(Swapfell red Sans) Razz:

Razz butts heads with his kid often, their similar personalities clashing and leaving both of them wishing for the attention and affection that they're missing out on. Honestly though, if his kid wants to act like a villain, then he's going to show them how to do it right. He'll push them to join clubs like the debate team or mock trial, because if they want power then they'll need to either get into law or politics. He won't interfere in any of his kids plans or pranks, but he will watch and then point out ways they can do it better next time. He wants to help them improve and reach their potential, but he's used to being more hands off. He's bad at expressing himself, but he wishes his kid knew that they don't have to try so hard to impress him.

Razz is more than a little upset to find a kitten in his kid's closet. How long has it been here? How come his kid didn't ask him to keep it first? He knows they don't get along well, but do they not trust him? When his kid comes home from school he'll have a conversation about their secret keeping and whether or not they're responsible enough to care for their new pet. If they decide to keep the kitten, it would help the two of them start opening up to each other more, helping them explore and express their feelings after the conversation.

(Swapfell purple Papyrus) Syrup:

Syrup is good at dealing with troubled children, but even he has difficulties with his tiny tyrant. He swears he'll lose his good eye light from rolling it so hard one of these days. He'll play along with his kid's hair brained schemes, plots, evil laughter, and pranks because he thinks it's hilarious to watch other adults get offended, but the whole time he'll subtly be trying to figure out why his kid is acting like they don't give a shit about anything and be thinking of ways to deal with that.

Syrup is actually pretty chill when he finds the kittens in his kid's closet. He's always had a soft spot for strays and castaways. He'll playfully tease his kid about their own soft spot despite their denials, but then he'll also ask them if they want to sign up to volunteer at the local animal shelter. Whether they decide to keep the kittens or not, Syrup realizes how much an emotional support animal could help his kid start dealing with their emotions better and researches how to get them registered for something like that.

(Swapfell purple Sans) Berry:

Berry is the type to sit his kid down and talk to them about their behavior. Why do you want to rule the world? What would you do with it if you did? What are some things that made you think it would be a good idea? He'd start looking closer at his kid's life to see what might need changing or what might be making them so unhappy that they feel like overturning everything. He won't let them pull any pranks that would hurt anyone else, but he finds the evil laughter harmless. He finds it disconcerting that they so vehemently claim not to care about anything. It reminds him of his brother's apathetic behavior and he wonders if he needs to look into therapy for his kid.

When Berry finds the kitten in his kid's closet he realizes that just like his brother having a soft spot for kids, his kid must have a soft spot for animals and not feel very comfortable displaying their softer, kinder side. He'll have a talk with them about trying to keep the kitten a secret from him and then he'll have to decide if his kid is responsible enough to continue taking care of the kitten or not. He agrees to let them keep if if they promise not to hide things like this from him in the future. He wants his kid to feel comfortable and safe enough to come to him with their problems, and he feels like it'll negatively impact them by being punished for coming clean about their issues.

[gwenastor]

her full name is alaia kaplan, but she sometimes goes by n/a. caucasian cisgender female, twenty-seven years of age, with she / her pronouns. she was last seen working at the phoenix as a bartender and a soldier for valencia's street level sector. ( @redridgeimp​ )

❝ I AM FIRE. IF YOU WANT SOMETHING SWEET, WITH NO OPINION, I AM NOT THE WOMAN FOR YOU. I SPIT FLAMES, OFTEN. ❞

⇨  aesthetics ⍮ deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long chestnut locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, the silvery glint of old scar tissue, ripped leather jackets and worn jeans, & blades concealed inside combat boots.

BONJOURNO. it me, chrissie, back at it again with a second muse. this gal right here is my fiery sassball alaia. she’s been thru some shit n has seen some shit so expect tons of sarcasm and attitude tbh, oop. once again, you know the drill, show this some luv n i’ll come pester you for plots : )

FUNDAMENTALS.

full name. alaia saphira kaplan.

current age. twenty-seven.

birthday. january twenty-seventh.

gender. cisgender female.

pronouns. she / her.

nationality. turkish.

religion. islam.

hometown. sivas, turkey.

past residence. manhattan, new york city, united states.

current residence. red ridge, nevada, united states.

sexual orientation. bisexual.

romantic orientation. demiromantic.

education. high school graduate.

occupation. soldier for valencia, & bartender at the phoenix.

CONNECTIONS.

birth mother. emel kaplan. †

birth father. kamâl kaplan. 

step-mother. cemile kaplan. 

full blood siblings. none.

step-siblings. none.

maternal grandmother. unknown.

maternal grandfather. unknown.

paternal grandmother. esrin kaplan. †

paternal grandfather. omer kaplan. †

maternal aunts. unknown.

maternal uncles. unknown.

paternal aunts. bahar kaplan.

paternal uncles. none.

PROFICIENCIES.

spoken languages. english, & turkish.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, brusque, reckless, & deceptive.

positive traits. ardent, resilient, independent, determined, & courageous.

strengths. etiquette, bold, rational, practical, original, perceptive, direct, & sociable.

weaknesses. dramatic, impulsive, quick-tempered, insensitive, impatient, risk-prone, unstructured, misses the bigger picture, & defiant.

skills. skilled with blades and various knives, hand-to-hand combat, perception, persuasiveness, good judgment, & able to use initiative.

talents. piano, retaining information, memory recall, knife throwing, & quick thinking.

APPEARANCE.

eye colour. light brown with amber flecks.

hair colour. natural, chestnut brown.

height. five feet, eight inches.

weight. 52 kg.

build. she is considered tall for a female and is of slender stature with mild curves.

dress size. uk size eight / us size four.

shoe size. uk size five and a half / us size six.

scars. a long, silvery one running along half her spine.

tattoos. none.

piercings. one on each earlobe.

prominent feature. wide, dark eyes.

MISCELLANEOUS.

zodiac. aquarius.

element. air.

house. ravenclaw.

myers briggs type. estp-t.

alignment. chaotic good.

enneagram. type seven.

temperament. sanguine.

intelligence type. interpersonal.

character label. the orphic.

past mental disorders. depression.

current mental disorders. depressive episodes.

addictions. cocaine.

vices. lust, wrath, & pride.

virtues. temperance, diligence, & patience.

allergies. peanuts.

diet. vegan.

accent. mostly turkish with a slight american twang.

dominant hand. right.

blood type. b negative.

felonies. none.

vehicle. bottle green 2015 volkswagen beetle.

BACKGROUND.

trigger warnings. implied child abuse, implied child neglect, implied alcoholism, implied violence, a brief mention of adultery, a mention of verbal abuse, mention of death, implied depression, & a brief mention of drugs.

[ tw ; implied child abuse, & neglect. ] Born into a world of devastation and loss, Alaia Kaplan's arrival into this universe was far from being a tranquil one. Instead of the welcoming arms and loving smile of her mother, the first sight the innocent girl witnessed was the weeping of her father. It wasn’t long until his tears eventually turned into angry fists and hatred shining in dark eyes. This was the only form of her father that Alaia knew, the only element of him that she could recall. From the instant she was old enough to figure it out, she knew that her father despised her. She knew that he blamed her for the death of his wife. Regardless of her upbringing, Alaia had remained optimistic and bright; both incredibly intelligent and adept. She was able to captivate others with both her appearance and her capabilities. Those in her company hung off her every word, often discovering themselves enthralled by a charming and sincere young girl. Regardless of her father's secured position within their community, she never looked for more than his approval and his affection. Though neither she ever received.

[ tw ; mentions of alcoholism, infidelity / adultery, & verbal abuse. ] Within the span of ten years, Alaia's father had found himself in the clutches of a bitter yet wealthy woman of upper-class. Soon, this woman became Alaia's stepmother and things only plunged further south afterwards. The woman drank copious amounts of liquor, ran around behind her husbands back, verbally abused Alaia and the list went on. She managed to manipulate her husband, able to further demolish any semblance of a relationship Alaia shared with her distant father. During this time, and within the blink of an eye, the girl turned hostile and indifferent. It was as if she had transformed into a polar opposite version of what she’d always been; metamorphosing into an alternate version of her former self. Once an upbeat and positive child, she became cold, less vibrant; void of both emotion and interest. She picked fights with her stepmother for the sheer kick she got out of it, rebelled against her father and found her once soft heart hardening as a result of years of enduring torment at the hands of her legal guardians.

[ tw ; mention of death, & implied depression. ] It wasn't long until Alaia was shipped off to live with her grandmother and aunt in the Turkish countryside. At first, it had taken the girl quite a while to adjust, to slowly convert into a portion of the person she was as a child. Alaia's adolescent years were a stark contrast to her life with her father. She was respected, admired and genuinely loved. Throughout the duration of her time there, Alaia was homeschooled, taught how to play various instruments, and how to speak multiple languages. She attended ballet lessons, joined art classes, held a strong passion for Literature. However, as all good things do, they come to an end. In Alaia's case, those few blissful years reached a rather abrupt cessation, taking a drastic plummet into darkness. She was eighteen when her grandmother passed away. As a result, Alaia lost control of herself and of her path in life. She spent weeks alone and aimless, wavering on her tracks. It wasn't until she and her aunt moved to New York City that Alaia's life began to turn around one more.

Back home, her aunt had been involved in the diamond industry, ensuring the quality and legitimacy of each rock she was handed. She'd allowed Alaia to shadow her, to study her methodology, and to assist under her direction. It was through this outlet that Alaia grasped the concept of gemology. Of how to examine precious stones and how to value them accordingly. It was a field that the brunette became extremely interested in and equally as intrigued by. Ultimately, in the end, the girl opted to pursue a temporary career in the jewellery business. It was during this period that a then twenty-one-year-old Alaia was approached by a member of a wealthy family, the type of wealth one gained by drug smuggling. She was offered the position of a quality assurance technician in their jewellery company. Little did she know, this meeting wasn't by sheer chance. It transpired that her aunt had connections with the syndicate, having brought her niece to the States to enlist her. It was due to this that the syndicate reached out, only too eager to hire Alaia as they had previously hired her aunt many years before.

[ tw ; mention of drugs. ] In the beginning, Alaia's role within the business was as innocent as she'd expected. She'd spend hours in the back, analysing gems and printing her signature on certificates. Obeying by every rule, following each order and never once questioning her superiors. After months upon months of this process, Alaia soon found herself roped into the world of drug dealing. Of smuggling little white pouches through emerald deliveries only to pass these packages through the appropriate channels. It was through this that she crossed paths with a client who, after many weeks, kindly invited her along to spectate an underground fight that he'd placed a hefty wager on. Immediately Alaia bought into the atmosphere of the arena, of the adrenaline pumping through her veins at the sheer vision of it all. It wasn't long until she wondered how exhilarated she could feel if she was the one in the ring, throwing the punches and sidestepping the blows. It was this passing thought that brought the girl back continually, placing bets and soaking in the ambience of it all. It was no surprise that she wound up deeply engrossed it becoming a part of it all. Thus, she trained as hard as she could, fought as hard as she could, made her mark upon the underground world and gained the respect of opponents and spectators alike.

Fast forward a few years and through her aptitude for fighting and her ability to outwit her opponents, Alaia found herself promoted to a regular within the club. For many months she continued to work at the jeweller's while regularly engaging in underground fights, maintaining a semblance on both worlds without permitting them to collide or spill over into her personal life. Finally, having grown tired and with a lust for change, she bid her time until the empire granted her release. Though she was no fool, packing up her belongings and venturing to finally set roots in Red Ridge. Naturally, she found herself drawn to Rogue’s Club where due to her strength, commitment and determination, a member of Valencia approached her. After some time, Alaia found herself promoted to a soldier. The promotion made sense and once it was offered, the girl seized the opportunity with both hands. All her life she had been determined and destined for greatness, even despite the cruelty of her childhood home. Nowadays, although Alaia continues to partake in arena matches every once in a while, her main priority is her duties as a soldier. Admittedly, it had taken Alaia a decent amount of months to adapt to the city of Red Ridge upon her arrival but eventually, she became well acquainted with her environment; never once wishing to go back to where she came from.

Throughout her twenty-seven years of life so far, Alaia has built herself back up time and time again. With every punch swung her way, physically and metaphorically, she has risen to her feet each time. For as clever as she is, she is just as resilient and stubborn. The need to prove people wrong is almost overwhelming but never to her detriment. While she continues to bear the emotional scars of her past, Alaia refuses to write herself off. She allows herself to admire people, history, art, music but she never grows comfortable enough that she is prepared to show even the people closest to her, her innermost, truest self. As a result of her upbringing, fragments of Alaia are broken beyond repair, lost to the depths of her mind yet deep down inside, the faintest sliver of that optimistic little girl remains. Was this the life she had envisioned for herself when she was a child with big dreams and wide eyes? Not exactly. But was it better than any alternative where she hadn't escaped the clutches of her horrid family? Without a shadow of a doubt. Where she is now is precisely where Alaia wants to be and perhaps this is the exact path she needs to take in order to fully emerge from the ashes of her haunting past.

WANTED PLOTS.

give me all of the connections from friends, frenemies, enemies, hookups, exes, rivals and everything else in between. added bonus if there’s angst or drama. if you have anything in mind feel free to throw it at me, i’m open to the majority of things and have zero triggers so come at me bro !! below you can find some connections i’d love for my lil ball of anger :

you’re a ghost from my past, haunting me. i think it would be very interesting to see alaia come face to face with someone who knew her before her arrival in red ridge. it would be even more interesting if this somebody knows her previous affiliation as a drug smuggler. maybe this person decides to blackmail alaia? or maybe they just want to know why she did what she did? maybe they are an ex-lover? either way, it would be exciting to see that kind of connection play out.

guardian by proxy. given her rebel nature and sarcastic outbursts, i feel that this chaotic girl needs some kind of parental figure in her life. lord knows, she needs one as she’s never had one. perhaps there is one particular person who knows her better than the rest? someone who knows her on a personal level and feels protective over her? maybe this person secretly checks up on alaia and keeps an eye on her from afar. really, this connection has endless possibilities but i feel that alaia having someone in her life that wholeheartedly has her back would help tame her wild side a little.

i don’t trust many but i do trust you. although alaia doesn’t make friends as easily as she did before, there would be one person in her life that she would deem worthy enough to confide in. this would be somebody that she could actually stand to be around and not under any false pretences either. it would have to be somebody that she knows she can trust 100% so for that reason, i would say they would have to be valencia affiliated. either way, i can see this person being someone that alaia actually cares for, somebody that she talks to regularly and spends time with.

there’s no friends like the old friends. this would be somebody who would have known alaia back in turkey or nyc. they could have been close friends or just acquaintances but this person might have known alaia’s family and possibly certain elements of her life when her father remarried. maybe they were a family friend or a friend she made when living with her grandmother. or somebody who knew her from her stint working in nyc. whichever, i imagine this person would be one of the rare people who actually knew the old alaia.

[keelywolfe]

Drabble: Unintentional Summonings (baon)

Summary: This is out of the timeline, but TheSinBubble asked me if Stretch always liked the weird concoctions that he orders at the Beanery and what would happen if he didn't. I love that, had to write it. ^_^

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Coffee Shop

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Eleven am was a perfect time to visit the Beanery. Caught in between the morning and afternoon rush, it was one of the few times the shop wasn’t brimming with customers. Stretch came often at this time, Edge knew, and on rare occasions Edge found time to join him.

Jennie brought Edge his usual and he nodded his thanks, taking a gratified sip as he stood back and watched Debbie and Stretch go through their normal ritual. He had no idea what exactly a venti, banana chocolate strawberry matcha, double whip, double shot, with a sprinkle and a straw was, but watching Debbie produce it was almost a magic of its own.

“a minute fifty-nine!” Stretch informed her gleefully as Debbie patted her sweating brow with a napkin. “not a record breaker, but a damn fine effort!”

“They can’t all be record breakers,” she agreed laughingly, writing the time on the ‘Beat the Monster Challenge’ chalkboard. She posed next to it with a thumbs up and a grin when Stretch took her picture and gave them a last wave as she went to help the next customer.

Edge carried both of their drinks over to their regular table while Stretch uploaded the picture to twitter, his thumbs clattering lightly against the glass screen. He slid into his side of the booth without even looking up and Edge wondered with idle amusement if Stretch might run into things less if he simply closed his eyes and didn’t let his wonky depth perception lead him astray. More than once Stretch swore he was going to have a permanent bruise from their coffee table’s constant assaults on his shins.

“there,” Stretch finally sighed, tucking his phone away, “free advertising is a go!”

“How many likes do those posts get?” Edge asked curiously. He had a twitter, but it followed exactly four people and one of them was Gordon Ramsey, and that was only because Stretch was the one to set it up for him.

Stretch shrugged. “usually a few k. people love ‘em and deb says they always get a mini-rush after i do ‘em. i try not to do them too often, don’t want people to get sick of it and ruin the good thing we got going.”

No, that certainly wouldn’t do. The same way Stretch’s lunchtime reviews of local restaurants or new entertainment often resulted in a huge influx of business, along with another Monster friendly location for the residents of New New Home to enjoy. For someone who didn’t want to work for the Embassy, Stretch somehow managed to sidestep his way into helping their people in unspoken and often underappreciated ways.

But Edge knew and silently loved him all the more for it.

“besides, you gotta--” Edge never learned what it was ‘you gotta’ do, because Stretch was speaking around his straw in that exasperating way he had and the words trailed off on the first sip into an incoherent gurgle. His face flushed alarmingly, eye lights going wide and diffused, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, cheek bones puffing out overtop it as he gagged.

Before Edge could even ask if he was all right, Stretch swallowed hard with a loud gulping sound, once, twice, until he finally took it a shuddery breath. Sweat was beading on his forehead and Stretch wiped it away with his sleeve, still faintly gasping.

“I take it that it’s not to your taste,” Edge said dryly.

“um, no, holy shit, that’s vile!” Stretch coughed. “i think those combined ingredients caused a chemical reaction ‘cause that ain’t coffee anymore, that’s poison, they shouldn’t be sharing a cup. that’s the kind of thing you brew if you’re doing a ritual of some sort and you need to summon a caffeine demon.”

“Right, well, I’m sure Debbie would prefer we keep all summonings to a minimum,” Edge began to stand, reaching for the cup. “I’ll get you something else.”

“no, i’ll drink it.” To his surprise, Stretch pulled the cup out of his reach, scowling at him. Or perhaps at the drink, possibly even the world in general because his eye lights were darting around, settling on nothing.

“Yes, and then you’ll be vomiting out the car window on the way home,” Edge retorted, “You just said it’s poison in a cup, don’t be ridiculous.” He reached out again.

“please, don’t.” That stopped him. The words were a little too soft, a little too small, and Stretch blinked hard as he mumbled, “deb made it for me, i don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

That uncertainty was one he knew well.

“Love--” Edge began, gently, wracking his mind for words to reassure him that Debbie was not about to withdraw her friendship over a disliked cup of coffee.

He never got the chance. Before either of them said another word, Debbie bustled over from behind the counter, a plastic cup in hand brimming with something garishly pink and frozen, a rainbow of sprinkles on top. She whisked the cup out of Stretch’s hands and replaced it with the other, tutting sadly.

“Honestly, you don’t need to drink anything you don’t like, dear,” Debbie said, patting his shoulder. She waved a hand as Stretch mumbled an apology, hunching over his new drink, “It’s all right! Some things that sound good simply don’t work out the way you hope. Remind me to tell you sometime about the fiasco we had when we first started roasting our own beans.”

She gave Stretch’s shoulder another gentle pat as she headed back behind the counter, her blonde ponytail bouncing along with every step.

Edge waited as Stretch took a sheepish sip of his drink, sighing gratefully, before he asked, “And what is that?”

“a pink princess frappuccino,” Stretch offered out the cup with a sly grin, “wanna try?”

“No, thank you,” Edge shuddered, “you choose your poisons, and I’ll choose mine.”

Stretch only shook his head sadly. “aw, not interested in my tainted love? kinda a venomous rejection, babe, don’t need to be a pain in the arsenic.”

“Your puns are noxious,” Edge told him, hiding his smile behind his coffee cup as Stretch laughed delightedly.

That alone was worth the price of a cup of coffee.

-finis-

[babethepig]

two slow dancers

Summary: "Who are you dating? Do I know him?"Dan snorts."Phil," it comes out easy and natural, Dan's brain processing what he said a second too late.

or dan and phil are best friends and neighbors and secretly (not so secretly) in love but from Dan's POV.

Second part of you fill my head with you

Word count: 2.7K

Rating: G

(read on ao3)

Dan doesn't even notice the first lie, it slips through his lips like dry sand escapes your fingers when the wind blows. He must show a lot of conviction because Rina believes him without a fuss and she doesn't usually believe in Dan's excuses.

She wants Dan to go on a date with a friend of her’s, she has been nagging Dan for a whole week. It's Friday, at this point Dan is in a state of total annoyance.

"Where is this coming from?" Dan squints at her. "In all the months I have known you, you haven't cared about my love life."

She makes a face. "Ok, maybe my friend saw a picture of you and has been bullying me into getting him a date with you."

"Well, that's flattering," Rina rolls her eyes, Dan ignores her. "But I don't think my boyfriend will appreciate me going out with some other dude."

Her face lights up at the word boyfriend, Dan can see the moment it happens, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open.

"You didn't tell me about your boyfriend!"

Dan shrugs. "It's pretty recent."

"Who are you dating? Do I know him?"

Dan snorts.

"Phil," it comes out, easy and natural, Dan's brain processing what he said a second too late.

Dan is not going to think why it feels so right to say it, he's sure the guilt will come later anyway.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Dragging his feet against the floor while he makes his way through the hallway, Dan reaches his door. He’s standing in front of it but changes his mind at the last second. He turns around. There's another place he would rather be at.

Dan gets his key out and opens the door like is his own home, he ignores the feeling of buzzing bees in his stomach and twists the doorknob. Sometimes, Dan likes to pretend this is his life and he gets to come home to Phil every day, and kiss him hello and goodbye and goodnight and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him... But he ruined his chance.

Phil’s apartment is quiet when Dan enters, that’s a rare occurrence, Phil is usually home when Dan comes back, with food already on the way and maybe some board game set up.

“Phil?” Dan takes his shoes off by the door. “Phil, are you here?”

A noise comes from the room, it sounds like a soft whine. Dan rushes in.

“Phil?”

He's a lump on the bed, curled up on himself. Phil whines again.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dan sits on the edge of the bed.

"Head hurts,” Phil mumbles, sounding miserable. Dan pushes the hair off his forehead.

“Is it really bad?” Dan makes sure to use the softest voice he can, to not disturb him. “Did you take your tablets?”

Phil shakes his head.

Dan goes fetch the tablets, he knows where Phil keeps them. It’s not the first time he has witnessed one of Phil’s migraines, he knows how bad they can get. He goes to the kitchen and fills a glass with cool water before going back to the room.

“There you go,” Phil sits up to take his medicine. “You look like a kicked puppy,” Dan gives him a warm smile

Phil pouts. “Lay with me,” he says, making grabby hands towards Dan.

The bees inside Dan’s stomach start buzzing harder, Dan wouldn’t say no to Phil.

Dan takes off his coat, realizing just now that he’s still wearing it, and slips into the bed behind Phil, he wraps an arm around Phil's waist and rests his open palm on his stomach.

“Missed you,” Phil mumbles before falling unconscious again.

In moments like this Dan tries to remember he did this to himself.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“You have a boyfriend?” Estelle asks, cornering Dan in the break room.

“Rina told you?”

“Of course she did, she’s my wife,” she puts her hands on her waist and gives him a look that makes him feel like he’s in trouble.

“You’re not married.”

“We’re beyond that,” Estelle shrugs. “Why didn’t you tell us before? Haven’t you thought about all the double dates we could have been having all this time?”

“It’s pretty recent,” he repeats the lie he told Rina just the other day.

“Phil is your neighbour, right?” Dan nods. “I mean, it was just a matter of time, you’re always talking about him.” Her whole demeanour changes after she says that and she smiles at him. “Anyway, I’ll stop bothering you but you owe us a date.” She points a finger to him seeming far more threatening that someone so short and so sweet-looking should seem before leaving the room.

Dan has gotten himself into a big mess, he knows Estelle and Rina won’t stop pestering him until they meet Phil. Dan likes them, they are great people and they took Dan under their wing when he first got his job, he thinks of them as his friends and he hates lying to them. Still, he can’t just tell them the truth, Dan’s still filled with regret from the things he said.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Phil has no business being so cute, with his rosy cheeks and pretty blue eyes, tipsy from the wine they had with dinner. Martyn and Cornelia’s sofa is too small for the four of them, Phil stands in front of them for an awkward second before Dan pulls him to sit on his lap. Phil giggles and Martyn and Corn are unfazed, Dan wonders if they think there’s something between him and Phil. He hopes they do.

Dan wraps his arms around Phil’s waist and squeezes, maybe he can blame it on the wine but he feels it wouldn’t be fair, he touches Phil because he wants to and he can only hope Phil feels the same autonomy of his actions when he rests his head on the crook of Dan’s neck and puts his hands over his.

Everything feels easy with Phil, everything but words. Dan always thought he was eloquent enough to make himself understood, the problem is he’s also pretty impulsive and easily frightened, it seems.

When Dan first met Phil he was terrified, he thought Phil was an amazing person and he couldn’t believe someone like him was interested in Dan, at the moment he convinced himself he was doing Phil a favour because Dan was just going to disappoint him. Those were other times, Dan likes to think, now he knows his own worth and he knows he would never hurt Phil intentionally.

The real problem is that he doesn’t know how to communicate that to Phil, at least not with words. Maybe one of these days Phil will realize that every single one of Dan’s touches is full of intent and love and all the words Dan can't bring himself to say.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Dan has been moping around all day, he must admit. Phil left early to visit his parents and Dan was cut short of his Phil time. Maybe he should be doing a better job at masking it but he misses Phil and he dreads going back home because he won’t be there.

Rina notices Dan’s mood because her desk it too close to his and she always seems to have time to check on Dan at least ten times a day, she says she’s perceptive but Estelle says she’s nosy, Dan doesn’t have an opinion, it’s nice to have someone caring about him.

“Why the long face, hun?” she asks, sitting on top of his desk without a care in the world.

Dan answers before thinking too much, “Phil’s away.”

“Oh, no. Have you been left all alone?”

Dan pouts and nods.

“Poor baby,” she pouts back at him. “We should have a sleepover!” Rina smiles again, holding her hand close to her chest and putting on an excited face.

Dan doesn’t see why not to agree, he needs something to lift himself anyway and he would like to have some fun and not be alone.

“I’m down if you and Estelle don’t mind a sad giraffe invading your home.”

Rina laughs. “We don’t mind. I’ll text you our address in a second,” she waves him goodbye and gets off the desk.

Dan spends the rest of his shift being grateful for his friends -and thinking about Phil, but just a little.-

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“You think Phil will be free next weekend?” Estelle asks out of nowhere.

Dan is laying between them on their bed a little full of pizza and a little drunk. He’s caught off guard for a second while he scrambles his brain for a credible lie.

“I could ask him but he has been very busy lately,” Dan feels awful for lying to them, he’s a shit friend and he doesn’t deserve them. “But I promise I’ll convince him to do something all of us together soon.”

“That’s alright,” Rina chimes in, Dan thought she was already asleep for how still she was. They might have had one too many Mojitos. “We just want to know the guy that has our Dan's heart,” she drapes her arm and her leg around Dan and reaches out for Estelle’s hand, their joined hands resting on Dan’s stomach.

“Serious talk,” Estelle says. “Does he treat you right?"

"Yeah," Dan says all high pitched, feeling his face get flushed.

"We just want you to be happy," Rina cranks her neck in an awkward angle to drop a kiss on Dan's cheek.

"I'm happy, I promise," it looks like the lies will never cease.

"If he ever hurts you, you just tell us and we will spray paint 'bitch' on his wall."

Dan snorts, "I'll keep that in mind."

He definitely deserves the ‘worst person in the world’ award.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The domesticity of going grocery shopping with Phil hurts Dan deep to his non-existent soul. He finds himself wishing, once again, that this was his life.

He pushes the cart, Phil beside him trying to read his messy handwriting because he couldn’t write his shopping list on his phone or just try to remember what he needs and die when he inevitably forgets something like normal people do.

They stop by the cereal aisle and Phil takes his time choosing one, Dan gets his phone out and scrolls through Instagram, he sees Rina posted a picture of the day of their sleepover, she and Estelle are sitting up on the bed, Rina is pecking Estelle’s cheek. They are bending in a strange way to avoid crushing Dan, that is still sleeping between them. The pic is captioned ‘perfect centrepiece’.

Dan huffs out a quiet laugh and likes the post, he’s thinking of a clever comment when Phil taps him on the shoulder.

“Should we have granola for breakfast?” and then with a mischievous tone. “Or eggs?”

The implication that they’re having breakfast together makes Dan’s heart beat faster but he tries to keep a neutral face, better if Phil doesn’t know what a simple thing like the promise of shared meals can do to Dan.

“We’re vegan,” Dan reminds him.

Phil makes a face and puts the granola in the cart. He doesn’t have to, Dan thinks, he is the one trying to be vegan and Phil is just his friend, it’s not like they live together and have to accommodate to each other’s life habits or can take conjoined decisions, this food is for Phil’s place and Dan’s veganism shouldn’t affect the way he shops and yet Phil cares, he wants to do things with Dan, do things for Dan.

This is the kind of moment that makes Dan want to be brave for once and talk to Phil about what he feels and admit that he screwed up at the beginning of their relationship but he always talks himself out of it.

The supermarket is not a great place for love declarations anyway.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Dan suspects he has reached his lowest point when he fakes a call to get out of another double date planning conversation, he can’t keep making excuses to avoid introducing his alleged boyfriend to Estelle and Rina. He could say that he broke up with Phil, though they might not believe it. Maybe he could say it was something mutual, that they decided they were better off as friends.

His stomach turns at the idea, even a fictional breakup would be too much for his already bruised heart, if he actually had Phil he wouldn’t give him up as easy as this, he would try to make it work.

Maybe he’s just setting himself off for rejection but Dan decides that he’s going to tell Phil how he feels after the Holidays, he just doesn’t want to ruin that for Phil so he’s going to wait.

For now, he’s going to try to convince Phil to show up to a lunch date with Rina and Estelle as Dan’s boyfriend.

Without him knowing.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Of course, Phil shows up despite not having an idea of what is going on. Of course, he plays along even if he is notoriously mad. Of course, he’s the perfect fake boyfriend. Of course, Dan is more screwed than he was before.

Phil really is the perfect boyfriend, Dan reckons. He’s nice to Dan but still has a sense of humour to tease him and bant with him, he’s charming and pretty and Dan is sure Rina and Estella have bought the act.

Dan has bought it too if he’s being honest, he feels like he’s being allowed to have a peek into the life he could have had if only he hasn’t pushed Phil away. Phil is the best person in the world and Dan is an imposter.

By the end of the date, Dan has convinced himself there’s no way Phil still wants him and he should keep his distance

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Phil needs time away from him, Dan repeats in his head over and over again until he makes himself think he believes it.

Not knocking at Phil's door every time he comes back from work gets harder every time, not having Phil there to share every moment it's killing Dan. But confrontation is worse.

Dan can't handle Phil's disappointment, Phil's anger. What if Phil hates him for being a liar? What if he doesn’t want to be friends with Dan anymore? What if he moves out and Dan never sees him again?

Dan doesn't even want to think about it.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

When the power goes out and Phil comes into his apartment Dan can barely believe it. He forgets that he’s scared of the dark and just jumps into Phil’s arms, too happy to know Phil doesn’t hate him to care about the absence of light around them.

They talk and Dan confesses he was scared of fucking up everything between them and Phil tells him he loves him despite everything. Things still feel a little tilted, they have a lot to talk about, but Dan has the feeling they will work it out at the end.

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Phil is a big fan of double dates. Well, probably he’s just a big fan of Estelle and Rina. Dan can’t blame him, they’re amazing.

They all hang out so much Rina ends up pointing out Phil’s new lack of responsibilities and Dan has to come clean about his lies. He’s lucky they’re just mad at him for about five minutes. Estelle says she’s too glad it worked out at the end to be angry and Rina says she only forgives him because Phil is sweet, not because of Dan, he’s an asshole. It’s better than what he could have ever asked for.

And Dan gets to be with Phil, as unbelievable as he finds it.

They’re on the sofa, Dan’s arm over Phil’s shoulders. It’s nothing they wouldn't have done before but it still gives Dan a trill, he's Phil's boyfriend, he has his arm around his shoulders and Phil is cuddling into him. It's not different and yet it's completely different. There are no excuses or pretences, they’re free to love each other.

Good thing this is Dan's life.

[shadow-of-a-whisper]

The Sentinel (series) Ficlet, Rated: M

Naomi waited until her son's mug of chamomile tea was half empty by her estimate, and most of the tense lines around his eyes had smoothed out. Then she pounced. "Blair sweetie, what's going on with you? And don't tell me it's nothing. Even Jim has noticed, and we both know how... unobservant he can be sometimes." That was rich, coming from her, but Blair didn't point that out. She was right, Jim had been side-eyeing him with concern for days. The man wasn't as subtle as he liked to think he was. Still, Blair just shook his head. "It's not something anyone can help with. I just need to figure some stuff out by myself. You wouldn't get it." Naomi huffed and drew herself up to her full height. Damn, he should've seen that coming. He really was slipping. "Try me. Even if I can't help, I can still listen. You need to get this off your chest, it's obviously eating you alive." Blair ran his fingers roughly through his wild curls in frustration. "I'm in love with someone, okay? I love him, and he's straight. I'm a fucking idiot, is that what you wanted to hear?" Naomi's jaw dropped, but Blair didn't stop. Now that it had started, it was all pouring out. "You never wanted to be tied down to one person or one place, and I get that. You never met anyone you wanted to stay for, despite it all. Someone who made staying feel like it was a gift, not a sacrifice. Good for you. But that's not what I want for my own life. I want stability, and connection, and happily ever after. I want that more than anything. So it doesn't matter if he doesn't love me the same way I love him, that he can't love me that way. Just being by his side is enough. It has to be." Naomi was already shaking her head, clearly flabbergasted. "What does Jim have to say about all of this? Does he know this guy?" Blair stared at her blank-faced, and waited for the penny to drop. After a few moments of honest bewilderment, her eyes slowly grew to the size of saucers. "Oh!" "Yeah Mom, 'Oh'. That pretty much sums it up. I haven't even dated any guys since before I met him." He didn't tell her that he'd figured Jim might be able to smell them on him or something. Turns out, he would've been right about that. "At first I just didn't know how he'd take it. By the time I realised that he'd be fine with me being bi, it felt like it was too late to bring it up. It's not like that would've made any difference. He's never looked at me like that. I don't think the idea has ever even crossed his mind." On the other side of the loft's front door, groceries in one hand and some mail in the other, Jim remembered the occasional whispers he'd overheard at the station. Uniforms gossiping about Blair, speculating about whether or not he was gay. Using words far less kind than that. Jim had glared them down when he could. He didn't care what Blair might or might not be, that was his own business, but those bigots didn't get to talk about his partner like that. Naomi's voice was achingly soft when she spoke again. "Baby, why would you do this to yourself? It just isn't healthy." Blair's smile didn't reach his watery eyes. "He's worth it. He's worth everything, every bit of pain and sacrifice, and so much more. He's strong, kind, beautiful. I'm not blind, I know he's an imperfect asshole, but that works out because I'm one too. We all make mistakes. He's suffered so much pain and loss, and he still lights up the world just by being in it. Sometimes I look at him, and I just want to tell him, show him how I see him, because I know he struggles to see that in himself. I want to make love to him, because he deserves to be loved. I don't know how anybody can fail to love him. I want to give him reasons to smile, to keep glowing like he does. I want to light him up every day for the rest of our lives. I can't walk away from that Naomi, I just can't. I'm strong enough to live with this pain, I'm not strong enough to live without him." Naomi set her jaw in a hard line, as outside the door Jim slid boneless down the wall, parcels forgotten. God, he'd been so blind. Blair's distress, something he'd been catching flashes of here and there for the last several weeks, was so visceral right now that he could feel it buffeting him all the way from the hall. A hummingbird heartbeat, accompanied by the rasps of harsh and shallow breaths, fulled his ears. The hint of salt from the beginnings of a cold sweat, along with the indefinable scents of misery and slight panic, flooded his nose. The cacophony of sensations washed over him with all the force of a crashing wave. Blair's emotions had always been a bit... louder, for lack of a better word, than other people's. To him, at least. But they'd never been anything quite like this. Distantly, his ears ringing a little, he heard Naomi start talking again. "Blair, you deserve that kind of love too. If you walk away now, you can always hold onto your golden memories of Jim, and pretend that he might have loved you back someday. If you stay and wait until he finds out, until he throws you out of the loft again, it'll break your heart. I honestly don't know if you would ever recover from that. Please baby, let me help you pack your things." The door slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a reverberating thud, as Jim stalked over to where they were sitting. Without saying a word, face expressionless, Jim pulled Naomi up over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Before she could do more than let out a startled bleat, he'd dumped her on the threshold with the abandoned groceries and slammed the door in her face. Nobody was packing a goddamn thing. He slid the recently installed deadbolt home, just in case. He went back to the sofa where Blair had just made it to his feet, his face pale and drawn. Jim wanted to die for ever putting that look on his Guide's face. Naomi didn't have a Goddamn clue what she was talking about. Of course Jim was in love with Blair too, *of course* he was. Oh. Ooooooooooooooh. Huh. Well, that was a surprise. In hindsight, it really shouldn't be. Some Cop Of The Year he was. Actually, it probably explained a lot. It definitely explained the way his heart was pounding, his veins filled with adrenaline at the thought of Blair slipping through his fingers. Blair let out a small, uncertain "Jim...", eyes lowered in mortification. That wouldn't do at all. Jim lifted a gentle hand to Blair's jaw, his midday shadow barely perceptible even to his sensitive touch, and encouraged Blair's face to turn to him. He was shit with words, but he tried to let everything he was feeling shine from his eyes. Whatever he saw there, Blair slowly went slack and open with wonder. Jim's breath left him in a quiet rush, as he let go and followed his instincts the way he only ever did with Blair there to Guide him. His eyes fluttered nearly shut as he leaned close, brushing his nose to Blair's cheek as he breathed him in. His senses were flooded with Blair's unique scent, mingled with the faint hints of 'unscented' shampoo and soap, the mild herbal scent of chamomile tea and the honey Blair had sweetened it with. The combination was heady and soothing all at once, the headache Jim had been sporting for half the day fading almost instantly to a barely-there throb. That was nothing compared to the tightness he felt in his chest as his lips gave chase, Blair's rising timidly to meet them. He kept it soft and chaste to start with, a little hesitant himself, uncertain how he'd feel about this new thing he was trying. He needn't have worried. The taste of Blair, added to his enticing scent, and the somehow unexpected scratch of the hint of stubble, punched the remaining breath from him in a shocked groan. He pressed his mouth hard to Blair's as heat shot to his groin. Blair whimpered, his lips falling open in response without thought or hesitation, his body pressing as close as it could get from the knees up. As if that had broken the spell somehow, Blair jerked back. "Jim, man, you have to be sure. I can't do this if you're not totally sure." Jim rested his forehead against Blair's, not ready to lose that precious closeness yet. "I want this, Chief. I have no idea what I'm doing here, but I know that I want to be doing it with you." Blair trembled with temptation, but he had to be strong. He couldn't afford to be careless with this. "And when you wake up tomorrow, with me in your bed, both of us naked? When it hits you, what you've done, and what it could mean for you? What then, Jim? I need you to really think about this. Think about who we work with, about your family. If we do this, I'm not gonna be able to hide it anymore, I wouldn't want to either. You know what that'll mean? Forget discrimination and unreliable back-up, we'd be breaking fraternization rules. Simon would have no choice but to separate us. We can't ask him to risk his career and IA's wrath for us. How long do you think you'll last before you zone or spike at the wrong moment, and people get killed? Even if you somehow survived that, you'd never forgive yourself." It was true, every word of it, and it was a hell of a lot. It was obvious that Blair had been thinking about it for a long time, Jim had some serious catching up to do. But he knew one thing clearly. "We'll figure it out like we always do, together. If we can't stay on the force, then we'll both go. I know that you mostly only joined for my sake. Yeah, you enjoy the work, but you still hate the violence of it. You're never gonna be happy about pointing a gun at someone, even for me." Jim wasn't wrong about that, but it wasn't the whole story either. "Jim, I could've worked things out at Rainier if I'd really wanted to. Edwards didn't have a leg to stand on when she ran me off like that, and my friends there all knew it. Academia had been losing its shine for me for a long time by then, the politics of it all. It just wasn't fulfilling anymore, not the way working with you is. What you said to me at the hospital about being a good cop, and offering me that badge, it meant the world to me. That you trust me to watch your back as your permanent partner, just blows me away." Jim acknowledged those words with another soft kiss before responding. "I do trust you Chief. That's why I don't want you at my back for the rest of our lives." He held on tight when Blair tried to pull away. "I want you at my side instead, where you belong. Between my skills and your smarts, we've got options. We'll find one that works for both of us, where we can be the team we're supposed to be, and still help people. One that doesn't have us both dodging bullets every other day. It's not like I'm gonna be young enough to pull that off forever." Blair's knees went weak, Jim's firm grip on his lower back and the base of his skull the only thing keeping him standing. "You'd do that for me?" Jim shook his head once, slowly. "I'd do that for *us*. Just like you would, like you did with that press conference of yours. You're not the only one who can pull off a grand gesture, Chief. Maybe Eli can find a spot for you on his next expedition, and I can finally take a turn following you around for a bit. I could be their security detail." Blair searched his face, but found only honest sincerity there. His love for the man in front of him, always a warm flame in the hearth of his soul, blazed through him in a rush of desire. His mouth crashed hungrily against Jim's without conscious thought, almost reflexively. Jim's body welcomed him back, pulling them tightly together again, legs tangling with each other. Somehow, that still wasn't close enough. When he pulled back, this time he pulled Jim with him. Jim followed him without question, like he always did, not caring where they were going. As long as it had a flat surface, even if that was just a bare bit of floor, then it would do.

[tunesscribbles]

Peter Maximoff x Reader

AN: the continuation of/ possibly the closing piece to 'You're my favourite feeling' & 'Made of stardust' | more of a collection of semi-linear snippets | gender neutral reader | listened a lot to ‘Sorry’ by Nothing But Thieves and ‘No Light’ by Florence and the machine

Rough Patches

Well, this week went swimmingly so far.

His headphones broke. He still had a hard time adjusting to the team and working with other people. He never really had to before. Why would he? He's fast enough to do it alone. (Turns out there are some things you can't simply outrun and now he almost suffers from panic attacks whenever people touch his hair, because fingers in his hair are equal to the sickening snap of his own bones, the realisation that breaking his legs meant taking away his powers, rendering him useless and the approaching figure will cut his throat and that will be it, he will just be dead. If the smaller kids at the school didn't like his hair so much, maybe it wouldn't even be this much of an issue. They're just kids, they don't know what kind of horrors they're unleashing by threading their little fingers through his silver locks. He used to like having his hair be played with and it sucks that even though his leg healed without lasting damage Apocalypse was still able to take something away from him. Perhaps permanently. His eyes began to sting.) He also got into a fight with his best friend. He fucked up. Seems like his new name suited him perfectly. After all Quicksilver doesn't bond well with other elements, not even itself. Not to mention that atop of that it is highly toxic. (He did pay attention in high school somewhat, thank you very much.) Peter sat down on the roof and stared off into the distance. No matter how fast he ran, he still felt sluggish and urgh. He thought he had left this moody bullshit behind with puberty. Apparently your emotions don't disappear as soon as you enter adulthood, who knew? The roof door opened and familiar steps drew closer. "Do you think clouds ever look down at us and go: 'Hey, this one's shaped like an idiot!'", he asked with a false upbeat tone in his voice. He heard you move to sit down beside him. "I don't know.", you replied looking up to the clouds above as if deeply pondering his self-deprecating question. "I'm sorry." For a second he thought you were apologizing for not knowing the answer to the question, before it dawned on him that you were most likely referring to the argument from earlier. He remembered harsh words that cut deep coming form either side and almost winced. He despised fighting with those he cared about. "Me too." "Wanna complain about how shit our respective weeks have been?", you suggested with a half smile. "I've brought Capri Suns to drown our sorrows in.", you added, holding up said beverages. "Sounds cathartic and also like something the Professor would say, just that he'd use fancier words." Peter accepted the Capri Sun you offered him and began to fiddle with the straw. There was something there but he couldn't trace it. It was like a speck on the edge of his vision but he couldn't actually see it, he could just sort of feel it. Though whenever he tried to focus on it, it disappeared like it was never there in the first place and with it his ability to describe it. It only seemed to happen around you and it was driving him up the wall. He finally managed to punch the straw in. "I'll go first!" --------- ---------- --------- ------------ You don't know how but you came to think of Peter as nearly invincible. While logically you knew that to be false it was hard to imagine him getting hurt, considering how easily he could evade harm thanks to his mutation. That's why it knocked the ground from under your feet when one day the young X Men came back from a mission with a severely injured Quicksilver. No matter how cocky or confident he appeared and how powerful he was, at his core he was still human. Humans break and fall apart all the time. Their auras crumble and fade. "You are shaped like a goddamn idiot!", you scolded him as soon as Hank was done patching him up. Peter looked positively offended. "Kick me while I'm down, why don't you?" He winced as his attempt to stretch caused him pain. "It's the only chance I get." You eyed him worriedly while he scoffed and picked at his bandages. His aura was dimmer than it should be and the edges were more prominent and sharper than usually.  You reached out to it with your own aura in an attempt to encourage his to shine a bit brighter and perhaps lift his mood a bit. It worked sometimes. Not this time though. They both only seemed to become more agitated. "Filthy opportunist. Now be gone, the painkillers are finally kicking in and I think I'm gonna dissociate for a while." It was clear as day that he was not in a talking mood for once. "Have fun." you encouraged him halfheartedly. You selfishly wanted to stay there with him anyway, to make sure he was alright, but sometimes your comfort was not the comfort he needed. You left the infirmary and wondered what exactly had gone wrong on the mission. --------- --------- --------- -------------- "No but listen!" You tried to remember what you wanted him to listen to. "Listen." "I'm listening!", he replied with a silver spark inducing laugh. "Sssh, listen!" You reached out with your hand to touch the spark but your finger went through it and ended up booping Peter's nose. He swatted your hand away. "[Name], you're drunk." "Oh shit, really? I wasn't aware!", you answered sarcastically. Peter chuckled once more. His aura tingled playfully and reminded you of what you wanted to say. "You're my favourite." He tilted his head to the side in confusion and frowned. "Your favourite what?" You gestured vaguely to his entire being in general and then jumped up from your seat on the couch with a grin. "Happy New Year!" "It's not even midnight yet! Where are you going?" ---------- ------------ -------------- ------------- It was an easy afternoon. Just you two dancing along to music from Peter's stereo without a care in the world. If the music was too loud, no one has had the courage to complain about it yet. The last time they did, Peter had just turned the volume up even further - because he could - and earned himself a scolding from the professor himself. You twirled and bounced around while laughing or singing along. Your auras nearly mingling together. A twist in time with the bridge and you found yourself face to face, mere inches apart. Your laughter came out breathless. You caught him glancing down at your lips before his eyes skidded back up almost guiltily. Screw it, you thought and leaned in. It was meant to be a simple quick kiss. You were about to pull back when you felt him tense up but just as you did Peter chased after you. Lips capturing yours again like a drowning man might try to catch a breath, his aura latching onto yours and his hands coming up to cradle your face. A silent Don't leave. You put your arms around him and returned the kiss to say I won't. His breath tasted sweet like artificial vanilla. It made you a bit dizzy. Your lips disconnected at last but you still remained close together. You smiled at him and for a moment he did too, until something else crept into his gaze, something sad and pained. Then suddenly he was gone. ----------- ------------ ----------- ---------------- The daylight shone violently in his eyes. He couldn't have this conversation, not today, not ever. "I don't think we should do this." Peter wished there was a way he could somehow unsee how much these words had hurt you. No, no you've got it all wrong, it's not you it's- "I'm not good like that. If we- If you- You'll see that I'm-" toxic, all the way down. About as chemical as the junk food he keeps eating. "Even if you were, I don't need you to be good, I just need you to be you." He gasped as you gently took his face into your hands. There it was, this weird sensation at the corners of his perception. A sort of reassuring presence. If he were to reach out there would be something there for him to hold onto and perhaps even to hold him in return. You were behind this weren't you? Unfair. He felt his resolve cave in. Peter put his hands over yours and leaned in to let his head rest against your forehead. He let out a stuttering breath he knew he was holding but had somehow still forgotten about. "Alright I can do that."

[authenticaussie]

Hmm... 18 (soul eater au), 52 (roommate), 42 (marvel), 98 (leverage), and or 14 (lantern lights)

babe……….you’re my Favourite™

also, under a readmore because this got LONG as SHIT

8. Soul Eater au

the soul eater au is really scattered because my wifi sucked on that particular day and I was posting it in the mas chat (sunshinepunks) BUT the basis is weapons ace & sabo and meister Marco. It’s a lot of “dumbasses refuse to accept New Friends (because TraumaTM)” and Ace/Sabo being dicks to Marco because he refuses to give up on them. (ahhh my favourite dynamic //swoons)

Part of the plot - my favourite part of the plot - is that Sabo spends a lot of time spying on Marco to try and catch him out as Secretly A Dick and Manipulating Them, and ends up finding out that Marco really really cares about him and Ace? And the way to Sabo’s heart is thrrrroooough his besssstieeeee lmao. So Sabo ends up crushin’ hard first, but then SPYING BACKFIRES and paranoia kicks his butt and he Feels Bad because he was ONLY MEANT TO TRUST ACE and Marco HURT HIS FEELINGS (sabo you moron it’s your own fault). Anyway Ace and Marco pair up to try and make Sabo feel better and it drives Sabo even Nuttier until there is battle couple stuff and a mid-fight Feelings Fight and then a confession and then they become the DMCA power couple. Ta-da!

Ace was a pipe and Sabo was a knife! Or…..you know, something in that realm pft. Basically hitty-stick and stabby-stabby, because you could make a) an argument for their personalities Being Like That (ace is blunt and strong and easy to just hit with but if you’re clever about it he’s awesome, and has the reach to be a longer weapon, sabo is more…well a knife can be used for a lot but also it’s very….vicious. There is very little you can do to Incapacitate with a knife that is not Wow Stabbed. Which I feel is very Sabo, he’s kinda…harsh??? in his way of handling battle, I think.) and b) because in canon, Sabo’s weapon is a pipe and Ace has that knife, and I thought it’d be cool to match that.

42. New Roommate Wanted

an OC-based commission!! James moves in with a shape-shifting thief and her GF and accidentally Falls In Love snickers

It is………..I wrote it a while ago so you can definitely see the self-projection of “I want cute rich gfs to love and adore me so I don’t have to stress about a job”

52. 5+1 Marvel AU

in the actual word document the title is “If you’re broken I will mend you” (Or 5 Times Sabo was There for his Team (and one time histeam was there for him). Sabo is Coulson and Marco is Hawkeye and Ace is a Black Widow (codename: Redback). It fluctuates between sorta implying MAS (but with a definite focus on Marco/Ace) and Coby/Sabo mainly because I made Coby Captain America (YOU CAN’T!!! ARGUE!!! WITH ME!!! HE IS!!!! PERFECT!!! AS CAP!!!) and I love fics that have the lowkey “Coulson has a fanboy crush on Cap.” lol. 

(also coby/sabo is. fun? crackship but So Fun.) 

Here’s the shortest one haha

It takes about five minutes after the comms. go silent forSabo to know that something is wrong, and two minutes afterwards to gear up.

It takes him approximately four seconds to tear through the people trying to keep him from helping Ace and Marco.

(It takes two weeks for them to heal, no matter how fastSabo was, and a month for Sabo to get off desk duty, but Ace and Marco refuseto do missions when he’s not their handler. They refuse to do anything thatinvolves leaving his side until after he assures them he’s fine, and that hewasn’t just a S.H.I.E.L.D agent because he had a pretty face - though that hadprompted an argument about Sabo’s ‘pretty face’ that he’d had to steadfastlyignore.)

88. LEVERAGE AU MOTHERFUCKER

THIEVES! CON ARTISTS! So this one is actually three different aus in one file - there’s a “MAS but as Leverage” and it starts out as “Ace and Sabo who fill in Every Job They Can (but their specialties are Ace = grifter/hacker and Sabo = hitter/thief and I have reasons, okay) and then they try and run a con on Marco but he’s like Um Excuse Me? And then he gets dragged into their Bullshit snickers. Oh ALSO they ONE THOUSAND PERCENT do not realise they are Madly In Love With Him (but he does. And he’s trying to be patient. But also. Dying. Because wow it’s kinda awkward being in love with. two daredevil thieves)

The second one in the doc is the Leverage trio in the OP world, ‘cause duh, and Parker starts off like…trying to steal kids from being SMILE experiments? and hires Eliot and Hardison to help her. Um I think I wanted to give Hardison a DF?? But I had a whole list: there was altering people’s sight/perceptions, being able to edit vision/specifics of reality in lines of like, code?? (aka he could do Little Changes but they could affect Big Things, a butterfly effect sort of DF). A lot of them were trying to give him a way to…manipulate stuff in a world where tech wasn’t as big a thing.  

And the third one is ASL leverage! Marco still gets dragged into the disaster but it’s more found family stuff. 

14. Lantern Lights

Lantern Lights is technically posted [here] under “all the light we cannot hold” BUT I have MORE. I wanted to make it longer when I originally posted it - mainly because Lea asked for angst - but I ended up running out of time (I am………so bad at deadlines, jfc). Plus, with all the things I wanted to include it honestly would’ve turned into something RIDICULOUSLY long and I was already pushing 5k when gifts were a minimum of 1k.

This was the original start / end bracketing.

START:

HiAce.

Hispencil hesitated above the empty page, only a single lead smudge marring theotherwise blank paper, and Sabo sighed softly. Eraser nub ticking against thedesk, he bit his lower lip and tried to think of what else to write. He had somuch to say – about Marco, and the Whitebeards, and about the new friends he’dslowly been making, like Koala and Hack and even the standoffish, arrogant Law,but it’d been so long since he sat down to write Ace a letter that the wordsseemed to have vanished.

Hi Ace, heread, as though the greeting would organise what he wanted to say intoneat lines for him to write. He heaved another sigh, resting his chin in hispalm. Casting his eyes up to the window above his desk he watched as theburning dusk faded into twilight blue and the stars began to shine, silverglints of light that were mirrored by the compound’s lanterns flaring to life.The gleamed against the darkness and Sabo couldn’t help but be reminded ofAce’s fire. How it glowed beneath his skin, lighting him bright red in fury orembarrassment or glorious gold in his joy. Sometimes Sabo couldn’t help butwish – but hope – that Ace was still burning, somewhere out there. In the sky,with the stars-

Hecouldn’t help but selfishly hope that Ace had given part of his fire to Sabo’sheart, to burn within him.

Sabogrowled, burying his face in his hands to try and stop the subtle sting formingin his eyes. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that so many simple things couldremind him of Ace, that undeniable frustration at his uselessness still restedheavy in his every thought, that the feelings he wanted to put to paper wereimpossible to articulate.

Thesharp tip of his pencil cracked as he pressed it into the paper, and the threewords he wrote turned from his usual neat cursive into a jagged scrawl.

I miss you.

END:

-Marco thinks that ouranniversary is the battle, but I don’t like it there. Besides, having ouranniversary on your birthday? You’d expect double gifts, and we can’t havethat.

Sabo’slips quirked into a bitter smile, his eyes drawn up to the small gift stillwrapped on his desk, bow deflated from his constant touches but nonethelessstill stubbornly holding onto the silver wrapping. He’d never had a chance togive Ace his birthday gift, and was sure that Ace wouldn’t have expected it.Would he have even been given gifts, when he’d been kept on the candle wick? Orwould the gift have been an extra moment of freedom, so painfully perfect in its rarity?

Pullinghis hair away from his face, Sabo gently bit his lip and scanned what he’dalready written, trying to figure out what else to say. His fringe curled infront of his eyes when he took up his pen again, but he barely paid attentionto the soft brush of hair against his scar tissue. Two years of having them hadgotten him used to his limited vision and things in front of his face that hecouldn’t see. 

He’d never seen Ace’sflustered thoughts, nor known what each fleeting touch had meant until it had beenfar too late, and couldn’t help but wonder just how blind he’d been back then.

Did I tell you thatMarco finally stopped being chickenshit and used the word ‘boyfriend’? I feellike that counts more as our anniversary than the battle, especially consideringI wasn’t much better about speaking up about “feelings” after you left. Twomonths of not talking over the topic because one third of the topic up and-

It’s pretty stupid ofus, huh?

I mean, you werepretty fucking stupid when you-

Sabocrossed out the last few words with two strokes of thick black ink, his teethgrit in a way that made his head pound.

Regardless, everythingis going fine, now. I’m sure you’d be happy to know that Marco and I havegotten past awkwardly refusing to admit to holding hands and have nowprogressed to awkwardly kissing each other on the cheek (and then refusing toadmit to it, of course. Got to keep consistency). You’d think that as someoneso attention-starved I’d be better at this, but it always feels…not wrong, persay, but, like something is missing because you’re not here.

You’re a dick forthat, Ace.

Anyway, this will bemy last letter for a while. I’m sorry it’s short, but I’m already running late;Koala and I are set to sail with the afternoon tide, for Flevance, and Marco isgoing troll hunting. Whitebeard heard there was trouble with the gnomes in thefar north mountains, so he’s going to check them out and I want to say goodbyebefore we part ways.

As always;

With love, Sabo.

[blahsome]

March 18 2020, yet another big milestone. 25 years. A quarter of a century. Is it a big deal or are numbers arbitrary and it’s the same amount of a deal as it ever has been? I can’t publish everything I’ve written down for this year without feeling guilty, but I also can’t step on no toes all the time. And now, I will also feel guilty posting this when there's a pandemic occurring, but, I am trapped at home with little to do other than edit and re-edit this writing to be suitable enough for the public. I started writing this on April 9, 2019, too early to start my 25th anniversary writing? I’ll guess not. So here it is, my yearly open letter to my mother with intermittent ramblings and poems about my experience moving though life as the person I am and my perceptions as a flawed but resilient female. It’s like if I put it out there, maybe I’ll somehow reach her and she will somehow let me know. Highs and lows, as usual. Just after 2 years off the sauce I had a bigger ‘aha moment’ than putting down any bottles, though one wouldn’t have happened without the other. I realized drinking wasn’t my real problem to begin with. It was people, and my desperate need for their acceptance and approval. My need to be recognized and valued instead of coddled and unconsciously kept in a box. My need to control the outcome of situations and stepping on toes in the process. After so long being alcohol free I came to see that I had to start living for me. In early June 2019 a dear friend turned me on to a book called CoDependent No More. In maybe a week’s time I absorbed every word, the narcissist in me was almost convinced that I’d written it myself, it resonated so deeply. The following week I started attending CoDA meetings. Now that so many of my grievances and ailments make sense, I only wish I’d known sooner that it was okay to live life with me as my number one priority. I didn’t know before that I didn’t have to feel responsible for other people’s actions or inactions, but my self worth had been dependent on it. I’m 95% sure my mother was CoDependent, and with that consideration, I’m able to understand her life choices better and therefore navigate my own with slightly better foresight. Wikipedia says “Codependency is a behavioral condition in a relationship where one person enables another person's addiction, poor mental health, immaturity, irresponsibility, or under-achievement. Among the core characteristics of codependency is an excessive reliance on other people for approval and a sense of identity.” Now, that’s just one definition. There are many charastics to pick and choose from, and let me tell you, us codependents (I can only speak for myself) can be picky and choosy. Some people define codependency as a disease because if it goes untreated it only gets worse. I’m trying to break a lifetime of habits. Hi, My name is Blossom and I’m CoDependent. Every Monday night I go to a meeting where a group of women gather and we all try to work on ourselves to let go of whatever unmanageable ailments are keeping us shackled. It’s humbling and it fills me with hope. It empowers me to continuously seek change and clarity. Codependency is a tough one to recover from, as you can’t quit people. Once I had a name for this problem, every love song sounded different and every frustration made sense. I became able to recognize crazy making and slow down and see that I didn’t have control and things had become unmanageable. In doing so, I was able to step back and make better decisions for myself and my life and that’s how this whole last year unfolded more in my favor than any year previous. I worked on detaching and I started living for myself. March is a hard month for me. I sometimes feel so undeserving of a skin to be settled in. I writhe around in my persistent and annual grief. I start getting anxious in February wondering how it will appear this year. This March is particularly hard. I moved into a house with strangers and rarely stay there. I’ve got no place of my own to grieve, and with COVID-19 amongst us, I don’t want to take up any more emotional space while the world is feeling its current devestations and fears. My hopes for 2019 were to have more highs than lows, make my amends and reconciliations, and to keep my head mostly above water. And that was mostly the case. My aunt told me shortly after my post last year that my mom had self imposed low self esteem (now I recognize this as codependency). Watching home videos of her I feel like I could see stress in her face and I think about what she wrote in her journal about worry making her face look funny and how she didn’t want anyone to feel as she did. Maybe because it was a different time she felt like she couldn’t talk about her anxieties and had to bottle them up. I’m thinking about all the time I’ve spent transfixed by being a motherless daughter and trying to figure out where I fit into the word. I’m thinking about how long I spent tending to my father's bent and dusty wings, thinking I’d needed to see one of my parents fly so that I could’ve learned how it’s done. I’m in some required college to career success class that’s making me question my path, as if stress wasn’t doing that already. I’m laying in bed wishing that I’d figured out sooner that my wings were fine regardless of anyone else’s. I wish you were here so I could tell you all about everything. And so you could do the same. And so we could share the load. I quit smoking finally. Now my only vice is other people’s problems and trying to fix them to no avail. The eternal heartbreak I mentioned in my last letter makes more sense now. And the boy who told me to turn off the lights on my birthday sent me a podcast that said something about only being able to be loved as much as you’re willing to be vulnerable. And I think we’re all scared to be completely honest about how shitty we are, so we just perpetuate the shittiness and stay closed and unloveable. Early August 2019- I’m off track as usual, probably malnourished, definitely exhausted. This morning I was crying, I thought I wouldn’t be able to pull it together and that my eyes would be red when I got to my first job of the day. I think I was mourning. Things are going to change so much. I won’t have any more free time. I have to restructure everything. Which I think is what I wanted, but what a learning curve. I still have desperate hopes of creating a camp for motherless daughters someday. And it has to be accessible to all. But lord knows how far off in the future it is. At this time my feet are seldom beneath me, I’m sprinting forwards and if I stop I will stumble. I have to figure out my shit first I guess, and I’m putting in the worrrk. Or trying to at least. At a CoDA meeting a woman was talking about learning how to wield her anger, a thought that made me tremble. I liked the sound of it, as I have so much, and if we could turn it into a power, a force for good...it’d be all over. But I’m stifled by it, embarrassed of it. When I cancel plans it's usually because I’m embarrassed about how angry I am over something out of my control, and I can’t come down. Everyone was relatable, everyone seemed to be making progress, even if at this time it looked like a breakdown. They told their stories and I cringed inwardly, thinking of what I would have done in their situation. The time for change is now, I’m shaking in my boots. Some poetry and prose: My broken heart painted my world red slandering your name ensuring I’m to be seen as a fool who sobs wolf My depressed history understands every bit of where you come from like we have the same veins My logical self tells me that’s your burden to bear but I do everything I can to fabricate your crutches and excuse your bad behavior - Codependent Cowgirl Uncharmable. You only want your ex cause you think that’s where you can be yourself, but really that’s where was born the version of yourself you hate the most. Here I am standing strong, aching for my newest weakness. You’re having none of it. If I unclench my jaw and take a deep breath Tears roll down my cheeks THIS is relaxing So I tense back up And jump back into my cortisol spiral There is too much to get done to spend even one second thinking about you Six Sundays have passed since I’ve seen you last Codependency writes all my prose and all my sonnets All my pros and wilted bluebonnets - Go hard or go home Or go hard and stay at home, for forever because you thought you and your home would be each other’s salvation because home was the only thing that ever willingly invited you to change it and was better for it. But home got too heavy and home wouldn’t change on its own. And all the changes you did accomplish didn’t prove your worth. Plagued by nostalgia and sentiment Chronic grief Frozen in grief, and just when I begin to thaw, the temperature drops again Perpetually stressed What if to lose a parent as a child, is to lose the present. Because then you are trapped dreading the uncertainty of the future and wondering about a past you never knew and will never know, theirs. - Fuckless nights I unwittingly dusted off my fiddle strings and played as best as I could but you were never pleased. I was always out of tune or just off beat. -- And so let us not demonize others for our perceived shadows they cast and have casted We can’t all be deciphering your eccentric and elaborate needs when you’re shouting CUNT at the tips of your fingers and claiming to empower women while you dig in your claws to another. Chicken soup wasn’t enough to cleanse your soul. -- I think about you every day Literally nothing happens And I’m reminded of you I wake up I think of you I want to punch a wall I till the dirt I think of you I go on a date I don’t like him I think of you I let myself get so fucked up over you My rose colored glasses are shattered but I’m still wearing them I can’t bring myself to say nothing but nothing I say gets through to you I was operating out of a place Of fear I felt threatened by any number of women I’d never met and will never meet. I saw a message on your phone It confirmed my suspicions You drunkenly tried to explain it away I wanted to believe you but I had already poured the concrete and I cart it with me everywhere Slowly I’m leaving little bits here and there Becoming lighter - This week I wrestled with my codependency, Manic and exhausted from my nervous system vibrating I spent countless hours elbows deep in the dirt trying to find the root of it all An unsolvable problem parallel with reality Hard work makes me stronger Even if I can’t kill all the weeds Progress over perfection What even is progress? fuck my life. I’m no fun at this time. The doors will rot in the yard, my gut tells me just like the others. It’s not even a metaphor, just a strong probability, and a waste. Oh my god the realizations just keep rolling in. For hoarders the drama triangle isn’t just for people, but objects too. The doors must’ve been playing victim, and he’s gone to rescue them. The only corner left for me is The Persecutor. - Back in the thick Texas air Drawn to tough love From best friends to boyfriends Can’t get enough of the push and pull I’m nothing like the others I’m so much more with so much less You make me nervous But I don’t have much to lose I want to roll over and kiss you on the mouth I want reciprocation I want you to push my face away Just to kiss me on the neck You always get me with a twist We are scared of each other Collective hurt Collectively hurt We are missing something and are unable to accept ourselves and each other as we are I don’t know how you can lie to me Or how I can stick around for it For all those times you smash it right I guess Second best to you kissing my neck Is when I’m out of sight but on your mind I don’t fit in to some plan you thought you had I break the mold I’m quiet and bold We are anxious, we are stepping on each other’s toes Bite your tongue For better or for worse Things stay the same But with time, and your tongue between your teeth Eggshells are everywhere, splintered into our feet Make it up as you go along Keep the gas on I’m filling the space between my eyes and my rose colored glasses with wool - Same as ever Tongue between my teeth Lighting up another 100 out of 10 You wonder if you know me But you don’t give yourself the opportunity I’m right behind you writing my words that my teeth won’t allow my tongue to speak Desperation is such a drain Self inflicted low self esteem A familial affliction Looking like a 10 Feeling like a dud That low self esteem has me trembling And today was a good day - With a bottle of booze as his gate keeper He’ll never let me in I’m flushed, way too in my head Thinking up scenarios to catch you with your hands red bloodied from tearing my heart out and probably hers, too. - When I first quit drinking I felt this temporary empowerment, like I always had my wits about me. I could do anything. And then my codependency cloud settled back in, my intuition slipped back out the window. Now it’s like I’m in the desert, with a paddle, which makes even less sense than being upstream without one. It takes so much energy for me to state my needs. I’ve lived much of my life being brushed off and I predict rejection of my needs and so I try to suppress them and be ok with things as they are, but I need more. When I’m cancelled on, or am not prioritized, I need to be provided with alternatives or I feel insignificant. Reminders of my stated needs feel like nagging. I need reassurance. It’s exhausting and disheartening. -It’s the little things like when I ask if you want to do something and you tell me what you’re doing instead, without offering any alternative. Or when you tell me nothing. And I have visceral feelings that to inquire is to overstep and overstepping leads to termination. When I’m doing better I don’t write as much. Pain is romanticized, joy is foreign to me and perceived as fleeting. I’m trying to flip that script. Going to CoDA helps me in this effort. It reminds me that there is space for me and it's ok for me to have needs and taking care of myself should be step one in all of my endeavors. It's ok to say no. I don’t owe anyone anything, and also no one owes me anything. I’m closer than ever before to becoming the butterfly out of the cocoon, though I'm still very far, and that's okay. Progress over perfection. Now wash your hands and stay safe. If not for you, then for your loved ones, or your friends friends loved ones.

[outtacommission]

everybody, please believe I’m fine

hello i have the soren sickfic!!!!!! (no pairings, just sibling h/c)

Ao3

If there was going to be a day for this to happen, it would happen to be this day. Soren wakes up to a dark, cloudy sky, cold rain pattering against the window, and a splitting headache. He doesn’t realize how bad it is until he sits up in bed only to have a bolt of pain spear through his skull. He drops his head into his hands with a hiss and pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. It takes too long for the throb to lessen enough to look up again, and when he does, it becomes apparent that the headache isn’t the only discomfort plaguing him at the moment. Pressure is already building in his sinuses, and his throat is itchy and sore when he swallows.

Soren freezes. Is he… Is he sick? He can’t remember the last time he’s felt this way.

He groans in frustration and rakes a hand through sleep-matted hair. Is this because I didn’t wash my hands with soap before lunch a few days ago…? Or maybe it’s the universe’s way of getting back at him for laughing at Claudia that one time when she fudged a spell and accidentally gave herself a rash.

Either way, a cold can’t get in the way of his responsibilities. He’s a strong, tough guy. In all honesty he thought he was beyond getting sick at all. The last time he was ill was…probably as a child. There was one instance in his early teen years when he had an allergic reaction to some weird edible plant he ate on a dare, but he doesn’t really count that.

It’s weird that he’s suddenly experiencing these symptoms now, when his body is in such excellent condition. Guess it can’t be helped. The day has to go on, and he can’t spend it in bed.

He skips breakfast. Out of all the days to do so, this is probably the worst one, but he can’t really seem to work up an appetite. In fact, the thought of porridge or pastries makes him a little nauseous. That’s also unusual, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He’ll make up for it with a large lunch—surely he’ll be feeling better by then.

The castle seems draftier than normal and his armor sits heavy on his shoulders when he puts it on. His muscles ache as he reaches up to secure his pauldron. He willfully ignores it.

Claudia catches up to him in the corridor on his way out to meet with the rest of his troop. “Mornin,’ Sor-bear!” she says loudly, running up to his side. “I didn’t see you at breakfast!”

Soren tries not to wince when the volume of her voice causes another spike of pain in his head. “Uh, yeah. I didn’t really feel like breakfast today, so.”

“You…didn’t feel like breakfast? That’s weird.” She reaches up and pokes his cheek gently. “You feel like breakfast to me!”

He only laughs softly in reply.

Claudia frowns. “You okay, Sor-bear? You seem…quiet.”

“Ah. Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles, internally grimacing at how utterly unconvincing he sounds. “Just a little tired. Didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

His sister purses her lips and places a hand on his shoulder. “Then take it easy today, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Including Dad.”

Soren starts a little at that. He and Claudia have always been close—closer than most siblings, he thinks—and sometimes it seems like she can read his mind. Truthfully, he’s not entirely convinced that she can’t, since magic doesn’t make much sense to him. It can be a little unnerving. And Claudia is terrifyingly smart and perceptive when she wants to be.

And, well, maybe it’s a little bit true that he carries himself like he’s got something to prove. But when you’re the youngest member of the king’s army, ever, and the son of the High Mage, it’s hard not to feel pressured. Eyes are on him all the time, and no matter how skilled he is with a blade, he can’t help but wonder if people look down on him for not being talented with magic. And by people, he specifically means his father. Not that Viren has ever given him much reason to think he’s disappointed in his lack of magical ability, but when Soren watches him and Claudia together, he can’t stop the idea from passing through his mind.

He’s never admitted that before. It’s just a nagging little thought that he usually stuffs deep, deep down under bravado and confidence, and that works pretty well.

Damn Claudia for bringing that up now. Damn her for noticing it in the first place. Soren is not insecure. That’s just not a thing. And he certainly doesn’t think this deeply about things. Feelings and emotions and worrying about not meeting expectations are not a part of who he is.

“I’m not—I don’t—” Damn it. He stutters to a stop as his face screws up, and before he can stop it, he sneezes. Forcefully. The ache behind his face flares and he groans.

“Bless you!” Claudia says, surprised.

Shit. Soren sniffles wetly, dragging the back of his hand under his nose. “Thanks.”

His sister comes to stand in front of him and crosses her arms. “I’m serious, Soren. Don’t push yourself today.”

With one last sniff, he straightens up and puts on his best smirk. “I’m fine, Claudia. I’m not gonna keel over or anything.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, but then cracks a smile and shakes her head. “Okay, well, I’ll be around. If you happen to need anything.”

He smiles back and nods before turning and continuing on his way.

—

Training is… Well, it goes a lot worse than he had anticipated. The floodgates open ten minutes in and he's instantly soaked through, and training in wet gear is miserable enough on its own. But on top of that, his armor is so heavy and each swing of his sword takes herculean effort. He doesn’t understand. He’s never had this much trouble. Armor isn’t light, exactly, but it’s never weighed him down like this, even while wet. He’s never struggled so much to get his footwork right. His movements are sluggish and clumsy and it takes far more concentration than it ever should merely to keep his balance while his sparring partner deals offensive blows. And despite the constant movement, he's freezing. Courtesy of the rain.

It’s when he’s finally knocked on his ass that he admits to needing a break. He stows the wooden training sword and makes his way to the water pump around the corner of the courtyard, where he takes a moment to press his forearm to the wall and rest his head on it. His body is so weak and drained of energy. He definitely shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, but even now the thought of eating makes him feel ill.

He growls in frustration. This is so inconvenient.

A cough suddenly bursts from his throat, forceful and dry. He’s been having the urge to cough since he got his heart-rate up, but hasn’t allowed himself more than a quick clearing of his throat until now. Now, the cough completely takes over and his lungs heave as he hacks, feeling how much the illness is settling into his throat and chest and head.

Why can’t the day just be over already?

No sooner had the thought entered his head than a distant clock chimes twelve, and he groans again as the coughing tapers off. Lunchtime. And then he’s supposed to have swordplay training with the step-prince. He usually enjoys being Callum’s instructor, even if the kid is no good with a blade, but today just thinking about training is exhausting.

That, and he still isn’t hungry. Either he forces himself to eat and potentially vomits from it, or he continues on with an empty stomach and drains what little energy he has left and pray that he can keep pulling strength from somewhere.

Neither option sounds good.

Technically he could always admit to not feeling well and take the rest of the day off, but that’s not going to happen.

He pushes himself upright and takes off for the training ground again. But after a few steps, the blood suddenly drains from his head and his legs lose strength completely. He stumbles to the wall again, feels his shoulder slam against it as his vision starts spinning and morphing into bright shapes and a rushing sound fills his ears. For a few moments, he’s completely cut off from the world and his own body as he can’t see or hear, and can only feel a dull tingling, trembling sensation.

When he finally comes back to himself, he’s lying slumped on his side in the grass not five feet from the water pump. His hands are shaking, he’s covered in cold sweat and rain, and his head is absolutely pounding.

What…just happened…?

Fear starts burrowing into his consciousness as he comes to the realization that he’d just passed out.

Oh, not good, not good, not good, not good.

He’s got to get up before someone sees him like this.

His first attempt fails miserably. As soon as he sits up and tries to get to his feet, his muscles scream in protest and dizziness overwhelms him, knocking him right back down. He pants roughly, the air making his throat ache. He’s weak as a newborn foal, and probably looks about as graceful as one. Oh, this is so bad. What if he can’t get up? What if he has to call for someone to help?

No, he can’t. He’s stronger than this. He’s got this. It’s just a stupid cold.

He removes his pauldron, gorget, and breastplate, and it’s a little easier to breathe. He leans his head against the stone wall and focuses on drawing oxygen into his lungs. This is because he skipped breakfast for sure. He really should try to eat something for lunch, even if it’s just a piece of bread. And maybe he would, if he felt steady enough to stand.

After a while, his hands stop shaking quite so badly and the dizziness recedes, leaving just the terrible headache and utter exhaustion in its wake. Soren takes a deep breath, begs his body to cooperate, and slowly climbs to his feet. Thankfully, this time, his legs are solid enough to hold him and he doesn’t get knocked back down by vertigo. Good enough. He coughs again into his elbow and makes his way back out to the training ground.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle now, hardly enough to notice, but everything—including Soren’s hair and clothes—is still wet and cold. He shivers.

Surprisingly, Callum is already there on a bench with his head bent over his sketchbook. He looks up when Soren approaches.

“Hey,” he greets. “I was wondering where you were.”

Soren’s brow furrows. “Why? Training’s not ’til one.”

“Uh, it is one.” Callum tilts his head, raises an eyebrow. “Where’s the rest of your armor?”

It’s…been an entire hour? There’s no way. He couldn’t have been sitting by the water pump for a whole hour, and he hadn’t heard the clock chime. He’s not…

“Hellooo? Soren?”

Callum’s waving a hand in front of his face.

Jeez, he’s out of it. If he can’t get his head on straight maybe he really shouldn’t be swinging a sword around, even if it’s a wooden one. “Sorry. What was the question?”

Callum frowns at him, confused and maybe a little concerned. “Are you alright?”

Soren blinks. It’s getting a little hard to breathe again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

“Because you’re missing half of your armor.” Callum’s shrewd green eyes linger on his face for a brief moment. “And you look really pale.”

Panic rises in Soren’s breast. He totally forgot about his discarded armor. His chest heaves. “I was just—sparring. That’s what…what a good workout’ll do for you. You should try it sometime.” He stretches his arms out in front of him and bends sideways, ignoring the persistent ache in his muscles and praying the kid will just take the explanation.

Of course, he does not. Callum puts his sketchbook aside and stands. He’s decently shorter than Soren, but something about being sized up makes Soren nervous and he unconsciously backs up a little. “Are you…sure? You really don’t look too good, Soren.” Something lights up in the prince’s eyes and he rubs the back of his head. “You know, you shouldn’t train with me if you’re not up to it. I don’t mind missing a day—”

“No, no, no.” It’s no secret that Callum doesn’t like sword-fighting, or any type of fighting, but Soren’s taken that as more of a personal challenge. He was entrusted with teaching the step-prince how to fight, and it’ll reflect badly on him if Callum is unable to at least defend himself in battle. “Nice try, but we’re not skipping training.”

“But you—”

“You should be focused on yourself.” He goes to retrieve the sparring swords and tosses one to the prince (which is dropped and clatters on the cobblestone). Soren rolls his eyes and tries to convince himself he’s feeling alright. He’s not—he still feels worryingly out of breath, his nose is running, he needs to cough, his body is almost unbearably heavy and every inch is in pain. Maybe he’ll cut their training short today, but he can’t allow either one of them to just skip it.

They work on offense. He shows Callum the proper footwork and techniques and they run through them together over and over again. Soren wonders if the prince can tell how sluggish and uncoordinated he’s feeling. It’s only gotten worse since that morning. But if Callum does notice anything, he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s demonstrating another technique for the fourth time when he feels it again. An uncomfortable chill creeps up his neck and down his arms, causing him to break into a cold sweat, and his head starts getting light. No, no, no! This isn’t happening again. It can’t. He is not about to faint right in front of Callum. He’ll…he’ll be alright if he just ignores it. If he keeps moving and powers through, it’ll go away. He thinks.

He pulls up out of his thrust and turns to the young boy, panting. “Okay, now…now you try it.”

Callum looks unsure, but he makes a pathetic attempt. As if anticipating the scolding Soren would give him for messing up again, he grimaces and sighs. “I just don’t really get how the steps work. Like, I could never remember where to put my feet if I was actually fighting someone, you know?”

Soren’s breath comes in ragged pants. No matter how much he wills it away, black spots are clouding up his vision and the rushing sound is coming back. He’s gotta do…something.

“Sorry if it doesn’t make sense to me that when you’re in battle you’d basically just start dancing with the other person, but I really don’t get why—uh. Soren?”

He’s aware, on some level, that he’s just staring into space. At some point he’d put his weight on his sword, leaning on it like a crutch, and the fact that he doesn’t remember doing so is kind of alarming. He needs to answer Callum, but he has no idea what the kid had been talking about and he’s far too preoccupied with focusing on not falling over.

“Soren?” Callum appears in front of him, big eyes wide with worry. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A little bit of clarity comes back to him. “I’m—I’m okay.” He puts a hand on Callum’s shoulder in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, but when he tries taking a step he ends up putting most of his weight on the prince’s small frame.

“Whoa—Soren—!”

His strength leaves him and suddenly he’s on his knees with his face buried in Callum’s tunic. He reaches up a shaking hand and grips his jacket. Tries to tell him that he’s fine, he just needs a minute, but soft gasps are all that come out of his mouth before he’s coughing violently.  

And then, somehow, he’s on the ground again. Callum is hovering over him and shouting something that he can’t make out.

He feels absolutely terrible. Easily the worst he’s ever felt in his entire life. As soon as he’s down, all interest in putting up a front and powering through his illness vanishes without a trace. All he wants is his bed. And his mother.

Things go dark and hazy for an indeterminable amount of time. The next thing he’s aware of is a cool hand on his face and voices above him. Something is pressed to his lips and then there’s liquid trickling into his mouth. It’s sweet, and he can’t help but sputter and cough when it makes its way past his tongue.

“Come on, Sor, you need to drink it.”

That voice has him prying his eyes open. “C…Claudia?” It’s still hard to see as his head hasn’t stopped spinning, but her long, dark hair is unmistakable.

“Yeah, I’m here.” He thinks she smiles a little. “You’re alright. Think you scared the daylights out of Callum, though.”

He tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a pathetic groan.

“Try to drink some of this, okay?”

More liquid is poured into his mouth, and now that his body actually recognizes what it needs to be doing, he manages to swallow it.

“Good, Sor.”

In the back of his mind, he’s aware that he’s still on the ground in the courtyard, undeniably making a huge scene with his sister there holding up his head and helping him drink. He’s never going to live this one down. At the moment, though, he can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed, even if he would like to get in bed as soon as possible.

When Claudia lowers the vial, he coughs again. “Wh—what happ’ned?”

His vision is slowly clearing, and he can see a look of sheer worry come over his sister’s face. She looks at the prince, who’s still hovering, but over her shoulder now. “Callum?”

“I don’t know, he just…passed out. He was really pale when he showed up. I knew he shouldn’t have been training and I told him that but he didn’t listen.”

Claudia looks back down at Soren and sighs. “You’re such an idiot. I told you not to push yourself too hard.” She presses a palm to his forehead. “You’re running a fever, Sor-bear. Ready to go to bed now?”

He can’t do much more than moan miserably in agreement. What an awful day this has turned out to be.

“Alright. Callum, help me get him up.”

And it isn’t over yet, he soon learns, as they help him get upright and walking. The lightheadedness comes back almost instantly and his body sags, like there are weights tied around his limbs and torso. He gasps at the pain that spears through his head.

“He’s heavy,” Callum groans.

Soren almost feels bad for the two of them. He’s not much more than dead weight, hardly able to lift his legs and shivering all the while. When the cough comes back, he tries to lower his head out of courtesy. His throat is killing him.

They make their way through the castle corridors slowly. Claudia murmurs soft encouragements to him the whole time, even when he tells her he needs to stop and rest (which is more often than he wants to admit. He blames the weakness on the apparent fever). At the edges of his consciousness, he is aware of the servants and guards who stop to ask if he’s alright, and it’s absolutely humiliating to have his fellow guardsmen see him in such a state. He wishes he could just sink into the floor.

When they’re almost back to his chambers, a new voice pipes up down the hall. “Callum! There you are. I was looking for… Uh, what’re you doing?”

Soren likes Prince Ezran, even if he doesn’t always understand the kid. He’s sweet and curious and more clever than a kid his age should be. He can’t say that’s a trait he appreciates right at the moment, though.

“Getting Soren back to his room,” Callum replies.

Quick little footsteps echo on the walls as Ezran comes closer. “Eugh. What’s the matter with him? He looks like he’s about to puke.”

“He’s not feeling well. Hey, would you mind getting the door?”

The hinges creak when Ezran pushes it open, and the relief Soren feels at the sight of his own bed is absolutely immense. His body turns to jelly as soon as he’s able to sink onto it. His head misses the pillow, but that doesn’t matter. He closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh.

“I sent for the court physician,” Claudia says as she begins removing the rest of his armor. “And Dad.”

That has Soren picking his head up again. “Dad…?”

“Well, yeah.” She looks at him like she doesn’t understand why that would be a problem. She probably doesn’t. “He’ll want to know what’s going on.”

He groans, letting his head fall back forcefully. Of course, his father would find out what had happened eventually, but he’s definitely not thrilled about having the man here at his sickbed. If he even bothers to come, that is. Honestly Soren isn’t sure which he’d prefer.

When the armor is off, Claudia steps back with a satisfied breath and turns to the princes. “Okay, you two, you can run along. I can handle him from here.”

Callum gives a hesitant nod. “Um, sure. Feel better, Soren.”

“Get well soon!” Ezran says, lifting his little toad creature above his head and scurrying out after his brother.

He gives a little wave in thanks and instantly feels better as the door shuts behind them.

Claudia gives his shoulder a nudge. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

He patiently allows her to help him change. She’s the only one he would ever let do it.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” she asks as she holds out his nightshirt for him to slip his arms into.

“Dunno.” He coughs gently as she pulls it over his head. “Thought I could make it through the day.”

She huffs, exasperated. “You know, for a knight, you don’t really have a good sense of self-preservation.” She pulls back the bedcovers and helps him get situated under them, fluffs up his pillows, and pulls the sheets up to his chest like their mother used to do when they were little. “I wish you’d just told me earlier that you were feeling sick. I’m your sister.”

“You would’ve stopped me from going to training.”

“Yeah, and maybe then this wouldn’t have happened!” She sits on the side of the bed and gently pushes a lock of sweaty hair back from his face. “You look really awful, Sor. You gotta take better care of yourself. You didn’t eat breakfast and you—” She stops abruptly, a horrified look coming over her face. “You haven’t eaten at all today, have you?”

He looks away, wincing in guilt.

“Oh, Soren—no wonder you collapsed! You’re such an idiot.”

“You’ve said that already.”

“Well, it’s worth repeating.” She gives him a sad look that makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. “I heard Callum yelling for help out in the courtyard and when I saw you on the ground…”  

His cheeks burn with something more than fever. “I’m sorry, Claudia. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Her bright green eyes wander over his face for a moment before she sighs. “It’s alright, I’m just glad you’re okay. But, please, don’t do this again.”

He gives her a small smile. “Won’t. Promise.”

“Good.” She ruffles his hair and stands up. “The doctor will be here soon. I’m gonna get some food sent up in the meantime. Is there anything you want? Soup? Jelly tarts?”

“Soup is fine.” He still feels sick at the notion of eating anything, but he definitely doesn’t have a choice in the matter now. There haven’t been too many reasons over the years for Claudia to mother him like this, but she sure is good at it. And he wouldn’t admit it, but just having her looking after him has already made him feel ten times better, at least mentally and emotionally.

Once she’s spoken to a few servants, she returns to his bedside with a basin of water and a cloth. “So how are you feeling? Be honest.”

Soren shrugs. “Exhausted, mostly. My head and my throat hurt a lot. And I'm really cold.”

Claudia hums sympathetically. “That's the fever. You’re burning up.”

He grunts unhappily. “This is pathetic.”

“No, it's not. Everyone gets sick sometimes. Even you.” She wrings out the cloth and presses it to his forehead.

“Dad's not gonna be happy with me.”

She pauses for a brief moment, some emotion passing through her eyes that he can’t quite recognize, and then resumes wiping down his face. “He knows it’s not your fault.”

Even in his feverish state, he doesn’t miss the fact that didn’t disagree with him.

“Try not to worry about that,” Claudia says. “Just focus on resting and getting better.”

“Okay.” Hopefully he can fall asleep and just forget about this whole day. If he’s lucky, maybe he’ll even wake up feeling well again.

Just as he closes his eyes, though, an itch flares up in his sinuses and his breathing hitches a few times before he sneezes. The force makes him groan.

“Bless you,” his sister says, gently wiping under his nose. “Poor thing.”

He gazes up at her through stinging eyes. “Thanks for taking care of me, Claudia.” He really doesn’t know what he’d do without her.

She smiles warmly. “You’re welcome, Sor-bear. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[hopestallion]

Loser prt.1

Disclaimer: I neither own Sense8 nor do i own Bangtan. I just own this idea and the Reader(insert)

You lose what matters to you the most. Your cluster has to save your life and hold the shards of your heart.

The poll on my twitter decided for a dark chapter, Jimin and Hoseok centered. Though i don't like it much and i had to write it in a rush. I am going to have it have another part so it can make more sense.

Always welcoming you guys feedback.

P.S: this was not beta-ed

Laughter carried through the house, accompanied by music. Sunlight filtering through curtains, playing over hardwood floor. Occasionally interrupted by a leg or arm, that crossed paths with the sunbeam. “You seem much happier, than before boo.” She was seated across from you. Holding a glass of brownish liquor.

You giggled, as the song came to an end. “Do you ever miss your home, mémère?” you asked, purposefully using one of the French terms for grandmother. She wasn’t really your grandmother, neither was she French. But she had raised you in your parent’s stead. Even though you didn’t know how she came to be with your family. And everyone seemed to avoid the question. You could guess.

“She’s from New Orleans… she’s quite a distance from home” While your mémère took her time to answer your question, bringing the glass of ‘probably Jack Daniel’s’ to her lips. Your gaze traveled only a little distance from her face. Right behind her stood one of the possibly most beautiful men, you’d ever seen. If it had happened for the first time ever, you would have been shocked. By now you were used to it.

“I don’t even know what it looks like anymore. It’s been truly too long” she said, and you took note of the change in accent. Sometimes your mémère would fall back into her New Orleans accent, infused with heavy French terms. Other times she’d be reminded, that she no longer is from there. And that’s when she’d come back to her Icelandic acquired accent. You found it incredibly sad, especially when you loved her original accent so much.

“She’s a good liar…” he leaned forward, crossing his arms over the back of the sofa. You pulled your legs up to your chest in response. Of course, he’d see through her. Often, he’d say. “Lying is what I do best”, “Lying is my forte” you wondered if he wasn’t the most honest of you all, after all. “I miss home sometimes…” you didn’t know why you said it. Usually trying your best to avoid that topic.

“You know you can’t think like that, little wolf.” Another endearment, that she brought with her from her home. Growing up in a town, that had thick roots for Voodoo. It was no surprise, that she sometimes reverted to those old myths. You still remembered every single one of them. Most nights, they were the only thing, that kept you going. Even now, you held tight to her myths and stories. The magic, you knew couldn’t exist in a world like yours. But then you’d look at what had happened in less than a year. And you wonder how true it is.

Your mémère got up from her seat and put the now empty glass down. Why don’t you pick another song, to twirl your skirts to. And I’ll prepare dinner? Any wishes?” you shook your head in response. “I think I might sit outside for a while? The weather seems nicer than most days.” After all it was spring. The season, where most people would find joy. Iceland however somehow managed to depress people. Maybe it was the short amount of night, or the vast amount of sun for the short span of time. You never truly understood why.

“Don’t you dare jumpin’ outta the balcony” she yelled over her shoulder, as she already made her way to the kitchen. You chuckled to yourself and pushed the balcony doors wide open. A gust of wind passing you. And ruffling the curtains to either side of you. Your dress flaring up with the wind. “I don’t mind that view” his cheeky words caught you by surprise. Reprimanding him would have had a hold, if he hadn’t already seen you naked at this point.

Outside, you laid down on one of the tanning chairs. Pulling out your phone from the pocket in your dress. You never understood why most dresses didn’t have pockets. Did people really think, women didn’t need to store shit, while on the go? To your luck your mémère had sewn you pockets into almost every article of clothing. Only refraining from doing so to your panties. Your bras did have tiny pockets. She had winked at you, calling it the safest place to hide money. She wasn’t that far off.

Pulling up your phone and putting it to your ear. You replied to him. “Not like you haven’t seen me naked, already” his cheeks colored in a rosy hue. “Can’t pull up one on you, can I? he replied and sat down across from you. You didn’t have to wonder where he was or what he was doing. You blinked once, standing in the middle of a meeting room. “How are you talking to me, without looking like a lunatic?” you asked curious. None of you had had figured out yet, how to keep the connections separate. Of course, he would be the one to figure it out.

“I don’t know, you’re the only one it worked with so far.” He said and leaned forward, replying to one of the questions directed to him. “How long can you keep it up?” mischief was playing in your tone. The only reaction he showed in his physical body, was a raise of his eyebrow. The manager kept on explaining the new concept of his movie. While you decided to test out his boundaries. “Let’s hope, you’re not too vocal, right Jimin?”

You sat down on his lap, spread legged. Hands reaching out to rip apart the nice pressed dress shirt, he was wearing. Sure enough, none of that really happened, but it was hard to decipher between each. Especially when you could feel both as a sensate. “What are you doing?” he hissed, as his hands grabbed for your hips. Your response easy enough, a jut of your hips. He gritted is teeth, when you let your hands wander down his chest. Nails scratching past nipples, that were slowly hardening underneath your fingers. Lips pressing to his ear. “I’m pretty sure you’re familiar with this procedure.”

Jimin was about to warn you, to not go too far. Even though, he was gripping your hips harder. When you suddenly looked up in shock. “What’s going on?” he could hear the panic in your voice, instantly killing any upcoming arousal. “(Y/N)?” he asked, but you were too occupied, with whatever was happening on your side. “Mémère, what’s going on?” you asked, as she pulled you into the house and towards the bedroom. Jimin stumbling behind her, as her hand was curled around your wrist. You were trading places inconsequentially. Your perception mixing and muddling with one another.

“Your father knew something was going to happen, eventually. We didn’t know how soon or late. We of course hoped for later” she said and turned to the wall. There was a huge portrait, you’d always found tacky. It was a family picture, your father, your brothers, your mother, mémère and you. But almost no one was left. “I still don’t understand” you said. She pulled down the picture, showing a panel in the wall. “What the hell?” she pushed in a combination of numbers. The wall sliding to the side. Then she reached for the night stand. Knelt and pulled out the drawer. Reaching into the empty nightstand.

Once back on her feet, you saw the dark form of the gun on her hand. She pulled out the magazine and checked for the bullets, then clicked it back in. “We taught you how to use it. Now you will have to, little wolf” your face paling. “Mémère what’s going on?” you needed answers. Especially with a hidden way out of the house, a loaded gun and not much time. You hadn’t even noticed how things had changed. When things had changed. “They know what you are, once they find you. You will be dead, little wolf.” She said and pulled a duffle from beneath her bed. “We were always prepared for this. Your papa and I” she said. Pressing the handles of the duffle bag into your hand.

Her hands came up to cup your face. Her lips pressing against your forehead. A gesture you had come to see as a sign of love. A light in dark nights, filled with nightmares. A sign of unconditional love, when you’d been the only survivor of the fire. A sign of solidarity, when your father had turned his back on you. “It sounds like you’re not coming with me, mémère….” She smiled at you, a smile you knew was meant to calm you. “She knows she can’t. She’s gonna distract them, so you can run for it” Jimin stood to your right again. “You can’t be serious!” you didn’t care you’d look like a lunatic. You wouldn’t leave her behind.

“It’s one of your cluster, right?” she smiled at you even softer, than before. “If you are birthed already, you will be fine. I know that” she gently turned you around and pushed you to the exit. “I can’t see you, because all I am connected to is her. But you probably can hear me. Protect her. Protect one another” You were about to protest, when gunshots rang through the apartment and the door that had been opened in the wall, slid close. Your hands ready to drop the gun and the duffle, to bang against the wall. Abandoning your family, was not an option. The first time you had not been given a choice, but this time? Like hell would you, leave her behind.

Before you could drop anything though, two hands held each of yours. “Her sacrifice will be in vain, if they get to you too.” Your eyes traveled up the pale hands. Meeting with dark brown eyes, framed by black hair. It was freshly washed and hang in wet strands down his face. “He’s right. If they get to you, not only will her sacrifice be meaningless. But they’ll also get to the rest of us.” Teeth buried in your lower lip you nodded. Would never be able to forgive yourself, if they got to anyone from your cluster, because of you.

“Let’s get you out of here first. “you stood behind Hoseok’s computer chair, watching as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Gotta say your old man, he’s got some style” he said as he typed in more code. “You mean paranoid…” you crossed your arms in front of your chest. There weren’t many good words between him and you. After all you hadn’t seen him in years. “I got through. You still have your phone, right?” you nodded your head. “I hacked into it, so I can pin your location.” He explained. Jimin stood to his other side and watched carefully, as the red pin you were stood still. “You walk ahead, till I tell you otherwise” Hoseok directed, watching as the pin that was you walked ahead.

You used the flashlight of your phone to shine on the ground and walk ahead. The duffle slung across your shoulder you wished you’d put on pants. It would have been easier to carry the gun that way. Even though it wasn’t very wise, to put guns into the back of your pants. “Stop now.” Hoseok’s voice came from your right. Even though he wasn’t physically there, you knew he saw what you saw. As you saw what he saw. “To the right” you mumbled to yourself and touched the walls. Feeling the curve of the corner you followed it and started walking again.

“Just a little further, then left” he instructed, and you followed once more. “At the end of this hallway, is a seeming dead end.” He said, and you nodded. “I’m going to hack into the surveillance camera and see if the coast is clear. But it should be. Whatever you do, don’t go out before I tell you to.” Not like you even knew how to get through the wall. You were pretty sure, it was either by touch or some passcode again.

The sudden eruption of voices and footsteps was what had you press against the wall behind you. You still had to wait for Hoseok’s confirmation of a clear coast. When your hand caught a lose stone and pressed it inside. It was shear panic, what had caused the accident. The wall behind you sliding to the side and you tumbling out onto the sand. The wall slid close before you, cutting of screams and yells. “What the fuck! (Y/N)” Hoseok cursed, but you didn’t have much time to give him any thought. Right in front of you were three men in black suits. Drawn guns directed at your face. While your own, laid uselessly a few meters away from yourself. Your duffle to your right, where you couldn’t reach it easily either.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Hoseok cursed, his hands slamming down on the table. “What do we do now?!” him and Jimin looked at one another helplessly. “I just need a bit…” you said. Their attention snapping back to you. “What do you mean?” the three of you standing where the gun laid. Looking down on you, at gun point. “If I could get to the gun, I could take them.” You replied. “But it’s too far for me to reach…” Jimin lifted his hand to his chin and looked from you to the men in the suits. He walked around them and nodded to himself. “You just need a little distraction, right?”

“We have seven minutes if anything. When I said your old man had some style, I meant the way the house was designed. Once it was locked as a break in, the house would give you a limited time frame. If the exit from the hidden wall is activated. It locks down everyone inside” the hacker explained. His hand running through his still damp hair. “And activates a timer…” Jimin continued his sentence. “Blowing up everyone and the house in pieces. So, there would be no saying if anyone survived or not” you could not leave your mémère in a house, that was going to self-implode. “I have to go back.”

“Seven minutes, she gave you to survive this and help us stay alive. If you go back, you get caught or die? It would make her last minutes meaningless” Jimin knew your pain, he could feel it. It was different than wishing condolences. Or telling someone you knew how you felt. You felt it, sensates knew, because it was their pain too. “What now? I won’t make it to the gun, without decorating the beach with my brain.” The only way for you to cope with whatever was going on, was to hold onto the here and now. Sure, enough the happenings would come after you. One way or another.

“Can I?” Jimin asked. You nodded and watched as he took your place on the ground. Naturally, all of that only happening in your head. While for the men nothing changed and it all looked like seconds passing. You watched as Jimin schooled his features and got into his role. “Whatever he’s paying you. I can pay you thrice the amount….” He said and sat a little up. The men didn’t seem much impressed with his words. Even though some of them hesitated. “After all you’re married…” he looked at the one who was pointing the gun clear at his face. He didn’t wear a ring, but he had a tan line. Speaking volumes about his private life. “You wouldn’t want to be caught for murdering me, right? Because there will be people looking for me.” Jimin didn’t move much, but his face held all the emotion it needed. The knowledge of someone, knowing what he was doing.

“My father built a safe build into the house, it’ll blow up everything and everyone inside. You think he cares who he kills? He doesn’t. And one day? He might kill me, but he also might come for those who killed me. If he can dispose of his own daughter just like that, don’t you think he’s gonna slaughter all you hold dear? Everything, because you got hired to shoot someone. Ain’t worth it if you ask me.” It was a split second of hesitance. You didn’t need more.

Grabbing the gun and uncocking it. Everything moved faster than you expected it to. After all people said, the moment of death was the slowest. Instead you held the man around the neck. Dodging the bullet of his two other goons with his body. You didn’t care for the blood splatters, as you pulled the trigger, two-gun shots for the right one. Dropping him dead like a fly. Then three for the other. The only reason the beach had been not a bad choice for an exit. Even though there was almost to none hiding point for you, there was also none for your enemy.

“You have only four minutes left to leave” Hoseok reminded you. “I know.” You checked them for ammunition and took two of their guns. Picked up your duffle bag and started the short track towards the parking lots around the house. You opened the car door of the black vehicle that stood in the parking lot. Wondering why people always chose cars like that to blend in. When cars like that screamed, “weird”. You pulled the trigger twice more. Thankfully only one driver in the car and no one else. It could have been different. The odds for once in your favor.

You slipped into the car and closed the door behind you. Before scooting across the passenger’s seat, unbuckling the dead body and pushing him out the open driver’s door. Uncaring for the blood on the steering wheel, or the one smeared on the side of the window. You closed the door and buckled in. Until you realized you didn’t know how to drive a car. In all the years your father had prepared you for almost everything. He’d never prepared you for a fucking car. Not that you could blame him, when you remembered the flames and the stench of burning leather.

“I don’t know how to drive!” you said and looked around yourself. “Well guess who can?” finding yourself on the passenger’s seat again, as Taehyung turned the key in the ignition. “Tae?” you blinked owlishly at the other. “I was preparing for an upcoming race.” He explained, and you nodded your head. As he swiftly maneuvered the car through the streets. “Where to now?” he asked and looked around the dashboard. His slanted eyes narrowing on the gps built in. “Can you hack into it?” he asked. Making you realize that Hoseok and Jimin were both in the backseat of the car by now. “Can I hack into it? I’m an all access kind of guy” he replied and let his fingers once again, magically move across his keyboard.

“Jiminie and I, we prepared for something like this. We got in touch with Namjoon and the others. For the soul reason, that if something might happen. We’d have a backup plan.” He explained and caused the GPS to turn on. A location loading on the screen and directing Taehyung through the streets. “We purchased a house in Italy. It’s under neither of our names, so no one would come looking for it.” He explained. “How am I going to travel to Italy. I am pretty sure they’re waiting for me at the airport. If it’s BPO who’s doing all this…” your mémère made it sound like it wasn’t the typical enemy your father, had made during his dark days. Or well darker than now anyway. You didn’t turn around, even though the sound of the explosion traveled a mile behind you. You didn’t want to acknowledge it yet.

“Did you check the content of the duffle bag?” Hoseok asked, making you unzip it and looking through. “There is a lot of cash. A change of clothes… Another round of ammunition. And….” You pulled out an envelope with papers, a passport and a new ID out. “She fucking knew…” you bit down on your lip, to not let the feelings envelope you just yet. Once you were out of the situation yes. But not right now, when anything could happen.

Hoseok changed seats with you, looking at the papers with your eyes. He took note of the names, the numbers and dates. To make sure he’d clear the right passport. “You should be able to get through customs like that. Get rid of the guns while you’re at it. Can’t travel with those and will draw suspicion no matter what.” You agreed and made Taehyung stop the car at the side road. Looking to either of your side and having made sure there was no camera surveillance, you dropped them to the side of the road. Quickly getting back in the car and letting Taehyung take control of the car again.

Once you arrived at the airport, Taehyung reluctantly said his goodbyes. As he had a race to go to and some money for his family to ear. “I’ll be okay, I am pretty sure either of you have some more pressing matters to attend to. “Nah, I’ll make sure you’re on the plane… and later out of customs” Hoseok let his hand fall on your shoulder squeezing it a little. “You’ll get through this. We will…” he said and sent you a soft smile, before vanishing to his room in Moscow. Where he was currently residing.

“I’ll stay with you, I have a day off and nothing much to do anyway.” Jimin said and took hold of your hand. Seeing as you’d changed in the airport bathroom and had scrubbed all the blood away, from the most important places. You’d put on an oversized sweater and some jeans. The sweater covering your hands and therefore, only you could see your held hand “That’s not true, you were in the middle of a meeting…” you said and walked away from check-in, towards the security check. “It was just my manager talking me into another movie. Nothing that can’t be fixed with flowers and a few text messages” he said, and you smiled. It was sweet of him to want to be there for you.

Through the last check in and boarding, you kept it together. Holding yourself as well together as possible. Until you were lead to a first-class seat, that was built as a cube. You hadn’t flown with the newly built planes yet and never would have first class anyway. But guessed it was Hoseok, granting you a few hours of peace. Once seated and the plane took off. You couldn’t help the tears spilling over your lower lashes. “I just abandoned her” he mumbled to yourself, as the tears kept falling. Changing the baby blue color of your sweater into a greyish darker blue. “She did what she could to save you.” Jimin whispered and pulled you into his lap and chest.

No one would understand the connection you had to the other seven people. That you could feel them hold you and touch you. While for anyone else, you were just curled in on yourself. But here you were, seated in Seokjin’s chair in his office. While he held your sobbing face against his neck. Standing in Namjoon’s hold, as he comfortingly brushed across your back. Your head in Jeongguk’s lap, who sang softly over your sobs. Taehyung holding your hand tightly over the gear shift, trying to press all his comfort into the curl of his fingers. Laid on Hoseok’s bed, his body curled around yours. Yoongi’s headphone put over your ears, while he held your body in a back hug, on top of his bed. Or Jimin seated in your first-class seat, holding you in his lap, while he brushed your hair with his fingers. “I lost her…” you mumbled through the thick of your tears, as you sobbed silently.

The stewardess had been instructed to leave you be, by her higher-ups. Though you didn’t know, Hoseok had put that request into your ticket, when he’d booked it for you. A few hours later, had a shy Stewardess, shake your shoulder. Helping you adjust and out of your seat. So, you could leave the plane with everyone else. You had made it so far, safe and sound onto Italian ground.

Taehyung appeared on your side again. “Hobi-hyung told me you need a driver” he smiled cheekily at you. Not commenting on how red and puffy your eyes were. Instead he held your hand and lead you outside of the airport. A car pulling up and a young woman getting out. Holding a clip board and a pen for you to sign. “Miss (L/N).” you nodded your head and showed her your passport, for the formalities, before you signed for the car. “That’s some expensive taste you have, Mr. Jung” you looked over to Hoseok who just shrugged his shoulders. “Wasn’t my pick” Jimin leaned over your shoulder, his chin in the juncture between shoulder and neck. “It was mine” he said and couldn’t help himself but press a kiss to your neck, while he was at it.

“It’s a three-hour ride, so I hope you’re going to be fine.” Taehyung explained and once again took the seat. At least in your mind’s eye. For everyone else, it looked like you got seated behind the wheel. The GPS magically loaded again, or more likely Hoseok hacked into the car’s system. The car rumbled to life, while at the same time a tune started to fill the car. A song none of them really knew. In a language neither of them was supposed to know. Taehyung pressed the button to pull down the roof of the car. While the tune started to gain on volume. Only in each of your heads, but it was a beautiful tune, a tune asking for a road trip.

Jeongguk came to sit behind you in the car. “We like to party!” he started to sing loudly. Even though he could be in key, he decided to be out of key. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah” you continued the lyrics. Which you couldn’t know, but Jeongguk did and so all of you did as well. “Aye man you better slow it down” Taeyhung jumped in. The car filling with every member of your cluster, as all of them sang along to the song, only one of you could hear. You couldn’t help but to smile, as you heard some of them off key, some of them on point. Each of you stumble over the lyrics, as Jeongguk couldn’t memorize the rap parts. The song carrying into the later afternoon, as the car vanished behind corner after corner. Driving along the coast of Italy, a lone woman singing loudly to no music at all.

At least to the naked eye.

But who really cared for the naked eye?

If you wanna vote for the upcoming chapter, chat or want me to show progress you can head over to my twitter. I alternate between @hopestallion which is my side twitter and was initially made for my writing stuff and AU's while @_l110492_ is my main and i did the poll there. :D you are welcome to talk and chat over there too ^^

xxx Lana

P.s: PLEASE CHECK OUT SENSE8 ON NETFLIX; I SWEAR YOU WON'T BE DISAPPOINTED!!

[a-splash-of-stucky]

I Know This Game | Seven

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader 

Summary: You can’t sleep, so you decide to get a few things off your chest.

Warnings: Some language. Mention of nightmares. Emotional turmoil. A whole lot of confusion. Brief mentions of sex.

Notes: I wanted this part to be very real, so it’s been minimally edited - I pretty much just typed it out in one go and rolled with it. Apologies for any typos and sorry if it’s hard to follow, that’s kinda what I was going for. I nearly made myself cry a couple of times, there.

Personally, this is my fave chapter.

IKTG Masterlist

You’re sprawled out on your bed, willing sleep to take you back into its clutches and give you a few more hours of mind-numbing blankness. But, after that nightmare, your brain is far too wired, far too riled up for sleep to even be a possibility. In the darkness, your mind flits back and forth between your memories of that fateful day, and the exaggerated dream version of those events. You’re simultaneously wide awake and utterly exhausted — but it’s the kind of fatigue that sleep cannot cure, which only drains more of your energy. The combination of hyper-awareness and weariness is dizzying, causing nightmare and memory to overlap and mesh into one another, distorting your perception of what is truth and what is a twisted concoction created by your overworked mind.

With a groan, you roll off your bed and slump onto the floor, dragging the blanket around your trembling shoulders as you curl into a tight ball. The room suddenly begins to feel overly constrictive, as if the walls are caving in on you. It’s too stuffy, the silence deafeningly loud — your senses are being overwhelmed by the still of night.

You need to get out.

You heave yourself up and stumble over to your dresser — tripping over the corner of your rug along the way — to pull out some clothes. Blindly, you root around in your drawers and grab the first things your fingers close around: a pair of jeans, and what feels like an oversized sweater. Your purse is by the foot of your bed, and from it, you grab your phone, keys and some cash that you stuff into your back pocket.

The dull red light of your alarm catches your eye as you’re about to leave your room. Its digital display tells you that it’s 3.56AM. You’re supposed to be heading to your clinic at 8 to squeeze in some work in before meeting with a patient. You already know that you’re probably not going to be performing at your best during that session.

The smell of rain is fresh in the air when you step outside -- that clean, damp odour that does wonders to invigorate your spirits. Puddles litter the sidewalk, reflecting the city night lights, making them glimmer and sparkle prettily. You find it quite ironic that you’re in such peaceful surroundings, as they are a sharp contrast to the chaos roiling internally.

You walk with no direction or purpose in mind.

Remnants of your terrible dream still linger in your head, and though you try as hard as you can, you’re unable to shake them off. A few images in particular come back to taunt you, over and over again: the way way Bucky had smiled, so familiar yet strange; how perfect he had looked with Natasha’s legs slung over his shoulders, and the detached coldness in Steve’s eyes. These twisted images haunted you in your sleep and now they torment you whilst you’re awake. You can’t help but try to analyse what they all might mean, why your mind decided to conjure them up.

Though the nightmare was obviously a tad melodramatic, you see the parallels between it and reality. Everything you’d come to accept as truth, all the pillars of support you came to depend on had crumbled beneath you, the foundations they were built upon having been weakened by the lies fed to you by people you thought you could trust. The sense of betrayal, coupled with the feeling that everyone seems to be against you leaves a sour aftertaste that you can’t get rid of.

There’s a park not too far from your apartment, and that seems to be where your feet are carrying you. It’s not particularly large, but there’s a bench in the shadows of an oak tree that for some reason, is especially nice to sit on. It’s your go-to place for when your mind is as restless as it is now. 

You try not to think about the fact that you used to take Bucky and Steve here on days out, sharing with them one of your favourite places in the world.

The bench is a bit damp from the rain, so you pull off your jacket and spread it out so that you can sit on it. You close your eyes and focus on breathing deeply, grounding yourself in the moment by listening intently to the bustle of the city around you; the distant wail of a siren, the yowling of alley cats, the various creaks and groans coming from the buildings in the near vicinity. It’s a symphony that you’ve grown up listening to, and it never fails to put your nerves at ease.

But, though coming outside for a breath of fresh air has helped to take the edge off the pain inside you, you still feel as if there’s a weight pressing down on your chest. Your mind is in turmoil because you have too many images, too many memories, too many disconnected thoughts floating around. It’s giving you a headache. You need to take part of it out -- mentally unload in some way.

You reach into your back pocket and pull out your phone, deciding to take a page out of your own book. You often encourage your patients to keep a log of things they’d like to say to people. Who those people are doesn’t really matter — they could be ex-captors, estranged children, fallen comrades, or a whole range of others. Even if the intended recipient never gets to hear those words, the act of writing out the things they’d like to say does wonders for the tortured soul. You figure you have a few things to say to Bucky.

You bring up your notes app, settle back into the bench and begin typing. The words come to you with surprising ease. It’s as if you’ve been subconsciously blocking a river of words all this time and now, freed from your mental dam, they come pouring through.

—————————————————

Hey Bucky,

Okay, I’ll be honest, I got no idea what the fuck I’m doing here. You’re probably never even gonna read any of this, anyway, but it can’t hurt to say any of it to you, right? Well, not actually say it to you, but a girl can imagine, can’t she?

God, that’s off to a great start. I feel as lost as you probably did when I introduced you to the induction cooker in your room at the compound. Holy shit, your face, Bucky, when I told you that that was a stove. I’ll never not laugh at it. If I’m ever having a bad day, thinking about your expression then always brings a smile to my lips. I can best describe it as a mixture of absolute cluelessness, mild horror and a little bit of curiosity. Yeah, it was a weird mix of emotions. That’s kinda what I feel like right now — a jumbled ball that’s feeling too much.

I can’t sleep, Buck. It’s 4.12AM, I have a client to see in about five hours, and I’ve only slept for six— and you know what I’m like if I don’t get a solid seven. I can’t function as a human, let alone a professional therapist. Things aren’t looking too great right now.

Can I tell you about my day? You’re not here to answer that, so I’m gonna just assume you said something like “Of course, babydoll,”. Actually, I just realised — it was technically my yesterday, but I’m gonna tell you about it nonetheless.

It was a day sent to me straight from hell, courtesy of the Devil himself. Honestly, it was the weirdest string of events to happen, ever.

So first off, after work, I got this email from Christine Everhart. You remember her, right? She was that reporter you said you wanted to strangle with your metal hand after that press conference about Tokyo. I sympathise with your urges; the bitch wanted to talk to me about working with the Avengers. I mean, that in and of itself is not enough to piss me off, I guess, bc curiosity is part of human nature, right? But god, the way she said it made me want to be sick, Bucky. I didn’t reply, obviously, but I wonder if it would damage my reputation so terribly if I just sent her a little ‘fuck you’.

Oh, and then Jane called me. I kinda forgot about that. I hadn’t properly talked to her in a while. She and Darcy invited me and the girls on a trip to Bali, can you believe it? If you know me well enough, you’ll know that I said no. Maybe I’ll change my mind later. A vaycay on the beach does sound pretty much like what the doctor ordered, even if the doctor is myself. Can you give yourself orders?

You know what Jane asked me? She asked if I still love you.

I told her ‘yes’.

It’s confusing, Bucky. I love you, but not in the same way I used to love you. Sometimes I wish the English language had more versions of the word ‘love’, because it’s way too ambiguous of a word. I say ‘I love you’ to Jane, but I don’t mean that I love her the same way I love Peggy, or Wanda, or you, y’know?

But, I digress. I was telling you about my day, no? So. After I got off work, I went over to Loki’s house. Who’s Loki, you ask? My new boyfriend. Actually, he’s technically my new ex-boyfriend, now (more on that later), but at the time, he was my boyfriend and I was heading to his house.

Are you following with this story? Am I even making any sense? Bear with me, okay? I’m sleep deprived and losing touch with reality right now.

Yes. So, Loki’s place.

I turned on the TV, and guess who the fuck I saw? None other than our very own Capsicle and his two goons, Birdman and Sparky Butt. How are they, by the way? Did Tony make Sam those new wings he’s been going on about? It was a news clip about them in Bangkok. When I saw those three on screen, I—I started thinking about when I went to see them, after I saw you and Nat together. You only came in towards the end, so I don’t know how much you know about the little exchange that went on between the four of us. I got no idea what Steve and Sam and Tony have told you (or, as the case may be, neglected to tell you), but I know for certain one thing they couldn’t have told you was my version of things.

I was so hurt, Buck, so betrayed. I want you to know that me deciding to leave the compound was not just your fault. The whole team has some blame to take. I felt so betrayed, Bucky, like everyone was in on a secret that I was not even aware of. It made me wonder how many more secrets there were, how many more there would be, if I decided to stay. I couldn’t live with any of that, Buck, so I ran. I left. Maybe I should’ve stayed to talk to you, but—I was hurt, okay? They talk about people stabbing you in the back? This was more like someone was driving a dozen swords into me from all directions. I was bleeding out everywhere, Buck. I was wounded, in every sense of the word. I can’t—

Okay, enough about that, I think you get the picture.

Back to Loki.

We had sex. You might wonder why I’m telling you this, I’m sure it’s not something you exactly want to hear, but it’s important. When he was…going down on me, I went off into my head. In the moment, I called him your name, by accident. He was pissed off, to say the least. We still went at it, but—I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Buck, and how we used to do things. That happened earlier as well. Not the me calling him ‘Bucky’ by accident, part, but the thinking about you bit. When he said ‘hi’ to me by the door, he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my cheek. I don’t know why, but my mind was just reminded of you. When we were talking, my thoughts were of you. I just can’t stop thinking about you, today. Yesterday. Whatever.

And then, ho ho, this is the best shit ever. You’d think my night couldn’t get worse, right? Oh, but it’s me, of course it can. I was gonna borrow his phone to set an alarm, and what do I discover? That he’s been cheating on me with this girl called Sharon! Naturally, I broke things off with him. Hence why, he is now my ex. We weren’t together that long, actually, just five months. I met him about three weeks after left the compound. I know, so soon, right? I rushed into it, Bucky—don’t think I was over you that fast. I…I used him as a way to forget about you, not as a way to replace you.

I could never replace you, love.

So then I went home, and Peggy and Wanda tried to get me to talk, but I was so tired, I just went to bed. They’re both pissed off at you, by the way. I was in pieces when I left you, and they had to somehow put me back together. Even now, I don’t think I’m all here. I think you’re holding on to some of me, Buck, and I don’t know whether I want you to keep those pieces of me or not. It’s like I can never be whole without you.

I had a nightmare, Bucky. You—I don’t want to go into the details, ‘cause it’ll make you cry, and then that’ll make me cry, and that’s no good for anyone. But, in a nutshell, it was about you…and Nat. It was about that day I found out, except a billion times worse, exaggerated in dream-world, right? And I just got really shaken up by it. I was so weirded out, I had to get out of my room. And…that’s how I ended up here, on a park bench at 4.19AM and typing my heart out to you. 

Remember how we used to keep your nightmares away?

That first time it happened, I think Steve was gone. If I remember correctly, he was on a mission in Germany. I heard you screaming from down the hall Bucky, and it wasn’t the first time you’d done that, but it was the first time it went on for that long. Then I remembered that Steve was gone — in fact, I think it might’ve just been you and me at the compound, bc I’m pretty sure Nat and Sam went with him — so there wouldn’t be anyone else to wake you up. Now, some people might say that I was doing it to help you, but really, I was just helping myself, y’know? I need my sleep. You tell yourself whatever you want, but I’m being completely serious with you, Bucky, I was only helping myself. Not.

You were so scared when I first came in. Thought I should go away because you might accidentally stab me or something. I never told you this, but in the morning, I found a little bruise on my upper arm, from when your metal hand hit me. Completely by accident! And it was gone in a few days, I barely even noticed it. Don’t you dare beat yourself up about it, Barnes. I know you’ve got those puppy-dog ‘I’m sorry’ eyes right now, cut it out.

Anyway, that’s how Nightmare NightsTM began. You’d have a nightmare, I would cautiously wake you up, and then we’d head out to the lounge to watch a movie and have hot chocolate with extra marshmallows because you have the biggest sweet tooth of anyone I know. Sometimes we’d talk, but mostly — especially those first few times — you just wanted company, and I happily provided it for you.

You’d put your head in my lap, and I’d stroke your shoulder/neck, because you hated having people touching your head back then. I don’t know what we watched, usually. I don’t even know if you were watching, or if you went back to sleep. I had a tendency to doze off, didn’t I?

Eventually, the location shifted from the lounge to my room. I forget why we had to move. Or maybe one of us suggested it. Do you remember why, Bucky? Anyway, we set something up on the TV in my room, and that was the first night we snuggled together in a bed. In the back of my mind, I remember thinking that this was a breach of every single professionalism protocol I had established for myself, but I rationalised it by saying that you were a special case. I know you hate being called that, but you can’t deny the fact that your situation was unique, at least to me. Haven’t had to deal with a person like you ever before — and by that, I mean someone who’s had a wholly new identity engineered for them — and hopefully I won’t have to ever again.

Anyway, we slept together for the first time that night. And all I remember thinking is that I wouldn’t mind doing it again. You told me it was the best sleep you’d had in months and I knew that I wanted to help you get that as often as possible. How’re you sleeping now, Buck? Is someone keeping you company? Is Steve back on nightmare watch?

I don’t know why I still care about you. Sometimes I get mad at myself for caring about you. Other times, I’m just sad.

Okay, we’re getting into sappy territory, now. Do not hold me accountable for anything my crazed mind decides to spew out.

You’re beautiful, Bucky, you know that? You may not think you’re gorgeous, but I do. And your heart’s beautiful as well — though maybe not the way I thought it was. I know you’re trained to be a liar, but I also know that there’s some things you just can’t fake. There’s kindness in that big ‘ol heart of yours. HYDRA tried to take that away from you, but they didn’t succeed. Maybe they suppressed it, temporarily, but that kindness, that enormous capacity for generosity, that ability and desire to put everyone else’s needs before yours — that’s all you, Bucky. Winter Soldier or not, your kindness is what makes you James Buchanan Barnes, through and through.

So why am I here talking about your kindness, even though you dragged my heart through hell and then some? Honestly, I don’t know. Love makes you blind, I realised, but I think when it comes to you, love also makes me numb to the pain. Or, perhaps more accurately, it increases my tolerance for it. You’ve hurt me, yes, more so than anyone ever has, but—I don’t hate you for it. I don’t think it’s possible for me to hate you. Whatever we had was something special, to me, and…and no matter how badly I’m hurt—it’s like I said. Some things you can’t fake. You’re a good person, Bucky. I know you are.

God, I’m rambling all over the place, aren’t I? I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t talked to you in a long time, so I’ve got things to say. Plus, I’m in a weird mood, and you, of all people, know how chatty I get when I’m like that. It’s bloody 4.22AM, I should be asleep, for fuck’s sake.

I miss a lot of things about you, Buck.

I miss talking to you, Bucky. Of all the things we used to do together, talking was, sadly enough, my favourite. I love the sound of your voice. Notice the tense there: present. It’s true. I still love it. Nothing can change that. It’s one of the sweetest melodies my ears have ever had the pleasure to listen to.

I miss the way you smiled at me, like I was the only person that mattered to you in this entire world, like if everything came crashing down around us, you’d still run to save me first. Was that all a lie, Bucky? Did you mean anything you said?

I miss holding you. There was just enough of you to make me feel safe, enough of you for me to drape my body over. I’d give anything to have that again, to go back to that time when I didn’t know. I’d kiss you so good, love, better than I’ve ever done it before. Kiss your pillowy soft lips so tender, ‘cause Lord knows you haven’t had enough tenderness in your life. I wanna make you melt into the bed, Bucky, make you feel like you’re floating on the softest cloud in the sky. I’d run my hands all over your body, kiss all your scars, make sure you know just how gorgeous you are. I’d touch you like you’re as delicate as a china plate. I want to feel that intimacy again. When we had sex, it was more than just the physical connection for me, Bucky. It was like my soul had found its other half.

I want to be whole again.

I forgot how much lonelier it is to sleep in a bed without you next to me. Even when I was with Loki, I felt lonely. It’s like my body has gotten used to having you next to me, and it’s not going to settle for any lesser substitute. How have you been sleeping, Bucky? I know it was always hard for you to get to sleep. Is it the same for you, love, do you miss me? Or…do you have another body next to you to keep you warm? I hope you haven’t, but at the same time, I hope you have. I’ll not begrudge you your happiness, Buck.

Would’ve gave it all for you, cared for you So tell me where I went wrong Would’ve gave it all for you, cared for you

Bucky, do you remember when we played Snakes and Ladders with Steve for the first time? It was one of my first ‘alternative’ sessions with you, I remember. Steve once told me that the two of you used to be really competitive, and I thought that if we tried to recreate some of that competitiveness in a relatively safe environment, maybe we’d make some progress in terms of memory restoration. But, my oh my, I think ‘competitive’ is an understatement when it comes to the two of you. That was the first time I saw Steve visibly relaxed around you. It was the first time I saw you outright grinning, Bucky, the first time I had a ‘hallelujah we’ve gotten somewhere’ moment with you.

What went wrong, Buck? I just wanted to make you smile like that again, as many times as I could. It was one of the most breathtakingly beautiful things I’d ever seen. What’s wrong with me wanting to make you smile?

Bucky, I—how can I make you understand this? Love, I would’ve given you anything, anything I could give you and maybe a bit beyond that, just to see you happy. You deserve all the happiness in this world Bucky, after the hell you’ve been through — things I can only ever imagine. I know you don’t think you’re allowed happiness, that you’re not worthy of it, and that no matter how many times I say it, you’re never gonna believe me, but you do, sweetheart, you do.

Shit. I’ve just read the last few bits back and god, I’m all over the place. It’s 4.32AM, forgive me, okay? Do you mind that it’s so long? I have a lot to say, it seems, and this train just keeps on rolling down the hill. No idea when it’s gonna crash, bc I can’t see the bottom. I don’t know what’s waiting for me down there, but I don’t think it’s you, love.

I haven’t told you about my realisations, have I? I’ve had a few profound thoughts in the last 24 hours.

Well, after the events of yesterday, I was feeling really self-reflective, right? And I came to realise a lot of things. I won’t go into a lot of detail, because I think I still need some time to process things myself, but what I wanna tell you is that my relationships have always been the same. My love life is completely predictable. I meet a guy, we click a little (but not a lot), we have great sex, we’re happy enough with each other, and then he’ll cheat on me, or do something shady that breaks my heart and then we’re done.

You were the person to deviate from the mould, Buck. You were different, and I thought what we had was different. Did you feel the same?

I let things go so much further with you, Bucky. Ours was the longest relationship I’d ever had. I let you in in ways no one else before you had ever come close to. You saw things that I hadn’t shown anybody, not even Jane, or Wanda, or Peggy. I trusted you with pieces of myself that I didn’t want people to see; the darkest, dreariest parts of my soul. I thought…I thought you’d cherish them, that you’d see this as the privilege that it was. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to let you in? You told me that every single one of those blackened pieces was beautiful. Did you mean that?

A lot of things about how we separated broke my heart, love, but one of the things that hurts most is the way I loved you when no one else did. And, I guess, the fact that you didn’t see that. I cared for you, in ways I’d never cared for anyone before. Not just professionally, mind you, but when we got serious, too. Things were different. I was the first person, and for a while, the only person who truly loved you as you were — in your entirety, Bucky. I didn’t see the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes as two separate entities, but two halves of the whole. I know you hate that one side of you, but someone’s gotta make you feel okay with that dark part of yourself, and I was up for the job.

Did you let me in as much as I let you in, Bucky? Did I get to see all the worst parts of you, or were there secrets you kept? I’m not angry if you kept them from me. We all have our reasons, we all need different lengths of time to get comfortable and build trust, but just know that I would tell you that you’re perfect even if you told me that you were Hitler himself reincarnated. I’d think no less of you. You could open yourself up and show me how broken and tattered your soul is, but I would show you how every single piece — battered, bruised or worse — still shone brighter than any diamond. I was (am?) in love with all of you, Bucky. If you ever read this, play that John Legend song, will you?

I think that train’s finally starting to run out of steam, now.

Yeah. My heart is broken. But…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like it’s hanging on by a thread, you know? It’s fractured into a million different pieces, but they’re all somehow held together by the thinnest gossamer of hope. Six months later, and even though you ripped my heart out and crushed it in your metal hand, I think it still manages to beat for you.

I don’t know about forgiveness, Bucky. I might not be fully broken, but I am still broken, still feeling the pain. I don’t know the full story, of why you and Nat, well. But if I did know…well, put it this way: have I forgiven you? I don’t think so. Can I forgive you? Quite possibly.

I don’t think you’re the kind of person who’d do that to someone else. Then again, maybe I’m just a poor judge of character. Sweetheart, I—

Hang on, let me take a break, my eyes are watering too much, I can’t see the fucking screen.

Bucky…where did I go wrong? I have a lot of questions, so I’m just gonna list them all here. What made you do it? Why couldn’t you come talk to me about it? You know I would’ve helped you, right? — if Nat was who you really wanted, I would’ve let you go, you just had to ask. What…were you unhappy with me? Was I not enough? What could I have done better, love — I want to know. I need to know.

Was I wrong to trust you? Did I give you too much of myself, too soon?

A part of me wants to make things better, with you. I don’t think we’ll ever go back to what we used to be — you can’t expect me to ignore something as monumental as that, so we can’t go back to the era of innocence we were in — but maybe, something with you is better than nothing. I miss you. Miss waking up next to you, cooking with you, getting into stupid fights with you. I miss chasing your nightmares away, and making you laugh and smile and talk when all you want to do is retreat into yourself. Hopefully, when the universe decides to be kind to me, we’ll find a way into each other’s lives again. Trust each other again.

Bucky, I got something to tell you, and if you forget about everything else I’ve said here, just know this:

No one tells you when you love someone — how would they know? Now, that wouldn’t be a problem if you yourself knew that you were in love, but the thing with you and me is that I, for the longest time, didn’t know that I loved you, because the love I felt for you was unlike what I felt for anyone else. It’s not a sudden epiphany I had one day, right? I didn’t wake up one morning and just decide that I was gonna love you romantically, no. It was more like…one minute, when I examined our relationship, things were strictly professional between us, and then the next time I go to assess things, I realise that we must’ve crossed the line at some point. It was something gradual, like walking through life in slow motion — but when my dumb ass finally figured things out, it was like…life made sense, y’know?

But on the same note, no one tells you when you stop loving someone. They can maybe tell you when to stop, but only you can decide for yourself when you’ve actually done the stopping — subtle difference, there. Because, Bucky, love, here’s the thing: I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you.

You look up from your phone, then, to take in the view. Physically, hardly anything has changed; you’re still confronted by the same row of bushes and shrubs, the same buildings in the distance and the same coating of water enshrouds all that it touches. But somehow, things are almost intangibly different — and that comes down to the fact that your heart feels lighter. The weight is no longer crushing your chest so hard you can’t breathe, the burden on your shoulders has somehow been made more manageable. That confession is true, and acknowledging the truth makes you feel lighter than air. You still have a few more things to say, though.

I’ve…never let things get as far in any of my other relationships as I did with you, Bucky. And because of that, I don’t know if it’s normal, the fact that I haven’t stopped loving you even though it’s been so long. It doesn’t make sense, right? You’d think after…after what you did, I’d be hurt and hate you, right? But—something tells me that you did it for a reason. I’m just upset that you couldn’t tell me what that reason was. Of course I’m wounded, but I think someone’s perfectly capable of being wounded and being in love at the same time. Is it confusing? Most definitely. I don’t know whether I want to kiss you more, or punch you more.

Actually, punching you would probably hurt me more than it hurts you, so…

But the point is, I still have feelings for you, you jerk. I don’t know how to rebound from you if I still have feelings for you. It’s been so long, I thought it would get easier — like, I’d just learn to deal with this gaping hole in my life, this persistent, never-ending pain in my body, right? But it hasn’t gotten better. It’s only festered and sometimes it closes up, but I pick at the scab, and pull out the stitches and then my heart is bleeding out onto the floor all over again. It’s crazy, Bucky, how much you can make me feel pain without actually being here.

I don’t hate you for making me hurt; I think we’re both at fault here. I should never have fallen for you in the first place. Don’t get me wrong, love, I don’t, for even a second, regret loving you when what we had was good, I just…I hurt. And I hate being hurt. This pain in my heart, I don’t think it’s something that will ever fade. No matter what I do, or how long I wait.

I don’t know how to pick myself up from this. It’s like you pushed me down a steep-sided valley and I don’t know how to claw my way out. I thought Loki would give me a lift, but he only took me halfway, and the little ledge we were balancing on was too flimsy to support our combined weight, so I just fell in again.

I don’t know how long I have to wait before I get over you. Is it a question of if, or a question of when? No one tells you any of these things. I want someone to tell me these things.

I still love you, Bucky. And, if you truly love someone, you let them be themselves. If that means you have to let them go, so that the person can move onto better things, then that’s what you do. That’s what I’m doing. This is not my blessing, but…I’ve gained some closure, from writing this. I’m a good therapist, if I do say so myself. I haven’t moved on from you, nor have I quite forgiven you, but I’ve taken the first step to solving the problem, which is to acknowledge that it’s there in the first place. Maybe now I’ll be able to walk around without feeling like the entire world is trying to crush my heart.

Bucky, I don’t think I’ve moved on from you. I don’t know if I’ll ever move on from you. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to. And even if I did want to, love, I don’t think I’d know how. How do I move on, Bucky? Tell me how to move on and live a life without you in it?

Is is even possible?

With all my love,

Y/N

—————————————————————

Feeling like you’re in a marginally better headspace than when you first sat down, you slip your phone back into your pocket. You feel good. Well, as good as you can be right now, at least. You stand up and do a big stretch, working out the kinks in the back of your neck and your legs. You shake your jacket off, then sling it over your shoulders. The wind has started to pick up, and you decide to head back to the apartment and try to catch a little more sleep before you have to get to your office.

You yelp when someone smashes into you from behind. It’s a man, that much is clear. He’s big and burly, and the back of your shoulder smarts from where you’ve just crashed into him.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the man mutters, voice low and rumbly.

“It’s okay,” you reply, turning around to face him, “I should’ve watched where I was going,”.

He nods curtly. You can’t see his face, because it’s hidden by the brim of a dark baseball cap and he keeps his head ducked down, as if he wants to avoid eye contact. He’s got a leather jacket on over a henley, and his hands are jammed into his pockets. He side-steps past you. You frown. You know that voice, that jacket looks familiar, and so does his hair—

“Bucky?!” you cry in disbelief.

The man whirls around to face you. It is him. His eyes nearly pop out of his head. “Y/N,” Bucky breathes, utterly astonished.

Looks like you won’t be getting extra sleep anytime soon.

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