#plan is really just to make endless variations of this sweater until i get one or a few designs i like the best

[loverboybitch]

i still have to knit the other sleeve but like damn wow.//.

[acabloe]

Soon Goodbye, Now Love: Chapter Two (reposted with important corrections)

chapter one

important A/N: right so I’m reposting this chapter because I apparently don’t proofread enough and I left out like three really pertinent paragraphs so I thought it would be more beneficial if I just reposted the whole thing instead of editing it. You don’t have to re-read it but it might help you understand to the story better. I feel really really bad and guilty about this so I’m working really hard on chapter three! I should have it posted by the end of next week. Sorry again friends:,,,,,>

tw’s: abuse, swearing, depression, mentions of death, anxiety, trauma (motor accident, near death)

still based on this song

Chapter Two: Soon A Painting

Very slowly Beca began to gain more and more consciousness, beginning with a sharp tingling in her feet, fingers, and face. She became aware of the thick and muddy grass beneath her stomach that poked skin uncomfortably and dampened her clothes. Her ribs ached from where she guessed she'd fallen on them. She took a breath in and coughed as she accidentally inhaled dirt. 

Attempting to push herself onto her knees, she brought her palms to her side and pressed upwards firmly, elbows and wrists smarting under her weight. Her head throbbed as she parted her eyelids but she forced herself to leave them open to adjust to the light and observe her surroundings. As she scanned the empty field, she struggled to remember how she gotten there. Unsure of how much time had passed while she had been unconscious, she reached into her pocket for her phone. When it wasn't there her movements became more frantic, running her palms over the wet terf and blinking rapidly to attempt to clear her fuzzed vision in the dark. Then suddenly she realized that she didn't even own a phone, and memories flooded her brain like rain after weeks of humid days and packed overcast skies.

Beca and Chloe's relationship had been the at the forefront of both of their existences ever since they first met. They had often teased that Beca's sophomore (Chloe's senior) year of high school was the year they both properly became people. That statement was, for a plethora of reasons, relatively metaphorically true; It was the year when Beca's mother passed away, and her father had left her because the grief had been to much to handle. Her mental health had spiraled, and she became closed off and for the most part unresponsive. Chloe had relocated all the way across the country from her home in Seattle, and had never really shared solid friendship with anyone. She also suffered abuse from her parents for being openly bisexual. As Beca and Chloe grew closer, their relationship became the most fundamental part of their lives. They became so intertwined that absence of the other became like a vitamin deficiency, or a sinkhole in a busy road in need of immediate filling. Least to say they were agreeably the oddest and closest couple of friends to anyone who met them.

Chloe's accident was around a year and a half after the two of them had graduated. She was found eight miles from their home, unconscious on an embankment by the highway after her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Chloe was rushed to the hospital, but by the time they had arrived at the ER, it was too late. She had been hanging on by an already worn thread. Beca went into extreme shock. She spent the most terrifying four hours of her life praying to every higher power she had never thought to believe in until that moment, pleading that somehow she could take Chloe's place and that they could take her instead.

Curiously enough, her requests were immediately taken into effect. Apparently, Beca Mitchel was an exception to the laws of prayer in most religions.

Beca's memory after her prayers were different, just as clear as her memories beforehand but oddly as if what she experienced after that moment lasted several years longer than it should have. She remembered stepping outside the hospital, and then the sudden gap of black. She woke in front of a giant grey building and after ascending the huge marble steps, she'd walked down the alpine-ceilinged hall lined with black and white tiled flooring and rows of flanking dark wooden desks.

She remembered chuckling softly to herself upon thinking of how it had looked like the magical bank from Harry Potter, only without the goblins or flying papers. Sat at the tallest desk at the end of the hall she'd assumed was the head guardian angel. He explained everything about her trade for Chloe's life and about the payment for her actions by becoming a guardian angel for an infinitude in the Higher City, the city's given name. It was not in heaven exactly, but certainly above earth. He told her that mention of any higher power was forbidden and punishable by a very long time in confinement and that no angel below his station knew, or would know of who or what governed life itself.

He had also broken to her the necessity for the erasure of Chloe's memories of their friendship and lives together. Every memory after that moment was recalled to be more like a hell than a heaven.

Immediately after her introduction to the fact of her new eternity as a magical being she had previously assumed to be fictitious came months and months of guardian training and the pining and the anguish for endless, horrible nights on end. Oh, those nights, when she had been unable to sleep, distracting herself from the grief by plotting any conceivable way she could see Chloe for one last time. Whoever had agreed to let her trade places clearly hadn't anticipated Beca's determination to reunite herself with her best friend by any means considerably possible. Trust and friendship among the other angels she came in contact with was extremely rare, frankly nonexistent. She relied on no one but herself to pull through day after day of impossible exercises and painfully lengthy lessons.

When came the end of training and everyone's human assignment, she had been appointed to station herself in Siberia to guard a local scientologist. Beca's nights of mostly fruitless planning finally came to fruition as she obdurately broke into the human-assignment database (with ease; the process had oddly reminded her of using Garage Band, only with thin hovering bronze bars and colored beads instead of on-screen controls. There had still been sound waves though) and changed, by hand, her human assignment to guard Chloe. While everyone had been in place to be dropped to earth, she had escaped unseen to the edge of the city to the closest region she could find in Chloe's vicinity. And now she was here. In this field. This freezing, wet, scary-ass field.

Beca wasn't even sure if she was in the right state. She didn't recognize anything about her location or surroundings and her plans had only come this far. She had simply assumed that somehow Chloe would find her shortly after her fall to earth, to welcome her into her home to nurture her back to health, and everything would return to the state it had been before all of this mess. Cursing herself for not planning ahead more, her anxiety began to spike and she forced herself to count as she breathed. Why had she thought that simply jumping out of heaven would be the best idea? She had no belongings, no clothes, nowhere to sleep, and worst of all,

no money.

She shakily stood and decided that the best thing to do right now would be to walk off the pins and needles in her legs and to scout out the area. She had also read somewhere that exercise stimulated the brain. Small steps Beca, small steps, She chanted to herself while she stretched her fingers and cracked her neck and back. As she checked her body for more serious injuries or broken bones, she realized that the clothes she was wearing were her own from the night she died (Left earth? How would someone describe this situation?) and she groaned in annoyance at her past-self. Why didn't you at least go out with style, moron? You planned your retirement to the most ridiculous detail but you couldn't even die in a flow-y white dress or something? She was still damp from the grass and she was only wearing socks, no shoes. Her outfit from training had been simple white overalls and a grey, soft knit sort-of sweater. Everyone wore a variation of the same outfit, plus one pair of shoes of their choice (Beca had picked red sweade pumas because she had seen Blake Lively wearing a pair once.) Now she was beginning to miss those shoes. The only reason, she thought, that would have made simply following the rules a better choice of actions.

As she trudged her way around the perimeter of the field, she searched for signs of life. She heard far-off cars and airplanes overhead and the path she had been walking was well-trodden and relatively flat. She spotted the glimmer of some distant lights, and decided that once she had relaxed her muscles and figured out some mode of transportation to get there, she would make her way in that direction. And then she thought better of it and realized that sleeping in one of the bushes would probably be safest. And easiest. With the least walking. And effort.

Wherever Chloe had gone, Beca followed. After a lot of convincing on Chloe's part, together they joined an all girls a capella group at their university, where they became properly close with other people for the first time in their lives besides each other. Chloe had stayed two extra years in college, telling everyone the reason was that she could not bare to leave the group, but really the majority of her motivation came from the wish to see Beca through her junior and senior year, and then graduate with her. Beca had often come to family gatherings and holidays with Chloe, and vice versa with to visit Beca's removed family, often in other parts of the world. Chloe often put on a show of flirting with Beca for laughs and it was a running joke to make euphemisms of any slip of the tongue that could possibly be taken out of context. Friends joked that they were so close anyone would guess they were married, and they would laugh it off or play along, jesting to boast engagement rings, or play fake surprise proposals.

But the matter of it was that Beca secretly abhorred these fake shows of tease, romance and marriage. Because ever since her first year of college, she'd had much deeper respect and care for Chloe. There was no need for her to ask or talk about the subject. Beca had known since the beginning of her feelings for her that Chloe would never feel the same way, and so she had absolved to ride it out until she simply did not feel anything other than close platonic intimacy for her. In spite of all her efforts, seven years later she felt exactly the same, if not stronger than before, and it was miserable.

Eventually Beca neared the halfway mark of her third lap. Her anxiety had dwindled little, though her legs were mostly returned to a more natural and pin-free state. She was still shivering from the cold, rubbing her arms and occasionally stamping her feet but achieving very little warmth from any of it. She had given up on her socks halfway through the first lap. I can't believe I went through years of stupid training and they didn't even teach us how to fly! Isn't that the whole point of angels? That they have wings?! She knew the answer to her own question but still resented it. It was true, only higher level angels like the guardian trainers and the traditional angels spoke of in Texts and human accounts had wings. You have to have gone through several experiences so great that those above everything granted you the power of flight and wisdom like that of Gabriel.

The deep and rather eerie quiet of the place was what she'd been strongly accustomed to since she'd woken up, so when someone behind her shouted loudly in her direction, she nearly sprinted into the bushes to her right. But she glanced behind her and saw the form of a woman waving and walking idly, and she was set at a tiny bit more ease and waved back apprehensively. Shit, Becs what're you gonna do now, you look like a maniac. Dude, you're not even wearing shoes. Just play it cool, act hostile and moody, the regular. It's probably too dark to even see my clothes anyway, right? She made a brief attempt to brush off some of the dirt and grass still on her clothes and ran her fingers through her hair a few times.

Rapid footsteps approached from behind her and suddenly the girl had caught up to walk alongside her. Beca sighed quietly in annoyance and scanned her mind for an explanation as to why she was out this late and wearing the bare minimum and no shoes in a 30°(F) field.

She turned to look at the girls face and had to promptly hold herself back from shouting or even remotely outwardly responding to what she saw. Even in the gloomy darkness, the shiny doe-eyed look of the girl next to her was painfully unmistakable. Beca had not planned or expected herself to react so violently as she did when she saw this face again.

"Hi." She controlled her voice to the best of her ability, but the lack of recognition in the girl's next statements and the sudden realization of her stupidity in mistakenly romanticizing and simplifying the entire situation around only her own desires was so painful that Beca doubted she could hold back tears. The sight of Chloe Beale after months, years, of grieving was just too much. She did try, but they simply came, silently streaming down her cheeks, one after the other.

"It's so chilly for this time of year, I don't usually even come here while on walks. The mist is so spooky!"

Beca realized it was her turn to speak. She saw Chloe turn to look at her from her peripheral view and realized it was to late to do anything about her tears so she struggled to keep her voice even as she replied.

"yeah. Super spooky."

[oisugasuga]

interstellar

I already made a post for this drabble, but this is for anyone who’d like to read it here:

Suga pushes off the side of the wall carefully, lets the perfect weightlessness of no gravity move him effortlessly across the small space. He remembers the time he had done the same thing about three weeks ago with too much force and ended up slamming into the opposite window, a bruised nose and Tooru’s bright, ringing laughter in his ears mementos of the embarrassing event.

Now though, his body slices gracefully through the atmosphere, socked feet kicking behind him even though he’s not actually swimming, hands reaching out to grab onto the hooks in the wall to propel him forward.

The lighting system in the station has been dimmed to the blue wavelength-depleted glow that’s used when it’s time to sleep, bathing everything in a warm, honey luminescence. It’s supposed to help calm the brain, to soothe and lower the frequent kicks of adrenaline and sometimes the nerve-wracking stress that comes with operating the International Space Station.

Or, at least, that’s what Suga had been told in training. Nevertheless, it’s one of his favorite times on the ship, when everything is soft and muted inside, leaving room for clouds of vivid colors and bursts of burning stars outside the windows to blister and snap and flame that much brighter.

He glances out the windows as he floats down the small hallway tunnel somewhere on the east side of the station, relishes in the feeling of his breath being stolen away by the sight that greets him.

It never gets old, seeing Earth laid out beneath him in all its beauty, in all of the streaks of emerald and blooms of majorelle blue and the faint smudge of golds and blush roses that Suga sometimes swears he can see hovering just over his planet.

Space is vast and endless and stunning around him, makes him feel small and safe and calm in a way Suga can only feel in one other place.

As if on cue, Suga reaches the end of the hall, ducks his head to avoid cracking his skull on the doorframe of the next room, and swings himself inside.

Almost immediately, a familiar body collides with him- an obvious sneak attack. Arms wrap around his middle and a cold nose nuzzles into the side of his neck, and Suga really can’t help his loud squeak of surprise, his body thrown off kilter and spinning across the room with the extra weight until he bumps lightly into the adjacent wall.

"Oikawa," Suga huffs once his heart has settled back down into a normal rhythm. "How many times-"

"Forever," Oikawa finishes for him, breath hot against the crook of Suga’s neck, lips brushing butterfly kisses across his skin as they curve into a grin. "You’re going to have to tell me not to do that forever because I fully intend on doing it forever."

Even though the words probably weren’t meant to sound sappy, they still come off that way, and Suga can’t help the flush that warms his cheeks.

It also doesn’t help that Oikawa still hasn’t let him go, his long legs now entangled firmly with Suga’s as they bob gently and slowly around the room, his stupid, alien-print knee-high socks visible if Suga cranes his head down a little.

"That’s disgusting."

Suga whips his head towards the new voice (which is a little more difficult to do with Oikawa still latched around him like some kind of space octopus) but he finds dark eyes and a mouth half-scowling, half-smiling immediately.

"Hajime, help me. Please," Suga begs, Oikawa making a low whine and snuggling in closer- as if that's possible.

"Kou-chan, space hugs are sacred," he pouts near Suga’s ear. "Space hugs are our thing."

Iwaizumi huffs out a laugh from his position already strapped in, sitting a few feet back from the small laptop that is mounted onto the opposite wall.

"Sorry, Kou, I’m already buckled in. Besides, you wouldn’t believe how long he spent planning that before you got here."

Suga sighs in defeat, relaxing against Oikawa’s chest and stifling a smile at the happy hum the other purrs out, but his exasperation is more for show than anything else.

He would never admit it to Oikawa, not in a million years, but he secretly loves their quote-on-quote "space hugs".

They’re warm and comforting and Oikawa always smells like cinnamon somehow-

"TOORU!"

Suga’s shriek is probably loud enough to wake the rest of the station, but he can’t help it, not when something wet and muscled and gross drags across the shell of his ear.

Oikawa launches himself off of Suga just in time to avoid a fist to his side, cackling like a maniac, the force and direction of his push sending him straight into Iwaizumi’s lap and Suga back into the wall.

Oikawa’s still laughing, even when Iwaizumi bodily shoves him off with a snort, even when Suga regains his balance and shoves himself towards him with revenge in mind, his fingers hooking in the front of Oikawa’s stupid NASA sweatshirt and yanking him forward until Suga can repay the favor, licking across Oikawa’s jaw and reveling in the, "Gross, Kou-chan, that was unnecessary."

The words hold no real conviction, are overshadowed by the soft affection on Oikawa’s face and the curve to his lips as his giggles die down.

Long fingers tangle in the sterling, star-fire hair at the back of Suga’s head, tugging him forward until Oikawa can kiss him properly. His lips are dry and chapped but so, so familiar and warm and sweet.

Suga smiles, letting Oikawa kiss him for as long as he wants, reciprocating the favor and curling his fingers around Oikawa’s jaw to keep him close.

When they finally break apart, Suga doesn’t remember which way is up and which is down, couldn’t map any of the constellations he knows so well even if he wanted to.

When Oikawa proceeds to press their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose against Suga’s cheek and kissing the corner of his mouth softly, Iwaizumi finally speaks up, impatience a low lilt in his voice.

"Oi, lovebirds. There is one other person in this relationship, remember? And said person wants to get this movie started and not watch you two suck face for the rest of the night."

Suga can’t help but laugh when he sees Iwaizumi’s face, lower lip curved down into an almost pout, eyes narrowed, dwarfed in what has to be one of Oikawa’s sweaters, the sleeves falling past his wrists.

He disentangles himself from Oikawa, who lets him go easily with a low laugh, and pushes off towards Iwaizumi, reaching out for the arms that rise instinctively to catch him.

Wrapping fingers around Iwaizumi’s biceps, Suga swings his legs forward to wind around Iwaizumi’s waist, securing him to the other and preventing his body from floating back up towards the ceiling.

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows are still furrowed, so Suga leans forward and smooths them out with his fingers.

"Sorry, babe," Suga teases, lets his fingers run down Iwaizumi’s beautiful face and thumbs at his lower lip softly, mouth curving up farther into a grin when Iwaizumi gives him a look before mock-biting at his fingers.

He can hear Oikawa fiddling with the laptop behind them, tapping at keys and adjusting the screen.

"I didn’t give you a space hug, but can I at least give you space kiss?" Iwaizumi asks, his voice low and his eyes dark as they drop to Suga’s mouth.

"So cheesy," Suga whispers, can’t help but smile wider, happiness bursting in his chest like the fizz of champagne.

"Shut up," Iwaizumi murmurs half-heartedly, before he cranes his head up and meets Suga half-way for a slow, languid kiss that makes Suga feel like solar flares are blooming, bright and burning, in his blood.

Iwaizumi slips his tongue into Suga’s mouth, slow and teasing. Suga sighs as those rough hands he knows so well slip up under the back of his t-shirt, cool fingers tracing a sky map over his overheated skin.

It’s only a few moments later when warm breath fans over the back of Suga’s neck as Oikawa's body suddenly envelops him from behind, thighs squeezing around Suga's hips. Oikawa gently mouths at the sensitive skin just under Suga's ear, wastes no time in finding a well-known weak spot and sucking hard.

Suga tries to swallow the whimper that bubbles up his throat, but some variation of it escapes anyway, muffled against Iwaizumi’s mouth. Dark eyes crack open to catch sight of Oikawa’s and Iwaizumi’s free hands tangling together at his side, pressing into his hip as their fingers lace, Iwaizumi’s thumb stroking gentle circles into the back of Oikawa’s hand.

"I thought we had a movie to watch," Suga gasps out when Iwaizumi bites down into the plush of Suga’s lower lip, the hand that’s not grasping Oikawa’s tangling in Suga’s hair to keep his head steady.

"Hmmm," Oikawa hums noncommittally, moving to suck bruises into the pale skin of Suga’s shoulder where the sleeve has slipped down, because, unfortunately, he’s also wearing Oikawa’s clothes and the loose, gray t-shirt hangs from his frame.

"Later," Iwaizumi mutters, mouth hot and wet and perfect as he slots their lips back together impatiently, tugging on the short strands of hair at the back of Suga’s neck.

Suga shivers.

"Okay," he agrees breathlessly, relaxing into the two of them.

Being enveloped by space every waking moment has never failed to make Suga feel infinitely small, protected, at peace.

But even that couldn’t compare to what he felt here, where he belonged, between the two people he loved more than anything else in the universe.

Suga’s mind sinks into a hazy sort of pleasure, hips rocking down unconsciously against the hardness in the front of Iwaizumi’s sweatpants, pulling a low groan from the other’s throat. One of Oikawa’s hands rucks up Suga’s shirt and bares his overheated skin to the cool air, fingers dancing dangerously over the waistline of his sweatpants while Oikawa murmurs equally dangerous things into his ear.

Everything is hot and perfect and this hadn’t been the path the night had exactly been supposed to take, but Suga’s not complai-

A loud noise punctures the moment, abruptly breaking through the fog of pleasure.

Iwaizumi jerks away, Oikawa stiffening against his back in surprise, and Suga’s eyes dazedly flutter open, his skin still on fire, arousal still pooling low in his stomach, uncomfortably hard even though he’s in loose, planet-printed boxers, cock trapped against Iwaizumi’s stomach.

"Oya, oya, what do we have here?"

That annoyingly familiar voice reaches Suga’s ears, followed closely by a second one, soft, collected, and exasperated.

"I told you the recreation room was occupied, Tetsu."

Suga sighs and pulls down his shirt, Oikawa’s hands still resting on his hips. He cranes his head to level Kuroo, who’s floating upside down in the doorway to the room, with a pointed look.

Iwaizumi is glaring, mouth flushed and swollen and slick, his hair adorably rumpled from a combination of Suga and Oikawa’s fingers, so the look comes off half as intimidating as it probably should.

"It’s rude not to knock, Tetsu-chan," Oikawa sing-songs. "Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?"

Without looking, Suga can envision the irritated smile that’s gracing Oikawa’s mouth, can hear the annoyed bite in his voice.

But Kuroo only laughs, his eyes glittering.

Akaashi sighs from behind him, face deadpan but his eyes apologetic when they meet Suga’s.

"I didn’t know the recreation room was actually used for," Kuroo clears his throat, poorly concealing a smirk behind a hand, still hovering upside down, his hair an even bigger mess than it usually is, "… well, recreation."

"Ugh," Suga groans at the poor joke, his libido suddenly non-existent.

He drops his forehead to rest on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of his shampoo, something like lavender mixed with sandalwood.

"Tetsu," Akaashi hisses, his voice followed by the sound of a loud smack and a groan.

"Owww, Keiji, what the fu-"

"I’m sorry, Suga-san, Iwaizumi-san, Oikawa-san, we’ll be leaving now."

Suga looks up just in time to witness Akaashi dragging Kuroo back out into the passageway with a firm grip on his ear, Kuroo wriggling in his grasp despite his larger frame.

"You’re no fun, Keiji, it was just a joke-"

Kuroo’s voice fades away into the distance and Suga sighs, cuddling back up to Iwaizumi again and closing his eyes.

"I’m going to take a wild guess and say that Kuroo’s obnoxious humor just ruined any chance of us continuing where we left off," Oikawa mutters into the quiet and Suga nods in agreement against the side of Iwaizumi’s neck, Iwaizumi grunting out a similar answer, his fingers carding slow and soft through Suga’s hair.

It’s quiet for a few more seconds before Oikawa lets out a long-suffering sigh and detaches himself, cool air taking his place and running chilled fingers over the back of Suga’s neck.

"Movie?" Suga murmurs, suddenly sleepy, Iwaizumi warm and solid beneath him, his chin tucked over the top of Suga’s head.

"Mmm," Oikawa agrees, the sounds of keyboard buttons being pushed filling the room once again.

"I’m going to sleep," Suga tells them both once the lilting notes of the opening theme start to drift out around them, the tune familiar. He’s already half-way there, so his voice comes out slow and drawled, velvet and honey.

"Okay," Iwaizumi tells him, running gentle fingers up and down Suga’s spine.

"Here, Koushi, let me buckle you in."

Oikawa’s voice is fuzzy beyond the reaches of sleep, but Suga still feels steady hands wrap straps around his waist and back until he can relax completely in Iwaizumi’s lap without fear of floating away.

There’s more soft murmuring, words Suga can’t pick out, and then he feels Oikawa settle in next to them.

Suga cracks his eyes open the barest bit, shifts a little to drink in the sight of Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s faces lit up by the soft blue glow of the screen, the sight of their fingers interlaced between them, meets Oikawa’s eyes and smiles at him sleepily.

He reaches out a hand, cheek nestled to Iwaizumi’s collarbone, and Oikawa catches it with the hand that’s not wrapped around Iwaizumi’s, presses a kiss to the palm and then brushes his lips over Suga’s knuckles.

Iwaizumi’s lips are against his forehead, familiar and gossamer light.

“I love you both so much,” Suga wants to say- words he’s said countless times before but never gets tired of repeating.

But sleep is tugging on his shirt sleeves with gentle fingers, and the words rest on the tip of his tongue, unspoken.

Nevertheless, as the ship continues to move through the stars, as the movie plays, as Suga drifts off to sleep, he knows without a doubt that Oikawa and Iwaizumi already know, that he doesn’t need to say it for it to be true.

Suga sleeps, content with the fact that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but right here.