#so done w whatever i was dealing with including the headache

[vulte]

i remember having a headache when i took these

[regrettablewritings]

If requests are still open, could you do the love one w Bruce Wayne please??

Sure, they’re still open, and I can most certainly try! Though I must admit that quite a few of these headcanons have actually been mentioned or featured in separate sets I've done throughout the years. While some aspects may have changed since then, not much really feels like it's changed to me. As such, I'll try my best to answers these, but will also provide links that go into further detail. Hope that's alright!!

Who said “I love you” first?: You say it first, though the effort to do so makes you nervous. After all, you weren’t even sure if Bruce returned your feelings: Certainly, you were his longest-lasting and seemingly the most engaging relationship he’d had to the date, but you were most certainly not the first girl he’d brought home or shared some interesting experiences with. You wanted to trust that Bruce did hold some feelings for you deep down beneath that stoic and calm exterior, but some part of you worried: Maybe you were a passing phase of some kind? In actuality, no, you were definitely someone special. The problem (if it could be called that) was that Bruce just doesn’t use the phrase, “I love you” so lightly, much less often: If he’s going to use it, he wants it to really stand out and mean something. It therefore calms your nerves a great deal once he finally does it in the quiet of your home, just as you’re both about to depart for your respective work days. Suffice to say, your day is absolutely made, knowing that by the end of it, you’ll be going back to the home of someone who you can confirm, without a doubt, loves you.

What are their primary love languages?: Bruce enjoys physical touch, but not quite for the reasons people think he does. Being touch starved resulted in him seeking the hold of someone -- anyone -- in far too many cases of desperation. And sadly, it’s resulted in a lot of heartbreak and manipulation.But what makes it all so different when it comes from you is that you don’t take advantage of him by playing to his needs; you just provide the hugs and kisses because you actually want to. You’d really be surprised how many strings were attached to Bruce’s past instances of spooning, or how many threats lingered in the lipstick stains on his cheeks. There’s nothing so malicious in yours. Only ever desire or good will. And for this, you tend to be rewarded with Bruce’s zeal for giving gifts. Well, not so much zeal as it is how he feels he can best present you how much he cares. It took a bit of time (much to his embarrassment [world’s greatest detective his ass]) but eventually he did realize that it wasn’t necessarily material and superficial goods you sought after: It was in little things like small gestures of his love for you, or in the kitschy post cards he would sometimes send you with codes littered on them. Little unique items, wrapped or postmarked with his heart, destined only for your ownership.

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?: Not very often, at least not any extensively intense PDA. Sure, you’ll hold hands while in public, or he’ll place a hand at your waist as you attend a gala together. But despite Bruce loving physical touch, this doesn’t mean he wants to over-do it, much less in a way that might make you feel uncomfortable. Besides, anyone can share a kiss. But only someone he truly trusts can share a touch that sticks with him. When you’re at home, he’s not adverse to you joining him in his study and keeping him company as he looks over files both for Wayne Enterprises, and for Batman-oriented content. There have been plenty times where you’ve fallen asleep against his chest, his arm wrapped about your waist so that you won’t fall over.

What are their favorite things to do together?: It depends. Date nights are actually a bit more difficult for the two of you than the average billionaire’s, mainly because the average billionaire doesn’t also double as a vigilante. You’ve managed to do some more typical things like go to events that support the arts like operas or the ballet. Other times, you try to keep it decidedly lowkey -- though it’s a bit hard to do a lowkey paint-and-sip when all the people around you are either sneaking photos of your boyfriend, or eyeballing him because, hey, he’s far prettier than whatever subject the group was set to paint. But sometimes, these things can prove to be a headache: Because where there aren’t regular nosy civilians, there are the even nosier paparazzi. So when the time permits it, the two of you might rent out a place like the museum or a restaurant and just enjoy yourselves. But ultimately, not everything can beat just spending the night in, catching up on one another’s week or just plain resting. Snuggled up together, of course.

Who’s better at comforting the other?: You are, even though you may not always think so. You would think that cheering up or comforting the man who has everything would be a tough job, but the reality is that it really isn’t if you actually make an effort. To be quite frank, sometimes the fact that you made an effort at all is enough to lift his spirits even by 1%. You may have your doubts about the extent to which your attempts work but the truth is that when Bruce so much as smirks in your direction, you’ve done a damn good job. You worked for that smirk; own it. Bruce just simply isn’t the world’s most emotive person, even in private. But that doesn’t mean you should be so quick as to doubt your competency. Talk to him; hug him; rub his back consolingly; tell him an awful joke. He’ll appreciate you for it.

Who’s more protective?: Bruce is. The deaths of his parents kickstarted his protective streak in some form, and it’s really only evolved since then due to various incidents (including but surprisingly not limited to the Kryptonian Attack). And as dreamy as it can be, knowing that you’ll always have the protection of this massive wall of a man and his arsenal of weaponry and physical attacks, it needs to be taken with a grain of salt: Bruce can and has gone off the deep end, becoming overzealous to the near point of destruction. If he fears a threat may be directed at you or will effect any of his loved ones, there is very little that will stop him from going on the attack and sparing no expense.

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?: Physical. Now that he’s aware of how much meaning and care can actually be packed into a single touch, Bruce seeks yours out. In addition, he doesn’t mind being able to return the favor by even just holding your hand and rubbing it with his calloused thumb.

What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?: Ironically, “Aquaman” by Walk the Moon comes to mind. It’s not that Bruce is incapable of expressing or experiencing love: It’s more like occurrences both romantic and non-romantic have resulted in him becoming protective of his heart and increasingly reluctant to be even 90% open and vulnerable. (Remember: The two most frequent examples from his love life are women who ultimately used him or manipulated him in some way, so who could really blame him?) But you’ve been almost saintly patient with him, holding his hand the entire way not to be condescending or even pull him along, but to guide him and show him your constant support of his efforts and progress. And lo, the Crown Prince of Gotham eventually let his head underwater: And he can breathe there. He wasn’t wrong to be afraid of going in -- he just needed the right swimming partner. But for something more in-universe, look no further than a few jazz standards because fun fact: Bruce is actually a talented singer. No, seriously. He’s a crooner! And next to nobody knows about it because he makes a constant effort to hide it. Hell, even you didn’t know about it until the day he slipped up. And you had the addicting voice of the late and great Ella Fitzgerald to thank. Not even the world’s greatest detective could refuse her crisp yet calming voice, allowing her rendition of “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)” to take up space in his ears and head until he could no longer bear it: Without even noticing it, he was singing it quietly as he fumbled around in the kitchen, fixing himself some coffee. He nearly dropped the mug when he turned around and saw you wearing a stunned expression on your face. And ever since then, Bruce singing jazz has become a lot more common in the house than ever before. When you’re upset, you might ask for him to sing. You need to sleep, you listen to a recording of him you sneaked. And sometimes, you just want to hear him sing: Of trips to romantic places, of candle lights on little corner tables, of two lovers who walk on the streets like dreamers . . . The foolish things that remind him of you.

What kind of nicknames do they call each other?: Bruce isn’t exactly the most creative when it comes to nicknames. A lot just don’t sound quite right coming out of his mouth, at least to him, especially since he’s aged up some since his more notorious playboy days. “Babe” or “Honey” have always been a part of his repertoire, but he’s noticed that “Darlin’“ and “Sweetheart” seem to flow a lot more smoothly with time. You, on the other hand, at least try to be more personal and creative. But it’s a lot harder than it seems, given that Bruce isn’t exactly the easiest name to derive nicknames from. Of course, you stumble your way to cheesy ones like “Prince Charming” or “Handsome”, but you always find yourself crawling back to throwing “Babe” and “Sweetie” right back at him.

Thank you for the request!

[shadow--writer]

I Heard That you Fell in Love or Near Enough

hm yes TITLE :D (mmmm slowed my beloved). Look a way longer chapter because we’re setting up some fun foreshadowing and I just went nuts with internal dialogue. So much fun with this lmao. It’s v chaotic 

Maeve x Lucas. From bad to worse. 4.5k (we arent gonna TALK ABOUT IT)

TW (more squicky than anything): mention of blood, robbery, LOTS of language 

@dela-png

To say today was a terrible day was the understatement of the century. 

First she didn’t get any sleep due to some noise going on close by. Of course it had to be loud on the first day she was actually willing to sleep in mm say...two three days? So she was even more irritated in the morning. 

Then of course after eating she went downstairs and screamed so loud she broke her soundproofing charms.

Fan-bloody-fucking-tastic.

She kicked at the broken pieces of what used to be one of her tables. Looked like someone took a running jump and broke it. 

And to top it all off she had been robbed. 

She let out a frustrated yell, muffling it by biting down on her knuckles. 

“Gods and stars fuck,” she snarled, stomping her foot once as she tried to think things over. There was paint. 

There was paint everywhere.

And don’t even get her started on the blood.

Bloodied handprints! All over her front door! Smeared along with the paint.

“And what the fuck is with this W?!” She spun to look at her back wall, palms open. Blue paint. Like her tattoos. She rubbed her arms as she moved closer to look at it. 

Crescent spots. A W. What was this? A threat? 

They left a calling card of course it was a threat. But why against her? Did she do something? Not that she remembered. 

Was it to get to someone?

But who? She had cut off everyone who tried to get close besides the kids. And she doubted someone would go to...these extremes to get back at a child.

Maybe she did something. 

But even if she did, what did these even mean? Wouldn’t it be more effective to threaten someone who recognized the markings? 

Ugh it was giving her a headache. 

She moved to her trashed backroom, grabbing a cleaning bucket and a rag. Taking the green handkerchief from it’s hook and rolling up her sleeves she knew it was going to be a doozy of a day. 

And of course, with her luck, her lucky stars, it got worse. 

~~

She collapsed against her counter, now covered in blood and so much fucking blue paint. They had painted those damn animal print spots all over her fucking clinic. 

AND they had stolen the medicines she kept locked up! Including the herbs she made them from!

Oooh if she ever got her hands on the thieves she was going to make them regret laying eyes on her clinic. String them up she would. Might even skin them like a fish if she was in the mood. 

Oh great she’d have to go to the market as well. Sure she was now out of food. She had been meaning to go. 

But fucking hell did she not want to. 

She adjusted the green handkerchief (it...stopped smelling like him), cleaned her paint stained hands down the front of her skirt and steeled her nerves.

Oh she hated going to the market for many many many reasons.

Reasons she was not going to go into.

Grabbing her basket and muttering to herself angrily, she slammed the door to her clinic shut, locked it and then stared. 

“...they’re going to come back. Dipshits won’t stop. Not after one night,” she huffed, resting her palms on the door.

Locking charms. Right. 

Aislin taught her this one. 

Breathing in and holding the air, she willed her magic to life. A gentle warmth settled across her skin, small locks appearing at her fingertips. This didn’t take energy from her, she pulled from the air around her. Aislin’s magic was more wind and air stuff so this was easier for her younger sister anyways. Much stronger than Maeve’s locks. 

Speaking of, thank goddess her charms held. She didn’t know what would’ve happened if whoever stopped by had managed to get into her house. 

Stepping away to admire the fading glow on her door, she nodded, satisfied. There. Those would have to do. She might need to update her soundproofing charms though. 

Who knew the neighbors didn’t like it when patients screamed? The things you could get away with back home. 

Stepping away from her clinic she made her way down the street. 

Maybe if she tried a disguise spell so she wouldn’t be bothered…

No, that wouldn’t work. She was shit at disguise spells. No one in her family was good at them. Last time her Seanmháthair tried she grew a fake beard and it didn’t go away for a week. 

...fine she would just suffer then. 

It’s not like once she got there anything could possibly get worse. No sir. Only being fucking robbed and then having to deal with the market. 

All she had to deal with for today. 

Letting out a sigh she walked into the market. It didn’t take her long to start gathering medication and plants. Of course they were backwater stalls. 

But it’s always been like that. 

Feeling a bit lighter she started to hum as she went through her mental checklist. Still didn’t have aloe, the asshats stole her entire fucking plant. 

...she also didn’t have anything to make lunch.

Great. 

She opened her eyes, turning around to go look for something to eat, letting out another small sigh.  

And there was Lucas. 

She choked on her sigh. 

Why oh why did he have to be there today of all days. She couldn’t even go back home! She needed something to eat (thinking about it now she hadn’t eaten in quite a bit) but noooo. 

So why did all those stars and spirits above decide today would be a good day for him to come to the market as well?

Sometimes she wondered if some deity had it out for her.

She turned to quietly sneak away.

“Thumb- Maeve?”

...oh fucking fuck. 

She forced a smile, slowly turning back around. Mmmm so this was how today was going to go. Fucking fantastic. “Giiiiant.”

...too informal, too informal. Abort mission.

He flinched a little at the nickname. Ah yes, this is definitely how she wanted her afternoon to go. This was perfect. So wonderful. 

She was going to fight whatever star had been assigned to watch over her and her fate.

“What are you doing here?”

Wow it wasn’t obvious? “...shopping. What else would I be here for?”

“Shopping for what?”

Oh she did not like his tone. Her eyes narrowed. Her basket swung off her wrist as she placed her hand on her hip. Sure maybe snapping at a seven foot tall man who was still fairly hurt and mad at her (for good reason) was not the smartest thing she could’ve done but…

She was in a terrible mood and ready to just go home and call it a day. Of course after she actually got what she needed for dinner. And actually eat something.  

“Do I have to tell you anything?” she huffed. “I am here to get something to eat for dinner and herbs to make more medication? There? Is the marketplace police happy?”

His eyes widened. “O-Oh! Didn’t mean to come across…” The softness and the...actual innocence of the apology sent her reeling. Then, as her luck would fucking have it, he seemed to remember he was still mad at her. “...sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, moving to look past him. Fine. This was fine. She just needed to get something for her to eat. Maybe something for Tehi. The old bat would kill her if she went hungry. 

Maybe she herself could deal without dinner. 

Her mood soured even more when she spotted mortal enemy of Maeve #1. 

The fruit stand guy. Malory. (it was a very unfortunate name)

Malory’s eyes narrowed when he spotted her. “Well well well, if it isn’t the little thief.”

She shifted away from Lucas, glad she now had someone to direct her building frustrations to. 

“I am no thief, you just want me gone!” she sneered, glaring at him. “You accuse me of taking things and then try and get me arrested! Every time I come here! Without fucking fail! Aren’t you tired of it?!”

“I will never be tired of it until I see the likes of you behind bars!”

“Unfuckingbelievable!” She threw her hands into the air. “I am not a thief! It was an accident. Tehi was hungry and I paid for it!”

“Your little bat has it out for me! And her owner is no prize either.”

She gasped in offense. “You fucking dickjerk ASSHOLE!” Her footsteps were loud to her ears against the rush of blood. Oh he got on her very last nerve. EVERY TIME! She jutted a finger at him as she growled. “I. Did. Not. Steal. Your. Shitty. Merchandise!” Well that was a half lie. His produce was quite good. 

It’s why Tehi stole from him so much. 

All too bad the guy selling was a balding old man who had it out for her. A vendetta! 

“Malory you are a slimy weasel who has no idea what he’s fucking talking about! Tehi was hungry. I caught her and I paid for the few grapes she had stolen. What else do you want?!”

“For you to go to jail!”

She was on the verge of fighting him. 

This close. 

“For the last time,” she snarled, stomping closer as she felt her skin heat up with her rage. She slammed her hands on the counter of his stall, opening her mouth to snap back. The others around went quiet with the show they were getting. She. Was. Going. To. Kill-

The ground under her feet was all of a sudden not under her feet. 

And she was thrown over someone’s shoulder. Like a sack of flour. 

“Put me down! I demand it! Right this instant!” she yelled, smacking the back of the person who had picked her up. 

Gray shirt. 

Oh fucking hell. Today was just not her fucking godamned day. Maybe if she became a hermit things would go her way in the luck department. 

“Lucas set me down!” 

“Maeve as angry I am with you I don’t want to watch you murder someone and then get sent to jail.”

“Well he would fucking deserve it!”

“Murder is still murder no matter how much he deserves it.”

She sulked, propping her face up with her hand, elbow resting on his back. “I thought you hated me.”

“It’s broad daylight. Very least do it at night.”

“Killjoy.”

She and Malory glared at one another. “Fuck off,” she sniffed, lifting her hand in a very vulgar gesture. 

“Maeve!”

“Guards! Guards! These two stole from me!”

“FUCK YOU TOO, MALORY!”

“Maeve!” 

She kicked her legs. Didn’t Lucas like, hate her? This was the first time they saw one another in weeks and it was a total fucking accident. 

“Put me down!”

“...you’re going to give the guards a reason to arrest you if I do.”

“Yeah? He would FUCKING DESERVE IT!” She yelled the last part at the fruit vendor, still flipping him off. “Droch áird chúgat lá gaoithe! Go mbrise an diabhal do dhá chois! Go ndéana an diabhal dréimire do chnámh do dhroma!”

“Maeve what the hell are you saying?”

“Droch chrích ort! Droch chrích ort!” she said, waving her arms. “Go dtuitfeadh an tigh ort!” 

“Maeve I have no idea what you’re saying but watch your language.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “If I want this asshat’s house to fall on him I will tell him such!”

“...you said what?”

“You heard me! Go dtuitfeadh an tigh ort! Fucking bastard.” She sneered at Malory, who was still calling for the guards. Who were coming around.

Quickly. 

Ah fuck. 

And goody for Lucas, he was now an accomplice. 

Meaning she wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. 

Though judging by how people gave him a wide berth it wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing. Maybe she’d actually be left alone. (but why did people look so skittish? And then there was the anger? What the fuck did he fucking do?!)

“...shall I escape with you or do you want me to leave you behind?��� He was still hurt. She could hear it.

But this was a short truce. 

She sulked, falling limp. “Fine. Carry me away. Just to a hiding spot. You can hide in one of the alcoves down the street if you hurry.”

“...thank you for the tip.” His voice was just dripping with sarcasm. 

“Well I’m sorry if I do this every other week and know what I’m doing!”

“You’re also tiny! You think I can fit in an alcove?”

“Fine! Don’t listen to me! Just set me down and let me get arrested! Save yourself.”

“You know I’m not gonna do that.”

“Oh you hate me anyways,” she groused, her filter was coming completely off as he moved quickly through the market. Guards shouted after them as he dodged the crowd. “Why not just abandon me?”

“Stop being dramatic, I'm not abandoning you.”

“Hmph you didn’t even touch the hate me part.”

“Just because I’m saving your ass doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”

“Ah! So you do hate me!”

“I never said that.” He didn’t elaborate, only tapped his fingers lightly on her thighs. 

She squirmed. “Hey buster watch the hands.” 

“Nervous tic.”

Even with his defense he didn’t stop. Little bastard. 

She kicked her legs a little as he ducked into an alleyway. It wasn’t what she recommended but oh well. 

“Hey stop that, you’ll get us caught,” he huffed as she tried smacking his nose with her heel. He shifted out of the way. 

“Put me down.”

“If you promise to be quiet I’ll put you down.”

“...fine.” She didn’t promise. 

He set her down, she huffed and dusted off the front of her skirt. 

“Malory is a fucking dick,” she muttered. 

“I thought you promised you’d be quiet.”

She stuck her tongue out at him again, getting more irritated by the second. “I never promised that. Only said ‘fine’.”

His eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. “Don’t be a child.”

“I’ll have you know,” she snarled, pointing a finger at him. He almost went cross eyed staring at it. “I have had the shittiest fucking day today and seeing you has done nothing to improve my mood or overall day so thanks a fucking lot.”

“...you’re really going to blame me now?”

“Well I do not appreciate being picked up and thrown over your shoulder when I had the situation under control.”

“You were going to kill him.”

“I was and as I’ve said many many times; he would’ve deserved it.”

Lucas seemed to weigh what he would say next. She huffed, staring up at him with her fists at her sides. Damn him and his height. She was going to strangle the person that decided making him this fucking tall was a good fucking idea it made fucking arguing with him or even just ranting a pain in her neck. Literally. 

“Ugh!” she yelled, standing on her tiptoes to be at least a little taller. 

God fucking damnit she was just BARELY up to his shoulders now. He looked almost amused as she puffed up her chest a little. 

“You listen here buster,” she snarled, shifting so they were chest to chest. “I have had it up to here with the BULLSHIT I just had to put up with today!” 

His face was red.

Why the fuck was his face red?!

Excuse you sir, she was in the middle of a RANT here. 

And he was still fucking mad at her for the shit she pulled. Yeah sure it was to protect him. Yeah sure she should not be as close as she was to him at that moment. She should also not be ranting. She should also not have been robbed didn’t she lock her doors?!

Also why the fuck was he still adorable when blushing?! Unfair! She was calling bullshit! She was supposed to be distancing herself and her feelings to not feel attracted to him. But nooooo the gods and stars above just had to bless him with being so fucking adorble she wanted to kiss him. Oh stars and spirits she was not going off on a fucking mental tangent about wanting to kiss him. That was not going to happen.

Even though she was close enough to. 

Gods why did everything have to be so fucking complicated?! 

That’s it she was going to fight someone. 

“Hey! Are you listening?” she asked, they were now chest to chest. She was off kilter with being on her tiptoes, back arching to get a good look at him. God fucking- height. 

She growled, settling back down onto her heels. He pursed his lips to keep from laughing and that was it and that was the last straw.

She pulled him down by his ear, hissing through her teeth. “You listen to me here Lucas whatever-the-fuck your last name is.”

“K-Karimov.” He stumbled a little with the weird angle which she was holding him in. But somehow, the filter was off and so was her ability to care. 

“Thank you. You listen to me here, Lucas Karimov. I do not want to be stuck in this alleyway with you anymore than you want to be stuck with me. Today has had it OUT for me the whole fucking day!”

He seemed to hear something but she was too caught up in herself fuming to notice. “Maeve-”

“And don’t get me fucking started on what happened to me this fine morning-”

“Maeve!” He shifted out of her grasp. 

“-with my clinic and the mess I had to- MMPH!” He slapped his hand over her mouth, shoving her roughly against the alley wall, caging her in between his legs and resting his elbow beside her cheek. 

“Shut up,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder. 

She watched the guards run by their hiding spot, yelling about hearing something. 

His face was so close to hers, his breath tickling her ear as he murmured to her. “You’ll get us caught.”

She glared at him over his palm. He wasn’t looking at her. Her brows furrowed as she squirmed, but he held firm. He didn’t let go of her even as the guards disappeared. 

So she took matters into her own hands. 

Or well, between her teeth. 

So she bit down on his hand. Hard. 

He pulled away with a yelp. She scrubbed at her mouth with the back of her hand as he nursed his wound. 

“You...you bit me!”

She placed her hands on her hips. “You needed to let me go!”

“You bit me!”

“Indeed I did!”

“What put you in such a sour mood?” he muttered, rubbing the bite gently. 

“Hm? Bad mood? Me?” Her eye twitched a little. She was so done. She was actually ready to sleep for a million years. 

Fuck the nightmares he was starting to star in she was done. 

“Yeah! Me getting fucking robbed was great to put me in the best of fucking moods!” she snapped, pacing around the small space of the alley while she waited for the clear. 

She shocked him into a stunned silence. “You were...what?”

Her head whipped around and her eyes were deathly narrowed. Absolutely done. 

“Heavens and stars are ya deaf?” Oh no her accent was coming out. Fan-fucking-tastic her accent was coming out. “I was fuckin robbed! So I was not put in the bestest of moods today so you get to see me when I’m irritated. I know! I’m so fucking fun aren’t I?”

Who would’ve guessed having her clinic trashed and her things stolen then having to deal with both LUCAS and MALORY would put her in such a sour mood that she didn’t even care if half of her words were clouded by her accent?! Oh and being handled like a sack of potatoes REALLY added to it! Then being pinned…

Hmm okay being pinned against the wall by Lucas wasn’t the worst thing to happen to her that fine day. 

Even so she felt the tiniest spark of pride at biting him. 

Was she guilty over that? Surprisingly no.

Check back later. 

“Who...who robbed you?”

“Shit if I know! I’m sure that weird thing I found was a fuckin callin card though. Why do you care?”

“Calling card?”

“It was a pain in the fuckin ass to clean too! I don’t know where the hell they got all that blue paint to paint my entire back wall but they fucking did it! And then leaving the weird stains on my door. Blue and I don’t know probably blood. All and all it was fucking disgusting.” 

“...blue paint? What did they paint?”

She rubbed her temples. She did not have to share this with him. She did not have to share this with him. “Some weird crescent spots and a letter. Took forever to clean.”

Annnd she shared it with him.

“Spots? Letter?”

She cracked one eye open. “Yeah. I think they were either leopard or cheetah spots. Letter was a fucking W. And then they tried to break into my house and left bloody handprints! I had quite the scare this morning.”

All the colour drained from his face. 

“Blue...cheetah marks?”

“Did you just...ignore everything I just said? Yes! And blood! Like everywhere! They tried to break into my house and I don’t know why I am sharing this with you I should not be sharing this with you and I am going to regret this later but oh well I have no filter and I’m rambling.”

There was a slight anger swirling in his eyes. Barely contained. 

Even with how pissed she was it spooked her. 

What did he have to be angry about? 

“Were you hurt?”

“Does it look like I’ve been hurt?” He crossed his arms. She threw her hands into the air. “No! I have locking charms on my door. I didn’t hear them because of the sound proofing charms I have on my clinic and above that in my flat.”

Why the fuck did she just mention that?!

And she kept fucking going. 

This was it. 

If he didn’t hate her before because she rejected his kiss (like a fucking MORON. She did have a good reason for it (at least to herself. She was such a liar) but why oh why did she have to break things off with him. Granted if she kissed him that would’ve made things so much worse even though she really wanted to kiss him holy fuck she wanted to kiss him why was this hitting her now of all times when he was so close why was he so close and why did he look so scared and so pissed?!) he would definitely hate her now. 

Nice fucking going O’Connor. You did it. Messed up one of the only good relationships you’ve had in a while not just once but twice. 

Give the girl a medal. 

“Do you need help cleaning it up?”

“My tables are broken and I need to fix them and set them up again but I cleaned up this morning. All my medications and herbs were stolen. My tools. Stolen. My clinic? Fucking wrecked. Fruit stand guy? Tried to get me arrested again. You? Pick me up like I weigh nothing. So yeah. Having a great fucking day today.”

“...you are scary when irritated.”

“Oh and you barely scratched the fucking surface. I. Am. Going. To. Kill. SOMEONE!”

“Calm down Maeve the guards could hear-”

“I am not going to fucking calm down. I have bottled up everything for too fucking long. The only time I could sleep in peace was fucking ruined by my neighbors being obnoxious. And they bitch about me. So no a ghrá mo chroí, I am not calming down! You haven’t talked to me in weeks and now that you do you tell me how to feel and no. I am so done! I am done with you, I am done with Malory and I am done with the shitty fucking gods who decided creating me and giving me my fucking luck was a good fucking idea!”

Hold on. 

Did she just say that nickname out loud? 

The hurt on his face let her know that she did, indeed, say that out loud.

And he was taking it in the entirely wrong direction.

“...sorry.” His tone was deathly soft. 

Ah great.

Third times a fucking charm. 

“I...didn’t mean for it to come off that way. But you don’t need to curse me in another language.” Great, she hurt him again. As per fucking usual. 

Maybe he was right by calling her a trainwreck. Useless without him. 

Her voice cracked a little, hoarse from yelling. “Lucas-”

“The guards are gone now. I’ll...see you.” He was angry with her. 

Gods...fuck. 

“That's not what I-”

His expression was a mixture of hurt and anger. “I get it. You don’t like seeing me anymore. I was too...too much. Too much too soon. I understand. I overstepped again and I’m sorry.”

She brought her hands back to her chest as he moved out of the alley. “...if you go to your right and then down the first alley you should avoid the guards,” he whispered. “Get home safe.”

“Lucas I didn’t-” But he was gone. 

Her hands shook with both the raw snapping hurt of his words and just even more anger. 

“I didn’t insult you,” she snarled to the open air. “I said some dumb fucking shit by accident...a ghrá mo chroí.” It felt...right to say.

Because it was true.

He was her heart’s beloved. 

Even if he was a fucking dumbass. Shit, she was a fucking dumbass. 

Maybe she didn’t deserve love. If this was how it was going to treat her, maybe it was better if she just was...alone! 

Once again Maeve was off by herself. 

Hurting people she really liked because she couldn’t keep her dumb mouth shut. 

She muttered to herself as she picked her basket of new (if she found the perpetrators she was going to whoop their asses) medications and plants to make medications. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

She followed Lucas’ instructions after she ran into the guards on her normal way home. 

Damn you Malory you asshole.

With a sigh she arrived at her doorstep. His way added ten extra minutes to her walk. How fun. 

She peaked inside the clinic to see if anything else was destroyed but it was...cleaner than when she left it.

Her tables that had been turned over were set up again. There was paint and blood all over the tops of the tables but...they were up again. 

She ran her hands along the grooves, looking around. 

She stopped when she saw a small cloth bundle sitting on her counter. The string was a ribbon, and it was tied into a messy bow.

Her earlier bashes slowly dissolved as she stared at it. 

And that one lone butterfly fluttered to life. 

[honeydots]

200. “He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it.” ~~ This has some Vibes and I kinda like them so? I'd like 2 humbly request your take on this w/ shukita or akeshu if it's ok to ask for!! -- dorky-arsene (a sideblog)

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it”

Hello no I didn’t forget about these I am just slower than a little baby turtle!!!!! Anyway

Summary: Goro’s new job leads him to discover that dealing with both a crush and an idiot while flipping burgers is, unarguably, the worst turn his life could’ve taken.

cw: sexual themes (+p5r spoilers)

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(ao3 link)

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“Hello! Would you like to try our Big Bang Special Combo Shot-Straight-Through Promotional Meal for ‘Thy Father of Corruption 2: The Daughter of Rejection’ for ¥850?”

Goro wanted to quit. 

You need this job. You need this job. He’d repeat to himself each time a customer decided they were feeling peckish. You will have no money if you quit and then you will have no home and then you will drop out of college and then you will die. 

He’d left the police department after graduating. With his past plans of an 18-year life expectancy having slipped down the drain, he hardly had a reason to stay. High school had been an uphill battle with cases of murder and robbery breathing down his neck, and he’d hesitated to even make an attempt at trying to juggle his priorities in university. Dropping the detective gig meant dropping the media attention, too, which gave him breathing room he certainly knew he needed, but never really had. 

The problem was, after three years of fading out of fame and living off his savings, he realized this wouldn’t stretch as far as he’d predicted. He hadn’t accounted nearly enough for the expenses that came with the unwelcome enforcement of trying to live as a proper human being. His bank account was growing meager. If he wanted to keep living (which was arguable) in the way that he was (which he did) he’d need an income. Almost anything would do, as long as it would bend and break to his schedule. 

And, all things considered, he technically had connections here. And ever since… that, the pay had actually increased to a respectable amount. The management had rehired, retrained, and improved. It was fast food, but it was livable. Nothing shameful about being livable. 

And god fucking dammit he had already done three interviews with no hires and he needed food other than half-cooked ramen noodles and bread slices. 

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” 

That didn’t mean he didn’t loathe every minute.

It was bad enough that he had a job at Big Bang Burger. And, bad enough that he’d been desperate to get it. It was bad enough that he had to bring in his homework like some anguished used-to-be honors student now getting barely passing marks. And christ, it was bad enough each time a customer would walk in, a hamburger-shaped icepick would slam itself into his frontal lobe, forever ingraining the memory of his premeditated brain murder of the former CEO of this very restaurant. 

All of that, and he couldn’t stress this more, was bad enough. It was entirely shitty all around. Completely awful, and damming, and humbling, though he hated to admit it. He’d like to say it couldn’t get any worse. That this was the end of the line, get off the train before it turns around, don’t get stuck in the never ending cycle of beef patties and sesame seed buns. 

But, god, of all the coworkers. 

“Ya know,” said Sakamoto, leaning down on the front counter after their customer had left,  “I dunno if clenching your teeth like you’ve got peanut butter stuck in there counts as ‘service with a smile.’” 

Sakamoto Ryuji. The boy who had the opposite of a filter, and more like a megaphone spewing recordings of every profanity in the Japanese language. He, who had walked in on Goro’s second day and loudly declared, ‘I thought I smelled something, what’s this a-hole doing here?’ Really, who else could he tolerate spending eight-hour shifts with; greasy stoves, piss poor customers, and the ruthless scent of lysol on tile included?

Ah, right. Anyone else. 

Goro pressed his lips together. “Hm. Well you know, I was almost certain that elbows on the counter was a fireable offense.” 

Sakamoto snatched himself up in a second, elbows up high. He hung there and looked around the empty restaurant. 

He pouted. “Not cool, dude. That’s only when there’s customers.”

Goro raised his eyebrows. He was really just going to stand there? He looked like an idiot, or a chicken. A hybrid that, if anyone could pull off, would be him. He was making a great show of it, too. 

Sakamoto narrowed his eyes. “Unless you’re a snitch.” 

Goro spoke in his most syrupy sweet voice. “Are you implying then, that your job is in my hands? An entertaining thought, Sakamoto.” If it were only that simple to really get him fired. Unfortunately, their manager seemed to love his enthusiasm. Every moment he spent enthusiastically mopping floors and singing into the handle was a moment Goro could’ve been writing soliloquies of his growing and newfound hatred for Carly Rae Jepsen. 

Sakamoto folded his arms in a huff. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about, man! Look at that fake-ass smile.” He shook his head. “And I get customer service blows and stuff, but you use it for everything. Lighten up dude! Take a break.”

Sakamoto said things with such confidence, such surety. It made his teeth grind. 

“I’d prefer to keep my job,” Goro said, and gave him the sweet smile Sakamoto was arguing against. “Though, if you’d like to pay my rent for me, you’re more than welcome.” 

He acted like he hadn’t even heard him.“Maybe it’s ‘cause you’re so gloomy all the time, your face just doesn’t know how to work it. Look it, check me out.” Sakamoto pointed his thumb at himself and flashed a toothy smile. “Just like that! All natural, bro. It’s easy. Come on, you really try it this time.” 

Goro very clearly did not. He stared with his most obsolete and ‘stop-trying-to-have-a-conversation-with-me’ look he could muster. He’d communicate it telepathically, if given the chance. 

“That doesn’t look like trying to me,” Sakamoto said expectantly. 

Couldn’t they just sit in silence and wait for their fabrication of getting-along time when the next inevitable customer came in? “Perhaps, and please let me know if this is too complicated, I simply have no intention of trying, because I don’t believe there’s anything to fix.” 

“Nah, that’s not it,” replied Sakamoto, as if he was being thoughtful.

Another reason why he was completely obnoxious was because the longer they knew each other, the less that Goro’s flawless stone faced looks worked. Sakamoto kept spewing hot air. He’d gained some kind of tolerance, and it was tedious to work around. 

Sakamoto leaned back down, previous elbow warnings forgotten. “I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s super ticklish, so you act all boring so no one suspects it.”

“I’m not,” Goro snapped. 

“Quick reply there, buddy.” 

Goro didn’t answer to that. He didn’t owe it to him. This was pointless; why did Sakamoto find such pleasure in talking about pointless things? 

He slouched further down. “So it’s silent treatment now. You’re checking all the boxes over here.” He waved his finger through the air. “Check, n’ check, n’, check.” 

Goro was getting a headache. “I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Betcha you’re super ticklish. And like, one of those cry-laughers.” 

“Sakamoto, did you hear what I just said.” 

He stretched up from his position on the counter. “Like if I poke you in the side, I bet it would make ya jump.” 

“Do not.” He could just try it. Goro would bend his finger back so far it’d break. He wondered if that would be a viable option to get him to stop talking sometime. 

“Didn’t say I was gonna.” He rested his arms behind his neck. “You’re just proving my point more, though.” 

Sakamoto was annoyingly stubborn at times. Once he found a niche with Goro, he’d hack his way in and grab on like a tick. Bother him like it was his last chance he’d ever get, as if they didn’t work shifts together four times a week. He was bound to get lyme disease at this rate.  

Goro felt like a very frustrated pair of tweezers.“Can we talk about anything else, please?”

Sakamoto went quiet. He was just looking at him now. Goro tensed up. Was he really going to try and poke him? He meant it, he’d break his hand. 

“Ya know, there is something I wanna talk to you about,” he said.

Goro did not like the sound of that. “Oh really.” He tried to sound like he was just told he was about to be given a lecture on the intricacies and details of lentil soup. Which, perhaps could be more interesting than whatever topic Sakamoto was about to pull out of his ass. 

Sakamoto sniffed. “Yup. It’s about Akira.” 

Oh, he really didn’t like where this was going. “Sakamoto, I—” 

“When’re ya gonna like, confess.” 

Goro visibly winced. Dammit. He knew he’d bring this up one day. He was absolutely infuriated Sakamoto knew about that, and he hadn’t even told him. He’d been making guesses and Goro had been just tired enough during his shift to let a hint of a sigh out, and Sakamoto had taken that to new heights. Another example of conversations being had that Goro would’ve just about died to get out of. 

Sakamoto was still staring at him. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Goro knew they didn’t at this good for nothing job, but what was so hard about just acting like you’re busy. You’re pretending then, at least, and that’s something. 

“Well, dude?” asked Sakamoto. 

Any conversation is better than that one.

Mother of fuck. 

“I…” Goro started, adjusting a piece of his hair, “I suppose I am a little ticklish.”

Sakamoto’s face lit up. “Dude, for real? Called it,” he said triumphantly. Had Goro not known him as well as he did, he’d think the divergence in conversation was a trick to get him to admit he was a bit… touchy. But he did know him, and he wasn’t one for games like that.

“Most people are, it shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s skin sensitivity, nothing more.” 

Sakamoto shrugged. “Still funny you admitted to it.” 

Sure. Very hilarious. Yet another fact Sakamoto now knows about him that he’d really have rather not shared under any circumstance. 

“Satisfied, now?” Goro asked, but it wasn’t really a question. He didn’t plan on expanding, this was embarrassing enough as it was. 

“Nope,” he replied, “cause that’s great and all, but I really gotta know the game plan.” He leaned in close to Goro, and he in turn leaned farther away.

“There’s no ‘game plan,’ Sakamoto. Please don’t get so close to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.” He moved back, obviously not finished. “Come on, though, you gotta have something.” And back down on the counter he slouched. 

‘Something,’ he’d said. Yes, and that something was to keep his mouth shut and go about his life keeping each and every one of those mortifying feelings to himself. It was humiliating enough that Sakamoto knew. Telling Akira? He didn’t even want to imagine it. He’d rather face Okumura-san herself and ask her to buy one of their Shot-Straight-Through combo meals. 

“There’s nothing. And I don’t plan there to be anything. And, it’s not really much of your business, is it?” Goro could feel himself growing irritated. 

Sakamoto melted further into the counter. “I just don’t get why you’re not gonna ask him out if you like him. You might as well, man, it’ll be fine.” 

What simple ways of thinking. Do this, get that in return. Black and white, and right and wrong. Spill your fleeting moment of vulnerability and try not to think about the extensive hole of commitment you’re burying yourself in. One turn of phrase, one word, one misplaced breath to Akira would forever rupture the sorry excuse of acquaintanceship they’d been flip flopping through for the past three years. Akira was a blank slate and simultaneously the person he knew best. He knew him, but didn’t really, and he could never tell what he was thinking. Suddenly he was gambling again, and this time it came entirely unwelcome. Risks you face before death and risks that you’ll keep living through no matter the outcome tasted different. One was tangy and sweet and thrilling, the other was bitter  shit. Not to mention that Akira was too kind to him for his own good. He couldn’t even tell what was a lie. 

But, Sakamoto didn’t need to know all that. “You say that like there’s nothing to consider. As if I’ve never even given this thought. You do not belong in my head, Sakamoto. And I do not need to give you, an obvious outsider on the entire dilemma, any sort of justification for why I’m going to continue to abstain on something as trivial as a confession.” 

Sakamoto huffed at him. “What if I said that I gua-ran-tee he’s not gonna say no to you.”

Goro was already sick of this. What, had Sakamoto expected his heart to skip? His pulse to rise? That just the very thought of mutual feelings would send him into some flustered mess? Please. He told the tingling feeling going up through his legs and down his arms and up the back of his neck to shut the fuck up. 

He couldn’t stay quiet for long. Sakamoto could and would get ideas. “Then why doesn’t he just tell me that himself? Why are you playing wingman for him?” 

“Cause he’s not gonna say anything cause he’s got to be worried that he’s gonna freak you and your crazy attachment issues out!” 

Of course, there it was. The blind bet. Sakamoto’s one-way thinking at it again, and Goro would not have it. “I’m not going to start playing some game with him about the complexities of whatever idea of consent he has in his head. I don’t need his sympathy, and I am certainly not looking for it. I don’t have time for something messy and half-assed. I don’t want that, and surely he doesn’t, either. If he feels any way about me, he’d ought to tell me, because then maybe we’d find some kind of leeway. But I will not let him sit there and wait for me to make the first move, like a key element in his plan. This is not some teenage romance, and I am not a caricature of his love life. He can wait patiently all he’d like, but I’m perfectly content as I am now.” 

Sakamoto seemed a little stunned. 

“Man, he’s just…” He trailed off. They sat in silence. 

So ways still existed to get Sakamoto to stop rambling on. He was sure he’d regret saying this later, for a multitude of reasons. He didn’t hate Sakamoto, even saying dislike felt strong, but he always talked about things that Goro had no interest nor inclination to discuss. Maybe silence was for the best between them, for now. 

“He loves you, you know? He’s just afraid of admitting it. That’s all it is, dude,” said Sakamoto. 

Goro inhaled. So he wasn’t done, then. “Love… is an entirely different conversation.” 

“Okay, fine, you want me to say he ‘like-likes’ you like some fifth grader? Cause he does.” 

Goro didn’t reply. He’d made his point. 

“He isn’t playing one of your weirdo mind games,” Sakamoto continued. “I think you’re thinking too hard about this. He’s just a guy. He just wants to make sure you’re all comfortable and shit. Cause it’s not like we don’t all know the bullshit that was goin’ on for you.”

“I am not looking for his pity.” A fine thing to say while working at a Big Bang Burger in a bright yellow shirt and starred apron. It didn’t matter. He didn’t wear this with pride, per say, but he wouldn’t ask someone to feel sorry for him.

He didn’t exactly want to be seen, either. Especially not Akira, but of course he’d make habits of visiting. That was just like him, and it was just like his pity, too. 

Sakamoto looked frustrated. “He ain’t pitying you, man! He’s tryin’ to respect you! He knows you got things to go through on your own and he’s trying to give you space and everything.” 

Goro clicked his tongue. “If you know that’s his tactic, why are you trying to pressure me into this?” 

“Cause I don’t care, dude!” Sakamoto said, and then stopped himself, and promptly looked very guilty. “Well, okay. I do care. Like, I do. But sometimes…” He looked like he was trying to pick his words out carefully. He had an idea, just no way to form it.

He settled. “Sometimes, you just gotta get laid, man.” 

At this point, Goro found himself shocked that he wasn’t banging his own head against the counter. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re twenty one years old! Dude, I know you haven’t gotten any,” Sakamoto argued. “Your gay ass with emotional problems? Get outta here.” 

“This is not—”  

Sakamoto put his hands up nonshalontly. “And like, yeah, no judgey stuff, take your time if you gotta. But have you considered it? Tell me. I betcha you haven’t.”

Goro opened his mouth, expecting to reply with an incredibly well thought out ‘fuck off,’ but the automatic doors slid open, and suddenly Goro was all smiles and greetings, so what came out instead was, “Hello! Welcome to Big Bang Burger! Would you—ah.” 

Sakamoto snorted loudly, and Goro wanted to kick him so bad. 

And actually, what was stopping him? Sakamoto had earned this, and it’s not like this customer would care. 

Because, who else could’ve been just about summoned by the trouble than Kurusu Akira himself; strolling in so casually through the doors, like he hadn’t just become the most unpleasant topic of conversation Goro had ever had with Sakamoto. Speak of the devil was an understatement, or perhaps he was the devil himself. 

“What the eff, man!” 

“Hey you two,” said Akira, hands in his pockets and clearly bagless. He didn’t even register Goro’s kick, like that was just some normal occurrence. Somehow, that made him angrier. 

“Yo,” said Sakamoto, recovering annoyingly quickly. Goro wondered if he should’ve considered breaking his finger. 

Sakamoto reached out to Akira for a fist bump. “You don’t have the cat with ya?” 

Akira bumped him back. “Nope. Just me today.” 

“Sweet,”  Sakamoto replied, a smile growing wide. Goro hated the look. It was the hungriest and most dastardly shit-eating grin he’d ever seen him dare to make. So, knowing Sakamoto and his terrible poker face, he had thought up some idiotic ploy. 

“What’s up with you?” Akira asked, and thank god it wasn’t directed at Goro. Sakamoto’s obviousness did not go unnoticed. 

“Oh nothin’, nothin’,” said Sakamoto, entirely conspicuously, “I gotta go, though, grind never stops. Super secret stuff in the back.” 

Goro glared at him. So now he would pretend to be busy? 

“Burger secrets,” Akira said, and Ryuji gave him a finger gun in reply. He walked off without a word, but apparently felt the inclination to jerk his head back at Goro, as if he didn’t know what he was doing. 

He sighed. No amount of alone time would ever compel Goro to confess at a Big Bang Burger, of all places. At least Akira tended to be a little more bearable in conversation. He hoped he’d be an in and out customer. “Can I get you anything?” 

Akira looked at him for a moment. “You look flustered.” 

Goro felt himself twitch. He wasn’t flustered, like some preteen who can’t hear the word genital without bursting into laughter. If anything, Sakamoto had caught him off guard with his stupidity. He obviously was not one to be so affected by such a topic. He was an adult, and a professional. He would again not think about the fact he was wearing an orange visor right now. 

“I’m positive that isn’t a menu item,” he replied, keeping his pleasant smile plastered on, keeping any stray annoyance from showing. 

Akira examined him closer. “Do you have a fever or something? You look red.”

Goro drummed his fingers against the counter impatiently. What was he supposed to say? Sorry, Akira, Sakamoto just decided to kindly push the image of you railing me as a form of twisted therapy into the forefront of my consciousness. Would you like any drinks?

“I’m fine. I’m not the type to go to work sick,” he decided on instead. 

“Really?” He didn’t seem convinced. 

Goro folded his arms. “While living in a society where health is determined by the trust of the majority, I have no plans to spread my germs to an unsuspecting businessman, in that I expect the same from him.”

Akira considered that for a moment. “So you’re embarrassed, then.” 

Goro’s expression turned sour. He was not in the mood for a debate. “Everyone seems to be presuming things today, have I missed a memo?” 

Akira didn’t miss a beat. “Ryuji said something?” 

Goro dragged his fingernails into his palm. He was hardly being that obvious, he wasn’t a bumbling idiot who couldn’t keep a straight face. Akira was just acutely good at reading people, (namely, reading him) and it drove Goro up the wall. It was unfair, for one thing, since Akira continued to maintain blank expressions in the face of clowns and hookers, keeping his inner thoughts kept behind lock and key. And, as of more recently, he was the one person Goro really desperately wanted to hide every wandering emotion from possible. Just his luck, fall for the bastard who analyzes people as a side job for his savior-complex living. 

This was making him more frustrated. “Would you just order?” 

Akira looked at the menu, but Goro knew it was bullshit. He ordered the same thing every time— a shake and a burger, no tomatoes. He certainly already knew what he wanted, but was just causing trouble in the meantime. What an annoyance. Goro punched it in, and made no moves to go and cook. If Sakamoto was going to have his “business” in the back, then he could stay there and do his job. 

“Sit over there, we’ll bring it to you when it’s done,” he said, and Akira silently obliged. He gave a small smile before he turned, leaving Goro completely alone with his thoughts as he sat at his table and scrolled through his phone. 

He couldn’t believe the timing of Sakamoto’s distasteful comment to Akira’s unseasonable entrance. Things always seemed to fall into place with Goro, just not the right places. The right place, but a little down, and to the left, the left, he said. He wished Sakamoto would mind his own business, let him quietly pine until his untimely death; which kept getting put off, might he add. 

Sakamoto emerged from the back end of the restaurant. He was holding the bag of presumably Akira’s food, and his shake. He waved them enthusiastically. 

“Go on, dude,” he smirked. 

Goro was blunt. “No.” He’d pissed him off enough today. He wasn’t going to walk over there and serve the food. Sakamoto’s little idea of love, romance and marriage in a burger joint would have to wait. Ideally, it would get itself stuck in wet concrete, and drown way down under where no one could see it and where the light of day would never reach. 

Sakamoto seemed to catch his drift. “Jeez, fine. Huffy, huffy.” 

He walked over to Akira with a spring in his step, and they started chatting idly. Goro couldn’t hear. In all honesty, he was trying to tune them out. His headache was growing worse. Pounding in his head, every light too bright and repetitive music blurring together his thoughts. And of course there was the elephant in the room, who was whispering to him Sakamoto’s crude suggestions, and the irritating notion that maybe he was right, just a little bit.

He needed to get himself together. He was acting like some horny teenager. Get fucked, you raunchy elephant. 

Sakamoto left to let him eat, and made a show of going back to the other end of the restaurant, all while wiggling his eyebrows at Goro. In turn, Goro made a show of rolling his eyes and planting himself facing away from Akira. It made Sakamoto laugh, for whatever reason, and Goro just ignored him. 

He watched the door idly and tried to relax. He’d been clenching his teeth, and his jaw ached. He tried to focus to get his headache to fade into obscurity. He couldn’t find much to concentrate on, was his issue. Other than the obvious, which he would ignore without remorse. He wanted to go home. No lights too bright there, no sloppily cleaned windows, and especially no crush (the word left a bad taste in his mouth. Boy who has left him emotionally compromised after giving him no reason to deny he had worth in the world and keeps him up at night thinking about the way he really tried to will him back into existence when he could, god, have anything else in the world, and he wanted him. Was that a better option?) sitting out of view, chewing quietly and doing absolutely nothing to draw so much attention to himself.  At home he could drown it all out in a cold bath, and let himself think of nothing but his numbing toes and pruning fingers. 

“Hey, catch,” Akira said, suddenly there and startling Goro out of his bathlike daydream. He tossed something onto the counter. Goro did not catch it. 

It was a napkin, all folded up in a careful way. It didn’t hold the shape well, but the intention was pretty clear. “Um. A crane?” 

“Yup. Present for you.” he started, rubbing his neck, and he had the nerve to look bashful. “I got bored.”

Goro hadn’t noticed him making it. Which, alright, did make sense, he was purposefully keeping his neck away from that entire half of the restaurant. “Sorry we aren’t quite the height of entertainment here.” Goro lightly touched its head. He didn’t know Akira knew how to make these. “Well, thank you, I guess.”

Akira pushed his glasses further up his nose. “You’re welcome to name him.”

“I think that I won’t.”

“That can be pretty trendy, too,” he replied. “I’ve gotta go. Class. Tell Ryuji I say bye.” 

“Bye, dude!” Sakamoto shouted from the back. There was that tiresome enthusiasm again. 

It made Akira smile.“Nevermind, then. See you.” 

Goro just barely lifted his hand by the wrist to wave. “Bye.” 

Akira turned, gave him a small trill of his fingers, and left. Sakamoto did not return to his exit, and Goro savored the moment. It was just him and the crane, now. 

It was pretty shoddy. Unfolding, and barely standing up on its own. Cheap paper napkins were not the ideal material for origami, it seemed. He watched it slowly fall apart, wings losing shape and the head relaxing into its neck. Akira had hardly stayed long, so that meant he was probably pretty good at this sort of thing. He wouldn’t have guessed. 

…He thought about how it might look on proper paper. The creases sharp and crisp, the ends pointed and still. What would Akira’s hands look like while they worked? He could hear the sounds of the folding, and the wedging, clean paper being bent and rippled. Delicate fingers, working through, meticulously checking every last inch. Sometimes a pinch, just where it’s needed. And then finished, folded tight, wrapped together in itself. Very quick work, with the touch of a hand. 

“The heck is that?” Sakamoto said, getting an actual jump out of Goro. 

“What?” he gasped, and took a second to collect his thoughts. At work. Sakamoto came back. In a Big Bang Burger. Headache present. Good fucking god. “It’s just…” He pressed his fingers into the side of his temple “It’s a paper crane. Akira made it.” 

Sakamoto let that sink in.“You tellin me you were just sitting here staring at the thing Akira made you?” 

“I wasn’t,” Goro replied, trying desperately to catch his breath as casually as possible. 

“Uh, you literally were.” Sakamoto got uncomfortably close to him again. Goro physically moved away, because now was not the time. 

It didn’t deter Sakamoto whatsoever. He put his hands on his hips and gave an annoying grin. “Bro, you gotta tell him… You’ve obviously got it preeetty bad.” 

Goro was fed up with this. This conversation needed to end, or he thought he might explode. “I don’t ‘have it bad,’ Sakamoto, stop bringing this up.” 

Sakamoto smirked at him. “You so do though, is the thing.” 

“I don’t. Leave me alone.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and kept his mouth shut. He was acting so haughty, like he’d won the argument. Which, he hadn’t, for the record. 

That stupid crane. All it’d done was make things worse. And what was it even doing? Sitting here crumbling away into uselessly folded paper. A cheap napkin made of other recycled cheap napkins. Clean and crisp paper was a long sought after dream, a fantasy and nothing more. 

You know, this was just it, really. This is what he meant. Akira would try and fold him up and he’d inevitably fall back down. He didn’t know just what fantastic method he’d try, but it wouldn’t matter— he was made of what he was made of, and nothing would hold him up. Trying was pointless, risking for naught, it would be better for everyone if he stayed just how he was and didn’t overstay his use. 

He would not fit into Akira’s plans or his pities. He couldn’t. 

“…Bruh. What does that even mean.” 

Ah? “What?“ No. He had not said that out loud. Sakamoto did not just hear all that nonsense. 

Sakamoto was giving him a funny look. “You’re not a napkin, man.” 

God, shit. Shit shit shit. “I— I know that, this is just—“ The unpleasant feeling of blood rushing to his face was just as intolerable as it was unpreventable. 

“For real? Cause you sure sounded like you were calling yourself a napkin.” 

Absolutely unbelievable. How unruly was he that he’d just spouted all that like it was nothing? He couldn’t believe he had to explain himself now, but letting him get ideas was undeniably worse. “It’s supposed to be… symbolic, Sakamoto.” 

He could practically see the gears turning in his head. That wasn’t something difficult to understand, you dunce. Every second of this humiliating scene felt like a knife turning in his back. 

“Why does your brain work in such effed up ways. You gotta work on that,” Sakamoto said, not letting up his judgemental look.

He crossed his arms, trying to make his mortification appear like annoyance. “Don’t you start with me. As if you ever have something useful to say. At least I’m— I’m thinking, here.” 

That riled him up a bit. “I’m thinkin’! I almost flunked literature so maybe I’m not so good at this analysis stuff, but you know what? Hear me out.” Goro did not want to hear him out. He continued despite that. “I get it, you got your problems. But I really don’t think you callin’ yourself some shitty crane is fair, you know? Like, you’re a whole guy.”

He did not appreciate how genuine Sakamoto was acting. It was odd, and it felt awkward coming from him. He didn’t want to feel guilty for being rude to him earlier, either. Just another topic to bother him to sleep. 

Sakamoto went on. “Gahhh, it feels weird sayin’ this but like, you’re not a napkin, okay! And Akira doesn’t think so either. You’re more… complicated. Napkins don’t pay taxes or anything.” 

Ah, alright. So it was mostly bullshit. He could ease the guilt away in one fell swoop. 

Goro’s disinterest seemed to show itself well to Sakamoto. “Just, okay. Lemme get my thoughts here. You gotta like… be your own first step. I didn’t get my own shit sorted out until I actually tried to. And I’m not sayin it’s easy to do. But Imma tell you right now your first step is gonna be to stop thinking you’re a napkin or a bucket or a plate of green beans or whatever else you come up with. And I mean it, man.”

Goro knew he had things to say to that. He had thought out replies and phrases that Sakamoto would need more headspace to begin to understand. But none of them came to him. So he decided to stay threateningly quiet. 

It was well received. “Okay okay, you’re gettin’ mad, I can tell. I’m gonna take my break,” Sakamoto relented, and turned on his heel. “I ain’t really trying to tell ya what to do but give it a thinking about, alright? ‘Least for Akira’s sake,” he said over his shoulder, and left Goro almost more alone than before. 

It wasn’t even Akira’s sake Goro was worried about. Not in the way Sakamoto seemed to think. And he didn’t need to be told he wasn’t some inanimate object, he wasn’t that out of mind. 

Any sort of sensible argument would have to come to him after the fact, apparently. To tell him this wouldn’t be a “first step,” more like a hundredth. How many paces did crawling out of the hole he’d buried himself in count for? How many miles had he gone by now, barefoot and bleeding all the way. 

Such a stupid conversation. Needless, too, since for whatever reason his filter decided to leave him to fend for himself. Just another addition to this embarrassing excuse of a shift today. 

The paper crane sat still on the counter, though it hardly resembled one anymore. He almost felt bad. He had his typical pit in his stomach, but nothing exactly to pinpoint it on. Was he wallowing in that much self-loathing? 

Perhaps. 

Goro adamantly refused to have any more dramatic revelations at his part time job, so any introspections would have to come later. 

He put the crumpled crane in his pocket. It was certainly not going to be a crane once he took it out again, but he didn’t really know what else to do with it. Throwing it away felt wrong, to him. Though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do with it when he got home. 

Akira hadn’t given this to him in hopes of causing some mental anguish. Or at least, he assumed so. Sakamoto had said he didn’t play mind games, but if not those, what was he doing? It felt better to know it was a game, in that way there was something about Akira’s mystery of a consciousness he could pry through. 

Was he reading into things? For sure. Reading too deeply into anything had been a talent of his for as long as he could remember. It had saved his life before, many times and in the most difficult of times. 

This crane wasn’t life threatening, but it felt like it was. Not in the thrilling way, but in the shitty way. 

His shift was over soon. Which reminded him, Sakamoto had surely already taken his break. He was a dip, but Goro preferred his own thoughts to any conversation they’d had today. And that was saying something, since getting out of his own head was a much needed relief that he’d take almost any chance he got. 

He was overthinking, and there was nothing he could do about it. He would continue to overthink until someone stole his brain and dunked it in acid. Where was the enjoyment otherwise? It was all he knew how to do. 

And even he didn’t overthink this— if Akira had given this to him in earnest and in playfulness, and if Sakamoto hadn’t been overtly pulling his leg through their shifts today. There wasn’t even anything remarkable about it. If there was a chance that maybe things were just okay, and getting better, and he wasn’t a living metaphor for a tissue. Oh just, say he invited him out for coffee, and Akira surprised him with a new little creation, less spur of the moment and made something almost sweet. He’d never drop his pride so low as to ask for a lesson, but if he did, maybe he could learn to make something, too. And maybe he wouldn’t hate every moment of it, and maybe he’d like getting so close, and maybe he’d appreciate the mistakes as much as the praises. 

…Hm.

That was just a fantasy, of course. And surely, nothing was all that great about it. Anything could go wrong in any number of ways, his own interventions just one category. 

Maybe it was the headache, or the dragging on shift, or the terrible lights, or the distant humming of his coworker, but Goro must’ve been caught off guard today. Because otherwise, why else would he have thought, not long and not convincingly, but still a thought as present as can be, that maybe, despite everything. 

It could be nice. Just for a little bit. Maybe that didn’t sound quite so bad. 

Not so bad at all. 

[vampirephlebotomy]

I'll be breaking down this more under a read more eventually, to keep the post itself short, cuz I have a feeling it'll get Decently Lengthy so apologies in advance if you want to read all of this. the tl;dr/basic is whatever isn't under there cuz I don't think everyone is here to listen to me break down a movie as an example of what I talk about here. I do really reccomend reading it in whole, though.

@usurperking-zant (sorry for the way i have to do this, there's a character limit and i don't want to deal with that. also no hate to you dude, you've just caught me in a mood where I want to fully break this down for once) but the point is to get people to stop using their whitewashed perceptions of important parts of culture and storytelling to make generally racist and at the very least incredibly rude/insensitive assumptions, depictions, and perpetuations of the same discrimination native communities have faced for years, because of the demonization and removal of culture at the hands of white men and women.

removing them completely from pop culture is an impossible (and positively insane request at this point, considering how far removed bigfoot is from his origins in multiple tribes at this point) but it isn't that hard to be respectful when depicting other figures like the w/word in media. i love modern retellings of any myth, (im a bit of a nut for folklore) since it keeps the stories alive, but it's almost always done in bad taste when it comes to native folklore (and, in a lot of cases, the folklore of many different POC cultures as well, which is a conversation for the folks of those cultures to be having, not me, thank yew).

to get even more into this, native figures and folklore are used, 7 times out of 10, as a cheap scare factor, in indie movies that are blatantly racist, with bad budgets and bad writing that gives me headaches to sit through and try to find something even remotely redeeming about them, which i never really can. sorry not sorry. the other 3 times out of 10, you're given movies like Antlers (a 2021 supernatural horror film dir. by Scott Cooper and produced by Guillermo del Toro) that allegedly try to do good by the folklore, but in the end fail horribly and fall into the same traps every other movie that depicts creatures like the W/word do.

I went and saw that movie in theatres, opening day, because I was positively thrilled considering the fact that the trailers had honest to god anishinaabemowin being spoken in them (the movie opens up with some anishinaabemowin as well) and I had heard that there was actual Ojibwe folks being talked to and in on the writing process for this movie, to make sure that it was accurate, but that didn't happen. the accuracy part, anyways.

putting aside the character that is a blatant racial sterotype that this movie includes and it's plot holes, there's a handful of things I can bring up that are horrifically false in comparison to the actual myth. going to get a little nasty here while I break down what the movie gets wrong so if you're unsettled by these things/horror or cannibalism, scroll down to the end of my little list.

1. it's visual depictions are completely wrong: the W/word has consistently been described by native folklorists to be humanoid, yet gaunt and sickly pale. they are malnourished and sickly, never able to eat enough to quell their appetites, constantly hungry and ravenous, even to the point of chewing off their own lips completely. the "hulking beast with antlers" is an improper version from a book written by a white man, who (I believe) admitted to never even researching the myth in the first place, or at the very least admitted he was wrong.

2. the location is wildly incorrect. the W/word is a myth specific to the Algonquin/Anishinaabe tribes, especially the Ojibwe, and Oregon is not where these tribes would have been/where these tribes currently live today.

3. the creation of them is completely off mark. the movie treats it like it's some form of lycanthropy, passed through the black sludge/substance the creature "bleeds" in the movie. in the myths, they are usually made from someone committing acts of cannibalism, although I have read a few versions where one is made into one through murdering a family member.

and this is all an issue in the long run as it continues to take these myths and:

1. bring them further and further from their original context and meanings, which effectively starts to further erase them from record as native folklore has relied on verbal storytelling for generations upon generations, and thrusting these improper versions into the spotlight continues to kill the original versions, which is effectively what colonization has strived for and continues to strive for. if you kill a culture, you can wipe its people off the map (or at the very least, fully assimilate them and make them "proper".)

and 2. it continues to demonize and twist these myths and effectively wipe out what makes them so important, to turn them into a white man's horror fetish to make money off of them and perpetuate racial sterotypes against native and indigenous tribes. the original reasons these improper depictions and versions and white retellings of these stories and folklore is to, essentially, fearmonger and keep the division going.

i point out in this post here that this also has real-world effects on native communities and it genuinely does. non-natives will treat us and our communities as commodities, and damage our ecosystems and leave us to clean up the mess. wildlife and their systems get disturbed, pollutants and trash are left behind, and land generally gets left in a worse state than it was before. so this isn't just an issue on a cultural/folkloric level either. those who live on reservations need that land to live off.

in the end, it's a big conversation that needs to be had and I am only one person. I can't speak for all natives and indigenous folks. but on that same note, I also haven't seen any indigenous people in my notes disagreeing with me or the way this is originally presented.

stop calling the mishibijiw (mishipeshu) a cryptid. stop calling thunderbirds cryptids. stop calling popular native spirits and creatures cryptids for the love of fucking god. ESPECIALLY the ones I know you're thinking about when you read this post. you know the one. don't do it.

[smolbeandrabbles]

Love The Way You Love Me - Vince Kovac (Tangle)

Author’s Note: Whilst this will be a part of the ‘Relentless’ series (I say series. It’s more like another multi-part retcon) it’s still  xOC. I love her name too much to not have a really short OC fic to get it out of my system.

Disclaimer: Anything to do with Tangle (so. Vince.) isn’t mine, the OC & writing is mine. This is the one occasion where a Lyric is mine!

Premise: In an attempt to solve his girlfriends architectural problems, Vince Kovac recons there’s only one thing he can do...

Words: 2857

Warnings: Swearing NOT Reader Insert

_____

So come with me and walk for awhile Can I spring you outta here and talk for awhile Gotta know what's the deal with you Mister now I'm really feeling you

If you got a little extra time Then won't you let me have it?

I like how your T-shirt cuts you right And how you melt me deep inside Oh, you're running in a different lane Don't make me chase you, boy, you know I'm game By the way you're rockin' it in them Nike's Won't you let me play on your team tonight We can go one-on-one, you and me That's the way it should be ---

The kitchen work top was cluttered with papers, books and technology. An array of architectural folders and drawings – from simple framework plans to extensive detail – scattered themselves in front of her as she squinted at her Laptop screen again. From easy exercises to the plain absurd, the design project she was currently working on was taking far longer for her to work out in her brain, to commit to paper, than she would like. Which is why she’d turned back to books. Luckily, from the complicated wording, the woman sitting scribbling away knew what they were talking about. Lyric Brennan reached for another book and studied her drawing carefully again skipping a few pages onto the next chapter, lazily she held the book open in one hand and twisted her hair around her pencil in the other – muttering as she did so… “Why would you ask for something so complicated when you already told me to make it simple on our phone call… That’s not simple… Do you have any idea how long this will take for someone to project plan… let alone build…? And they can’t figure that out until I can figure out how to draw it and fit it in here…” Lyric scanned the book, as if it would give her answers she knew it wouldn’t, and began scribbling away again.

 Vince Kovac’s footsteps bounced down the stairs as he hummed some tune Lyric had recently heard on the radio – something catchy, it wasn’t his usual music taste, so far as she remembered…. “Morning!!” – The cheerful greeting was only returned with a mumbled, “Yeah…” “Lyric.” She didn’t look up from her book, staring hard at her drawing and then the computer again, eyebrows furrowing. Vince placed his hands on his hips “Oy! Ms.Brennan!” Lyric lifted her head slowly “What.” “Are you not talking this morning, or what?” She indicated to her computer “Like this isn’t giving me enough of a headache.” He scoffed at her jab “What is it?” “Corporate building…” “Oh, they want a little Lyric-al flair do they?” His pun didn’t even raise a smile, so something was up. “Uh huh. But what they are asking for is about as complicated as it gets, and hasn’t been well thought out at all…” “Long project?” “Will be if I need to oversee it.” “It’s… here right?” “Canada.” “CANADA!?!” “Mm hmmm…” Vince looked to all the books and drawings in front of her; including some building manuals he’d given her as a joke. She clearly wasn’t joking though – this was serious. “Oh.” “Yeah.” Lyric sighed “Sometimes I hate having an in industry name.” “Yeah, when they put those plaques up in the building and people walk in and can automatically tell it’s a Lyric Brennan building it’s just the f**king worst.” She gave a small smile “As long as it’s paying the bills… I suppose.” “Heh…” Vince nodded, then skipped around the table, and wrapped his arms around her; “Well, I can tell you’re busy, and I’ll leave you alone then…” “Oh, thanks.” Lyric closed the book in her hands and tossed it to one side. “Well, you’re not going to talk, when you’re doing... Heck – what even is that!?” “At this point. I can’t even tell you…” She leafed through her sheets to another drawing “This is what it should look like. But this is structural… And drawing it on paper structurally is not gonna…” She studied Vince’s face, and thought he had it on point, a builder’s worst nightmare. Essentially a corkscrew of glass and metal that would run in colours from one corner of the building diagonally to the other, and then up into the sky. Exactly the kind of artistic piece someone would want to hire Lyric for, though. “Don’t, whatever you do give them my business card.” “Shit! Should I ask for it back!?” Vince pushed her shoulder gently and brushed his lips to her cheek “When do you think you’ll be done?” “…Oh… I wouldn’t like to put a time to it…” Lyric bit her lips together as his hands ran down her shoulders to her sides and down her body to her thighs. “Vin.” “Aw, c’mon…” “It’ll take even longer if you pull me out of the zone…” “And how long have you been sitting here!?” “Since 5-?” “FIVE!? You left me alone in bed for 3 hours!?” He grabbed her waist, causing her to laugh as he peppered her with kisses “Oh, now I really need to drag you away from this! I deserve your love!!” “Oh really…” She pushed him back with her elbows “Get off! I have a compass and I’m not afraid to use it.” “How often are you going to threaten to stab me with drawing apparatus?” “Get on with your work and we’ll see what you deserve, Kovac.” He bit his lip at that. She always had a certain flair to the way she said his last name. She always had. And he’d always liked it that little bit more when she did. He straightened up, “I don’t have any sites to be on today, all legal paper work…” She gave a shrug and turned back to her computer “As long as you’re doing it.” Vince gave a tsk and rolled his eyes, for a girl who liked trying to break the laws of gravity, she sure loved nearly every other rule in the book.  “And by the way, the password on your computer – waaaaaaay too easy. And your pin-number. Even easier.” “WHAT!? LYRIC! W-” There was a teasing grin on her face, even though she wasn’t turned to him to use it, with the way she tossed her white blonde hair over her shoulder. He’d always liked that too, the white bleeding into blue; “I’ve only used it once, come on, I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Lyric’s incredibly neat writing flowed across the page as she made further notes. He stared hard at her “…I’m changing them.” “Good. I like a challenge.” Vince narrowed his eyes; “Just f**king make sure the builder can understand those notes okay.” “Alright Kovac, far be it from me to insult the intelligence of any of your builder buddies.” “HA!” She heard him muttering as his footsteps wandered away, but ten minutes later he came back with a load of washing; Lyric gave him a look with a raised eyebrow, Vince, washing!?  She shook her head and continued with her work. “Lyl. Did you wear my shirt to workout in; again!?!” Vince dragged one of his blue T-Shirts from the washing-machine. “Yup.” He sighed “Why??” She gave a smirk; “I like wearing your clothes and nothing much else.” He had to pause his train of thought before he said something he’d regret. For a woman who didn’t want to do anything until she’d finished working, Lyric certainly was going the wrong way about it. Truth was she just liked wearing his shirts to run in; they were way too big for her, but so comfortable. And every so often she’d wear one he’d worn for work earlier in the week – and if he couldn’t run with her that particular that day it was nice to breathe him in instead. Vince got up and came over to the table again, looking at all the stuff that wasn’t architecturally related. A single coffee mug. But nothing else. “Babe, didn’t you even have breakfast!?” “Oh… No…” He could understand why, once Lyric got obsessed over something she couldn’t finish, that became the only thing she could think on until she’d figured it out. He’d watched her in the back room getting frustrated and throwing both screwed up paper and pencils at the wall from time to time. “Do you want me to make you something…!?” She looked up to him slowly; “As long as there’s no banana involved?” “Yeah. Preferably.” “You’re missing out, you know. You should eat one before running. You know they give them out after marathons right?!” “Why do you think I don’t run marathons.” “Sure, it’s all to do with the banana’s…” She leant on her hand for a minute and those blue eyes of hers softened. It was moments like that that he would see those pretty almost violet lines that criss-crossed through them.  “…Go on, surprise me.” “You sound like you need comfort food. Pancakes?” “Pancakes…?” She gave an almost childish smile “…Before running?” “Okay. I’ll make ‘em so you can still run on ‘em…” “Why thank you.” “Well, always got your best interests at heart, don’t I?” “I noticed…” She  scratched the back of her head with her pencil as she looked back to her drawing “…Thank you…” Vince bent down and kissed her on the cheek gently, his unshaved face scratching against her skin and making her scrunch her face with a slight giggle; “Before I do that though - I’m gonna get ready…!” Lyric eyes widened suddenly as she froze, a smile spreading  across her face, she turned quickly in her chair as Vince ascended the stairs, this was important too. “VIN..!!” He stopped and leaned over, “Yes---?” “I love you!!” She always loved that smile; “I love you too!”

 **

 Half an hour later Vince appeared again, in what looked like training gear. Lyric frowned but continued drawing, she had her suspicions but she’d have to wait to see if he proved them right. He was an efficient cook she would give him that. And no sooner was she finished with jotting down notes for the next piece of interior design was she receiving another kiss on the cheek as he placed the pancakes in front of her; “High energy, low sugar. You’ll need it, given how far YOU run.” She shook her head after him, daring him to say it again. He didn’t, just grinned. She ate slowly and placed her attention back on her work, rather than he partner. Even as Vince laced his trainers and attached a step-counter to the waistband of his tracks. Lyric was passed again as he collected his phone and zipped that into his pocket too; it was the one thing she always insisted he take. What did make Lyric prick up her ears, though, was the sound of the front door key – “Vince! What are you doing…?” “Going running!!” She opened her mouth in shock, for all his talk about her running he was going to go early-!? “Without me!?” “You’re working…” “I don’t have to be…” His footsteps echoed down the hallway and Vince appeared again, taking one of her hands, “Well come on then…!” For a second it looked like she might drop everything and stand up, but she hesitated and he knew he’d lost her as soon as he’d got her; “NO! Oh God – all this stuff is due next week and I’m really no better off! I’ve got two days before I-!” Vince waved his hands to calm her down; “Well, you need a break!!!” “N-No!! I need to do this – I’m focused!” He tipped his head and pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, clearly less than impressed; “Can you at least give me a straight answer?” She dropped his hand with a shake of her head; it’s because she didn’t really want to say no to spending time with him. But Lyric knew how much work she had to get done. And how long she’d be out running. The times just didn’t collate properly. Vince tsk’d and ran upstairs again.   Lyric sighed and looked to the scattered papers in front of her – how badly did she want to be with him? Sure, she wanted to finish this, right now, but right now she was more worried that Vince would leave and not come back. Like it or not, she needed him to bounce ideas off, or for advice. A book couldn’t given her answers it didn’t have written. And certainly couldn’t make her laugh with a snarky attitude. She slammed her laptop and book shut – sticking a paper in as a book mark, she lined her pencils up to the side of the drawing she was finishing, and straightened everything else on the table out neatly. Jumping up from the table and taking the stairs two at a time, Lyric rounded the corner into their bedroom and rooted quickly through her dresser, she found a running shirt and a pair of leggings – throwing them onto the bed. Vince appeared and leaned on the door with a grin; “Ah. I see you’ve changed your mind…!” She opened another draw and ran the hair tie around her wrist; “Yeah... urm… Just let me change… Uhhh… Yeah. Right.” He rolled his eyes in mocking; “Oh, come on. I’m not waiting for you now! You’ve got two minutes I’m counting!!!” Vince started his stop watch, (half as a joke) as Lyric gave him a look, then sprinted to the bathroom to change. Vince raised an eyebrow; “What I can’t watch you change now!?” “F**k you!” “You may when we get back if you like?” At least he heard her laughing as she slipped off her shorts and shirt and replaced them with her running gear. Tying her hair back into a high pony tail; maybe that wasn’t always the best idea, she knew he’d make the same joke about pulling her hair. Aw, let him make it. See how he likes it!

“Right I’m going!!!” Vince laughed knocking on the door as he passed to go downstairs. “HUH!?” Lyric thought hard for a second – no way that was two minutes…! She laced her trainers and flung open the door – scrambling down the stairs as Vince closed the front door, “NO!! VIN!! WAIT UP-!!!” She sighed, frustrated, kicking the door, “Aw. C’MON….” Lyric turned, picking up her own phone and fishing her keys from her work bag, just in case she didn’t catch up. Checking she had everything she needed, Lyric opened the door – closing it firmly behind her, she ran after Vince at almost full tilt, who was jogging gently, he was waiting for her…

 She sprinted passed him and turned around; now jogging backwards. He flashed her a smirk; “Was wondering when you’d turn up!!” “Shut up. I was calculating your mistakes. I recon you jumped the gun by at least 12 seconds!!” “Did I?” “No, you know you did!” “Well. C’mon then! We’re doing a round of the block!” She scoffed “You’ll be lucky if you get away with the block. At this rate you’re not even getting away with the running path.” “Oh, don’t make me run all the way to the track and back.” “Ohhh-! Good idea, hope that 12 seconds was worth it.” He let out a groan; “You’ll be the death of me woman.” She laughed; “What a way to go!” Lyric levelled off and jogged next to him, getting as close to him as possible; “Okay, what’s going on...?” “I’m cold…” “Cold, eh?” Vince glanced around, it was autumn sure, but it was hardly cold yet. Plus at the rate she usually ran she’d be hot in no time at all. “What’s wrong with you!?” “What’s so wrong with wanting to be with you…?” That was unnecessarily smooth, Vince frowned for a second “Hm. Nothing, But I feel like if you want to be with me and burn calories we wouldn’t necessarily have to go outside…” She only looked mildly disgusted with him; “I hope you want to end up in the middle of the road with comments like that.” “How are you not used to me by now?” “I am, sometimes I still can’t believe what I’m hearing.” “And yet-!” He turned those smart blue eyes on her and she shook her head; “For some reason I still love you.”

 This continued for about half an hour – until they came to the park in the middle of town, by this time Vince was beginning to slow, no such luck that his other half would be doing the same. Lyric was now slaloming through the piles of fallen leaves and jumping every couple of times she did this – turning and changing pace whenever she could. He couldn’t help but smile at her self-training. But she slowed down and turned, now walking backwards. Vince was grateful that now he could slow right down as well, and pretty soon found himself almost on top of her; given she was walking so slow.

Of course, this was Lyrics’s plan, and she placed her arms around him, almost at a standstill she was now being dragged backwards by Vince’s paces forwards. After realising this would only end up with him tripping, or her on the floor, she decided it best to walk again; but this time it was awkward. Luckily Vince wound his arms around her waist before she fell and slowed down his walk even more, they both eventually stopped – and closed the gap between them. Lyric’s hands moving through his hair slowly and his hands caressing the small of her back as she did so.  Ah! Now that’s much better!

The autumn leaves fell gently around them as they kissed…

---

@dennismitchell @wltz-bby @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad. @3134045126 @kylo-ren-has-an-8pack Figured I might have got a Vince Kovac crew...?

[fmdsohee]

older, wiser, prettier

date: various, december 4th 1998,  2001, 2006, 2011, 2018 word count: 2170 triggers: emotionally abusive parenting, neglectful parenting, general shitty parenting, underage drinking,  forced drinking, abandonment, general terrible family  notes: me?? being literally like twenty fucking days late on her birthday solo ( it was meant for dec 4th but whatever i dont give a shit ) ?? yes, of course because indeed, i, am terrible, in fact, this is terrible and none of y’all should read it, i’m only posting it bc i won’t let myself not do it.

1998, age one. she spends her first birthday crying.

she was never a quiet baby. when she was first set into her mother’s arms by the nurses, she was crying; she cried through the nights from when she got home into the empty estate. her room is white, adorned with lace and silk, toys and it looks like a showroom – the perfect “socialite’s first baby room” for her mother to giggle about to her friends, show off as she barely takes a glance over the infant dozing in the bed. adjacent to her parents’ room, close enough to be heard, far enough for her not be seen, like most of the problems in the son family.

“come on,” it’s two in the morning, her mother, usually polished and a gushing smile on her face, was tired, “i don’t know what’s wrong with you.”

“she’s hungry, i don’t know, why don’t you feed her?” her father was skulking in the corner, head in his hands as she slumped over in the pristine rocking chair in the corner of the room.

“i already tried, she’s not hungry – she always does this, i don’t know what to do.”

“then work it out,” he lights a cigarette in the corner of the room, drawing in and out without a thought, “i don’t know what you want me to do – move her into one of the other rooms, i would like to sleep – do you think creativity stems from this? do you think i can write another best seller if i never get any sleep? what do you expect from me – you can’t keep walking around pretending you’re even something without money rolling in; even your body’s gone after her.”

her mother didn’t even react to his words – it was normal. “as if you’re the peak of creativity – you’ve been writing the same thing for years.”

“as if you know anything, you’ve made a living of being on your back.”

“i’ve made a living out of working hard, unlike you, how about you actually release something if you’re such a bestseller and stop pretending you’re some starving artist locked away in your study.”

“i’ll stop locking myself in the study when the baby’s gone and you’ve decided to stand there and look good again, quietly.”

“oh, but you’re fine to get yourself out of the room when the cleaner comes over, or the cook, or any of the other young women that seem to come and go a little richer than their contract.”

“shut up,” her father grumbled, “not exactly like you’ve held up well.”

“how about w-“

the two were cut off by the loud cry of their daughter.

“i’m leaving.” with a few slams of doors, her father left.

and her mother was alone, eyes shifting around the sickly room to her daughter.

“you better be worth it.”

and she left the room with her daughter crying out, far enough that she didn’t have to think about her for a second.

2001, age four. she spends her fourth birthday on stage.

she’s been dressed up like a doll: the dress is bright pink, puffy and encompasses all of her; her face felt tacky, sticky, and was covered in heavy makeup; and her eyes can barely stay open. she’s spent the hours of the morning walking around in circles, her feet ached, and she’d made a picture perfect routine.

before she could walk, she had been in beauty pageants, her mother was trying to shill her to industry connections to get her into ads and modelling jobs; sohee hated it. she screamed at her mother, she cried all the time, but it didn’t stop it, so eventually little sohee learned to deal with it.

her friends had teased her relentlessly the days before, playing in the park with wide smiles ( sohee hadn’t even noticed her father had sulked off instead of watching her ) before they started poking fun at her for not having a birthday party; they didn’t mean it, they were young, barely enough to know anything but they’d all been able to have parties, so why not her? sohee had ran home, tugging at her mother’s dress, and she just shook her head. she woke up on her birthday early to practice, nothing else was new.

she smiled, she twirled, she sang, and she got some stupid crown at a no name beauty pageant.

she went home a winner, and her mother yelled at her for her foot placement.

2006, age nine. she spends her ninth birthday lost in the woods.

her father’s writing process was something he called an art, it was something that her mother called stupid and a waste of time, sohee never even noticed any sort of backwards routine before her ninth birthday. one of his writing rituals included packing his bags, getting on a plane and flying out to a woodland cabin across the pond to “cleanse his thoughts” and that time, much to his dismay, chipper, young sohee was along for the ride.

she’s gleeful the entire way there, and it gives her father a headache, but she doesn’t notice. the car’s silent apart from her remarks as it always was. he didn’t have much to say to her, but with what ran through his mind it was better that way. she doesn’t know how to communicate with the people there, she knows how to ask basic questions and greetings, but when her father has short conversations with those they meet at pit stops, sohee stands there by his side wide eyed and confused.

the house isn’t the rustic, cold and damp place that bleeds information as he pretends it is – it’s a vacation home, without a doubt. and when they walk in, it looks like the type of extravagant place that families in movies sohee’s seen come to get together for christmas celebrations before slapstick chaos. but when her dad went into his office and slammed the door, she felt so cold.

she spends three days sitting around the house, flicking through magazines and watching dvds that she’d packed with her. and then her birthday rolls around, and it’s more of the same – her father’s locked away in his office smoking up a house fire and barely touching pen to paper and she’s pacing around the house pouting and crying that she hasn’t heard happy birthday once.

the hands on the clock hit five and little sohee decides that she’s had enough with all of this. shoelaces hastily tied, a backpack stuffed with her favourite stuffed animals for company and snacks for the trip – she decides that she’s going to have an adventure by herself if no one else wants to have fun with her.

it’s a few hours before she realises that she has no idea where she is, and the cold air starts to brush harshly over her skin. she’d not thought to bring any sort of torch, or even a warm jacket, with her mind clouded for a want to simply do something cool – and now she’d been trekking through the woods into the breaking hour of the night. and she was scared.

she’s out there for around three more hours, sitting herself atop of a log crying before by luck a group of hikers come by her, patient with her lack of understanding, and comfort her before leading her back to her father’s house without a hitch. she’s so thankful, she tries her best to talk to them, she exclaims that it’s her birthday in the best way that they can understand, and she makes it back inside. she tries to get them to stay, but they just smile at her, and wish her a good night – they try to speak with her father, but he doesn’t even answer the door.

cold and exhausted, sohee decides to end her birthday as quick as she can when she gets inside.

her father checks on her to say one thing,

“why did you track mud through the house? can’t you do something right?”

2011, age fourteen. on her fourteenth birthday, she decides that she’s grown up.

her parents decide to make some ill fated attempt to go to dinner on her birthday, but she doesn’t care, the most acknowledgement she gets of the day is that her mother makes some offhanded comment about how many years she’s been suffering because of her. in all truth, sohee’s happeir that they’re out of the house – she skips going to her training that night, she calls it a gift to herself.

so she does what she thinks the grown ups do, she reaches up to her father’s liquor cabinet and she pours herself a comically full glass of whiskey – it’s her first drink, she just wants to feel cool, grown up, independent. she takes one sip and she decides she’s done, and then she sets the glass down coughing up the fire in her throat.

“what are you doing?” her mother’s voice cut through the air, and sohee’s heart skipped a beat.

“nothing,” sohee dismissed, curtly, her chest pounding with anxiety, “i thought you’d be gone for the night, i believe you said that you couldn’t stand the reminder of me being born, or whatever.”

“doesn’t seem like nothing,” her mother hummed, glass now in hand and examining it like something priceless, her gaze practically cutting through it back through to her daughter, “your father was getting along with the waitress, i left them to it.”

that didn’t even dignify a response from sohee, who instead huffed, shrugged, and returned to a point of apathy.

“drink it.” her mother sits the glass in front of sohee. she’s confused.

“what?”

“i just said drink it, you poured it, and you’ll finish it.”

“i don’t want to – it tastes shitty, and you can’t tell me what to do.”

“i can,” her mother is completely unbothered by sohee’s argument, “want your tuition paid? want to continue to live somewhere? you’ll finish it.”

“i can’t,” she knows she can’t, she already feels sick to the stomach.

“i didn’t raise a quitter,” her mother’s tone is harsh, firm.

and so sohee drinks it, raises the liquor that burns like fire to her lips and takes a drink. but it’s not enough.

“the entire thing.” her mother states again.  

so she does, it’s every drink makes her feel sick to her stomach – it’s an overwhelming type of sickness that she’s never felt before, her stomach a ship at storm, and then she runs off to the bathroom. she barely catches her mother’s content smile, before a sigh.

she spends the rest of the night curled over the toilet.

2018, age twenty one. it’s her first birthday as an idol.

she doesn’t really celebrate birthdays anymore, ever since she spent the fifteenth birthday holed up in her school library – which she considered the best day that she’d had up until that birthday – acknowledging it just felt better to her than acknowledging she was an entire year older.

but she turns around in the morning, eyes barely open and her hands reach out for her phone.

━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : my sohee!!!! ━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : happy birthday~ ━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : i hope your wishes will come true and u will have the greatest birthday ever!!!!!!!!!!! ━━ [ 💌 pretty flower sooyeon 🌺 ] : lmk if gold star ever gets too much 4 u and u need 2 hide in the wish dorms i'll call u my emotional support human

she smiles, she doesn’t quite know how to respond to the message – and she notices that there’s more notifications behind it – she rarely ever told people the day she was born in high school to avoid any hype around it for bad memories sake but now, her chest feels gentle, and she’s smiling from ear to ear. she makes a note to respond to it later, when it’s processed for her.

so she walks out into her kitchen and she sees seunghee standing there, a huge, motherly grin on her face that she’s grown to adore seeing on her close friend. “what’s got you smiling like that?” she questions, pacing around the room.

“i have something for you,” the leader shifted to the side, a dainty, well decorated cake sitting behind her on the counter. “it’s for you, a you’re getting old signal,” she laughed, bringing over the cake to be in front of sohee, “i’m only kidding, happy birthday.”

the leader rushed to shove a candle into it, “i know we’re going to have to go soon, so i’m going to do this now,” she lit it up, “now make a wish.”

it’s the first birthday cake she’s ever had, and she doesn’t quite know how to approach it. so she doesn’t make a wish, but instead she just smiles and blows out the flame.

it’s her first happy birthday

.

[ladyofthecastleproject]

[Angel of Miracle] 309 - What Fills You With Determination?

“Say WHAT?!” - Jun screamed on the phone - “Are you sure?! I can’t do that, my mom would kill me if she discover Daisuke is out of her range! He had a hard time to convince her to go visit our grandparents in America alone last year and to go on a trip this year!”

“I know, but he told me to say that…” - Taichi wasn’t happy with her screaming at him - “Because he’s in another world. Look, I know he does not want to make your parents and you worried, so this is why I’m planning to go there with the others.”

“I will go too.”

“No, you stay here and tell Miyako-chan’s sisters to please give us some help. We won’t take too much time. Also there’s Iori’s and Ichijouji’s families… I will call them later. Please whatever you think, do NOT try to dive into the Digital Gate alone. I know you’re older than us, but you need to hear me. I’m your senpai when it’s about digimon business.”

“Oh, senpai?” - she was being sarcastic now - “Right, Yagami-senpai. I will do what you want, but tell Kido-senpai I want a date with his oldest brother!”

“A-are you serious?!”

“Definitely~♥”

She hung up; at the Yagami household, Taichi was staring at the phone.

“That girl will end up doing something stupid” - he sighed.

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“Did you tell them?” - Yamato asked Taichi, once all the group were reunited in Koushiro’s room again.

“Yes… Jou, Motomiya-senpai said she wants a date with your big brother.”

“W-what?!”

“That’s not the right time for that!” - Sora interrupted them, like an angry mother - “Our plan is go to the Digital World and try to find a gate to that other world, isn’t it?”

“You were telling me to trust in the kids” - Taichi frowned - “Why the sudden change? Are you… Worried?”

“It’s not like I don’t trust them. It’s that I want to keep the gate open for their return!”

“So are we going or not?!” - Mimi snorted - “We need to decide!”

“We need to give them support, and this is why I want to… To go” - Sora answered.

“Yes, she’s worrying like a true mom” - Taichi nodded his head, arms crossed, eyes closed, a smirk…

“T-Taichi!!” - she blushed.

“Maybe we should go” - said Mimi - “We can at least keep the Digital World safe until they come back.”

“Safe from what?” - Jou questioned her - “The Digital world is safer than before. Oikawa-san’s seal… It restored it, if I remember correctly.”

“Actually not” - Koushiro interrupted them - “Gennai-san said there’s still stuff to be done. The Black War Greymon issue caused a great damage to the Digital World. The Holy Stones won’t grow that fast. The time Ichijouji-kun was the Kaiser, he unbalanced the Digital World with innumerous Dark Towers. The Digital World is far away from being ‘safe’ from the evil.”

“So… Are we still needed?” - Jou said it with a quiet voice.

“Yes, we are.”

“... We’re going” - Taichi announced - “We already talked to everyone’s families, Koushiro and Jou--”

“-senpai, please.”

“-- And Jou will stay here keeping the gate opened. The rest will come with me, we’re opening this gate to this unknown world and save the kids.”

“Will you ever call me by ‘senpai’ at least ONCE?!”

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“I have to go back,” - Diomedes announced - “There’s too much to be done, so please contact me once you’re ready, Warlock.”

“I understand…” - the little brother couldn’t keep him for a long time - “the kingdom needs you… And you’re the one responsible for the relationships of our allies.”

“Wow, he doesn’t look like Izumi-senpai at all” - Miyako whispered to Hikari and Takeru - “Izumi-senpai has social anxiety by what I noticed. Him being at the computer club was a big surprise to me, I’ve only talked to him by e-mail before.”

“Can we gather all the cores we got and focus on the missing ones?” - Dai asked - “Like, no one needs to stay with us if we have the cores. I think Helios and prince Diomedes have royal affairs to deal with.”

“True…” - the mage wondered - “I didn’t read anything about needing all cores to be activated. Before we get separated, we should do that.”

Everyone agreed, then they concentrated on their power, let themselves be guided by their aether and again the cores appeared in front of them. The only one who didn’t do that was Daisuke, because for an unknown reason he couldn’t do that.

Still… Daisuke felt upset with himself about it. Why? Why didn’t my core appear? Do I have a crest? And all the doubts invaded his thoughts. Warlock them muttered some strange words to the Chosen Children, but understandable for the others (and Daisuke too, but his case was he couldn’t translate it to the kids). After saying them, the cores went directly to Lance’s star pendant.

“Is it done?” - Diomedes asked - “I need to return now, I apologize.”

“We’re done for now” - Warlock said - “all the cores are with Lance now.”

“Including ours?” - Iori wondered.

“Not at all” - Takeru said - “Look at your hands. They’re still here…!”

“I think the enchantment just picked the ones from this world” - the wizard mused - “This never happened before, I mean having more cores than needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Means you have more than needed, but it doesn’t matter… You’re unable to complete the requirements.”

A voice echoed in the room. Dai ran to the entrance of the castle, with the rest coming after him. There, they found…!!

“The Black Tailmon returned!” - Vee blinked.

“You will never finish it, Lance Duskstella. This world is fated to be engulfed by the darkness. No new life of yours will be able to save it. You and your outsider fellows will die here.”

“T-that’s a creepy thing to s-say…!” - Miyako was panicked.

“That’s strange…” - The mage bit his lips - “We never had a cat monster before.”

“What?!” - Dai and Vee were shocked - “So, she does not belong to the castle?!”

“No. And she must be…” - Warlock stared at the foe - “... Pandora.”

“EEEH?!”

“Hmph, I knew he would recognize me” - Black Tailmon smirked - “Not bad for Dragon Who’s great grandson.”

“She is the evil witch?!” - the 2-Top duo couldn’t believe that. Neither Lia.

“Rebecca… Aren’t you Rebecca?” - she was in denial.

“Tsk tsk, you should’ve realized that all was a lie. I was keeping an eye on you… Because I saw a shard of your brother in this world, wandering and waiting for something. I knew he was about to come back someday. Humans are like monsters, they reborn. But differently from the monsters, they become differently from the past life.”

“If you’re the evil witch, I gonna…” - Daisuke clenched his fists - “defeat you!!”

“What? You think you have the power to beat me?” - she laughed next - “You never learned enough spells to do that. You even have the requirements for Dragon Who’s sealing spell. What will you do? Use your outsider friends and their monsters to fight me? I’m invincible!”

“You have no idea how strong we are” - Hikari shouted - “Daisuke-kun and I were willing to save this world, and we all here want it.”

“I agree with Hikari-san” - Ken added - “We are strong together, we’re going to beat you!”

“I see… You must be the ones from the other world to have the same cores from those people. I will give you a warning: Lance Duskstella was a bad person, he is. And he will be your ruin.”

“QUIT LYING!” - Takeru shouted - “We heard Lance-san’s story, and Daisuke-kun did a lot of good things. Don’t try to convince us he’s not a good person, or that he never had redemption!”

“Hmph, such brats…!” - Pandora changed her form to a woman and she released a wave against them. A black mist. Poisonous clouds.

Suddenly… the Chosen Children and Pandora had disappeared.

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“Everyone!!” - Daisuke called them - “Are you okay??”

“... Why are we still here?” - Miyako appeared behind him, her eyes darker than before - “If is Lance-san’s fault, why are we doing it? Daisuke can’t do anything by himself??”

“M-Miyako, that’s not true! Well not entirely…!!”

“Daisuke-san always gives us headaches.” - Same goes to Iori’s - “Now we’re trapped here.”

“H-Hey… I’m not--”

“Why does make Daisuke-kun the leader anyway?” – and Takeru’s - “He has no skills to lead a team. All he does is to boss around, to yell at me, to cause troubles…”

“B-But I thought--”

“Daisuke never was a tough rival” - Ken’s eyes were dark, but he also smirked - “He was nothing but an insect. He only beat me because he had luck, if he had used his skills he should’ve been my slave.”

“K-Ken-- I…!!”

“If he hadn’t said my name to Lia-san,” - Hikari’s eyes were as well - “I could’ve been far away from this stupid world! It’s all his fault!”

“It is… my fault?”

“See? Even your ‘friends’ think that about you” - Pandora was right in front him - “They were lying to you ALL THE TIME. They didn’t stay because of you, but because you obliged them to!”

“... No.”

V-mon, Hawkmon, Armadimon, Patamon,Tailmon and Wormmon appeared and tried to attack the witch, but they had been repelled by her. They fell in front the goggle boy.

“It doesn’t matter what they say, Daisuke!” - Tailmon said - “They’re not saying the truth!” “Takeru wouldn’t never say that!” - Patamon added. “Neither Kenchan!” - Wormmon gave him a serious gaze

“Miyako-san admires your bravery and loyalty, Daisuke-san.” - Hawkmon confessed - “That’s all she told me once” “Iori likes you, besides him being a little strict. But he surely likes you and was missing your lead, dagya.”

“Daisuke!” - V-mon grabbed the boy’s hand - “Even if we get corrupted… Even if we say lies to you… You know the truth! You truly know we’re here because we wanted, because we want to help! And Because you’re our friend before our group’s leader!”

“They’re lying!”

“THIS IS NOT A LIE!” – the digimon shouted and they tried to hit her again.

“... They wanted to stay because of me, they wanted to help because of me…!!”

Daisuke’s eyes were shining in red crimson now. He summoned the glaive and dashed against Pandora. The digimon got repelled again, but they keep trying.

“They wanted… To save this world because of me!!”

He slashed her, but a forcefield was protecting the witch.

“THERE’S NO WAY TO CONVINCE ME THEY DO NOT LIKE ME!!”

“Give up, Daisuke” - Ken said. “You’re done for” - Miyako chirped. “It’s over” - Hikari laughed. “Accept it, idiot” - Iori mocked him. “You’re a sore loser” - Takeru smirked.

“GUYS… OPEN YOUR EYES!” - Daisuke shouted - “YOU’VE BEEN FORCED TO SAY THOSE!! SHE’S MESSING WITH YOUR HEADS!! FIGHT IT!!”

“Kenchan, open your eyes!” “Miyako-san, fight it please!” “Hikari… You’re stronger than that witch, you know that!” “Iori!! Please stop it, dagya!” “Takeruu, don’t let her win!!”

“She won’t win because we’re united!!” - Vee roared - “Right, guys?!” “YEAH!”

“I’m impressed… Those monsters are stronger than my master’s power.”

“Your master?” - V-mon frowned - “Sorcerymon said the same… D-Daisuke, she’s not the real enemy! She might be corrupted just like everyone else…!!”

“Corrupted or not, I won’t allow her play with my friends!! Or with the people of this world…!” - He kept slashing the barrier - “At least we need to purify her just like Iori did with Sorcerymon!! But without Iori… We can’t do that…!”

“Don’t say we can’t! Where’s your courage? You were determined to save this world, you can’t give up now…!!”

“I am… I am determined and I will fight until I win! Because that’s what my heart tells me to do!!”

A explosion of light threw Pandora away from them, and dissolved the mist. Little by little, the Chosen Children recovered their light. Confused, they just glanced at Daisuke and him consumed by a crimson aura. They also were “back” to Warlock’s garden.

“Is that…!!” - Lia gasped, once she saw them all. “The Core of Determination…” - Warlock commented - “... Has finally awakened.”

[inbtswethrrust]

MASTERPOST!

Hello I’m alive (barely!!!) I’ve decided to make this random masterpost (of yoonmin, for now) bc I feel really bad that I haven’t been able to be an active admin on here because Life(TM) and I’ve been too tired to go on tumblr :( So, here’s a bunch of stuff that I’ve read recently (never too tired to read fics amirite ha h a send help) and I hope you enjoy them! Drop a fanmail in the inbox and yell w/ me when you’re done!!! More random masterposts coming your way soon~

This is a long one my dudes, so all the juicy goodness under the read more :)

~YOONMIN~

Sleepovers in My Bed by baepce [T, 12k]

“You should just sleep here, hyung. It’s still raining hard.”

“Should I? My house is literally in front of yours though.”

The fingers in Jimin’s hair continue combing through the locks, soothing and gentle. Yoongi’s ministrations help him dip slowly into sleep. “Just listen to me, hyungie! I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”

How can Yoongi say no to that?

; or Yoongi and Jimin get to know their selves, each other, and fall in love through a series of sleepovers.

Admin’s Note: SO GOOD!!!!!!! Friends to lovers always gets me especially when it’s one of those that start off as childhood friends it got me right in the heart strings

all the currents lead back to you by anyadisee [M, 19k]

Jimin doesn’t really lie so much as he chooses not to mention a certain truth to a certain witch, but he has his reasons. And they’re perfectly valid reasons, thank you very much, as a certain fairy and a certain half-human, half-pixie have constantly reassured him. Reasonable reasons. A surprise won’t exactly work if the person meant to be surprised gets a heads-up about it, after all.

Still, that logic doesn’t stop the little twinge of guilt in Jimin’s chest when he sees Yoongi’s text saying, Have a safe trip, I’ll see you in two days <3 (he even used a heart, Jimin thinks dazedly) when in fact Jimin a) is already out of Busan and has been crashing on Taehyung and Jungkook’s couch since yesterday, and b) will be seeing Yoongi not in two days, but just one. He just tries to shake it off by imagining the surprised look on his boyfriend’s face when he comes knocking on his door bright and early tomorrow, armed and ready for their first date.

And, wow. Their first date.

;;

[or in which jimin and yoongi finally go on their first date]

Admin’s Note: This is part of the moonlight on your skin, ocean in my veins series w/ witch!yoongi and mermaid!jimin and lemme tell u this is the fluffiest and sweetest thing I’ve read in a long time

What's Up, Buttercup by springrain21 [Not Rated, 14k]

Jimin meets Yoongi, the grumpy buttercup fairy, and proceeds to worm his way into his heart.

Admin’s Note: I was so surprised when I first read this because buttercup fairy???? What type of Soft am I gonna witness and then I was attacked by Actual Softness you won’t regret reading this (and squealing)

Love me this Christmas (and forever) by Imperatritsa [Not Rated, 12k]

Jimin had an album full of his most precious memories. He started it two years ago, going through his parent’s physical albums and his friend’s digital ones, picking all the pictures that made him smile bright enough to hurt his cheeks, the ones that made him feel warm, made him want to never stop looking at them because they brought back the sweetest memories.

Also all the Holidays he spent with Yoongi.

-

[or "childhood friends!au/friends to lovers!au where with each Christmas & new year's yoongi and jimin's feelings grow for each other"]

Admin’s Note: More friends to lovers!!!! This kind of reminded me of the sequel to When You’re In Love by jflawless bc of the photo album so if you liked that softness you’re gonna love this Trust

a gift wrapped in yellow by abdicar [T, 15k]

It was perfect.

Yoongi had taken a single look at it and decided that it was the ideal gift for Jimin. Yet, somehow, he managed to underestimate exactly how much his friend would love it - or how much Yoongi would resent having bought the damned thing in the first place.

(Or: the one in which Yoongi is Jimin's Secret Santa and gives him a really good gift which ends up backfiring. Or maybe not.)

Admin’s Note: More friends to lovers bc ohohohohoh also mutual pining and a super oblivious yoongi pls help him

Peach Kiss by BabyLove (sugamins) [T, 92k]

Includes:

Pepsi Cola Queens Hang On, Baby!

Admin’s Note: 80s!au and I suddenly feel the need to wear bell bottoms again

what the headlines don't tell you by anyadisee [T, 14k]

People call them Shadow and Hurricane.

Jimin calls them a pair of giant headaches, one a lot more so than the other.

;;

it's already difficult having a college-student-by-day, crime-fighter-by-night kind of lifestyle. jimin doesn't really need to be stressing over reckless fellow superheroes and crushing on cute bookshop workers on top of everything going on with his life, but here he is anyway.

Admin’s Note: Superhero au!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So good s o g o o d!!!!!! Warning: some violence but not anything super graphic or anything like that :)

in this blue light by anyadisee [T, 20k]

For a second, the dragon looks as though it's going to bump its head against Jimin’s palm, giving him the chance to graze his fingers over its glinting scales.

But then the second is over, and the dragon snorts instead, warm smoke coming out of its nostrils and blowing Jimin’s hair back. Then it turns around and goes back into its cave, leaving Jimin standing there and feeling like an idiot.

Taehyung appears by his shoulder seconds later, whistling lowly. “Well, that didn’t work. No worries though, Jimin! I’m going to find another way to get my necklace back. Sorry for dragging you all the way out here.”

Jimin says, “It laughed at me.”

Taehyung blinks. “What?”

“Taehyung, that dragon bastard laughed at me.”

;;

[or in which taehyung asks jimin, who has a calming aura towards animals, to help him get his necklace back from a dragon. only, it gets personal.]

Admin’s Note: This was so cute the dragon yall the d r a g o n

stay up (talking to the stars) by realitygetsdestroyed [t, 4k]

“Do you believe in the stars?”

Eight year old Jimin’s eyes bug out before he rapidly turns his body to Yoongi. “Do they have magic powers?”

Yoongi laughs, his chubby fingers rubbing against each other in order to get his blood circulating. “Sort of.” He looks up at the sky. “If you wish on some of them, they will grant that wish for you."

in which childhood friends yoongi and jimin stargaze every Christmas.

Admin’s Note: This was angsty but cute and growing up makes me emo

Sleepy by Whatev3rs [Not Rated, 1k]

After that, it's quite. Jimin starts getting very sleepy, and he's so comfortable right there, in Yoongi's bed, with his arms around the older's neck. So he doesn't realise it when his thoughts drift to his hopeless, hopeless feelings. And the illusion that everything was so perfect at that moment that he could get away with anything.

And before he realises it, he tips his head up and places a small kiss on Yoongi's neck, making the older's breath hitch and his own heart stop beating.

Admin’s Note: Non au gets me in the liver

After-school Deception by AriaHann [T, 7k]

She was the most beautiful girl Park Jimin had ever seen.

And yet, she was a strange girl. She was as tall as him, acted slightly boyishly, and had a deep voice. Her hobby was breaking other boys' hearts. Despite this, Jimin was only intrigued even further.

Jimin learned her name: Min Yoon(ji).

Admin’s Note: MIN YOONJI

Best Kept Secret by small things (lost_things) [E, 2k]

Yoongi is a lot of things, including something that A.R.M.Y. doesn't suspect. Jimin is a good dongsaeng in the best way possible.

Admin’s Note: who would i be if i didnt put any smut

soju and i love you by daegu1310 (jeonseokf) [T, 1k]

jimin is a star, yoongi wants to watch him shine.

My Soulmate Who Reads Smut by pseudo_nim09 [T, 2k]

Prompt: On some days, whatever your soulmate thinks of is something you can hear in your mind and your soulmate is currently reading smut fics and you’re trying so hard not to mess up this class presentation which shoulders half your mark for the semester.

Or

Where Yoongi is going to strangle his soulmate for reading some Taekook smut fic at a really shitty timing.

Baby Fever by sobermilk [E, 9k]

Jimin wakes up one afternoon feeling like he's been set on fire. Yoongi's not there to help him, so he helps himself instead.

I Swear by bramblejelli [M, 10k]

You gain a tally mark every time your soulmate swears.

Jimin swears like a sailor and Yoongi's never sworn a day in his life.

Bring On The Sunshine by smoljean [G, 42k]

With the help of their five year old "matchmaker" Taehyung, Yoongi and Jimin stumble into each other's lives. Cue the awkward, messy pining and dating adventures with a noisy kid in their way.

I blush every time I see you by dmingi [T, 10k]

After the incident, Yoongi the wizard and Jimin the water nymph met again at Santa's Christmas party where they share their first ever kiss.

Or

Magic AU where if you get stuck under the mistletoe, you wont be able to get out until you get kissed.

I Call Him Daddy (He Calls Me Baby) [Not Rated, 8k]

Jimin likes money. Yoongi likes fucking. They work out a deal.

Practice Makes by signifying_nothing [E, 4k]

the facts in the case of the unfortunate min yoongi: the Gay that Can't Suck Dick.  

i'm just going with the flow by arsen [T, 3k]

"I took advice from my friend and pretended to trip in front of you to get your attention except I fell harder than I thought and now my arm is broken can you drive me to the doctor please"

-

park jimin doesn't know if he should punch kim taehyung or thank him. kim namjoon either will go to jail or will be killed by kim taehyung and kim seokjin. min yoongi is confused and he takes advantage of namjoon's card, jung hoseok and jeon jeongguk just hangs around.

Yuletide Baby by MiniBunny [Not Rated, 12k]

With the help of their friends, Jimin and Yoongi realize their feelings for each other. And it goes a little too well.

Santa tell me (don’t make me fall in love again if you won’t be here) bySlytherintimelord [T, 4k]

- jimin, a 22 year old man, still believes in santa claus, and on christmas morning he finds a man not much older than himself sitting on his couch -

“At least you’re not like ‘Santa doesn’t exist’”, Mystery man whined and made air quotes, “I’m supposed to be the next Santa, but red is not a good colour on me. Also, I’m not short. And reindeers are useless in this day and age, when I can just ride a motorcycle or some shit. I mean, my grandfather was Santa, and he learned from this other old dude, and apparently I’m supposed pass down the lineage, but honestly, it’s a boring job-PUT THE BOOK DOWN,” hot mystery man yelled in panic as Jimin held the book up again from where his arm had lowered.

Minutes to Midnight by WeirdButIloveIt [Not Rated, 9k]

Park Jimin was your average fanboy: Poor, sleep deprived, and in love with someone who didn't even know he existed. A surprise Christmas gift may change that though, and maybe he was a little bit in over his head.

Yoonmin YouTuber AU

What I Like About You (Everything) by DIMPLEDJIMINIE [T, 3k]

After a long day for Jimin, Yoongi just wants to remind him why he likes or— loves him so much.

Yours by mochiJimin [Not Rated, 4k]

Jimin has a habit of not returning anything he borrowed from Yoongi. The older guy never complain tho until one day he did. And it just happen to be at the time when Jimin was drunk.

All I Want For Christmas (Is You) by ayumin [G, 6k]

So, yeah, it is likely that at some point in their lives everyone has had a crush on Jimin, or still has one, but at least Yoongi has the privilege of being one of his closest friends.

(Except Yoongi doesn't want to be Jimin's friend. Yoongi wants to kiss his neck.

And, unfortunately, it seems like his friends are very aware of that.)

No Spell Can Cure Shyness (except maybe love) byMissterMaia [T, 29k]

Yoongi really doesn’t expect the witchboy who sent him an accidental text to be the prettiest boy he's ever seen in all his life. Or the nicest. Or the kindest. Or just the best in every possible way.

Painfully shy and (un)smooth as he is, Yoongi decides the best way to approach this Jimin person is in the form of a cat. A cat who can't talk.

Great plan, Yoongi.

Admin’s Note: YA L L F L OOF TO THE M A X

Red's Big Bad Wolf by TheOrgasmicSeke [E, 31k]

Yoongi takes the journey to see his Nana once a week but ending up with a wolf stalking after him was the last thing Yoongi expected. Add in that the wolf is maybe the most gorgeous creature he has ever seen, and seems intent on making Yoongi his, just completes the list of problems Yoongi never wanted to have.

Or, Yoongi is Red Riding Hood and Jimin a rather gorgeous wolf who has easily fallen so very in love with him.

Admin’s Note: who’s cryin itsa me also i love yoongi’s grandma that is all

- A

[otome-miss]

Family Ties (Part 2/5)

Title: Family Ties (Part 2/5) Author: @otome-miss Fandom: Mystic Messenger Characters: Saeran Choi, MC/Reader, Saeyoung Choi/Reader Ship: SaeranXMC (unrequited) SaeyoungXMc (secondary) Genre: Angst/Family Life Warnings/Rating: PG13 (This chapter doesn’t include any warnings though) Word Count: 1332 Summary: Saeyoung returns home to surprising news. Saeran encourages MC and struggles with his own jealousies. 

Part 1

Note: This is set after 707′s secret ending. Its also an ongoing series. I’ll add links as the parts come out. Aiming for one chapter a week.

AO3 Link

Saeyoung was dead tired. This trip hadn't been the most successful. Running a business like the toy store was hard in a way that hacking hadn't been. He was constantly making sure he wasn't blowing the cover that he'd given himself, you, and Saeran. If he was careful you could all live a normal happy life together…but if he slipped up, it could mean disaster for all of you. In a business where networking was key, this posed a challenge for the redhead. It constantly reminded him that he still couldn't be himself out in the world.

 However, his greatest consolation was you. With you he could be himself. He'd missed you so much this trip. You'd tried to come with him but, he'd asked you to look after Saeran. Even though the younger twin had been doing well recently…he couldn't stand the idea of his brother being alone.

 As he was packing his bags in the hotel room his phone suddenly lit up. "Is it my honey?" He mused aloud, grabbing the phone from its resting place on the nightstand. It wasn't you, it was Saeran. Instantly the red-head felt his shoulders tense. Saeran rarely texted him, despite his many attempts to goad him into doing so. He opened the message and it read:

"You better not give MC any trouble tonight. If you're in a crap mood and are tempted to push her away, I'll kick your ass for hurting her. She needs you right now."

Before he could even think he was dialing your number. It rang until it went to voicemail. What the hell was going on?  

 He threw his suitcase together as fast as he could and checked out of the room- keeping his responses at the checkout desk curt. He didn't have time to waste energy on anything but trying to solve whatever problem was happening back at home. But how could he solve it if he didn't have the answer? And why weren't you picking up your phone? He had rung you a dozen times now and Saeran another dozen. Saeran never picked up…but you always did. What on earth could you be doing? Saeyong considered stopping to hack into the home camera's but it would take some time considering all he had on him this trip were his phones and that would mean being home later. If you needed him then it was better to be there in person as quickly as possible.

  The tires of his car squealed as he parked it messily in its usual parking space in the bunker's garage. He definitely pushed the boundaries of safe driving to arrive back home. The red-head was out of the car in an instant. He swung open the door to the living room and marched inside- steeling himself for anything. A war zone. Instead, he was greeted by the smell of a home cooked meal. His favorite- and it was definitely your cooking and not Saeran's. He could hear you humming tunelessly in the kitchen. "MC! My soulmate 606! Where are you? The Defender of Justice needs his source of power!" His tone was light and joking. Whatever it was couldn't have been bad if you were able to cook like this right? He heard something drop in the kitchen as soon as his little speech was finished. He rushed in and found you frozen watching the doorway like you were waiting for him. The wooden spoon you'd been using to stir the pot had fallen to the floor. "S-Saeyoung…" You managed to stutter out. "Welcome home. I thought I'd have a little more time to have everything ready."

 He stood on the other side of the kitchen feeling like a hole had opened up between you two suddenly. You were so nervous to see him and not in a good way- he could tell that, at least. He crossed the room refusing to let that hole in his mind's eye come into existence. He reached out, took you in his arms and you let him. He felt you relax into his touch, much to his relief. "It's good to be home, MC." Saeyoung said, voice vibrating deep in his chest. "But…tell me what's wrong."

Silence.

Then a small whimper.

"Saeyoung…I'm afraid you'll try to pull away again when I tell you. That's why I wanted to make a nice dinner and try to…" Your words trailed off. He could feel his shoulders muscles knotting and tension building up his neck. He'd probably have an awful tension headache later but right now the only thing he cared about was hearing the truth. He couldn't even deny that he might pull away temporarily. It was his way of dealing with things and though he was getting better at letting you and Saeran in…his defense mechanism had not been completely forgotten. "MC I promise that even if whatever you says has me confused…even if I pull away…I will always come back."

He felt you brace yourself and then heard the words that would invert everything in his world.

"Saeyoung we're pregnant. I mean- I'm pregnant."

 ~

Saeran scrubbed furiously against his scalp trying to work through the conversation he had with you in the bedroom earlier.

 "Saeran, I'm pregnant." Your voice wavered like you were delivering news of a fatal illness. Saeran couldn't understand why. Hadn't you and Saeyoung wanted children at some point? Why weren't you happy?

 His voice came out soft in reply to your distress, "Is that a bad thing?"

 Your reply was even more confusing. "I don't know." You lifted your eyes finally meeting his. His stomach flipped at the warring emotions he saw in your gaze. "W-what if Saeyoung isn't happy? What if he…doesn't want a baby? It wasn't like we were even planning for one right now. He just started working on the store and everything is new and good right now. This will change everything…"

 He understood now. She was afraid of losing Saeyoung. That idiot. He'd pushed her away too many times and made her worry unnecessarily. He'd watched Saeyoung do it throughout his relationship with MC. With time, it had become less and less of an issue. Saeyoung had learned to stay open without curling back into himself. He knew, though, that if presented with something stressful enough his brother might regress. His first reaction could be to push her away. He didn't want to watch her struggle with that pain alone.

 "My brother can be an idiot MC." Saeran started carefully. "But…if you want the baby, he'll want the baby. If he steps out of line…we'll put him back." He'll put him back, for you.

 You'd pulled him into your arms at that point. He was worried you'd be able to feel his heart banging against his chest. He'd pulled away quickly but when he'd looked over, afraid he might've hurt your feelings, you were just smiling softly at him. He knew he hadn't been able to erase your worry completely but if you were smiling, it meant he had done something right.

 Later, when he'd heard Saeyoung come inside he'd gotten in the shower. He wanted to give you both privacy. He wanted to scrub away the jealousy that kept gnawing at him. He wanted to stop picturing how it would've felt to be in Saeyoung's place. 'Saeran…I'm pregnant. We're having a baby.' Your eyes sparkling up at him in his imagination as you uttered the words he never realized he'd be desperate to hear.

 Through the muffling sound of the water he heard something. At first, he thought it was nothing- just a trick of his own nerves. Whatever it was started getting louder until he realized it was raised voices. He slammed his hand down on the faucet handle to turn the water off and scrambled out of his shower. He was throwing his clothes on and running out the door of his bedroom barely dressed for the second time that day.

[mikanrulz]

Gundam ibo s02e19 exposition time: death flag abounds

That face above is my fav face in the entire ep. Behold the return of his smile, however fleeting it is.

I never thought I will ever say this, but here it is: FREE TEKKADAN 2K17

The latest two eps pretty much established that they had nothing to do with the conflict at hand despite being the protagonist

Like… how did that even happen? That a protagonist group’s storyline got sidelined somehow? Maybe ‘sidelined’ is not the right word. Just that, despite hogging the screentime, their storyline just seems abysmal and *small* in the grand scheme of things compared to that of the future big bad final boss (McGillis) and possibly anti-hero (the jury’s still out on this) Arianrhod.

This is totally the one game where the protags are too busy with the side quests they totally neglected the main story, only to be surprised when the game ends bcs despite being the winner they’re only loosely connected to the main story and don’t actually understand a thing.

Idk

I know I’d like to tell Mika and Tekkadan to just maybe go home, eat chocolate, and take a warm bath, since they don’t actually deserve all these headaches.

See what you make me say mcgillis???

No use for me commenting on this, since this ep makes it clear Orga totally regrets their arrangement w/ McGillis big time.

Mika’s uncaring attitude tho. I wonder if he really doesn’t care, or he just really has *yet* to care. I mean, he did have a weird, suspicious look in ep 5 as Orga and Mc shook hand. So it could be this time, he deems it unworthy of his attention since so far McGillis hasn’t *actively* betrayed them – even if Mc did miscalculate and may cost them their members.

The biggest shock of the ep is probably how McGillis gets called out.

I mean, I’m so used to the show treating McGillis’ soddy plan or whatever as the cleverest and cunning thing ever, so when the show actually acknowledges that McGillis’ plan is stupid, I’m kinda speechless.

And it worries me a great deal, bcs so far imo Arianrhod’s standing is still unclear. Are they the anti-hero? The antagonist? They’re certainly not the protag, despite Gae’s existence.

I’m afraid that the show decides to show McGillis as incompetent now of all time bcs they’re trying to shift the big bad final boss role to Rustal. The logic being ha ha ha look McGillis is too silly to be the final boss, so have Rustal instead, who is consistently being showed as ‘cunning’ and ‘ruthless’, even if he thinks the best of his subordinates and actually values their lives or whatever.

…I’m reaching. Probably.

Rustal is actually more likeable and has more human values than McGillis, and I do think it makes him a more formidable foe than McGillis. McGillis is just…. so distant, and like, two dimensional? It’s hard to relate to McGillis.

I’m. just. so confused???

This particular scene is weird. His face’s framing is weird. His words’ phrasing is weird. Like…. He does it for his own sake, out of his own idea. So why is he acting like he’s been sacrificed? Like he’s been forced to do it against his will, like he’s not the actual mastermind and the sole culprit?

Are we supposed to sympathize with him here? Despite the fact his ‘suffering’ is actually of his own making, by his own hand, and not done by other ppl?

I’m so confused bcs were it any other character in this particular scene with that particular framing and light, I know I’d probably give them the benefit of the doubt and maybe try to reconsider their position or whatever.

But it’s McGillis???????? Like??? WHY IS HE ACTING SO MARTYRED?????

I’M SO DISGUSTED AND ENRAGED YOU HAVE NO IDEA.

Was his past in the ep before supposed to give him leeway or something? Because I think not. No matter the motive, a murder is still a murder.

He totally thinks the world revolves around him, doesn’t he.

“Minor incidents.”

You say that to the father of the guy you killed, of course the father gonna maul you. The fact McGillis thinks getting Bael would absolve him of all sins is just. Unbelievable?????

When Rustal remarked how McGillis seemed childish, I never thought he actually really meant that. I thought he was just trying to say McGillis lacked experience or something. But then this ep proves that McGillis’ way of thinking is similar to that of a child.

You can’t say he’s ignorant, bcs he actually knows things and is willing to learn. It’s just the way he absorbs the info that’s probably rather skewed.

Like, instead of changing his world or fit his perspective to the facts at hand, he actually twists the facts so they fit his own perspective. It’s made even worse by the fact that he thinks he’s the only right one and that he’s above reproach.

This guy is dangerous not bcs he’s smart or cunning. He’s dangerous bcs he does what he does without knowing the real consequences, *how* it would affect the ppl involved and the lasting damage on them.

Yeaaaah, not gonna comment on this one, since I think I already ranted often enough about how inappropriate this is. But the animation here is actually quite nice? At least compared to Gae’s scenes in this ep??? Like I’m so jealous Mc gets all the nice animation like wae

Isurugi the third wheel tho. The difference between Isurugi’s reaction here to his reaction to Orga, is it bcs Almiria is just a child and therefore *totally* harmless?

Or is it out of consideration to not intrude on a couple/husband and wife’s moment?

(I’m a bit confused, I thought their status is still just ‘engaged’ but this ep Rustal says they ‘married’?????)

Also, Iok oh Iok lol

So it’s confirmed his only use is just to stand there and look pretty? XD

Rustal basically saying your men follow you bcs they respect your father and his legacy/history and I’m just.

*coughs*

Iok darling he just says you have no value on your own, it’s all your family name, and is that the real reason for your tears?

I can’t decide whether to laugh at him or be sad about him here :’)

Gaelio gets complimented twice on his look this ep like what is this sudden interest in his appearance

Kidding. Please compliment him more. I’m always interested in him so of course I’ll like anybody who shows interest in him :p

It amuses me though, both Rustal and Julieta essentially compliment him, but they do it in such opposite way.

Rustal: “You face looks more valiant than before.” He’s saying Gae’s more rugged now, more heroic like maybe, certainly not as delicate-looking anymore.

Julieta: “Your face is more handsome than I'd imagined.” 1) she actually cares what he looks like 2) she puts actual effort to try to imagine what he looks like 3) she thinks he has a more hardened face instead 4) she’s basically saying Gae looks more delicate than how she imagined him to be.

Be still my heart *___*

During S1, several times Ein had dialogues where he questioned whether what he did was the right thing, most notably in ep9 and especially in ep25.

Considering Mika stabbed him to death, you can say from the narrative that Ein was in the wrong, bcs the right one would always win in the end.

So during this scene, at first I thought maybe Gae only saying that to Julieta in response to Ein; He tells Julieta the thing that Ein needed and wanted to hear most, but never get the chance to: He gives her a validation.

But maybe that’s not quite right nor quite enough to be a reason since it implies he only sees Julieta as Ein’s substitute.

Considering during the latter part of S1 Gae himself was not quite in the right frame of mind, since he was full of guilt and doubts himself, I think he probably needed that validation the most.

I kinda thought Rustal probably gave him his validation, but considering how Rustal actually let Julieta and Iok to try to figure themselves out, maybe that’s not quite right.

WARNING: this is gonna sound sappy af, but we do have a two year period, so probably Gae and Ein kinda found their validation in each other or something – since they’re alone quite a lot and Gae actually looks ‘calm’ and ‘collected’ the first he appeared as Vidar, no longer lost or even looking to Rustal for guidance.

So that validation Gae tells Julieta? That’s pure her and her effort; he sees her and notices her dedication and her lost look and he tells her the thing she needs to hear. He could only say this *because* he himself had gone through the same thing, and he wouldn’t tell her *that* if he doesn’t think she deserves to hear it.

He’s not trying to give her a lip service.

Notice he doesn’t actually tell her whether what she does morally right or wrong; just that, as long as you do what you believe in for the sake of the person that you believe in, you’re in the right.

oh hey look first time I included a cap of Shino in my ep review :p

Speaking of death flags, everybody probably gets it this ep, but I’m kinda betting on Shino since he has more focused-screentime this ep than any other Tekkadan members (excepting Orga/Mika).

But who knows who’s gonna really bite it :p

[terresdebrumestories]

Chapter 1/4: Epic Fail

✗ TECHNICAL DETAILS

FANDOM: Digimon Adventure 01/02/Tri RATING: Mature. WORDCOUNT: 10 032 PAIRING(S): Endgame Taito, though the fic is primarily Taichi-centric. Side pairings include Takeru/Hikari and discussion of past Sorato. CHARACTER(S): Taichi Kamiya, Yamato Ishida, Hikari Kamiya, Takeru Takashi, Daisuke Motomiya, Agumon, Veemon, Gabumon, Sora Takenoushi, and mention of the rest of the gang. GENRE: Misapplied matchmaking. Also future!fic. TRIGGER WARNING(S): Depression and discussion thereof, including one briefly mentioned suicide attempt in chapter two. SUMMARY: In which Taichi has questionable ways to handle his issues, everyone tries to be nice, and Yamato yells at him a lot. Same old, same old, except for the part where they end up kissing.

[II. Rock Bottom] [III. Get up] [IV. Start over]

“You,” Yamato hisses into the phone before Taichi is even done greeting him, “are the worst meddler in the history of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Taichi replies without missing a beat, but all it gets him is a snort that ends on a jaw-cracking yawn.

There’s a sigh then, carrying the mental image of Yamato pinching at the bridge of his nose over the phone while Taichi tries to pull his socks on one-handed without falling on his face.

“Are you seriously trying to tell me you have nothing to do with Daisuke’s break up?”

“Okay, first of all,” Taichi corrects, eyebrows knitting in a frown of his own, “it’s not a break up when the people involved aren’t even dating. Second—come on, at least listen to me before you start groaning!”

Yamato mutters something about a headache, which Taichi hears as the jab it is even as the sound of a chair scrapping on floorboard rises and falls in the background, followed by the dull slap of a thick book falling shut. Taichi glances at the clock, and almost groans in turn when he realizes it’s past midnight in Paris, which means either Yamato forgot about calling him until it was time for him to go to sleep, or he stayed up just so he could yell at Taichi as fast as possible.

Freaking typical.

“Look,” he says instead of starting another argument—which, given his history and levels of irritation, he’s kind of grimly proud about—“he asked me if he should date that girl! All I said was that if he had to ask me then it might not be the best of ideas.”

“Which you knew was going to drive them apart,” Yamato says, but doesn’t ask. “But you still said it because she’s not one of us and you don’t like that.”

“That’s got nothing to do with it!” Taichi yelps, hating the way it makes him sound guiltier than he truly is or feels.

All he did was answer his roommate’s question and give a sincere piece of advice—Yamato may not like it, but that doesn’t make it wrong, thank you very much! Besides, it’s not like he’s telling Daisuke he should stop all kind of dating—or any dating at all really. If he’d tried to convince the guy to stay single, now that would have been egoistical and downright cruel, but Taichi has no motive of that kind, and he crosses his arms over his chest in annoyance, shoulders tightening when Yamato insists:

“Right. I assume it has nothing to do with wanting to keep him as a roommate either?”

“Of course not!” Taichi retorts, and he almost hangs up when Yamato sighs his ‘why are we even friends’ sigh. Instead, he insists: “It doesn’t, Yamato! I’m trying to spare him useless pain, why would you even think—”

“Because you’re still grumbling about Hikari and Takeru dating even after seven years—”

“I don’t mind them dating,” Taichi starts, but this time it’s Yamato’s turn to interrupt with:

“You tried to convince her their flat was too big,” he says, voice rising in volume and decreasing sharply, probably when he remembers the time it is at his place.

“Well it is a little—”

“It’s twenty square meters!” Yamato hisses, pitch climbing up as he makes obvious efforts to stay quiet, “And it’s not like it’s a new problem either—you’ve never really been okay with any of us dating.”

“I congratulated Mimi and Koush—wait, has she picked her new name yet?”

She only came out as a transgender woman a couple months ago, and she’s been hesitating on a new name ever since—it makes sense she’d want to take her time about it, but sometimes Taichi can’t help feeling like it’s a bit of an awkward situation.

“Not yet,” Yamato says after a moment of reflexion, tone calmer for the interruption. “But even if we overlook the fact that you also congratulated them on their breakup after only three months, your main source of happiness back then was, and I quote, that they ‘kept it in the family’.”

Taichi has to wince at that, because this was really not his shiniest moment. Still, he thinks as he locks his flat behind him and bypasses the elevator in favor of the stairs, more conductive to an argument, Yamato is definitely giving the incident more weight than it deserves.

“Alright,” he admits with a sigh even as he switches the staircase lights on, “the phrasing was a bit creepy but—”

“It was downright gross,” Yamato interrupts, apparently determined not to let anything slide, “and not just because of the wording—you can’t just act like there’s no one else we can date than other chosen children!”

“Well it’s not like anyone else is going to get what it’s like!”

It’s been fourteen years since their first trip to the Digiworld, and Yamato may dislike it but the fact remains that, as experience has proved numerous times, even the other groups of chosen children can’t quite share the experience. Turns out US-comics were wrong: when the strange monsters tried to destroy the earth, it’s Japan that got the worst of it.

It’s nobody’s fault, really, and Taichi hasn’t resented the fate he got saddled with in years now, but the other teams, they had it easy. And even if they hadn’t—even with the non-negligible amount of crap that fell on their noses—they didn’t go through it the same way Taichi and his friends have, they don’t carry the scars the same way they do. They have different cultures and different roles and different expectations and that’s okay...it just means not even them understand what the experience was like for the Odaiba kids.

“Daisuke doesn’t care,” Yamato says, voice muffled by a rustle of fabric against the phone receiver.

He must be getting ready for the night.

“How would you know that,” Taichi asks even though it is, admittedly, not the kindest argument to pick, “you barely even talk to him!”

“His sister does,” Yamato replies without a pause, but his voice sounds tighter around the words, “and so does yours, and they both agree he didn’t even seem to realize there was a difference to be felt until you shoved it in his head.”

Taichi didn’t think people could really splutter indignantly, but what he’s doing right now really does sound like it. It’s entirely Yamato’s fault, though, because the nerve—the willful misinterpretation is just—how dare he! Yes, sure, most of them are dealing with it okay—they’ve got mostly normal lives if you except the occasional star-struck Digimon and a recent offer for a documentary about their adventures from a very reputable history channel...and yes, sure, they’ve all got twelve other Chosen children—plus their Digimon partners—to confide in and rely on, and that plays a lot.

It doesn’t erase everything though—Taichi has yet to hear about a group of friends who’s faced as many cases of depression, of nightmares, of random outbursts and awkward moments as theirs has, and Yamato of all people should know how hard it can be to go through this.

To mention that would be a low blow, though, and Taichi steers away from the argument, bringing up his other concern instead:

“You haven’t met the girl,” he says, “there’s something off about her!”

“Akiko’s biggest flaw is that she’s not one of the people we’ve been exclusively hanging out with since fifth grade,” Yamato snaps, “and you know it. Maybe I haven’t seen her, but I know she’s as much of a scatterbrained dork as Daisuke, which—”

“Now you’re making it sound like he’s stupid!” Taichi protests.

He hears Yamato stutter a bit—there’s echo in the background, almost drowned out by the sound of traffic on Taichi’s end of the line, but it does still sound like Yamato has retreated to the bathroom—before he recovers and hisses:

“He dropped out of school to open a noodle cart for fuck’s sake!”

“Which he’s paying his part of the rent with,” Taichi points out, “and it’ll cover the rest of his expenses too, so if you think he doesn’t deserve better than a simple waitress just because—”

Yamato swears on the other end of the phone, and Taichi does groan at that, temples beating with a headache even as he reaches his bus stop and glares at the street. Stupid Yamato, shoving his stupid face on the other side of the stupid world, like there aren’t any decent universities in Japan offering the stupid biology degree he decided to go for.

At least if he’d stayed, they could have this stupid argument face to face and settle it over a cup of tea or whatever.

“Do you even hear yourself talking?” Yamato asks when he’s done hissing invectives into the phone, “’he deserves better than a simple waitress’, seriously? Did we take a jump back to the eighteenth century I wasn’t aware of?”

“All I’m saying,” Taichi ties to say, only to be interrupted right away, real anger cracking through Yamato’s voice this time:

“All you’re saying is you’ll literally grasp at any reason Daisuke shouldn’t date Akiko, all because you can’t stand the idea of him leaving you behind like your sister did!”

“Hikari didn’t leave me behind,” Taichi protests, hand closing tighter against his phone, “she texts me almost as much as you do!”

“And yet,” Yamato retorts, sarcasm dripping from his voice thick enough Taichi can hear it over the bustle of commuters climbing on and exiting the bus, “you still act like she did, including with this.”

Yamato sighs, like he’s had this conversation far too often already—he hasn’t, Taichi would know—and insists:

“I know you don’t mean to hurt anyone, Taichi, but that’s what you’re going to do if you keep going that way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Taichi says, annoyed enough by now that he barely notices the streets his bus is driving by, and nearly misses the stop for his university, “I’m not going to hurt him.”

On the other end of the line, Yamato’s snort—wrapped in the sound of running water, possibly because he’s run out of patience and decided to brush his teeth in the middle of a conversation like some kind of animal—is quite explicit as to how much he believes that. Taichi takes a deep breath and counts the steps from his bus stop to the university gates before he has a chance to explode.

There’s a bit of scratching, the sound of someone spitting, and Yamato sighs again:

“There’s only thirteen of us in Japan, remember? And none of the girls are available. That’s a pretty limited dating pool you’re building him.”

“Mimi and Miyako are into dudes,” Taichi points out, but even he can’t argue when Yamato scoffs.

“Mimi is even farther away from Japan than I am and she’s not the long-distance relationship type. And the very idea of Daisuke and Miyako in any kind of romantic relationship is just begging for disaster.”

“Okay,” Taichi admits, because he may be as stubborn as Yamato, but even he knows a losing battle when he sees one, “no girl available. But Daisuke is bisexual.”

“And who do you think is going to date him? You, Iori, or me?”

“I don’t want to date Daisuke!” Taichi protests, ears warming up a tad too fast.

He’s not the last to call Daisuke easy on the eyes—to the guy’s face, even!—and he may or may not have toyed with the idea a little on one of the rare occasions he drank too much, but the truth of it is, aside from the rather obvious lack of romantic attraction there, that would make things even more awkward when well-meaning strangers mistake them for brothers.

Really, they’re better off as friends.

“Well,” Yamato deadpans, “then considering I’m not interested in dating him—”

“You’re not interested in dating, period,” Taichi replies, unable to hide the hint of triumph in his voice.

“It’s not about my issues, Taichi,” Yamato half-sighs, half-yawns as a door clicks shut in the background, “I’m not interested in anything remotely close to romantic with Daisuke, which leaves him with Iori, and I’m pretty sure his partners would murder Daisuke in less than a day.”

“Ken isn’t dating anyone.”

“I don’t think you’ll get our second token straight to date a guy.”

“We don’t know that he is,” Taichi protests, lowering his voice as he nears his classroom, fifteen minutes early, “he could still be in the closet.”

“We’ve hit every stripe on the rainbow-meter,” Yamato deadpans in a rustle of sheets, “either he’s straight or he’s clearly not ready for dating.” A yawn. “And even if I’m wrong, you can’t just play pair the spares with our friends.”

“They’re barely even your friends,” Taichi snaps.

It’s a low blow and he knows it—Yamato may not speak with Daisuke on a regular basis, but he’s already demonstrated he was willing to go the extra mile for the guy’s sake anyway. Out of all the chosen children Taichi knows of, Yamato is probably the one whose bond to the rest of their little community are the strongest—there’s a reason why the rallying point shifted from Taichi to him in later years, after all.

Yamato’s relationship to Daisuke is still nowhere close to what he and Taichi have, though, or even to what exists between Yamato and Jyou, or Koushiro, whatever name she might end up picking. Yamato is a devoted friend, and so is Daisuke—it’s just easy to see their circles aren’t exactly perfect matches.

“Fuck you,” Yamato replies, the gritting of his teeth almost audible even through the phone, “you don’t get to tell me I’m a bad friend when you’re the one about to send him head first into the fucking wall!”

“He and Ken like each other,” Taichi replies, ears burning at him without it being enough to stop him.

“So did Sora and I,” Yamato spits—this time Taichi forgets to keep an indoor voice when he protests:

“That was different!”

He wasn’t privy to the whole disaster—there are things about those five years of dating (and one year of post-breakup chilly awkwardness) not even Takeru knows about, both the former couple and their Digimons incredibly tight-lipped about the whole affair. Taichi stood by the two of them throughout it all though, left them in peace when they needed him to, yelled at them when they needed him to, and collected the freaking pieces when they needed him to.

He may not have seen the car crash, but he was there for the clean up and oh, boy, is he glad he had help with that, because he’d have ended up in the gutter right alongside them if the others hadn’t picked up the slack.

At some point it almost seemed like their group wouldn’t survive the shift.

“We liked each other,” Yamato repeats. “See how ridiculous you sound now?”

“Look, it sucked—big time,” Taichi agrees, because there was never any way to beat around that particular bush, “but Ken and Daisuke are older—they know what their sexualities are by now.”

“I didn’t at their age.”

Taichi swallows back another, more pointed low blow—he can still hear Yamato’s anger simmering under the thin layer of ice in his voice, and putting a spark to it now would really be asking for an explosion. Instead, he says:

“Hikari and Takeru are happy.”

“Exception that confirms the rule,” Yamato replies with a hint of dark humor, “the rest of our intra-dating attempts only ever ended up bitting us in the ass. I’m pretty sure we’ve all had enough of dating other Digisaviors for a lifetime, thank you very much.”

“Digisaviors?” Taichi repeats with a blink, “where the hell did you pick that?”

“That’s what they call us in France,” Yamato brushes off, “don’t try to drop the topic. I’m your friend, okay? And as a friend I’m telling you you’re about to fuck up big time and you need to stop.”

“And I am telling you, you’re wrong.”

There’s a break in the conversation while Gabumon’s sleepy voice whines in the distance—poor guy must have had a hard time staying asleep with Yamato talking almost nonstop for the last, what? Half hour? How is he even still awake anyway? Last Taichi checked, Yamato went out like a light at eight PM like the old man he’s always secretly been.

Taichi listens to his friend apologize to his partner in a more subdued voice—frowning when they switch to French for a couple of sentences before Yamato sighs-yawns again:

“You’re a brilliant politician,” he says, and Taichi’s chest warms at the words, even though he can’t quite manage a smile for it after such a long-winded argument, “but sometimes when it comes to our friends you’re so oblivious you make me want to slap you across the phone.”

“Well screw you too,” Taichi replies as the door opens up to let the previous class out, “I’ve got class. Bye.”

He hangs up before Yamato can say anything else, and spends the rest of the morning ignoring the weird mix of satisfaction and nausea hanging at the edge of his stomach.

{ooo}

Hikari and Takeru, when Taichi visits them for the first time, look nauseatingly domestic. It hasn’t even been three months since they moved in together—a fact which, Taichi might add, none of their parents were ecstatic about—but their cupboard of a studio looks homely and lived-in already. It’s tiny, sure, and the fold-up couch at the back looks enormous, cramped as it is between the tiniest of bathroom and a cooking area that barely deserves the name, but the kids move through it like they wouldn’t give up the occasional bump for all the space in the world.

Taichi kind of wants to gag, but that would be pushing it.

“I still think you’re too young,” he mutters around his cup of tea, and while Takeru stays silent—although close as he is, it’s impossible to mistake the way he stiffens at the words—Hikari doesn’t share the same restraints:

“If you start this conversation again,” she says with a daring look in her eyes, “I will kick you out.”

Taichi manages half of a placating gesture with his right hand while the left keeps his mug close to his mouth, hiding his face from view. The words press at the edge of his lips, lemon-sour against his tongue, but even he can only have the same conversation so many times before he gives up, and he’s had the this one with Hikari often enough that he knows her arguments by heart now.

‘We haven’t been kids since 1999, haven’t been at peace for that long ever, haven’t got any reason to breakup, haven’t got any reason to wait’—Taichi has heard it all.

If he’s being very honest with himself—he doesn’t like to, where this topic is concerned—Taichi is also capable of admitting that all these ‘we haven’t’s come shadowed in a lot of ‘we have’s. ‘We’ve been supporting and helping and understanding each other since before we were ten,’ Hikari probably thinks, but never quite says, ‘we’ve been sent to war younger than anyone else, we have a right to enter peace early, too’.

Maybe they do.

It doesn’t mean Taichi has to approve.

“Fine,” he says anyway, because there’s a difference between disapproving his sister’s choice and actively antagonizing her over it, “so how do you guys keep this place clean? Did my sister move in with a neat freak?”

“Of all the possible subjects,” Hikari starts with a long-suffering sigh, but Takeru beats her to it:

“Sorry, wrong brother.”

“It’s a dual effort,” Hikari approves, tone still stiff, while her boyfriend throws Taichi a worried look.

Taichi’s lips lift at that, thin and short-lived. He hasn’t forgotten the way he argued with Yamato last week—hasn’t missed the absence of texts other than the automated ‘go eat something’ Yamato sends so Taichi won’t forget one too many meals in profit of his political sciences textbooks and drop dead in a pool of his own sweat.

(Yamato’s words, not Taichi’s.)

Despite it all though, it’s impossible not to remember how insanely ordered Yamato’s bedroom always seemed whenever Taichi visited the Ishida’s, before Yamato decided a year in Moscow to learn Russian wasn’t long or far enough away and picked a French university for his higher education.

“How do you keep things clean?” Hikari asks after a pause—Taichi may have gotten a little sidetracked there, because she’s gone from irritated to almost worried in record time.

“Dual effort,” Taichi replies, deliberately paraphrasing her, although it sounds more flat than teasing, even to his own ears. “We clean up after ourselves in the common areas and we deal with our own rooms. Why, how many centimeters of filth did you think I lived in?”

Hikari’s fingers twitch, same as they do whenever their parents get a little too overbearing during their weekly phone calls, and Taichi almost takes offense at that—he’s ready to admit he didn’t start his visit in the best way, but there’s nothing to be annoyed about in what he just said, honestly!

“We’re just a little worried,” Takeru says in a soothing tone, one hand landing on Hikari’s shoulder all casual like, as if Taichi weren’t going to notice the way his thumb rubs circles over her jumper, “you’ve seemed a little down since we moved in here and—”

“It’s the end of November,” Taichi points out with a roll of his eyes before Takeru can finish his sentence, “I’ve got a ton of exams coming up. Of course I’m tired.”

He doesn’t miss the glance floating between Takeru and Hikari—doesn’t miss the little twist of Takeru’s lips like he’s seeing something he was bracing himself for—and he’s a little more forceful than he should be when he sets his cup down on the tiny coffee table:

“You know I can take care of myself, right? I’ve got the rent covered—”

“It’s not the rent I’m wo—”

“I know how to operate a washing machine and a vacuum cleaner, I can even cook, contrary to what your brother likes to pretend!”

“Hey, let’s not get Yamato involved,” Takeru says, raising his hands in defense, but Taichi’s annoyance is loose now, and he doesn’t really try to restrain himself when he says:

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t need me to involve him in pretty much every aspects of my life, he does that perfectly well on his own!”

Both Hikari and Takeru’s eyes widen at his words, and Taichi has to make a conscious effort to stay seated, breathe in deep and swallow some of his anger down. They’re trying to look out for him, he reminds himself. Sure, they’re insulting him—and possibly Daisuke, a little—when they act like he’s going to crash and burn now his little sister has left him behind, despite the presence of a roommate who proved a perfectly sensible leader and friend in difficult time.

Still, their hearts are in the right place, and Taichi clings to that for as long as it takes to calm himself down—at least until he’s reasonably sure he won’t let his words say imply things he doesn’t really mean.

“Look,” he manages after a while—the others, he notes, have waited him out, like defusing a bomb, and the thought makes him clench his fists together—“Daisuke and I may not be in the same state of domestic bliss as you, but that doesn’t mean we’re headed for disaster either, thank you very much.”

They share a look again—full of things they’ve already discussed to hell and back, Taichi bets, full of things they don’t want him to hear although, judging by the way they look at him afterwards, he might be concerned anyway.

“Okay,” Hikari says at last, articulation as careful as the hand she extends to touch Taichi’s knuckles with, “it’s just that I’ve—I’m a little concerned about that thing with the waitress—”

“Oh my—” Taichi cuts himself off to brush a hand over his face, “let me guess, Yamato called you?”

“I learned it from Daisuke,” Hikari replies, eyebrows drawing together, “I didn’t know Yamato knew you were involved.”

“When does he not know a thing about me?” Taichi scoffs, “Whatever I don’t tell him he can learn from any of us—even my own sister, apparently!”

“First of all,” Hikari counters, visibly refusing to back down, “I’ve already said I didn’t tell him about what you did. And secondly, can you really blame us? He’s the one who gets the best results when it comes to getting through to you!”

“He’s on the other side of the freaking world,” Taichi snaps at her, getting on his feet, “you guys need to stop pretending like he can control my life from there.”

“Nobody thinks that!” Takeru yelps, indignation written all over his features,but Taichi doesn’t believe him.

People running to Yamato as soon as they have a problem with Taichi—or what he’s doing, or how he’s living, apparently—is nothing new, of course, but for the love of everything, the guy left Japan over eight years ago, it’s time everyone started getting with the program!

“Look,” Taichi says, kind of proud of how he manages to keep his voice level despite the abrupt urge to yell until everyone leaves him alone, “I’ve got Agumon and Daisuke, I’m doing fine, and I don’t need Yamato to chaperon me, thank you very much.”

He gets to his feet after that, gathers his things and leaves before Hikari or Takeru can protest—before one of them can say something that will be blown out of proportion and they have a real argument.

Then he goes home, settles into some old comedy reruns with Agumon by his side and some leftover pizza in his plate, and waits until Daisuke comes home so he can investigates the guy’s feeling for Ken a little more thoroughly and finally clear the day’s frustrations and contrarieties out of his mind.

{ooo}

For a few days, Taichi worries Hikari’s intervention—and the text-based mutual apology they engage in the day after—means she’ll try to get more involved in his life again. Part of him wouldn’t mind, but she is his little sister: he’s the one that should take care of her, not the reverse. Much like the rest of their group, though, Hikari is simply too busy to make time for anything that isn’t her immediate life.

Taichi himself barely even leaves his flat unless he’s got classes or he needs to attend a work meeting in person which, given most of his meetings involve Digimon—and therefore a webcam or two—is getting fairly rare. The end result is that he shares his time between studying, trying to convince his country’s government to officially condemn the USA’s decision to maintain Digimons’ legal status as pets, and the blissful, mind-numbing relief of bad comedy and not wearing that isn’t at least at pajamas-levels of comfort.

He gets a couple of texts from Sora inviting him over to Kyoto—refuses, too tired to bother with the effort after so much mental exhaustion—and a long email from Kou’ he has yet to answer—he wants to, he does, but it’s kind of hard writing something long when the only thing you have time for in your life is work, work, work, and some bits of university crammed in there. Taichi can barely make time for Agumon these days, he can’t be blamed for not joining the others on their outings, collective or not!

The only positive effect of this, really, is that studying until the small hours of night means more chances of catching Yamato in the middle of his day, which means they end up texting even more than they did before their fight, saving Taichi’s social life from being entirely limited to his own flat.

Ken’s visit are a good thing, too, but for different reasons.

He’s constantly around these days. He pretends he’s there to see Taichi, which is a little ridiculous—then again, maybe Yamato’s theory has merit and the kid isn’t quite ready to put himself out there—but he’s always willing to talk about Daisuke—or Veemon, or the things he and Wormon do with the other two—whenever Taichi steers the conversation in that direction.

It’s adorable in how oblivious Ken thinks Taichi is, and kind of refreshing in the innocence of the scheme, although Taichi sometimes wants to tell Ken being more forward, or at least talking to Daisuke, would be more efficient.

Either way, though, his matchmaking projects are looking quite auspicious, and while he tries to keep them to himself so he can avoid Yamato’s disbelieving sarcasm and reproaches, Taichi can’t help but feel very satisfied by his good work.

{ooo}

“I will never understand,” Yamato sighs into the phone in the middle of a Saturday night in early-December, “how you can be such a brilliant politician and fail so completely at understanding people at the same time.”

“I’m going to pretend I only heard the nice part of this,” Taichi says, stretching his legs under his parents’ kotatsu, “but only because I feel magnanimous.”

His parents treated him to the best home-made meal ever for lunch—or at least the endless chain of instant ramen and leftover junk food he survives on when Daisuke doesn’t bring noodles back from work made it feel that way—there’s a heater roasting at his feet, and so far he’s spent his afternoon doing exactly nothing but watch Agumon snore the time away between two micro-naps of his own. Throw in his mother’s solicitude—her constant concern over his well being just short of overbearing—and the satisfaction of being positively toasty when it’s only six or seven degrees out, and you’d be hard pressed to find more mollifying conditions.

“I’ll repeat myself then,” Yamato replies, something sizzling on his end of the line.

Taichi glances at the kitchen clock, and raises an eyebrow when he realizes it must be around eight AM in France...by Yamato’s standard, it’s a positively indecent time to be having breakfast.

“You suck at figuring out what the rest of us want.”

“I don’t!” Taichi protests, patience shrinking faster than snow on a Meramon as he straightens up, “I told you, Ken just keeps talking about Daisuke—”

“Do you even let him talk about anything else?” Yamato interrupts with far too much sarcasm, “Maybe he’d be happy to talk about your job, too.”

“My job is boring,” Taichi replies with a shrug, nodding at his mom when she comes to sit beside him with her crosswords, “why would he want to ask about it?”

“He’s polite,” Yamato replies without missing a beat—the sizzling stops, replaced by the sound of a pan scrapping against something hard, and a persistent buzzing coming to an abrupt halt before Yamato continues: “he genuinely cares about you—oh and also you’re one of the people who has the most influence on whether or not Digimon will be allowed in the police force.”

“I’m not that influent, Yamato.”

“Fine,” Yamato deadpans, “maybe he’s just doing this because Hikari and I asked him to check in on you since he’s the one that lives closest to you with the most free time.”

“Right,” Taichi snorts, opening and closing his free hand into a fist near his head for his mother’s benefit, “like I’m going to believe that.”

“Then we’re back to the ‘your work is not boring’ part of that conversation,” Yamato concludes, so matter of fact Taichi can almost see him shrug.

“Please,” Taichi protests with a grunt loud enough to make his mother turn away from her crosswords and back at him, “last week I had to talk a bunch of Numemons not to attack the prime—”

“There was an attack?”

Taichi turns to look at his mother—the worried lines around her mouth and under her eyes, the frown crinkling at her eyebrows as her knuckles whiten around her pencil—and almost wants to slap himself in the face for being so careless. He’s usually better at controlling his vocabulary—but then it’s harder to remember when he’s talking to one of the others.

Now his mother looks pale and tense, bracing herself for the worse before Taichi can even blink, and he can’t blame her for it—he knows he can’t, not with everything he already put her through—but that doesn’t prevent the spark of irritation blooming in his chest, tightening the fingers of his free hand around his thigh as he reassures her:

“With stink bombs, mom. It’s gross, but it’s not dangerous.”

“Really?” His mother insists, and Taichi clamps down hard on the wave of annoyance roiling against his stomach.

“Yes,” he promises, hating the way it’s not enough to placate his mother’s worrying.

“Would you tell me if it was?” She insists, and Taichi sort of wants to answer ‘no’.

He never has, after all—not when he was a kid and it could have meant getting out of things entirely, not when he was a preteen he wasn’t even directly involved, not when he was a teenager and he and his sister cried into her shoulder for almost an hour. What else was he supposed to do, anyway? It’s not like she could have done anything but sit and wait, none of the people actually involved having time to stop and explain the situation to her—Taichi has done a lot of that when he was a kid, watching doctors and nurses busy themselves with his little sister without realizing there was another child there. He wasn’t about to put her through that as well.

He started counting the weeks until he could move out of the family flat when he peed his bed a few days after Yamato left for his semester in Moscow, and hasn’t even dreamed of coming back ever since.

“You know what,” he tells his mother, face aching with a stiff smile, “I think I’m going to take this call outside.”

“Sweetie,” his mother tries, easily sensing the distance, “you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s okay,” Taichi tells her, getting to his feet before she can touch him, “I’m feeling stuffy anyway. I can use the fresh air.”

He gives his mother one last would-be reassuring grimace, and tries not to look too obvious in his flight as he steps out on the balcony with nothing but slippers and a thick pullover to protect him from the cold. He sighs as soon as the glass door slides shut behind him, and purposefully keeps his gaze fixed on the skyline so he doesn’t have to watch his mother instead.

“Outsider freak out?” Yamato asks after a while, voice softer than before.

“It’s my fault,” Taichi says with a shrug—his voice is a little thick, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to catch a cold out there, so he doesn’t let it bother him too much—“I slipped.”

Yamato hums in response, and Taichi almost asks if Yamato thinks he should have known better, too, but his stomach constricts at the thought, and the question leaves a bitter taste of bile in his mouth when he swallows it down. Instead, what he asks is:

“Does it ever happen to you?”

“Like I talk to my parents enough for them to freak out.”

“Takeru could,” Taichi says, but Yamato scoffs.

“To my mother, maybe. Not the old man, though.”

Taichi nods at that, and then Yamato tells him to wait before he starts saying something in French—Taichi has no idea what. He’s not surprised by Yamato’s dismissal—has spent enough nights at the Ishida residence before Yamato left the country to take an educated guess as to why his friend is so close-lipped around his family—but that doesn’t prevent his heart from sinking as he listens to Yamato exchanges what must be goodbyes with his grandfather.

It’s hard to understand that kind of situation when you haven’t lived it, after all, and Taichi doesn’t need someone who doesn’t get it right now.

“Pappy flipped out once,” Yamato says after silence has stretched between them for several seconds with no ending in sight, “it was definitely my fault. We...talk more. Since then.”

“Do you tell him about the nightmares?”

Yamato makes a garbled noise around his breakfast that could mean anything from ‘I don’t have nightmares’--Taichi has countless middle-of-the-night texts and conversations that say otherwise—to ‘we sit at the kitchen table and swap war stories: I talk about Digimons and he talks about killing Nazis’ —or whatever Yamato’s grandfather did back in the French Resistance. Something in Taichi’s stomach twists at the sound, somewhere between envy and sadness, and since he can’t quite figure out which is which he decides to go back to safer grounds:

“Well, we can’t prevent them from worrying,” he says, trying to sound more cheerful than he really is, “but at least we can rejoice in the future success of operation Kensuke—and shut up, it’s a great portmanteau.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Yamato deadpans, and it’s easy to reply:

“You were about to.”

“You never know,” Yamato says with a rattle of cutlery jostling around in a plate, “if reason doesn’t work maybe aesthetics will.”

Taichi blows a raspberry into the phone out of principles more than anything else and, unsurprisingly enough, the only thing they exchange from then on is childish bickering, until Yamato has to beg out of the conversation so he can go attend his latest bootcamp. Taichi pretends to think Yamato is just admitting defeat, but the truth is he can’t feel his toes anymore and it’s a relief to come inside. He rubs some warmth back into his arms, wincing as returning blood prickles along his veins, and then startles when he realizes his mother is still there, looking at him like he just did something adorable.

Taichi hasn’t seen that kind of smile on her—or on his father, for that matter—since he was a child trying to act older than he was for his sister’s sake. The Digiworld and its host of complications erased that smile right off Taichi’s parents’ face when it turned out he really had to make decisions that should have been far beyond his years, and seeing it back because of something as simple as a conversation with his best friend makes Taichi pause.

“What?”

“I was just thinking how much you’ve grown,” his mother says, a touch of nostalgia gracing the edges of her smile, “not so long ago a disagreement with Yamato would have ended in a shouting match.”

Taichi’s face floods with heat, and he looks to the ground as he remembers a week of near complete silence in the aftermath of what should have been a fairly innocent argument. ‘I’m twenty five, ‘ma,’ he mutters instead of telling her about that.

She’s still smiling when he leaves, and that’s worth more than the exact truth.

{ooo}

He manages to phone Sora a few days before 2013 turns into 2014, and catching up with her somehow manages to shave something like ten years off his shoulders. It’s early in life, maybe, to think like that, but that doesn’t prevent Taichi from feeling the difference when the weight vanishes.

He’s not sure how they get around to discussing Daisuke and his growing crush on Ken, but he does know how flabbergasted he feels when she says:

“I just hope it’s not going to go too far.”

Taichi blinks at her through the video chat window, face owlish enough that Biyomon giggles at him from behind Sora’s shoulder. He’s a little too caught off guard to care though, because what on Earth?

“What do you mean, ‘too far?’”

“Well Ken is clearly not interested,” Sora explains with a wide shrugs—she pauses to answer a presumably important text before she finishes: “if Daisuke falls in love with him it’s going to make things really awkward. And painful.”

“Or not,” Taichi manages after chasing his own voice for a few seconds, “might be you’re wrong and they’re going to be perfectly happy together.”

Sora’s shoulders move like she’s putting their hands together—picking at the skin around her nails, maybe—and then she mumbles:

“Maybe.”

She sounds skeptical, at best, and changes the topic fast after that, grilling Taichi on his work and home life. He lies a little—makes up a couple of solitary outings just to spare himself the shame of admitting his social life has pretty much vanished, and does his best to sound like Digital World diplomacy is as fascinating a topic as it was when he started out—but mostly sticks to things that would be true if he wasn’t so busy and tired.

He brushes her off—gently—when she tries to warn him again, though. She may have the crest of love but she’s too far to have real clarity on the situation, and Taichi isn’t that brainless thank you very much.

{ooo}

It takes some effort not to gloat when Ken’s visits increase after their group’s New Year reunion—Taichi didn’t miss the effort Ken put in preparing the whole event and while simple kindness was definitely involved in the process, it certainly doesn’t explain the kid’s enthusiasm about it, or how much discussion of Daisuke’s qualities, life and project he can endure. Even Taichi is getting a little tired of the topic, and he’s the one who usually starts with it!

He’s had to slow down a bit in the past few days, because Wormon asked if Taichi was interested in Daisuke which wouldn’t be a problem if not for the fact that it isn’t what Taichi is going for at all. Besides, knowing Ken’s tendency to close up when he’s upset—second only to Yamato in that regard—if Taichi doesn’t set him straight, pun completely unintended, he might end up giving up on what might turn out to be the best thing of his life.

That would honestly be unacceptable.

So, Taichi makes it clear he’s not interested in Daisuke that way, keeps encouraging both Ken and Daisuke’s attention to the other, and celebrates with a much deserved sake shot one night—or maybe more like two or three.

(Agumon and Daisuke freak out when they find the bottle—not even half empty—so Taichi decides not to have a long-distance toast with Yamato about it, but that doesn’t prevent him from cheering a little every time he spots even the smallest sign of progress in his project.)

{ooo}

Taichi spends most of the weekend after New Year’s sitting on his TV with leftover cereals, watching reruns of Takeshi’s Castle while the others are either out or, in Agumon’s case, visiting a Tokomon village on File Continent. It’s not a bad program: it keeps complicated thoughts at bay and lets him idle the day away without guilt, which is all he’s asking for these days.

He spends an unusually bright Sunday morning like that, ignoring the world around him until someone runs up to his door—the footsteps echo through the corridor for a long moment before there’s banging on the door, and Ken’s voice calls out Taichi’s name through the wood. Taichi blinks and sighs at the sounds, peeling himself from the couch with the ache of too little movement in his joints before he makes his way to the door.

“Oh my—are you alright?” Ken manages, out of breath, when Taichi opens the door and nearly brains him in the process, “You weren’t answering your phone!”

“...I was sleeping?” Taichi replies, shaping the words with more care than entirely necessary, “what’s the matter?”

“Yamato tried to call you six time,” Ken replies, breathing slowly getting back to a normal rhythm, “you didn’t answer!”

“No,” Taichi repeats, more slowly, “because I was sleeping.”

It’s far too early for Yamato to be calling though—it must be around three AM in Paris right now, which is closer to late yesterday than it is to early this morning, and Taichi frowns when he realizes there’s only one possible explanation for the disruption.

“What happened?” He asks Ken even as he rushes back to his bedroom to retrieve his laptop, “Is Mr. Takashi going to be alright?”

“What?”

“Mr. Takashi!” Taichi repeats, opening his laptop in the same breath, “If it were a Digimon thing you’d have led with that so Yamato called for something else, and unless something happened to him or Gabumon, then it’s got to be his grandfather, so how is he?”

“I don’t know,” Ken replies, crossing his arms over his shoulders, “Yamato didn’t mention.”

Taichi pauses, confused.

“Then why on earth is he calling that early?”

“Taichi, it’s not early,” Ken says with the same careful enunciation Taichi used earlier, “it’s almost five PM.”

Taichi stares at Ken over the edge of his laptop, the orange glow of his screen almost painfully bright between them while he scrambles to gather his thoughts, and yet only manages a feeble:

“What?”

“It’s almost five PM,” Ken repeats like Taichi might break if the news is delivered too abruptly, “Yamato asked me to check in on you because you missed your phone call.”

“I—ju—what?” Taichi stutters, still unable to make full use of his braincells, “what do you mean he asked you to check in on me?”

“Well,” Ken answers with a heavy blush, “we’ve all been sort of worried about you lately, and you didn’t seem ready to listen, so I agreed to keep an eye on you...then when you didn’t answer on Skype or on your phone, Yamato asked me to pop by and I just...trusted his instincts, I guess.”

“...what?”

Ken’s face goes from flushed to beet red in record time, and Taichi almost feels his own eyes turn into panicked spirals as one realization follows another and he all but yells:

“What do you mean, you were keeping an eye on me?”

“Like said,” Ken says, shoving his hands behind his back, “we were all worried...I’m the one who lives closest, and your place is on my way from the academy, that’s all. Why did you think I spent so much time here?”

“To see Daisuke?” Taichi replies, hoping the high-pitch of his voice doesn’t erase the ‘duh’ from it.

“I see him every day while he works,” Ken points out, puzzlement pushing at the edge of his obvious discomfort, “I can talk to him there. Besides, if I were visiting him, I’d at least talk to him.”

“Okay,” Taichi answers, bringing his hands up to rub at the slowly-forming migraine between his temples, “so you’re...not interested in him?”

Ken blinks and looks down at his crossed arms as if expecting Wormon to be there—as if looking for comfort in the shared confusion—before he shakes his head with a helpless little shrug and says:

“You know I’m straight, don’t you? I mean. I’m actually demiromantic, but I’m still not interested in men.”

Taichi’s eyes widen, heart hammering louder and louder in his ears and against his ribcage as he absorbs the enormity of his mistake.

Months—he’s spent months encouraging Daisuke’s crush, shedding as much of a positive light on the prospective match as he could manage, plotting and congratulating himself on a project well-managed, and all that for what, exactly?

He shies away from the answer like stepping back from the edge of a cliff you were about to fall off of, clenches his fingers into fists, and tries to breathe deeply through his nose. What does his reasons matter? The result is exactly the same: he was warned against this. Extensively so, even, but it wasn’t enough to stop him, and now Daisuke’s the one who’s going to pay the price.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, “what have I—”

“It’s okay,” Ken interrupts, clearly misreading his intent, “what matters is you’re safe.”

Taichi looks back at Ken’s face then—stares at the concern in his dark eyes—and tries to listen to his friend’s word while his brain slowly turns into some bland cotton-candy thing.

“It’s just—you’ve lost a lot of weight in the past few months,” Ken says like he’s reciting a list, “you haven’t been playing soccer—Hikari said you didn’t even eat much even when your mom was cooking. And then Yamato told us you sounded bored about your work and you’d started texting him at odd hours—it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together.”

Taichi frowns at that, going over Ken’s speech in his head—abrupt weight loss, lack of appetite, loss of enthusiasm...and okay, he woke up at five today, but that’s just because work and university left him positively exhausted for heaven’s sake!

“You think I’m depressed?” He asks anyway, just to confirm—he manages to be disappointed at the way Ken’s face softens no matter what, and squashes the feeling as hard and fast as he can manage. “I’m not depressed,” he promises.

“Taichi,” Ken starts, but Taichi cuts him off:

“I’m really not. I’m just super tired—I see how it can look that way, but just because it looks like it doesn’t mean I am.”

“In my experience,” Ken starts, but Taichi cuts him off with a raised hand:

“Ken, I’m not depressed. Stop worrying, and tell the others too—I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something important to take care of.”

He all but pushes Ken out of the apartment after that, deploying considerable amounts of energy on convincing the guy not to worry—it doesn’t look like it works but, at last, Taichi is alone again, and he can finally catch a breath.

After all, if he’s going to have to break a friend’s heart—all through his own usual, pathological, bullheaded stupidity—he might as well take some time to figure out the least bad way of doing that.

If it even exists, that is.

{ooo}

Daisuke looks down at his hands while Taichi’s face catches fire, sweat boiling under his armpits while the burning heat of shame licks at his neck and ears.

It’s only been a couple of hours since Ken left the flat, and maybe Taichi could have given himself more time before he had to face this conversation, but what would have been the point? Delaying things protects no one but himself, and if anything he deserves the discomfort after what he did. He’s the bearer of Courage, dammit! He’s supposed to be a leader—to keep his team safe—and all he’s done lately is set one of them up for heartbreak while he made all the others worry!

Suffering for it won’t change anything to the situation, but at least it should ease his mind.

“I really am sorry,” he promises for what must be the third time in as many minutes, “I don’t—I shouldn’t have encouraged you without knowing...I shouldn’t even have gotten involved at all, actually. I never meant for you to get hurt—I’m so sorry.”

“Well,” Daisuke starts, almost—but not quite—managing to hide the shiver in his voice, “you were trying to help. That happens.”

Taichi opens his mouth to answer—tries to nod in assent and accept the forgiveness he’s so readily presented with—but the words stick at the back of his throat and he looks at the ground instead, fingers digging so hard in the flesh of his thighs even his knuckles ache. He stays silent, and lets the weight of his shame drag his shoulders down, down, down, until he’s almost kissing his own knees.

He barely resists the urge to bang his head against the bones when, after a long, painful silence, Daisuke leaves the living room and slams the door to his bedroom shut behind him.

{ooo}

“I can’t even believe anyone thought I’d make a good ambassador,” Taichi tells Yamato when he catches him on the phone a several hours later, “I’m so—so—stupid and selfish!”

Yamato half-yawns, half-grunts into the phone, and Taichi listens to the rustle of fabric on his friend’s end of the line, followed with another soft grunt when—Taichi assumes—Yamato realizes what time it is.

It strikes him, now, that there is quite a lot of irony in waking someone late at night so he can complain about being too selfish, but then the damage is already done by now—and Yamato will just call back if Taichi hangs up anyway.

“Sorry,” he says nonetheless, glad, for once, that Agumon isn’t here to witness the interaction, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“Calm down, it’s barely past nine here,” Yamato tells him in a whisper—Gabumon must be sleeping in the same room, meaning Taichi could end up indirectly waking the Digimon up as well.

Things just get better and better.

“The real question is why are you up at five AM?”

“You were right about Daisuke,” Taichi admits in lieu of an answer, ears still burning, “about Ken—about everything.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line—Taichi imagines he can hear Yamato frown, impossible though he knows it to be.

“I assume,” Yamato says in a careful tone, “that you apologized already and he didn’t take it too well?”

“He took it very well, actually,” Taichi admits in a tight voice, “better than I had any right to hope for. He thought I was just trying to be nice.”

“So you set him straight.”

Taichi swallows around the thick lump in his throat—refuses to let the burn of his eyelids become anything more, even if it takes some loud, deep breathing Yamato is sure to identify. At least the living room is dark now, and neither Daisuke nor Veemon have given any indication they wanted to come out so far.

“I didn’t even have enough guts for that,” Taichi admits, shame rushing back to life with the words, “I just sat there and let him figure it out for himself.”

“At least you didn’t lie,” Yamato points out, tone more gentle than it has any right to be—it stiffens Taichi’s back, claws at his throat until he hisses:

“You sound like you don’t even mind!”

“Fine. You were stupid, pigheaded and selfish, and you got Daisuke hurt, just like I said you would,” Yamato says, each words sharp as a knife, “does it make you feel better?”

“No,” Taichi admits.

In Yamato’s defense, it’s not like anything has a chance of succeeding at that just now.

“Then saying it was pointless,” Yamato says, voice barely above a whisper, “you’re a decent human being. You feel bad enough about this without me adding to it.”

“For all the good it does to Daisuke,” Taichi mutters, and Yamato snorts.

“I don’t think you can do anything about that just now,” he says, “you’ve said your piece, now give him space so he can think things through. Then we’ll see how it goes.”

Taichi sighs and nods, even though he knows Yamato can’t possibly hear that, much less see it.

Yamato’s right, though: there isn’t much to be done about Daisuke’s predicament right now, and it’s not Taichi’s place to do it. Excruciating as it is, the only thing he can do is wait.

“What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me afterwards?”

The question left Taichi’s lips almost of its own accord, cold dread flooding his lungs at the though. What if Daisuke decides to leave for good—what if the others feel like they have to make a choice, what if Taichi’s stupidity just damaged their group beyond repair?

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” Yamato starts, but Taichi snorts before he can finish his sentence:

“How would you even know that?”

“Because I wouldn’t,” Yamato says, matter-of-fact tone blurring into a yawn. “We’re not close friends, but we share a crest, remember? He’ll need time, sure, but I don’t think he’ll leave entirely.”

Taichi nods again, the motion just as useless as it was before, and wipes at the edge of his eyes with his palms. Really, he’s being pathetic—Yamato’s right. There’s nothing he can do to help right now, and sitting in the dark like an idiot won’t change anything to his situation.

With a sigh, he gets to his feet—winces when his knees crack as he straightens up—and then he says:

“He’d have a right to leave though. I basically broke his heart because I was afraid he’d leave the flat.”

“I know,” Yamato replies, “you messed up, there’s no hiding that. I just don’t think it’s entirely your fault.”

“I’m not depressed,” Taichi replies automatically, before he amends: “well, obviously I am feeling depressed, but I’m not actually sick or anything.”

“Then you’re doing a good job of pretending,” Yamato says, and Taichi pauses at the edge of his bedroom, one hand on the threshold to hold himself steady:

“I’m not,” he insists. Then, tiredness stretching his voice into some sort of half-whine he barely recognizes: “can we just leave it at that? I’m not up for a debate about it. I’m fine. Overall.”

“Okay,” Yamato says in that way that means he still disagrees but doesn’t want to fight about it—in a way, it’s almost worst than having to argue the point. “You should go to sleep now, though. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“I don’t feel like sleeping.”

Taichi would say he’s not tired—if anything, it would salvage the sad remnants of his dignity, if only to his own eyes, even if not much of it is left to spare where Yamato is concerned—but the truth is he hasn’t been that exhausted since the weeks following the Reboot. It’s a bone-deep ache, something thick enough to coat his entire being and spirit, and right now he doesn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise.

It’s not like Yamato hasn’t already seen him at his worst, anyway. What’s one more instance in the grand scheme of things?

“At least go to bed,” Yamato insists, and Taichi honestly only agrees because putting up a fight is too much of an effort just now.

He makes his way to his bedroom on autopilot, free hand in front of him to avoid bumping nose-first into the wall as he feels his way to his bed. He collapses on it without bothering to take his clothes off—he only even put them on out of respect for Daisuke anyway—and keeps his phone against his ear when he pushes his head into the pillow.

It takes him a second to register the sounds of movement on Yamato’s end of the line, and then he’s yawning into the phone:

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my guitar out,” Yamato replies after a brief pause—he must have gotten earphones to free his hands, then.

“You think a lullaby’s going to put me to sleep?”

“I know I’ve put you to sleep that way before,” Yamato replies without missing a beat, “shut up and enjoy.”

Taichi chuckles, surprising himself with it, but he does manage to shimmy out of his dress pants and slip under the covers while Yamato tunes his instrument.

It barely takes half a measure of a tune from Spirited away before he falls asleep.