#so funny how these inconsequential little decisions

[toby-du-coeur]

us, starting tmr: hm some light entertainment ya ..right, this is too clichè

us, coming back: ...but minho is Coolness Incarnate. look he's in the death cure poster too he survives. we can finish it. for minho

and the rest is history

Yeah, I watch maze runner for the plot

[micahwright]

Micah Wright

A playbook of the variety of small, largely inconsequential tattoos that Micah got while he was living in New York seven+ years ago. Some were done on a whim, others he picked off the wall, some he doesn't remember getting, and others were done by friends after a day of drinking or other illicit activities. Some of them Micah regrets, but he isn't the kind of person to ever get them covered up; truthfully, he's grown out of getting tattoos in general; this point, he has so many random small tattoos that there is not really a cohesive story. Just some silly little splatters of ink from the beginning of a very dark time in his.

cw: drugs

1. cupid with an assault rifle, left ribcage

at 18, Micah got his first tattoo; it was supposed to be ironic because of the recent breakup that he'd gone through with Emory. A new face in New York City, Micah started off waiting tables, and when he'd scraped together enough money, he got this with some coworkers on a whim.

2. sword through the collarbone, left side

another sober addition, Micah was still in his first year in New York City when he went with a friend from work to keep them company. While waiting, he saw this on the wall and said, "Yeah, sure, that one."

3. broken cigarette, right ribcage

one afternoon, when he was out with his friends, he lost a bet and had to get a tattoo of someone else's choice. There's a story attached to this about how he'd broken his last cigarette and almost put his face through the wall, so they went with this.

4. happy/sad face, left forearm

not done professionally, he had a friend who wanted to practice on something other than oranges so Micah offered them his arm one morning when he was high.

5. sunrise, left interior middle-finger

a tattoo that matches one that Emma has. Micah talked her into this through their journal before she knew he was getting high.

6. dat ass, left exterior ankle

inspired by a girl Micah was sleeping with, he looked nothing like her, but that's how Micah said he always thought of her. A decade later, he hasn't really changed much in that regard.

7. spark up, right thumb and left pointer

another decision that he made one afternoon when he was under the influence; he thought it was really funny, and the artist that he paid to do it was used to Micah putting down whatever amount of money he needed to get it done.

8. reaper on a skateboard, right exterior ankle

after coming to in the hospital, it was kind of a running joke among him and his friends that death couldn't keep up with him. On a whim, he ended up getting this, although he is, always was and always will be terrible on a skateboard.

9. abduction, right interior heel

a faiman living among humans, he'd lost his job by the time he'd gotten this and was more or less living off whatever charity he could get from his mom and Emma. There was never much thought put behind his tattoos, so he just got this because he'd always felt very out of place and was compensating.

10. fuck u (affectionate), middle finger

the first time Emma cut him off resulted in this, he really thought he was so rebellious and cool.

11. colorado, right ring finger

vaguely sentimental, he doesn't remember getting this one, whether it was done professionally or by his friend.

12. rock on, left knee

micah had scraped together enough money and went with some friends, this was another case where he saw something on the wall and just went with it. A lot of the time, he felt dead inside but just kept moving forward, and rock on was his usual response to what felt like endless bad news.

13. hang loose, left interior ankle

while Micah remembers waking up with this one, he has no recollection of ever getting it done.

14. lost in space, left bicep

the last tattoo Micah ever got, this one was before he went completely off the rails. At this point in his life, he'd been fired from a few gigs, he was putting more stress on his mother than anyone ever should, and he was completely blowing up the life Emma was trying to build for them. Shortly after this, she moved the two of them to Rome.

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

random hcs for rob. 'scuse me if some have already been written out-

robin:

while not religious, what's his opinion towards deities, aspects, and so on?

should he be given the means to, would robin do it all over again or take another path regarding his deal with a demon?

how does robin feel about socializing?

what keeps him going when all odds are stacked against him?

robin has one single wish granted, right now, without thinking about it too long. what does he wish for?

WHAT'S UNDER THE HAT

═══ HEADCANON INQUIRIES ═══

While not religious, what's his opinion towards deities, aspects, and so on?

Robin's views on "higher beings" definitely changed after the incident with his family, they fall more in line with Pantheon's view if anything. Throughout his life Zaun already felt like it was going to kill him, he was a poor little Zaunite rat and Gods (or help) were always missing whenever he went looking for them. They represent the callous heartlessness of the universe to him; they don't care and human lives are like candy wrappers to them, light as air and inconsequential.

This also becomes a positive driving factor in the new AU I'm working on for Robin, where he changes course and works to save those already living instead of focusing on reviving the dead. He's well aware that the deities of the universe don't give a damn, so he'll do it himself. "The people cry out for strength that is already theirs" <- That sort of thing.

The only entity that Robin doesn't have a dislike for are the Kindred, within their neutrality he has no place to judge them, they are what they are.

Should he be given the means to, would robin do it all over again or take another path regarding his deal with a demon?

I've often said that if Robin had a single person to push him in another direction his story would have been very different <- New AU is actually going to explore this idea. That being said, if he was able to go back with the knowledge he had today, he wouldn't make the same decision since he'd know the horrific consequences of such decisions. He WAS the villain of his own story - not Abel, not the person who killed him, he was the one who led himself into Hell.

Though...if he simply went back without anything changing, he'd make the same decisions easily, and go through the same hardship. Robin's doom wasn't spelled out on the day of the incident, it wasn't an immediate damnation but a slowly simmering destruction that took about 6-7 months to finally boil over. He didn't immediately lose himself, but no one was there to help him from fading away. The tiniest little change could have shifted this; which therein lies the true tragedy.

How does robin feel about socializing?

Despite his high level of charisma and easy sociability he doesn’t usually interact with people in his spare time, preferring to skulk around by himself and take in things he finds interesting. He's REALLY good at talking to people for the most part, but usually needs a push from Bel to do it. This was the same when he was alive, but he was much more open to the idea of being the one to approach someone else.

Shockingly he has interacted with a WIDE variety of muses and made quite a few accidental friendships - these people are the ones that will actually get his genuine attention and care. He will actively seek them out since they, for the majority, don't drain his social battery or make him feel like he has to play a part.

What keeps him going when all odds are stacked against him?

Well! Funny about that actually--

“Loss is nothing but change, and change is nature’s delight.” Nature’s delight and Man’s personal hell: a foe to friendship, an inescapable punishment, a necessary evil in the never-ending cycle of existence. There was no relief, steadily he had lost all joy once found in everything around him, had it ever mattered? What did this cruel misery have to offer him? Any beauty had turned to ash as he saw what Life was worth when the rest had gone. His mind wandered to the window sill, how far would he fall until Lamb's arrow pierced his heart? He craved it. An escape from this nightmare.

As I said a slowly simmering destruction. The promise of him finally having someone through A/Bel stopped him during the past, but without that intervention he would have ended it. He was tired and in too much grief without any support system.

Now....well, he has no choice but to perservere, he can't die, the demon won't let him.

Robin has one single wish granted, right now, without thinking about it too long. what does he wish for?

"Take me back to that day, just a few hours earlier." - Funnily enough, at least in the canon timeline of his life, he doesn't wish for them to be revived. I think by now he's WELL aware of the calamity that would bring to them. But given the chance he would go back and get them out, avoid the entire issue by removing them from the house for that night. Even if it ultimately only buys them a little more time.

WHAT'S UNDER THE HAT?

UNDER EVERY HAT IS ANOTHER HAT.

TWO WHITE MICE PULLING HIS HAIR LIKE IN RATATOUILLE.

BEAUTIFUL FLUFFY HAIR THAT HE SHOULD GROW OUT AGAIN.

A SMALL ROSEMARY PLANT.

AN ELDRITCH GOD WITH COUNTLESS EYES THAT WILL BLACKEN THE SUMMER SKIES WHEN IT OPENS ITS BURNING WINGS.

A single, long forgotten piece of bread - probably moldy.

[fanniepentarra]

Hello, Fannie. I... well, I don't mean to pry into the details of your personal life, but, well, I was over on Ben's blog, and I heard about the things that happened when he came to visit you.

To be honest, part of the reason I popped over here is because I'm actually quite worried about him. He's a wonderful guy, funny and smart and with such a capacity for good inside him- which I suppose hardly bears repeating, given that I'm talking to you, who of all people should know this the best- but lately I've been watching him spiral down a dark path that only seems to be getting darker. It frightens me, a little. No, that's an understatement. It frightens me, a lot.

I... don't really know why I'm telling you this. But-- well, I suppose what I'm trying to say is keep an eye out for him. I hate to come across like I'm trying to meddle in other people's private lives, but I do care about you, the both of you, quite a lot, and it just... it would break my heart, if anything were to happen to hurt either one of you in a way that could never truly be fixed.

So, just. If you would. Look out for him, please.

Hello, dear! <3

I…do apologize for the lateness of this response. I have been thinking over what you’ve said.

I know that Ben is…rather a different person than people would expect me to care for. This used to bother me. At this point, I…

…I am going to be with him. I’ve decided that.

Ever since becoming Master Luke’s student, I have always followed the advice he has given me. This is the very first time that I have not, and I have not spoken to him since then. It’s so unlike me—then again; I have been becoming more and more unlike myself as of late, and perhaps I am simply changing altogether—but…I’ve felt afraid to speak to Luke again, and afraid of what he will think of me, for choosing not to listen to him.

I am hurt, too. Ben said that Luke told him to…simply stop speaking to me—which caused me much distress, a month ago. I suppose part of my decision to disregard Luke’s opinion and be with Ben was borne out of resentment for that.

No—that was the catalyst, rather; the decision to be with Ben is purely my own. I have always done what I thought I should do—this is a strength of mine—but, perhaps, something that is usually a strength may not always be.

I am going to be with Ben, no matter what anyone has to say about it! And I do feel a bit wicked for that—but—I remind myself that it is only wicked to disobey the universe’s laws of right and wrong. To merely disobey one’s teacher is not.

And I suppose “disobedience” is rather a strong word. Luke has never asked me to obey him. He has guided me, for which I will always be thankful—but, I am free not to follow his guidance.

…I did notice something that concerned me. We had dinner at Ben’s parents’ house, recently; and his mother asked if we had told Luke yet about our relationship.

Ben and I exchanged glances. I was thinking about how best to explain the situation, when Ben spoke suddenly: “Oh, yeah, Luke knows. He’s supportive.” And then he looked at me and raised his eyebrows and quirked his mouth a little, asking me to go along.

“…Yes,” I found myself saying, and I couldn’t believe I was saying it.

I have always believed on principle that lying is wrong. No matter how small or inconsequential the lie, a Jedi must never deceive in order to serve herself (it is possible, I think, for deception to be a moral action when used to protect the lives of others—but, that is a different discussion). Still, even I have to admit that the rest of supper went much more smoothly and comfortably than it otherwise would have, had we told the truth.

Could it be possible that Ben would ever lie to me? I wondered, for a moment, as I watched him breathe a nigh-imperceptible sigh of relief upon hearing my corroboration. His knee was still bouncing rapidly, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the edge of his seat, even long after the conversation had departed from the subject of Luke.

But, then I spent a couple of minutes observing him in other ways: his oddly charming smile (his teeth are not fully straight; he had them straightened as a teenager but has since failed to use his retainer at night), the way he hugs his mother (he towers over her), makes jokes with his father (they are so sweet together; his father is so unlike mine), and plays with his sister (you can tell he’s so protective over her)—and, of course, the way he held my hand under the table, his grasp large and warm, making my heart thump like a drum (ah!!! <3)—and, it restored my confidence in him—that, perhaps, he has some different convictions from me, in a few small areas…but that, on the whole, Ben Solo is a good man. (And my boyfriend! Ah!!!)

Ben has often told me that he has always felt everyone was afraid of him, and thought the worst of him, and feared the darkest outcomes for his future—but, that is not the man I see.

I choose to see the best in him. And I always will—never mind what anyone else may think.

[blues-at-the-harbor]

Dear Lovebug

Dear Lovebug,

It's October 7th, which means it's safe to say we've been together for six months.

Seeing you on Wednesday, March 13th felt inconsequential. There I was, talking to a guy I'd met on the internet while in the midst of an employment gap and tense family relations, only days after an embarrassing end to an embarrassing situationship. I didn't feel all there: rather, I felt scattered -- and nervous about setting anything new into motion -- but for some reason, things fell into place and we were planning our first evening together. I didn't know it would lead to six months of falling asleep and waking up with my other half.

We'd texted the night before about what we're looking for, and this is what I said: "I want someone to be real with. I want someone who matches my energy. I do not want any hinge friendships so I am not looking for anything platonic. I want someone to spend late nights with. I want someone to watch tennis with. I want someone who won't use me as as a social crutch or a crutch of any kind but who opens up to me and values my input. Someone adventurous. Someone I can build trust with."

This is what you said: "What am I looking for? Well I'm glad you asked and not me. To be honest with you, I'm not looking for something casual. I like to think I have my life in order. As I've said before, I'm not one to waste my time, but also not naive to jump into anything too quickly. If it feels right and I see respect, then I'm happy to continue and see where it goes."

Thank you for being real with me. Thank you for matching my energy. Thank you for spending late nights with me. Thank you for watching tennis with me. Thank you for holding your own, socially and otherwise, and opening up to me with genuine appreciation for my input. Thank you for being adventurous with me. Thank you for building trust with me.

I hope you see respect from me and that this feels right for you. I don't know that it always does, I don't know that you always do. Like anyone, I have an ego that I can fall victim to, but be assured without a doubt my love for you is resolute.

And what I love most about loving you is our shared imagination and follow-through. You dream, I dream. You do, I do. And we build and we build 'til we're bulletproof.

I sometimes can't believe you actually exist. I had some very specific expectations of a partner and you meet them: - first-generation American - dark hair, dark eyes, taller than me by several inches - with a voice sweet like honey - someone with humble roots - a soccer player

It's vital that my partner has familiarity with a multicultural upbringing, and moreover life experience as an American-born raised by immigrant parents -- all the better if they emigrated from the Middle East. It's crucial not just for how well he is able to treat and understand me, but also for how he treats and understands my parents.

You've wondered if I am ready for long-term commitment and I maintain that I am. I don't like here-and-now relationships in any realm: professional, platonic, romantic, familial. If I have issues with decision-making, I would think this only proves how committed a person I am: I want to be careful and make the right choice. I know we're only six months in, but I want you for life. It's who you are -- warm, witty, funny, bold -- and the little things you do, like: - changing the sheets, scrubbing and putting lotion on my back - holding me, - riding on rollercoasters with me - going to Charlottesville with me - dining out at my favorite restaurants - watching movies that matter to me - cleaning up after me when I don't have the time - making sure I have a towel - taking me to work, and picking me up, when I'm in need . . . TBC

[restapesta]

🔫🧑🏻‍🦰

Watching Ian beat the shit out of Lip was something Mickey thought made him a lot more turned on than it should have.

It really was a long time coming—those little, seemingly inconsequential things Ian constantly complained about were piling up, and all it would take was one wrong word from Lip about something—or someone—and Ian was bound to explode.

Mickey never thought it would be him whom that wrong word was said about.

Ian had been on the edge of his seat the entire day. Mickey knew it was partially his doctor's appointment stress. That combined with some asshole at work who was bothering him, and on top of that, Lip with his whining—Ian really wasn't having a good day.

So when they all met at the Gallagher house and immediately upon stepping across the threshold, Ian was enveloped into talk about selling the house and Debbie and Tami, Mickey knew that the desperate eye roll meant he wanted to get away.

Mickey couldn't do shit to help him, though, Franny looped around his knees, smiling up at him widely.

Ian was unfortunately on his own.

Was it s surprise when not even five minutes later Mickey heard a crash from the living room where Ian and Lip where?

No.

Was it a surprise to witness it all and feel incredibly turned on by the way Ian was punching at him brother as Tami yelled at them to stop?

Yes.

He couldn't help it—his husband was angry and there were beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, and his muscles were flexing as he pummeled his fists into Lip's gut.

Fucking hell.

He should probably stop this, right?

Ian was unrelentless and pissed off, fists flying down and head tilting away from Lip's punches. He seemed to be getting in a few, but overall, Ian was winning.

Tami shook him by the shoulder. "Uh, how about you help me!?"

He suppressed an eye roll but eventually did move from his spot, making sure Franny wasn't following him into the fucking battlefield.

He grabbed Ian by the shoulders, and lightly—because he knew there was no way in hell he'd actually be able to pull an angry Ian off of anyone—he nudged him back, whispering into his ear that it was enough and that he should step away.

Ian listened, pushing Lip away from him and wiping at the blood on his lower lip.

Tami was the one to ask, "What is wrong with you two? Why are you fighting?"

Mickey turned to Ian, waiting for him to explain. He held a hand on the small of his back, trying to steady him. He felt a pang in his chest at the obvious bruises forming on his cheeks—not to say the rough look did anything to diminish the barely hidden tightness in his pants.

"Well, Tami, your boyfriend here," Ian shot daggers at his brother. "Thought it was a good idea to insult my husband in front of me."

Mickey, on impulse, whipped his head to look at Lip and then proceeded to give him the bird. It really didn't bother him—whatever he said, it really couldn't have been that bad. Ian was just angry and needed an excuse, and Lip 'insulting' Mickey was right there at his disposal. That shit happened every night. It really wasn't that big of a deal.

Lip shrugged. "Fuck you both."

With a scoff, Ian turned around on his heel and sped-walk upstairs, the floor thudding as he did. Mickey watched as he left—for their old bedroom probably—and he once again faced Lip, who was being silently scolded by Tami whose it was now turn to walk away herself, exasperated.

Lip checked for blood in his nose. "What do you want?"

"I know that he's your brother," And that this is a simple tussle, and that it really isn't that big of a deal. He knew all of that, yet he schooled his expression into true Milkovich charm—a dead stare that really nobody could rival. "But you hit him again, I'll make sure you're buried where nobody will ever be able to find you."

Lip seemed to wince at that. He nodded.

"Good."

And with that he was stalking up the stairs to get to Ian who was hopefully cooled down, at least a little.

Mickey's threat was true.

As much as he loved seeing Ian dominant in a fight and as much as he loved seeing Lip's ugly mug get pummelled in—Ian's face was going to hurt like a motherfucker and his lip would bleed at the slightest of touch, so Mickey wouldn't even be able to kiss him properly.

Out of selfish, yet completely unselfish reasons, he felt really fucking angry.

Ian was pacing in their old, now empty, room.

If this were a cartoon, smoke would've been coming out of his ears.

"He kept saying how you were trash!" Was the first thing Ian greeted him with. "How 'scum like you' should fuck up the neighborhood more." He let out a humorless laugh. "I should have hit him fucking harder."

There was no way Lip said that. And if he did—Mickey had to keep in a laugh because that was genuinely funny.

And seeing Ian angry over Lip offending Mickey... Well, it was definitely not the time.

"Did he really say that?"

Ian sputtered, turning to look at him. "Y-yes!"

"Why don't you seem sure?"

"I..."

"You?"

Ian's eyes hardened again. "Well, fuck you too Mickey."

Shit. That wasn't what he wanted to do.

Ian was passing by him, careful not to knock into Mickey, and Mickey reached out, placing a hand on top of his shoulder, attempting to stop him from getting far.

It was maybe the worst, and best decision he ever made because Ian was suddenly gripping him by that hand and pinning him against the wall at lightning speed.

His tall-ass husband was pinning him against the wall, hands above his head, a knee between his thighs, face unbelievably close to Mickey's, their breaths mingling in together.

And as much as Mickey didn't want to get Ian's lip even more busted up, he definitely didn't stop Ian from shoving his tongue down Mickey's throat.

Mickey licked the blood off of Ian's tongue as they pulled away. Ian's hair was all over the place. Mickey must've been gripping onto it.

"Fuck, Gallagher, first the fight, now the manhandling; you're really tryna' get your dick sucked, aren't you?"

Ian smiled, the wide grin gracing his face, despite it all. He said, "Maybe I just wanna suck yours." And then he went lower.

This was truly everything Mickey ever wanted in life.

---

"What did Lip actually say?"

They would've probably been cuddling in bed had the room not been completely empty. Instead, all they did was get dressed, and Mickey missed that little bit of warmth.

As he buckled his belt—it was truly as if Ian could read his mind—his husband pulled him in, arms going around his back. Mickey leaned into the hug, clutching Ian's waist.

He heard him exhale.

"He said Milkoviches, not you."

"Huh?"

"He said," He cleared his throat. "Scum like the Milkoviches should make the Southside what it was again."

"And you got angry at that?"

He felt Ian shrug against him. He didn't need to explain. Mickey understood.

"Well, it was hot."

"Hot?"

It was Mickey's turn to shrug. "You getting all angry and shit. It was hot."

Mickey felt his dick twitch at the memory.

Ian must have felt it because, "Are you already ready to go again?" He huffed out a laugh.

He was, but...

"You should apologize to Lip first."

Ian pulled away so he could look him straight in the eye. He searched his face for the hint of a mocking joke, but when he found none, he asked, "You serious?"

Unfortunately.

"As much as I love seeing you defend me... I don't think he deserved it from you."

"So if it were you...?"

Mickey grinned against Ian's lips. "Your level of damage wouldn't be nearly as big as my level of damage."

He pressed a kiss to Ian's lips.

"Okay, I'll apologize."

A pause. Ian's fingers were undoing Mickey's belt again.

"After I fuck you again, because you being this sweet is turning me the fuck on."

Mickey laughed so loud, he was sure the entire neighborhood heard him.

[stellocchia]

So, I once made a post about c!Tommy and c!Dream’s relationship throughout season 1 (which you can find here), but today I was thinking, why not do the same for the Exile Arc?

There are some people that still don’t seem to have a comprehensive idea of what actually went down during that time (either because they joined the fandom afterwards or haven’t watched it at the time) so I’ll try to do that here. I’ll cover the first 2 streams here, and then continue in the next part because this is gonna be way too damn long otherwise...

As always I’ll be talking only about the characters and the roleplay from here on out and also I’ll be touching on some very heavy topics under the cut (such as gaslighting and abuse). Also this is gonna be another one of my Overly Long Analysis, so... you know... be warned of that.

I’ll be going through this vod by vod, so It will be so long... God why do I always do this to myself?

Let’s start with TommyInnit Is Exiled From The Dream SMP... which is the vod when Tommy actually get’s exiled.

So, the exile scene per se has been covered a 100 times over, but, right after Tubbo asking Dream to “please detain and excort Tommy out of my country” Dream yeets Tommy off the walls and then he immediately establishes the general idea of how it’ll be in exile: “I don’t think you wanna die Tommy. You need to- to listen to me”.

Also it is to be noted that in this “exile” time and time again Dream establishes arbitrary rules that were most certanly not meant in the initial sentence (which is why it’s much more of a kidnapping then an actual exile). Starting from before they even leave L’Manburg completely. In fact when they are still in the vc with the others and still just down from the obsidian walls, Tommy and Dream have this exchange:

“Do I have any time to speak words? What can...” “NO. NO. NO. NO!” “what the...” 

And then right after (just after leaving the vc):

“Do you have food?” “Yeah...” “Good, we’ll be going a long while still” “Am I not allowed- well surely- surely I’m only exiled from L’Manburg-” “Oh, no no no. You’re exiled from everywhere that’s been touched”

The sentence was only for him to be exiled from L’Manburg. Dream theoretically only had authority over the Greater Dream smp in any case, so how come immediately Tommy’s “sentence” becomes being exiled from “everywhere that has been touched”? What authority did Dream have to exile him from the Badlands? Or the Holy Grounds (considering those are widely considered neutral)?

This is from right after Ghostbur joins them:

“Well, I don’t- I don’t have to come with you” “Well, I mean, I’ll kill you” (...) "I don’t have to follow you! I don’t-” “Tommy! Then I’ll just kill you. What happens if I kill you?” “I die...”

Again, technically Tubbo only asked Dream to escort Tommy out of his country, not all the way to his place of exile. Tommy here is right, he is exiled, he is not supposed to have a jailor going with him, he is not supposed to be imprisoned. All he supposedly had to do was get off the lands he wasn’t allowed into and then he’d be good. Of course Dream’s plans were different there.

Also the trend of constantly undermining anything Tommy is feeling at any given moment sure doesn’t stop with the Exile Arc! 

“No, no! I don’t want to head anywhere! I wanna to go back! I wanna go back!” “Fine fine, we’ll head this way then. It’s fine, this is fine” “I don’t wanna go!” “Tommy come on...”

Honorable mention to Dream talking about the first time he exiled Tommy:

“Do you remember- this is actually funny! Do you remember the first time you ever joined the server? And uhm... you got exiled? By me?” “Yeah?” “It’s kinda like that, except now if you don’t listen you die”

And the conditioning begins all the way here, with Dream trying to decide Tommy’s emotions for him:

“Oh... I hate you” “*laughs* Okay Tommy, you don’t hate me” “No, no I definitely do” “Noooo, you don’t hate me”

Cue Dream just blowing up Tommy’s second Summer Home after he explained that it was supposed to be a safe haven for him and Tubbo. Also note that Dream is already getting rid of any mob attacking Tommy even if at this point he still had armour and weapons to defend himself. I talked about this before, but Dream does seem to want Tommy to be as dependent on him as he is on Tommy, which is why during exile he made him dependent on him for protection/safety and company and in prison for food. Also Ghostbur going: “I don’t think this man is very nice...”, thank you Ghostbur, I wish you could remember that, but you’re trying your best and I appreciate it...

“How long is- how long am I exiled for? When can I just go back?” “You can’t (...) if you go back you die”

Again, not Dream’s decision to make. Tubbo was the one exiling Tommy meaning that, if Tubbo actually had the decision power in that istance, Tubbo was the one who should have decided when he could come back. Also, again reiterating the point from before:

“I thought I was only banished from L’Manburg, that was the deal, not the entirety of the smp-” “Oh no. No you’re banished far enough where they don’t see you”

Also, a little look into Tommy’s mentality here:

“Tubbo said he wasn’t thinking with emotion, but with reason, but: what the fuck is the point if there isn’t any- any emotion?!”

This is honestly why he is Dream’s exact opposite and probably why he finds him fun, while Tubbo is irrelevant to him. Tommy thinks emotions should always be taken into account when making decisions and he values sentimentality over everything. Dream is the opposite, to him emotions are irrelevant and sentimentality is a weakness. Tubbo is a bit of both, which makes his clash of ideologies with Dream a lot less evident. 

Anyway, they get to the island and Dream builds Tommy a dirt shack for him to set his spawn into. And then there is the first istance of Dream taking all of Tommy’s stuff (building blocks and food included) and blowing it up. Which, again, is in no way an actual exile condition. Tommy is in jail basically. He got kidnapped and now he is in jail. Also right after that Dream gives them food and obsidian (of course acting like he is doing them a big favour, when he actually just created that need), which Tommy bromptly refuses, later burning the obsidian.

Also Dream’s parting words here are: “I’ll see you never”. Which couldn’t be less true! There is quite a bit more after that, of Tommy and Ghostbur settling in, finding a ruined portal with some armour and the village nearby and Techno visiting, but this is about c!Dream and c!Tommy and it’s already incredibly long as is, so maybe I’ll talk about everything else another time...

Onto the next one: Tommy Is Alone in Exile with Dream...

This stream starts off with Bad visiting Tommy to give him a few presents (which consist of Chirp, 2 diamonds, an enderchest, and almost dead diamond pick with silk touch, some coocked chicken some bones and a few stacks of oak wood logs). Also Tommy sees Logsteshire for the first time. Then Dream arrives and he is not happy about the present (something something, having other people giving Tommy useful stuff would make him less reliant on Dream). Also Bad seems to be slightly scared of Dream since he immediately tells Tommy that he should not say that any of the stuff he gave him was from him. Anyway, Dream destroys everything, but Tommy, with Bad’s help, manages to save Chirp. Here’s their exchange in this scene of course:

“Tommy?” “Yes! Yes?!” “Do you have uh... something you wanna put on the floor here?” “Yes *throws in 3 red concrete blocks*” “Anything else Tommy?” “No! You’re evil by the way, you’re an evil man-” “Come on... I know there is something else you wanna drop down here...” “No there-... *gives disk to Bad* I don’t reckon there is!” “Okay are you sure...?” “Yes!” “Alright... how about uh- how about your armour Tommy?” “No this is- I actually earned this myself” “I know you did! Just drop it in the hole Tommy” “No, no! You can’t just come and demand things from me! I’ve been exiled, I’ve done your shit! What- what do you mean-” “Tommy~” “What?” *Dream hits Tommy with an enchanted netherite axe* “Drop them down~” “Hooooo okay okay okay!”

So, in case anyone was wondering, physical abuse is there as well. And this is fully depicted as physical abuse. Like, normally, with this being Minecraft, it is implied that violence is generally inconsequential, here though c!Tommy reacts to it clearly in pain and shock. There is no doubt there. 

Sapnap arrives at this point as well. After that Dream makes it a point that Tommy cannot have the enderchast that Bad gave him because you can never have enough random arbitrary rules when kidnapping someone apparently! 

“Why are you here? Why are you here? What- what could you- what could you possibly want more from me? You’ve tortured me-” “I’m just! I’m just... keeping an eye on you Tommy” 

I’ve highlighted this because, considering the last time Dream was there he said he would never see Tommy again, Tommy’s confusion here is more then understandable. But of course Dream acts like it’s obvious that he would be there and that it’s necessary to make sure that Tommy is not “up to no good”. Also, another extremely important exchange: 

“You’ve exiled me you stupid manipulative green bastard!” “Yeah I know! I know! And you know why I did that” “Yes? Yes?” “No, you know why” “Why?” “Because you don’t listen to me ever. You’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me (...) listen, you are like a little annoying bug in my room and it pisses me off so I take you and I put you outside and that’s what I did. And now I’m just making sure that you stay outside”

So... the bullshit about this being about George’s house is out of the window by the first proper exile stream. Also Dream goes in the ever increasing list of villains who, if annoyed enough, will reveal all their evil plans to the protagonist. Like Tommy screaches enough and Dream will immediately go in evil monologuing mode...

“So what do you actually want from me then?” “Well nothing, I’m just here to talk to you. Tommy, we’re still friends ok? Just because I exiled you doesn’t mean we’re not friends-” “Just because I killed your friends and family doesn’t mean we can’t be bros...” “Well, it’s true!”

Ok so, it’s confirmed that Dream would still go on with this “friendship” facade even if he killed Tubbo or Wilbur then. Also:

*Tommy sees a creeper* then in the most monotone tone ever: “Help me” Dream sprinting from the other side of the cave: “TOMMY!”. I love this scene and I love this two dumbasses (and I mean the cc’s here). Also, to go back to the serious stuff: once again Dream is the one killing every single mob around Tommy because he blew up all his means for defence. Also Bad and Sapnap are still there as well, but Dream is always the on interveening (mostly because he is the one following Tommy around more closely). I’ll have a few of the more interesting quotes here afterwards until the next interesting scene:

“If I had 8 legs I would fuck you all up” “Oooh, no you wouldn’t” (Dream de-valuing Tommy’s anger once again)

“Stop following me” “NO” “Well okay then...” (honestly this was just funny...)

“Can I call you Wilbur? Or is it Ghostbur...?” “You can call me whatever you like” (for those saying that Ghostbur not correcting Tommy was weird)

“Alright Wilbur, what do you need an enderchest for? I might make an exception but-” “We- we need it so that we can access our stuff from the old world, the old world” “But not to go back” “How would we be able to go back with an enderchest?” “Well I don’t know maybe there is stuff in there that’s... better” “Tommy do you have anything that could get you to go back? In the enderchest?” “A boat? What’d you mean?” “Yeah to be honest we just need wood to get back, it’s not really-” 

Here we have Ghostbur poking holes in one of the new rules that Dream added that day. As a matter of fact, why would an enderchest be dangerous? Tommy mostly keeps sentimental stuff in there and a bit of iron. Still that’s the whole point: Dream is trying to get Tommy under his control so he needs to bring him to a point where he’ll listen to his orders even when they don’t make any actual sense. Also, btw, Dream doesn’t actually give them an enderchest after this exchange.

“Do you want to come with me Tommy? Do you want to come with me and visit the old library?” “No no no” “Yes! Yes please!” “No he wants to stay here with me” “I don’t. I definitely don’t” “He does! He’s just trying to be nice to you Wilbur. He’s trying to be nice to you” “I’m not Wilbur, I want to come with you” (way to gaslight an amnesiac ghost...)

“So how long is Tommy supposed to be here?” “Like a week?” “Oh, a week is not bad!” “*laughing* No he’s here forever” (Like goddamn, imagine if every minor griefing was punished with permanent exile!)

“M-maybe like- does Tommy gets like visitations? Like once every month he get’s to go to L’Manburg-” “No! No no no” “No visitation, huh?” “No visitation” (well, let’s thank Sapnap for trying...)

So, after this Tommy gets his plan to go through the Nether and find a quick way to and from L’Manburg to, perhaps, sneak in unnoticed at some points. Dream “allows” him here to go to the Nether (even though technically there is no reason why the exile would extend to there as well), so they get to work on fixing a ruined portal. “Did you know, I apparently blew up a nation and killed everyone” (thank God we have Ghostbur, he makes everything better). One thing I want to note though: at this point Tommy still kills the mobs attacking him when Dream is not stalking him and doing it for him, which is kind of nice. We are still at the first exile stream though...

“Can I go back for like an hour and see all my friends?” “No, they can come here though. I-I mean Tommy, I think- I think that someone could come here and visit you, but you can’t ever go back. Like I-I don’t have anything against people coming here and visiting you if they want to. They don’t HAVE to, but they can if they really want to” “Tommy think of it this way: whenever you’re in prison you can’t just go and visit your friends, but they can come and visit you” “They can come and visit you, yeah, that’s actually a very- that’s a perfect analogy”

I wonder why the best analogy for Tommy’s situation is not a f*cking exile analogy, but actual prison. Maybe because he is confined to one place, not allowed to keep any personal items and never allowed to go back? Also they actually get to Nether hub at this point and there is the famous scene with Tommy looking at the lava: 

A curious thing about this scene (aside from being a clear indication of the beginning of Tommy’s depressive spiral) is both that Dream didn’t seem to particularly care about Tommy dying up until now (and in the future as well) as long as he is the one to kill him. Meaning that he seemed fine with it as long as he had control over it. And yet at the end there he agrees with Tommy’s statement of “it’s never my time to die” which kinda makes me think that Dream by this point was already entirely set on his idea of Tommy needing to be alive for Dream to control the whole server. Tommy and Dream head back to Logstedshire after this scene.

*Tommy looks at the lava while standing very close to the edge* “I’ll go back through just to... check and see” *Dream hits Tommy away from the edge* “Come on” *Tommy goes back to the edge and Dream pushes him away again, this time covering the hole* “It’s not your time to die yet Tommy” “It’s never my time to die” “That’s true” 

“Home sweet home...” “Home sweet home. I think it’ll be good! People might visit you all the time, I mean, I can visit you! It’s- it’s actually fun to come here! It’s a little bit- it’s a change of scenery, you know?” “It’s not fun to be stuck here” “Well... you’re not ’stuck’ it’s your vacation home!” “Can I go back? I’m ready...” “No but you can leave this area, you can go somewhere else. This is just- like, I took you far away, you can go further if you want”

So, if anyone is wondering, this is not, in fact, Dream giving Tommy more freedom. Especially considering that when Tommy does leave Logstedshire later on Dream literally hunts him down, so no, that was never an option. What Dream is doing here is make himself sound benevolent by comparison by telling Tommy that the only other options he has are worse since they are even further away.

“I’m here for a good time, not for a long time” (more hints towards Tommy’s depressive spiral)

“Guys how do you know when it’s too much?” (and again)

“Can I go and see the tree?” “Tommy, you can’t go and see the tree” “Dream why don’t you let him just- it’s not in L’Manburg! Why don’t you let him just see the tree and then escort him back?” 

Ghostbur my beloved, pointing out holes in Dream’s rules all the time. Something tells me that’s the reason why Dream tried to kill him later on...

Anyway! This concludes this first post because it’s... Oh fuck this is REALLY long.... welp! I’ll make the others in the next few days! 

[kcgarashi]

shisui-uchiha-anon​:

plotted starter for @kcgarashi

27. June. Year. 2021- Kyoto. Japan-

 In one of the oldest municipalities in Japan lives a young and prospective carpenter, whose work is well known not just in his hometown but even outside his country’s borders. He made quite a name for himself, doing what he always liked the most. Carving the wood, turning it into art. And even when some didn’t know his real name, he would call him ‘Leaf Artist’ His pieces of timber are signed not with his name but with a small leaf symbol. That became his emblem his mascot. His blog and online catalog have it on the welcome screen.

Shisui Uchiha, age 30. Residence Kyoto~Japan. Street:  492-1000, Amagi. Phone number  +8146-699-5458….And so goes the info page on his site with a little picture of him.

A bit of a rascal he is, playful with that inviting smirk, raven black hair, onyx black eyes, almond shaped, dark eyelashes giving the impression that he wears eyeliner. His curly hair was collected and tied into a small tail on the back of his hair, making a small fuzzy palm tree. Then there goes is education info, from elementary to university education. A short description of what he can make, furniture, frames, doors, windows, jars, bowls, tea sets, chopsticks, figurines, statues, deep carvings, shelves, decorations, and musical instruments. Almost anything your heart desires. A perfect life or so it seemed like that.

At the age of 30 and still alone. His sister Alustriel was married. Two kids already. Yet, Shisui refused to have a serious relationship. With every woman he searched for something, his heart ached for that yet he was never able to find it. After his 25th birthday more and more often he would feel pain in the right side of his head, and his strange nightmares intensified, as if something magnified his torment. In one of those nightmares, he saw that leaf symbol, lying next to him, on some silver headband, only crossed with one line.

They say… for those who believe in resurrection, death is inconsequential, it’s not an ending but rather a new beginning. A second chance. A reunion a chance for him to find that what his eyes can’t see what his heart can’t feel and his arms yearn to hug. The very idea of resurrection is so seductive its concept is easy to forget. Before you can rise from the dead. You have to spend a few days in hell. His will begin when he meets HER.

Because with Heaven that she brings comes Hell as well. Hand in hand like day and night, like sun and moon…..

It was funny, really, how life turned out. Matarera had never imagined that she’d end up in Kyoto of all places, a Hokkaido native from Sapporo, she’d managed to go to university in the former capital and had liked it enough to stay. Even if it had taken some getting used to., especially since her family had been adamant about her coming back to Sapporo eventually. Then she'd met someone while studying, settled down and...gotten divorced a year later.

Not exactly the whirlwind romance she'd wanted. The fact neither of them could afford to move out meant they still lived together, with a mutual friend of theirs. On the bright side, it had made the divorce hassle-free, on the not-so-bright side, it made dating difficult. For her. Not so much for Shinbei.

The less she dwelled on that the better. Getting married had felt like the right thing to do then, but she'd had her doubts halfway in. Nothing Shinbei had done, but she'd never been able to shake the feeling that their decision had been too fast.

But there had been a bright side to moving to Kyoto, she had a fulfilling job as a kindergarten teacher and her coffee Instagram had been popular enough. But to say she was happy and fulfilled would never be right.

Especially when she dreamed of a dark eye, conflicted emotions and a tortured soul.

It had started somewhat innocently, going through the web only to stop suddenly when a familiar symbol caught her eye, a leaf. Not like the Ainu designs she'd familiarised herself with over the years, but enough to spark something. Finding the artist's website hadn't been a problem either, Shisui Uchiha (Rera had felt a headache come along the moment she'd finished reading his name), from Kyoto and...she'd closed her laptop when she'd gotten to the small picture of him on his site. Her headache had gotten worse, and the teacher had opted to not give it much thought.

At least until she'd walked through the streets of Kyoto, her favourite coffee in a to-go cup. A normal day, at least until she spotted an eerily familiar figure.

"Excuse me," she called out, not entirely sure as to why. The teacher hadn't even planned what she'd say next if the strangely familiar stranger did respond.

But if it helped solve any of her questions, stupid as they seemed every time she thought of them, it'd be worth it, right?

[atmostories]

Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Tags: Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Alcohol Abuse, Depression Matter - Chapter One The first few weeks after you broke up with Johnny, you were a complete mess. Even though you had made the right decision it didn't make it any easier. The days were a vague blur, where you muddled through your daily routine without really experiencing it. You couldn't stop thinking about that night, it was the anniversary of his mother's death. You'd found him unconscious and sprawled out on the floor by the sofa. A strange sound was coming from him as his body convulsed slightly.

When you crouched down beside him, you'd realised that he was choking on his own vomit. Immediately you turned him onto his side and lifted up his chin to open his airway. He started to cough only a couple of seconds later as the vomit spewed out of his mouth.

He noisily wheezed in air, but he still didn't come to as you called out his name over and over. After accepting that he wasn't going wake up anytime soon, you wiped his face clean and laid down beside him. You tried not to shake in fear as you placed a hand on his chest to make sure he was still breathing. He'd almost died right in front of you.

You didn't sleep. You were wide awake the whole night watching over him. It wasn't until the morning when he finally woke up. His first instinct was to grab a bottle of beer on the table and down its remaining contents. When you told him what happened, he didn't even bother to apologise before downplaying the whole thing. You should have been angry, you should have told him to try to get sober, to go to therapy, to go to AA, but you'd said that all before. Every time you'd try to suggest him getting help, he'd shoot you down, saying that he didn't need any of that pussy shit and he didn't have a problem in the first place.

You just couldn't do this anymore.

After he stalked off to work, you packed up your stuff from his apartment and left. He called later that evening, asking where the fuck you were, demanding to know why your clothes were missing from the closet. You told him to meet you at a diner, it wasn't a conversation to have over the phone. You were waiting in the parking lot when he turned up. Rather than going inside, you got into the passenger seat of his Firebird.

Johnny didn't say hello, he didn't say anything for a while. He must have realised what was happening. Fuck, you really didn't want to do this. You'd been contemplating it for months, always managing to convince yourself to give him another chance, to respect that his addiction was a very complex and difficult thing.

Every day you'd worry about him, fearing that he might have gotten into a fight with someone again, panicking that he'd blackout at the wheel of his Firebird after coming home from a bar. He wasn't just putting himself at risk, but everyone he came across. You had numerous arguments with him about the drunk driving. He'd say that he hadn't had too many and he was perfectly fine to drive. He would then apologise and say he wouldn't do it anymore, and then a week later he'd do it all over again.

You knew he was a good man. That was the problem. It was buried underneath decades of shame and guilt and regret and hurt. You were not equipped to deal with it. You'd tried, you had tried so fucking hard. It had become such a burden that your own problems didn't matter, what you felt was always inconsequential.

But now what you said was going to matter.

“Look about last night,” Johnny mumbled, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel. “Things might have gotten a little out of hand. . .”

“You almost died, Johnny,” you told him numbly. He looked at you then, his eyes searing into you and making your heart ache profusely. The tears welled up in your eyes. “You almost fucking died.”

Guilt bled across his expression before he looked away. The reprieve from his gaze gave you the chance to suck in an unsteady breath. You were still for a few moments before you pulled the key to his apartment from your pocket and held it out to him.

“I can't be with you anymore.”

“What, so that's it? You're just gonna leave because of one fuck up?” He asked angrily, his arm resting on the wheel as he turned to face you. You scoffed out a curt laugh, he was unbelievable. “You think this is funny?”

“You know that's not true,” you replied calmly, not wanting to get into an argument with him. He didn't reply. You let your arm fall into your lap, not bothering to keep holding the key out for him. Rather than wait for him to take it, you opened up the dash to put it inside. Before you could put it on top of some receipts, he snatched hold of your wrist.

“That key's not on loan, I gave it to you,” he snarled, he was deeply offended by the gesture. It was an insult to reject his gift, but you knew he didn't mean just that. You were rejecting him. Staring down at his hand, you waited until he loosened his grip and let your wrist go.

“When I told you that you're always welcome, I meant it,” he spat at you. In his eyes, what you had said to him didn't matter, when you had told him you loved him you didn't really mean it. You were nothing but a worthless liar.

“I'll always care about you,” you replied, hoping that he would understand you were telling the truth.

“Bullshit. You're just like the rest of them.”

“Johnny-”

“I thought you were different, but you're gonna leave like everyone else.”

“You don't understand-”

“No I get it. You know what? Keep the key, throw it in the trash, I don't care. Just get out of my car.”

“Please I-”

“Get out!” He shouted, your body jolting at the sound of his rage. You barely managed to swallow down a sob as you scrambled to leave the car. He started up the engine as you closed the door and he gunned it out of the lot.

You watched him drive off, not quite believing what had happened. But he was gone, just like you wanted.

- - -

It was almost a month since you'd last seen him. You got a call from Sid, that mean old bastard, as he explained how he graciously bailed out his step-son for the last time and that Johnny was no longer his responsibility. He managed to throw in a couple more insults as he told you to deal with Johnny from now on, suggesting to try payday loans or hustling the next time you had to pay for his bail. You hung up right after that, infuriated that Johnny had to grow up with someone like him.

Though your first instinct was to go straight to his apartment, you gave him a call instead, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

“Hello?” Johnny answered, he obviously hadn't checked to see who was calling him.

“Hey, Johnny.” The other end of the line was silent for a beat too long, you hurried to say something else before he could hang up. “I wanted to make sure you're okay. Sid gave me a call, he said that he bailed you out of jail.”

He huffed and hummed in displeasure. “Of course he did.”

“A-Are you?”

“What?”

“Okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“I was worried, I-”

“Yeah well, you don't need to do that anymore, do you?” Before you could say anything else, he hung up. The pain in your heart was the same as when he had driven away from the diner. Why wasn't it easing, even a little?

You missed him so much.

- - -

The new apartment you were living in was worse than Johnny's. You had to work extra shifts and overtime to pay the rent, and you were still struggling. It hadn't been as bad when you'd lived with him, he'd split the bills with you.

You were on a lunch break, thinking about going to the grocery store to buy some dish detergent. There weren't any clean dishes left, you'd gone through everything. You'd already used a mug as a substitute for a bowl several times. Your phone started ringing, distracting you from the thought. Seeing that it was Johnny calling made your chest twinge in discomfort.

“Hello?” You answered hesitantly.

“You left some of your stuff here,” he said bluntly without preamble. You were so shocked that he had called that you didn't manage to spit out a reply.

“Are you gonna come pick it up?” He prompted.

“Uh yeah, of course. What um. . .when do you want me to come over?”

“Anytime past eight.”

“Okay.”

“I've gotta go.” He didn't you a chance to say goodbye, or to ask whether he meant tonight. That must have been what he was saying, right? The rest of the day you were a wreck of nerves, unsure of how badly the next meeting with Johnny was going to go. Hadn't you taken everything from the apartment? What if he thought you had purposefully left it to give yourself an excuse to see him again?

Ten minutes past eight o'clock, you were walking up to his apartment, worrying that you might be too early. Should you have come at half eight or nine? You tried to stead yourself before knocking. When he opened up the door, you were surprised to see that he was clean-shaven. He looked good. . .healthy. The last time he'd shaved was when he saw Robby a while ago. The two of them had gotten into an argument. Johnny didn't take it well. After picking a fight with you, he went on a two day bender.

From the way he was looking you over, it was like he wasn't expecting you at all. Did he not mean tonight? Before you could tell him you'd come back another time, he opened up the door fully, gesturing for you to come inside by tilting his head.

After he closed the door behind you, he walked over to the kitchen. You didn't know what to do with yourself. The place felt so familiar, but at the same time there was now an underlying hostility to it. Sitting down would be too presumptuous, you didn't want to upset him. He opened up the refrigerator, you wondered how much stuff he had in there but you couldn't quite see from this angle. Johnny had a tendency to be forgetful about the groceries, but not the beer though. He never forgot the beer.

“You want something to drink?” He asked, you weren't sure if he was actually offering alcohol.

“No, thanks.”

“I've got orange juice,” he clarified.

“I'm okay.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah.” He shut the refrigerator and walked up to you, his finger pointing at your face.

“Those bags under your eyes say different.”

“I've worked a couple long shifts, that's all.”

“Sure,” he replied, with a hint of irritation to his tone. He always could see right through you. Rather than bothering to ask you for the truth, he picked up a box and put it on the coffee table. “Your stuff's in here.”

He migrated back to the kitchen, giving you a chance to take a look at what was inside. There were some toiletries, a toothbrush, a couple CDs, a tupperware box and an old Metallica shirt.

“This shirt is yours,” you told him, folding it up and placing it onto the table.

“The amount of times you've worn it. . .pretty sure it's yours.” There was a weak smile on his face. He was trying to break through the tension, ease up the conversation. You almost breathed out a sigh of relief, appreciative that he was trying to make this easier.

“It's really comfortable. Couldn't ever fault your taste in classic band shirts,” you responded in kind in an attempt to keep things jovial.

“Just everything else, huh?” He retorted, his eyes flicking away, his mouth twitching like he hadn't meant to say that. Awkwardly, you shuffled the items around the box, wondering how to recover the conversation without it degrading into something unpleasant. A knock on the front door pulled you from the thought. He had a grimace on his face as he went to see who it was. There was a kid the other side of the door.

“Sensei! I forgot to ask earlier, are there some exercises I should be doing in the morning? I was reading this article about metabolism and-”

“Now's really not a good time,” Johnny told him, trying to gently dismiss him. The kid then spotted you, his eyebrows raising in surprise. You gave him a half-hearted wave, wondering why he was calling Johnny Sensei.

“Oh, is that your friend?”

“What part of not a good time don't you get?”

“Sorry I uhh. . .guess I'll come back tomorrow?”

“Mmmhmm,” Johnny hummed. He answered the kid's question as he began to close the door. “Fifty crunches, forty lunges, thirty push ups.”

“Is that forty lunges per leg or-” The door was shut before the kid could finish. Johnny turned around, shifting his weight uncomfortably like you'd seen something you weren't meant to. You wanted to ask what the whole Sensei thing was about, why some kid was asking him about what exercises he should be doing in the morning.

“He seems like a good kid.”

“Yeah, when he's not being annoying.” There was no insult to his words, you could tell that Johnny liked him.

“What's his name?”

“Miguel. He lives in the apartment opposite.”

“Oh right,” you replied, unsure why he was making friends with the neighbours. He hadn't ever done that before. You turned your attention back to the contents of the box, fingers running along the edge of a CD case. It felt so strange being removed from Johnny's life, being unwelcome to the facets of his life. You had asked the most polite and unobtrusive questions you could think of, but you couldn't come up with anything else.

“I opened up a dojo,” he told you, his hands hanging awkwardly by his side.

“A dojo? You're doing karate again?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you hadn't done karate since you were in high school?”

“I haven't. Not until now.”

“Oh,” you muttered, mind replaying everything he had told you about Kreese. Sometimes he had nightmares about his old Sensei, he'd wake up shaking, struggling to breathe. One time he accidentally elbowed you in the face because you were too close. You had an arm around him, you had been pressed up against his back, spooning him. That was the last time you'd slept like that.

“But after everything that happened with Cobra Kai, I thought. . .” you trailed off.

“It's going to be different. It's not going to be like how it was before.” With Kreese, you finished wordlessly, understanding what he meant. Was it really a good idea for him to be doing karate again? You remembered the fights he'd gotten into, he was proficient enough as it was. It would give him direction though, something to focus on, something to work towards. He needed that.

But where did he get the money to open his own dojo? It must have expensive. Was it Sid? Was it part of his final pay off to get rid of Johnny for good?

“Miguel's your student then?”

“Yeah, he's my first one.”

“That's great, Johnny,” you told him honestly, knowing that this could get him back on track. “I'm happy for you.” He stared for a few moments, there was something off about his expression. Did he not believe you? He nodded non-committally in response.

You pointlessly shuffled around a few things in the box to give yourself something to do. The silence hung heavy in the air. You didn't want to leave, but you didn't feel welcome anymore.

“Was there anything else?” You asked, after you refolded the Metallica shirt and carefully tucked it away into the box. There wasn't anything more you could do to prolong your time with him.

“No, it's all in there.” Picking up the box, you slowly approached Johnny as he stood by the door.

“Thanks for calling me.” You pressed your lips together in a polite smile. “I hope everything goes well at the dojo.”

“Me too.” Johnny didn't move to open up the door, you wondered if he was expecting you to go around him. You took another step forward, shifting your grip on the box. Another few seconds passed until he finally opened the door. He brushed his hand along your arm as you moved past him. The sensation of his touch was a harsh reminder of how much you missed the intimacy you once shared with him. You were nothing but acquaintances now.

“Maybe take it easy with work, hmm?” He suggested gently. You must have looked worse than you realised. You nodded your head, you couldn't tell him that you would take it easy, that wasn't a choice you had.

As you walked off, you were perturbed by the thought that that was the last time you'd ever be in his apartment. - - - Hope you enjoyed it! I’m currently writing the next chapter and will share it when it’s finished. Do any of you want me to start a taglist for this? I’d be more than happy too. 

[border-spam]

Leech Lord - Nobody loves me like you

It was so late it felt like time itself had passed out, that void somewhere in the AM between being tired enough to fall asleep where you stand and feeling the nervous energy of dawn approaching.

The air in the Mechanicum was crisp with night chill when the E-Dev in her pocket vibrated, and Saint Ur-Machina's heart sunk in her chest as she grimaced under her welding mask. No need to check who it was, she'd known before he'd even sent the message.

The God-King was angry.

She sighed, rubbing oily hands into oilier overalls, and frowned at how pointless a gesture trying to clean them had been at all, picking bits of filth out from under her nails as she leaned against the rough wall of the hangar. Pointless maybe, but a distraction, and Seifa needed one of those right now.

The God-King was angry with himself, and that meant the people he cared about the most would take the rage.

The workfloor clock read 3:56AM where it hung from the rafter above her station, clunky ticking echoing across the empty bay. No one but her still working, and she shouldn't really have been there either considering the hour, but that had stopped feeling like it mattered a long time ago. She was always there now. Always working, like she haunted the place. Funny, she used to be so good about managing her time...

The welding mask threw a cloud of sawdust as it bounced across the floor towards the machine she'd kicked it at. She didn't even know what to call the horrible thing that loomed in front of her, some juggernaut of sleek metal she'd been ordered to run performance checks on, jagged lines illuminated by the sickly floor lamps she'd arranged around its skeleton.

Warmachines. Unnamed projects with stacks of paperwork marking them as highly classified, Troy's insignia and the same word she kept seeing over and over in confidential documentation - Uroboros. Tasted like a bad idea, reeked of poor decisions, and she'd always sniffed those out like a Skag.

What the hell did Seifa A'Rosk know about warmachines anyway? They used to build Technicals here, outriders. COV custom Cyclones for stream events, this wasn't what she signed up for, none of it was. Managing the engineering crew should never have shifted into whatever the fuck THIS was.

The steel monster in front of her bled oil silently into the sawdust, refusing to give an answer. Whatever this was, it was for Gods and Sirens, and that was a world she wasn't part of, not really. She wasn't a Saint, she was just a ghost, caught repeating the same mistakes over and over till she faded away.

The E-Dev in her pocket vibrated again, and she tapped the back of her head against the plate steel wall, trying to convince herself she wasn't ready to vomit as she squinted up towards the hangar's ceiling, lost to the night murk the lights around her couldn't quite cut through.

She figured she should answer, making him wait was just going to make this worse.

Jak-Knife had already warned her, a curt ping earlier today to "sstay ou t of his way it s bad seiifa". Ven too when he'd dropped by in the afternoon with the excuse of worrying about if she'd eaten yet and half a bag of something spicy and dripping in grease. He'd said the Cathedral staff were noose tight and whispering nervously about an incident a few hours before, something had gone wrong in a talk with visiting sponsors - with the twins. Word on the rumour mill was it had nearly turned vicious, the suits looking ready to brick themselves as they'd all but ran through the meeting room's doors after Troy had flung them open hard enough to unhinge one, and according to priests who'd been on hand? Tyreen had really embarrassed him.

Sei had winced as Ven explained, both painfully aware of this behaviour pattern and what it meant for everyone he was close to. Why the God Queen had been going out of her way to put her brother down in front of high-value clients recently was impossible to guess - no one could really get into her head or understand her decisions lately, but this wasn't the first time, and if anything it was getting worse. Little insults. Little knife-sharp jokes that weren't jokes at all, and mockeries masked behind a paper thin smile like it made them less deadly. She'd imply he was a burden, or undermine his expertise in ways so cleverly worded that the officials would have no choice but to laugh awkwardly as Troy seethed while his twin continued with negotiations.

Today she'd apparently told him to make himself actually useful and fetch their guests some drinks, right in front of servant crew and moments after he'd finished a grueling breakdown of growth projections and profit expectations for this quarter to a rapt audience. It's hard to tell if him snapping had actually surprised her or had been exactly what she wanted, but the staff who'd been there were terrified, and insisted the Vault Mother had looked genuinely shocked when the desk he threw had missed her head by barely a few inches.

He'd stalked out of the meeting and vanished into the upper cloister, and now it was the middle of the night and her E-Dev pinged for a third time.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe out the fear coiling through her ribs in a shaky exhale. She knew exactly what was happening, it was the same as always with him. Enraged, dripping with self-loathing, and lost somewhere in that toxic mood somewhere between vicious and pitiful - looking for something to hurt, looking for a way to vent the pain as he paced like a snarling monster, muttering like he was arguing something with himself, a back and forth of accusations and desperate apologies to something no one else could see.

Tyreen couldn't eat him alive with her powers but she could do it with her words... and maybe that's what had changed. Maybe she'd realised a new way to control her twin with manipulations that left him so emasculated and damaged in confidence that he wanted to tear something he loved apart just so he could turn the hatred on himself after.

Of course it was going to be her.

The same dance every time now, the same frustrating steps that she'd memorised by this point, trying to break him out of his deadly spiral as he'd rant at rave at her, till he'd attack her somehow, then skulk into the shadows when he was done foaming at the mouth, leaving her to carry everything he'd piled onto her shoulders - the threats, the hate, the aggression, only to beg for her forgiveness the next day and be ignored.

He'd spend a week desperately apologising, showing how much he understood how pathetically wrong what he had done had been, sending ridiculous gifts to the mechanicum where he knew they'd have to be accepted under his sigil, reassure over and over in messages that it wouldn't happen again, that he'd just been under so much pressure, that he'd just snapped, that it wasn't right and she hadn't deserved it and how much her friendship mattered.

The E-Dev pinged one last time, and Seifa straightened, dusting off her overalls and adjusting the toolbelt slung around her waist.

God-King Calypso demanded a sacrifice - self harm masked as a blade he'd lash at someone he loved so it would cut him all the deeper. She'd take it, better her than someone else. She could handle him. 

She always had.

It was raining again, felt like that hadn't stopped at all this month. Pandora had wet seasons, it's just that the water never seemed to go anywhere. The acrid dust absorbed it almost as fast as it could fall, but in the city it flooded the streets as it rushed down gutters. Neon light reflected from gaudy signs in pools of colour that swam across the uneven paving stones as she slowly made her way towards the Cathedral, a waterproof canvas thrown around her shoulders protecting from the downpour.

Even at this time of night, the city was still alive. It never really stilled anymore, too many deals going down in alleys and money changing hands in clubs for it to ever actually sleep, and as she picked her way past huddled locals far too engrossed in their own business to pay her any mind, Seifa wondered when it was things had changed like this.

This place had been a shanty town, hadn't it? When she'd arrived to take over the engineering division there had been maybe one, two thousand COV followers camped around the cathedral in rickety shelters. Bandits mostly, erecting camps and functional living quarters with expertise alien to any outsider. It was a city now, fuck, it was a metropolis. She'd overseen the building of half of the major apartment systems in the inner ring around the holy quarter, so how did it still feel like it had grown of out nowhere?

Sei huffed out a steamy breath into the chill night air as the cathedral began to come into view, bass music and laughter fading as it was swallowed into the drumming of the rain on the buildings she left behind her.

She used to be so proud when she saw it, the awesome majesty of its twisted spires and jutting angles framed against the rocky outcrop that loomed behind it. Nowadays it just looked like something grotesque, a mirror of what it contained maybe. The COV was rotting from within, and everyone knew the source.

She'd been warned by friends more willing to face the harsh realities of the twin's decline that time was running out.

Tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, it didn't matter why it was going to happen, just that it would, and as much as she hated admitting it to anyone, Seifa knew she wasn't strong enough to do this much longer.

He was killing her.

Anything could set him off now, it was constant. Numbers under-performing this week, an underhanded comment from Tyreen that tipped the balance, not enough sleep, too many stims, not gaining weight, an article mocking his appearance, anything. It could have been any of them he had summoned, her, Ven, JK, the why or who was inconsequential because the desired outcome was always the same.

Troy wanted to hurt himself, not them, but he didn’t know how. The pressure would build and build till he broke down, lost logic, went wild-eyed and shaking in barely controlled rage. He hated being Troy Calypso so much there were times he wanted to tear his own skin off, he'd told her as much on nights alone and open in shared sadness, but there was no escape. It was this, or starving in a manner she couldn’t even comprehend, and when he'd asked before if maybe that would be the better option?

...She'd not known what to say. She'd failed him then, tripping over the words catching in her lungs as he desperately waited for an answer that would make sense of things, and she'd never been able to give one. Just sat next to him as they both sank deeper into the trap of their titles and the horrible reality that there was no clear way out.

He was waiting in the throne room for her, just like she'd imagined. Pacing back and forth across the dias as the city light streamed through the stained glass windows, glinting sharply off the rattling gold spines his ritual gear was decorated with as he moved.

She'd stood in silence, watching, trying to catch what he was asking himself as he'd snap a muttered retort in spite, but not able to ever make out the questions. Like an animal snared in gilded chains she figured, or something else maybe - an idol pretending to be something living? A shiver had ran through her as she waited for him to turn his frantic attention to her, quietly waiting for the blow to come. No one had even been there to greet her or open the doors to the throne room, they were ajar, the staff knowing better than to risk being in his presence when he was like this... she smirked, knowing better than her, anyway.

He'd shifted attention to her so smoothly it felt like the rant he'd been hissing to himself just continued directly into her as he'd turned, beckoning her closer with a quirk of those horrible claws. She'd bit her lip and swallowed down how much that enraged her, being summoned like a fucking dog when this man so often made clear he viewed himself as dirt in comparison to her, but months of dealing with him had tempered the reaction. Easier to go along with it, placate him, nod and let him vent out the bile till he realised how much of a fucking asshole he was and came crawling back later.

It was the same dance as usual, the exact same steps. She could feel where he was going with each shift in direction, jumping topic to topic in an attempt to place blame and becoming more enraged with each simple refute she could offer. She never made it easy, that wasn't her nature in the end, she'd calmly reply back to each accusation with logic that left him shaking harder as the fury built, like a caged predator or roid-mad Psycho desperate to attack but not getting the opening. She could play this game for hours, long enough to make sure he worked for the satisfaction, even if it left her exhausted.

She'd always been petty, after all.

He threw snarled jabs at Mechanicum performance, raised complaints that she knew weren't true, accused "concerns" about output she could disarm easily, the same as always, till suddenly he shifted.. and everything went wrong.

She could handle him with spines raised and teeth bared, she could stand unflinching as he aimed blows that he never really landed, but she hadn't been prepared for him to suddenly relax. He'd stood straight, rolling the weight of the prosthetic on a shoulder all casual and friendly like suddenly he wasn't seething under the grin his snarl melted into, and she'd felt a jolt of fear. This was something new, this was something... worse, she could feel it like electricity crackling up her spine, and for the first time that night her heart began to pick up a stuttered pounding as cool sweat beaded down her back. He took a step closer, and for just a second, there was a question flittering across the back of her mind that screamed something she couldn't ignore before it vanished into her practiced calm.

For a split second, Seifa questioned if this was Troy.

"You know, it's funny, Sei..."

She opened her mouth to warn him to stop, the atmosphere was at fever point, he was going to go too far, something in how terrified his eyes looked against he vicious curve of his smile sent panic through her chest.

"Troy" her voice cracked "Come on, Troy you know you shouldn't keep going, this is -"

He cut her off with a tsk and raise of a bladed finger, bending to lower his face closer to hers from where he towered above her.

"Rude Seifa, I was talking."

He was near enough to feel the body heat glowing from his chest, and her voice choked in her throat as the point of a talon tapped gently against her nose as if he was chiding some kid.

"Funny isn't it?" He cooed, and it wasn't.

"You used to have so much time for me, didn't you. We used to really spend time together..." the lack of his stutter was a warning she knew him too well to ignore.

"... but nowadays you're so desperate to get out of my presence that I can literally see your skin crawl while you're forced to be around me. It's happening right now Sei... ain't it."

That was a lie, and she wanted to slap his hand away from where it pointed towards her chest, push him back towards the throne behind him and tell him how stupid an attack that was. She's always had time for him, she gave him infinite time, she gave him so much of herself that she'd been crumbling, she wanted to tell him the truth of it, that how much she gave him had been killing her, but she couldn't, he didn't give her the chance.

"You've got allllll the energy in the world for your little friends though, don't you. You've got laughter and happiness to pour all over them, fill them up with, show them how much you care, but not me, not anymore. And you know, that's got me thinking recently!"

The smile was fake but the monster behind it wasn't. He may as well have been snarling, and she was fully aware he wasn't really attempting to hide that at all.

He stepped a fraction closer again, close enough for her to reach and press a warning hand against his chest as he leaned further down to meet her eyes, the veneer of his calm cracking under the weight of the now haggard, panting breathes he whistled through that vicious smile, the terror in his eyes. She didn't understand any of this, why was he so afraid when it was him pressing this onwards, why was he so panicked when the act was so calm? His skin was like fucking fire under her hand and the push she gave to try and move him back did nothing.

"Made me realise, maybe I was never your friend really - maybe I was just something you held onto like a lifeline in the storm of your shitty life choices, huh?" She felt tears rise, this wasn't fair, this was too real now, this was being aimed at his friend not his employee, but he wouldn't stop.

"Taken for a ride while you lead me on all these years. That would explain it, right? How much you got for them, how much you'll give them, when I'm just a burden to you. Or..."

His mouth was next to her ear and she wanted to beg him to stop before it was too late, before he did what she knew he was about to do. To stop before he decimated everything, but the words were caught behind the sob she refused to let spill as he drove the knife home with one last twist.

"Maybe the real problem here Seifa, is they are more than friends, hmm? Because that's your real operation method, isn't it. That's how you get what you want, everyone knows it. Maybe they met your standards, but you just never saw me as good enough to fuck."

The crack of his jaw against her fist echoed through the stone throne room for long enough to make the silence that came after all the more horrible.

She remembers that, that noise and the pain ripping through her hand in burning waves, but she doesn't really remember the rest. 

She doesn't fully remember what she saw, the flash of those glaring, monstrous eyes that burned down on them both as Troy reeled in horrified shock, cradling his face in confusion like he couldn't understand why she'd just hit him, she doesn't remember the flicker of Siren wings or the laughter that echoed somewhere in the back of her mind but made no sound.

It's a daze. Whatever he whispered pleadingly after, teary-eyed and shaking, she didn't hear.

She doesn't remember leaving and how she stormed down the Cathedral halls and into the freezing night air, doesn't remember who saw her or if clergy had been there. Doesn't remember the way she'd mindlessly picked towards the hi-rise Ven's quarters were in before realising she was walking the wrong way, or how effortlessly she'd flipped the ignition in her ship, or how prepped she'd been to jump out of Pandora's orbit soon as she hit safe distance, doesn't remember any of it.

But the pain in her hand and the look in his eyes after, she fucking remembers that.

[spicysoftsweet]

Why Not Her? (Illumi x Reader)

A/N: Buckle up, this is long as fuck and dramatic as HELL. Please read @hisokapegger‘s fic for the first part, and consider this the other perspective. If one of us is feeling up to it, we’re gonna write some more perspectives.

To the tune of Jolene by Dolly Parton here ~

Part one by @hisokapegger here

TW: pregnancy

---

To love is to trust.

You had done the unthinkable by choosing to love and to trust what to others was despicable. You had made the leap and been rewarded for it with the love of Illumi Zoldyck. 

Your relationship would be strong and lasting; you were sure of it. Prior to coming to the sprawling mansion he had grown up in, he had already paved a way for you after all. With enough convincing (or rather, over a year of quiet arguments and louder fights that you thankfully weren’t privy to), his parents had begrudgingly accepted the idea of you. 

And today was the day you would finally be presented as his fiancee.

He had chosen you yourself. There was nothing to fear, as long as he was with you. You reminded yourself of this as you held his hand while he led you into the manor.

You kept your smile on as you navigated through, following just a few steps behind but still linked. What you needed to do was look charming, even if you were afraid - first impressions were paramount to people as elitist as Illumi’s family. You had to channel grace, even if the butterflies in your stomach would barely settle the further you went.

And you did so well, exuding charm and inner peace to everyone you met - that is, until you met eyes with her. 

Illumi introduced the beautiful, sylphlike creature as one of his most trusted butlers. She smiled at the praise, and the moment you took in the soft features painted on pale skin with a hint of olive, something inside of you trembled for just a moment. 

“This is Kali. She’s been with me ever since I was a child,” he explained, with fondness. 

You nodded, trying to ease the thump in your heart, keeping your smile genuine. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Kali.”

You were being truthful. You sensed intrinsically she was sweet and kind, and you knew you would end up liking her the longer you spent time together. She would be your personal butler from then on, anyway. You decided to ignore the nagging sense of impending doom that knocked at your subconscious, shoving it into the deepest recesses of your mind.

As Illumi took you away to move on, you turned back to sneak a look at Kali once more.

And then you saw it; you wished you hadn’t seen it: her eyes shining with sadness for just for a split second before she noticed you and looked away.

----

As you had anticipated, you and Kali became fast friends. You knew Illumi loved you and that his feelings hadn’t changed by the way he spoke excitedly about your upcoming future together, took the time to fill up your quarters with the things you liked, and indulged you in soft kisses and touches when you were alone together.

But the thought that you were assuming a space that didn’t belong to you, and not in a way as innocuous as sitting in someone else’s seat, continued to linger in the back of your mind.

It festered every time Illumi came by to see you while you were exchanging stories with Kali when you failed to see a difference in the way he looked at you both. It reared its ugly head whenever she teased him in your presence, or whenever she gave you a tidbit about his favorite things. There was a twinkle to her eye whenever she spoke about him, and while you loved her, you started to hate it.

But jealousy was such an unbecoming emotion, wasn’t it?

Illumi loved you, it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

---

“I want Kali to make one of the wedding cakes.” Illumi stated, voice as light and inconsequential as usual, as you sat side by side in one of the many gazebos on the field. 

“Oh?” You asked, looking up from the catalog of flower arrangements you were perusing, despite the fact that you knew his mother would override any decisions you made anyway (you had decided you would let her win the battle over flowers so that you could win the war, after all).

“There’s a recipe only she knows,” he continued. “It’s been my favorite since I was a kid. She’s aware and has agreed.”

“That sounds lovely, Illumi.”

It truly did, and that was the worst part.

---

Your wedding came and went, and it was every bit as beautiful as you imagined. You remained in Illumi’s arms after consummating your union, and somehow, shockingly, he fell asleep first. Or maybe he was just closing his eyes - yes, that was the more rational explanation. You snuggled closer into his neck, and wrapped your arms even tighter around him.

Still flushed, you whispered a breathy, “I love you.”

And to your terror, the little green monster that had spared you for the past few days came back in full force. 

But so does Kali! It screamed from the parts you thought you had locked away, and your heart started to race.

Illumi didn’t open his eyes, but he pressed his lips to your forehead in a small, quiet motion before pressing you even closer to him, likely sensing your unrest. 

What you needed to hear him say was those three words back.

But alas, those three words never came, and the little green monster grew just a little bit stronger that night.

---

You could have your choice of men, but I can never love again

He’s the only one for me, [Kali]

---

It didn’t take very long for you to become heavy with child, and for whatever reason, pregnancy was particularly hard on you. The fatigue, back pain and constant nausea would have been manageable if it weren’t the fact that your ankles swelling was nothing compared to the swelling in your face, and you were unsure if the stretch marks that coursed over your belly would ever fade. Just looking at yourself in the mirror some days would ruin your morning.

Kali remained lithe and beautiful as always, graciously by your side to help you with the most menial tasks. Taking your hand to help you get to the bathroom or to take a daily walk around the manor to prevent blood clots from sitting around, keeping you company while Illumi was away; you were in need of constant assistance, and she was always there for you.

She was an angel, and your best friend.

One evening as you ate dinner, just the two of you, you let out a sigh.

Kali smiled in response, attempting to reassure you. “Pregnancy seems difficult, but you wear it well,” she mused, pouring chamomile tea for the two of you to enjoy.

You gave out a dramatic snort as you took a sip. “I’ll never look the same again, and I’m pretty sure this whole story about a “pregnancy glow” is fake,” you huffed as you set the teacup down.

“But Illumi’s so happy, he talks about it all the time!” Kali exclaimed cheerfully, setting down her own cup. “Just yesterday, he was talking about baby names you had discussed, and settling on a few. It was quite funny to watch actually.”

A knot formed in your stomach. The last time you spoken to or seen Illumi was multiple days ago... 

“Was he home yesterday?” You blurted out, then were embarrassed to even have to ask your friend about your own husband’s whereabouts. 

She furrowed her brow as she looked at you in confusion. “Yeah, of course, he was just here for a couple of hours, but...”

He didn’t come see you? What she left unsaid was enough to set you on edge, but you couldn’t be mad at her, only at yourself. 

Who could love you anyway, the way you were now?

It took you a moment to get up on your own, but you had to stand and make your way from the table. Turning away from her so that she couldn’t see the bitter tears that were ready to fall from your face.

“__, are you alright?”

“Mmhmm,” You choked out and nodded, your voice regrettably higher than usual. You bit your lip.

“I think I’m going to bed early tonight.”

You could hear the chair shift back as she rose.

“Okay,” she said, in a soft, compassionate voice. You heard her light footsteps make their way to the door, pause for a moment, and finally the door closed shut behind you.

And at the sound of the closed door, as if on cue, your tears began to fall. 

---

Your smile is like a breath of spring

Your voice is soft like summer rain

And I cannot compete with you

[Kali]

---

You spent the rest of your pregnancy on bedrest, before producing a beautiful, dark-haired little girl. Skin to skin contact was brief before Illumi took the baby in his arms, inspected it, and with the smallest smile of pleasure, handed it to Kali.

You watched as Kali cooed at your new child, standing next to your still pleased-appearing husband, the picture of a perfect family. Even their features complemented each other; it was like a knife twisting in your chest. 

Kikyo gave you a quick look over before running over to them to pick up her new grandchild. For a split second, you wondered if you had imagined a look between pity and understanding, hidden beneath her visor. 

The nightmare of being overlooked.

---

And I can easily understand

How you could easily take my man

But you don't know what he means to me

[Kali]

---

It took you not too long after that to grow bitter. Maybe it was postpartum depression, maybe it was a year of feeling inadequate, maybe it was the fact that you knew your friend was more deserving than you. 

But either way, you withdrew. From Illumi, from Kali, from everyone. It wasn’t hard to do so. You did what you were there for. You’d produced a child to appease your husband and your grandparents. 

How you yearned for freedom...

The freedom that Kali had to love without the responsibility. If only you could switch places.

“___, please eat-”

“I’m not hungry,” you replied, before she could even finish. Kali pulled the plate of food back to her.

“Illumi is upset with me that you’re not eating.”

“Are you worried about Illumi or me?” You quipped, then covered your own mouth, shocked at what had come out.

“...”

Kali was speechless, but the look on her face betrayed a layer of guilt that you couldn’t tolerate. You were right. It was less about you than about Illumi.

You knew she cared about you too, and yet…

“I know you love him,” you choked out. Kali said nothing, her beautiful eyes still on you, as you began to cry. 

“I know you wish he had chosen you instead of me, and honestly, I wish he had.”

----

I had to have this talk with you

My happiness depends on you

And whatever you decide to do

[Kali]

---

The next morning, you decided you would seek some professional help. You didn’t know how much of this was depression vs. postpartum baby blues, but something had to be done. Kali did not deserve your anger at all.

You didn’t see Kali that morning. 

When you finally spoke up your concern of your whereabouts to Illumi, hoping not to avoid any trouble, his face was impassive as usual. 

“She asked if she could leave.”

The butlers didn’t just have the option to leave… Or did they?

“I didn’t know they could quit,” you questioned, suspiciously. 

“They usually can’t. But in this case, there was an exception.” He said. With that, he turned fully to face you, and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. It had been a long time since you’d kissed, since you’d withdrawn from him in your depression, and you missed it. But it felt wrong.

You withdrew again from his touch.

“What did she say? What was the exception?” You demanded to know.

“She told me she loved me, and that you knew the entire time,” he said, simply. Your stomach did a backflip.

“Normally the punishment is immediate death, but I know how much you care about her. And she was good to you.” He continued, taking your hands in his. You pulled away slowly, staring straight through him. He didn’t insist on it.

“Where is she now?”

“Off the manor, most likely.”

You started to walk towards the gate, and he held on to your arm.

“Where are you going?”

A panic started to rise in you.

“Bring her back! I was wrong, I was wrong, I was wrong!” Tears started to stream down your cheeks again, as the realization set in that such a petty feeling such as jealousy had managed to turn you into a villain. 

“She wanted to leave.”

“She loves you!” You protested.

“So?”

So? It was such an aggressively simple sentence. You looked up at him in shock, enough that it gave you pause.

“What do you mean so? Why me? Why not her when she’s perfect?”

“She’s not you.”

Your hand almost flew to his face from the sheer level of rage, the urge to defend her feelings coursing through you, but your palm stopped right at the side of his face. Instead, you sank to the floor, and sobbed for Kali, and for yourself. 

---

[Kali, Kali, Kali, Kali~]

I'm begging of you please don't take my man

[jessbakescakes]

100 ways to say I love you #85 it doesn’t bother me

85. It doesn’t bother me from this post.

Post-series and shamelessly fluffy.

“Our timing sucks,” Donna declares. “This is the worst decision we’ve ever made.”

They’re sitting on the floor in their new living room, surrounded by boxes they’re trying to unpack in the sweltering August heat. Josh knows better than to go toe to toe with her about this; it was her idea to find a new place, of course, and she’s the one who fell in love with the one they’re currently moving into. But she’s nearly eight and a half months pregnant, which gives her the upper hand in most arguments these days. He can be incredibly stupid sometimes, but he’s not that stupid. So he just nods in agreement and tears open another box.

“I haven’t looked at some of this stuff in years,” she says, lifting things out of a box that she never opened from her move to their old place. “I think I just threw it all in a box so when I was subletting my apartment it wasn’t in the way.”

“Find anything interesting?” 

“High school yearbooks,” Donna says. “You’ve seen them all, don’t get that look on your face.”

“When did I see your high school yearbooks?” Josh asks.

She shifts her weight to her hands, placing them on the floor behind her and arching her back. “They used to be on my bookshelf. I caught you looking through them one night after you had a drunken conversation with Lucy’s cats.”

“Hey, I don’t even remember that,” Josh protests, holding out his hand. “Hand them over.”

She sighs and rolls her eyes, handing him two yearbooks, one with a red and white cover and the other with a blue and white cover. They seem to be from two consecutive years - likely Donna’s junior and senior years, Josh determines through some quick math. He opens one and carefully scans the first few pages to find any sign of Donna. He repeats the process before he hears Donna gasp.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Donna laughs. “Wow, this is going to be a fun few weeks. You need to relax.”

“Donna,” Josh whines. “It’s not funny.”

“No, honey, you’re right. It’s not,” she says, her tone only slightly patronizing, as she reaches over and pats his knee. “I found my Josh box.”

“Josh box?”

“Yes. My Josh box.”

“What the hell is a Josh box?” He closes the yearbooks and puts them aside.

“It’s so stupid,” Donna says. “I mean, I guess it’s not now, but in hindsight? The stupidity levels are off the charts.”

“Again, I ask you: what the hell is a Josh box?”

She lifts the cover off of the box and places it beside her on the floor. “Ever since we met, I’ve saved things. Little things that remind me of you, or things that represent places we went together. And I put them in this box.”

Josh moves the box sitting to her left and scoots himself toward her. Donna hands the box to Josh, who pulls it into his lap and glances inside. There’s no rhyme or reason to its contents, at least not that he notices right away. But he reaches in and pulls out her (his?) Bartlet for America badge and he realizes what she’s collected. Most of the items in the box would have almost no value to most people - a ticket stub to one of the only movies they saw together before they became a couple, a cocktail napkin with several games of tic tac toe on it, a mug with her name on it they picked up somewhere in Montana (or was it Utah?). There are a few take-out menus, several stacks of post-its, every card to every bouquet of flowers he’s ever sent her. There are photos and plane tickets and newspaper clippings, some of them seemingly inconsequential, some of them representing momentous occasions.

“You saved all of this?” he asks incredulously.

“I did.”

“Donna,” he laughs. “Why didn’t you show me this before now?”

“I was afraid you’d think I was… I don’t know, obsessed with you, or something. It started so long ago, I figured it would creep you out.”

“You aren’t obsessed with me?” he asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, Josh, you caught me. How’s it feel to know your wife’s a weirdo stalker and has been for years?”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t bother me.”

She playfully swats him on the shoulder. “Help me up, would you? I’m going to get some ice cream from the freezer.”

“Good thing we unpacked the silverware,” he says, standing up in front of her and helping her to her feet.

“Priorities,” she shrugs.

“Just… don’t save the ice cream carton. We don’t need to commemorate the first snack you had at our new house,” he teases.

[ayellowcurtain]

Can we get some Nicco getting jealous? Maybe when they all are camping and some random guy is flirting with Marti

Can you write a nicotino one where nico embarasses marti in front of his friends by calling him mi amore or something??

Part 5  

This has a little bit of not dirty talk, but dirty thoughts, maybe? It’s just at the start. 

Marti moves carefully, his arms and legs can barely hold his weight, slipping down to lie next to Nico, not on top of him. He can’t not see Nico lying there, looking so happy and fulfilled. He can’t grasp what he’s feeling or what he’s feeling the most. He never thought it would be this overwhelming. 

He grabs the pillow under him, squeezing as hard as he can for a moment, needing to make sure everything is real, even himself. Tonight actually happened. He rolls to lie on his back, not able to actually use much strength or thought to move. 

Marti still feels oversensitive everywhere, but it feels nice. When he closes his eyes, he can still feel how it was to be inside of Nico, locked so deep it’s unbelievable. When he opens his eyes back he can still see white dots blinking everywhere. The adrenaline is still running high from his blood to his brain, everywhere, tingling his raw skin. Martino never felt this happy before. 

Nico talked about a bite before, when they weren’t in the middle of sex. Martino just wanted to make sure that’s what he really wanted. And when Nico asked again tonight, he was looking deep inside Martino’s eyes, very aware of what he was asking. 

They’re mated. Nico is his.

He is mine. And I’m his.

Everything happened so naturally, but Martino goes back every step, trying to make sure this was their decision, not in the heat of the moment. Martino was always very careful when they were having sex. Not letting his alpha take over him completely, making him desperate for release and inconsequential and...territorial.

He feels a weight on his left side and he looks, finding Nico half on top of him, pressing their lips together, not kissing exactly, more like smiling against his lips. Martino looks at him, his skin still too hot and shiny. The base of his neck with the mark Martino left there a few hours ago.

“I love you.” Nico says, looking at him.

“I love you.” Martino says, and it feels like a breath of fresh air saying it after so long. He touches the mark carefully with his fingertips, it must feel sensitive still.

“Marti…” Nico falls back on the bed, but his eyes are still on Martino, lying his head on his own shoulder, “Stop. I wanted this. I wanted it probably more than you did.”

“I wanted it too, it’s just…” 

“You’re the love of my life. You’re mine.” Nico smiles and Marti moves to lie on his side, always enticed by Nico’s smile and the meaning behind it. 

“What?”

Ni bites his lip, smiling wider, lifting his eyebrows.

“This, what we did tonight. We’ll do it all the time now.”

“You think you can take it?” Martino wiggles his head like Nico would and he watched as his omega nods his head eagerly. 

“It was you who asked for a break.”

“What? When did I ask for a break?” Martino props himself on his elbow, pushing Nico to fall back on his back. He can’t help but look at everything more carefully now. They were chasing their own needs earlier, the magical, mind blowing, long, filled with pleasure in every second night, so Martino’s memories are still a little foggy. Nico’s torso, so sculpted and red before now it’s getting blotchy, his breath slowly back to normal, contracting his abs with every long inhale he takes.

“Cucciolo mio.” Nico sings in a whisper, pushing his face against his pillow under his head, his damp curls framing his forehead, smiling knowingly.

Martino tries very hard not to laugh. He used to hate when Nico called him that. It’s stupid, childish and it doesn’t make sense, it’s such a Niccolò thing to say, though. But with every time he heard it, maybe Martino grew attached to the words. To the way Nico sounds even softer, smoother when he says cucciolo mio. The way he only says to annoy Martino when he’s angry or grumpy or being irrational to take the edge off and make Martino focus on something else. On two stupid words.

“It’s funny how you said that now, but you had someone else that was yours for a little while.”

Nico doesn’t let the words weight the conversation, it feels like they travel from one ear to the other without even being taken into consideration.

Nico comes closer, leaning against his elbows. He’s so close Marti crosses his eyes to see him, his mouth watering and his whole body already back on the highest alert. 

Martino can’t wait for the next heat. Now that he knows how it feels to go all out. Now that they know how far they can go and they know they can let themselves go, do whatever comes to their minds, that they won’t hurt each other. 

“You were flirting with someone else not too long ago.” Martino looks him in the eyes, ready to tell Niccolo all about how a stranger at a bar and Luai are very, very different, but when he opens his mouth, Ni is kissing him like earlier. 

But this is also different, even though it tastes the same. The smell is completely different. It’s filled with love, with kindness, with a calm that Marti had forgotten how it feels. It only happened when he was around Nico and he wasn’t for a whole year. 

It’s his turn to smile in between the kiss, partly because Nico is quietly pushing him to lie back down, Nico doesn’t know how and when to stop, huh, but mostly because he realizes this is his life now. Their lives. What he feels, Nico will know and what Nico feels, Marti feels taking over him this exact second.

He knows everything about Nico, at least the core parts of his feelings. Because he always thought Nico was just trying for his own sake to be a calm, steady presence. Marti thought he pretended to be like that to convince himself he could be someone trustworthy and with no need of someone constantly checking on him. Nico wanted to be trustworthy so he could be left alone for once. But he’s genuinely this kind, angel type person. Martino can’t believe it.

Poor Ni will have a hard time when Martino is in a bad mood.

[daesungindistress]

I’m laughing so hard how Daesung covered all 5 faces from the ‘Lies’ MV with his tiger icon haha. Of course the crazy ot5s are like ‘omg thank you ot5 😍’ they just don’t get it do they. It’s funny none of them will post a group pic with everyone’s face including his, which they won’t ever do. Like when TOP covered Seungris face in that edit he posted in 2019 but left his own faces uncovered. It was hilarious.

First of all: I am decidedly not a fan of April Fools' because I don’t like pranks (being the target or acting them out)... though it depends somewhat on the nature of the prank... and I think this one was done in poor taste, but at least he didn’t let us sweat it out for long before he cleared the air, and I’ve gotta admit the way he went about it was pretty stinkin’ cute. His “I’m so sorry but I love you” community post followed by that screenshot from the Lies MV with the members’ faces replaced by that goofy grinning tiger logo of his did pull a laugh out of me. He’s as cute and quirky (and cheeky) as ever and it’s hard to stay even a little upset with him.

As for the “5 faces” thing... This is just like last year, when TOP posted a clip from Fantastic Baby featuring rioters in gas gear and used it to crack a joke about everyone wearing masks to combat the pandemic. “The prophecy of 10 years ago,” he wrote, probably very pleased with himself and his wit. But the beauty of the joke sailed clear over the heads of SR/OT5 fans, who were sadly incapable of focusing on anything but a few fleeting glimpses of the ex-member in the chorus. Utterly inconsequential. Utterly unimportant.

In the same way, today Daesung was unable to use his own group’s old content to flex his funny bone without droves of depraved dunces getting it all wrong. He used lyrics and imagery from BIGBANG’s Lies to share a fun inside joke with fans, and slapping that silly smiling tiger on every available head raises the joke to a new level of absurdity. That there are five people in the screenshot is insignificant. And yet once again a BB member’s humor is completely lost on deeply delirious fans who are, as usual, too busy making it into something it’s not to appreciate it for what it is.

That is how I took it initially. But you know what? You could be onto something. Until you sent me this, I hadn’t given it much thought and it hadn’t occurred to me that his decision to hide all their faces may have begun with the need to hide just one. He didn’t want to be too obvious about it, didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings (he has been something of an ambassador for BIGBANG lately), so rather than single out the ex-member for censorship he cranked up the comedy and turned everyone into tigers 😆 I’m not saying that’s for sure why he did it, but I can totally see it and it’s worth considering. At any rate, TOP, as we all know, has no such reservations. Hilarious? Indeed. The memory of him reposting that fan edit in early 2020 and concealing that one’s identity alone will never not be funny.

That said, OT5s acting awful and being embarrassing over nothing, what else is new? Oh, speaking of... here’s something y’all will love. The real joke of the day, perhaps the best one of all, was a... let’s just say “special” breed of VIP having the bright idea to trend the hashtag “JusticeforSeungri” on April Fools' Day. What a bunch of bozos 😂

[kalypsichor]

Headcannons of how each of the boys would propose to Reader? Love your writing so much, thank you for being such an amazing blog!

thank you thank you thank you! This is very long, so buckle up...

Ringo

this immediately popped into my head bc i thought it was funny

our main man ringo has been trying to find the right moment to propose to you... for weeks

he just can’t seem to think of how. if it’s too grand of a gesture, would you be embarrassed? or if it’s too small, would you be disappointed? 

it turns out that the moment comes naturally

one morning the two of you are lying together in bed, watching the sunlight spill from the windowsill onto your floorboards. outside, the world is waking up and getting ready to move on, but in here it’s just the two of you

you’re holding his hand up, examining his many rings in the way that you love

“this one is pretty... look at how it shines in the sun! and this one... this one is tough. this one says ‘don’t fuck with me’” you say the last bit in a terrible imitation of Ringo's low voice, which is very sexy in your opinion

Ringo laughs and then, in a split-second decision, reaches over to the nightstand and pulls out the ring box. He turns and, hands a little shaky, opens it to show you the beautiful diamond ring inside

“how about this one?”

you’re silent for a moment... and then you start crying

“what--what’s wrong? did I do something?”

you laugh through your tears, trying to hide your face. “nothing’s wrong, stupid... I’m just so happy! Yes, yes, yes!” he slips the ring onto your hand and tries pulling your other one from your face. “no, Ritchie, don’t look at me! I’m ugly when I cry...”

“I’ve got to get a good look at your ugly face, then, if I’m going to be marrying it”

Paul

Paul, being the dramatic bastard that he is, has got the most ostentatious proposal ever planned out for you

he’s booked the nicest restaurant in town for dinner, rented the flashiest car, ordered ninety-nine roses, and hired a mariachi band to surprise you on your walk along the Thames while he proposes. 

yes, it’s all planned out perfectly

you���ve been getting ready for the better half of the hour, thinking that tonight is just another date night. you’re ravishing in your favorite lipstick and a beautiful floor-length dress that you haven’t even worn yet since you bought it

when you walk down into the living room, Paul’s put on a Sinatra record and is staring at some of your pictures along the bookshelf. he turns at the sound of your heels on the wood floor... and his heart jumps right into his throat

“speechless?” you tease, coming to a stop in front of Paul. he brings your hands to his mouth and kisses them. 

“always when i’m around you, darling.” except his words come out with none of the suave charm that he usually has. they’re quiet and sincere, heart-wrenchingly so, and you feel something bright spread from your chest to the tips of your toes

your favorite song comes on and Paul pulls you close. “dance with me?” he asks, and the two of you sway there, cheek to cheek, as Frank croons something beautiful from the speakers

Paul knows that you’re going to be late to the reservation. he knows this but he can’t bring himself to break from your touch, can’t bring himself to lifting the stylus from the vinyl. instead, he throws all reasoning out the window... and gets down on one knee, right there in your living room

Paul says your name softly as he brings out the velvet box from his pocket. “will you do me the honor,” he says, voice trembling in a way it never has, not even in front of thousands while singing on stage, “of being my Mrs. McCartney?”

“Paul, yes. Yes! Oh, I’d love to,” you babble. The words are a jumbled mess, you both are, and you laugh a little at each others’ nervousness as he slips the ring onto your finger. when he gets up, you embrace and Paul groans into your shoulder

“don’t tell me you regret it already”

“no, of course not... it’s just--“ Paul sighs and pulls away, looking into your eyes. “I had the whole thing planned out... we were gonna walk to the bridge and there was gonna be a band... but I just couldn’t resist it. couldn’t resist you”

“we can still do all that,” you say, laughing at the downtrodden look on your now fiancé’s face. “I’ll even give you back the ring so you can do it again, and I’ll pretend to be surprised...”

“no! absolutely not. you are never taking off that ring, ever. okay?”

“okay”

and you never do

George

if you don’t think George would do it in his garden you’re lying to yourself

he’s been working on something for a few weeks... working for hours in the garden on “a new project,” he tells you

you just shake your head and smile, staying up every night to greet George’s sweaty, dirty self with a warm bath and... other things...

one day he finally tells you that he’s done and leads you through the garden, insisting that you keep your eyes closed

“is this the part where you kill me?” you ask, giggling as you stumble over a rough bit of earth

“no, I wouldn’t do it in the garden...”

after a while of this, he stops and tells you to open your eyes... and when you do you gasp

he’s cleared out an old, overgrown part of the garden and planted rows and rows of your favorite flowers in the shape of, get this, a heart

most of the large clearing is empty and could fit maybe a few dozen people. there’s a path that leads down the middle and to the back, the dip in the heart, where is an archway, perfect for maybe two people to stand under

“George,” you say, hands clasped over your mouth, and you turn around to tell him something but the words die on your lips

George has gotten on one knee and it holding out the most beautiful ring. Those fateful four words hardly leave his mouth before you’re pulling him up, gasping “yes” in between every kiss 

“so this is what you’ve been doing every day?”

“yes, and all for you.” George turns you so you can see the flowers, resting his head atop yours. “would you like to get married here?”

oh, you realize. that’s what the large open space is for... on either side of the pathway, you can imagine rows of white benches. and at the archway, you see yourself marrying the love of your life

“a thousand time yes,” you say

John

John, who you love to bits, is admittedly a little emotionally constipated

he absolutely lets you know how much he loves you, of course, but growing up and seeing how frowned upon it is for him to be emotional, it’s hard to open himself completely to you at first

so, he proposes to you in the way he’s been expressing those forbidden emotions with for years... through song

you don’t suspect anything at all, really

you and John are sitting on the balcony, overlooking London where he’s been recording for a few weeks now. it’s peaceful despite being right in the city, and from so high the noise and bustle of the streets below seems almost inconsequential 

he suddenly looks at you and asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on. “of course,” you reply, and he goes to fetch his guitar

when John sits back down across from you, he seems almost... nervous? but that’s not right, he’s never been insecure about his songs before. John’s a good songwriter; he knows it, you know it, half the whole world knows it. but you swear you can see a tremor in his hands as he starts strumming and singing

it’s unlike anything you’ve heard him write before. soft, gentle, and sweet... almost hesitant. a song about loving, and being scared of that love, and growing old together

when John finishes, he looks at you for a long time, something vulnerable in his eyes. you don’t speak because if you did, you were sure you’d cry instead

“so, will you?”

“will I what?” you hope the voice crack wasn’t as obvious to John as it was to you

“grow old with me”

you throw yourself into his chair, not caring that the guitar is digging rather painfully into your chest

“of course I will, you silly boy”

as you embrace each other on the porch, tears rolling down both your cheeks, all else in the world fades away.

[aponderingcharming]

We Have What We Have When We Have It - Part 3

The day to return the stones finally came. Steve made sure that the soul stone was the last stop on his trip. It was time to say goodbye. Read on AO3.

The day to return the stones had finally come.

Bruce had spent the past number of days making all the necessary tweaks for Steve to safely travel to all the different locations and spots in time and get back in one piece. The last thing he needed was to get stuck in the past and/or on some planet lightyears away, so he was thankful for the extra time that the scientist was taking in exacting the formula.

Meanwhile, Steve had spent the last few days reading and re-reading all of Natasha’s notes and letters. All of them were for him. Each one was different; the tones and lengths varied and the timeline in the shifting of her affections became more and more noticeable as he read. A lot of them described missions they had gone on or were about to go on, sometimes in extreme detail like it was almost therapeutic for her to do so and other times in broad brushstrokes with just dates and times. Some of them accounted conversations they’d had with one other and he found himself recalling the memories with ease as soon as the words popped from the page as though he was back there in that moment with her. It was so easy – too easy – to get lost in the memories, to change them ever so slightly so that they’d end differently – like maybe he gathered up the courage to compliment her or maybe even to be so bold as to tell her how he truly felt.

He caught himself replaying her phrases all throughout the day, each time hearing them with a slightly different voice of hers – sometimes light and airy, other times heavy and quiet. At night he lay awake imagining the ways in which she might have revealed her feelings – sometimes they’d be on a mission and she’d blurt it out casually in between kicks and gunshots; other times they’d just be sitting together on the couch like they did countless times before and she’d just whisper it into the room like a soft prayer. Each time it hit him a different way because while the scenarios he conjured up weren’t real, her words were.

Every now and then she’d write something that would appear so out of place among the rest of the sentences that it’d cause him to pause, put the paper down and squeeze the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger because it’d get too much. She’d note things like: ‘And then you smiled at me, and it was different than your usual smiles. More…I don’t know, private, I guess? As if it was just for me. So I smiled back and I can’t explain it but it was like something expanded in my chest. I felt…warm, I think. But not in an uncomfortable way; in a really, really nice way. I kind of always want to feel like that.’ But then, later on, she’d write something like: ‘Do you have any idea how stubborn you are? You think you know what’s best but really you’re just floundering about like the rest of us because newsflash, Rogers, none of us have ever had to face anything like this before. So we’re all just trying to throw around ideas and come up with a plan and you’re just sulking over in the corner with your arms folded across your chest in this defiant, patriotic stance – and it’s really unhelpful. Sometimes I wish you’d just listen a little bit more.’

Reading them was unpredictable, much like Natasha herself. And there was a beauty in that. There was a beauty in the way she didn’t just paint pretty pictures of how she felt or how things went down; she was raw and honest and funny and heartfelt. The letters were like a glimpse into her soul and while Steve knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved her, he knew it even more as he read her stories and worries and fears and insecurities. And though knowing that nothing he could do could bring her back, they provided him the chance to have her with him always.

The night before the mission, Steve had been up writing a letter to her, trying and failing to find his words that could accurately and deeply convey everything he felt about her. God…he really didn’t want to say goodbye. He never planned on saying goodbye. So the words didn’t come easy. They were hard-fought and clunky, and didn’t really make much sense when he read them back to himself, but what else could he do? He hoped that maybe, somehow, by some stretch and bend in the cosmic world, she would be able to hear what he had to say because he was planning on leaving his heart there on that mountain in Vormir. This felt like the best way to finish their story. Because that’s what it was. She wasn’t coming back and there was nothing anyone or anything could do to change that.

But Natasha deserved to hear that she was just as loved and wanted – he was going to make sure of it.

He was thinking of taking a break after this, some time off to re-evaluate what he really wanted to do. While walking away from Captain America wasn’t something he thought he could ever do, a hiatus from it all felt like the right decision. There were people out there looking after different worlds and nations, people who they could count on if anything got too hairy down here, people who could be trusted, people who were friends. Earth was in safe hands.

It was time to get a life and getting a life meant figuring out who Steve Rogers was without the title and the role that came with being an Avenger.

It was strange; it felt as though returning the stones was the end of an era, the last chapter of this book that he had been writing for the past few years. Going on missions, fighting and saving, being part of a team, had become a part of him over time and it seemed funny to him that he was going on this, pretty huge, pretty vital, last mission by himself. But, in a way, that was what he wanted.

This mission allowed him to say goodbye to the two women who shaped him into the man he was now.

Getting a chance to say goodbye to Peggy in a way that he never thought possible was too great of an opportunity to miss. Not ever getting to have that date or that dance together was something that haunted him for years and even though she was alive when he came out of the ice, he never quite felt like he expressed just how much she meant to him, at least not in a way she could understand. And he really wanted to show her. Just one dance. That’s all he wanted. And then he could move on and put that life, and all that came with it, behind him.

But when they mapped out the various routes for the trip, he made sure that returning the soul stone was the final stop on his quest.

It was a beautiful day; sun shining high, not too hot, not too cold, a delicate breeze in the air. The perfect day for a last mission – at least for now, anyway.

The suit felt tighter.

Heavier, too.

Almost like the material knew it was the beginning of an end.

Steve took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror in his bedroom, taking note of all the scratches and tears and patches that now adorned the suit. They were battle scars; scars of victory and scars of loss. He smiled sadly at his reflection, catching all of the scars his face and body displayed too. He looked different; tired and dismayed. Older. A version of himself he’d never met before.  

From outside he heard Bucky call his name.

It was time.

Bucky and Sam had insisted on sending him off, even though to them he’d only be gone a few seconds, but Steve knew that if the roles were reversed, he’d do the same. Getting both of them back really helped in the aftermath of the battle; whilst talking about what he was going through didn’t come easy  - or at all most days, just having them around as a solid presence brought him a sense of peace. There was a solace in knowing that he wasn’t alone.

When he ventured out to the lake, Steve admired the view one more time. The trees that protected the lake like a fortress now swayed in the light breeze, almost as if they were waving farewell to him. Even though he knew and believed that he was coming back, he knew he wasn’t coming back the same – and it felt like nature knew that, too.

“You ready?”

With a nod, Steve joined Bruce and Sam by the workstation that had been set up.

Bruce, arm still in a sling and looking a little more worn than usual, presented the case with the infinity stones inside to him.

“Remember,” he started, “you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got ‘em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Steve nodded. “Don’t worry, Bruce,” he assured, taking the case. “I’ll clip all the branches.”

“You know, I tried - when I had the gauntlet, the stones...I really tried to bring her back.” The man paused, forlorn and defeated. Turning his head to look at Steve, he continued with a sigh, “I miss her, man.”

The blonde dipped his head at the admission. It was obvious that Bruce still cared about Nat and though he never really let his mind go there, Steve knew that a part of her still cared about him, too –not in the same way she had at the time of Ultron, but still enough to want to rebuild a friendship with him. And despite never discussing the relationship they had, Steve knew that Bruce was grieving just like he was.

He peered up at the other man. “Me, too,” he replied, the words heavy and definite.

An understanding smile passed between them.

The letter he had written to her burned in the pocket of his undershirt that lay against his heart.

“Let’s do this,” he proclaimed louder, more assured, Captain America in full flight.

Returning the stones (and Mjolnir) hadn’t been as difficult as Steve anticipated. Sure he could have done without having to inject the reality stone back into Thor’s old lover while she slept – that he’d be sure to lord over the man for many years to come, but the rest were thankfully fairly inconsequential. Sneak in, return, sneak out, don’t cause any ripple effects or alter anything in the process. There was a slight hiccup with the space stone in Morag which resulted in a ducking-and-diving-from-an-intergalactic-weapon kind of getaway, but Steve considering fleeing from gunfire to be pretty standard territory at this point.

The second last stop on his quest was to return the space stone back to the military base in 1970. And he finally, after all these years, got to have that dance with Peggy. Maybe it wasn’t in the location they’d pictured with the fanfare and anticipation and all that came with a first date, and maybe there wasn’t any music playing, but it was worth waiting for. A part of his heart that once seemed empty had now been filled and while it hurt more than he would ever admit to say goodbye one more time, he took comfort in the fact that she would live a great life and be happy. And he was glad that he was able to keep his promise to her, too. Feeling bound to his old life had taken up so much of his time in the present day and he more than knew that couldn’t keep living his life like that anymore. Time had passed, he had changed – the Steve Rogers from then didn’t exist anymore, and getting this chance, this final moment in time, gave him the push to really and truly move on.

Though all of his travels were always going to lead him to Vormir last, a part of him sometimes wished he had gone there first just so he could get it over with. As the time dragged on and each stone had been put back in its place, the dread of knowing what was to come gnawed at his emotions. It felt like the week leading up to a funeral where all the arrangements had been made and you were just waiting until the day when it became official. He didn’t want it to be official. There was this odd comfort in ignoring the obvious truth for a while but he knew the second he landed on that planet it would all become real again and there’d be no more escaping into daydreams or fantasies. No, he’d have to stare the loss right in the eye.

What he didn’t expect was how beautiful Vormir was. Not in the traditional sense, but in this other-worldy way that his mind would have never been able to conjure up on its own. It looked like what he thought a planet in outer space would look like – but then so much more. Vibrant clashes of colour with impressive shapes of land like sketches of a child where there was no rhyme or reason to what something could and should look like. It exceeded all human concept and imagination. And even as he gazed out at this barren landscape, he had a moment of awe at the direction his life had taken. It was breath-taking and beautiful, yet crushing and painful at the same time. He had achieved so much, had seen so much, experienced more than he ever thought, saved the world and individuals alike. But he’d also learned true pain, felt isolated and alone, discovered new levels of anger and confusion, lost battles and friends.

The mountain sat ominous and foreboding in his eye-line. It was sharp and jagged; a place that looked like death and danger personified, and it was surrounded by pools of water laid out in a nonsensical pattern. Wind whipped around him, flicking snowflakes into his eyes as he trudged his way up, jaw tight and set as he ground his teeth together to fight off the cold. His breathing was laboured as he made the ascent and he briefly wondered at how Natasha had felt about making the climb – he could imagine her and Clint complaining about the others having it easier than them and a sad chuckle sounded from him at the thought.

When he finally reached the top, he took in the surroundings. Nothing to be seen for miles.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from behind him, “Welcome…”

Steve zipped around to a see a floating entity dressed in black. His eyes narrowed.

“Steven, son of Sarah,” the voice continued, making his blood run cold.

He approached it slowly. “Who are you?”

“Consider me a guide to you and to all who seek the soul stone.”

The blonde raised his head. “I don’t seek the soul stone,” he announced calmly and then reached into his pocket to take out the glowing orange rock. He had discarded the case after seeing Peggy, making sure to tuck the final stone into a secure part of his suit for the last trip. “I seek to return it.”

“It has never been done before.”

“Well then I guess I’m the first,” he pressed.

The body then moved toward him and as it drew closer its features became more defined. Steve’s eyes widened as the face of the Red Skull became clear. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” he seethed.

“I am the keeper of the soul stone. I was banished here to this purgatory state to guide others to a treasure I cannot possess.” The Red Skull waded past him toward the edge that overlooked a canyon of darkness. “A great sacrifice was made for that stone that you hold.”

The rock suddenly felt weightier in his hand. “I know.”

A few moments passed and then, “What you seek lies in front of you, as does what you fear.”

Steve peered over into the abyss and swallowed hard, knowing that at the bottom was where she once lay. There was nothing there now. Just emptiness. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I already have the stone; what is this?”

“The soul holds a special place amongst the infinity stones and its ways are unknown. The soul demands a sacrifice – in order to take the stone you must lose that which you love. No one knows, not even I, the price for returning it.”

He was irritated now. “So you’re trying to tell me that I have to do something in order for this to be put back? I don’t see how that makes sense.”

The Red Skull’s timbre was haunting. “I’m merely offering you all the knowledge I have on this matter. What you long to do has never been attempted before. There are secrets of the stone that I do not yet know and cannot pass on.”

“Well thanks you’ve been a great help,” the man sniped sarcastically and then released a long sigh.

So no rules, no ideas, no maps to follow. Just gut instinct and a bit of luck. Steve didn’t believe in luck.

With a shake of the head, he walked to the edge and retrieved the letter from his pocket. No matter what, no matter what worked or didn’t work, he came here for this. He stood there on the cliff edge, the chill in the air not just from the temperature but from the unnerving atmosphere of grief. The price of sacrifice hung in the breeze that started to grow stronger the longer he stayed there.

Stars sprung and danced across the purple sky, blazing and burning in countless patterns. It was stunning, and not for the first time on this journey, Steve tensed his eyes so that the tears that were threatening didn’t dare to fall. No more tears. Knowing that this sky was the last thing that Natasha saw was like the universe offering him one last link he could share with her. A short, but real smile flickered across his face at the thought, his soul feeling somewhat soothed.

He unfolded the pages and began to read.

“Dear Nat,” he declared out into the void.

“I know it’s late, I know it’s not enough but wherever you are, I hope you know that I feel the same way as you do. Writing letters is something I gave up a lifetime ago but after I read yours, I knew I had to respond. Forgive me if it’s not as eloquent as yours. Usually the first thing you do in replying to a letter is thank the person for writing to you in the first place and so I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for leaving me something of yours that I can have forever, for baring your soul and letting me into your heart. That is a privilege I don’t take lightly.

I don’t know how space and time and all that works, but I’ve seen enough to know that nothing seems impossible anymore. We’ve seen things that just defy explanation. So I believe that as I read this to you, you will hear me.”

He cleared his throat. “Nat, I’m sorry.

For so many things.

I wish…I wish things were different. I know why you did what you did and if I was in the same position I probably would have done the same thing, because whatever it takes, right? That’s what we all agreed; we knew what we were doing. But, God, I wish there was another way. But the thing is,” he sighed, “even though it’s selfish of me to stand here and wish you hadn’t of done it, I know that you would make that choice every single time because you would do anything for your family, and all you ever wanted was to make everything right again – because you, Natasha Romanoff, are a hero. You’re my hero. Go ahead and laugh all you want at that –because I know you are; I can hear it,” he sniffed sadly. “But it’s the truth.

We won because of you.

We got everyone back,” he stopped then, mouth dry, “… but we lost Tony. He sacrificed himself so that Thanos could be defeated and I miss him every day. And he missed you, by the way. It’s funny, he’s usually so vocal about things but when we all found out that you didn’t make it, he was strangely quiet. I think it hit him harder than any of us knew. You were important to him. To all of us.

The trouble with trying to save the world is that we embody this kind of confidence – maybe even arrogance – that we’re gonna make it, that while there’s risk and danger, we’re gonna win and we’re gonna get through. And that’s good because if we weren’t confident in ourselves and in each other, then I don’t think we’d ever win. But it’s also bad because it blurs the lines of reality that one of us or all of us could be killed. We don’t let ourselves think of that. We drive forward with intent and do what we have to do. But, Nat…” he shook his head, rolling in his lips, “…I should have been clearer on how I felt about you – you said it yourself I’m always waiting, but this time it’s all on me. I should have made more of an effort during those 5 years; I should have reminded you more of who you are and what you’ve done. I should have been more open and more honest. You deserved to hear that you were loved by us all, especially me.”

Steve lifted his gaze so that his eyes were searching the skies. “I love you, Nat. And I’m sorry you’re finding out this way.

When I met you, I gotta admit I was a little intimidated. You were the most skilled fighter I had ever seen. You didn’t take anything from anyone, and you trusted your instincts. I always admired that. And when you opened up to me the day we realized that SHIELD was really HYDRA well, I saw a part of you that I could really connect with. I saw a glimpse of the real Natasha. You know, sometimes I think about that day. I think about how you had just found out that everything you’d been working for had been a lie and for most people, that would have stopped them dead in their tracks, but not you. No, you’re not most people. You became adamant and focused on fixing it. You showed me true loyalty when I hadn’t given you much reason to. You showed me that you were someone who wanted to be better and wanted to fight injustice.

You know, we’re not all that dissimilar when you really think about it.

And as the years went on I saw more of that person, and I grew to not only respect and admire her, I grew to care for her – more than ever I cared to admit to even myself. You risked your safety and security and position to help me when I went after Bucky – you trusted my instincts. You showed up at Peggy’s funeral even though we disagreed on what to do with the team because you didn’t want me to be alone. And, Nat, I was never alone when I was with you. Ever. You said that I made you feel seen, well you opened up my heart again.”

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he cursed, annoyed at how hard his heart was thumping and how his lungs burned and his head ached. He could feel the Red Skull’s stare on his back but he persisted on.

“You know - and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be smirking after I say this - but sometimes I think about the time you kissed me on the escalator. Though I hate to admit it, I lied to you then; that was my first kiss since 1945. But now more than ever, I’m glad that it was with you…even if it was terrible and I was way, way, out of practice.

But I’ve also thought about the other times we got close to kissing yet never did because…well, because we couldn’t risk losing each other. It never felt like the right time, it never felt like the right thing to do, but once the moment had passed, all I felt was regret. Every time. I think we were just scared to enter into new territory. We knew what lives we lead and we knew that it would complicate things and that we needed each other on a much deeper level and underlying it all, there was always this fear that it would ruin what we had. You have no idea how much I wish I had taken the jump and told you sooner, though. I wish we could have navigated it together - and you’re right, I don’t know what it would have looked like but I know we would have made it work because,” he softened his voice then, bringing to just a breath above a whisper as if she right there in front of him, “you’re the most important person in my life too, Nat. I would have put my everything into making it work, because you’re worth all of the uncertainty and all of the risk and all of the confusion. And I’m going to say that again so that you really understand: you are worth it. All of it. I know you think that your past prevents you from having anything good in your life, but I want you to know that whatever experiences you had to go through to get here, they shaped who you are now. And she is someone who I think is incredible.

I miss you so much that it hurts, and I know that it’ll always hurt when I think of you. I’ll miss the late night conversations and the jokes and your eyebrow that can change everything with just one move and the assurance of knowing someone has my back. Most of all, I’ll miss the way your eyes light up when you get excited about something and the smirks that transform into real, genuine smiles once you’ve let your guard down and the way you understand me, like no one else does. You were my best friend, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find another one like you.”

The last line of the letter became blurred through his tears and Steve tore his eyes away from the page for a few beats, unable to bring himself to read on. Once he read it, it was over. This was the end. A couple of drops landed on the sheet, blotching some of the ink. His hand shook as he raised the page closer to his face as if the proximity could force the sounds of him. He needed to do this.

Voice thick and quivering more than he would have wanted, he finally whispered, “I love you, Natasha Romanoff, with all of my heart. I hope that someday, somehow, someplace, I’ll see you again and get to tell you to your face.

All my love,

Steve

Before he could change his mind, he then released the piece of paper and looked on as the wind caught it and swirled it around open space. Hands clenched tight, he made sure to keep his stare on it as it plummeted to the bottom of the cliff. Tears burned in his eyes. The orange rock shone in his hand, its dazzle almost taunting him. Here goes nothing, he thought and without much effort, he let the stone drop from his grasp and inhaled sharply as the glow illuminated the steep descent. This was it. No more stones. No more chance of seeing her or getting her back.

It was over.

And then it all went dark.

The slop and slosh of water yanked him from the depths of darkness and he could feel wetness flowing around the frame of his body. Blinking heavily, Steve’s eyes opened to a new scene; the magnificent purple sky that had enraptured him earlier was now a silky lilac, all of the stars tucked back away for a later time. Was it now morning? A white moon, much like the one on earth floated off in the distance as if awakening too.

Realization that he was lying down dawned on him, and he pulled himself up into a seated position, turning his head from left to right as he scanned the new surroundings he found himself in. Over in the distance, what could have been miles away, was the mountain he once stood on.

“What the…?” he mouthed aloud to himself.

“I think you found a loophole.”

He jerked at the sound from behind, and hurried to his feet, arms out in front ready to attack if necessary, water splashing around with the movement.

But then he saw her.

And his whole body went slack.

Red hair tied in a braid with streaks of blonde running through it. Green eyes that bore deep into his own. Lips slightly curved into a smirk. Black suit he’d know anywhere, anytime, anyplace.

This couldn’t be real.

This wasn’t real.

“Nat?” he breathed.

She just nodded, eyes filling just a little. “Hey, Soldier.”

Though it was obvious the greeting was meant to be a little mischievous, it came out raspy instead, like she hadn’t used her voice in a while and was trying to get a hold of it again.

“Wha…” he paused, gulping and then, “…how?”

“I don’t know,” she rushed, licking her lips, breathing slightly ragged. “I…” she gazed fiercely at him, “I…could hear you…somehow and then…” she squeezed her eyes shut for a beat, “…and then there was this glow and it was so bright and I just…I just woke up here and I saw you and…” she pulled up then as if really seeing him for the first time, “…I saw you,” she repeated in awe.

The stone. He threw the stone down with the letter and both of them ended up here.

But how?

“You heard me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I don’t know how but I did. All of it.”

As much as he had prayed to a God that he wasn’t sure even existed that somehow this would happen, he still couldn’t understand how she was here with him. Unless…

You must sacrifice that which you love.

Steve understood and was willing to say goodbye to someone he loved wholeheartedly.

Letting go of Natasha was the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate exchange.

The price of returning the stone.

He had brought her back.

His eyes clapped on her then, his relief and joy unbridled. She met his gaze with similar intensity. Steve closed the gap between them in an instant and pulled her into a hug, needing to feel that she was real. With only some hesitation, Natasha encircled him with her own arms, one hand gripping his back, the other on his neck, fingers brushing the end of his hair.

“This is real?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

All he could do was nod.

“I can’t believe it,” she breathed, her words watery.

Breaking back only so much that their faces were mere inches apart, he tenderly brought up a hand to cup her face and gently danced his thumb across her cheekbone. “Nat, I love you. I’m so sorry I never said it.”

Her brow crinkled, green eyes incredulous but so hopeful, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words ran off her tongue as if she was afraid they’d disappear if she didn’t get them out, “I love you, too.”

Her own admission seemed to take her by surprise and before she could say or do anything else, Steve leaned in and kissed her. The most perfect kiss he could have ever imagined. It wasn’t forced or rushed or planned or complicated or any of that other stuff that comes along with a moment like that; it just was. It was everything he wanted and so much more.

When they pulled away, one of her signature smirks appeared and boy, did he miss them. “Now that was worth waiting for,” she laughed breathily. “Have you had practice?” she quipped, cocking an eyebrow. He missed that, too.

He offered a smirk of his own in reply. “Just saved the best for the right person, that’s all.”

She bit her lip, dropping her stare. “I,uh… think I have to get used to this. This is really…” she waved her hand out in front of her loosely, “…really new to me.”

He nodded in understanding, wanting her to feel seen and heard, wanting to be her safe place again. “We’ve all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere, Nat,” he assured, taking hold of one of her hands.

“Well, good,” she responded, now fixated on their hands, “because neither am I.”

“So…how about we go and get that life we were always talking about?”

Her smile was full. “I thought you’d never ask, Rogers.”

The End.