#so tired of feeling like I have to keep restarting every few years

[queerbrujas]

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[ironspiderfics]

this is supposed to be a vacation

for @meilz

by @iron--spider

~

Tony loves this kid.

It’s a montage at the beginning of a movie—Tony was crazy about Peter almost immediately, couldn’t accept it, his own damn daddy issues courtesy of Howard Stark, then he had to accept it because the kid kept trying to die, then things settled, they worked together, then they unsettled and the kid dissolved in Tony’s hands, and a year of heavy-drinking and nearly exploding himself in the lab wound up with all the dissolved people undissolved and the kid back and Tony in a hospital bed. Three-week coma. Whole screaming celebration when he woke up loud enough to bust his eardrums and restart his heart.

But Peter was there. Peter was there. 

Time slowed to a crawl, sped up and slowed down again, and Tony tried to recover. He knew Peter and his friends went on that European trip—he encouraged it even though Peter was worried about leaving after everything. May and Happy chaperoned, and then everyone nearly died because Quentin fucking Beck decided to roll out of Tony’s past to try and kill off someone he loves. He failed, because Peter is Peter, and Fury and Happy shut down the false allegations Beck tried to put out there before he was arrested, and everybody came home.

It’s been about two months, since then. And Tony had just gotten back on his feet a week or so before Peter left, and he’s even steadier now. Getting steadier by the day. 

But he loves this kid. More now, than ever. The son he never had. He loves May, he loves the kids that come along with his kid, he loves everything Peter has to say and everything he doesn’t, he loves keeping an eye on his missions, he loves the way he fits so snug into Tony’s little family. 

And he loves him enough to know when he’s crashing. When his eyes are tired and his patrols aren’t as succinct and punchy as they usually are. When he needs a vacation from his recent vacation. As if nearly being killed by some asshole in London is the vacation any of them need. 

So, Tony makes a couple decisions. 

After all the shit they’ve gone through, what the hell could go wrong with a break?

~

Peter knew Tony was planning something, because he isn’t secretive when he’s excited, and he found out what he was planning when Tony asked if Ned and MJ’s families would mind if he took them out of the city for a few days.

And about a week later, they were heading upstate to Mohonk Mountain House.

And Peter hasn’t been complaining, at least not to Tony, but his tiredness has been bone-deep since he got back from London. Since before that, really. Coming back from the dead can do that to someone, and he doesn’t even like to call it dead, and apparently they were all tiny particle souls inside that infinity stone but it doesn’t matter because that’s a whole other can of worms and he gets more tired and more weary every time he even thinks about any of that. 

He swung right into a wall the other day. Slap right into it. He almost broke his nose again. He feels like that might have been the moment Tony decided on this vacation—Peter could tell by the look on his face when he told him that he’d crossed some kind of line. 

They walk inside the main lobby of Mohonk and Peter keeps hearing Ben’s voice in his head. You’re gonna catch flies, Pete. But he can’t stop gaping at everything. Like…he’s been in a Hilton and this is so much better than a Hilton. 

“This place looks straight out of a Hitchcock movie,” May says, and she knocks Tony on the arm.

Tony laughs, and Pepper turns around, raising her eyebrows at May. “Let’s just hope we don’t have any Hitchcock-type events happen while we’re here.”

“What would that mean?” Ned asks, catching up to the group and trying to whisper in Peter’s ear. “You’ve seen Hitchcock movies. I remember you watched that weird apartment one a hundred times.”

“I love that movie,” Peter says. Rear Window. He never wants his leg to be broken. He knows he’d go insane just like that.

“You haven’t seen Psycho?” MJ asks Ned, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder.

Ned hums a little bit. “No. I know about it though. No crazy Grandmas for me.”

“That’s not what happens.”

Leather couches and tall ceilings and intricate carpeting and columns and everything somehow looks really rich but really comfortable at the same time—

“No,” Tony says, turning around and pointing at them. “No, no, and no.” He points at May too. “No. No Rear Window, no Psycho, no Vertigo—maybe a little bit North by Northwest—no, you know what, no. Not that either. This is going to be the lamest movie you’ve ever—this isn’t even gonna be a movie, there’s no—there’s no plot, this is just—a family video. A home movie. That’s it.”

Family video feels warm, and Peter grins.

“Of course, Mr. Stark—”

“It’s gonna be fine—”

“Absolutely nothing—”

“Listen, I’m hitting that buffet—”

“I’m just gonna sleep,” Peter says, as they approach the huge front desk. “Just the entire time.”

Tony smiles softly at him, and he winks. “You deserve it,” he says, and Peter can tell that he means it. 

They hear crashing, something that sounds expensive hitting the ground somewhere behind them, and they all turn around and see a bunch of employees running around to try and take care of it. A whole big production and two guys trying to hold up a big bear statue that’s trying to fall over.

“Okay, step to,” Happy’s voice says, and Peter hears him before he sees him, and then he breezes by, striding out in front of them. “Let’s go, come on, follow me, let’s get this in the books—”

“Oh, there he is,” Tony says, patting him on the shoulders. “There he is.”

~

Peter and May could never afford a vacation like this. They could never even afford to imagine something like this. Peter feels like they would have charged him if he’d even looked at photos of this place. A big, historic, mountain resort in upstate New York, on the edge of a cliff overlooking a lake? 

But now they’re here. They’re here with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. Peter was able to bring two friends. Happy drove them all in a big plush rental van. They’ve got a line of suites on the sixth floor and they had steak and lobster for dinner on their first night. 

It feels unreal. But things feel unreal a lot. Especially things involving Tony, involving Spider-Man. Any of it. Like he’s having a long, prolonged dream before Ben wakes him up for school.

Peter stands on one of the terrace balconies with Tony while the others are arranging activities for tomorrow, and he stares off at the lake and the way the moon hits it. Light rippling on the water. 

“You really think you’re gonna sleep the whole time?” Tony asks, leaning on the railing. “Because nobody would judge you for it. Kayaks can wait. Ballroom dancing can absolutely wait, as can all of May’s Dirty Dancing comparisons, because I can feel them building up, like an aura around her—”

Peter snorts. “No,” he says. “But I probably will mostly just…relax. Take it easy. Just sleeping, no alarms—”

“You deserve it, like I said,” Tony says. “It’s thrilling to me that you’re even giving yourself a break.”

“Look who’s talking,” Peter says, giving him a look. “You were trying to get down to the workshop when your arm was still holding on by one string of muscle.”

Tony’s entire face contorts. “That is a terrible, disgusting image, Mr. Parker—”

Peter snorts again, choking on his laughter. 

Tony knocks him on the arm. “You’re awful, a menace, making fun of an injured old man—”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but it’s true,” Peter says, swatting him back, and still laughing. “You’re the one who needs—needs this. Like Happy always says, I’m a ‘spring chicken’, I—I can bounce back.”

“I had enough bedrest for the next ten years,” Tony says, and he’s giving Peter that look again. Concern. Like he’s trying to read his mind. “You—I know you like to act like it all doesn’t affect you, but you were going through hell on the daily before that purple asshole snapped his fingers. Then there was all that, and the right after that, and the coming back from that, and me wasting away in front of you—and then Quentin Beck flaunting his dickheaded tendencies on your school trip—that was supposed to be your relaxing time and it got away from you too and I just—like I said, you deserve your time. You need it. Don’t—you’re not selling yourself short if you say you need some rest. You put everybody first all the time, yourself last—you deserve to relax, that’s all.”

Peter blows out a breath. He doesn’t even really try to deny it in his head anymore. He doesn’t try to compare himself to other people who have it worse. He’s tired. He’s beat. He feels older than he is. 

Tony clicks his tongue and looks out at the lake. “I know this place is kind of old, kind of dated, rooms kind of look a little bit like grandma was head decorator, but—I, uh—I’ve got fond memories here. Mom used to bring me, when Howard was, uh…in some of his dicier moments. And sometimes we’d just relax, too. Recover from…knowing him.”

Peter is just kind of staring at him, because it always takes him off guard when Tony starts talking about Howard. They’re close enough now that he hears stories about his personal life all the time—his growing up, his insane college years with Rhodey, meeting Pepper meeting Happy and everything in between, but Howard is still…something they don’t really talk about, past flippant comments about Tony striving to be a better father figure than he ever was. 

“Then I’m glad you brought us here,” Peter says, his voice cracking a little bit. “I’m glad you brought me here.” And in his head he hears I’m glad you brought me back. Because he thinks about that all the time. 

Everyone’s back because of you, Peter. He never gave up on bringing you back. It was about saving you.

Tony looks like he’s about to say something else when there’s a bunch of rustling in the trees below them, and a loud thump, and more rustling. They both peer over the railing, and Peter can see the trees moving, but not anything else.

They share a wary look.

“Probably just a skunk,” Tony says.

“Oh, great.”

“Or maybe a band of feral cats.”

“Okay that’s better. Hopefully not too feral. Like, I hope they’re receptive to petting.”

They keep staring down at the trees, but it all seems quiet again.

~

Tony and Pepper have one room, Peter, MJ and Ned have the one in the middle, and May and Happy are on the end in a single room together even though Peter is refusing to acknowledge what that means or what might be going on in there. Tony mentioned that the rooms were dated, but they feel more like what a royal castle might look like inside, and for the longest time Peter is worried about wrinkling up the sheets. And then eventually it’s Ned’s snoring keeping him awake.

And then, when he’s finally mostly asleep—

“Peter.”

MJ’s voice. Peter’s in the bed with Ned and she got the other huge bed all to herself, but she sounds like she’s right next to him. He turns over onto his side, towards her voice, and then she’s—

On the ground right next to his face—

He startles a little bit, and she grabs his hand.

“MJ what—”

“There’s someone in the room.”

She’s whispering, and his heart speeds up a little bit. What the hell? There’s no way.

“Are you sure it’s not Happy?” Peter asks, as Ned lets out a rip of a snore. “Sometimes he likes to do perimeter checks—”

“It’s not Happy!” she whisper-yells.

Peter blinks, and she’s already pulling the sheets off him and yanking him out of bed, and he feels like he’d be more paranoid if something was actually happening, like he’d feel it pulsing and burning in his head, and she’s tugging on him and they’re stumbling over to the wall and—

“MJ—MJ—”

She flips on the light—

And Peter only sees him briefly—a man, standing over by the bathroom, and Peter barely gets to see what he looks like before the lights go out again. 

But he wasn’t Happy he wasn’t Tony he wasn’t supposed to be here, and Peter’s heart rockets into his throat and he hears MJ gasp and he hears feet moving and Ned is still snoring, and Peter rushes towards where the man was and tries to catch him tries to fight, but he only meets open air. 

MJ yanks the door open and she’s already running out into the hallway, yelling Tony’s name, yelling for Peter to follow her. And the hall light is streaming into their room now, and Peter looks around, breathing hard, trying to find the guy—

Nothing. Nothing.

Nobody’s here.

Ned is still snoring.

~

Tony stands next to Peter while the manager shows them the video footage. He watches their doors, completely still and closed from the hallway cameras, and then he watches MJ race out, and Tony and Happy run in a few minutes later. Followed by Pepper and May a few minutes after that. And then Ned finally looming out into the hallway, still half asleep.

“As you can see,” the manager says. “No one entered the room.”

Peter can feel Tony’s anger simmering beside him, and he takes it as a compliment that Tony is all-in on believing that they saw someone, even though he didn’t see him himself.

“Can I get the outside view again?” Tony asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Of course, Mr. Stark.”

They switch to the outside view again, which they’ve already seen about three times. The cameras aren’t great out there, and Happy found out they’re in the process of an upgrade. Peter can see their floor from a distance, he sees a little flash of light that they can’t identify, and then nothing else. No one scaling the building. Not in a way they can see, anyway.

“When will the upgrade be complete?” Tony asks, his tone clipped.

“After your stay, sir, unfortunately.”

Tony huffs, and doesn’t say anything else, and he turns and takes Peter’s arm and leads him to the door. They walk out into the hallway, where MJ and Ned quickly back up.

“Don’t need to listen through the wall,” Tony says.

“Uh, we weren’t,” MJ says. “We were just—”

“Looking at the wallpaper,” Ned says. “It’s—so cool.”

“Uh huh,” Tony says. He moves so they’re in a little circle, and he grips Peter’s shoulder. “Do you want to leave?” he asks, looking around at the three of them. “Because we can leave. We can go somewhere else, figure something else out. Or we can move rooms, we can go down to the Grove Lodge so we can all be closer together—we can do whatever we want.”

Ned’s eyes go wide. “I mean, I didn’t see anything, I was sleeping—”

“It’s fine,” MJ says, fast, glancing at Peter. “I feel like we—Peter and I must have been—I mean, we’re—everything that happened, we’re always thinking about it, and Mysterio was about like—making us think we were seeing things that weren’t there or were there but different—it’s fine. Joint hallucination. Or maybe I made him think he saw something because I was saying I saw something.”

That would normally be a Tony joke cue, but he just looks at her intently. “You don’t have to make excuses,” he says. “I don’t want you guys feeling…unsafe. Despite the presence of, uh—enhanced individuals. Unnamed.”

“It’s okay,” MJ says, and she looks at Peter and nods. 

Tony looks at him too. And Peter knows that if he said anything about being worried, Tony would move them in an instant.

What the hell did he see? 

Were they really just tired?

Did he think he saw something because MJ thought she saw something?

“It’s okay,” he says, slowly, because…he isn’t entirely sure. But MJ seems sure and Peter doesn’t want to blow up the trip if they were just in a PTSD-addled nightmare. It is their first real vacation since that shit with Beck happened, it still feels like a knife in his gut sometimes.

“You sure?” Tony asks, and he shakes Peter’s shoulder a little bit.

Peter looks at MJ, and she nods at him. 

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I’m sure.”

~

They go back to bed after that without any more incidents, but Peter mostly stays awake, staring off into the darkness. MJ is awake too, through a lot of the night, and they text because Ned is sleeping and snoring like there’s nothing wrong and there’s never been anything wrong, ever.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

I wouldn’t let anything happen to you either. Nerd :)

Over breakfast, Tony lets them know that Happy is setting up Friday to do sweeps and is doing his own personal perimeter checks.

“I want him to enjoy his break too though,” Peter says, pushing his waffle around on the plate.

“He’s enjoying it,” May says, through a mouthful of eggs.

Peter frowns at her. “I don’t like that. I don’t—I don’t need—”

She shrugs. “Well.”

“Okay, Miss Kiss and Tell,” Tony says, laughing as Pepper sits down next to him. “But it’s good. He’s on it, and I’m on it too.”

“Here,” MJ says, coming back from the buffet and sitting down next to Peter. She puts a cinnamon bun on his plate, smiling at him. “They just brought them out. Ned is trying to barter for more.”

“They can’t deny him,” Pepper says. “It’s all inclusive.”

“Exactly,” Tony says. “And after last night, we should be getting extra—I still think they sent someone in to check on something and didn’t want to admit it. I’m not gonna go all I’d like to speak to the manager on them, even though I did—do that—but either way—”

Peter hasn’t landed anywhere on it yet. He keeps trying to think back on it, trying to remember exactly what he saw. His spider sense, newly minted, is usually pretty bang on if something isn’t right, if he feels like he’s in danger, but he’d just woken up, he’s foggy in the mornings sometimes—

He figures his mind was just playing tricks on him. But MJ too?

She rubs his leg, like she knows he's agonizing over it, and he reaches down and holds her hand.

“Okay,” Ned says, walking back over holding a plate. “They let me take five of them. They’re all really warm and gooey, I feel like this is a promising start to the day.”

~

Peter isn’t exactly a spa guy, so he doesn’t join May and Pepper when they decide to go there, even though he feels like it might help him if he ever figured out how to relax. But going there is supposed to help him relax, so how can he ever relax enough to get to the point of going there—either way, he goes out onto the lake with Tony and Ned and MJ.

MJ and Peter both get their own kayaks, and Ned and Tony are in a canoe.

“He wouldn’t get into one of these,” Tony yells. “Honestly, if Happy’s not still doing security shit, he’s probably golfing. He’s terrible at it and he never likes to do it when anybody he knows is around. I’ll message him in a little bit and make sure but that’s probably where he is. Ned. You have to keep that thing on just in case we turn over.”

Peter snorts, looking back at them, and he sees Tony adjusting Ned’s lifejacket on his shoulders.

“Happy’s just afraid of racing,” Peter yells, cutting his oar through the water. “MJ remember when—”

“Yes,” she says, a little out ahead of him, and she’s already laughing. “I don’t even know why he was trying to chase you in New York traffic. While you were swinging in the air above him. You didn’t have any cars in your way, nothing was stopping you—”

Peter snorts again, bending over and laughing a little bit. “He was so mad. He didn’t talk to me for a week. He made me talk to Friday specifically.”

“I gave him shit for that!” Tony yells. “He shouldn’t have been trying to chase you. The gas leak had nothing to do with you. He’s always tossing blame around willy nilly.”

“Yeah he still blames me for the time those columns collapsed on that old garbage building,” Ned says. “A line of code can’t do that, that building was old I didn’t do anything there was no way he should have yelled at me at all let alone for twenty minutes—”

“He’s just dramatic,” Tony says.

“He just gets worried,” Peter says, glancing over his shoulder at their boat. And Ned makes big eyes at him, because yeah, uh, they’ve seen why he gets worried. They’ve dealt with why he gets worried. And now, after last night, Peter feels like he’s making himself worried. He needs to stop, they’ve already moved past it, they’re still here, it’s all fine.

“Yeah, I imbued him with a worrying virus that will never be cured,” Tony says. “And now the next generation has to deal with it. Here we are.”

Peter shakes his head, smiling. He’s gotta relax. The sun is shining on the lake bright and beautiful, and May is actually getting a massage for the first time in years and everything is fine. It’s fine. 

He hears Tony chastising Ned again about his life jacket, gently, and Peter starts rowing out and around the outside of the lake. They’re the only ones out here right now, and he wonders how long that’s gonna last. He wonders if that’s something the resort set up, because it’s Tony, because of what happened last night, because Happy’s been intimidating people, and Peter simultaneously appreciates it and balks against the special treatment. But he’s with Tony, he should know it’s gonna happen.

He feels like he’s going a little faster than he should be going based on the way he’s rowing, like he’s really moving along. He glances over at MJ and she’s even further away from him, moving in the direction of the hotel.

“We’re not racing yet!” he yells, and he feels like Happy—constantly worried. But he’s worried about her in a different way and actually starting things with her in Europe made the whole thing worth it in a way, and now they’re together and it’s amazing but he’s just so worried all the time.

And now he’s stopped rowing all together, and he should be slowing down, but he’s still moving. Moving….fast. Maybe even getting faster.

Should that be happening? He doesn’t really kayak. He shifts around a little bit and looks down, and feels a little bit tucked in here. 

“Hey!” Tony yells. “You’re moving like you have a motor on you!”

Peter’s brows furrow, because he is, and he’s not rowing, and he should have lost any propulsion at this point, and he looks up and he sees MJ looking back at him, and she’s not moving anymore, and he glances back and both Tony and Ned look concerned—

And he gets the worst feeling in his chest, like an alarm, like his spidey sense but more warped and panicked, and he tries to get up without toppling over, because the kayak is still moving for no reason, speeding along and it’s going faster and faster. He drops his oar, and balances precariously for a few seconds before he leaps into the water.

Bubbles all around him, and muffled calls of his name—

And he’s only submerged for a couple seconds, because of the life jacket pulling him back to the surface, and he comes up just in time to watch the empty kayak lift up into the air, careening into the forest and disappearing into the trees. 

And he floats there, treading water, staring.

“What the fuck?” Ned yells. “Peter? Peter?”

“Peter!” MJ yells.

“Pete, we’re coming!” Tony yells. “Hold on!”

But Peter is just sort of. Staring. Staring off, at where the kayak disappeared. He stares over there. He stares. 

No thoughts, just. Insane.

“Was that supposed to happen?” Peter asks, his voice squeaking. “Is that—MJ you should probably—you shouldn’t be in there if you’re not, uh, prepared to go—flying—did anybody see it explode? Did it explode? Or did it just shatter, uh, well, wooden—wooden kayak, was it wooden? Or plastic? Either way I bet it’s not a full kayak anymore—”

He feels himself being lifted out of the water, and it’s Tony pulling him into the boat. He doesn’t know how they got here so fast but to be honest a kayak just went full fighter jet on him so he can’t be that confused. 

His shock has him gripped and he just sort of lays there like a rag doll as Tony and Ned pull him up, and he sees MJ rowing over to them. Thankfully, she’s still in her kayak, and it’s not—flying through the air.

“Hey, hey,” Tony says, once Peter isn’t in the water anymore. He’s got both arms around him, and Peter is laying against his chest, and Tony is patting his cheek and trying to peer around and meet his eyes. Ned has his hands on Peter’s knees and he’s just staring at him. 

“I just got a defective one,” Peter says, pointing over at the forest. “It’s okay. It was just—a flying one, we didn’t make sure we didn’t get a flying one. I hope MJ doesn’t have a flying one and it’s just not like. On a time delay I don’t know. MJ, just—hurry over here—” He waves her over. He wants her to hurry up. 

“Peter,” Tony says, and he pats Peter’s chest. “Are you alright? Did you twist anything when you jumped out, can you breathe—”

“Are kayaks supposed to do that?” Peter asks, feeling like he can hear his own voice echoing everywhere. “I didn’t think that was, uh, the case—”

“It’s not the case,” Ned says. “No. It’s not. It’s not the case.”

“Peter.”

MJ finally rolls up alongside them—

“I think you should get out of there,” Peter says, pointing at her. “It’s unsafe—”

“Something is going on,” MJ says, and she’s not looking at Peter. She’s looking at Tony.

~

Tony loves this kid, and this is supposed to be a fucking vacation. Tony loves this kid, and he believed him when he thought someone was in his room, even if the hotel was trying to sway them away from the idea. Tony loves this kid, and he just had to watch him abandon his kayak because said kayak was lifting off and destroying itself somewhere on the property. And kayaks don’t just fucking do that.

Tony stands close to Happy, well into his personal space. He’s got his hands on his hips, like a stern stance is gonna bring him any closer to an answer, and Happy sighs.

“I’ve done ten sweeps,” he says. “There’s nothing going on. There’s nobody here that isn’t supposed to be here. We even looked at the remains of the goddamn kayak and I didn’t find anything wrong with it.”

“There was something wrong with it,” Tony says. “It was flying. It was flying, speed wise, without Pete even rowing, and then it was flying, literally, after he had to abandon ship.”

“I know. It was in a million pieces.”

Tony sighs. They moved down to the Grove Lodge after it happened. Nobody told Pepper and May why, because Peter was insisting on not telling May, and he was also insisting on not leaving even though Tony wanted to leave, because if they left then they were leaving danger behind for the poor unassuming Mohonk guests. And if they leave, danger will probably follow them anyway, and Tony doesn’t know what move to make. 

He’s upset, because this was supposed to be a relaxing break for all of them, but especially for Peter, after everything he’s goddamn gone through. He’s upset because this place felt like his place, his haven, a place where he could get away and be secluded and safe, and now something is pursuing them here. Something is trying to hurt them.

“You haven’t found anything?” Tony presses. “Nothing?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Happy says, and he glances back at the front door of the lodge again. “I’m still looking, I’m not giving up, and I think we should be better located down here because we rented out the whole house and I told them not to come in for room service or cleaning or anything. I know we lose the nice high-up view—”

“It’s fine,” Tony says, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s afraid to even be discussing this in public. Anybody could be anywhere listening.

He doesn’t like feeling like he can’t protect these kids. 

“It looks like they’re targeting Peter,” Tony says, as quietly as he can. “And I can’t tell if that’s because of me, that they think—I mean the whole goddamn world thinks he’s my love child at this point, thinks May is my secret mistress or the sister of his secret mother, God knows, I don’t know what the most recent story is. But I can’t tell if they’re targeting him because of me or because of the other thing—”

“And the other thing is worse—the spider thing—”

“I didn’t specify on purpose, Hap,” Tony says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Right, right—the innocuous other thing—”

“We’re lucky we got out of Europe with the other thing intact—”

“Yeah,” Happy says, shaking his head, and Tony wishes he had been there with him, had been there period. He would have torn Beck in half had he laid eyes on him. 

Why do they always target people he loves? Why not him? Blow him up. Kidnap him. But he guesses he’s been there already. He guesses they’ve done all that and it’s old hat to these assholes to go to him directly.

But this could be about Spider-Man too. There could be people that know who he is. People always find out, no matter how hard Tony tries, and Peter has made plenty of his own enemies. His own gallery of rogues looking to take him down.

“Just don’t tell May, if she asks,” Tony says.

“Oh, and don’t tell Pepper either?” Happy asks, in that stupid voice he uses to make fun of Tony. Tony glares, and Happy glares back. “They know by now something’s going on. They’re not dumb. They’re just not saying anything. But May will beat someone to death with anything she can get her hands on and so will Pepper, so maybe we should be sticking close to them.”

Tony sighs. “I just wanted—”

“I know—”

“And now—”

“I know,” Happy says. “We’re on it. We know it’s real, now, even if these people won’t cop to anything. I’m in their walls. Literally. Maybe I’m doing some things I shouldn’t be.”

Tony steps up onto the porch. “Don’t even tell me.”

“I won’t. But maybe I am.”

~

“Ned, why are you in here while I’m in the bathtub?”

“She’s in here!”

“I’m dating her.”

“Wow, that’s great,” Ned says, not making any move to get up from his spot on the gold lounge chair. “That’s great, I see how things are going. I see what direction we’re heading in.”

Peter scoffs. He warmed up a long time ago, and he’s getting really pruny, but he doesn’t want to get out just yet. He feels like something is gonna happen if he gets out. Like it’s all gonna start up again and maybe the house is gonna explode or their fridge is gonna grow arms and start trying to fight them or something. 

And he isn’t lazy. He’s always ready to fight.

Maybe he’s a little lazy. But not usually. He thought Europe was gonna be a Spider-Man free trip and look how that turned out. And he thought this was going to be calm and relaxing but now it’s become suspicious. And worrying. And he’s torn between leaving and staying and telling May and not telling May and he doesn’t know if she’s in danger too and sometimes he feels like everybody would be safer if he lived out in Alaska somewhere and nobody knew him.

Peter sighs, and MJ rubs his shoulder. Ned is still giving him that look and Peter ignores that look. He’s never been in a little claw-foot tub like this before. Tony doesn’t even have these in the compound. And a bubble bath? He hasn’t had a bubble bath since he was a kid and Ben was still alive. It almost distracts him from… whatever the hell is going on here.

“We’ve got two more days,” MJ says. “And we’re sticking it out.”

“We’re sticking it out,” Peter says. “I got my webshooters, I guess I’ll wear them if we go hiking tomorrow.”

“Someone is gonna push you off a cliff,” Ned says, raising his eyebrows. 

“We’re all going together, so nobody is gonna push anybody,” MJ says. She leans down and presses a kiss to the corner of Peter’s mouth. “Okay let’s leave so he can—get out.”

They both get up, and Peter watches as they argue.

“Oh, you’re not gonna help him?” Ned asks.

“Oh, you’re not?” MJ replies, nudging him as they move towards the door. “I thought that was your job, guy in the chair—”

~

They have dinner in the main building, and Peter watches his back. He only jumps once, when someone drops a tray full of plates, and he winces at the shattering and runs over there to help clean it up before they usher him away. They visit the horses in the stables, and Peter checks every nook and cranny to make sure somebody isn’t hiding in there. They watch May and Happy bust into the late jazz class that’s going on in the ballroom and Peter forgets to do anything because he feels like his face is going to catch on fire from all the blushing.

And he remembers to be paranoid when they get back to the Grove Lodge, and he can tell May is suspicious and they’re all watching him like hawks and he gets worried that Tony is the real target of whatever is happening here and he’s just a distraction. 

He can’t let anything happen to Tony. He can’t let anything happen to any of them.

Or maybe nothing is happening. And nobody was in their room. And the kayak was just—Parker luck. Too much strength, or something. 

He wakes up around three in the morning because he can’t stay asleep, and he sits down in the ‘great room’ and stares out into the darkness of the night. 

“Don’t jump,” Tony’s voice says, but Peter jumps anyway, twisting around and seeing him on the stairs. “You jumped! I said don’t jump! You heard me, I said it—”

Peter snorts, shaking his head. “You can’t just tell me not to jump and expect me not to jump—especially if you’re stepping out of the shadows—”

“There’s no shadows,” Tony says, stepping off the landing. “No shadows. I’m fully illuminated—”

Peter sighs. “You can’t sleep either?”

“Nah,” Tony says, walking over quietly. “Sleep and I, we have a very contemptuous relationship.” He shakes his head. “I just feel like shit because you can’t have a normal vacation. Whatever the hell is or isn’t going on here. You just deserve—Jesus, a full day, at the least, without something happening you have to question.” He sits down next to Peter and lets out a sigh.

“It’s not your fault. At all.”

“I mean—it might be. We’ve seen Europe as an example of very much my fault.”

Peter narrows his eyes at him. “That wasn’t your fault either. You know it wasn’t your fault, idiots blaming you for their own stupidity is not your fault—”

A huge crash outside. It sounds like one of those big weird planters falling over and knocking into the other planters and then it sounds like a bunch of feet shuffling and this isn’t Parker luck, this isn’t a hallucination, this isn’t a kayak doing non-kayak like things—

They both leap out of their chairs. The noises don’t stop and Tony is immediately stepping in front of Peter and holding his arm out, as if to shield him.

“Kid, go back upstairs—”

“No,” Peter whisper-shouts, grabbing his arm as the two of them move forward very, very slowly towards the back porch doors. “You almost died recently—you’re wearing pajamas and a house coat—”

“You don’t even know what a house coat is—”

Another crash, more skittering feet, and Peter focuses—he can hear separate heartbeats from the hearts he loves in this house. Two of them.

“Tony I’ve got my webshooters on—”

“That doesn’t matter you’re wearing pajamas too you’re not prepared—”

And when they’re just close enough to open the door, there’s a flash of bright white light. And Peter closes his eyes against it, and he can feel Tony turning around, trying to block him from it, and it must be more than just light because he hears a loud bang and the windows are shattering and it feels like a cataclysmic boom is pushing them through the air. The two of them fly backwards, and hit the far wall, and the last thing Peter hears before his head snaps back too far is 

GOD DAMMIT ALFIE YOU’RE TWO SECONDS TOO EARLY WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS JUMPING THE—

~

Peter gasps awake. His gasp echoes, and he sits up, and looks around, and he’s…nowhere.

He scrambles to his feet. He’s alone, and he’s nowhere, there’s nothing but blackness and his ears are popping like he’s high up and he sees—

He sees—

A kayak? Flying through the darkness? 

He watches it, cascading like a majestic bird, and he stares at it, and then it just—blinks out of existence. Like it was never even there.

Maybe he’s just dreaming. Maybe he never even woke up and went downstairs and talked to Tony. Maybe none of that happened at all. Maybe he’s still asleep and Ned is snoring somewhere and MJ is saying not beets in the salad in her sleep again and maybe—

God dammit, Alfie, I swear. I swear I’m gonna whack you in the head.

Peter spins around, in the complete darkness. He can see himself, his own body and his hands and his pajamas and his webshooters, like he’s got a spotlight on him. “Hello?” he calls. “What the hell is—whoever that is—”

And then the London Bridge appears huge and massive above his head and he starts to duck, nearly collapsing in on himself, and there’s no way this is actually happening this isn’t real and he shoots a web at it and it goes right through it and it hits—somewhere—somewhere in the darkness, it sticks, it—

ALFIE I THINK THEY’RE BOTH—

I KNOW IT I CAN TELL OKAY I’M NOT MORONIC—

It clicks in Peter’s head. This is someone using Beck’s tech. It’s someone using Beck’s tech. That’s what this is. This is some idiots using his tech and not knowing how to use it properly and—

Peter starts yelling. “Whoever you are, you’re—you’re not good at this—this isn’t gonna work out for you—”

The bridge disappears, and Peter starts running. His spidey sense is going berserk, and he can’t tell where the danger is, what direction, how far. He can’t tell what’s underneath his feet, it feels—crunchy, and a little old, maybe? All he knows is he needs to get the hell out of this illusion. It feels unstable.

He starts shooting his webs everywhere, and most of them fly away without hitting anything, and that makes him wonder where the hell he could be with so much space—

STARK IS DOING SOMETHING WITH HIS AI—

Peter’s heart lurches.

“Tony!” Peter yells, still running, and he holds his hands out and tries to find something, anything, and he shoots webs fucking everywhere, and then—

SHIT—

He runs right into someone. And they push him off, and then he gets a brass-knuckled fist to the face before he can get a hit off of his own. He stumbles backwards through the sharp pain, wrestling with the instinct to just fight even though it’s only darkness all around him and he can’t see who the hell he’s fighting with. 

Instead, he spits out a line of blood and keeps running.

Pulsing, face pulsing, beating with ripped skin and metal—

A massive kayak blips into the air briefly, and then it disappears.

Peter narrows his eyes, shaking his head, and what the hell is with the kayak—

He runs smack into something, like a train going accordion against a wall, and he stumbles backwards again, clutching at his crushed nose and trying to stay on his feet. The punch and the goddamn running into whatever that was has him dizzy, has him mangled and seeing stars in this manufactured darkness and then he hears Tony hollering his name at the top of his lungs—

“Peter! Peter!”

He sounds like he’s behind him—

“Tony!” Peter yells, all nasally. “Tony! Hey I’m over here—”

He turns around, changing his trajectory. And the darkness blips, breaking in large pixels, and Peter keeps running towards Tony’s voice and the darkness blips again, turns bright white, and then—

The illusion, or lack of one, breaks all at once, and Peter can see—

He’s on the roof of the main Mohonk building—he can see the lake, and the forest, and the mountains, settled in the calm of the night that feels decidedly not calm for him in particular, and he skids to a halt because he’s nearly running off the roof—

And he feels someone grab his arm and tug him back, and he spins around and it’s Tony, thank God it’s Tony—

“Hey!” Tony yells, and Peter looks at him and grabs his arm and they both look up and—

There are just two guys standing there. Two guys, both on the shorter side, definitely unkempt, and they’re holding a little gray box and they’re both just hitting it and hitting it and hitting it—

Peter aims his webs and just starts shooting. He feels like he shoots the most amount of webs he’s ever shot. The two guys fly backwards and get stuck to one of the upraised red parts of the roof, and they’re both gritting their teeth and trying to get out like they’re Scooby Doo villains.

“They must be associated with Beck,” Peter says, trying to catch his breath. His entire mouth tastes like blood. “They’ve gotta be.”

“I figured, with their shitty illusion attempts,” Tony says, and he sounds angrier than Peter’s ever heard him. He glances at Peter, starts to glance away, but then he looks at him again, fast, his brows furrowing severely. “Jesus Christ, you’re—bleeding everywhere—”

“Yeah, it feels—it doesn’t feel good—they didn’t hit you?” Peter asks.

Tony takes Peter’s chin gently, tilting his head and wincing. “No,” he says. “They didn’t goddamn hit me—”

“Well, the nose was from—running into something—I think that, uh, I think that’s a chimney over there, I think I ran into it—you didn’t run into anything—”

“No, I didn’t—”

“Oh, that’s great—”

Tony looks like he’s about to breathe fire, and he lets go of Peter and starts stomping towards the webbed bad guys.

“Why the hell would you be loyal to a moron like him?” Tony asks. “Beck? He couldn’t even keep a job at Stark Industries—”

“Yeah, buddy, because you stole his idea,” one of them hollers. They’re both still wiggling around, trying to get out.

Tony sneers. “He worked for my company executing an idea I designed and commissioned and decided to weaponize it when it was created to help deal with trauma and mental health—have you never had a job, an occupation—you know what, I don’t care, I don’t care—”

“Well he didn’t say that, he didn’t say any of that exactly,” the other guy says, the one with the longer hair. “He just said—”

“Nothing he says is true,” Peter yells, wincing when he touches his nose. “That guy is a liar, and a freak, and you believed him enough to follow us on vacation and—screw up every attempt you made to kill us—it was one of you guys in my room—”

“No, that was just testin’, that was just—we was just testin’, it was—you guys acted really dramatic—”

Peter scoffs. “Dramatic?”

And the two guys start giving each other nasty looks, even though they’re webbed shoulder to shoulder. “Maybe if you hadn’t dropped that dart gun in the lobby when they first got here—”

“Maybe if you hadn’t fallen out of the tree—”

“Maybe if you had made the goddamn kayak explode instead of fly—”

“Stop!” Tony yells, cutting his hands through the air like an angry teacher. “Stop. Stop. I’ve never wanted to hear Boston accents less. Stop. You’re arrested. We’ve arrested you.”

“You can’t do that, the Avengers aren’t cops,” the shorter one says. He’s got a tattoo on his neck that says GOLDBARES with a Haribo bear icon and Peter squints at it and he feels like his entire face hurts worse just from seeing it.

“You’ve committed several crimes,” Tony says, still pointing at them. “It’s—my personal security already—”

There’s a click. A very loud click. And both guys clam up real quick.

“What was that?” Tony asks.

Peter’s spidey sense is—ratcheting up, clear into his teeth—

“Tony!” he yells, because it feels like something is coming, and, just like in the Grove Lodge, there’s a big boom and they’re blown backwards by a seismic wave—

And they’re launched off the roof, and it feels like they’re moving in slow motion, through the dead dark of the night and the reflection of the lake, and Peter screams like a moron. He just screams, and then he shoots a web right at Tony and pulls him in with it, and then he shoots a web at the building and swings back around with him. 

They don’t land well, because Peter’s brain is on the backburner and there’s nothing on the front, and they roll in a heap, Peter tucking his face into Tony’s shoulder. When they come to a halt Tony pulls back, sitting up and touching Peter’s cheek.

“You in there?”

“I’m in there. Here,” Peter says, and he feels like he’s bleeding worse, somehow. “Did they blow up? Did those guys blow up? It sounded like they blew up.”

“We didn’t blew up we’re still over here but maybe I wish we woulda blew up because—”

And they start shouting at each other, but Peter tries to tune them out.

“Thank God you brought those things,” Tony says, tapping Peter’s wrist. “Thanks, bud.”

Peter blows out a breath, shaking his head and still just. Laying there. “Oh yeah, no problem. All good, just—completely normal.”

Tony sighs, and his eyes cut to the side. “Any other late traps ready to explode?” he yells, over his shoulder.

They stop arguing with each other. There’s a brief silence. 

“Uh. I honestly got no idea. We just brought the whole bag of tricks, I don’t know. There’s shit everywhere.”

Tony looks at Peter, slowly shaking his head.

“Fantastic,” Peter says. “Wonderful.”

~

“So, you weren’t in there watching us when we were getting our nails done in the spa?” Pepper asks. “I thought it was weird. I told May it was weird. That was these guys—”

Tony scoffs, and he feels like he instantly gets a headache, a migraine—

“Of course I wasn’t—of course—you thought I was just standing there? Staring at you in the spa? You didn’t think that was out of the ordinary—”

Pepper gives him a look, and Peter laughs from the hammock behind them.

“Yeah, when I went to get my nails done later you kept walking in and out,” Happy says. “But I thought you were just—I don’t know what I thought. But then you told me about the kayak thing later and I thought—well—I attributed it to that.”

“Happy went and got his nails done,” Ned whispers, somewhere behind Tony, too. “We could do that?”

“Who’s stopping you?” MJ says, quiet.

“Well, the whole—the whole situation stopped me, I guess, but I didn’t really think about it—”

“I’m glad it wasn’t you staring at us,” May says, standing near the railing and peering out into her binoculars. “Pepper said it was normal, but it was concerning me.”

Tony glares at Pepper, but she just bats her eyes at him like the picture of innocence.

“Sometimes Peter does that to me,” May says. “Just stares at me from behind a Lucky Charms box in the kitchen. That’s how I know something’s wrong.”

Tony snorts, and he turns around as soon as Peter starts protesting.

“I do not!” Peter says, shifting around in the hammock. “I do not do that.”

“It sounds like something you’d do,” Ned says.

“You’ve done that to me,” MJ says, clearing her throat.

Peter huffs, and everyone laughs at him, and Tony tries not to laugh too hard, because this started with his own wife acting like she thinks he’s capable of acting like some weirdo who stands around staring at people.

Tony sighs. He turns around, walking over and peering down at Peter. He braces his hand on the tree his hammock is attached to. “How’s the nose?” Tony asks.

“Broken.”

“It’s not broken anymore, we reset it.”

“It knows it was broken. I know too.”

He’s still got the butterfly bandages on the bridge of his nose, and it’s bruised and angry looking. He’s got a burst blood vessel in his eye, and the white part is dipped with red. Tony feels like shit because he got out of the whole ordeal relatively unscathed. Just a few bumps and bruises. Some whiplash. But Peter broke his nose again.

They hiked up to the Sky Top Tower, and the kids wanted to hang out once they got up here. They all thought Peter had earned the hammock. Happy refused to come, and he’s in charge of the security situation, anyway, so he couldn’t exactly abandon it to do a hike he didn’t want to do. 

They had to clear the whole damn resort out to get rid of any remaining traps and illusions. Tony had to bring in a whole team. Rhodey made fun of him on the phone when Tony told him, laughing for a good five minutes.

And sure, it’s stupid. Those guys are stupid and they had no idea what the hell they were doing, they couldn’t even attack properly. But that’s what happens when stupid people follow more powerful stupid people. They hold grudges. They make up shit in their heads. They cause problems.

And it’s never really funny when Peter is bloody at the end of it.

“I feel like I’m sinking,” Peter says, his brows furrowing.

He reaches out his hand, and Tony takes it, and he pulls him out of the hammock as MJ and Ned push on his shoulders. Peter groans like he’s a hundred years old, and Tony claps him on the shoulder.

May looks away from her binoculars. “How you doing, honeybunch?”

“Fine,” Peter says, letting go of Tony’s hand. “Incredible. Amazing.”

“Just a normal day for a hero,” Pepper says. “MJ, you’ll get used to it, May, you’ll never get used to it—”

“And Ned,” Ned says to himself. “You will be there every step of the way.”

Tony looks at Peter, and he wants to apologize. For all of it, for being a hero at all, for the goddamn radioactive spider at Oscorp and everything that came after. For stupid morons like Quentin Beck, who know the quickest way to hurt Tony is to attack this kid he’s nearly adopted as his own.

He doesn’t know what the hell to say, because Peter wouldn’t accept his apologies anyway. He never would. Peter is just appreciative of every moment. Even if the moments aren’t ideal.

“We’ve got the whole place to ourselves,” Tony says. “How about we have a pie bar when we head back down there? I can tip the kitchen staff two hundred percent when I ask. I don’t think anybody would be pissed off.”

He sees May smiling softly at him over Peter’s shoulder. Trust in her eyes, even after all this bullshit.

“Can there be…at least four key limes?” Peter asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Four or five,” Tony says, ruffling his hair. “Or six or seven. Depending on the number of ovens in the joint.”

Peter grins at him, still bright and lively, despite everything.

Maybe they can salvage this vacation yet.

[chrisevansonly]

I'm Not Meant for This

Chris Evans x Girlfriend Reader

Summary: You weren’t meant for this life, the cameras, the gossip, the fan pages, it wasn’t you, letting yourself suffer wasn’t worth it anymore…was there anyway that would change?

Warnings: angst, minor arguing, crying, reader mentioning insecurities, happy ending<3

A/N: This was a request sent in by an anon! Thank you in advance for this, I’m a big lover of happy endings and I did tweak the request a little bit so I hope that’s okay!!I feel so unmotivated but I’m trying to update regardless lol

Word Count: 843

Spending a lot of time watching your life go by from outside your body looking down on yourself is a feeling so hard to describe, surrounding by celebrities of all calibres and standing, next to Chris you felt like you weren’t supposed to be here. You’d been feeling pretty low the past few months, Chris’s career doing really well, he just finished filming his last few movies for 2022 and 2023, and instead of talking about taking a break, he wanted to keep going. In retrospect, talking to Chris about your feelings should have been number one on the list of conversations you wanted to have, but maybe leaving and letting him down gently was better. Watching him talk freely in the sea of people, or handle the cameras like champ, all it did for you was made you feel out of place and disgusted by yourself. You knew this wasn’t his fault, you could only blame yourself for the position you were in, but you couldn’t take it anymore. 

-

The minute the two of you got home, you ditched your heels at the front door, leaving Chris standing there to go upstairs and into the bathroom. Looking at yourself in the mirror only made it worse, the bags and dark circles under your eyes despite the full coverage foundation and concealer covering it. Taking a wipe you cleaned your face off, letting out a quiet sigh, your eyes closing for a few seconds, and when you opened them, Chris was looking at you, an unreadable expression on his face 

“You’ve been really quiet all night…what’s going on?”

This was your chance, let him down easy, spend one last night with him and leave tomorrow, move far away, start over, leave Chris in the past

“I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what baby?” 

You turned and motioned between the two of you 

“This, us, I can’t do it anymore, I’m not meant for this life Chris, I can’t fucking do this.”

You moved past him, ducking away into the closet to get out of the floor length black dress you had on, changing into a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt

“Wait a minute, Y/N…we’re going to talk about this”

“I don’t want too anymore! I’m tired of constantly being attacked online, photographed without my consent, being the odd one out at every event, people I don’t even know nitpicking my appearance! I’m done!”

Chris ran a hand down his face 

“You know that’s not my fault, right?”

“Jesus Chris, that’s what you have to say?! I’m going to pack my stuff.”

His hand grasped yours tightly and he pulled you back to him softly, but firm enough for you to land against his chest, his arms holding you to him

“No. No. I can’t lose you, not now, not ever, we can figure a way to fix this problem.”

You shook your head, tears now falling down your cheeks

“No, we can’t, there’s n-”

“Yes, there is. Screw going back to work, i’ll take time off, as much as we need, I should have made that decision last year, but I didn’t and now I am. We can go away, stay at the cabin for a few months just me and you, restart your social media’s, hire more security, hell we can order our fucking groceries, that exists now!”

You laughed quietly into the flannel he had on, and Chris spoke again, beating you to it

“You are everything to me, you are my world, my light, and I wished you would have told me about this sooner so I could have helped you…I’m so sorry I didn’t notice how much this was hurting you, how much I was hurting you. You are the most beautiful girl in the world to me, and I swear to you I’ll fix this, we can make this work…”

Staying silent, eventually hugging him back tighter you closed your eyes before making a decision you hoped you wouldn’t regret

“Okay.”

Hearing your voice, Chris pulled back and brought his hands up to cup your face, swiping a few tears away before connecting his lips with yours, kissing you tenderly before pulling away and frowning when he noticed just how drained you looked 

“I love you so much angel, I’m going to make this right, and I’m going to work my hardest to keep you safe and happy, I promise I won’t let this happen again…”

A small part of you was worried you made the wrong decision but looking into Chris’s eyes and seeing just how much he love and appreciated you, was enough to help your heart prove you were doing the right thing. In the end you knew Chris would go to the ends of the earth for you, and he was willing to do that now, to protect you, and to give you the life he knows you deserve. The road would be long, but as long as you had Chris, he could make the journey a little more bearable. 

[ikemenomegas]

Omega!Fukuzawa x Alpha!Reader

Maybe Every After

For the record Fukuzawa is a zaddy and I don't think anyone is going to argue with me on that. But he wasn't always a zaddy! You have to grow up a lot to earn the title and Fukuzawa had a lot of growing up to do even in his thirties.

Meet cute?-

Fukuzawa met the person who would become his Alpha at some stuffy local function he attended because of his status as one of the five greatest swordsmen.

While they hit it off well, commiserating over the oppressive self-congratulatory nature of these kinds of events, it was not love at first sight. Fukuzawa was able to carry on pleasant, engaging conversation with them

Fukuzawa was by turns a little awkward, eccentric, curious, and the sense of duty, justice and good judgment that characterizes his throughout his life permeated the conversation, leaving a lasting impression on you

Fukuzawa's work and his superiors are all top secret, but despite that, he does not try to make himself come off as an enigma and his intentions and ideology are largely transparent, which in the time of the Great War, the first ability war, and with Fukuzawa's position being what it was, was surprising and refreshing

You meet with him a few times as new friends in between whatever it is he does when he's not with you

Some time after those meetings begin would be around the time that he is ordered to begin assassinating war-hawk ministers

You see him change as those assassinations pile up and see him apparently lose the feeling of rightness that was in him when you first met at that party

He disappears soon after resigning his position in this mission, cutting himself off from the world that had descended into the misery and chaos of war, from the deaths he had caused, and from you, the person who had become important when he was still young and full of naive idealism

Meet again-

It's by chance you meet again when he is spending his work hours as a bodyguard.

Or maybe it's not chance. It's a certain circle of people that can afford the services of someone as skilled as Fukuzawa, as much as he tries to keep apart from those kinds of people. His reputation took a hit after he left his government position, although you don't know the circumstances around his departure, but people say it's because he isn't a patriot. The word makes you disappointed. The are parts of every war that are not about patriotism, where blood is no longer spilled for the love of one's country but because there are those who have lost their way.

Reconnecting is hard but maybe because you understand the rumors this way, it is not as hard as it might have been. Fukuzawa Yukichi is loyal, that you have known almost since you met him. He is loyal to the people who walk down the street and do not know him, he is loyal to all the people of the nation who make their way slowly through life alongside him, he is loyal to some ideal of justice that you don't necessarily understand but that you believe in too. You see sometimes the pain that the rumors cause him, but you believe in him, whatever that might mean, and so he lets the pain wash over him and away in the truth of his intact honor

It comes up at some point that you are still not a mated Alpha. There is no one else waiting for you as your tea times meeting with Fukuzawa continue. It just hadn't felt right, somehow, to try and make that kind of connection in the years that have passed. The great war turned everything upside down, including something inside of your good and most principled friend.

One day, he'll tell you about it, about what turned his heart inside out, but that is many years in the future

For now, you're the one who asks him if he wants to meet and restart first

He seems tired and you're surprised that he accepts, but he does. Once. And then twice. And then a third time. And it's almost like it used to be, even though you're both older and a bit more jaded, maybe with a few more hard edges. The meetings extend longer, and become more frequent. It is no longer tea on his days off or when he has time between jobs. There are late night meals after his employer dismisses him and lunches on the occasions he is released early. On one memorable occasion, you find yourself taking an early morning walk through a dew studded garden watching the sun rise pink and cold after a night on which you could not sleep

One thing led to another-

Eventually, Fukuzawa asks you to be his heat partner. It's a bit of a surprise and something that makes you nervous since Fukuzawa effectively ignored you for years.

You had once slept together in what was essentially a platonic way, or perhaps some kind of experiment. It was fine, oddly peaceful, especially at the end when you just passed a bottle of water back and forth, but you'd sort of wordlessly agreed to not do it again

He tells you he's sure though. His heats aren't frequent because he's on suppressants, but they do happen, and this is one of the different things. Fukuzawa seems to want, to have a restlessness that is more apparent to you, lingering beneath the surface

You already suspect it's the loss of purpose, the loss of public reputation somehow which had carried with it its own sense of purpose. He's a famous swordsman, one of the best in the country. Even a tame wolf desires to hunt.

So you spend his breakthrough heats together.

And you remember why the two of you never had sex after the first time. It makes you wonder if you remember the "silent agreement" wrong, or if he remembers it differently, and reminds you why you didn't dwell on it.

It's not earth shattering, the sex that is. It's just heat sex, just making sure he gets off so that he can sleep through the intervals between his body temperature spiking. Except you're in his home, the gauzy curtains drawn, scent patches off, and it's disturbing how clear the memory of the last time overlaps with this one, even after so many years.

It's like being in the middle of a monsoon storm, pressure and torn leaves, and summer heat and all. And while you thrust into his wanting body, he watches you. The heat-haze is obvious and his eyes are half-lidded in the associated exhaustion, but he tracks you when you lean back to swipe the back of your hand over your forehead and there's something hungry in his gaze when he looks down to where you're connected

You remember the first time and how intrigued you'd been by this particular mannerism of his, how he keeps his eyes open. He had been watchful and curious even as you'd laughed with him over your shared fumblings. His gaze had been heavy and consuming when he'd shown his aikido skills, at your request, and tumbled you from over him to pin you to the floor.

This time there's a lot more kissing because if you're close to his face, you don't have to see his eyes, but the way Fukuzawa opens his mouth for you with trust like you've been doing this for years makes the strategy nearly futile.

You have to work right after that first heat tapers off so he's still in his nest when you're putting on your shoes, weekend duffel in your hands.

It's late afternoon going on evening so the apartment is dark. His hair is splayed out on a pillow. You're satisfied though that he has pre-made meals in the fridge and you've changed out most of his nest bedding so he can rest in a clean spot after you've gone. Fukuzawa's not saying anything, watching while you rub a sore spot on your neck, which makes him smirk. You're convinced this will be another scenario just like last time where you don't talk about it, when he speaks up, stopping your hand on the doorknob. "Same in three months?" he asked instead. Despite the stab of apprehension, you smiled. "Same in three months," and left to catch a flight.

You don't let it get quite that long before you contact him again. You don't see him, but you text him and he texts back, which is at least a relief that he's not going to vanish again into whatever new twilight he inhabits.

It's the same in three months, apart from the weather outside. His eyes, blue like steel and watching you while you bring him over the edge, the sense of being in the eye of a summer storm, that feeling of trusting familiarity when you lick into his mouth and catch the sound he makes when you crook your fingers inside him. It's the same how it's only his response that changes when you kiss him later and are more gentle about it, running your teeth against his jaw before going to cradling his head and kissing the corner of his mouth.

There's laundry in the machine and porridge on the stove. Fukuzawa's heat had settled sometime in the very early hours of the morning and the two of you were more or less clothed for the first time in days. Fukuzawa was however leaning in the door, watching you put shredded seaweed, pickled plums, and katsuo tronçons on small plates already laid out on a tray. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching him almost lazily watch you. But, you paused in using a pair of chopsticks to pluck out a single ginko nut from a narrow jar. There was something almost tense in his posture. He was barely out of the thick of heat and you could see the faint tremble in his wrist before he folded his arms to hide it. You checked the pot with the still yet-to-boil rice and then ducked under his jaw to brush your nose against the scent gland there. The way he shivered, still sensitive, was almost enough to make you feel bad. "You should go lie down," you murmured, smiling in apology, "I'll bring the tray over." He hesitated, but then nodded. Something pulled at you behind your navel, similar to that familiar sensation when you had worked him through the heat. Only this time, out of the haze, you followed it and followed Fukuzawa to his nest. Its fresh linens were soft and sweet smelling as you guided him into it. He sighed when he was lying down again, a long exhale that gave nothing away. He was just watching. You tucked a blanket over his hips and let your hand linger a touch too long, feeling like you were falling into his eyes. He made no sound when you pulled away and did not return until the meal was ready. Although you did stand in the doorway he had just vacated, leaning so you could see Fukuzawa, loosely tied deep blue and light grey layers of his yukata falling half open as he rolled over to keep you within line of sight. He ate every bite of food, still maintaining that tense, anticipatory silence. You didn't remember this from the first time. His gaze only flickered from the tray and your hands to your eyes when you accidentally let out an encouraging rumble as he ate and immediately felt heat flash up your neck, mortified. The corner of his mouth twitched as he brought his chopsticks to his lips and nibbled at a bit of fish. You've read romance books, once or twice, seen the pervasive tropes pop up in just about every drama, imported or otherwise. People talk about finding someone that you feel you've known your whole life as something magical. No one talks about how unsettling it can be, how it could get all consuming all too quickly. It's disturbing in some way, the way you can sense the ease with which that could push into entitlement, envy, or just an endless fall. That is why after the first time you and Fukuzawa Yukichi had slept together, passing a bottle of water back and forth after and watching the rim indent into one another's lips when you took a mouthful, throats flexing to swallow, you had never spoken of the event again. You had never invited it happening again, and up until now neither had he. There's something at the bottom of that drop. There's always a hard landing. Somewhere. It felt too easy, being with him. You had fallen in as friends harder than this, feeling out the edges of one anothers' code and ethics, where you could push boundaries into asking about personal and professional interests. Although you never touch them, you knew where one anothers' cracks were.

Just as you never asked him directly about the things he had done in the war, about his suddenly cold reception among the circle you'd met in, he never asked you how you really felt about those people. He never asked if your heart too had broken somewhere during the Great Ability War. The stifling feeling of knowing both too much and too little about someone who trusted you far too much for what you knew suddenly stole all the moisture from your throat. A sip of tea helped, but Fukuzawa's posture had gone back to that waiting. Master swordsman: master at reading any opponent. You told yourself heavily that you were perfectly willing to continue being his heat partner, at least until the way you two distinctly did not push boundaries bored him. He had a competitive spirit to a point. There were goalposts that only he could see, standards to which others were not often held. Stagnancy had never quite suited him. Stillness did. Was that what was at the bottom? Was it the stagnant life of saying nothing and doing nothing and keeping a status quo? Or was it blissful stillness, knowing nothing would catch you and nothing needed to?

It takes almost a year for either of you to bring it up and it's only at the cusp of realizing this is becoming an unhealthy new normal that it happens. It is still incredibly difficult to broach the fact that the physical intimacy makes you feel like strangers but every conversation in between makes you feel like you could get to know him forever.

It's around this time you finally start to really talk. You know how you can know someone for ages, and even be really close to them, but there are long stretches of time where you don't talk about anything important because you're afraid of making the other person do emotional labor for you, and you don't know if they'll mind? That's the first year Fukuzawa and his Alpha have after he comes back.

He acknowledges that you've done things rather in reverse order, as far as the typical trajectory of reconnecting with friends goes. You start to date, more or less, making time to see one another every week or every other week as your schedules allow.

It's a bit strange, to suddenly realize the ways in which you both have changed. Fukuzawa is as principled as ever, but he's unmoored now, without the ties he severed to the military police and the mission it brought. You are somewhat more stable, older and more settled into your own career, but heavier in your soul, sadder. Yokohama is reviving, black towers and tidy apartment buildings rising on the horizon, but it took too much to get here, too much blood before the nation sickened of it.

Fukuzawa won't let you court him.

You're in one of the old cafes that survived all the conscriptions. The owner's son moves around with a tray and a flour dusted apron and the atmosphere is oddly cheerful, despite the recently terrible weather. The last of the summer storms are making a good showing this year and it's limited the places you and Fukuzawa can go. Museums, restaurants, the occasional wander around a particularly well constructed public part of an office building - usually places near your work or his.

You'd tried other things, shopping for food or clothes and paying maybe too much attention to his preferences. You'd tried things like flower viewing or afternoons trying wagashi in specialty shops. While Fukuzawa had seemed to enjoy them and settled easily into the traditional etiquette sometimes called for in these places, he never acknowledged that these might be early attempts at courting.

When you spent time in his apartment he let you scent items in his nest while lounging around or before his heats. If he was at the little rooftop house you were living in, he would sometimes choose one pillow or blanket to curl around and carefully leave it on your spot on the couch when he left.

You looked at him over the rim of your mug and one of his brows went up. When you said nothing, he looked away, tracking the movements of people on the street.

You still partner him when his heat hits, but the sex is worse, as far as that unsettlingly settled intimacy goes. It's wonderful, he's wonderful. Sex itself is not that interesting as a rule, and you're both too aware of the delicacy of the situation to attempt anything like adding toys during his heat or a simple scene to the build up or cool down. But every time after, you want to stay longer.

Fukuzawa shifts his nest, ever so slightly because he is picky about it, but enough so that he can always see you as you move about his home when you need to get food or nesting materials for him, so that you don't have to anxiously flit between the stove and the door in order to sate the need to know that he is safe and comfortable in the aftermath.

You think it's going to end, that the pained distance Fukuzawa now puts between himself and the world is going to pull taught against the growing need to be around one another, to care beyond the dedication of a close intimate friendship.

Everyone can see it-

And then he accidentally adopts a super genius.

This is one of the funnier things that's ever happened to your friend since you've known him and you make sure he knows you think so once or twice.

Once Ranpo is secure in his place as Fukuzawa's ward a few years later, you come up with a way to let Ranpo know he's the best thing to ever happen to your mate and also that you will never ever get tired of imagining the look of shock you know took over Fukuzawa's face when all four and a half feet of teenage whoop-ass came banging through the door of that office.

But that's years from now.

Ranpo peers up at you when you meet Fukuzawa for lunch and a film a week after he's started tagging along with your friend

The boy isn't very tall, but he's got a maturity to his features that you chalk up to either the orphan thing or the child genius thing. He had taken one look at you, seated at the back of the restaurant away from the windows, and it felt like someone crowding into your space even while he touched neither you nor Fukuzawa. You are perhaps overly sensitive of other people's attention. It's another thing that makes being with Fukuzawa comfortable somehow. He's observant, but not oppressive with what he does with that information. Only the second time you'd met he'd helped extricate you from an incredibly uncomfortable conversation with a junior minister in the local commerce department. Now the kid looks at you and at Fukuzawa and pouts impressively. "You're single." He says it like an accusation and an assignment and you could almost laugh at Fukuzawa's wide eyed expression if it weren't for everyone three tables deep around you staring. You raise an eyebrow at him. "He's allowed to be single," you chide, reminding yourself that you are talking to a child still. It's a bit funny, you admit, smiling when the boy glares at you. The waitress comes over when you beckon, bringing tea for Fukuzawa and a sweet layered sort of beverage for the kid. Fukuzawa had told you about the boy's obvious sweet tooth and even though he huffs at you, he takes the tall glass eagerly, poking a straw through the layers. "Does it bother you?" You can't help it. Fukuzawa had said the child was a genius, observant to the point of misunderstanding, his incredible intelligence looping in on itself and making the rest of the world occasionally incomprehensible. It seems unlikely for a child to hold the kind of incredibly conservative prejudice that says omegas should be mated, but he seems put out. Ranpo sulks behind a menu before saying, "I'm never wrong." The meal is quiet, and gradually people stop looking at your table. Fukuzawa excuses himself on the walk to the theater to purchase something from a convenience store. It's there you lean up against the mouth of an alley and look down at the kid. He's really short, you worry someone isn't feeding him enough and the realize that Fukuzawa is going to be that someone. "We're not together," you said. Ranpo looks up at you, clearly still sulking. "You don't have to lie to me," he says, but he sounds a little uncertain. "We're not together in the way you would understand it," you say, "or the way most people understand." Ranpo sees your emotions in your eyes, and suddenly wishes he didn't understand. Your gaze is filled with longing, but he doesn't know how you can't see it's for something you already have. Almost. "He's ashamed of something," Ranpo says quietly. You hunched over a little. "I know. Adults are often ashamed of a lot of things though." He looks at you and wonders what you're ashamed of. "You should probably ask him about this one. He's not very good at saying what he means, but most adults aren't." You're laughing when Fukuzawa reappears.

To everyone's surprise, he actually sits through the movie, happily demolishing the little fortune you'd bought him in caramel popcorn and boxed candies, even if he complains about figuring out the plot five minutes in when you leave

Ranpo doesn't parent trap you two exactly, he doesn't have quite that level of interest in involving himself, but Fukuzawa is good to him, and he sees you often and you are good to him too. Neither of you always understand what he understands, but you show him kindness without ulterior motive, you try and show him how to safely exist around other people.

Fukuzawa is asked to be a bodyguard for Mori Ougai and something about engaging with that man, even though he can't tell you about the job itself, makes him tell you, in a desperate whisper under the moonlight, that it was him who assassinated the war hawk ministers during the peace debates. It's him who is bloodying his blade for something he hopes will be better, even if it turns his stomach, even if it means he doesn't know who he is anymore.

"I know who you are." Fukuzawa tenses in your arms, and you think frantically that you have certainly made a mistake. But you don't take it back. You don't want to. You do know who he is, your friend. You know how lonely what he's done has made him. Only you didn't know what he had done. Now that you know, it doesn't seem to matter. It's distant, the way all bloody things are distant when you don't see them. You've never had all that fond a feeling towards the wealthy people that profit from the abject misery of others. All the hunger and desperation in the world are distant, abstract concepts to them. Why should their deaths not mean the same to you? Of course, you can't say this to your friend, your sometimes lover, lying in your arms. The moonlight drops over his cheeks, turning them pale. His eyes are closed for once, his face turned into your neck, as though he is afraid of what he will see in your eyes. You understand it was not simply one or two storybook villains. There is no human in the world who has done only bad their entire life. Fukuzawa was not prone to exaggeration, even if drama appealed to him. It seems likely he meant it literally when he speaks of wading through blood to put an end to those who whipped up the populace into a frenzy, who wanted for the death never to end. "I know." You stroke your thumb near the corner of his eye, brushing your cheek to his brow, pressing a chaste kiss to the curve of his cheek. "Honor doesn't always mean doing the honorable thing," you say softly. "It means making difficult choices. You regret having to make it, but do you regret the outcome?" He is quiet for a long time. You know he hasn't fallen back asleep, despite the languid warmth between your bodies. He's quiet for long enough that your heart rate returns to normal and you rub your knuckles up and down his back. An occasional burst of deep, faint purring lets you know this is at least appreciated, if not necessarily something he thinks he deserves. You've taken to sleeping together at this point. The mounting danger as different organizations wage new war across the city drives you both to it. Besides, it is simply easier to manage an antsy teenager if you're in the same place, wherever that might be, rather than passing him back and forth like the result of some amicable divorce as you both work to keep him safe and out of the hands of those who would use his intelligence. "No," he says, as you knew he would. "There is nothing to be attained in the way of peace by letting war simply continue until each side is beaten into exhaustion. Withdrawing with our strength intact is the only thing that would save the nation and its people." He says it like he's said it to himself many times. He goes nearly limp in your embrace, pliant as he nudges against you until your forehead is pressed to his. You wonder though- "Is this the first time you've said it out loud?" "What I did is a secret few are aware of." "But the investigations..." "They won't find me," he said, but you felt a shiver go through him, felt gooseflesh rise on his arms. If they did, it could open the possibility for those people to be made martyrs. It was natural for him to be afraid. "They won't," you said lightly. You didn't know what you could do to make that true, but some things needed to be said aloud. "If they catch me, I'll face whatever is decided," he said quietly. "But I won't get caught." "You saved a lot of lives." He sighed. "I know." You rubbed slow circles over the middle of his back. "The sword isn't meant to be used like that. They had lives, families, I-" he swallowed "-I ended that. I enjoyed it. And I have to live with that." His eyelashes too were silvered in the moonlight. "You have to live with it," you agreed, even as he flinched, "but you don't have to punish yourself for it every time you live." You pretend not to feel the wetness on your clothing as Fukuzawa shudders into your collar.

Forever love-

You're truly together and officially courting by the time the Agency is three years old, which is the first more calm year since the Agency opened. Turns out opening a business is a huge pain in the behind and that an ability user Agency with less than half a dozen workers, two of whom are genius teenagers who have totally reasonable problems with authority, is an even bigger pain.

By the time the Agency is four years old, you're mated to Fukuzawa, your mark on his shoulder and his on yours. Ranpo grouches something terrible that the two of you could only get your shit together before he turned eighteen, but he's not a legal adult yet, so you get to officially be one of his guardians for at least a few years. Yosano thinks Ranpo is being ridiculous, but she gives you the biggest bouquet of flowers for your and Fukuzawa's home and insists on choosing the restaurant where you all celebrate.

It's been a very long road. You've known Fukuzawa Yukichi for almost thirteen years, an unexpected friend you made in your adult years now your mate. Now someone who you feel, finally, you've started to earn the feeling you've know them all your life, even though you're still learning about him.

He takes you to his home near Osaka, to his family home on Kyushu. He meets your parents, who consider him a bit quiet, but very dutiful. You meet Natsume-sensei, once, and receive his very feline brand of approval and a quiet gift after your official mating. Fukuzawa takes you back to places he particularly enjoyed during those failed months of courting him. You spend season after season getting to know him, pushing boundaries, debating over philosophies, arguing over interior decorating, agreeing over meals.

Your mate, your partner, a soulmate if you have ever believed such a thing, let alone that it would come to you. You're watching white strands of hair like starlight shoot through his natural grey. The wrinkles around his eyes are deepening. It takes him longer to get up from bed than it used to. His silences are longer, but so are the times when he just looks at you, looks and looks like he can never get his fill. His voice is still strong, but you can feel that layer of age crackling under it. And you love him.

You love the man he has grown into, the one who can bear the weight of hard choices placed upon his shoulders, the one who can bear happily having people who work alongside him. You love his patience with Ranpo and his encouragement of Akiko. You love how he holds his hand out for you if you fall behind on your walks, or how he comes to you and stands close enough for his scent to wrap around you while you point out some small natural beauty.

Love can be horribly consuming, it can stagnate where it was once immediately comfortable or grow jealous at its own ease, unsure if it is charm or affection that ties you together. It can grow desperate and possessive. There are still things that can be so hard to say, old things that left old wounds that are still hard to talk about, but there's something to be said for age and wisdom.

Things aren't perfect, love should not be perfect, and something in you delights in knowing that with Fukuzawa it will always be incomplete. Things will not grow still, there will never be a moment there is nothing to know about him. You have grown into yourselves, the both of you, and this is the love you will grow old with.

[queerprayers]

Some people have asked, so here are some ways I come to my Sundays-in-Lent practice! This is just how I think about it, not a handbook. You're free to come to your practice in whatever way is fulfilling for you.

If I'm adding something small to my practice, I usually keep up the rhythm of it on Sundays. Sometimes starting a habit is the hardest part, so I don't want to have to restart it every week! Keeping it every day helps me make the time for it. This year I'm learning how to say the rosary :) (I'm not gonna end up Catholic any time soon, but y'all really created the ultimate stimming/fidgeting-as-prayer practice.)

Occasionally things I do for Lent include Sundays just for practical reasons. The year I only read religious books for Lent, it would have been a huge distraction to start a novel on Sunday, and I would have to wait a week to read the next chapter, which with my memory isn't sustainable. This year my Lord of the Rings reading plan is still going strong :)

There are some harder/more tiring things, though, that I give myself a rest from. I'm disabled and have limited energy, and there are some things I genuinely couldn't do every day for weeks without a break. Sundays are a rest in these instances, a time to check in with the practice and reflect on how it's going. Any physical practice like yoga goes in this category for me.

If I'm giving up something genuinely harmful, like in the past when I've used Lent to renew my commitment to recovery, then I of course also continue on Sundays, and I obviously try to continue on with that commitment after Lent.

And of course, something I hold close to my heart: If I'm giving up any little thing, any food/drink item or small pleasure, this is my Sunday feast. I've pretty consistently given up soda for Lent in the past few years, and Sunday is my soda day right now! I explained more about this in the other post, but my little Easters can't include literal fasting, and can't include denying small pleasures.

I hope this gives you some things to think about! Let today be a checkpoint, a rest stop on the journey. It's not over, and we're still in the wilderness, and you are so beloved. Memento mori, and memento vivere. To dust we shall return, but we have this moment at least.

And a final note: If you started a Lenten practice that you're not sure about, that's feeling unnecessary or harmful or confusing, today might be a great day to leave it aside and reflect on it. Is it serving you? Is it preparing you for Holy Week and Easter? And here's your permission, if you need it, to leave it here. Multiple years I tried to get back to "properly" fasting, and each time I couldn't do it, it was too triggering. You are allowed to make the holy decision of giving up what isn't fulfilling you. Obviously some things might not make sense to you just yet, or you haven't got into the rhythm yet--sometimes we have to let the practice happen even as we're not sure where it's going. And a hard journey can be all the more fulfilling. But if something's genuinely negatively affecting you, or self-punishing, or dragging you somewhere you don't want to worship from, Sunday is a good day to let it go. A foretaste of the feast to come, which is freedom.

<3 Johanna

[answrs]

Wrote this and 2 days later had to euthanize my favorite fish I’ve had since the beginning of lockdown for the beginnings of a terminal & painful condition. which is certainly a form of irony i do not appreciate or wish to tempt from the universe so I’m not gonna edit it any more than i already had done before that.

(this is Mystery Skulls, not pokemon, for the new followers, btw)

I think I'm having feelings about holding a companion past their time, fighting tooth and claw against the universe instead of letting them rest, how human it is to want every moment possible with a loved one, and how it's taking a step back and assessing what's truly best for them may be letting them go.

possibly exploring ghosts being warped funhouse reflections of a person?

Lewis very accidentally kills Arthur in a confrontation where he reveals himself. (possibly not-realizing-how-violently-he's-shaking-the-guy-he's-holding-while-screaming-at-him-for-answers accidentally aggravating past head trauma or something similar?) in the moment Artie's very tired and rather unhealthy mind is kinda "oh we found Lewis yay I completed my purpose I can rest now" and is peacefully-if-woozily dozing off as he passes into the After, when Vivi uses some heretofore unknown and extremely not very understood spirit magic to grab his departing soul and strangle it back onto the living plane.

((fuck it mystery is… idk. licking his wounded pride off in the desert somewhere for a year post-Shiromiri or whatever. maybe I'll edit him in later. or not.))

((they did not, in fact, edit him in later.))

Lewis skedaddles immediately seeing what horrible thing he's done, terror at himself, how could he have done that he just wanted to know W H Y and oh gods he's not safe to be around and he has to get a w a y

Arthur as a ghost is very much formed by those last calmer moments combined with a life of compartmentalizing and shoving issues to the back of his mind to avoid them. so he's actually a very chill, laid-back ghost who just wants to sleep, he's so tired, but-

similar to the one fic I did where viv necromances her way to keeping artie stable and unknowingly causing him to suffer but this time Vivi refuses to give Arthur's anchor to him, since because his spirit has no purpose remaining here he'd pass on and she Will Not Lose Her Friend She Will Not Tolerate Being Alone. Arthur repeatedly tells her that Lewis would happily stay with her, keep her company, but Shut Up! she didn't know this person before and she certainly wants absolutely nothing to do with him now!

not that she really enjoys being around this Arthur that's nothing like he Should be. why did he have to come back wrong!? she tries to hide it but he just gives her a sad, knowing look and goes back to trying to doze where he's floating at her shoulder.

it's a near daily occurrence, far past the end of her rope, that in frustration she yells back at his Wrong words or Wrong actions and gives an order- Shut up and take this seriously! Stop trying to sleep! -and watches the blue crackle of her power snap his mouth shut, straighten him at attention. she begs and pleads for forgiveness, she didn't mean it, he doesn't have to, it was a mistake - to be met with a drooped smile, a nod brushing away the concern. often Arthur mustering up the energy to try and cheer her up, suggest they go do something fun so she can de-stress.

his permanently distracted mind always wanders back to Lewis and it never really settles in (his spirit not holding a grudge for his death and because of that only really understanding Vivi's absolute hatred in an abstract sense), he suggests they find him again, the cycle restarts anew.

meanwhile Lewis, devastated and now constantly fighting his unfinished business to seeing his friends safe to stay away only sees Arthur's tethered spirit a few months later when his will breaks and he allows himself to watch from a distance.

but it's not a ghost is a ghost is a ghost and that's that. he sees nothing so sinister as shackles or chains. but a ghost that forms has always done so for a purpose, or regrets, or Anything that gives them a reason to not pass on, a tether they hold to the mortal plane. but the shade bobbing along at heel has nothing of its own. a blue string keeps him like a balloon, wrapped a thousand times around its holder's hands for fear of it slipping away in the wind.

concern overrides common sense, as is wont to do. he approaches and Vivi nearly manages to smite him on sight, only held back because she doesn't actually know how to properly do so. but after bats are (begrudgingly) put away and skulls are re-aquired from across the parking lot, it stings to see Arthur some of the most aware he's ever been as he greets the ghost.

she sees his murderer, he sees only an old friend. 

Vivi is (extremely understandably) both infuriated and devastated in turns. she wants less than nothing to do with this Monster, but the man she's spent so long night and day begging to come back to her is responding positively to its presence. she is truly in her worst lose-lose situation

Lewis keeps his distance as best he can in the time after, he sees the fine threads of connection weaving when he talks with the shadow, bringing it ever slowly back to them. but is it right, or merely cruel to do so? to convince a soul that should be at peace to turn itself back, bind it to existence just because they aren't ready to let go of their friend? is Arthur doing this for himself, or for them, or is he even aware enough of it to be doing it on purpose? he still says he's tired, that he just wants to sleep. they're together again, he's happy, seeming oblivious the two are steadfastly avoiding all but the most required interaction with the other. are they coercing him into ghostlihood by encouraging these ties he likely doesn't even notice are forming? tying him to a reality that doesn't exist?

((I don't know. I don't know if he stays and regains himself. I don't know if they let him go. I don't know what happens after except in all cases they must mourn what was lost, what will never be the same again.))

[weedandweasels]

11/8/2023 A Wednesday

I'm supposed to be in the prime of my life. That's the crazy thing. This is the age I am supposed to be out and about, partying. I think I am supposed to be living.

Currently I am in a crutch, my knee having decided to swell up for no reason last week. So here I stand, wearing all black, walking Sherlock. I am probably the most liberal looking person on this campus at this moment in time. A joint in my hand, my piercings, the crutch, the platform boots and the all black outfit. A fucking ferret on the end of a leash.

I watch these functioning people plan things with friends. I am alone with the very animal who is my only constant companion. No flaking out from him.

I decide I am going to try and romanticize things. If I can type them I might finally be able to get out the words I've been trying to handwrite for years. They have felt too intimate, too sacred to me for them to be typed. That's what I told myself. So here I am on a random Wednesday night pretending my life goes beyond these four walls.

I by no means am an amazing writer. I think that's obvious in these first few paragraphs. I keep thinking of the moments that lead here. The recent PTSD flareups I've had in the last few weeks. Things I cannot seem to be completely honest with. Even with myself. I just spiral.

I romanticize the green of the forest in spring. I miss the rain on my skin. I need the cold again. I need the ice in my lungs.

Sherlock regains my attention. I let myself wander into those daydreams I have for myself. Those moments in moments that feel more and more real. I want to stay here. The beauty of the world around me, the sensations. I am alive. Its dark, and I am holding an herbal cigarette between my fingers. The smoke calms me. Just the action. I need something. If I kill myself smoking weed so be it.

I wonder when the prime of my life was. If it ever existed. If it ever will exist. I feel like my body is falling apart faster. I don't think I ever peaked. It feels like I am still dragging my body back up a hill. Never quite recovering from the last thing that drug me down.

I write letters in my head a lot. What I'd say to celebrities, my father. What I would try to get across to them. Hozier is my most often letter drafted. His music has healed and broken me in ways I will never fully understand. Every lyric a gash and a bandaid all at once.

I think I liken myself to a creature so often because I never felt human. I think the addition of body jewelry and tattoos are testament to that. Something for them to look at. Something for those who would judge to walk a little farther away from me. I enjoy the outskirts. Like a dog waiting for scraps from the fire. Is it because that's all I've known? I am ready for the men around the fire to kick me the first chance they get. To tell me to leave. Or just up and abandoning me, refusing to pay attention to me. Having to wait for the next group of people. I tire them, my cycles of usefulness wearing out. How tiring it is to restart.

I need to word vomit. Its tiring to write by hand. Blogging I think is the only reason I'd put it down. An open word document is too much. I need this. This email to someone.

Here again I crave notice. I want someone to see my words and connect. I want someone to tell me things. I am begging for recognition. A scrap. I want my words to matter to someone.

I am so tired of fighting and trying to prove myself. I am a human. I think I deserve more than this. I think I deserve worse than this. I cannot seem to decide if I want to be seen and adored, or if I should remain in the shadows. Someone unseen. I want to be alive and bold and better than this. I want to stay here in my apartment lit green with music playing and Sherlock running around. There are moments I feel I am missing out on everything. I love it. I love being here and I miss being out there.

Tomorrow I continue working on my research. I get to be smart and someone and important. These words rush out of me and I cannot stop them. I am smart, but I am feeling too. Perhaps this is too intimate to share, but I love it too. I love that someone out there can judge me. I hope they find me worth something too. I hope these words make them feel seen.

I wonder if they feel the poetry in my words like I do. If you're listening. Can you let me know?

[softquietsteadylove]

can i ask for a reunion fic please? with tears and hugs and kisses and can't stop touching each other 🥺 i can never get tired of those (especially the ones written by you) and because their reunion on screen can't come soon enough :<

Earth is a distant little marble from the window of the Domo. They're headed back there from the World Forge, all members of their family in tow, safe and...relatively unharmed. Himself included.

Since coming back online, memories and all, the others have been...cautious. They were gentle, at first, slowly feeling out how strong the memories were, what was still fresh from their last lives lived and what might be pushing a little too hard too soon.

Gil sighs. He can hear them in the control room--joyous reunions still going, fading into soft words left unsaid from their past lives. They took extra care with him--he was the last 'death' they had really experienced, so he supposes he understands it.

But he wants to see Thena.

He knows she's here. He can feel her Cosmic Energy calling out to his. His heart - even restarted twice, now - knows hers is close, aching to beat to the same rhythm.

This is exactly the kind of thing she always said made him a sappy romantic.

She would call him that in their home, back in Australia. He remembers--he remembers waking up with her hair pooled around her shoulders beside him. Soft mornings with eggs frying in a pan and her, looking at him to express everything she can't put into words. Evenings under the stars in a hammock, just them and the galaxy they were calling home at the time.

He wants to go home.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He didn't hear her walk in, because of course he didn't. He smiles and looks to his left, seeing her there just like he did more than 7000 years ago, now. That sunshine coloured hair and eyes like oceans he remembers but has never seen. But he doesn't need to see them with her here--they won't compare, so why bother?

She gives up on light chatter, which wouldn't be very like her anyway. She looks at him, questions upon questions in those eyes of hers. But he can see warmth washing over her, like mist over a river in the morning. Her shoulder brushes against his next to it, "how do you feel?"

Gil turns to face her more properly. She's wearing clothes he doesn't recognise, but they're nice. Everything is nice on her. "I guess it's a lot to take in. I feel good, though."

Her eyes run over him, and he's sure she can see things in her head that he doesn't want to be able to. But he also does, because he's never been one to let her bear her pain alone. "Good."

That's enough small talk.

Gil reaches out, pulling her in and kissing her. And there it is--that comfort he has been aching for since opening these eyes. The cold of the domed metal walls seeps away. His arm wraps around her, and her hands run over him, finding a home with her palms on his chest.

There are their hearts, falling into the same rhythm.

Thena pulls away, intent on asking him things. But he keeps kissing her, no matter how small, no matter how light. "Gil."

"Sh," he whispers, his lips chasing hers and clinging on when they meet. "I'm trying to kiss my wife."

Her lips bend against his and he finally pulls back just to see that smile. The planet and the stars and the whole galaxy just outside have nothing on this sight in front of him. "You remember getting married?"

"Every time," he whispers, their heads circling each other as they lean and tilt, lips meeting clumsily and eagerly and tentatively. Their teeth click together as their smiles grow and he moves the tip of his nose against hers. "We're due for another, I think."

"I think we're owed it," Thena says softly before one last kiss. He can tell her questions won't wait and lets her lean back that agonising distance, however small. "Gil."

"Thena," he whispers, and the name rings in his head like a vow.

Every time he has awakened, he has had a few things in his head.

He is Gilgamesh. He is the Strongest Eternal. He was chosen by Arishem to be an Eternal assigned to Earth.

And Thena--just Thena. She's there, somehow already in his mind, and more importantly in his heart. Her name is like a concept he can already feel, like life, or love, or fear, or joy.

"There is," she pauses, and he knows she's trying to get the words out. But there's so much, and that's not even just things he as to be told about when he was 'away'.

He holds her cheeks in his hands, gentle and soft with her. As he always was, and always is, and always will be. "Take your time."

She shakes her head, and he saddens as she buries her face in his chest. She only does that when she needs him, and she only needs him when she isn't strong enough to face whatever is happening by herself. And there is very little his Thena can't handle on her own.

"I'm scared to."

He can't even imagine it. He never could imagine what it would be like to lose Thena in his time on Earth. It was something he could intellectualise but not fully grasp. Because it was far, far too painful for him to try and imagine on any real level.

He would rather die. And then he did.

Gil runs his hand over her hair as she shakes in his arms. He's not lying down, but he remembers distinctly how she had held him on the floor of the jungle, his last breaths leaving him and his skin becoming etched with the lines of his energy signature.

But he had no regrets about dying, back then. Because he could see Thena there, smiling at him, holding his hand, even if there were tears in her eyes. But she was alive, and he had meant it when he said: "I'd do it again. On any planet."

Thena pinches his arm, as if he's teasing her lightly. But he still means those words, although he guesses they have somewhat of a different meaning for her, now. "No more planets."

Gil sighs, moving his arms from around her back to sit on her hips. He tilts his head at the soft cardigan she's wearing, and the tight skirt that just kisses below her knees.

Thena tilts her head at him, already sensing that she's lost him to her wardrobe, "Gilgamesh."

"I like it," he volunteers eagerly, his thumb pushing up hem of the sweater and under it to brush against her bare skin. He leans in for another kiss. "This new?"

"I suppose," she murmurs, although she doesn't stop him from kissing her again, and again.

"Wedding dress number...whatever--what do you say?" he smiles against her cheek, nestling himself in against her locks of hair as he holds her closer.

Thena sighs blissfully, letting him express enough affection for the both of them--to get started, at least. She leans her head back to let him kiss from her cheek to her earrings. "I think I'd rather just go home."

Home. Australia--just him and Thena. That's where he belongs. "Sounds good to me."

[jedi-bird]

Vent post ahead because I need to get this out before I can start my relaxation exercises and meditation.

I've been going with my mother in law to get medical appointments lately, on her request. She doesn't remember a lot of what the doctors say and then because she doesn't like "western medicine" (her words) she will purposefully misinterpreted what they say. Her son and I take notes and email and text them to her and her other son so there is no chance of her lying to him about what was said (we don't live with her but he does).

It's been a constant fight and struggle and it's beyond frustrating.

She has long covid and never got treatment during her initial illness because of an incompetent doctor. Five months ago, we managed to convince her to join a treatment program. Four months ago, they put her on a medication that's an antiviral but also a dementia medication (she has a family history of severe dementia in every family member). The difference was immediate. She could hold a full conversation again. She had energy and could get through a day without crashing. She was mostly remembering things; this was always a struggle but having her back to where she was before covid hit is great.

Then, she got it into her head that the medication was making her sick so she stopped it. And it was very noticeable. Turns out, it wasn't that medication. It was the stupid supplements that she was taking without telling anyone. Her other son took it away, her doctor's all told her not to take it again, she started a high blood pressure medication (very much needed, her numbers were in the dangerous zone), and restarted the other medication. She got much better again and we thought things were fine.

She apparently had hid some of those supplements and retook them again orders. They have now (hopefully) been purged again.

She had a blood test done. Her liver numbers are twice the maximum level and she's freaking out. She does not have hepatitis per the results and it's very likely it's just family genetics (husband has a fatty liver as well) and diet. She's insisting that it's the new medications and that she needs to stop them immediately.

Her doctor told her to keep taking them. We've told her to keep taking them. We've pointed out that she hadn't had a blood test in years and neither of these medications affect the liver. That fatty liver syndrome doesn't come about in just a few months unless something else is wrong. Her doctor isn't worried and doesn't want her to move her appointment up. We're literally fighting with her to keep taking her medications.

I'm so fucking tired and stressed out right now. I know I can't make her do what they tell her so I've basically told her that if she wants to ignore medical advice then I was done helping. There's no point in me giving to multiple days a week for her appointments if she's going to ignore everything they say.

I'm about to be the bad guy and I don't think I fucking care anymore. She's upset that I texted her back at 6:30 this morning but she's the one that sent the text in a panic. She wanted to go back to sleep after the initial text and apparently my actually responding upset her. Especially since I didn't agree with her stopping the meds. We put a rule in place that she can only stop things if she gets it in email from her doctor, not that she'll actually do that.

I want to go punch something but also I can feel my blood pressure rising so I'm going to go do my relaxation exercises and try to calm down.

[joybreathingdragon]

Yesterday I had lunch with my daughter, and we talked about things we are doing in our lives and how they are going. This time last year she decided to go back to school and get a second bachelors degree. This one is in graphic design and social media.

The first few classes were easy. They mostly covered stuff she had studied in her organizational leadership degree. Then came the coding classes, and they have been harder. She has had to spend a lot more time learning new things, look up explanations on the internet, learn a language she didn't know. She has lost sleep and had to give up some fun stuff she likes to do, but last Saturday she finished this 8-week session with two more classes down and the possibility of finishing next May in sight.

And oh, my lands! Was she glowing!

She was so proud of herself! She had fought through the fatigue, the tears, and the "what was I thinking", and she was standing on top of Mount 6-More-Hours-Done with pride and joy.

And rightfully so.

When you do something hard and succeed, you should be excited about it. You should feel good about yourself.

You should feel good.

And that is one of the reasons I do hard things. It's good for my mental health.

I know it sounds contradictory, but it kind of goes back to what I said yesterday about knowing what kind of pain you are in. Sometimes you walk into pain so you can walk out feeling great.

Those two classes caused my daughter mental, physical, and emotional pain. She was physically tired, mentally frustrated, and emotionally exhausted. BUT, she kept walking through the pain to reach her goal, and, y'all, successfully finishes those classes feels good.

It isn't just reaching the goal. There is so much in the process of reaching a goal that you can feel good about.

Being resilient. Not quitting. Being strong enough to do something hard.

There is so much to feel good about in that.

A great way to feed your mental health is to do something hard.

But do YOUR something hard. Don't ever compare YOUR something hard with someone else. That is the perfect way to feed depression, insecurity, and anxiety. Don't do that. Instead, do something that helps you become who you want to be or gets you closer to the life you want to have.

Maybe you need to go back to school. Maybe you need to learn to drive. Maybe you need to create the routine of eating well. Maybe you need to find a way to exercise. Maybe you need to run a marathon. Maybe you need to clean and organize your house or room. Maybe you need to submit art to a gallery or writings for publishing. Maybe you need to ask for a raise or apply for that job you would be great at. Maybe you need to get out of bed and shower every day for...a week? Maybe three days?

I know it may sound crazy, but when I am struggling to feel good about myself or my life, I do something hard for me. Yes, it feels crushing while I am doing it, but land sake it feels good when I succeed...even if it takes a few restarts to get there.

Are you already doing something hard? How are you feeling about it? If you were to do something hard to feed your mental health, what would you do? What is keeping you from it? What do you need to get that started?

I am cheering you on because I believe in you. You really can do hard things. :-)

Blessings!

[skinni-girls-eat-books]

Monday, March 11, 2024!

7:43am: damn I feel like I'm freaking out about this remediation I slept like shit and I already feel so stressed wtf. I knew this would happen too, it's just like starting the semester over again. Also I gotta watch out bc DST means it just became daylight aka it's so easy to oversleep rn 😬

Today will be fine I'm 100% overthinking, which is good sometimes but I'm max stressed rn. Giving myself a fucking ulcer.

Also please stop thinking about dip shit, it does not matter if he treats his new girl better bc

1) THEY DON'T HAVE BILLS

2) THEY DON'T LIVE TOGETHER

3) THEY JUST HAVE BEING DRAMATIC ASSHOLES / NARCS IN COMMON

They're bar is in hell, mine is up here where the real men are. It's easy to be amazing when you have no morals or standards and also no responsibilities 😬 please grow tf up oh wait it's gonna be a few years/ a decade on that one. Idgaf if they're happy together that's like saying you're in love with Ted Bundy 💀

After Tuesday, I'm gonna keep going on dates, keeping myself in check and staying rested bc this no sleep shit is for the birds. I'm too old to be waking up in the middle of the night to do homework that shit doesn't fly anymore. Now waking up for fun is different. Also Idgaf if that guy doesn't text me back either, his loss too idc

11:33am: THE BACK N FORTH IS CRAZY. He called me on his house phoneeeeee this bih can't get enough of me!!! Aaaaaaaahhhhh

10:09pm: god thinking about how he said his gf is annoying and he wishes they were just friends, they have sex less than once a week, said my body looks better, he misses me and wishes he hadn't done all this, said she's like an annoying little sister 🤢 and he had to go to the hospital for hemorrhoids and says his body is falling apart and can't make any male friends and is tired of having female friends at 23 yrs old is craZ. And he's still suicidal AF I haven't heard him talk like that in a while, wanting to restart his life. Wow it's like he learns a new life lesson every mf day 🤯 karma is KRAZY. Fuck and I still have a hard time sympathizing for him because he treated everyone so badly including myself. Toxic ass narcissist ass MF.

[swrdemon-moved]

— 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄.

{ aki hayakawa x gn!reader }

▪︎ genre: minific ; slight angst, fluff

▪︎ warnings: profanity, minor depressive implications, mentions of blood, suggestive

▪︎ word count: 2.6K

It was a long day.

There were so many ways to describe whatever the hell that meant. Tiring. Boring. Tormenting. When someone checked on you, your lips couldn't bear the oversimplification words like these posed; it's like they were acid-laced chapstick you'd mindlessly put on if you ever said them.

It wasn't because they didn't describe how you felt; no. In fact, that's exactly how you felt every single fucking day as your life wore on in drab seconds, mundane minutes, cruel days, and torturous years. Admitting to it would just make you feel weak and vulnerable, and you didn't like to be powerless, not if you've come so far already.

Though, as a prodigious devil hunter, after what you've seen, and after what your very own hands have done, you couldn't help but wonder if you genuinely wanted to live this way anymore. You constantly asked yourself what you'd do if you could get your hands on a restart button.

But this wasn't the time to back down, right? You've seen enough crappy shit to take on all your tasks with explosive rage; you had enough anger in your soul to drown out the eerie screams of guilt which would otherwise brutally burn inscriptions of self-loathing into your conscience.

If that rage somehow backfired someday, you'd die knowing you had done your part, that you've lived your life to your fullest capability. There was nothing left to live for, and nothing left to keep you going.

There was someone who tarnished that principle by a significant degree though.

He was the only person you shared cigarettes, drinks, and late nights with. He kept you intact with reality, and sometimes, he made you feel like maybe life wasn't all that schematic after all.

Sure, the blood pulsating through your veins were fuelled with the destructive thrill of life, but Aki helped you step out of the secluded confinement of life's smaller details to see the bigger picture.

It wasn't all about perception and purpose, because all that would be fucking meaningless once you finally found yourself six feet underground. Aki was that idiot that made you question the fact that perhaps there was more to this godforsaken world after all.

Aki was present, almost always an arm's length away from you since you worked together often. Not that you were involved with each other— no words could describe how confusing everything would get if that happened.

Then again, he was with you— as a colleague, and as a friend. That was all that ever mattered. You wanted nothing more, and nothing less.

But that rule was out of sight now.

The conversation you had with him a few hours ago replayed like a broken cassette tape in the back of your mind. His voice was obscure and distant, but his words were ironed into your memory, enough to make them seem like daggers piercing through your eardrums repetitively.

"I told you to be fucking careful, y/n," he grabbed you by the wrist, halting you from walking further down the alleyway.

"I was," your reply was monotonous. The blood drenching your clothes was making you feel uncomfortable, and the uneasiness you felt made you very close to snapping at him if he didn't let go.

"Really? It didn't seem that way," he muttered rigidly, hastily letting you go once he realised how tight his grip was on your wrist.

Aki's expression was more or less indiscernable, so instinctively, you took up the habit of looking directly into his eyes. Usually, you'd find those green-tinted hues tainted with warmth, but this time, that consolation was blotted out by refined fury.

"What does it matter to you?" you bit back, your blunt question shooting down his composure.

"What does it matter to me?" he repeated sardonically, "Oh, I don't know. I should be totally okay with the possibility of having your head clipped off your fucking neck by that devil just now, right?"

Silence dampened the environment. Was that genuine concern etched in his tone?

"Well, I'm alive, aren't I?" you replied casually, turning on your heels to walk away from him again. The apprehension you felt from being around him right now contrasted with the way you usually found belonging in his sole presence. Why was he making such a big deal out of this?

"Y/n," his voice was bone-chilling.

"What?" you were unfazed by the intimidation tainting the way he said your name.

"If you're gonna be so reckless, I don't know if i want to be partners with you anymore. I can't keep up with it. Go on, keep trying to prove yourself. I won't stop you anymore."

Your heart caught itself in your throat.

"Reckless? I was just doing my job!" you turned back to half-yell.

"Yeah?" he couldn't help but raise his voice too. How could someone be so dense to his ministrations of actual concern for you?

"Well, I don't want to be part of the reason you die one day," he finished abruptly.

The muscles lining your throat froze. You wanted to call him a coward. You wanted to curse him out for shying away when things got too difficult, but something told you to keep your words saved for another day, and hopefully, for another person.

You turned away again. You couldn't face the choice of turning back to look at him, so you missed your chance of catching a glimpse at how his eyes glowed with regret at verbalising those double-edged words.

"So be it," you responded coldly, your reluctant footsteps slightly slowed down by the longing you felt in the core of your bones. You secretly wished he'd tell you to stop walking away again, but he turned away and walked off before you could even think about taking back your response.

Aki liked control. He didn't like it when things were out of control, so if things were about to get out of hand, he'd step in to fix what he could before the cataclysmic consequences started showing their dark, true colours.

But some things weren't meant to be fixed. If Aki came to know about a fact as such before dealing with something, he would decide not to get tangled up in such a tedious matter in the first place.

Still, this was Aki Hayakawa we were talking about. He'd do anything to save the people he cared about. He lost too many people to decide that you, of all people, weren't worth saving.

You weren't just another 'tedious matter' to him. You were the reason the skies didn't look bleak all the time. There was just something about you which annoyed the fuck out of his sense of curiosity. He didn't know what it was, but he knew there was something. Something which kept him around you, something which kept him engaged. He wasn't sure if he was willing to let that go.

He was sure he didn't want to let you go, despite how you weren't careful about letting yourself go.

Now, it was about 2 hours past midnight, and he somehow found himself standing at your front door, heartstrings tangled up in anxiety and aspiration. He always asked you why you preferred to live alone in this wretched apartment when you could live with him instead, but he never really got a clear-cut answer.

He'd always wonder why you spoke in cynical undertones, and why you always denied help when it was offered to you.

He was always questioning the way you preferred starry nights over glorious sunrises, and he was always curious as to why you put so much of sugar in your coffee every morning, despite being a bitter person in general.

He always wondered why it was so easy to make you smile at the dumbest jokes, and why it was so easy to piss you off with the minor inconveniences.

Maybe knocking on the door would get him a day closer to getting the answers to all these questions. Then again, with the not-so vague memory of the words exchanged between the two of you just now, he was starting to feel like this was a mistake.

You heard three knocks on the door, and grumbled curses under your breath whilst wondering who in the right frame of mind decided to visit you at such a ludicrous hour. The air was twisted in silence and solitude, and you were starting to get annoyed with having someone tamper with your quiet time.

But if it was him, you wouldn't mind so much.

You opened the door to find him in the sweatshirt you typically stole from him for your own use during those mercilessly chilling nights.

"Aki?" you bit back a smile at the relieving sight of his silhouette.

"Who else would it be?" he smiled faintly, ruining your withdrawn guise and earning a soft chuckle from your lips.

"What are you doing here?" you brought him in, but once he stepped inside, his legs rooted themselves right in front of you. He didn't even give you the chance to close the door.

"I didn't mean it," he started plainly. You loved the way he always went straight to the point. You also loved the way he was determined to not back down, just like you.

The reason why you wanted him to be more than what he was to you right now was because you knew he wouldn't give up on you, just like you never gave up on him.

Aki's distant, reserved persona would be disheartening to anyone trying to get close to him, but fortunately, you had enough patience to put up with it. As long as you had your eyes fixed on having his trust written on the back of your hand, that was enough to enflame the stubborn persistence you had engraved in your soul.

It was clichéd as fuck, but it felt nice. It was invigorating.

You knew that conversation wasn't the end of something near and dear to your heart, or whatever that was left of it. It was something more than that, something more fulfilling— your mind didn't like entertaining optimistic ideals, but you had a gut feeling that whatever happened just now was something that had to take place to welcome a turn of events.

"I didn't mean it either," you inched yourself closer to him, "I'm sorry. I didn't really know what it felt like to be cared about that way."

At this, he laughed slightly. He knew you didn't like being looked out for.

"An apology coming out from your mouth?" he raised his eyebrows.

"Shut up and savour it while you can," you laughed, your hand landing on his chest. You could've sworn his heart skipped a beat at your touch, but you were too exhausted to take note of such details at this hour. You looked up at him, and once again, those eyes glowed with the succour you were oh so greedy for. It was like that horrible conversation didn't even take place just now.

"Now, do you wanna tell me why you take so much pleasure in staring death in the face all the time?" his voice was timid and genuine.

"Hmm, that sounds like a conversation for another day," you snickered. His expression blanked in defeat. You clicked your tongue at his lack of amusement, and the hand on his chest travelled to entwine themselves in his hand instead.

"I have a question though," the distance between your lips slowly diminishing as you continued to speak, "Why do you care so much? You've seen the worst things happen to your colleagues. What makes me different?"

You knew the answer to your question— you just wanted to hear him say it.

He could tell you weren't serious by the tone your voice assumed when you uttered the word 'colleagues.' The two of you knew you couldn't keep it that way for long anyway. From the way he doted over your well-being, and the way your eyes glistened in worry whenever you patched up his injuries— there was just something unspoken between the two of you. Until now.

"From the way you've been eye-fucking me at work, I don't think it's that simple," you ignored his egotistical remark, and tried your best to suppress the way your breath hitched once his fingers came in contact with either sides of your jaw delicately. All at once, the grayscale of life itself turned into a fully saturated palette as you tasted his lips in the sweet kiss he just initiated.

It was only then you reached a proper conclusion: the reason why you kept people out of your life was because you craved liberation of all sorts. You thought holding yourself accountable to a single being would pose a limitation to the desperate attempts you made to make life a little more stimulating than it was.

But if you were being wholeheartedly honest with yourself, Aki kept yourself from exploding yourself too deep into a cavern of isolation. Someone had to do it, because if no one was selfish enough to step in and take matters into their own hands, not only would they lose you, you'd lose yourself, too.

He wasn't your saviour, and neither were you his. The way either of you sustained where the other was lacking could explain the equilibrium your bond established.

Funny how questions snatch answers for themselves only once you felt his slightly chapped lips lock with yours. It was so stupid. You wished everything could be this simple.

Aki didn't know he meant anything to you. It was only when you desperately kept your lips attached to his like there was no telling of what would happen if he were to let go did he get a concise idea of just how much he meant to you. Your fingers found purchase in the back of his head, fingertips dug into his hair roughly as the faint taste of tobacco reached your tongue.

Your back was pinned against the wall softly, as if some sort of gentleness he had mustered managed to hold back any aggression. His palms burned with fervent passion and ecstasy as they glued themselves to your waists almost possessively. He felt your lips curl up into a smile as he kissed you, which made him awfully unsure about letting go.

You wanted this, and so did he. If there was anyone you'd trust your soul, body, and love with, it was him. One of his hand travelled up your back, while the other kept its clasp on the side of your neck tenderly. You pulled him closer, yet the rush you felt prompted you to pull away, as if you needed some sort of reality-check.

"Aki?" you muttered between kisses.

"Hm?" he didn't dare to break away.

"Slow down," you panted. You could hear an hum of laughter vibrate from his chest, and he complied. His gaze landed on yours— so hungry with lust and soaked with adoration all at once as you sent a satisfied smile in return.

He'd never seen you smile that way. Better yet, he never knew he'd ever be capable of making you smile that way.

"My patience is thin," his lips curved into a self-conceited smile as he tried to steady his breath as the time, which was rotting away at an excruciatingly slow pace now, dripped its way through the night.

"Of course it is," you teased back, tugging an irritated groan out of his lips as he tried to find a comeback. He was too caught up in the moment to act witty, so he and his ego agreed to keep you from retaliating with arrogant banters by pressing his lips against yours once more.

[startanewdream]

All the time with you

Lily was avoiding him.

Which would be nothing new to James except they were dating for two weeks now and she was his girlfriend - she had said yes when he’d asked her, twice, so James was sure if that - and James had thought everything was fine between them.

It seemed like that when he’d meet her for breakfast - she had kissed him softly on the lips, her eyes closed a second longer when they broke apart as if she was still savouring that kiss and she had beamed at him. They had gone together to Potions class, but then, in the middle of class, when her potion was brewing, she had withdrawn suddenly, edgy on her spot, and she had briefly talked with Professor Slugnorn before vanishing her potion and abandoning class.

That was it. She had left with barely a wave to him, just telling him she would see him later.

But she wasn’t in the Common Room in their next free period and she hadn’t showed up for lunch either. None of her friends seemed to know where she was, which meant James had to resort to search for her in the Marauder’s Map.

‘That’s a little bit stalker, don’t you think?’, Sirius asked, his eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face. He always thought it was amusing when James freaked out about Lily as if he could see something James was blind to.

‘I am worried’, James said, very reasonable. Lily was missing - maybe something had happened, maybe she was in the Hospital Wing, maybe she had met someone who was far more interesting than James and…

Well, maybe he was overreacting a little.

But finding Lily was easy - her dot was still on her bed, alone.

On the one place James couldn’t get to her.

‘Oh, Merlin. This is bad’.

‘What is bad?’ Sirius asked, coming to sit on James’ bed and following James’ trembling finger on the Map. ‘She is in her dormitory’.

‘I can’t go there - don’t you see what that means? She is avoiding me’.

Sirius blinked, not impressed.

‘I think she is avoiding everyone, Prongs’.

It could be, but not everyone was her very concerned boyfriend.

‘Probably she was just tired and took advantage of Slug’s love for her to drop out of the class’.

‘That’s it, Lily loves Potions. She wouldn’t leave class unless there was a reason’.

‘Tired, like I said. Aren’t you two overworking to finish that Christmas event?’

James nodded, hoping there wasn’t any guilt showing up on his face. Sure, the Christmas event was one of the things the Heads had to organize, but he and Lily were taking way longer that it was needed just because they had been too entertained with each other in the past two weeks - it turned out that the Prefect’s Room was empty if all Prefects were out in patrol rounds and it turned that James and Lily were responsible for defining those rounds.

All in all, they were taking weeks to do something that they could have finished in two nights - but it provided them a nice excuse to all these moments together.

‘Yeah, maybe’.

‘Just relax, Prongs’.

He wished he could, but Lily didn’t show up for Charms either - another of her favourite classes - so, under his friends’ amused looks, he went to talk to Mary McDonald, asking if she could ask Lily to meet him.

‘Sure, James’, she said, giving him a funny look. ‘But I think she just wants to be alone’.

‘Do you know what’s wrong?’, he asked, biting his lips. Alone, Mary had said. Alone sounded bad.

‘Oh, it’s just - you know what? I will talk to her and we’ll see’.

That sounded ominous too. He nodded, quiet.

There was another free period that afternoon after Double Charms. They stayed in the Common Room, and James was supposedly finishing an essay, but his head kept turning to the stairs to the girl’s dormitories.

‘You are going to break your neck, Prongs’, Remus noted when James turned once more after hearing steps on the stairs, but it was just two Second Year girls that had come down.

‘I am fine’, he said stiffly.

‘No, you are not’, Sirius disagreed, reaching over to grab the parchment James had been writing on. ‘You got back to doodling “L.E”’.

‘It’s short for Law of Elvendork’, James said. ‘The theory that says every object can be turned into another as long as the elements are proportionally observed during the transformation’.

‘You are making this up’.

‘I am making this up’, James conceded, ignoring Sirius’ look. ‘I am just - I wish there was some way of going upstairs -’

‘I know’, Sirius said, a grimace on his face. That was the only thing they had never managed to accomplish in their seven years at Hogwarts. ‘Maybe we can restart that project - did we try the Confundus Charm on the stairs?’

‘Fourth year’, Peter answered him, without raising his eyes from his essay.

‘How about our animagus form? If -’

‘First thing we did on Fifth Year’.

‘Polyjuice Potion?’

‘We tried to brew on Third Year’, now Peter glanced at Sirius, shaking his head. ‘I looked like Anne MacMillan for three days!’

‘Oh, well, she was pretty’.

‘I had half her body. The left part of her body. I had to hide it for three days!’

James almost smiled at the memory.

‘Half of you was pretty then’, he said to Peter, who rolled his eyes. Then James sighed. ‘Well, I can’t finish this essay today, so I will - Lily!’

He raised immediately, a hand grabbing his own hair nervously as Lily came down the stairs. Her face was pale and she smiled at him when she saw him, but there was something restrained on her smile.

James thought she looked like she was really uncomfortable with something.

‘Hi, guys’, she said, not meeting anyone’s eyes. ‘Can I talk to you, James?’

When he nodded, quiet and still, she raised her eyebrows a little bit. ‘Alone, I meant’.

‘Oh, sure’, he said, looking around for a quiet place, but Lily surprised him going in the direction of the boy’s dormitory. He glanced around, finding his friends equally surprised, and followed her upstairs.

Lily didn’t turn to him until they reached the top of the tower. There, she looked around the room - James was grateful that the house-elves had cleaned up their mess, because the room looked decent - before turning to him.

She wasn’t smiling. That didn’t look good.

James felt something pressing his chest, putting all pieces together in a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to finish - Lily avoiding him, the grimace on her face, the way she was closing her eyes now and then as if to steel herself to do something and her request that they would talk alone, in a place no one could witness their break up -

‘Which one is your bed?’, she asked, stopping his reverie. James blinked, confused, and pointed to the nearest bed. Lily nodded. ‘Control your thoughts, okay?’, she said, sitting on his bed. ‘But lay here with me’.

There had been a considerable number of scenarios that James had imagined Lily on his bed, but on the verge of her breaking up with him was not one of them.

‘I think I prefer to stand up, Lily’, he said slowly.

‘We can’t do it with you like that’, Lily answered him as if it were obvious. ‘Just come here, please, James’.

He frowned, unsure, but he sat on the other side of his bed. Lily looked at him as if James was missing something very important, and when he didn’t move, she sighed.

‘Are you mad at me?’, she asked, sounding tired. ‘I am sorry I went away without -’

‘I thought you were mad with me!’, James interrupted her, shocked. She looked confused.

‘Why would I be mad at you?’

‘Because - yes? What else would you break up with me?’

‘Break up? Did you take that Essence of Insanity in class today?’

‘If you are not breaking up - why did you call me?’

‘Oh’, she blushed, the sweetest shade of pink colouring her face and James imagined he could feel the heat coming from her body. ‘I wanted to cuddle’.

‘... cuddle?’

‘Yeah, you know’, she put her legs on the bed and he saw she had taken out her shoes. Lily laid on the pillows next to him, her hand supporting her head. ‘Mary told me you were worried about me and I thought - instead of being miserable alone in bed, I could be here with you’.

‘You wanted to be miserable with me?’, he asked, but there was a shadow of a grin on his lips now. He took off his own shoes, lying in the bed too, and Lily nestled against his chest, closing her eyes.

‘It’s really hard to be miserable next to you’, she assured him, pressing herself more against him and inspiring heavily. ‘You smell so nice’.

With her lying so close to him, the scent of her shampoo so strong and intoxicating, James thought he could say the same about her.

But he just raised his hand to touch her hair, combing it softly, watching the strands of dark red hair. ‘Lily? Are you ok?’

‘I am, it’s just -’, she paused, unsure. ‘It’s cramps’.

‘Cramps?’, James repeated, confused, and then he opened his eyes. ‘Oooh’.

‘Yeah, sorry about oversharing’.

‘What? No, I - well, I want to know when you are not feeling well or - I mean - can I do anything to help?’

James tried to think of whatever he knew about female biology. His father had explained some things to him a few years ago and he understood the basics, but he hadn’t been paying attention very much if he was honest. Female body looked much more complicated than his.

‘You can keep hugging me’, she whispered and he pressed himself closer to her. 'Sorry about scaring you today. I just wanted to suffer alone'.

'Don't. I mean, I'd rather you don't suffer but - if you must - I am always available for some cuddling'.

She raised her head a little to place a kiss on his neck that gave him goosebumps all over his body.

'I will keep this is mind', she told him warmly. Then Lily sighed. ‘It’s been a while since I have this crisis… I usually take my potions the day before, but - well, I was a little bit distracted yesterday’.

She broke away just enough to wink at him and James suddenly remembered exactly what they had been doing last night on that empty Prefect’s Room - how he had pressed her against the door of the room, his mouth exploring her neck and any exposed skin there, how Lily had moaned softly and how that had driven him crazy -

‘James?’, she called him and he realized he must have drifted off in the memories, judging by how his body was reacting too quickly. He turned slightly, urging his mind to stop recollecting that moment. ‘Maybe now is not the moment?’, she added, a knowing smile on her lips.

‘Sorry’, he said, feeling his neck reddening. James forced himself to focus on the present. ‘I will help you remember next month’, he promised. ‘No distraction, Marauder’s honour’.

‘Maybe just a little distraction’, Lily said, winking at him again. He laughed softly, kissing her forehead, and she rested her head under his chin. ‘I will pay attention next month, don’t worry - I mean, you don’t need to know my cycle, James -’

‘Nonsense’, he said lightly. ‘I already know Remus’, what’s one more?’

She let out an amused laugh, the one that was James' favourite.

‘Well, wait until you experience my mood swings’.

‘PMS? Is that real?’

‘Very real’, she assured him. ‘I may need to hide again -’

‘I hope you don’t’, he whispered, massaging her neck now. ‘I meant it when I said I want to be there with you’.

‘I may get really stressed’, Lily warned him. ‘Like I may want to throw things - it’s better if you are not close’.

‘I have very good reflexes’.

‘Or I may get really sad and cry, and you’ll think it’s because of you, but it’s not’.

‘Then I will give you chocolate’, he promised. ‘Chocolate is the solution for everything’.

Another laugh; James smiled to himself, satisfied with her reaction. Discovering her reactions to him was really his favourite part of the last two weeks of dating her.

‘Well, you can’t go wrong with chocolate’, Lily agreed. ‘And this massage is really good too’.

‘Oh, I have magic fingers’, he teased. ‘I can show you’.

‘James…’

‘I meant a massage in the back, Lily’, he said innocently, and she chuckled once more, not believing him much. ‘Here’.

He sat more upright, helping Lily’s head on a pillow next to him, and started rubbing the base of her neck and then her shoulders, feeling the tension on her muscles and letting it guide him.

‘Hmmm’, she sighed. ‘That’s actually good’.

‘See? Magic fingers’. He kept rubbing her back, feeling her relaxing under his touch. He beamed - even after two weeks of them going out, there was still that disbelief in knowing Lily fancied him back and trusted him and wanted to be with him. ‘So, those mood swings - care to tell me beforehand?’

‘Oh, you’ll notice’, she said distractedly. ‘Two weeks from now probably’.

‘So - two weeks ago you were in one of them?’

‘I guess’.

‘Then our date and all that snogging later - just one mood change?’

‘Oh, it certainly changed my mood’, Lily said, turning her head in his direction and he was relieved to see her green eyes sparkling. ‘There were some hormones involved in kissing you, but I promise you none of them were fleeting’.

‘I’m glad to know’, he answered, grinning too. ‘Or else we would kiss just one week of the month’.

‘That would mean three miserable weeks’.

James laughed. Lily watched him, a smile on her lips that died when she closed her eyes, grimacing.

‘Are you in pain?’, he asked, worried.

‘It’ll pass, just some more minutes for the potion to take effect again’.

He laid down again, this time with her back for him, and Lily curled up against him. He put a hand under her head, careful to entwine his hands with hers.

‘You are so warm’, she whispered.

‘Is that bad?’

‘No, it’s good. I might nap though’.

‘You can - I’ll wake you up later for dinner’.

She sighed softly.

‘Thanks, James - I know this is not how you imagined us being in your bed’.

Her voice was heavier now with sleep, though he could hear her teasing. James let out a soft laugh, kissing the top of her head, and hugging her closer. Lily was quite warm for him too; there was something very cozy in being next to her like that, even if all they were doing was just cuddling together.

He thought of sharing nights with her where they would just do this - lay together, his arms around her, quiet and serene, and somehow those nights looked as appealing as the most creative nights he could dream of.

‘You are wrong, you know’, he whispered, but she didn’t move and James thought she had fallen asleep. ‘I want to be with you in every way’.

And he closed his eyes, letting her warmth and perfume lull him into a quiet sleep too.

[kaitycole]

the countdown

Summary: There’s a countdown on your wrist, but what happens when it randomly resets?

Pairing: Daichi x Reader, Hinata x Yachi (side pair)

Warning: Fluff, I guess?

Word Count: 3578

Prompt: Soulmate AU: There is a clock countdown on your wrist to when you meet your soulmate

A/N: Part of the @celestialarchiveshq​ soulmate collab

Y/N

It has always annoyed you, the ticking clock on the underside of your wrist, to the point that you started wearing things to cover it. Over the years, you watched people close to you obsess over the clock, a few of your college friends had dropped out because the constant partying and searching to meet their soulmate seemed to overshadow their grades.

When you were younger the idea of the clock reaching 0:00 excited you, meeting the person who was supposed to know you best, who wouldn’t want that? But as you matured, you started to believe that soulmates don’t always mean forever, they don’t always mean romantic partners, so how could you stay excited over something that could lead to a huge disappointment? Not to mention the depressing thought of what if your soulmate was the romantic type and they weren’t attracted to you. That could happen, right?

What if they preferred long hair but you had just cut it? Or the opposite? What if you had just colored your hair a color that reminded them of an ex? That thought would put you in a tailspin. What if they had exes? Even with the soulmate system, people still found themselves attracted to other people. It made you think of that trashy MTV show where everyone has a perfect match, but there’s always one couple that finds out they aren’t matches, but they refuse to move on. What if your soulmate had someone like that?

You drop your head down onto your desk, the loud bang catches your coworker’s attention as she walks back towards you with two mugs of coffee. Not that she needs it, just like her soulmate, she’s like an endless ball of energy.

“Still upset about last weekend?”

You slowly lift your head, rubbing your forehead knowing you’ll have some embarrassing red mark. Yachi Hitoka has to be one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met, she’s always there for anyone who needs it, helps out whenever she can, and at first you were worried when you met her. You instantly became protective of her, not wanting anyone to take advantage of her kindness, but then you saw her lay down the law when it came to someone missing a deadline for one of the ad campaigns and all you could do was smile proudly.

“I just can’t believe I was this close,” you hold up your hand, using your index finger and thumb to show a small amount, “to meeting them and they just disappeared.”

*                      * Over the weekend, Yachi’s soulmate Hinata Shoyo came in from Osaka to visit and the three of you ended up attending the Bunkyo Plum Blossom Festival. Despite being the third wheel, you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling, watching just how well they not only complimented their similarities but their differences as well.

You glanced down at your wrist, for no particular reason and felt the wind get knocked out from your lungs. Yachi turned to ask if you had heard her before she stopped walking, backing up to be at your side.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

You couldn’t find the words, your mind completely blanked as you held up your wrist, showing her just how low the clock had gotten.

00:01:13

00:01:12

00:01:11

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” Yachi started to jump up and down, causing a small scene on the tightly packed sidewalk. Hinata tilted his head, waiting to be filled in as the two of you walked back towards him.

“Kinda romantic, Y/N. Meeting your soulmate at a festival.” Yachi now had her arm looped with yours, scanning the sidewalks.

“It’s never been this low before.” You said casually, but a knot started to form in your stomach. It felt as if every emotion you could imagine started to wash over you, grabbing ahold of you and making you realize just how real the situation could be.

What if they didn’t like you? What if it was a best friend type of soulmate? What if they simply brushed you off, telling you that they were going to be with someone that wasn’t their soulmate?

What if…?

What if…?

What if…?

Yachi hand slightly squeezed your arm, pulling you from the anxiety that had seemed into your chest, tightening with each breath. “Look at your wrist.”

00:00:20

You started to look around, wondering briefly if your soulmate had been looking around for you, eyes on the clock waiting to bump into you.

00:00:13

Your stomach dropped and you walked over to a wall, leaning against it with fear that you’d just drop if you didn’t have support. Wasn’t this supposed to be an exciting moment in your life? If so, then why did you currently feel like you were about to melt into a puddle of nerves?

00:00:09

“Are you okay?”

You glanced up, seeing two uniformed officers standing around you. Hinata quickly drug Yachi up to the brunette officer, the three seeming to be familiar with each other while raven-haired officer was waiting for your reply.

“Oh, uhm, yes.” You felt dumb, but you held up your wrist, “just a little nervous.”

00:00:07

He let out a small chuckle, “I’m sure things will be fine. My husband ran into a light post when we first met.”

Yachi waved you over, you could hear her mention your name to the other officer but your movement halted when the officers’ radios crackled, a voice requesting back-up. The two officers quickly excused themselves, a few other officers gathering around them before they left, disappearing around the corner.

When you saw a person walking towards you, you glanced down, wondering it this person could be it, but something in you cracked noticing a drastic change in the clock on your wrist.

1368:59:52

*                      * 1200:03:25

50 days.

That’s how long you have to wait to meet your soulmate. But would you ever meet them? You had asked around and no one else had ever heard of someone’s clock restarting, what if you didn’t actually have a soulmate? If it was just some glitch, your clock just resetting to some random time like an electronic clock after the power cuts out and then back on.

Absentmindedly, you sip on the coffee Yachi had brought you, looking out the window wondering that if it wasn’t a glitch, had your soulmate being eagerly looking for you that day too? Were they just as upset that your clocks reset? A smile twitches on the corner of your lips, maybe the whole soulmate thing wasn’t so bad after all.

*          *          *          * Daichi

Sawamura Daichi tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out a yawn. Daichi is tired and stressed, all he wants is to sink into his bed and sleep. At least until his clock hit zero and his soulmate was standing in front of him.

He pulls himself up in the chair, rubbing his eyes before glancing down at the countdown that’s on his wrist. He isn’t someone that spends large amounts of time staring and obsessing over each tick of the clock, but just a few weeks ago, it seemed to have reset and that alone caught his attention.

960:12:46

40 days.

Part of Daichi wants to say the clock on his wrist doesn’t bother him, that it’s not something he thinks of often, but that’s a lie. His dedication to his job, to protecting not just his loved ones, but those around him often painted him as a strict, by the book type of guy. The guy that wouldn’t bother to think of love or soulmates, being too focused on his job, but Daichi is just another hopeless romantic.

Which is exactly why he often wonders how it will fit in with the whole soulmate aspect. Even with the ups and downs his job brought, the uncertainty that sometimes came with each day, he has never regretted his choice of profession. But while those things didn’t sway his own personal opinion, it leaves him wondering how his soulmate would feel about it. If it would be something that they’d be able to accept and understand why he went that route.

What if they couldn’t accept it? What if they asked him to change careers? What if it was the straw that broke the camel’s back and tore them apart?

What if…?

What if…?

“Keep it up and you get forehead wrinkles.”

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder, turning to see his silver-haired best friend smiling at him. Sugawara sits across from Daichi, the two finally having a free day to meet and catch up.

“Keep worrying about me and your hair will go white.” “Take that back right now Daichi!” Suga rolls his eyes as the former captain starts laughing.

After ordering drinks, the conversation sways to Suga and his new group of students before it inevitably goes to Daichi and his soulmate mark. When he called the former setter, he, like everyone else, had never heard of a mark resetting, but he refused to let his best friend dwell on it. Even now, Suga places a comforting hand on Daichi’s forearm as he gives him a comforting smile.

“Maybe fate decided it wasn’t the right time.” Suga offers, he didn’t have too much room to talk. His current significant other isn’t his soulmate and yet he refuses to let it go, saying that what he has makes him happy and that’s all that should matter.

Daichi sighs, taking a sip on his drink, one of his fears sitting on the tip of his tongue. “What if I end up arresting my soulmate?” “You’d have a pretty unique meet-up story. Ow!” Suga rubs his shin, Daichi sitting there with a smirk on his face.

“That aside, it doesn’t change the fact that it reset in Tokyo and I was just there temporarily.”

“Visit on a day off.” Suga shrugs, “though you were there for a festival that attracts tons of people.”

“I hope you’re better at advice when it comes to your students.”

Suga rolls his eyes, shoulders drooping in defeat, he really was out of ideas. “When exactly did it reset?”

“Not sure, it was low before I ran into Hinata, but by the time I got back from a call it had already reset.”

“Was there anyone else around? Besides Yachi.” Daichi just shakes his head, finishing off his drink before he twists his wrist causing the ice to circle around the glass. Then it hits him, there had been someone else, but he didn’t get a good glance, his partner was talking to them. He simply shrugged it off back then, but now he wondered if maybe, just maybe they had been his soulmate.

*          *          *          * Y/N

720:03:36

30 days

You’re dancing around your apartment, headphone in as you straighten up the throw blankets on the couch, so you didn’t hear the knocking on the door or the voice calling you until you turned and let out a scream.

You’re doubled over, panting as you struggle to catch your breath, Yachi apologizing frantically and repeatedly until you finally stand up, telling her you were just a bit startled.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The worry on her face as plain as day.

“I swear,” you flop down on the couch, “what’s up?” “Oh yeah!” She instantly perks up, “my high school is doing an alumni volleyball game and Hinata’s going to be in it. Thought you might want to join!”

“When is it?” You know this is her way of saying ‘you can’t meet your soulmate if only go to work and home’ but you were pretty confident that if you waited long enough, they could just end up moving in next door.

“Next month! It’ll be so much fun!” She pulls her hands up to her chest, putting on her best pouty face, “please Y/N.”

You want to just tell her no because who knows what you could end up doing that clashes with her plans. Plus, if you had counted correctly and your clock didn’t decide to reset again, that would be close to when you were supposed to meet your soulmate. And you had been in Tokyo when it almost hit 0, so they had to be here, right?

“Yeah, of course.” You gave her a smile as she gave you a quick hug, telling you just how excited Hinata and the rest of the crows would be, apparently, she bragged about you to all her former classmates. She excuses herself to make a call, most likely to Hinata, and you take the time to sigh, you had never cared about your soulmate before, what was so different now?

*          *          *          * Daichi

“Did you just put in for time off?” His partner Ito teases, sitting down at his desk that’s next to Daichi’s.

“I’ve taken time off before.”

“Three years ago, doesn’t count.”

“It was—” Daichi starts to protest before he realizes that Ito’s right, the last time was just before Ito was assigned his partner and it had been for one of his sibling’s graduation.

“This much be important then.”

He shrugs, “just getting together with some old teammates from high school.”

Ito smirks, “should I call you captain to help take you back?”

“Don’t even.” Daichi shakes his head, getting up before heading to the breakroom. Maybe meeting up with old friends would help take his mind off the whole Tokyo debacle. Glancing down, he signs when he sees his countdown.

480:52:46

20 days.

*          *          *          * Y/N

“My mom said that you are more than welcomed to stay, she has the guest room ready.” Yachi beams, bringing you the usual after lunch coffee she gets. For the last few days Yachi has been eagerly gushing about the upcoming alumni event, having the entire weekend planned out with tons of things to do.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You aren’t, if anything she’s excited to finally meet you!”

You haven’t had the courage to actually tell Yachi that you no longer wanted to go, that you would rather just stay at home instead of being the one that brings down the mood. The countdown on your wrist has all but consumed you lately and as you get closer and closer, you just want to forget about it. People lived happily without them, right? Who was fate anyways, trying to tell people who they should and shouldn’t be with. If you put in the effort, anything could work, right?

Part of you knows that’s not true, you watched someone try to date their someone who wasn’t their soulmate. They were blissfully happy and everything seemed wonderful, until one of them met their soulmate and soon their relationship had burnt out. It seemed no matter what, that bond from a soulmate just overfloods anything else.

But then again, when you watched just how much Yachi lights up when she hears from Hinata or when someone mentions him, you couldn’t help but want that too. Wanting someone who acted like they were seeing you for the first time each time they saw you, being able to just know how you felt with one look. You look down at the clock again, wondering if maybe it had reset because you didn’t have the right mindset back then. That if maybe fate somehow knew you weren’t ready yet, if it took almost having them to losing them for you to finally realize just how much a soulmate could offer you when you let your guard down.

240:26:01

10 days.

*          *          *          * Daichi

Night patrols are something Daichi never really thought he’d find himself enjoying, but the ability to just causally drive around in silence is more welcoming that he considered it would be. Originally, his partner Ito was supposed to have patrol but he offered to pick it up since he was getting the next few days off to visit with his former classmates, he really didn’t mind the last-minute change to his schedule. Especially since he was getting nervous thinking about the game tomorrow, it wasn’t that he was worried about his skill set, but there were going to be several pro players in attendance.

It was already 8:45PM which meant he only had 15 minutes before his shift ended and he could go home, which he figured would go by slowly since most people were already in for the night. The sudden blur of speeding headlights catch his eyes and he let out a defeated sigh, of course it was too much to ask for a quiet night.

16:14:32

*          *          *          * Y/N

Shit!

You curse yourself, you had told Yachi that you’d take the train to Miyagi, she left the day before to meet up with Hinata, but you ended up staying later at work than intended. So here you are, five hours into your drive, half asleep and irritated, you should’ve just told her no.

You hear your phone going off, no doubt it’s Yachi asking where you are, you look down briefly to grab it, not paying attention to the change in speed limits as you continue down the road. It’s not until you hear police sirens that your attention is pulled away from everything else and you just want to scream.

Luckily due to the almost empty streets, you are able to pull over with ease, the patrol car pulling in behind you shortly after. You close your eyes, hitting your forehead to the steering wheel repeatedly before you hear a car door close and brace yourself.

*          *          *          * Daichi

He taps on the driver’s side window twice with his knuckle, waiting for it to be rolled down. A speeding ticket wouldn’t take long to write up, so his plans to be home by 9:30PM was still looking good which he was thankful for.

As the window rolls down, he catches his soul mark in the reflection and he scrunches up his face, getting an odd look from the driver of the vehicle.

00:00:02

*          *          *          * Y/N

“This is awkward, but—” You stop, noticing where his line of sight is and you finally look down at your wrist.

00:00:00

He smirks, “I never thought I’d meet my soulmate right before issuing them a speeding ticket.”

You aren’t completely sure why, but you end up laughing to the point you end up coughing. You couldn’t believe it, your whole life wondering at what moment you’d meet your soulmate, thinking of all the different situations that could possibly set up running into them, for it to end up like this. Talk about anticlimactic.

“Speaking of soulmates, think you could let me off with a warning?” You bat your lashes at him, really hoping that the soulmate card will work.

He clicks his tongue, smile on his face, “no can do.”

You drop your jaw in disbelief, “I guess this will be one hell of a meet-cute story, huh?”

*          *          *          * “You are so lame, Daichi.” Sugawara laughs, Nishinoya joining in on joking with their former captain.

Daichi glances over to the other side of the gym where you are, laughing with Yachi and Kiyoko and he can’t help but be smitten. He had tried for the longest time to not imagine his soulmate, not wanting to put that imaginary burden of being what he had wanted on the one he ended up with, but with you, you just smashed through any expectations he had and it had only been half a day.

You look over and see Daichi looking at you before you quickly turn your head away, getting a laugh from the former team managers. You were thrilled to have your soulmate, everything made sense, and it definitely helped that he was easy on the eyes.

“I still can’t believe he gave you a ticket!” Yachi protests, shooting Daichi a scold.

“I can.” Kiyoko smiles, “and I don’t think Y/N minds.”

Kiyoko’s right, you don’t really mind at all, because that’s part of your story with your soulmate, with Daichi. The person who had you waiting at the edge of your seat since before you could even tell time, the person that the stars had willed to be yours.

The first time you had almost met, he was in Tokyo because the festival needed more officers to help monitor things, it was just by chance that he ran into his former classmates that you happened to be with. The time you actually met, he was covering a shift that he wasn’t even supposed to be working and you were running late which was something you didn’t tend to do.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, placing a soft kiss on the side of your forehead. You let yourself melt into his side, finally understanding what was so special about soulmates, why so many people spent forever trying to find theirs.

“You know, I can talk to my boss, erase the ticket.” “No way! I’m gonna frame it!”

Daichi’s face deadpans, “what?” You nod, “oh yeah, you aren’t gonna live that one down.”

Daichi just shakes his head, letting out a deep breath, suddenly realizing you were gonna be as much trouble as Kageyama and Hinata were. But somehow, he feels himself looking forward to the adventure that was you.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Change of Plans

winter prompts day 9 ❄️ snowed in/winter storm thanks to @in-love-with-writing002 for the idea! I’d like to do much more with it, but this is all my brain had time for tonight.

Everything starts with a question. One Jaskier suspects has been a long time coming.

They're sitting around the fire, Geralt sharpening his swords and Jaskier fumbling through the intro to his newest ballad. His fingers are too cold to be able to play it properly, but he's determined to get it finished so he can play it at the Solstice celebration in Oxenfurt this year. Last year Valdo had had a brand new song and Jaskier won't let himself be showed up again. So he plays through the cold and the numbness and Geralt's looks that are growing in frequency.

He hasn't said anything, so he can't be too upset about it, but the fifth time Jaskier restarts the song from the beginning, Geralt sighs and turns to him.

"It's getting cold," he says and Jaskier just looks at him. If he's only just noticing this, his Witcher senses must not be all they're cracked up to be.

"Yes," Jaskier agrees, a little sharply as he lifts his fingers to breathe some semblance of motion into them.

"I mean it's getting close to... that time of the year."

"Ah." That time of the year being when they separate for the winter. Jaskier doesn't like to think about it; he doesn't mind thinking ahead to his time in Oxenfurt and the celebrations, but the idea of leaving Geralt is rather unwelcome and he tries to avoid it as long as possible. Looking up at the sky, he sighs. He didn't think it was getting that cold.

"And I thought-"

Jaskier's eyes snap back down to Geralt's immediately and he struggles to control his heartbeat because he knows Geralt can hear it and he doesn't need him thinking he's jumping to conclusions, which he is. A little. But that's beside the point.

He doesn't dare say anything as Geralt looks straight ahead at the fire and fidgets with the rag in his hands.

"What I mean," Geralt corrects and Jaskier nearly crawls out of his skin in his impatience, "is that winter seems to be coming sooner this year and I should be heading north before the valley snows over."

"Right," Jaskier says, alarmed by his own breathlessness. But Geralt doesn't seem to be finished quite yet and when he glances up at him, Jaskier holds his breath.

"Would you- I mean- I thought it might be better if-" Geralt's fingers clench around the fabric in his hands and Jaskier wants to go to him, to assure him whatever he has to say is perfectly fine, but he can barely breathe in anticipation. He tries his best not to make assumptions, but he can't imagine what else would be this difficult for Geralt to ask. "Come with me?"

Jaskier's heart soars and it takes a lot more effort than he'd care to admit to keep from crying like a fool where he sits across from Geralt.

"Are you certain?" he asks. The last thing he wants to do is intrude on Geralt's family over the winter, especially if the invitation is somehow coerced.  Geralt gives a curt nod and his lips twitch at the corner and it's a miracle Jaskier's body doesn't just drop out from under him.

He could cry, scream, laugh, but he doesn't want Geralt to regret his decision, so he just smiles across at him.

"I would be honoured."

In the morning, they make a plan to set out a week from now. It's long enough to reach town and gather supplies and find a horse for Jaskier that's capable of making the journey through the valley. The closest city is Hagge, but travelling there would mean backtracking and wasting time they don't have to spare, so instead, they start north. Geralt promises him that there's a town north of Ard Carraigh where he and his brothers stop to stock up for the trip, and as long as they make it there, they'll be fine.

But because Jaskier's never travelled in the winter and because he's excited about going to Kaer Morhen for the first time, things, inevitably, are not fine.

They're only two days out when the blizzard hits in the middle of the day.

It starts as light snow, so neither Geralt nor Jaskier thinks much of it, but as the day progresses so does the storm until they can barely see a foot in front of their faces. Well, Jaskier can't but he suspects not even Witchers can see through snow. He pushes on as well as he can - Geralt already feels guilty for making him walk through the night - but by the time he can see light again, Jaskier's boots are soaked through and he can barely feel his toes. He doesn't complain because he doesn't want Geralt thinking he can't make the trip, but he knows he's slowing them down.

That night, Geralt finds shelter in a crumbling building that might have once been a watchtower. It's dark and it's cold and without a fire, the only thing they have to eat are the preserves at the bottom of their bags. But when  Geralt pulls him into his lap and wraps a blanket around the both of them, holding him close, Jaskier can't find much to complain about.

They reach the little town late the following night and Jaskier is dead on his feet, so he's relieved to find the innkeeper is quite friendly, if not familiar, with Geralt. For once, he takes a step back and lets Geralt organize lodgings for them while he struggles to keep his eyes open.

Eventually, Geralt leads him up to a room with a single bed and lets Jaskier drop onto it while he putters around the room, organizing their things.

"What are you doing?" Jaskier mumbles, already tugging a pillow under his head. His wet feet dangle over the edge of the bed and Geralt comes over to kneel next to him, tugging Jaskier's boots from his feet.

"We'll be here for at least a couple of days," he explains, "we might as well settle in."

"Thought we were going north? Up to the keep?"

"We are," Geralt assures him, "but we won't make it through the storm. We'll wait here until it passes and see what the valley is like then."

Jaskier doesn't like the sound of that one bit, but he's too tired to argue. Even when Geralt pulls him to his feet, he doesn't complain. He wavers slightly as he strips out of his wet clothes, but he can hardly be blamed when he's barely slept in the past few days. When he's stripped down to his braies and as dry as he's going to get, he slips back into bed, shuffling toward the wall to make space for Geralt. He falls asleep before Geralt even makes it to the bed.

In the morning, there is snow up to the windowsills and it still hasn't stopped snowing. Jaskier's spirits are dampened slightly, but he slips out of bed before Geralt wakes and orders breakfast to take back to the room in an attempt to cheer them both up. It works for a little while, but the snow picks up again in the afternoon.

By the third day, Jaskier has resigned himself to staying in this little no-name village over the winter. It's not Kaer Morhen with all its history or Oxenfurt with its lively parties, but he's here with Geralt and really that's all that matters. He is a little disappointed, but Geralt made the offer to take him north, so maybe they can revisit that next year.

That evening, Geralt goes down to discuss the room with the innkeeper and Jaskier takes the chance to look around a little. For a small town, the inn is particularly well-kept and there's even a small fireplace in their room with a stack of wood next to it. They have plenty of blankets and candles and even a few sparse decorations to brighten the place up a little. Jaskier would like to go out into the forest and make a wreath of his own, but he suspects Geralt would be against going out into the storm, so the decorations in place will have to do.

Maybe one year, he'll invite Geralt to Oxenfurt and show him a real celebration, but for this year, under the circumstances, the inn is fine.

Geralt returns after a short while, plopping down next to him on the bed.

"The innkeeper says we're welcome to stay as long as we like if you'll play for the other guests in the evenings."

"You know I'm always happy to entertain." Jaskier smiles but Geralt remains silent and his expression falls. "You'll miss them, won't you? Your brothers?"

"I don't see them every year," Geralt says but Jaskier knows he's dodging the question.

"What do you think they'll do then? Over the winter?"

"Eskel might already be up at the keep. He's sometimes early to help clear out the library. Lambert, I don't know. Last I heard he was travelling with someone, so maybe they'll spend the winter together."

Before he can think better of it, Jaskier reaches out, sliding his hand over Geralt's knee. Geralt's head jerks up to look at him, but he doesn't move.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Geralt. I'm sure they're holed up somewhere nice and warm and nowhere near the storm." Geralt gives him a look of disbelief, but Jaskier just smiles encouragingly.

As it turns out, they're both right. His brothers are holed up somewhere nice and warm for the winter. Or they were until the farmer whose barn they were sleeping in decided he'd had quite enough of the noise. Which is how, in the middle of Jaskier's set one night, he finds himself choking on his own words as three grouchy Witchers pile into the inn.

Geralt is upstairs, but Jaskier would know them anywhere. It's fairly hard to mistake a Witcher. He knows only two of them are Geralt's brothers, but he assumes the third is the one he mentioned was travelling with Lambert. As soon as he sees them, he jumps from his makeshift stage and hurries over to them.

"Gentlemen!" He cries, "we've been worried about you. Thought you might be lost in the storm somewhere." The attention of the entire inn is on them as Jaskier beams up at the men. The bigger of the three - Eskel, he thinks, judging by the scar - gives him an odd look, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Don't tell me you're Geralt's bard?" he asks.

"I am!" Jaskier exclaims and a knowing look settles over the witchers. "Come in," he says and ushers them into the main room and down the hall.

It's not until Jaskier has all of them in the room and is looking between Geralt and the other three that he realizes he's made a very big mistake. Yes, he was looking forward to meeting the other Witchers and spending the winter with them, but he was also looking forward to having some time alone with just Geralt which is certainly not going to happen with three other Witchers sharing their room.

If nothing else, at least it will be an interesting winter.

[ladyalienist]

So what happened yesterday is that I posted a rant about fatphobia in radical feminist spaces. And today I woke up finding some notes, some I had already seen yesterday but I didn't bother to reply, which I deeply regret.

Yes because I would like to offer a shoutout to that one single person who reblogged it with a series of tags that proved the point, but sadly some hours later she changed her mind and erased the tags, thus forbidding me to offer her the attention she clearly deserved. I managed to take one look at them and they were along the lines of "you're a lazy and not feminist dipshit", so luckily the concept of such a profound insight has not gotten entirely lost, even if the poetics of the wording has. Food for thought, my ladies, food for thought!

However, another reply I managed to save:

@september-morning-butch I hope you don't mind me making another post to reply to your insight, which I indeed found fascinating.

See... I find it fascinating that you automatically assumed I never once in my life spoke to a sporty person.

I was a sporty person. Some posts earlier I wrote about the sports I've tried and sometimes kept on doing for years, and since I am human and I live in a society, I also have had interaction with fitness enthusiasts, coaches and casual sporty human beings. Most of my friends hit the gym on the regular or practice some other kind of physical activity. When I have spare time I, too, do so.

Maybe I should have asked more expert sporty people. Like this man, for instance. Or this woman. Or, why not, this guy. The list goes on, and on, and on: maybe not every sport enthusiast will tell me the same things.

I find it also fascinating that you assume I do not know the criteria for a diet to be actually working. Do you by any chance think that fat people do not ever try to go on diets, or that I, personally, did never try? Because I did.

And now I will share with you what usually happens when Average Jane, who just needs to keep off those 10 kilos and then she's fine, goes on a diet-and-gym-new-lifestyle:

Average Jane decides to go to a nutritionist, who will (usually) tell her to cut all processed foods, all sugars and most carbs and invest on proteins. She then will subscribe to the gym and receive her personalized (which is usually just a standard one but let's not become too pedantic) programme. She starts the next day, full of good intentions. At first she's enthusiastic: she's finally losing those ugly ugly fat rolls! She will be in shape! Her lifestyle will be healthy and good, no more food guilt! Then, usually after a month or two, she starts noticing that the weight loss is slowing down and she's stabilizing somewhere that's not her ideal weight. Let's say she wants to weigh 50 kilos: she weighs 55 and can't seem to go under. At the same time, gym is getting increasingly tiring and she's starting to crave sugar and carbs, she dreams of full plates at night, every waking moment is spent in food obsessing. At some point she'll either understand that she needs to restrict more, and then more, and then more, in order to keep those rolls off herself, and I don't know how to tell you that this is usually called an eating disorder, or she'll give up and order takeaway one evening, gulp it down, immediately feel better, and in a year she'll have all of her previous fat back on, plus some more in most cases. Two months after she decides that after all it wasn't that bad, and goes back to the nutritionist and to the gym and the cycle restarts. This is called yo-yo dieting and it's far, far more dangerous for health than just staying fat and eating balanced meals.

Now, am I being catastrophic? A little. But I'm not making this up, I'm paraphrasing words from at least one trainer who bragged about her own weight loss journey and how she had spent the last few years never enjoying a social gathering because she cannot deviate from her diet in any way. Not so different from what you told me, but she was totally bragging about... being miserable during celebrations. How is this in any way good for her?

Does this mean "go get stuffed on McDonald's"? Absolutely not. Following a healthy lifestyle and a good diet and exercise regimen is essential! And it's true that sometimes lifestyle changes can and will do wonders for your body! You could cut off McDonald's for anticapitalistic/antispecistic reasons and realize you're losing weight, and that's amazing! However, that's not how most people work and I don't know how to tell you that being constantly hungry because "that's my new lifestyle and I need to keep the weight down" is not healthy in the slightest!

You were unlucky, living with an ugly disorder that requires loads of attention. I understand this and I fully see where you're coming from. Making eating choices that are good for our health sometimes is a hard path that requires willpower, and I am not saying that it doesn't do wonders and that your life quality doesn't improve a lot when you manage it.

But framing the "not working-ness" of dieting as a matter of willpower and basically saying that the only reason they don't is that fat people are not enthusiastic enough about their health... is again re-framing that you think fatness=laziness and moral failure.

So thank you for expressing your point of view in an articulated way instead of just hurling insults, but my point still stands.