#the feeling it induces is really sort of like coming home but also experiencing the entire dread of human existence at once

[disaster-bay-leaf]

hamilton is truly a phenomenon of all time, takes you through the entire spectrum of human emotion and many unnamed shrimp emotions in 2 hours 40 minutes through a religious hiphop experience

[cumaeansibyl]

okay this is my biggest conspiracy theory except it's not really a Conspiracy Theory because I am not actually positing a shadowy prime mover who planned the whole thing from the start. that always ends up in wildly antisemitic places where I do not go, and also I don't think anyone in history has had their shit together enough to mastermind Schemes of this type. my theories are always more like "this happened serendipitously and at some point maybe someone noticed and took advantage but there's certainly no central figure in charge."

so we start with the normalization of overwork in our society, since roughly forever. in modern times this led to abuse of medical and recreational stimulants -- everyone was on speed in the 50s and coke in the 80s -- but we all kind of figured out that was a bad idea, for the most part. what we still had after the white powder settled, though, was caffeine. totally legal, totally normalized.

but people were still overworked, and they also still wanted to have energy after work, to do fun things with the little free time left to them.

enter energy drinks.

unlike coffee, which still has the feeling of a daytime beverage and also to some extent a workplace beverage, energy drinks are an anytime food! you can even get them in mixed drinks for a night out. they're for work AND play. they come in a wide range of dose strengths, including a shooter for when you're in really dire straits. after all, taking caffeine pills feels like "pill-popping," but having a little beverage is fine, right?

at the same time, there is increasing interest in remedies for a variety of unspecific ailments caused by "toxins," the new buzzword in a very old industry of patent nostrums and dubious cure-alls. the theory is that some sort of unspecified substance has entered your body, and in order to feel well again you need to detox and cleanse -- which in practice involves a lot of induced defecation. And this is supposed to be good for feelings of fatigue, muscle soreness, anxiety, stomach upset, and difficulty sleeping.

See where I'm going with this?

The "toxins" that make you feel terrible all the time are caffeine. Not heavy metals, or refined sugar, or vaccines, or yeast. It's just fucking caffeine.

Well, caffeine and chronic overwork/sleep deprivation, which is not entirely a direct result of the caffeine but is certainly enabled/exacerbated by it. Everyone is working too much and taking stimulants to get through the day and in fact experiencing mild overdose symptoms on a fairly regular basis (irritable? jittery? that's caffeine toxicity) and it's no wonder we all feel like shit.

And then! When you come home from your day of pushing your mind and body too hard! It is ALSO normalized to take downers to level out! Alcohol is also a toxin, and it takes a lot less of it to start doing systemic damage than most people realize. When you wake up in the morning feeling foggy and achy, it may not be enough to register as a proper hangover, but it's almost certainly the combined effect of alcohol and caffeine withdrawal. Both mild! Both nearly harmless and easily recovered from! If you're not doing it on a regular basis and if you're getting enough rest, which you're not, as we previously established.

It's the chronicity that's the issue, the neverending grind of it all. You can't recover from chronic sleep deprivation or overwork with an extra few hours of rest on the weekends. You can't recover from long-term chemical dependence with a 24-hour tolerance break. If you're a wage earner in late-stage capitalism your options for reversing the damage are pretty limited and they all look like deprivation: prioritizing an unbroken 8-9 hours of sleep per night may well mean giving up most if not all of your social life and leisure activities. Fuck that.

And to be clear, I don't consider choosing to stay out late with a vodka Red Bull to be a personal failure of any kind, just like I don't think poor people should never buy themselves anything nice. If work keeps trying to take more and more of your time, you gotta carve out time for yourself somewhere. But... y'all know me. I want people to know the risks.

I think a lot of people don't realize that their bodies are under this much strain. They don't know that we are better suited for a 4-6 hour work day, that 6-7 hours of sleep is genuinely not enough for most people, that as little as 2 cups of coffee might be enough to put them over the recommended maximum caffeine intake. They don't know that they're drinking enough alcohol to cause health problems.

If you know and you decide to do it anyway that's fine, it's your right. I do inadvisable shit all the time. But people don't know, they're not being told, because they can't be allowed to question the material conditions they're being forced to endure -- and then they're being sold a bunch of useless or even harmful bullshit to "cure" the inevitable consequences of those conditions.

[angryinternetduck]

yellow & blue

[not my pic] Hello and welcome to 2.7k words of pure angst! This doesn’t really have a purpose lol but it’s sad and angsty and features 2020 Brits Harry so why not!!! Have some depressed Harry, angelic reader, and yellow suits. Featuring Harry Styles x famous!reader. Inspired by Woman by Harry Styles, It Isn’t Right by the Platters, and When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars (which should give you an idea of just how angsty this is lmao).

The first time he met you, Harry was wearing a yellow suit. The first thing you said to him was a compliment about it. That suit sparked a conversation, and that conversation sparked an interest, and that interest sparked the best two years of Harry’s life.

If Harry said he hadn’t thought about that suit while preparing for the 2020 Brits, he’d be lying.

The chatter of the table he’s at isn’t boring by any means, but it’s not anywhere near captivating enough to keep Harry’s attention on the conversation and off of you. He heard about your new boyfriend, of course - who hasn’t - but this is your first public appearance together and Harry is having just a little bit of trouble breathing.

It’s been four months. Four months since you broke up, three since the news went public.

As far as the public knew, the separation was mutual. As a brand new artist, you needed to take a second to find yourself as a person. As Harry Styles, the man the myth the legend, Harry needed to focus on his next album and possible future acting career. He also supported you in your decision, and knew that the two of you would, of course, remain the best of friends.

Most of that’s true. You only just released your second album - which is doing spectacularly, of course - and Harry really does need to get this next album done. But it wasn’t mutual. Harry doesn’t think any of his break ups have been truly mutual. You broke up with him. There isn’t really any getting around it. Not that the public has to know.

The problem is that Harry understands why you broke up with him. As heartbreaking as it is, he realizes what he did. He knows that he wasn’t a good boyfriend. He doesn’t really have an excuse, either; he can explain away his faults all he wants, but at the end of the day, you’re just too good for him.

Which makes it all the more depressing to watch you positively glow without him.

Part of him wants to go over and beg for your forgiveness. He wants to walk over and get on his knees and say, I love you with all my heart and I’ll never make another mistake again and I’ll love you forever and ever, please, please take me back, I’ll do anything.

Another part of him loves you too much to do that. Maybe you’re meant to be with this new guy. Maybe he’s your one, your only, the one worthy of all your love and attention. Maybe he’ll make you happy in ways Harry never did.

Because really, all Harry wants is for you to be happy. He wants you to glow like this all the time, to forget the feeling of sadness, to never cry a single tear again. He wants the only pain you ever feel to be an ache in your cheeks from all your smiling.

He just wishes he could be the one putting that smile on your face.

One thing he’s noticed is that your happiness seems to coincide directly with his. Whenever you’re happy, he’s happy. Not at the moment, actually, because you seem happy as a clam and Harry feels like his chest is caving in on itself, but whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” he thinks of moments with you. Of moments when you were happy. Moments when you were happy because of him, with him, for him.

He surprised you with a picnic one year for your birthday. He went all out, spreading a blanket down and everything, and the two of you drank wine, ate sandwiches and snacks out of a picnic basket, and talked in Harry’s back yard until after the sun came up.

Whenever Harry thinks “happiness,” that is the moment that pops into his head.

It wasn’t a loud sort of happiness, either. It wasn’t a bouncing on top of the world, adrenaline rushing through his blood, head pounding with excitement and joy and energy sort of happiness. He wasn’t breathless or wide eyed or buzzing with emotion.

No, this was a quiet happiness. It was the very definition of content. It was your head on his shoulder, your hand intertwined with his, your whispers of, “I love you,” the soft kisses exchanged as the sun set and the stars began to twinkle into the sky. It was your giggles at his jokes, your eyes brighter than the moon, softer than the wispy clouds suspended in air.

Harry’s getting a hollow ache in his chest just thinking about it. It hurts, really, because each of those memories, those days, those nights, carved a little hole in him and filled him with love and adoration and the purest happiness anyone’s ever experienced in the history of the world.

Now that you’re gone, that happiness has disappeared and all that’s left is a hollow, empty pit.

Since you’ve been gone, other memories have started creeping out of the shadows. These are different memories, memories of Harry’s failure and your disappointment and nights spent apart and tears sliding down your cheeks.

The problem with these memories is that it’s not a specific memory. It’s not one singular memory that Harry can turn over and over in his head and decide what went wrong. It’s not one thing that Harry can think about and solidify and apologize for.

It’s a whole bunch of things. It’s all the nights spent at the studio instead of with you. It’s all the last minute anniversary gifts and half hearted, distracted dinners, and all the forgetting of events and details. It’s the gradual falling away of random weeknight flowers, it’s the slow decline of hidden poems around the house he set out for you to find.

Well, maybe there is one thing. It might have been that one date night he cancelled. It was at the very end, during the knowing glances after frequent fights, after the slow, painful descent into acceptance but before the official conversation.

Dancing with the Stars had come on TV one night.

“Hey, I’m a star,” you murmured to him, curled up against him on the couch.

“Got that right,” Harry hummed, and you smiled up at him, and that smile made this night one of the good memories. “It should be just us two,” you told him, watching the pairs made up of one professional dancer and one celebrity dance on screen. “No professional.”

You giggled. “Yeah, we’re too good for them anyway.”

You took to dancing around the house after that night. Your dancing always brought a smile to Harry’s face. Funny how all you had to do was twirl, laugh, smile, breathe, and Harry would want to smother you in kisses and gift you his entire heart.

Sometimes you managed to rope him into it. Often you wouldn’t. Often, Harry would wake up to soft music playing in the kitchen, and he would walk in and see you dancing. He’d sip his coffee, and you would spin around and make up fancy footwork, and Harry would grin and blow you kisses and whisper, “I love you.”

He offered to take you dancing one night. He lay next to you in bed and traced his fingertips over your cheeks, lips, nose, and told you all about the night the two of you would have. He talked about live music and warm food and twinkling stars and dancing. You closed your eyes and smiled and hummed one of his songs, and Harry kissed you.

Then he got busy at the studio on the night you decided on. He stayed long. He called you. You didn’t pick up, because you were in the shower, getting ready for you big night. And you didn’t see the voicemail until after you were ready, until after you were sitting on the couch waiting for him, and when you saw the voicemail you jumped up because you didn’t look at the time it was sent, and you thought the voicemail was him calling because he was outside to pick you up.

You weren’t crying when he arrived at home. You just had a quiet sort of disappointment in your eyes, one that was almost more painful than tears, because this look told Harry that some part of you expected this. Harry didn’t look particularly guilty because he hadn’t realized how excited you were. He thought you probably didn’t even get ready. He thought you’d say, “Aw, well,” and move on.

He didn’t think he’d find you on the sofa, dressed in the most beautiful summer dress he’d ever seen, looking like an angel with a broken wing. He never dreamed you’d be so upset, never dreamed he’d be the reason for you being so upset.

That was the night he realized he was nothing but a mortal man in the presence of an angel.

An actual, real live angel.

An actual, real live angel who was losing her glow because of him.

Harry takes a miserable sip of his drink and tries to involve himself in the conversation happening around him. It doesn’t work. The noise level in the room is almost headache inducing, but somehow Harry can still pick out your laugh through the chatter.

He thinks, for a moment, that he’d like a shot of that laughter. He’d like to bathe in your happiness just once more. Maybe that’s all the closure he needs. A gasp of fresh air after what seems like eons of suffocating loneliness.

Then Harry thinks he sounds pathetic even in his own head and he excuses himself from his table. He walks almost blindly through the halls without even a semblance of an idea as to where he’s going. It’s quiet out here, at least, and he can clear his head, and take a breath, and maybe -

"Hey.”

Harry freezes.

For a moment, he thinks he’s imagining things. Then he turns around, and as it happens, he’s not.

There you are, in all your glory, a hesitant smile on your lips. You’re wearing a lavender dress. It fits you perfectly, makes you look like you’re floating off the ground, and Harry wants to cry because it matches his bow perfectly and that wasn’t even planned and goddammit, universe, that’s just salt in a gaping wound.

“Nice suit,” you say, and now your smile looks more sad than hesitant, and Harry feels the tears building in his throat because you remember too, of course you do, and Harry opens his mouth to reply but he can’t get his words out and now he’s on the verge of tears not only because he’s sad but also because he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks,” Harry finally chokes out.

“You’re welcome.”

The corridor suddenly feels long and empty and silent.

“Heard Feather on the radio the other day,” you say.

Feather. One word, a million memories shifting through Harry’s head faster than lightning.

A gifted necklace, filled notebooks, picked out notes, hummed melodies. Murmured lyrics in ears in early mornings. Night after night in the studio, together. Rubbish takeaway food, in the studio, together. Laughter over everything and nothing. Falling over each other in the booth, soft sighs and blissful gasps replacing giggles and shrieks of amusement. Late, late nights, together. Hearing it on the radio for the first time, together, almost driving off the road because of the excitement.

Hearing it on the radio last time, alone, almost driving off the road because of the stab of grief.

Harry’s not sure what to say to that. What do you expect him to? Oh, great, me too, fantastic song, innit? So he pauses for a moment and then replies, “We should make a sequel.” That gets a laugh out of you, and the thought strikes Harry to bottle it up and wear it in a little bottle around his neck.

“That would be something, huh?” you say.

“Call me,” Harry says. “I’ll book a studio.”

You smile. “Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t forget,” Harry tells you.

“I won’t,” you say, and there’s a beat of silence. Your smile fades as you look at him, as he looks at you, and Harry looks away because your smile’s about to disappear completely and Harry doesn’t think he could stand being the cause of your smile disappearing one more time.

You clear your throat. “Alright, well… Expect that call.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll see you around, H,” you say.

“See ya.”

You turn around and walk away. Float away. Fly away.

Again.

Flight, Harry thinks, watching you go. That’s what the sequel would be called. Feather. Flight.

You wore a white dress the first time the two of you performed it live. It’s such a love song. It’s the sappiest shit ever written by anyone in the entire world. If anyone else had written it, Harry would’ve rolled his eyes and said, Bullshit.

But it wasn’t. The song wasn’t, the love wasn’t, nothing was. It was the complete opposite. As pure and true as love could possibly be. Which makes it all the more painful that Harry couldn’t keep his shit together enough for you.

That’s another one of the Happy Memories: that first time performing together. You in your white dress, Harry in a silver, shimmering suit. The two of you did a whole choreography; you messed up every other move and Harry tripped over his own feet quite a few times, but the effort was there. The combination of the overwhelming yet familiar excitement of being on stage and the otherworldly bliss of simply being in your presence is a feeling Harry will never forget.

The air in the hallway grows heavier and heavier with each passing second.

Harry should get back to his table.

He starts to walk. He peers up at the ceiling as he does, hands locked behind his back, deep in thought. People are cheering out in the main room. Harry listens to the noise and closes his eyes, trying to shut his brain off.

The fans, he remembers, were devastated upon hearing the news of your breakup. It was kept quiet long enough that the questions and concerns weren’t particularly invasive, but it still hurt. It hurt like hell. It was ripping off the bandaid of the first month and poking and prying at the wound until Harry cried onstage and ducked out of an interview and missed a show.

Feather was taken off the setlist.

Once, during a lull in a show, the audience began to sing it. That was kind of strange. Harry looked up at the bright lights and swaying figures and heard his song, your song, being sung back to him by hundreds of strangers. It occurred to him, then, that it was not, in reality, your song. By that point, it meant something to other people as well.

That was very strange.

Harry ended up strumming out the chords for them. He smiled when the audience grew louder.

He heard later that the exact same thing happened to you. It was a few nights later, maybe the next week, and there were some technical issues. In the quiet, the fans began to sing Feather. You joined in just a second later, adding in your bit of the choreography.

Harry tried his hardest not to watch the footage, he really did, but he couldn’t help it.

He cried a lot that night.

When he finally makes it back to the main room, you’re situated under your new boyfriend’s arm, smiling brilliantly. Harry looks away as he sits down and downs the last of his drink. He grins at whoever’s talking at his table and shuts off his brain.

At the end of the night, through an alcohol- and exhaustion-muddled haze, Harry spots you by the door. He sweeps you up and plants a big messy kiss on your cheek, which you return with giggles and a kiss of your own. Harry leaves the 2020 Brits with two lipstick prints on him.

Despite the pictures splattered everywhere the next morning, Harry feels an air of contentment.

It’s done, he thinks, taking a deep breath. It’s done, and that’s good.

Because really, nothing gold can stay.

Not even the gold of a yellow suit.

***

ummm... yeah lol. hope u liked it...? lskdjf anyway there's that.

thx for reading! a reblog and some feedback would be fantastique!!!!

masterlist | ask

[selinakidreams]

hello hello hello ! this is my comfort piece for @doinmybesthere ‘s mental health awareness month collab! and I’d just like to say a huge thank you to emme for creating such a wonderful collab and thank you for letting me be apart of it.

paring: kirishima eijirou (I’m talking 7ft big strongman vibes) x empathic quirk f!reader (established relationship)

word count: 3.7k +

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff

warnings: mentions of anxiety & toxic friendships, instigating with means to harm- please let me know if I missed anything!!

a/n: this I think,, was the best way to approach what has tormented me for years. it was a reoccurring thing for me but I never handled it properly, and just this year, someone important taught me that I deserve more than what I’ve been putting myself through. so here it is! I also think that once my schedule clears up, I’m gonna make a sister piece to this but idk !! let me know if you guys would be interested in that!

++ the absolute biggest thank you to my betas/flow checkers @doinmybesthere @lady-bakuhoe @keishinslove BIG kith

pss. the first person who can guess my love language based off this fic wins a prize

Turning other’s confidence to despair, gloating to fear, persistence to tiredness, motivation into loss- but all you felt was drained. The overuse of your quirk left your head feeling full of cotton; Your chest heaving and vision slightly blurry. 

You arrived late to the fight because what started as a relaxing day off quickly turned into a rush to get to the streets. Thankfully Red Riot had been on the scene, waist-deep and stalling a full-fledged fight between two combat villains until backup came. 

His tired eyes met yours and you flashed him a hopeful smile until witnessing the villain get a short-termed upper hand. They landed a solid punch, which caused you to feel not only the repercussions of the shock-inducing impact but your building guilt of being a distraction.

Years of training reminded you not to let it get to your head, your hero instincts kicking in after emotionally experiencing that strike. Heart pumping with adrenaline, you began to focus your heart and mind, simultaneously tuning into what those around you were feeling, never forgetting to keep your eyes wide and alert. 

Confidence, eagerness, perseverance, exhaustion, determination. 

Taking a breath as you ease into a rhythm, you kept your sights on the two people who were attacking the boulder of a hero and finally, a steady grasp.

Quirk at work, the familiar mental image of loose strings flowing in the wind appeared, and you grabbed a hold of them, symbolizing that you had caught hold of their feelings and wasted no time on bending and contorting to your will. You watched as their actions became slower and less motivated, making it easier for Kirishima to handle. He must have realized what was happening, a new surge of elation pumped through him as he began to knock both of the villains down a peg. 

Seeing him fight had always been such a marvel to watch; it was so easy to be mesmerized by the sheer enthusiasm he had while trying to keep the balance and execute justice. Kirishima Eijirou was a hero in all senses of the word- and not just any hero, your hero- as cheesy as it sounded.

Secured under his weight and possibly unconscious, Red Riot looked around, a bit disheveled, until his gaze found yours. Expecting to be met with the warm sincere smile that always made your heart flutter, your heart sunk when you saw his eyes turn wide and frantic as he called out your hero name. 

On top of feeling a bit dizzy from honing into those particular subjects and manipulating two people at once, a wave of distress washed over you, adding to the unfavorable aftermath of pushing your quirk. 

You were quick to whip around, finding another villain was closing in closer than expected. You dropped all previous controls and focused solely on the person in front of you. 

“You had gotten better since the last time I saw you,” they sneered as they attempted to land a hard-hitting kick to your stomach. 

Missing by a hair, you pushed past the dreariness in your head and went straight into a defensive position.

The close-cut dodge wasn’t the only thing to throw you off; now you had realized why Kirishima looked at you like that; your traumatic past, the one you had divulged to him in the safety of your home, warbling with tears streaking your cheeks, was coming back to roughhouse with the intent of ending in a knockout. 

Fear twisted into gut-wrenching anxiety; the plummeting feeling hit the bottom of your stomach with a harsh thud.

In front of you stood the unmistakable frame of someone you had considered to be one of your closest friends for a time; someone that seemed so natural to be with, someone you divulged secrets and shared smiles with, someone that had made it seem like separation was not an option- now turned villain, sporting a suited evil smirk smeared on their face. 

It was hard not to let the tears collect on your waterline, thinking about the whirlwind of your relationship as your gaze met theirs for the first time in years. Months and months of triggered breakdowns, cold sweats from various nightmares, and countless tears have been shed as time progressed, the sinking feeling of long-lost fear that they had put you through now showing its ugly head; the thought you had convinced yourself for so long- that you ended up not even being worth their time starting to resurface. 

It had been hard to learn the lessons that were dealt and see the mistakes made on both parts- not just yours, to pick up all the shattered expectations of what a true friendship is, but you had. Now you were able to sort through the wrong sorts and had gotten emotionally and mentally stronger because of it; in many ways, the ending of the friendship helped you realize that there were ways you deserved to be treated, and like shit wasn’t one of them.

However, it almost seemed like all the progress you had made swirled down the drain now that they were in front of you. It was like you were experiencing the heartbreak of them ending the friendship all over again.

“Awww! The poor little hero is still heartbroken after I left her?” their tone patronizing as they jutted out their bottom lip to form an exaggerated pout. “Look at you! I can practically see the desperation on your face- desperate for me to come back? You’ve always been so fucking clingy. But you know, the news has you pinned as like... some kind of saint… no, no. You’re nothing but a selfish attention whore playing the good guy... so I just wanted to stop by and remind you of the truth.” they sneered, really aiming to trigger your trauma. 

You had opened up to them about all your fears; from the smallest to the all-consuming ones, so for them to be targeting you like this… they must have thought that you haven’t changed- and you fucking have. You worked damn hard to do so; You’ve grown and have started appreciating yourself more, started loving yourself more, started working on yourself more. The villain was only targeting your past worries, keyword, past.

Regardless, you were already feeling too much as is and the best thing you could do for yourself right now was to control yourself. 

The urge to take it personally was beyond tempting- to make them suffer as they had done to you, to watch them break right in front of you… But there was a specific way to handle this situation, one you’ve envisioned more than enough, the perfect high route. 

Quickly looking back to see how Kirishima was fairing, you were met with the rock hero in the process of cuffing the other two offenders, allowing you to feel a rush of relief. You turned around and mentally centered yourself. The convict seemed to put together what you were about to do, so without hesitation, they began charging only a second too late.

Taking a breath, the perfect feeling to muddle their prideful feeling down surged through you as you carefully knotted their violent stings together.

It was the feeling you faced when all was said and done after, the outcome you faced after you had gone through confronting all of the trauma that was built up by this person. 

All you felt was emptiness. 

When it hit them, you saw it in their eyes as they stopped in their tracks. No smugness, no pride, no cowardness. Nothing to egg them on and yet nothing to make them feel terrible. Blank. 

Before confusion slithered its way to their consciousness, you took the opportunity and roundhoused them- your efficient ankle sweep knocking their head to the floor, deeming them unconscious.

Crouching to the floor next to their body, you made sure they were breathing before cuffing them and standing back up, turning around you double-check on the scene behind you.

The police furthest from you were tucking the Red Riot’s villains in their cars while the others jogging towards you kept their eyes on the limp body behind you, Kirishima in tow. He looked incredibly tired but couldn’t seem to keep the smile off his face. He felt proud.

A weak smile graces your lips as you try to take a step, only to see your vision blur.

Great. 

The last thing you saw was the panicked look in his eyes as his pace quickened to a run in attempts to catch you. You faded out to the sound of an urgent call of your actual name before your body hit the ground with a thud. 

The next few hours came in slow-paced blinks. 

The first time you opened your eyes post-fight, your body felt heavy… but you were moving. It didn’t take long to realize that you were being carried by the muscular arms that you wake up to every morning. Slowly peeling your eyes open, the sight of his signature spikey red hair reminded you that what had just happened. Your boyfriend, the one who was on the scene with you, had witnessed you overcome one of the people that truly had left damage on you. He wasn’t looking at you, but staring straight ahead; by the way, his fingers curled around your bicep and thighs, it had been tough for him to watch everything that had gone down. 

You tried to call out his name, but it sounded stifled, sounding more like a broken whisper than anything. After another try, he seemed to have heard you, his ears perking up even though all the commotion- or maybe it was just ironic timing. When his red eyes caught the beaming smile you attempted to comfort him with, he tried to mimic it, only you could make out the way his bottom lip quiver. Your eyelids became unbearably heavy and for the second time, unconsciousness took its hold over you.

Blink.

The next time your eyes peeled open, you were being inspected by the all-to-familiar medical team. The inside of the ambulance was much brighter than it was outside, fluorescent lighting causing you to squint. Unnamable hands were touching your head and pulse points. When they noticed your eyes open, they tried to keep you awake as long as possible, the first step was sitting you up on the gurney. The first person you made eye contact with was your designated nurse- the one with the most comforting presence, was that part of her quirk? 

With a kind smile and knowing eyes, she jerked her head in the direction of the person she knew was first to come to mind. Following the movement, your gaze landed on Kirishima, who was standing off to the side and chewing on his nail, arms crossed against his chest. 

Had he already got checked out? Was he okay? 

When he noticed you were staring, he mustered up a small smile and in return, you slightly lifted both your hands to do a loose wave in attempts to warm up his smile. It worked.

“Okay c’mon, you know how these checkups go- you can go be with your boyfriend once we know you’re okay.” your nurse teased, knowing full well that a serious approach wasn’t going to work with you being this drowsy. 

You merely nodded in response, head and eyelids still heavy.

 The rest of the examination went by speedily, you being awake making everything go ten times smoother. After everything was checked and you were clear to go home, the nurses moved to talk to Kirishima as you moved to the edge of the ambulance, waiting for them to finish. 

“I’m so lucky that you’re not only my hero but also a registered caregiver. Well actually… both are pretty super...” You mumbled, trailing off with a lazy smile, lids finally starting to accept the losing battle of staying open. 

“Nooo, you’re lucky that it’s the overuse of your quirk that’s keeping you out of the hospital and not fatal injuries. It’s not manly to push yourself too hard.” he quipped back in a light playful tone; He didn’t miss how hard you were fighting to stay awake. “Baby, can you make it to the car or do you want me to carry you?” 

It was moments like this where you appreciated how comfortable Kirishima made you feel in your relationship; feeling no shame when you revert to a clingy pile of mush. Reaching out, you let your eyes close as you mimic grabby hands to your enormous boyfriend. 

You hear him sigh as he kneels in front of you, opening your eyes in time to catch his broad back muscles shifting, “c’mon love, you need to help me with this bit.”

You clumsily climb on his back and loosely wrap your arms around his neck, standing up with ease. He quickly adjusts you against him to get a better hold on your thighs. Once he begins walking, you let yourself subside back into unconsciousness.

Blink.

You were jolted awake when you felt yourself falling, only for your behind to hit a familiar cushiony surface. Oh right, the car. Before you could fade out once again, you heard Kirishima say something about going to grab the paperwork so the both of you can file your reports later when you wake up. The last thought you were able to think was something along the lines of how incredibly lucky you were to have someone love you so deeply.

Blink.

Waking up to the view of the city lights twinkling below your balcony and the energy of a healthy 8 hours of sleep, you stretch the rest of the drowsiness out of your body till you feel ready to accept the hefty amount of paperwork that’s waiting for you in the other room. 

The only light that illuminated your bedroom was the reflection of the living room lights on the hallway floors. Before getting up, you spared a glance at your nightstand, seeing a glass of water with a note underneath, as predicted; this happened more often than not after a battle. You reach out and take the glass in hand and take a steady sip before letting in more and more water, then reading the messy little note:

 in the livingroom <3 

You smiled at the little doodle he drew- two characters that seem a lot like the two of you, kissing, with a sparkly heart over their heads.

The need to recreate this drawing was growing at an incredible speed.

With newfound determination, you push yourself up from the bed and shuffle to the living room, squinting when the light becomes a little too harsh against your eyes.

Eyes fully closed when you get to the center of the living room, purposely facing the wrong way and trying to suppress a giggle, you try to use the most monotone voice you could muster.

“Kiri - where are you I can’t see.” 

“Your eyes are closed- babe, open your eyes.” 

“No it’s too bright but I saw this cute drawing on the nightstand done by this really talented artist and I must recreate it please recreate it with me.”

You heard a bit of shuffling before his voice came close to your left side.

“Was it a pretty manly drawing?” 

“I would like to think so.”

He was much closer at this point, shifted to somewhere close in front of you right before warm lips were on yours; as quick as the peck came, it was gone in a flash followed by the sound of him plopping down on the couch.

“Wait Eijirou-” you start to pout as you turn in the direction where the couch is, eyes now fully open and set on Kirishima until the shock of pain shot through your nerve endings. 

“Ah, shit! Fuck!…” you wince, lifting your leg to hug your newly stubbed toe.

Kirishima is back by your side in an instant, really trying to suppress his laugh but doing a terrible job.

“You’re such a jerk for laughing,” you pout, giving your best attempt of a proper shove… and he didn’t even budge. 

There was a moment of complete silence then the booming of your boyfriend’s boisterous laughs bouncing off the walls. Rolling your eyes, you limped over to the spot on the couch where he was previously sitting, and as the cushion beside you dips, you sigh. 

The sight in front of you was a disheveled mess. Scribbled on papers were thrown about- most were filled out but there were a few that were blank, pens and highlighters could be spotted under and over random reports.

“I did most of the reports… but I didn’t know if you wanted to fill out yours… because of who you were fighting.” he slowly stated, as if he were walking on eggshells. You could tell that he was holding back from hitting the main issue. 

Was this something you were ready to unbiasedly talk about? Kirishima knew most of the details, but he also realized that you probably wanted to talk about it more now that you’ve not only seen them after all this time but had to fight them. 

With another sigh, you let your head fall into your palms- your elbows digging into your thighs- and you roughly rub your eyes before coming up for a new breath of air. 

“My heart was pounding…” you started, attempting to prepare for the unwanted wave of grief, but as you trailed off, oddly enough, it never came. 

When reflecting on the fight, you remembered the range of emotions you felt, but now… you just felt… empty- which was ironic. No sadness, longing, anxiety… if anything, with your caring redhead staring at you with the roundest eyes, you felt at ease. 

“But honestly? I don’t really feel much right now. Like I can say that when looking back, I think I handled myself in the best way possible- they don’t deserve to have that satisfaction of creating a rise out of me, and quite frankly… I’m tired, Ei. I’m so tired of letting them have that hold on me. I don’t deserve that kind of pain. As much as I am a hero, I need to think about myself as a person and there’s only so much I can endure. My mental and emotional health comes first.” 

After saying all of that, there was a slight hint of relief that flooded your system; you already began to feel lighter.

“I’m so proud of you. I know that must have been really hard to face but you did it, and you were so good about it,” he whispered as he reached out for your thigh. 

Accepting his comfort, you sucked in another breath and smiled up at him. He held and returned your smile for a couple of seconds before slightly leaning in, his eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. 

“Would it be alright if I.. kiss you?” it was such a heart-warming gesture, how he was making sure you weren’t pushing yourself. 

“More than alright,” you whisper, barely getting out the last word because of how quickly the gap between you two closed. The kiss was comfort in the rawest form; his pace was slow, his large hand cupping your jaw as his tongue invaded your mouth. You were following his pace, your eyes coming to a close, melting into a relaxed state for what seemed like the first time today. 

Keeping the kiss light, he pulled away shortly, but not before placing a lingering peck on your lips, then one on your forehead and whispering, “I made you a snack. You’re probably hungry right now so I prepared you a little something filling. And while you eat, I’m gonna run a bath with some Epsom salt and lavender oil, does that sound good?” 

Overwhelming gratitude washed over you. Words couldn’t possibly measure even the bare minimum of the love you have for Kirishima Eijirou, and yet you managed to string a soft, “You are the most wonderful person in the world, and I… Eijirou I love you so much.” 

His eyes became a little teary as he looked down at you, a wobbly smile in place before whispering a returning “I love you,” before heading into the bathroom to run the water in your massive tub. 

As the thundering sound of the water filling the tub echo through your apartment, you get up and rummage the fridge to find a plate of adorably cut red apples with a glob of peanut butter off to the side. 

“Baby do you want tea?” You call out just loud enough, “I’m gonna brew that green tea with the toasted rice!” 

He came into the kitchen looking big and confused, “what did you say, baby?”

“Green tea?”

“Oh yes, please,” he said, leaning in and planting a kiss to your temple before turning back to the bathroom. 

“Kiri? Can you put on the house shows on the tv? I forgot what channel they were on.”

You didn’t need to turn around to hear tv turn on; a shout of thanks was called out before you took a bite of your snack.

It felt all very domestic, something you never thought could happen to you. Your childhood was a montage of quirk abuse, being emotionally used, following the same types of toxic people, and never learning your lesson. It all flipped somewhere in your twenties- you began to realize the pattern after being shown the kindness the world could offer. No longer world you put up with bullshit like that. You knew better now and Eijirou always reminded you of that. 

You were halfway through one of your favorite flipping shows when Kirishima came in shirtless, letting you know the bath was ready, “Okay my love, it’s ready. Take your time, I‘ll be in the tub.”

You stripped on your way to the bathroom, leaving all your clothes on the bench in the bedroom before padding into the warm-tiled bathroom.

The view you stepped in on was delicious; your huge boyfriend taking up most of the tub, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes closed.

“Gee red, you’re so sexy.” you aimed to tease, but your words came out a bit strained. He chuckles before turning to face you and groaning your name, “hurry up and come in here.”

And it’s then when you’re submerged in all the heat and laying against your boyfriend’s warmth, do you remember that life is what you make it to be. Never accept anything less than the love and care you deserve.

Blink.

[beelspillowpet]

could i get some hcs of the brothers (how many is up to you!!) with an epileptic MC? like, they end up having absence and myoclonic seizures, and maybe hurt themselves a bit? sorry if this is too specific adjkd it just happened to me this morning and. i accidentally flung my spoon across the room while eating cereal 🙈 i also stabbed myself in the eye with my thumb but Eh

OMG Anon!!! I hope you’re okay!? Seizures are really serious and dangerous, I hope you’re recovering alright?! Sending you a bunch of hugs and head pats u-u In other somewhat unrelated news, I’m glad people are so comfortable coming to me with these sorts of HCs. Means I really am doing an impactful job in my research and writing these sorts of things comfort you. It also helps me learn a little more about people's everyday struggles. Here’s to hoping for a bright future for you all!

I tried to include more symptoms and types of seizures (?) in this post, but I don’t think I was able to touch on them all? Usually when I do HCs like this, I have something like an “interview” with the asker beforehand to make sure I’m getting their experience probably, and a better understanding of the disorders. I hope this is portrayed properly!!! ~

Lucifer

He’s lecturing you, but pauses for a moment to question your reasoning for making pacts with his brothers. He’s expecting you to answer, but you don’t. You simply daze off at him. You weren’t trying to piss him off, but you weren’t all there in the moment. Your hands twitched and your hand accidently shot up behind you, as if you were pulling your hand away from a snapping dog. He took that as a warning.

The second time it occurred was over dinner. It was just you and him, enjoying the meal you prepared for dinner and waited for him to arrive home for it. You had another epileptic seizure, and spaced out for longer than normal.

When you came to, Lucifer was out of his chair at your side, checking to make sure you were alright. He was a bit rattled to say the least, but when he waved his hand in front of your eyes and they followed, he started to relax a bit more. He questioned what just happened, but with the slot of time missing in your brain, you couldn’t completely answer him.

It’s when you start jerking your body about uncontrollably, as if something is possessing you to behave in such a manner than he finally looks into it. Admittedly, he should have done so sooner, this isn’t normal behavior after all. What he discovers is a bit upsetting, as there’s no “cure” or “fix” for it. He doesn’t bring it up to you- you’re probably sensitive about the topic. But he’s far more patient with you now, knowing that these seizures are just a part of your life.

Mammon

Oh what the fuck was that? Are ya’ good? You just kinda... slapped the fuck out of yourself there? Why’d you do that?

This pea-brain probably doesn’t pick up on too many symptoms at first. You’re just his weird, hopeless human. While that’s nice, a little��more attention would be grateful.

“Hey Mammon, when did you dye your hair yellow?” “What’re ya talkin’ about? My hair is white.” “Huh, in this light it looks yellow. And did you get a tan?” He thinks you’re weird but it’s okay. It sort of offends you that he thinks this way, it’s not like you’re doing this on purpose. You genuinely thought he dyed his hair yellow- and that he darkened his skin.

There are also times when he uses the same cologne but something smells different about it. The whiplash of suddenly having one smell and then be overwhelmed by something entirely different, or have this random dizziness... well, at least Mammon is always there to catch you if you lose your balance. As much of an airhead as he is, he’s still a helpful and supportive one.

Leviathan

Your seizures scare the shit out of them. You have the worst ones with him because while in his room, the bright flashing lights are somehow worse. Brighter, even more than before, and before you know it you’re having an out of body experience, feeling your body twitch and tremor, but unable to stop it.

You can hear Leviathan freaking out in the distance, making sure you lay down flat and keep you from swallowing your own tongue. Despite having a panic attack after the fact, he’s relatively calm for the most part. He doesn’t have any real knowledge on these things yet, and he’s not sure if he’s prepared for it.

Other times you may just pace the floor as if thinking. You’re constantly rubbing your hands together, looking left and right erratically. Sometimes when you do this, you’re muttering nonsense, and other times, you’re silent. Leviathan isn’t sure which one is scarier.

He does research on why you behave this way sometimes. You don’t have them too often, but it’s happened at least three times and it’s scared him each time. When he discovers his solution, he tries to bring it up with you in a calm and quiet manner. Either that or he waits until next time because bringing it up unprompted can be awkward.

Satan

Oh. He knows what’s going on. He’s got doctor friends. He sort of just... asks. Just to be sure. Whether you tell him or not, he knows what’s really going on here. He won’t judge. Obviously not. You can’t control your behavior with those sorts of things.

He’s aware that seizures can kick up anywhere, so he watches you carefully. You could have one while walking down the steps and end up falling and hurting yourself. You could get one while preparing dinner and accidently stab yourself- or you can even get one while driving. He’s always prepared to take over for you when you need it.

There was one time you finally did come to him. To confide in him about your problems. It was silly, you thought. Why would he listen? Except he set aside his book, turned in his chair to you, and listened. He never interrupted, and only spoke when you were taking a moment to breathe through your tears.

He was there for you, and he would never try to upset you. He knows how scary these sorts of things can be. While he doesn’t struggle with the same issues, having depressive episodes are not lost on him. He would gladly welcome you into his arms for a hug, and make sure you’re at least safe in these awful times.

Asmodeus

You and Asmo were at the club when it happened. You’re dancing with each other one moment, and the next you’re on the floor convulsing. You were embarrassed once it was all over, but imagine how terrified Asmo was???

You come back to yourself still on the dirty floor of the club, but now people are surrounding you, all concerned. You see Asmodeus crying, not knowing what to do. He’s panicked, and he’s gently holding your hand, hoping you’re okay.

You two leave the club early, and in your guilt, explain to him what happened. Although you’re vague because you aren’t entirely sure of the details, he puts together enough to know it won’t be the last time that happens.

he clings to you afterwards, and doesn’t let go. Even if you involuntarily jerk and hit him by accident. He knows. He understands and he loves you, darling. You would never want to push him away, and he would never want you to go. Next time, he WILL do better for you.

Beelzebub

You two were playing sports together when he accidently tackled you too hard. You fell over and hit your head hard, causing you to fall into a shock-induced seizure.

He kneels there by your side crying. He knows what to do but every time he touches you, you jerk violently. As if you’re afraid of his touch, afraid of him making things worse. Still, he does his best to assist you, making sure you don’t swallow your tongue and that you don’t harm yourself any further.

Once it’s all over, he carries you to the benches and gives you food and water. He’s still crying a bit, not sure what he should do now. He probably calls Lucifer for help, and while waiting, just talks to you. Makes sure you’re still all there.

When he’s alone, he does a bit more research on seizures and comes across epilepsy. After going over what can cause the seizures, he’s riddled with even more guilt. You hit your head when he tackled you. He probably caused that seizure, didn’t he? From then on, he refuses to play sports with you. He could never forgive himself for putting you through that.

Belphegor

Of course it was a nap. What else would it be? You wake him up on accident when you kick your leg out too hard, knocking him off the bed. When he gets up to yell at you for doing that, he notices you aren’t really paying much attention to him. Instead you’re twitching your arms and legs, grunting and groaning at the pain in your limbs when you slap against the bedpost.

You’re blinking rapidly and your lips are moving, as if you’re trying to ask him for help. All that manages to come out is something similar to your lips smacking. Like Beel when he’s taste testing his dinner.

Once the seizure is over, Belphie is sitting you up slowly, petting your hand. He brings you into a hug as  you tremble in his arms, whispering that its okay and that he’s here now.

He’d never experienced something so... unsettling in his life. He wonders if humans do this sometimes. Sometimes after... traumatic experiences. He cringes at the thought. Could he have caused this unintentionally? He didn’t think that the one time he snapped, he would leave you with irreversible damage. He tries to be diligent in helping you from there on, doing his thorough research and making sure you are taken care of in all ways possible should these continue, or get worse. To him, it’s more than a reason to redeem himself, it’s just doing what’s right.

[hitoshisbabygirl]

WHEWWWW CHILEEE 🥵😳👀

After a certain conversation I saw from the lovely @mythiccheroacademia about a bass voice induced/hood(ish) Tamaki I HAD to write this idea. I feel like he’s still be shy but let the right one say down outta pocket shiii...the black force energy is ACTIVATED and he’s not backing down from a fight 😌

So I write this up , I hope it’s okay sskksndkdn it’s really my first official black!reader with a character 🥺 (also me admitting how much I love Cece and her works with this here 👉🏾👈🏾)

Paring(s) : Tamaki Amajiki x Black!reader

Word count: roughly 2.4K

Warnings ; LANGUAGE LANGUAGE LANGUAGE. Just some explicit language of tama telling off hoes ✨ jealous and hot under the collar tamaki of sorts 😌 yes tamaki is older, they’d both graduated and currently in a pro hero company

Don’t play with me// T. Amajiki

It was just a day out with your loving boyfriend Tamaki. The two of you had been dating for a while. Now in the summer of no classes and no extra hero work to do , the two of you decided to do way more together; dates, game nights, other festivities you name it the shy boy went along with it. To the surprise of you both, your two cousins and big brother decided to have a surprise trip to Japan to see you, and to meet the man who stole your heart. They were rough around the edges, tattoos as far as the eyes could see, but to you, they were who you grew up with, the fun and adrenaline filled things y’all did made up your childhood and life until you transferred to U.A wanting to strengthen your own quirk and be a hero , plus you always wanted to visit japan, you being prepared already, almost outstanding in your Japanese, and loving the culture you could experience first hand there.

And that’s where you met a very shy but handsome Tamaki Amajiki. Surprising most around him the two of you hit it off, understanding eachother and quietly talking to yourselves about whatever topic that came up. It was evident to his friends, especially his best friend Mirio that he had fallen for the exchange student from across seas, who stole his heart and made him more confident. Getting that confidence boost made him ask you out, and now you two were a happy couple of 2 years, going on to a lifetime.

Which brings us to the current time, it too you at least a half hour for him to come from your shared room to meet his other family to be. After the first tedious round of talking , the boys were getting along, Tamaki trying (and failing) to fit in with your more aggressive brother. Sighing you called out to them “Aye, I’m gonna get some food, want anything?” With calls of ‘nah’ and full meals you sighed, taking down who wanted what and leaving . They planned to be here a week or two, and that alone wasn’t bad. They just could be...hot under the collar and with them having explosive quirks, you didn’t want a fight breaking out from someone looking at their “little sister” wrong.

The weeks went by too fast, the five of you having a lot of fun together, exploring and just catching up on what you missed back home. Giving you a hug each of them told you how much they loved you and would be back while you were still on break. Giving your brother a suspicious look he laughed “ Don’t worry , mama’s coming up too, she misses her baby” he said as you laughed “ I was just curious on how you got the money to keep coming back and forth here to see me” “I got that promotion at the construction company, more money, and way better hours” he laughed as you gave him a bigger hug “and you’re just now telling me as you leave, you ass” giving you one last look he smiled, throwing a hand up at your usually timid boyfriend “I’ll see you later G ight? Don’t forget what we talked about and what we taught you yeah?” He said as Tamaki did the same back , giving a surprising “I got it” back to him as they walked down the driveway to their cab. “What did he tell you?” You questioned as he gave you a uncharacteristic smirk, kissing your forehead “don’t worry about it sweetheart”

As the next few vists happened throughout the year you realize tamaki was becoming more and more like your brother, less timid and more dominant over conversations, but your soft and loving tamaki never left, if anything it got stronger. He took you out to the mall to shop, wanted to do more outside dates and loved picking out cute outfits with you. He enjoyed the ink adorning your skin even more than he did when he first saw it, asking for you to help him pick out something for him eventually. “Okay who are you and what did you do with tamaki?” You questioned one day when he came home, giving you your usual kiss as he came in the door. Except it was nothing like you had before, he put his hand under your chin and tilted you until you were in your tippy toes to keep the kiss as deep as he started, his other hand dangerously low on your back as he gave your ass a squeeze, chuckling as you gasped, pulling away with a smug look “Hey doll what’s up? How’s your day been?” He asked as he slid past you, Ignoring the shocked look on your face “Tamaki how are you feeling? Are you alight you’ve never been this..forward” tilting his head he came over to where you were , standing in your shared kitchen with your bottom lip in your mouth. Grinning he pulled it from your teeth, giving you another peck “You shouldn’t be teasing your bottom lip, that’s for me to do” he whispered as you gasped, burying you face into his wide chest. “Nothings wrong with me sweetheart, I just..realized how valuable you are to me. You’ve always been but...I know to what level of a queen I have as my girlfriend yknow?” The iconic shy Tamaki made an appearance , making you look up to him. He was shy but he was confident behind what he was saying. “It’s not a bad thing..I like it” you admitted as you traced his cheek “Good, Heyo don’t think I’ll be changing again”

This year for a piece of your summer break you and Tamil decided to go visit back to the states, the two of you loving and hating the heat wave that hit you coming off of the plane. Once again you were with your brother and only one of your cousins this time, visiting your mom and having family cookouts. Planning to stay a month you two had some time to spend together and with your family. Your nieces and nephews loved Tamaki, the fact he could make his limbs into what he ate made them love to try and have him pick them up with his tentacles the most. Your mom loved him and everyone had accepted him as your husband to be.

On one of the hottest days y’all experienced there, you decided to wear one of the cutest outfits you had bought, a two piece ; a crop top and a mini skirt. Both pieces black with blue butterflies over them. As you sat in the living room waiting for your boyfriend you heard footsteps from upstairs, being greeted with a sight you wish to burn on your eyelids. A tank top , the infamous, grey Nike joggers and black forces. A whole meal stood in front of you. Holding in a gasp and a subconscious lip but you cleared your throat, giving him a reassuring smile “well look at you, you really are turning into my brother” you joked as he gave you a shy smile “ I wanted to wear something I’m not used to..I hate things clinging to me..unless it’s you of course “ he teased back as you wrapped your arms around his torso, standing on your tiptoes as you gave his cheek a kiss “you look good..really good..I might have to fight the girls around the block if they look at you wrong.” You warned as he smirked, wrapping a large arm around your shoulder “don’t worry they have nothing on you baby..”

Heading out to get some lunch you fanned yourself with your hand, the heat really getting to you as you stood in line. Tamaki when you get drinks, promising to meet you back at the circle so you two could heard to the nearby shopping plaza, wanting to get some more things before going to get some games to play later with your family members who planned to come and hangout before one of their games came on that night. You and Tamaki were planning to just be upstairs and watching your own movie by then.

Hearing someone clear their throat you valves over to see a shorter, chocolate man staring at you, a wide grin on his face as he licked his lips “whatsup baby how are you today?” Knowing how this was gonna turn out you gave him a polite smile and a quick “I’m fine” before going to look around to see if you saw that familiar tuff of indigo walking around “Soo..what's a fine ass girl like you doing in this heat alone? You’re [. ]’s sister right?” He continued as you shook your head yes, not giving him a thought as you stared at your phone “You aint gotta be shy , your brother knows me. I’ve always saw you and that ass wander around when you used to be here, now you moved away to some other country what was it again? China ? That Asian land aint meant for a sista like you, they don’t even got enough to please you with unlike me” sighing you started to correct him “I live in Japan for one, two I have a boyfriend and three don’t you still have something unresolved with that one girl? Ion need nothing from no one that isn’t my boyfriend thanks” You snapped back as he laughed, comfortably putting an arm on your shoulders “Oh who ol’ girl Ki? Nah I ain’t messing with her and what , you got you a little Japanese man , what is he and his short ass gon do yo me huh? Don’t think that you having one of those short Kung Fu doing ass gon do anything to a real man now baby, you’ve been eating too much rice huh?”

Before you could open your mouth you felt an arm wrap around your waist and move in front of you. Now staring at the strong back of your boyfriend you went to stop him before your mouth dropped open “And who said ya ass could keep talking to her huh?” Without a stutter in sight Tamaki snapped back to the slightly shorter and smaller male “ And who the hell are you?” “The same man you wanna talk about being a short ass Asian” with a look of interest you watched your boyfriend stand up for you “Ooohhh I get it , you think you can just step up to anyone and they not be scared of you huh? Mann you aint in Japan anymore boy , you ain’t gon do shit” the guy barked back, making Tamkai raise an eyebrow and laugh, looking him up and down before squatting down some to match the arguing guys height “At least I can reach my girlfriend, even she can look down at you” which a few ‘oohs’ and ‘damns’ coming from the bystanders the boy gave him a snarl as he tried to come for Tamaki again “she wants some real dick not some little pepper in her walls” and with that Tamaki gave him a even harder laugh, walking until they were too close for your comfort, before you could stop him he gave his last and seemingly damaging blow “But I wonder who’s dick she’s bouncing on and screaming for more from hm? Oh trust me I know how to dick her down and then some”

With his words he reached over and pulled you to his hip by your ass, making the boy give up with a huff , walking away as the others around him boo’d and made fun of him, praising Tamaki as he gave his own satisfied smirk, dapping up some of the guys who came up to him.

Pulling you from the line he left his hand at your hips as your jaw still was open “Where in the hell did you learn that?? Damnit [. ] he must’ve taught you” you huffed as he looked you over , licking his lips as he kissed your cheek. “Mhn..your brother said defend what you love so..I simply did that. He had no business thinking he could step to my girl and hit on her from thinking he was good enough to talk to a queen, my queen at that. Shit ain’t sweet but I respect myself and you too much to fight some low life” he finished as you bit your lip, liking this side of him “Well shit...aren’t you the man Tamaki?” He laughed as he kissed you, biting where you were tugging on your bottom lip to make you let out a squeal. Pulling away he gave a lopsided smile “I’ma keep true to what I said too, when we get home I’m making sure you know I meant what I just said back there, no one tries to take what’s mine, especially with mediocre ass attempts with dick” he growled as you stuttered giving him a wide eyed look. Maybe tamaki was less of the baby you’ve come to see him as. Once you got home, Tamaki made sure you knew how much he loved you, making true on the words he threw to that guys he got into it earlier

[autisticandroids]

bro, u and ur anons keep talking about cas being "complicit" in his abuse by being too afraid and beaten down to even slightly disagree with dean, and how he just needs to start standing up for himself?

and while its true that cas pushing dean around even a little bit would fix a lot of their relationship problems, phrasing it that way just seems... idk... supremely victim blame-y to me. like, the responsibility is somehow on cas to sort through his own trauma enough to gain an unbiased view of the situation, while he is still actively in the abusive situation that caused that very same trauma in the first place, and then risk (in his mind) the only meaningful relationship he has left by pushing dean away enough to set boundaries? as opposed to it being dean's responsibility not to treat people like disobedient pets? dean of course has his own issues that make it hard for him to see things clearly, to put it mildly, but cmon, these are not even remotely the same caliber lol.

furthermore, i know having someone else come along and say "he doesn't love u! he wouldnt mourn u if u died! dump him!" helps a lot of ppl wake up to abuse, but in cas's case, my gut instinct says that would make it a thousand times worse?? bc, on some level, cas already believes that, and that's part of the problem??? obviously the whole suicide fantasy thing can be damaging to fans, but even if cas himself has that fantasy, i doubt he genuinely thinks that's what's going to happen when he dies. im sure he WANTS dean to mourn him like a widow, but he fully expects dean to move on and even be happier (in the long run) once cas is gone, which is part of why he’s sacrificing himself in the first place.

it's shitty of the showrunners to craft this narrative in the first place, but i dont think it is inherently worse for the fantasy to be fulfilled than not... either way, it's rewarding/justifying cas's decision, unless cas stays dead AND dean is miserable, and they really lean into it being a Tragic Ending. even fics that try to avoid this problem often just make things worse bc ive seen multiple fics that bring cas back just to have dean punish him further, with no self-awareness on dean's part. like, the man is so miserable with guilt and loneliness and hopelessness that he kills himself, and u (dean/fanfic authors, not mx. androids) think the appropriate way to respond to that is to make him feel guilty and selfish and weak for turning to suicide??? wtf??? truly NO ONE wins in the game of supernatural

anyway im genuinely not trying to do a callout post here or anything, im positive none of yall meant it in that way, i just wanna know more about ur perspective on this. no pressure to respond if u dont want tho. (also i know im talking abt fictional boys like theyre real ppl with thoughts and feelings but this show simply isnt interesting to me otherwise, love & light xoxo)

i have never referred to cas as complicit in his own abuse. i have referred to him as complicit in dean's abuse of jack, as well as potentially complicit in dean's abuse of sam. he's also complicit in a bunch of other terrible things dean has done to other people or induced him to do to other people.

i have discussed the way that cas gets used to being abused and makes a home there, to the extent that even when he has opportunities to improve his situation he stays in his little corner because he really doesn't understand how to get out (not has he ever experienced anything really all that different) but while that's his choice it's not really his fault in the same way. it's tragic, he isn't to blame.

re: the suicide thing i was mostly being snarky and pissed off, throwing spaghetti at the wall. you are right, there is no good answer. no one wins supernatural.

[vanderlindemorgans]

dark blue tennessee

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: It was one thing being without him while he was alive. It was another to lose him all together

Warnings: Major character death, grief-induced alcoholism, descriptions of blood and injuries, vague allusions to suicide. None of this is beta read so please don’t shoot me for any grammatical errors!

None of this seemed real to you. None of it felt real. It would have brought you some comfort if it wasn’t - that way you could reason with yourself that this was all the result of some horrific nightmare, that’d you’d wake up with a small gasp in his arms, safe and away from whatever dark terror had enveloped your mind. You weren’t one to usually have nightmares but when you did he would always be there, his embrace warm and tight, a single hand running through your hair in a soft pattern, and his unmistakable southern drawl whispering into your ear. 

This wasn’t a dream however. No matter how wrong it felt, how surreal and horrific the whole situation was, it was all real. Perched on the edge of a barstool, you glanced over at the almost empty bottle of whiskey beside you. You thought it would take the pain away, dull your senses and let you pretend for two seconds that he wasn’t really gone, but if anything, the whiskey made it worse. Everything reminded you of him, day in and day out, every morning you woke up and all you could notice was that he wasn’t there. His clothes were, his Stetson perched on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, his stupid belt buckle that you’d always mocked him for...but not him. You couldn’t bear to box away any of it. It may bring you pain to see all these items laid out, as if they were expecting their owner to return someday, but shoving it all in the back of a closet seemed so...disrespectful to you. It would be almost the same as forgetting him in your mind, and you refused to. 

It had been only two weeks since you first received that fateful call, the one that you prayed to high heavens you would never hear. Thank god you were home when you got the call - if you’d been out with your friends, or heaven forbid at work you don’t know what you would have done. It was a moment that you often replayed over in your mind, if for nothing more than the torture of reminding yourself of the day you had broke like glass shattered on a white cloth. 

Trailing the pad of your finger over the edge of your glass, you tossed your head back as you downed yet another glass of liquor. Every detail of that memory stuck out to you, even the most insignificant things that no one else would ever mention. You’d taken the day off work, already feeling shitty straight up from the moment the day had begun. You’d been making something to eat, just some toast because you couldn’t be bothered with anything else, and right when you were searching the fridge for a jar of jam you had heard the phone ring.

Without a second thought you’d scooped it up in your hands and answered it, thinking it would be one of your friends calling to try to get you to come out with them to some bar or something that night. You hadn’t guessed it would be anything important. “Hello?”.

“Hi, am I speaking to Y/N?”. You furrowed your brow at the response, not immediately recognising the voice. You considered hanging up for a brief moment but something in you told you to stay on the line.

“You are. I’m sorry, who is this?”. 

“My name is Ginger Ale. I’m a colleague of your partner, Jack Daniels. I’m very sorry to have to inform you this way, but he’s perished in a horrible incident”. 

Everything around you seemed to collapse in that moment. The whole world might as well have fallen away around you the minute you heard those words. It was a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It often comes so suddenly, and so unexpected that you feel like you’re climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking there’s just one more step than there actually is, and feeling yourself plummet down into the abyss below. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced before - you might as well have been falling deep into the shadowy chasm right at the moment. Your grip on the phone tightened as you struggled to find the words, or any words really, to say in response as tears started to gather around the corners of your eyes. “W-what? What do you mean...he’s…” you trembled, stumbling on your feet as you fell against the wall in a daze, the world somehow seeming both screaming loud and quiet all at once. 

“He was injured badly during his last mission - multiple gunshot wounds from a certain run in with a couple of gangsters. He was...he was barely alive when we brought him in” Ginger explained, trying her best to comfort you but you barely took any notice of her words as the same thought played over in your head. He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, and you could have stopped it. It’s all your fault. 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to have that weird gel stuff that heals gunshot wounds? Surely...surely he could have been saved, right?” you asked frantically, your cheeks streaked with tears and flushed with grief. It took everything in you not to fall apart right then and there, dropping the phone to the floor and screaming out in sheer agony of the pain that was ripping through you. 

“Not this time, sadly. I’m really sorry, Y/N”. There was a small pause on the other end of the line before Ginger spoke again, her tone indicating her hesitance at divulging such information to you. “He also insisted that we don’t bother, that he knew his time was up with this one. I was watching him on this mission - he went into it all quite recklessly, which isn’t completely new for him but…”.

“But?” you asked, prompting her to finish her sentence but she never did. A heavy silence hung between the both of you, punctured lightly by the sound of your heavy breath which you tried desperately to keep in check. Some small part of you was still in some sort of disbelief, wanting to fervently deny that any of this was happening. This is just a dream right? I’ll wake up back in bed, I’ll get up and call Jack, and he’ll be alive and well. None of this is real. It can’t be real...

“I want to see him. Please, just let me see him. Let me at least say goodbye”.

_

You hadn’t taken much notice of your surroundings on your way to Statesman Headquarters - everything might as well have been a blur to you from the moment you stepped through the doors to the second you walked off the platform of the elevator towards the medical wing. As soon as you spotted him all sense of decorum and logic was thrown out the window, any sense of composure melting away to nothing the very second his body came into view. Ginger had been beside you, probably as a general gesture to ensure you wouldn’t entirely lose it once you gained a single glimpse of him but alas, as soon as the elevator pulled to a stop and the doors pulled open to reveal a lifeless Agent Whiskey lain across the stretcher, everything you had ever known seemed to fall to pieces from under you. It was as if your entire world had collapsed, had stopped revolving the minute you laid eyes on his lifeless form. Without another seconds hesitation you rushed towards him, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks as you bore witness to the unfortunate result of the tragedy that had struck.

It was as if the floodgates had opened right then and there - once you started crying, the tears just wouldn’t stop. With every ounce of your being you wished that somehow, by some godforsaken miracle, your touch would bring him back, that his eyes would magically flutter open and would greet you with those enchanting brown eyes that you had come to know every day of your life since the moment you had first met. That he would maybe, if only by the simple wish of your heart, say the one thing you were always angling to hear truthfully, in a way that you could put more than a simple faith in. As if you were a broken record, you couldn’t stop repeating his name over and over, like if by some divine intervention that alone would turn the clock back and have him lying next to you, his hand caressing your cheek and firing one of his signature flirty quips at you as you woke up in bed, catching a whiff of that ever-present scent of whiskey that mixed beautifully with his cologne. If only it were that simple. If only that were possible.

Instead you laid a hand against his cold forehead, now devoid of any warmth of life it once felt. Some would say that the dead looked almost peaceful in a way but you saw none of that: even in death Jack somehow looked anguished, like there was something left behind that he wanted to say but simply couldn’t go back to. 

“I can’t feel you anymore…” you murmured, your voice wobbling violently. Leaning down towards him, you cradled his head between your palms, whispering his name softly and feeling your own tears decorate his cheeks. Ginger, or maybe somebody else, said something in the background that you couldn’t take any notice of, your mind fixated only on the man you loved and the unfortunate reality that presented itself to you now. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

_

The funeral had only been held a week afterwards. From a planning perspective, it was easy to organise his final affairs - for whatever reason you’d been named as the executor of his will, a fact that came as a shock to you once you had been served the information by the attorney. The two of you weren’t ever married, although you had attempted to float the idea once or twice, and his mother was still alive so it seemed odd to you that of all people to be left in charge of his estate Jack chose you. Emotionally, it had been a taxing revelation for you: on top of having to carry the stinging pain of finding out the man you loved had died, you had to be the one organising his affairs. You knew after leaving the medical wing of Statesmans Headquarters that day that you wanted nothing more than to let your own sorrow overcome you and let yourself fade out of existence, his voice haunting your every waking moment until you finally decided to let go entirely and throw yourself off the brink of insanity. That’s what you felt you deserved anyway.

His funeral had been the worst of it. You had silently prayed that maybe you would have numbed yourself out a bit. The most agonising part of it all were the hoards of people coming up to you asking how you were. It took everything in you to stop yourself from confessing everything. If they knew, they’d hate you. They’d blame you. The gossip would start, the theories and rumours flying high, the whispers you could hear in your head as if they were real. Somehow you’d pulled through, despite the inclination to break down at any given moment. But of course, that wasn’t the end. You’d buried him, now you had to face the mortifying reality of living without him. 

With every passing day the memories became stronger. You never told any of them what had happened the last time you saw Jack - you couldn’t tell them. It had been eating at you from the inside ever since you picked up the phone that cursed day, tearing apart your mind and leaving nothing in its wake but heartbreaking grief and despair. It’s your fault. You’re the reason this happened. If you two hadn’t fought, if you hadn’t told him to fuck off on the phone that night, he wouldn’t have gone on that mission. You killed him. You’re a murderer. 

All of these thoughts and more wormed their way between different glasses of whiskey, letting you lose track of both time and how many glasses you had. No matter how much you drank though it never dulled the grief nor the guilt that you’d been torturing yourself with from the moment you woke up every day to the moment you went to sleep. Actually, even in your sleep you couldn’t escape it, being plagued by nightmares and the like increasing in degrees of terror the longer they went on. It was why you now avoided any sort of conscious effort to sleep, only succumbing when you’d become so drunk that you had bent yourself over the back of the couch and cried as much as your body would let. 

You swore to never let anyone know what had happened, that Jack and you had technically broken up a few days before his death. It already ate at you enough that you had to run over the memories in your mind, every last word you spat at him on repeat for your own infinite suffering. “It feels like wherever we go, she’s there. And she’s so beautiful, and perfect, and dead. I can’t compete with a ghost, Jack”. Scowling to yourself, you scooped up your glass and took yet another sip, feeling nothing but regret towards how everything played out. You didn’t regret what you said - on some level, you still felt it was true. You knew Jack would forever hold a candle for his ex-wife, but you’d grown tired of feeling like you were second place to a dead woman, as if the only reason he kept you around at all was to fill a void that could only truly be filled by the one person he could never have back. It had been selfish of you, in some way, but you’d deserved more. You loved Jack with everything you had, and you wanted him to feel the same way back, and although he swore he did you could plainly see that wasn’t the case.

“Darlin’, please, don’t be like this. You’re my only love and you know that. You’re being ridiculous about all this”

“Then why do you still wear your ring? Why do you get dismissive whenever I try to bring up moving in together, or marriage, or anything. It’s been two fucking years of this. You can do whatever you want, Jack but I’ll tell you one thing: you’ll be doing it alone. I’m out”. 

“For fucks sake…” you cursed, slamming your glass back down on the table with a loud thud, your words slurred beyond all comprehension. A few drops of whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the countertop, creating a small puddle on the marbled surface but you didn’t much care. What was the point in caring anyway?

You still had to pack up his home, a reminder that only contributed to your pain. You were supposed to have taken care of that before now, at least a week ago but you couldn’t bring yourself to enter his home. I’ll do it tomorrow...maybe. Yeah, tomorrow. Deciding firmly on that, you sipped the last of the liquor and stumbled off the seat of the barstool, the world spinning around you as you fumbled your way through the dim light of your apartment to where your bedroom was, throwing your intoxicated body amongst the heap of unmade bed sheets and burying yourself within them, crying until you passed out in a deep slumber. 

_

Standing outside the door to Jack’s penthouse apartment, you stared forward with a muted expression upon your face, the key to his place gripped firmly between your fingers as if it would disappear from your hands at any moment. You’d been there for a good five minutes by then, meaning to break out of your state of catatonia to only be stopped again by yourself, kicking off a seemingly endless cycle in which you remained stuck in front of his door. You knew you had to go in there eventually: it wasn’t like everything of his would magically disappear if you just ignored it. It was still hard though, since you knew the moment you stepped through the door you’d be hit by the unmistakable scent of him. Almost like you were crossing a threshold of sorts, only with a feeling of emptiness on the other side instead of anything resembling happiness. Seeing his things would only remind you of how he wasn’t there among them, where he should be, which spiralled onto other thoughts, such as reminiscing on his gorgeous brown eyes and that honeyed southern accent you adored on him, and everything else that once made your heart spark with love. You felt your breath tremble as your knuckles turned white from holding the key with such might. This was a bad idea. You weren’t ready for this. Maybe you should just go home and call it a day. 

No. You have to do this now. You might as well rip the bandaid off, lord knows you’ll have to do it eventually anyway.

Keeping your breath paced, you raised your shaking hand to the lock of the day, slowly inserting the key and twisting it until you heard the unmistakable click inside. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed open the double doors and pulled yourself inside, your high heels clicking on the linoleum floors.

Everything was exactly how you’d last seen it, how Jack had last left it. Not that you expected any different of course. The only people who had probably been there in the past two weeks since his death were people from Statesman to collect various bits of the agency's technology and other gadgets Jack had left lying about. You never knew much about his life as part of the secret service: during your relationship Jack had preferred to stay off the subject of his job as much as possible. He even said himself that you shouldn’t have known about his double life in the first place but when it became too obvious that keeping it from you was going to hurt your relationship with him in the long term he’d sought permission from his boss to have you cleared on the most basic of intel. That never bothered you in the slightest - the least you knew about the agency, the better, a view Jack wholeheartedly agreed with you on. You didn’t know him as Agent Whiskey, top agent to Statesman Secret Service trained in espionage. You knew him as Jack Daniels, the cocky womanizer who chased anything in a skirt, the gentleman who had always managed to sweep you off your feet whenever he was around, and the man you had once dreamt of marrying before things went south. 

All around you were familiar places and objects, things that brought back so many memories yet felt hollow and empty as you looked upon them now. If things were right, he’d be there too, perhaps in the kitchen preparing dinner for you, knowing that you couldn’t resist coming over again even if it was the third time that week. Or maybe he’d be on the couch, reclining back with a glass of whiskey and a book, turning his head back to take a gander at you, shooting one of his signature smirks and making a remark about how incredibly gorgeous you looked. Without him, the space felt sullen and void of life, the dust settling on every surface from remaining untouched for two whole weeks by then. 

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and tried as best you could to sort out your thoughts, detaching it as much as you were able to from the memories being back in that apartment brought. His mother already came to you and asked to have a box of certain things belonging to Jack given to her. You knew she was already going through a hell of a rough time herself, her only son winding up dead. She never knew about his life as an agent, being fed a cover story by Statesmans team in order to maintain their secrecy. A bit of you felt jealous of her for that. She would never know the truth, whereas you had to live every day for the rest of your life knowing what happened, being made aware of your own part to play in his fate every hour, every minute, every second. 

The rest of it, well, you had no idea what to do with it. You thought it would be best to box up as much of his personal items as you could, either to keep for yourself or to hand back to his family, and arrange to have the rest of the furniture sold or given away to a charity shop or something. Moving towards the living room, you began to scoop up the different framed photos you found around the apartment. Some were of him as a kid, either on a horse or in different shots with his family, already sporting that heart melting smile of his. A lot of them were of you and him on various dates - one you stopped to pour over was of the two of you at a diner in Brooklyn, you taking the photo and Jack taking a sneaky swipe of your sundae in the background while you were distracted. You remembered that day so well: he’d just come back from a particularly rough mission in Russia, one that he’d had to stake out for weeks, so it was the first time you’d seen each other in about a month. You looked at how happy you were in that picture, the sight of such joy bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. What you wouldn’t give to have those days back, the easier times, before the distance, the fights, the feelings of being second place to a ghost and of course, his own tragic death at the end of it all. 

At last you made your way to his bedroom, clutching onto the stack of photo frames as if they were a lifeline. You fought with everything in you the urge to just drop everything and crash down onto his bed, cradling one of his shirts in your hands to try to get a whiff of him, pretending that he was still there for only a few seconds. Rather, you walked over towards his bedside table and set the stack of frames down, crouching to your knees and biting back the teardrops threatening to fall from your eyes. It’s ok. You don’t have to do it all in one go. Just gather together some of his personal stuff, and then you can leave.

Opening the drawer, your eyes flitted between the various trinkets and things he’d accumulated, searching to see if there were anything personal that his family might want back when your gaze was instantly drawn to a stark white letter shoved towards the back of the drawer. Scooping it up in your hands, you furrowed your brow as you inspected it further, only to have your breath catch in your throat once you saw your name written in his unmistakable cursive on the front.  

Immediately you stood yourself up from the floor, your mind rushing into overdrive while you stared at the letter in your palms, hesitantly trailing your fingers up to the top of the envelope to tear it open. Out of all the things to find in Jack’s drawer, you definitely weren’t expecting this. You had no clue what it could be, when it was written or even if you should read it at all. Should you just put it back in the drawer and pretend you never found it? Though you supposed it was a bit too late for that, on account of you practically ripping the top of it open. With a hint of uncertainty, you reached into the envelope and lifted the letter out onto your lap, opening it to reveal its contents. 

The first thing you noticed was the date in the top right corner - April 22, two weeks ago, a day before he went on that mission and met an unkind fate. That alone was enough to make your heart stop, so when your eyes travelled down the page to read the rest of the letter, you might as well have dropped dead right then and there from the sheer pain that was struck through your heart.

I was a damn fool for letting you get away. You and I both know that my dearly departed wife will always hold a special place in my heart, and I know you understand that. I didn’t want to admit it until now but I had been becoming distant - every time you brought up marriage, or anything more I’d get scared. Scared of...well, a lot of different things. Of repeating the same tragedy with you, in some way. Some part of me was worried marrying you would be dishonoring my late wife’s memory as well. It’s no wonder you walked out when you did. I don’t blame you for your choice, but please allow me to say my piece at least. You never were second to anyone, sweetheart. As much as I will always love Lily, my heart belongs to you here and now. Missing you like this is such sweet sorrow, won’t you come back to me? No matter whether or not you chose to forgive me, or even entertain the idea of givin’ me another chance, I just want you to know that I love you, honeybee. I’ll be waiting for you today, tomorrow, and forever, down in dark blue Tennessee.

- Jack

Every word you read was like another stab to the heart for you, the tears that you had fought so hard to keep in now pouring down your cheeks, small sobs escaping your throat as you collapsed back to the floor with a thud, your heart racing a million miles a minute. There it was, all written down in hasty cursive script - the apology that he never got to give, hidden away in the back of his bedside drawer like an afterthought. Knowing him he’d probably written it out and intended to give it to you before he left for his mission but decided against it for whatever reason. And that final sentence...Tennessee. He mentioned Tennessee. The place where you’d grown up, where you’d lived almost your entire life before moving to New York. The place where you’d met Jack all those years ago, down in a local bar. You’d been visiting your parents for the week, he’d been there meeting with an investor for Statesman. By some stroke of luck you two had crossed paths, hitting it off and becoming infatuated within mere moments, one thing leading to another until eventually you’d woken up in his bed the next morning. The way you’d initially thought it’d only wanted a one night stand but then became something more. It was all flooding back to you now, triggered by only a few sentences written down on a letter that was never sent. You didn’t know what to do, or what to think. The only thing you could do in that moment was lean your head back against the bed and choke on your own sobs, muttering his name over and over for what felt like forever, holding the now crumpled and tear stained letter in your hands.

The hours ticked by, though you took no notice, and when you do eventually move, it’s not to leave the apartment. Your eyes barely leave the ground when you walk, stumbling from room to room in search of a bottle of wine or something stronger to drown your own sorrows in, kicking off your shoes haphazardly and without much care. When you bump against the liquor cabinet, you can hear something fall and shatter off the top, and when you walk back through the shards of glass with the bottles in your hands, you don’t even wince when one pierces your foot. With thin streams of blood trickling from the cut on your sole, you’ll flick the top off the first bottle you reach for, letting the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat, spiralling you down deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor until finally, the moment comes where you can close your eyes and slip into that familiar void of darkness that you greeted with open arms, those last conscious thoughts being an apology of your own that no one ever got to hear. I’m sorry, Jack...

[blockgamepirate]

I saw someone at some point talking about how the first Techno-Tommy stream where they sneak into L’Manberg has both of them coming face to face with their first deaths and how differently they reacted. (I wish I’d made a note of where I saw this but oh well)

And I just kept thinking about how it makes sense psychologically.

(DISCLAIMER: I’m not actually a psychologist by any means. This is just stuff I’ve picked up out of casual interest. Also obviously this is a discussion about roleplay / fictional events.)

Tommy’s first death was sudden and unexpected, at the hands of someone he thought was a friend, and he had no control over the situation whatsoever. Having panic inducing flashbacks of that makes so much sense. He had felt relatively safe at that moment only to be brutally murdered within seconds.

Techno’s first death, well, for one thing he didn’t actually lose a life, he was instantly revived so that’s somewhat of an improvement, even though he was still crushed to death in a horribly gruesome manner. But it was also not as sudden, it was a slow build up from finding out that he was a wanted criminal to getting the warning from Phil to the Butcher Army actually arriving etc. etc. up until discovering that there was no trial and he was about to be executed. And he had some level of control over it. He chose not to run, he chose to give himself up to save Carl and chose to go into the cage and he knew he had the totem on him at the time. So it’s not really necessarily a less traumatic experience but it’s very different and it makes sense that his main trauma reaction seems to be rage. (Because that’s what I think it is, honestly.)

I mean he was also older and more experienced at the time, and had in fact seen death, and caused death himself. And of course there’s the fact that it JUST happened, he probably hasn’t even processed his feelings about it yet. He could still be sort of dissociating, he’s just sort of inspecting the scaffold, picking up the anvil and calmly explaining the mechanism to Tommy, like it doesn’t concern him. It kinda seems like he’s almost testing himself to see if he feels anything about it? It’s hard to say whether he does or not. (Speaking as someone who tends to be outwardly calm even while having an anxiety attack, you really can’t always tell.)

On the other hand, Tommy’s first death was shared with three other people who were his friends at the time. He wasn’t alone with his feelings. I don’t think they ever really talked about it properly but they knew they’d all gone through that together.* And I think what kind of shows that, although it’s also a personality difference, is that Tommy does actually talk about his feelings around the event (even if he doesn’t talk about the actual event), he talks about having PTSD and about finding it hard to deal with those memories. Because he knows there are three other people who have these feelings too. Idk, maybe.

* (Then again, the people he experienced that with are now gone from his life and he can’t have that wordless understanding anymore. Maybe that’s part of why his reaction this time was so severe? When before when he was with Wilbur he was willing to risk digging into the room even though it later became apparent that it was the bunker, not the final control room, but this time he’s with Techno who doesn’t know, who wasn’t there. (Definitely not the only reason though, his overall mental health is definitely also affecting it.))

Techno was completely alone, though. I mean he was literally in public obviously, but alone in the cage, alone in death. The only person on the server who experienced the same is... Tubbo. So yeah that’s not helpful. There’s literally nobody he can talk to who would know how it feels, so why risk the emotional toll of talking about his feelings about it? Of making himself vulnerable. I mean maybe he wouldn’t anyway, but still.

Also, something important about how trauma works that is often overlooked is what happens AFTER the traumatic event. And I think as jarring as it is how Techno goes back home to find Tommy being such a chaotic gremlin and messing with him, maybe that actually did help him. He didn’t just get home and end up brooding alone, he had an immediate distraction and familiar human company. A sense of normalcy.

(Which means that yes, I think they’re both helping each other cope right now.)

Buuut yeah definitely a big part of the difference is just their personality types and levels of experience with violence and death, and current mental health. I just find it interesting to speculate what other factors influenced their reactions.

Also I seriously think that the revenge thing is very much a coping mechanism for Techno. Not a healthy coping mechanism, but a coping mechanism all the same. I don’t think that’s ALL that it is, I do think that it’s also an ideological shift brought about by the revelation that there’s no retirement for him, pacifism really wasn’t an option. But it’s what he’s fixating on as a way to dismiss the terror of knowing that he isn’t safe and will never be safe again and neither will anyone he’s close to. This way he’s telling himself: they’re not in control, HE’S in control. He’s not afraid, THEY should be afraid. It’s kind of irrational, but understandable.

[fingonvaliant]

An open letter to the Apostles

To the Leadership of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints:

I left because I didn’t believe anymore. There were too many promises that weren’t fulfilled, to many questions I was given false answers to, but more than anything else, I couldn’t take the stress of being a queer person in a space I didn’t feel like I belonged in. I could talk about Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, Mountain Meadows, the Kinderhook Plates, the stock portfolio, seer stones, blood atonement, “skins of darkness,” musket fire, “fence-sitters,” and a million things besides, but you know all that already.

I hope that with this letter, I can help the Church improve and change, because I still care about the Church, even though I no longer belong to it; that’s how I know it needs to change. It is still important to me. I am not trying to get people to leave the Church, that is not my goal. I’m not a Korihor trying to cause contention. But I need to tell my story.

While I was growing up, I believed it all. I was baptized at eight, regularly attended, served in quorum leaderships, and planned on going on a mission. Then, about when I was thirteen, I started experiencing what the Church calls “same-gender attraction.” I dislike this term greatly; it sounds like a disease. I prefer to say that I discovered I was bisexual.

I did not know what this was. My sexual education classes never covered it; I was never told what it was when I got “the talk”; my only experience with the word “gay” was in a middle school context, as an insult with no clear meaning. The only thing I did know was that this was not allowed. If marriage was ordained of God between a man and a woman, why did I have these -at the time- confusing feelings? If the only relationships I had any experience with were heterosexual, how was I even to know bisexuality existed?

And I didn’t, for years. As I wrestled with this, not even knowing what exactly I was feeling, I eventually, around age 16, learned the words to fit the feelings, to fit my identity. I knew who I was, what I was. By then, gay marriage had only just been legalized, and I -a couple months late- learned that this was a victory for me also.

This recognition put everything I thought I knew about marriage into a tailspin. I knew, I saw, and I was a part of, the Church’s effort to prevent this legalization. I read in Standards for Youth, (at the time called For the Strength of Youth) a short paragraph that made a huge impact on the rest of my life: “Homosexual and lesbian behavior is a serious sin. If you find yourself struggling with same-gender attraction or you are being persuaded to participate in inappropriate behavior, seek counsel from your parents and bishop. They will help you.” (Standards for Youth, Sexual Purity, emphasis added).

The thorough talking-to’s my closeted teen self received just before and after the legalization of gay marriage involved repetition of this paragraph ad nauseam. Breaking it down, it’s clear the degree to which this passage is shaped by uninformed conservatism. What does “behavior” mean? Since it’s a serious sin, you’d expect there to be clarification, right? Is hand-holding a serious sin? Hugs? An increased heart rate? A peck on the cheek? Or just sex? The way I was taught, it was clear the answer was “all of the above.”

The term “struggling” carries so much weight. The LDS church knew suffering, and still today in many places of in the world, members of the Church face repression. All people struggle with burdens, we struggle with disease, we struggle with sin, we struggle with conflict. Is “same-gender attraction” a burden, a disease, a sin, does it cause conflict? With the use of this word, the values are clear.

But in reality, the most painful part of this paragraph is the conclusion: “your parents and bishop … will help you.” They didn’t. They didn’t know how to, they still don’t. Because of the broad interpretation of unacceptable “behavior” and the belief that “same-gender attraction” is a “struggle,” they had no clue what they were dealing with.

Coming out was a traumatic experience. I was attending an all-boys boarding school at the time and caught feelings for a fellow student. We snuck around, living out a high school romance for a few weeks, until we were caught by the staff. Phone calls home were made, and I had the indescribable experience of having to explain to my parents both who I was, and what I had done, over the phone, one parent at a time, without seeing their faces.

Their immediate reaction was that I was too young to know if I was “really gay,” and that all sorts of strange feelings happen in boys my age. They didn’t really believe my description of myself; they negated my identity -they did not even recognize that this experience and these feelings were part of my identity- and mailed me a copy of The Miracle of Forgiveness. My experience with my bishop was likewise useless. He advised me that -through the atonement of Christ- all things are possible, and with suitable dedication to living the gospel, I could be made pure.

I never changed. I could not. It cannot be done. But I tried. I tried so hard.

Church attendance became more and more anxiety-inducing. I felt more and more guilty blessing the sacrament and giving blessings. I gave up on my childhood dream of being a missionary because I could longer believe the words I would have to say. I took temple preparation classes but could never bring myself to the bishop’s office to do the interview. When I started attending college and going to a YSA ward, I was no longer under my parent’s supervision. I kept going for a few months, until I was called as a ward missionary. I remember the day where I was on splits with the full-time missionaries, and we were going door-to-door in a neighborhood near my home. I just felt like we were harassing people in their homes on a Wednesday evening. It was the most uncomfortable experience of my life. I knew then that I didn’t believe in any of this anymore.

You know as well as I do that tens of thousands of people have had similar experiences that I have. We’ve felt the alienation, the sidelining, the people who don’t understand, the hand-wringing, the statement that all the burden lies on queer people to cure themselves, and it is the Church that must not change or cannot change. We keep being told “wickedness never was happiness,” (Alma 41:10) and that our lives of “unrepentant sin” are responsible for calamities and the disintegration of the family. We are being made into bogeymen in the closet, seeking “that all men might be miserable like unto [ourselves].” Endless inquiries are put forward, seeking to find the “cause of homosexuality” that we know are to find a “cure” for it. We are told we are suffering from these attractions, not that we have a unique identity, and certainly not that we are valuable.

But I know that these practices, and these doctrines, are not at the core of the Church. Members of the Church are commanded to “mourn with those that mourn … and comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). All Christians are told, that as a mark of their religion, they are to “love one another; as I have loved you” (John 13:34) and that “On [this] hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matthew 22:40). I know the Church can be better than it is right now; it is the Church itself that taught me that.

In nature, there is a direct correlation of both an organism’s and a species’ capacity for survival with its capacity for change. And I know the Church can change, because it has done it before, with interracial marriage, with polygamy, with African-Americans and the priesthood, with the Word of Wisdom, and with many things besides. Society changes all the time, and the Church changes with it.

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

.-

The FIC this HC is from 

.-

So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

[rokutouxei]

burnt pancakes, sweet syrup

part 2 of: atelier heart

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theodorus van gogh / mc | gen | 2857 | [ao3 in bio]

some of my favorite (imagined) scenes in between chapters of Theo's route. no direct spoilers in this one :)

to all those who are experiencing his route for the first time today, I hope you have an enjoyable stay in his story!

Of all the residents in the mansion, it was Theo who felt most like danger.

Who reminded you of gunpowder.

You wouldn’t call yourself the best judge of character, no, of course, but there was something about him that hounded you from your very first day at the mansion. The brief and curt introduction, the look on his eyes, his set jaw. You didn’t need to get any closer to get much of a sense of what kind of person he was.

In fact, you didn’t really want to, not when you’ve been thrown a hundred years into the past, into an era you do not know, into a country that isn’t yours, in a world that doesn’t seem like where you’ve come from, where everything is just a little bit different from what you know.

You had enough in your hands as it is. A sourpuss smart-mouth hounding you shouldn’t be part of your agenda here.

And yet it still is.

Almost inevitably–like all the fated things.

(one.)

It started with the day you burn the pancakes the first time you tried to help Sebastian with breakfast duty.

…Well, you didn’t burn them black, just a little more… say, toasty than what would have been preferable. You have a billion excuses in your head already: you’re not sure how to work this kind of stove, there’s something about the oil, the ingredients are different in the 21st century–but none of them make it out of your mouth, because Sebastian gives you this look that will say more than any length of speaking will do. You half-attempt to answer back quietly; a little cringe, narrowed eyebrows, awkward grin, wrinkled nose. You wipe your hands on your apron like doing that washes you of your culinary crime.

Your already-exhausted teacher sighs through his nose and scrapes off the remnants of your… little tragedy into a clean plate, having deemed it to be unfit for breakfast. You pout a little as you set it aside–arguing in your head: it’s just brown, this is still edible, you’re just being picky, Sebastian–but before you can turn back to see how Sebastian’s doing his “better cooked” versions of it, you hear the sound of the kitchen door opening.

Sebastian doesn’t turn–“I can usually tell who it is by their footsteps.” “You can what?”–but you do, spotting Theo standing by the doorway.

“Bonjour, Theo,” you greet, and he makes a small sound of acknowledgement as he turns to get something from a cabinet hidden out of your sight. A small jar or bottle? You don’t quite see what it is before he hides it in his pocket. “Early day today?”

“Personal business,” he answers, rather curtly–it used to make you jump, but you now know that’s just how he is. He turns to regard you and inevitably spots the lonely plate on your side of the counter.

He’s about to swoop in to get it (with a kind of targeted gaze you thought only birds of prey could have) so you push it aside, earning a little tch from him. That shocks you quite a bit–it’s just pancakes! and burnt ones too!–that it makes you stagger back.

Sebastian’s voice is steady as he says, “If you could wait a moment, Sir Theodorus, these next ones will be ready in a few.” The butler doesn’t even turn to face either both of you, but you know he’s watching you both carefully in his peripheral vision.

Theo’s frown deepens. “What’s wrong with these ones?” he asks.

For a moment, victory tastes gold in your mouth, and you’re just about to throw the entire plate at his face with a fork and maybe match the gesture with evil laughter, if only to prove Sebastian wrong. The statement seems to be enough to garner the butler’s full attention, turning to Theo with genuine shock.

“Sir, the–”

“This is fine. I have to go,” Theo quickly quips. “Hondje. Get me some syrup.”

He snatches the plate from your side quickly, takes a fork from the drying rack, his coat fluttering slightly from the sudden movement as he takes a seat on the small prep table inside the kitchen. You just stare at him kind of dumbly, because now, in that different light, the sun pouring through the open windows, the plate of pancakes looks… pathetic at best. Maybe Sebastian was right about it being unsuitable for breakfast.

“Hondje,” he calls you again, this time his tone deeper.

You zone back in. “Huh?” 

“Syrup bottles do not walk on their own.”

You frown on instinct, but knowing that that only makes you target for more teasing, you straighten your face into a clumsy kind of laughter. “Oh, yeah, haha, okay,” you say, half-absentmindedly, reaching up toward the cupboard where you’ve been told the pancake syrup is. (And, to your absolute horror, realizing that the entirety of that cupboard is filled with syrup bottles. How much does a house of 12 need?!) You place it on the table and step back.

You don’t know what distracts you and keeps your eyes on him as he eats…but since you won’t dare ask yourself, you sit with the insecurity that settles at the bottom of your stomach: that he’s eating something that’s half-assed, something you could have made better; that he’s eating something you’ve made, and it had to be those semi-charcoal pancakes.

—not that he can taste whatever burnt (or not-burnt) bits there are with the sheer amount of syrup he’d poured onto the plate.

“What the f—,” you say, pausing at the last syllable, unable to continue. Perhaps it was for the better that he had thrown in an absolute tsunami worth of syrup onto the charred pancakes, but still…

He looks up at you with eyes posing a challenge. You can nearly hear his voice saying, have something to say about it? And you’re a smart person, at least to some degree, you’d like to think, so you don’t take it: just watch him finally close the bottle and begins to slice his meal. The pancakes are so drenched it drips syrup all the way from when he lifts a piece up from the plate to when he finally puts it in his mouth.

But, oh.

The small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips makes your heart stop.

Oh, ever so serious Theo, frown eternally sketched onto his face–is all it takes to get him to loosen up a small stack of burnt pancakes drowned in a stroke-inducing amount of syrup?

And just as you’re about to look away–staring any more felt like invading into a space that wasn’t your own, like he was having some sort of private moment with his diabetes overload pancakes–he wipes off a stray drop of maple syrup that buds at the corner of his lip with a thumb, before cleaning it with his tongue. You pretend not to be entranced.

When he catches you staring, you turn away with a yelp, cheeks burning like the pancakes you were just making.

-

(two.)

Whatever it was that happened in the kitchen that day only seemed to make things worse for your heart whenever Theo is around.

Which annoyed you, if you were to be entirely honest. He was so insufferable, with his stupid smug smirk and the way he acts like he can have control over everything, calling you mutt or bait like nobody’s business… you aren’t supposed to feel good about being more than a little affected by him being around.

And yet you are.

You are, on the day that you catch him in Vincent’s room, going through the canvases stacked by the wall. They’re looking at the artworks talking about current trends in the art scene, and when Theo lets out an unwarranted burst of praise for his brother, Vincent pats him on the head. The little blush on Theo’s cheeks and the shy grin on Theo’s face makes you stop in your tracks, standing at the doorway with a tray of some cake that now looks too bland in comparison to their sweetness.

You are, on the day you join him drinking with Arthur downtown, at a local bar, after a long day of having been teased for his being too blunt, too mean. You don’t know the reason for it (yet) but you know the intentions now, so you’re less intent on needing to soften him, really. (It was only just amusing to see him try so hard.) When Theo “passes” the test, he runs Arthur’s royalties dry by ordering top-shelf and putting it all under the author’s now too-long tab. Theo has a different kind of meanness to the ones he cares about, and you wonder if he knows it shows.

You are, on the days that you join him for work and get to see how his expression changes when he gets in the zones. The wonder that fills his face, lets it glow, the contentment with every completed sale, every satisfied customer, and the young, obscure artists’ otherwise would have been kept away paintings hanging on the lavish walls of patrons. You’re entranced by the stars in his eyes.

You are.

And maybe, you are not just a little affected by him being around.

Not that you’ll tell that to his face.

(Not that he needs you to tell him.)

-

(three.)

The streets of Paris glow with a soft lavender light after the late afternoon shower; the cobblestone streets shimmer in what’s left of the rain. The avenues are unfamiliar, the names just vaguely intelligible with your French. There is much to learn about 19th century Paris, and even if you’ll only be here for a month, you plan to make the most out of it.

So in a way, when you’re out at town, you’re always multitasking. You’re doing a grocery run with Sebastian but also observing the kinds of food there is in the market; the kind of clothes people are wearing; the architecture; the way people talk. You’re with Theo to head to a gallery but you’re memorizing the details around you, burning them into your memory, like you could crystallize them in your mind and bring them with you back home: the uneven cobblestone paths under your low-heeled shoes, the clack clack clack of horseshoes down the street, the rickety sound of wheels, the music playing.

You’re not paying attention to where you’re going, watching someone play a violin for a small crowd of children on the street when you collide against something–warm; someone!–with a muffled “Oof!”

“Pardon!” you call out, only to look up and see who it is. “Oh! Theo.”

“Do you never watch where you’re going in the time you’re from or are you just–”

“Shhh!” You say, a finger against his mouth. In a millisecond you realize how rude it is, so you take it back and hide your guilty hand behind you. “I was just enjoying a little violin. Don’t be so grumpy.”

“Why don’t you go closer and watch, then?”

A pause. “…I should be going back to the mansion,” you say, looking up at the sky dousing the streets in a lovely lavender shade. “I just wanted to listen while I was passing by.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “You don’t seem like you want to go home.”

You don’t know what gives you away, but you figure it’s because you’re walking the opposite direction to where the carriages usually are. Besides, Theo always says you’re easy to read. You grin awkwardly up at him. “19th century France is quite interesting…?” you offer by way of explanation.

Theo used to be rather opaque to you, everything hidden behind a light-proof curtain of a façade. But you’d like to say you’re getting better at reading the man, watching his expressions change by minute amounts as he considers something in his head.

He sighs. Rather overdramatically, too. You catch that. “My errands are done for today. I’ll come with you so you can stay out here a little longer.”

France at night is still pretty dangerous, after all. “You will?!” you ask, rather surprised at the generosity. (Though perhaps you shouldn’t be.)

“It’s normal to take your dog for a walk, no?” he quips back, and you jut your tongue out at him in retaliation. It makes him smirk, and that makes you laugh, and so begins your little tour of Paris on foot.

Not that you’re doing so much touring as walking next to Theo as he takes the long route around town through the most interesting bits of it. And not just the famous destinations like the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe, no, but even the tiny details, down alleys with colorful banners, a lively little cafe–“Aww, too bad that it’s full.” “We can go some other day.” A beat. “Really?!” “…Stop that.”–churches, museums.

You don’t notice time passing by, really, until the streets are deep into darkness, the sky a beautiful indigo littered with stars. You walk two steps behind Theo, looking upwards to the heavens. You don’t notice when he stops walking until you bump shoulders with him.

“Whoops,” is all you can muster, as he looks at you with a kind of condescending look.

“You should really watch where you’re going, god knows where you might end up in,” he says drily, and you don’t know if he’s talking about you ending up in this century in the first place or something else. You don’t get the chance to ask him about it though, because he takes your hand in his, now, while you’re walking along the riverside, like an adult would hold onto a child, or maybe, perhaps, possibly, you don’t dare hope, could be, like a lover would…

You get so distracted by the warmth of his palm in yours, feeling the heat like summer sunlight seep in the crevices of your bones that were longing for home, that you barely feel the chill of incoming rain.

-

(four.)

To others, Theo seems invulnerable. No gaps in his armor, the one he wears every day, in front of everyone he meets. But eventually you know better than that.

Kintsukuroi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery—you take the shattered pieces and put them back on with lacquer dusted with gold. The sites of breakage no longer a site of shame, but instead places one proudly carries; becoming even more precious, even more treasured now that it has gone through the act of having come apart, to come back together.

Moonlight pierces through the windows, silver on the floor of the atelier, illuminating Theo’s sleeping form. In your mind, you see where the golden veins run.

-

(five.)

On the night he breaks your heart, you dream of burning.

A flash of lightning strikes a dead tree, setting it bursting into a mesmerizing, orange-yellow flame. Smoke easily climbs out of the trunk, a deep gray that you feel like you’ve seen somewhere else, felt somewhere else. You stand there across a barren field as the lightning strike–long gone–has left this bundle of tree set ablaze, one which will soon be ashes.

It smells like fire everywhere.

The thing is, fire doesn’t really smell like anything–though it does smell like what it’s burning. Wood, fuel, dried paint.

Flowers.

When you wake up, you are cold, the other half of the bed is empty, and the sun hasn’t risen.

You pray it is all just a dream, but don’t dare go back to sleep, just lie there with a lifetime of what ifs tucked underneath your pillow, framed by your hair.

--

But that’s okay.

Because Theo can show you the worst of him, but you know better.

Because you've seen the best in him. 

Because Theo is a tsunami of syrup on burnt pancakes.

Because Theo is low, cruel laughter laced with love.

Because Theo is walking around Paris in the late afternoon.

Because Theo is dreaming of sunrise: even when the night is darkest right before it.

And one day, you’ll wake up in bed with Theo by your side the day after the door has closed on the both of you. The streets of Paris will glow with a soft lavender light in the early dawn. The both of you will be tucked in familiar-smelling sheets, that distinctly-Theo scent that makes you feel home. On that day, there will be no turning back. On that day, there is only now and forever. And it’ll be messy like his hair sticking up in odd places and the remnant of drool white against the corner of your mouth, but it will be warm, the embrace of Theo’s arms around your torso, like he’s holding you together the way you have built him back from his broken pieces, and it will be sweet, much sweeter than anything you’ve ever tasted your entire life.

It will be worth it.

An eternity of syrup-flavored kisses shared over breakfast.

--

in the atelier: quai de la seine, edouard cortes

[kinghoranshit]

Tell Me A Lie (NH) Ch 6

Word count: 1997

Warnings: swearing, minor assault 

The following day was spent mostly indoors. Niall had more writing to do and it gave me the opportunity to finish editing. That was until Niall insisted we go out to take photos. He took us to all the popular spots, including the angel wings, and honestly it was fun. Very cliche, but fun. 

He had a few people recognize him and ask for a photo. That was a bit bizarre. He was so nonchalant about it though. 

After we got back, I went upstairs to lay down. I definitely needed time to recoup before going out again; especially if the crowds were going to be large. Clubs in Iowa aren’t necessarily wild, they could be but not in the way I assumed LA was. And the college I went to, Wartburg, was in the small town of Waverly which only had a couple bars and only one allowed under the drinking age kids. I didn’t really party until my final year when I’d realized I hadn’t experienced that part of college and it led to some terrible relationships.

Granted, I knew that life wasn’t always rainbows and butterflies; Wartburg wasn’t my first choice. It induced a lot of my anxiety nowadays, despite having it before it all went down. I could be negative about it, but it made me stronger in a way. 

I rolled over onto my back and pinched the bridge of my nose. The frontal headache was slowly showing itself. I found my pill pocket and dragged my feet to the bathroom to use water from the sink. Then I rifled through my clothes to find my black elastic harness, white boxy tee, dusty blue satin skirt, ripped sheer tights, and black oxfords. I switched out the outfits before I somewhat settled on a focus on redoing my hair and makeup; I left it down, straightened it quickly and created a couple small braid strands, and did a darker ombre on my lids with winged liner. 

“Holy… shite,” Niall breathed as he waltzed into the room wearing a blue suede trouser and jacket set with a white crew and brown boots. 

I took a step back from the body mirror and turned around to observe what he was wearing. “How did we manage to match but not match at the same time?”

“It’s the blues for sure,” he replied. 

“Right.” I turned back around to assess myself once more, deciding whether or not I needed any last touches. Niall came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my torso. His head rested on my shoulder. 

“You look great, Kelly.”

“Would it be cheesy to get a mirror couple selfie? The fans would eat that up.” 

His laugh vibrated against my back. “Use my phone.” 

Niall held his phone out, keeping one arm around my torso. I stuck with a normal smile, that was before he surprised me with a kiss on the cheek. My expression scrunched up as my body curled inward. I couldn’t stop the giggles at the ideas that crossed my mind. 

“Hold on, crouch down by my legs. I’m gonna take a fit pic and pretend I don’t see you.” 

He had a hard time keeping a straight face, but we managed to get a couple good shots. “I know what I’m posting.”

Niall smiled as he flipped through his. “Me too.”

A minute later, there were Twitter and Instagram notifications from him. I opened it up to see he had attached a normal picture of me smiling and then one of me scrunching up my face as he kissed my cheek. The caption was ‘A night out dancing with this beautiful woman . Don’t get many of these lately . Love you babe <3”. 

There goes the flutter in my chest again. Fuck. I mentally cleared my throat and moved my slightly shaky finger to like each post, then replied with “Love you too Nialler <3 <3”. As we slipped out into the night, I created my own posts. I chose one where Niall was looking right up at me and captioned it “Tonight’s fit feat. Niall. You’re my number one admirer. I love you always <3”.

I threw my phone into the temporary black, mini crossbody; I’d also thrown my wallet in it. If I’d worn jeans, I would’ve just put them in my pockets. My sight traveled to the blurred lights outside the window of our Uber’s car. There was definitely a vibe here; I could see why people loved to live here. 

“What’s the first place we’re going to?” 

“It’s a standard nightclub. Nothing over the top.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

My jaw dropped when we finally got inside. If this was standard, then I don’t want to know what the bouche nightclubs were like. The dance floor was enormous, dancers had their own little stages sporadically around it. I had to force myself to not stare at the beautiful women covered in glitter. I noted the bills in their straps. Maybe I’ll leave a tip for one of them at some point. Niall pulled us through the crowd of people and we stopped in front of the bar. 

“What do you want?”

“Sprite and apple pucker.”

He nodded and faced the bartender again. I tried to not let the loud music overwhelm my mind. Niall lightly touched my arm and I looked back at him, in a small daze from observing the place, and everything and everyone in it. I sort of felt out of place; like I wasn’t really there. The feeling was too familiar, and I didn’t like it. 

He set a clear square glass in my hand. I gave him a small smile and took a sip of it. The bubble popped on the top of my throat while the alcohol burned down. Niall had a Guinness in hand and took a swig of it. 

I took a few more sips of the jolly rancher drink, observing once again, and I kept close to Niall. His presence, and sweet drink, made me feel somewhat better.  

We found a nearby table to chill at for a bit. Let the alcohol soak in. I’d eventually gone to get refills for us. My eyes landed on one of the blonde dancers and she looked directly back at me. She smiled, turned to me, and reached a hand out. 

“Dance with me!” she yelled. 

I looked at her slightly dazed.

“Go on,” Niall encouraged.  

I tried to not cough on my own spit. “Y-you’ll be fine for a few?”

“Of course. Go!”

I handed him my clutch, then let the dancer guide me up onto the platform floor. I swayed back and forth slowly, letting myself get lost. I recognized the next song, Tumblr Girls by G-Eazy feat. Christoph Anderson, and got giddy. I allowed myself to sync deeper with the music. My hips swayed more, and I brought my arms above my head. 

The dancer closed in even more, resting hands on my hips, and grinded on one of my legs. 

“You’ve got some moves! What’s your name?” 

I flushed. “Lauren, and you too. You?”

“I’m Flora! Is that your boyfriend?”

“N-” I cleared my throat and nodded. “Yeah!” 

She laughed. “Well, he seems to be enjoying this.”

Heat ran deeper in my cheeks and I glanced over my shoulder to see Niall watching. He had his elbow resting on the table, hand under his chin. His beer bottle hovered over his privates. 

I bit my lip, laughing under my breath. “I gotta admit, I’m having fun too.” 

After a couple more songs, I decided it was time to get off the stage. No one else seemed to be getting invited by the dancers to join them up there, so it was awkward now. I grabbed a ten out of my wallet and handed it to her. 

“You are absolutely stunning Flora. Thanks for the fun!” 

Flora kissed my cheek, then winked. “You too, babe.” 

“That didn’t break any rules, right?” I took deep breaths to calm my high. I wanted to keep dancing for sure. Just not on show for everyone else. 

He shrugged. “I won’t tell. Come on, I want a turn.” He reached his hand out and I smirked. 

The music pace changed to something by ILLENIUM. I started to bounce with the rest of the crowd and did dumb arm movements. Niall busted a laugh, following my pattern. A few songs later, I had the urge to pee. It was immense. 

I gestured towards where I remember seeing a restroom sign. “Gotta use the girls’ room. Be right back.” 

I hurried into one of the stalls and relieved myself. I washed my hands and looked into the mirror, just as a girl who looked to be about a year or two older than me came out of a stall. 

She looked at me deviously. “You look familiar.” 

“Don’t we all in these places?” I laughed, slightly nervous. 

“Yes, but no, you look familiar for a different reason.”

“I’m sure I do.” I busied myself with drying my hands. Then I exited without saying another word. 

On my way back, a stranger touched my butt then pulled me into their chest to grind. “Shake that ass for me.

Without really thinking, I batted the hand away and turned around to throw a smack. “Fuck off!”

The guy glared. “What the hell, bitch?” 

“You touched my body without consent! You’re the bitch!” 

“Whatever,” he scoffed. “Your loss, baby! I got a date to get back to anyway!” 

I didn’t bother giving a proper response. By the look on his face, I knew I wasn’t the only one who would give him shit for violating boundaries. 

“What was the crack with that fella?” Niall asked, gesturing in the direction I came from. 

“Nothing.” I shrugged. 

He shot me a look. “You look pretty flustered, Kelly. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, can we just go home though? I-I’m tired.”

“Of course, yeah.”

Niall’s hand found mine. On our way out, the same guy glanced in our direction as he grinded with a different girl. A smirk spread on his lips, his hands tightening on her hips. There was a phantom feeling and I swallowed. I subtly ran my free shaky hand over the back of my skirt and looked away.

The night air was much cooler now compared to the inside of that club. We paused momentarily so Niall could call for another Uber. Niall wrapped his arms around me, resting his head on top of mine. A few minutes later, a Rover pulled up to the side and Niall approached to confirm it was for us. Then we both got in. 

Niall’s hand didn’t let go of mine until we were back in the house. I couldn’t lie, I was grateful for it. I let go though. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” he asked. 

I nodded. “I’m gonna get pjs on first.”

I couldn’t look at him before I left to go upstairs. I went for my oversized tee and floral shorts, and paused momentarily in the middle of the room. Finally, my feet moved toward the living room. 

Niall was propped on the couch with a blanket and when he saw me, he opened it up for me to snuggle into. He enveloped me in his arms before he hit play on the movie he chose. My brain wasn’t registering much of it. I focused on the warmth of Niall. The sturdiness of his body. He was a firm base. 

“That guy touched my butt and grinded on me without consent. I don’t really want to talk about it, but I also don’t want to brush it off.”

He tightened his arms around me, snuggling his face closer to mine. “I’m sorry that guys are so shite. You didn’t deserve that.”

I subtly shrugged, then whispered, “At least I’ve got you.”

I could hear him smile. “Always, Kelly.”

We both fell silent again and returned to the movie. 

Next part: Ch 7 (to come...)

[Masterlist]

[punksarahreese]

“Shh, it’s ok. I know it hurts.” for chronic pain prompt ❤️

Hehe <3

CW: pain induced panic, surgery talk, vomiting mention, opioid mention

***

"What’s on the agenda for today, Doctor Bekker?" Connor’s voice was annoyingly chipper for it being six in the morning, and Ava told him so before answering his question.

"CABG on a 64 year old with coronary artery disease, check up on my ICU patients, and a routine pacemaker battery replacement."

"Busy," he nodded, "You’re here early and you don’t have a little psych resident shadow; where’s Reese?"

"She’s not my shadow," Ava rolled her eyes, "Off today, but knowing her she’s still doing case work from home."

"Kid’s dedicated, I’ll give her that."

Ava didn’t have a chance to reply before Connor’s pager went off, calling him down to the ED. He was disappearing down the hallway in seconds, gone without a farewell. Not that Ava really cared; she did have things to do that were a lot easier when Connor wasn’t hovering.

Forty minutes later she was in the ER, grafting a coronary artery with a vessel from the patient’s leg. CABG surgeries were easy, all muscle memory at that point. It was almost soothing to Ava, a repetitive process that let her focus on familiarity. The fellow she was supposed to be mentoring was barely helping, not that she really minded; but it was something to mention to Latham if he didn’t step up his work ethic.

"Doctor Bekker," a scrub nurse had picked up Ava’s phone when it went off, "Text from Doctor Reese."

Ava glanced back at her, "If it was urgent she would call, just leave it for now." Sarah knew she had surgeries that day and wouldn’t mind a late reply. She nodded and let Ava get back to her job, the surgeon falling back into the rhythm of familiarity she had between her and the instruments.

"3-0 prolene," she was just about to close the pericardium, getting ready to finish the surgery now that her graft was working well. That’s when her phone rang, the nurse once again saying it was Sarah.

"Alright, bring it here," Ava let her answer the call and put the phone up to her ear, "Hello?"

The strained voice that answered made Ava’s heart drop, "A-Ava..."

"Sarah?" She didn’t want to say anything to hint to the people in the room that there was anything wrong, though her brain was immediately running through every worst case scenario.

"I... I’m s-sorry... to bug you."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Ava’s tone was way softer than her words, "What’s up?"

"Hurts-" a rough breath cut her off, the squeak that proceeded it making Ava wince. She hated hearing Sarah in this much pain, knowing it must be really bad if she was openly admitting to it.

"What does?"

"C-chest. Can’t... stop it."

"Sarah," Ava could feel her own heart rate pick up as she still jumped to the worst conclusion, "Do you need to come here?"

A long pause was followed by a forced, "No."

"What do you need?"

"I-," Sarah was clearly crying, whether it be out of pain or frustration, "You- please, Ava."

"Can you wait thirty minutes? I’ll need to scrub out and drive there."

"Y-yeah. I’m okay."

Ava didn’t believe that, especially not with the stifled sob that had preceded Sarah’s claim, "Okay, I’m going to hang up now; I’ll be there as soon as I can."

"‘Kay..."

She gestured for the nurse to hang up the call, thanking her. Ava shook her head when she asked what was wrong, everyone in the room clearly curious.

"Doctor Reese is just having some car trouble, I need to go pick her up," she lied smoothly, "Doctor Maxwell, you’ll close."

The fellow looked at her in alarm, clearly not expecting anything of the sort. He began to protest but Ava stopped him, holding out the forceps with a pointed look.

"When I was in your year I would jump at any chance to do a surgery. You should be honoured that I trust you to finish this one. You know how to close a sternotomy, Maxwell; you’ve done it before."

He sighed and let her pass the suture needle, looking at Ava with worry. She promised him he would do just fine, insisting that there were enough people around to make sure he did well. This was surgical resident work, he could do it.

After that, Ava quickly stepped away from the operating table and half-rushed to the scrub room. She didn’t want to worry anyone by being too hasty but she herself was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She ripped off her gloves, tossing them into the biohazard waste with her gown before going to wash her hands. It took all her willpower to avoid breaking the bar of soap out of anxiety, frustrated that her girlfriend was in pain and she wasn’t there to help.

By the time she had scrubbed out and shoved her scrub cap into her pocket, a nurse had brought her phone out to her and asked if everything was alright.

"Just fine," she replied without hesitation, "Don’t want to leave Doctor Reese waiting, it’s cold out and her car’s heater stopped working."

It was obvious that the other woman didn’t believe Ava but she knew better than to press the matter. She let Ava leave, going back to scrub so she could help Doctor Maxwell finish the surgery.

Ava made it down to the ED in record time, stopping only to grab her bag and coat from her locker. She found Connor near the nurses station, going over a chart with Natalie.

“Connor, I need a favour.”

He looked up at Ava’s voice, immediately confused because she had reverted back to her no-nonsense attitude but was unable to keep the worry off her face. The surgeon passed his tablet to Nat, saying he would be back before leading Ava off to a quieter part of the ED. It was clear in her body language that she was stressed, her shoulders tense and hands shaking slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

Ava shook her head, “Personal issue, I’ve got it. Can you cover my post-ops? And the pacemaker surgery, I left Maxwell to close my CABG but I’m afraid he doesn’t have enough brain cells to do my rounds properly.”

“Ava,” Connor tried to grab her wrist to keep her attention, “Is it Reese?”

She sighed, hesitating, “Yes. Do you have this or do I need to ask Latham?”

“I’ve got it,” he replied immediately, “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. I need to go, Connor.”

With that she turned to leave, barely remembering to thank him for covering for her. Her brain was running on sheer anxiety at that point, hoping Sarah was okay. She didn’t want this to be a bad pain flare because her girlfriend didn’t deserve that. Still, a part of her was hoping that’s all it was; scared at what the alternative could be.

She made it to their apartment way quicker than she should have, very thankful she did not get pulled over. She knew better than to speed but her only thought at the time was that she needed to get to Sarah.

“Sarah?”

A barely audible sound came from their bedroom, making Ava drop her bag at the door and head in that direction. She wasn’t sure what she expected to find, but somehow she was completely unprepared for the sight. Sarah was slumped on the floor, head resting against the wall as she curled into herself. Her hands were pressed against her upper chest, as if that was somehow helping ease the severe pain she was experiencing. The strain on her body was evident, her curls were an unruly mess and eyes bloodshot from crying, reddened cheeks streaked with tears as she looked up at Ava with a pitiful look.

“I-I’m s...sorry.”

“Hey,” Ava was on the floor with her in an instant, “Do not apologize, Sarah. I’m always here for you.”

“I just-“ another shooting pain had her crying out, “C-can’t...”

“I know, I know,” Ava soothed as she wiped a stray tear off Sarah’s cheek, “Is it normal chest pain or do you need to go to the ED?”

Ava hated that, that she had become so accustomed to chest pain where people had to ask. The normal amount of pain should be zero but for her girlfriend it was always there, lurking and waiting to make things worse.

“N-normal... costo. B-bad.”

“Okay,” Ava was a bit reassured that it was rib pain and not heart related, “How bad, love?”

Sarah’s breathing was shallow as she tried to respond, shaking her head when she couldn’t get the words out. She reached out for Ava, looking at her with a mix of pain and frustration.

Ava was there in a heartbeat, drawing her into her arms as gently as possible. She leaned against the wall to support them, letting Sarah adjust herself and decide how much contact she wanted. She didn’t hesitate to press into her girlfriend’s body, arms wrapping around her neck as she hid her face in her shoulder. She was clearly seeking comfort in the only way she could at that point, needing Ava because nothing else was helping.

“Did you take your painkillers?” Sarah had a prescription for tramadol for this kind of episode but she had a habit of not taking them even if she needed them. She didn’t want to become dependent on opioids, so she found herself saying that she would save them for a worse day. Even if she was having the worst pain flare of her life, Sarah was hesitant to medicate. Ava understood that, but she also knew that it would help immensely in this case.

“T-tried...” Sarah wheezed, “T-threw up... couldn’t... too m-much pain.”

“Okay,” Ava nodded as she smoothed down Sarah’s hair, “We can try again later. Can you take a breath for me, darling?”

Sarah looked up at her with teary eyes, trying to do as she was told and breathe evenly. It only make things worse though, the deep breath causing her chest to clench painfully. It made her cry in frustration, just wanting to be able to calm down so she could sleep. She wanted this to end, she didn’t want to live like this anymore.

“Sarah,” Ava’s voice was far away as she got lost in her pain-fogged brain, “Sarah, focus on me, okay?”

She did try, shifting a little to face her girlfriend. Ava’s hands found her face, holding her cheeks gently to keep her attention. She tried to reply, an apology on her lips again for being such a handful, but all she could manage was rough cough. It was all too much, she just wanted to sleep.

“Ava...” she couldn’t stifle the whine that followed her coughing fit, the involuntary action only jostling her rib cage more. Ava saw the way she was becoming increasingly more frustrated, which only made her cry harder; the amount of pain she was in clearly causing a major mental toll as well.

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Ava said softly, pulling her a bit closer. The brunette just slumped back into her arms, giving up on trying to be strong. She couldn’t do it anymore, it was only making the pain worse. Ava knew that and she assured her she didn’t have to be strong.

“I’ve got you,” she promised, “It will pass, baby.”

It was the pained sob that escaped her after that that broke Ava’s heart. Sarah had her face buried in her neck, hands clutching at her scrub top for any semblance of security. The way her body shook and subsequently flinched at the painful movement made Ava want to cry too. Sarah didn’t deserve this; she shouldn’t have to deal with this. Still, she had to be strong when Sarah couldn’t be, it was the least she could do.

“Shh,” she soothed, “It’s okay, darling. I know it hurts.”

They stayed like that for God knows how long; it could have been hours or mere minutes. Sarah just remained pressed against her girlfriend, silent except for the occasional stifled sob if the pain got too much. Ava held her a little tighter every time, speaking reassurances and pressing gentle kisses to her head and face. It made them both feel helpless, not being able to get through a flare like this any other way. Ava would take Sarah’s pain away in a heartbeat if she could, so the fact that all she could do was watch this happen made her feel sick. She just kept promising Sarah it would pass, because she knew it would. If she could calm down and sleep she might be able to get some rest, let her body heal from the self inflicted inflammation it was battling at that moment.

Sarah tried to focus on Ava’s words, the low tone of her accent always soothing her. It still hurt, she felt like she was suffocating, but it was more bearable like this. When she could be in Ava’s arms, surrender to the pain, and let someone else be strong for her. Ava couldn’t make the pain go away, but she could be there to make Sarah feel less alone. That was something she was every grateful for, even if she couldn’t express it in the moment.

[himbeaux-on-ice]

Sorry! Lehner had around a 10 minute rant today about how he feels like the NHL lied to the players about loosening up the restrictions placed on teams and forced teams to get the Covid Vaccine. ESPN and the New York Post released an article about it today.

(this is a follow-up on this ask)

Ah okay, I found a TSN article about it, which covers the fact that he also apologized for some of his remarks (mainly comparing the restrictions to being “like prison” which is a bit cringe when you’re a millionaire in a free hotel, yeah), and also significantly clarified some of the intent behind what he was trying to say at the presser:

I’m gonna put my full thoughts this under a cut because it’s ended up running pretty long and rambly, but tl;dr: after considering his more precisely clarified points here and with the perspective I know he’s coming from, I can honestly see and empathize with what Lehner seems to be expressing here about how the NHL has chosen to handle player vaccinations and informing them about what that means for the restrictions on their lives, and I actually don’t disagree with his criticisms overall. Some of the phrasing could have been better, but he’s acknowledged that too.

All in all, it sounds like the NHL may have done a poor job of honestly managing expectations around what vaccine rollout would mean for the extra restrictions placed on the players and their families with each team, and that they’re also up to some version of their usual NHL schtick of prioritizing some platonic ideal of Competitive Parity (remember “the Vancouver Canucks will play a 56 game season”, anyone?) above all else, even when that is no longer realistic and/or comes at the expense of the short-term and long-term mental and physical wellbeing of the players. Classic NHL.

Right, so, long thoughts are down here. Also gonna copy the majority of his comments directly because I think it’s worthwhile for people to read exactly what he said:

"As I’m frustrated like a lot of people in the world right now everything didn’t come out of today’s press in the right way," Lehner wrote. "Main point is that we need to start take the mental health important as well In this situation. It has a huge impact on everyone in society right now. To put competitive edge before well being of people's lives is wrong. As I said, people are struggling with many different things mentally and we need to consider that, as well. Then, being lied to makes it worse."

I love hockey and the league has done a lot of good things," Lehner continued. "But this missed the mark. My bad to say it’s like prison and I apologize, but with mental health issues that are developing in the world, it develops problems mentally. We will see exactly how this affects everything with time. I don’t mean to offend anyone. I hope we can all work together to help people that suffer through mental help from this going forward. I’ve heard how a lot of people are doing through this as people talk to me about it."

During his briefing, Lehner said that the league has misled the players about how vaccination will lead to the loosening of restrictions.

"They told me yesterday that they're surveying all of the teams to see who has taken the vaccine and who has not taken the vaccine and they're not going to change the rules for us as players until all of the teams have a fair [amount] of [vaccinated players] at the same time, so there's not a competitive edge," Lehner said. "And that made me go crazy, to be honest."

Lehner said the league is failing to look at its players as people first and lied to them about taking the vaccine.

"These are human lives and people are struggling with this stuff a lot in society and we are humans just as everyone else," Lehner said. "So there's a twofold problem for me here - the first one is we got promised something to take something that not necessarily everyone wanted. So that was lie - a blatant lie. Second, to put competitive edge over human lives in terms of going back - and I'm not saying we're going out to a party or whatever, but we had a meeting when the season started, at the beginning of camp, that pretty much told us we can't go outside of our house, can't do anything, can't go to the grocery store, can do nothing on the road. You can take a meal out of the meal room and go sit up in your room, don't be with your teammates, don't do this, don't do that. Nobody thinks about the mental impact."

The Gothenburg, Sweden native says his peers are struggling through this pandemic season.

"I know people will say, 'Oh, you're millionaires' and this and that or 'What about these guys?' but we care about that, too, man," Lehner said. "No matter what people think, this is a society problem. But when government, corporations, NHL, whoever are taking decisions in terms of irrelevant things like competitive edge over the human being? It's not okay."

It seems pretty clear to me from this article that his main issue isn’t really with getting the vaccine or being required to do so (my understanding is that it is still opt-in for all players, not mandatory. It’s that he doesn’t view the League as having provided players with a realistic expectation ahead of time for how being vaccinated would or would not change their daily reality. That they were led to believe that getting vaccinated would lead to things that didn’t end up happening, and therefore weren’t empowered to make an informed choice about when to get vaccinated.

The way he describes it, the League was not clear enough ahead of time about the fact that individual players being vaccinated would not make them individually exempt from league-wide restrictions, and this created a feeling of false hope about what getting vaccinated would mean in terms of not just having to stay in your house or hotel room literally all the time. If you were looking forward to getting vaccinated because you were led to believe it would mean finally not having to live in that isolated, mentally draining environment all the time, and then only found out at the last minute or after the fact that no, you actually still have to keep following all these rules that are making your life so isolated and difficult, that’s gotta be pretty emotionally jarring. If you were a player who was a little unsure about getting vaccinated quite yet (for whatever reason, including possibly being in a risk group for side-effects or just not wanting to get waylaid for a week with the smile symptoms it induces during a crucial stretch of games), but decided it was worth it for the tradeoff of getting back to a life that was less of a strain on your mental health, and then got told AFTER you made that decision and got the shot that no, that tradeoff isn’t happening the way you were made to expect it to, I think it would understandably piss you off.

It also sounds like part of what he has taken issue with is that, from the sounds of it rather than ease internal restrictions on a team-by-team basis as determined by each team’s vaccination rates (which would mean that if for example the Wild had 95% of their team vaccinated, the Wild only the Wild would get to start living a life with slightly less restrictions), the League is instead opting to say “no, we’re only going to ease the rules for EVERYONE at the same time once all teams have reached similar numbers of vaccinated players and staff to ea other, because we would see having different rules for different teams as giving some of them an unfair competitive edge”.

Lehner takes umbrage with this approach, because he thinks that focusing solely on “competitive edge” by making more-vaccinated teams keep having to live incredibly isolated lives (even isolated from vaccinated teammates) is a case of the League prioritizing parity over the toll that barely being able to interact with other people or leave their houses is taking on players’ mental health. And I can really really understand his point here. We have all seen what quarantine has done to our individual mental health, and even if they are millionaires, those impacts also exist for the players.

I actually just recently re-read the Athletic piece about the intense mental health and addiction struggles Lehner has gone through and done the incredibly difficult work of getting help for in the last five years. This man has fought incredibly hard and done a massive amount of therapy and other work to sort out his head, deal with his demons, and get himself to a place where he can cope and wants to be alive. That kind of recovery journey is a battle which will continue for the rest of your life and requires constant maintenance practices (again, speaking from experience). He also spent most of this season not even getting to be around the team at all, stuck at home recovering from a concussion (which usually involves doing frustratingly little and waiting around impatiently in dimly lit rooms for your brain to heal). And now, upon returning to the team, road games mean more time spent sitting in a room trying not to be bored out of your skull, while possibly also having to have some limits on things like screen time as a post-concussion precaution.

Imagine being somebody like him, who has spent a lot of time working very hard to build up a lifestyle and a system of coping mechanisms in recent years which have allowed him to live a healthier and happier life, to then be thrown back into an isolated and highly restricted new lifestyle where probably at least half of all those habits and norms and support systems are taken out of reach, that has to be incredibly difficult (I’ve experienced something similar myself this year). Especially when you haven’t been able to even go and be with the team in the dressing room, or probably even do anything with your family that classes above “mildly strenuous”, because you’re out for six weeks recovering from a concussion, which is its own mental and physical health battle. And then, you are apparently given the impression from the League that “hey, if you’re willing to get vaccinated, that will lead to you being able to return to some semblance of a life that is less taxing on your psyche”, and you agreed to do so even if you were perhaps cautious about getting the vaccine before, because you’d rather accept whatever risk comes with the shot than gamble on keeping your sanity together for however much longer this isolation drags on, only to then find out that “actually no, even if your team and staff is entirely vaccinated you still have to spend most of your time sitting alone in rooms trying not to sink into a spiral of dangerous depression until other teams in other states with different vaccination programs are also immunized to similar levels, and our only real reasoning for holding that mental relief out of reach is mostly based on ‘competitive parity’”.

Yeah, I absolutely understand why he would feel very frustrated and even betrayed by that course of action! For Lehner, it’s not about competitive edges or the game on the ice, it’s about having made the decision to get vaccinated at this time with the understanding that it would allow access to an at least slightly less mentally taxing lifestyle, only to find out later that the League seemingly never intended to follow through on providing that despite you holding up your end of the deal. And it sounds like he is speaking for a number of other players beyond just himself who are also struggling with their mental health in these conditions. Even if he himself is managing to cope because of what he’s learned in his recovery, he would certainly be well-positioned to recognize signs in the people around him that they are struggling in ways that may be similar to what he went though before, and know how dire that can spiral into being.

Look, I don’t think Robin Lehner ever expected to be allowed to go out and lick people’s eyeballs or wander the supermarket maskless once vaccinated, but you heard the description of how intensely restrictive the NHL’s rules for players off-ice lives during COVID are. They are far more intense than the rules being enforced for non-NHL individuals in many of the same cities and states, because the NHL is trying to bring risk as close to zero as possible. And if you were a player told that being vaccinated was going to reduce contagion risks enough to mean that right away the NHL would finally let you and your teammates from “can’t go anywhere or see anyone, eat your dinner in your hotel room and try not to be depressed about it” to “you can go to the store with a mask on. you can eat meals with your also-vaccinated teammates. you can visit your parents or siblings while social-distancing/masking. you can spend free time around other people and/or in more public spaces without being chaperoned constantly by team staff. you can sit next to your also-vaccinated teammates on the plane/bus. you can hang out with them in their room”, and THEN later were told “sorry, we’re not actually going to let you do that yet. not for COVID reasons but rather because we worry not being totally miserable shut-ins will give you a competitive edge over that team in another state who aren’t getting vaccinated as quickly”. That has to feel like a slap in the face in terms of how much the league actually cares about your well-being or about being honest in its role in your personal medical decisions. Perhaps when he says “forced” he is expressing a feeling of being stuck between choosing “either get vaccinated or let your mental health keep degrading in isolation”, only to find out that making the deal doesn’t get you the relief you were promised.

Idk I feel like I’m repeating myself a lot here trying to circle in on my precise point bc my brain is a little scrambled today, but like. If the players made their decisions to consent to vaccination (at this time, with whatever version of the shot was offered, under whatever circumstances they may have going on personally or medically) based on one understanding of the situation, and then NHL really said “lol NOPE actually that was a false premise” and changed things after the fact, that’s kinda an informed consent issue and I think he’s right to call it fucked up! And everything he says about how mentally taxing such a super-isolated lifestyle is honestly only repeats worries I myself had right from the moment the “stay in your hotel room alone” rule was announced — that the League may be underestimating the toll (especially with some of the long road trips this season) that forcing players to live in total isolation like that was going to have on individual wellbeing and team morale.

Robin’s comments this morning could have been put better, but as somebody who has ADHD and who knows about bipolar disorder, I know emotions for folks with brains like ours can run fast and intense and sometimes lead to not always planning out every word as precisely and you might later have liked to once that moment has passed. The fact that he apologized for the less tactful part of the comment and sought to clarify his words tells me he’s thought a lot about this and wasn’t happy with how he expressed his thoughts initially. Also, while his English is very good, you can sometimes forget it isn’t his first language, Swedish is — some thoughts don’t translate exactly as they sounded in your head. That said, also Robin Lehner one of the more outspoken NHL players about mental health issues in recent years, and he also doesn’t seem like the type of guy to mince his words or tiptoe around a point — I’m not surprised he’s the person expressing these concerns about mental health, and I’m not surprised he was a bit blunt about it either lol.

All in all, it sounds like the NHL did a poor job of managing expectations around what vaccine rollout would mean for the players and their families, and that they’re also up to their usual NHL schtick of prioritizing some platonic ideal of Competitive Parity (remember “the Vancouver Canucks will play a 56 game season”, anyone?) above all else, even when that is no longer realistic and/or comes at the expense of the short-term and long-term mental and physical wellbeing of the players. Classic NHL.

(also: the New York Post is a right-leaning sensationalist rag 90% of the time. take all spin it puts on things with a grain of salt)

[shoutoismybaby]

Enouement- Ch 2

Pregnant!Reader X Bakusquad boy (read to find out!)

ch1 / masterlist / ch3

For now, I think I am going to update every Friday?? Idk if you know e you know the last thing I am is consistent so..

Also, you finally get to see who the boyfriend is! I hope none of you are disappointed, I just feel like he doesn't have enough content written about him so, here we are!

***

There had been a lot of crying. That was really all you could remember after stepping into your mother's car. Together you decided that a medical abortion was what you wanted, it would save your future goals and love life after all. That was what was most important to you. Since it was still available and less invasive, you pushed away your fears and went through with the abortion. The doctors said that it should induce some sort of miscarriage within the next two weeks, and even though you knew the failure rate was low you were still nervous that it hadn’t worked after a week. You were nearing your fourth month, and your bump was becoming a bit noticeable. More than just an “I ate too much for my last meal” and moving into “hey everyone, I'm carrying a baby!” territory. And it scared you. 

You had to go back to school by now, having at this point already taken close to five days off. You had almost never been more anxious. Your family had to go out and get you new clothes and a uniform just to hide your growing baby belly, and you were sure that your boyfriend would notice. Well, then again maybe not..

“Babe!” Your boyfriend greeted you at the door of his classroom as you walked in. You had made it a tradition once you started dating to visit him in his classroom every day. Today was out of the ordinary though because despite it only being 8 AM in the morning, he somehow had already hit his quirks limit, now being reduced to his dummy state. One hand giving you a thumbs up while the other arm was extended with grabby hands.

“Kami, what happened?!” Your concern had caused the dying laughter in the classroom to start right back up. Kirishima attempted to explain, but it was a bit difficult to understand him through his own hearty laughs.

“Kami- Kaminari just walked in the door… and bakugou went off!”

“He's been doing this, like, since you left.” Sero agreed, you looked over at the angry blonde who refused to look at you.

“Maybe if he wasn’t so stupid I wouldn’t have to give him a taste of his own medicine.” You only glared at the hedgehog, trying to decipher what he meant while you let your boyfriend fall into your arms. His smell hit you as soon as your face laid against his chest and you couldn't help but take a deep breath in. God, you missed him.

You hated how distant you had been recently. You just wished for this all to go away so that you guys could go back to normal. Avoiding him was hurting your heart.

Oh,

That was what Bakugou meant.

Why did he care that much? Bakugou had always been Bakugou’s main and only concern. So why was he messing with your boyfriend to get him back for a problem that was both of your faults?

Before you could really think about it though Kaminari was pushing the two of you into the hallway. You let out a little giggle and looked up to the face that was slowly turning back to its normal mischievous smirk.

“Kami where are we going?” You asked, he smiled wider.

“The hallway.” He let go of you to open the door and push you through,

“Why?” You let him lead you with complete trust, but you couldn't help but start laughing at what Sero yelled at the two of you.

“You guys are so disgusting, why don't you go home to make out?!”

“You’re lucky I'm even leaving the room.” Kaminari giggled, closing the door behind the two of you. He quickly lead you to an empty stairwell where he finally pressed his lips against yours.

You forgot how soft and warm they always were. A warmth you had been unknowingly craving since you had last seen him. Your hands found his shoulders as his rested on your cheeks, squishing them in order to get you to laugh, letting him explore your mouth. You could tell how much he missed you, by the way, he moved slowly. His hold on you gentle and protective, shielding you behind his body from anyone who may come near. It was times like these that made sure you never doubted him when he said he loved you.

At the beginning of your relationship, you were suspicious. He had always been such a flirt, so much so that everyone in class A was sure that he was a fuckboy. So when he asked you out, despite your huge crush on him, you said no.

Eventually, of course, you gave him a chance and that was something you never regretted. He was so kind and loving, you considered him the best boyfriend in the world! It was only a bonus that he was so cute too.

Your heart began to race in a way that made you feel sick once his hands fell from your cheeks, quickly making their way from your breasts to take hold onto your waist. You couldn't let him know, so you pushed him away.

“I.. I'm sorry I just. I suddenly don't feel that good.” It was only partially a lie now, the fear making bile present in your throat. He took another step back from you and placed his hand on your forehead.

“Oh, do you need to see recovery girl? I thought you were better now, what did you even have anyway?” You gently pushed his hand away and shook your head.

“No, I just think I need to sit down,” You smiled at him, hoping to erase his worries. It seemed to work and he began to lead you back to class,

“Class is starting soon anyways and Vlad King would be so pissed if you missed any more class huh? If you start to feel worse you’ll tell me though right?” His bright eyes made you melt, how could one person be so kind and selfless?

“I love you,” Comes out of your mouth before you can stop it and you relish in his laugh,

“I love you too, you should know this! What, did you get so sick you lost your brain cells?” You shake your head and squeeze his hand, only letting go once you made it to the classroom door, he gave you a quick peck on the cheek before letting you walk into class 3-b alone. Once he left you sighed, putting your face into the palms of your hand. Was it bad to already miss him being by you? 

You only moved when you remembered the state you had found Kaminari in this morning, and the glare Bakugou had left burning into your soul. Once you thought about it, you understood why he was angry. Even though he loved to pretend that he hated all of you, he had a sweet spot for his friends. A title you were lucky enough to hold.

So you took out your phone and decided to give him a call, something you knew he hated. But you had to get back at him at least a little bit for how he had been treating Kaminari.

He let it ring for a few seconds before answering, and you made sure to speak before he could yell at you.

“I’m okay, so you can stop messing with my boyfriend,” you say, casually reaching into your bag to grab out your notebook. Which, lucky for you was filled with notes sent in the Bakusquad group chat. You could hear his apprehension in the silence, something that came with knowing him from three years.

I’m serious! There’s nothing to worry about cause I got a... You know.” You muttered quiet enough so that only he would hear. You could only imagine the kind of facial expression the air in front of him was faced with experiencing.

“Know what, you trying to speak in fucking tongues?” He asked, you just shook your head on instinct, despite knowing he couldn't see you.

“No, I-” The door slid open, interrupting you and letting your teacher in. “Listen, Vlad just walked in so, I’ll tell you before lunch, okay?”

And you did, after class ended you texted Denki that you were going to be a couple of minutes late before leading Bakugou to the stairwell Kaminari had lead you to before. After looking around for anyone else you told Bakugou about how you had gotten an abortion.

“Well, I guess I’m still, having one? It hasn’t fully worked yet but it still has the rest of the week for it to work. So I'm only kind of worried…” You didn’t realize you had begun to babble until Bakugou growled.

“Damn, TMI much?”

“Y-You’re the one who seemed concerned!” You countered, crossing your arms. His face flushed lightly at your statement.

“What gave you that idea shitty woman?!” His hands were clenched at his side, and you were glad there was no sign of sparks coming from them yet.

“Uh, maybe the fact you kept MESSING WITH MY BOYFRIEND EVERY MORNING TILL HE MAXED OUT!” You flung your arms to accentuate your point and looked away from him with a huff. “Why do you even care so much anyway? I thought you’d just say I’m an idiot and call it a day.”

There was silence for a moment, causing you to look over at the blonde. He was facing the floor, hands still clenched and you couldn’t tell he was thinking. When you took a step forward to ask what was wrong his head shot back up, surprising you.

“I have an older brother,” It was probably the softest you had ever heard Bakugou speak before, and you took it as a sign to stay quiet. “My mom got pregnant with him in high school, it was from a guy who had just dumped her and she knew it was going to ruin her education, but she had him anyway. The old hag made me listen to her stories about what it was like for her before she met my dad, and it… kinda sucked. Plus, I knew that with Kaminari being such a dunce, it was probably an accident and that he wasn’t being much help.”

Your heart swelled and you smiled.

“Thank you for worrying about me.” “I WASN’T WORRIED, GOT IT STUPID GIRL?” He finally burst, face red and hands popping. Still, you couldn’t help but hug him and begin laughing,

“Yeah, you did! You care about me and your friends even though you try to pretend you don’t.” You continued to giggle even as he pushed you away, that is until you began to fall. Usually, his shove would only be enough to get you off of him, but the pregnancy had seriously messed with your balance. You squeaked as soon as you realized you had lost your balance and grabbed at Bakugou's shirt in an attempt to stabilize yourself. Instead, it ended with both you and the blond falling. You onto the ground and Bakugou on top of you, his head awkwardly landing on your chest. 

He began yelling as soon as he lifted himself up. It was a mix of calling you names and random curses, but you didn’t really listen. Instead you were trying to forget the pain you were in, you tried to sit up but gave up with a grunt. This caused Bakugou to stop his rant, now he was straddling your legs, having not moved since he pushed himself up. He leaned back down a bit and moved to hold the back of your head. You winced and tried to pull away from his touch but stopped when he glared at you,

“Your skulls not broken so stop whining.” he softly placed your head back on the ground and met your glare.

“Yeah well, it still hurts. And it’s more than just my head.” You muttered. Not noticing the way your hand had drifted to your stomach. Bakugou then sat back up and his face morphed into one of concern,

“Oh, shit. I forgot.. You okay?” You nodded, pulling your arm back as soon as you realized.

“Yeah, even if it wasn’t it wouldn’t really matter since…” You didn’t finish your sentence and you waited for Bakugou to help you up once he was standing. He scratched the back of his head and looked towards the wall,

“Sorry…” you quickly waved off his apology as you two made your way towards the cafeteria, promising to never mention what had happened again.

You split up once you made it to the table, Bakugou taking his seat next to Kirishima and you taking a seat next to Kaminari.

“Hey babe, what took you so long?” He greeted, moving his bag from your spot.

“Oh, Bakugou was helping me with one of the parts of the notes he sent. I couldn’t read it cause his handwriting is so messy.” You hated lying, but you knew that soon it would be over and you wouldn’t have to anymore. From across the table, Bakugou began blasting,

“YOU’RE JUST ILLITERATE YOU SHITTY GIRL!” Which of course lead to the entire table laughing. It was then that you realized just how much you missed this. Being normal, at lunch. Hanging onto your boyfriend’s shoulder and laughing at his cheesy pickup lines he still tried on you. Of course, they never failed to make you blush.

It really hadn’t been all that long since you had been doing this. But it felt that way, especially when you were worried about keeping a secret. “And that’s when we got kicked out of the restaurant,” Kirishima was just now finishing a story about the time he and Bakugou had gone to a noodle shop.

“It’s not my fault those extras didn’t know how to make spicy noodles!” Bakugou said in between bites. The Bakusquad began laughing as Kirishima went to continue on with the story, but you heard Denki’s phone go off. You looked over to see him unlock it, but then went back to listening to Kirishima’s story. You felt Kaminari stiffen beneath your hold and you looked questionably at him, but by now he had turned his phone away from you.

“Kami-”

“(Y/n), can we go talk in the hall?”

***

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