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[twilightmalachite]

Raison d’être - Epilogue 1

Author: Akira

Characters: Shu, Mika

Translator: Mika Enstars

"Yes. My family who viewed the performance are satisfied as well. It is possible that our grandfather had someone he loved while he was in Paris, but…"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Spring

Location: Apartment in France

Time has since passed since Raison d’être’s performance.

At the house Shu is boarding at in Paris…

Shu: —Hah?

As I’ve said, Raison d’être was a one-time, immensely personal opera, commissioned for a Funeral Contest.

It is for private use only and there are no plans to make it public.

Non! Nothing will change no matter what you say!

Telling us that there are rumors being spread around and that there is growing demand amongst Valkyrie fans for a release changes nothing!

While it is a beautiful performance we have created, it is an opera about internal shame within the family…

I have no intentions to publicize it and make a laughingstock out of my grandfather.

That is that. Concern yourself over how to conduct yourself as a new member of society, over things such as this.

I am always open to cooperating with you, as long as it is not about a release of Raison d’être—Little lady.

Yes. Take care of your health in your new environment.

Yes, yes… Now then, farewell.

…Goodness gracious. Does that little lady think she is my mother or something? Going out of her way to make an international call for something that doesn’t matter…

Mika: What’d Anzu-san need?

Shu: It appears that Raison d’être has caught the interest of philistines, and she suggested that we make adjustments to it to suit the world’s tastes for a public release.

Preposterous, isn’t it? It being a one-time performance is precisely what gave it merit.

If our more discerning fans think seriously in their interpretation, they may arrive at the “truth” that we have worked so hard to hide.

And as such, I am resolute in my decision to keep Raison d’être private.

Mika: Mhm. By winnin’ the Funeral Contest, ya were able to receive yer Grandfather’s inheritance.

We don’t need t’make any more profit. Unusual fer a Valkyrie performance.

Shu: Yes. My family who viewed the performance are satisfied as well. It is possible that our grandfather had someone he loved while he was in Paris, but…

That person was a man.

And there is no method possible for two men to have a child with each other, so there is no way this person named Raffaello, who claimed to be the son from an affair, could exist.

Even if that young dollmaker did have a son, there would be no blood relation to Grandfather. We can safely conclude he would have no right to his inheritance.

And thus, my family is satisfied and relieved, bringing this series of tumultuous events to an end.

The fact that Raffaello’s true identity was Grandfather was not made public. They believe he was simply just a fraud.

Mika: Well, looks like the speculation we came to prior to our conception of Raison d’être has become the “truth”!

Well, it was the safest thing t’do.

Grandfather never had an affair.

Maybe he had a couple “odd romances” with his youthful indiscretion, but there’s no pressin’ inheritance issues involved.

The matter’s settled, an’ everyone’s happy.

But… I was all hurried t’prepare for Raison d’etre that my head was in a jumble. What was its true meanin’ in the end?

Shu: You have forgotten already? Secure head shut with bolts so your brains do not fall out. I’m always telling you this.

Mika: Nnah~, then that’d make me Frakensteins’ Monster?

Shu: Fufu. I’m glad to see that even my sarcasm is met with an immediate and appropriate response.

Anyhow. While I submitted the proposal for Raison d’être to my grandfather, I confronted him directly and received the following “truth”.

I am honored to say, my grandfather and I truly were alike.

My grandfather too had so-called imaginary friends since he was a child.

This imaginary friend, created to be a beautiful girl, was named “MADEMOISELLE” by my grandfather.

What made her a beautiful girl? Was it a distortment of my grandfather’s youthful sexual desire, or was it a feminine side inside of him?—

I interpret it to be the latter, although he himself was quite vague about it.

But, of course, my grandfather was the legitimate son to a strict and old family.

As the eldest son to succeed the Itsuki family name, if there were a feminine side to him—He could never admit to it, at least not publicly.

That’s how it was back then.

And so, my grandfather repressed this femininity inside him. However, it then expressed itself as coming to be the fictional girl, “MADEMOISELLE”.

That is how I’ve interpreted it.

[ ☆ ]

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[remindingpersephone]

Returning With Randomness

Good morning, my darlings. My Tumblr mini-break has resulted in me changing the way I utilize the blue hellsite. I'm putting all this babbling under a jump to keep your scrolling aesthetically pleasing.

14 days isn't much of a break, but I was testing out a theory. I felt like I was checking social media, or at least the 4 Biggies: Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, too frequently and in too automated a fashion. Got five minutes between tasks? Check Insta! Need a breather from spreadsheet madness? Log in to Twitter! And on and on. While it is always nice to check in with my mutuals, I would then get sidetracked and the next things I know I've lost 20 minutes to somebody's thread about SCOTUS or lunar eclipse or whatever. Not terrible, in and of itself, but when added to all the other noise and distraction in the world, it has become detrimental.

Life offline these days is busy and stressful. My job is good but hectic, so I have to stay focused and disciplined with my time and attention. Home life is difficult and I'll leave it at that because it involves other people who don't want their shit aired out online. So even if I wanted to read about the latest Kardashian drama (keep your mitts of Marilyn's dress, Kim!) I just don't have the time or the mental bandwidth.

Moreover, reading gossip and useless opinions just isn't good for my mental health. I'd argue it's not good for anyone's mental health, but I believe everyone has to the right to live their life any way they see fit, including but not limited to social media brainrot. You do you, baby.

Which brings me to my point (I have one, I swear): social media may have been an unfortunate mistake. Or at least, 75% of it. The 25% that allows us to meet each other, learn new things, talk to people around the world, share, connect, inspire, is awesome. A truly wonderful gift. But the other 75%: rampant disinformation, bullying, repeated ugliness, echo chamber effect - is an awfully high price to pay. Is it too high? I don't know. I think we need to recognize it now, acknowledge the problem it has become, and find a way to preserve the good and eliminate the bad. There has to be a way. Our society has done some amazing things. We have to find a way to keep trolls from ruining the world.

I think it was @hopefulmisanthrope who said a while back "Do we really need everyone's opinion?" in regards to social media's negative effect. I found myself repeating this sentiment a few days ago. I told someone "We don't need everyone's opinion, all the time."

I must clarify that there is a difference between using Twitter or Tumblr, etc. to express yourself, and using it to spread maliciousness. Use it to write something silly or sad or moving or beautiful. To just put something out into the universe. I wholeheartedly support this for everyone. Remember, a thing isn't free unless it's free for everyone. So follow your bliss and post your heart out if it brings you joy. God knows, I've posted about meaningless shit before, because it made me happy. I just posted on Twitter about wind, for fuck's sake. I'm not contributing to the overall betterment of society with my 479th Instagram picture of orchids. But neither am I harming it buy doing this. It's the thousand mile long thread of echoed hatred and ignorance that worries me. That's the shit we've got to stop. It is not a case of, "Well, who's to say what's hate and what's not?" We are. We all know the difference between what is evil and vicious and what is harmless. I want the people that scream freedom as a way to absolve themselves of responsibility for the things they say and do to shut their mouths. Adults know when they are protecting true freedom and when they are using it to mask discrimination and acrimony.

So, to get back to my original thought when I started writing this post a hundred years ago, is to say that I want to use Tumblr differently. I want to check in on my mutuals by going to their individual blogs. I want to write my own posts when I either have something to capture so I can refer back to it later, or because I want to share something. I don't want to start scrolling mindlessly, miss all the good stuff, while zoning out. So if I don't appear for a while and then suddenly heart bomb the hell out of you, this is why. And if I miss you and you wonder why, drop me a line. I do check messages to see if anyone is trying to reach me directly.

Everything is tumultuous (to put it mildly) in the world these days. I'm looking for ways to maintain equilibrium with my energy, attention, and output. I am responsible for what I allow myself to absorb, and what I put out into the universe. I want both of those to be good, healthy and helpful. So the learning and the adjusting and the analyzing and the changing and the growing never stops. Neither does my rambling, apparently. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I love you, kittens. Take care of yourselves and be good to each other.

[komoreangel]

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐚

pairing: scaramouche x fem!reader

scenario: you met when you were both very young, and since the day he left you behind he still feels an undying fear for what sight would await him if he dared to return home.

or…

thantophobia - the fear of losing a loved one. but he had made it perfectly clear that you did not fall under that category when he left you and all of your promises behind.

request: okok my first idea was: scaramouche childhood friends to enemies to lovers. take with that what you will <3

a/n: hi anon ty so very much for the request we all know i love scara <33 but i did tweak it a bit basically its childhood friends to enemies to scara loves reader but reader isnt convinced (with a hint of 'ive always loved you' thrown in)

side note: this is a rewrite of an excerpt i wrote for a scara x oc, in which the oc was female (the same is said here but i will avoid using pronouns) and adopted into the kamisato clan as a princess (minor inazuma spoilers). the same situation is stated here. also i am 1000% willing to write more of this (includes my personal headcanons for scaramouche’s backstory, not canon!!)

growing up, you had always had poor health

your mother worried for you a lot when you were younger

she didn’t like to let you go outside much either

you spent most of your time in the palace walls while she worked, frequently being taken to see the royal physician

you would sit outside the door while your parents talked with the doctors about your “condition”

you weren’t even that sick

just weak for your age

that was when you first met him

he was training to be a soldier along his father

you were like a ghost in his eyes

sitting in the hall in the middle of the night

knees pushed to your chest, snoozing in the soft light of the moon

he was naturally a curious boy, so he kneeled in front of you and poked your shoulder

“hello?”

you startled awake

“wah-!” he fell back at your sudden movement

“who are you?” you asked

your voice was soft, and gentle, like a midnight breeze

“i’m [redacted].”

you remember what he told you, but some part of that memory had been erased from your mind…you wonder to this day what he could have said.

“my name is y/n.”

he thought it was a pretty name, although he wasn’t going to say anything

the two of you sat in the moonlight, talking quietly amongst yourselves

“why are you sitting outside the physician’s office?” he asked you

“my mama says i’m sick, and that going outside will make it worse.”

“oh. are you going to get better soon?”

you smile at him, a gesture that makes his chest tighten, although he can’t fathom why.

“yeah! she says that if we can afford to get some medicine from liyue, i’ll be all better! then i can start making friends!”

he slightly smiles

“can i be your friend, [redacted]?”

you had even said the name yourself once. why couldn’t you remember it?

his expression shifts to a slightly surprised look

“you…want to be my friend?”

he was quiet even then, and his silent expression would grow to an angry one over time

“yeah! you’re interesting, and you’re one of the few people who bothers to talk to me.”

he doesn’t speak for a while.

“you can say no if you want to.” you say to him.

“okay. i’ll be your friend.”

it’s a short response, but the bright grin that lights up your face makes it worth the wait

“yay! i can’t wait till i’m better so we can hang out more!”

you two talked in that hallway a lot

meeting after dark, talking about anything in the world

when you were about six, the worst of your illness hit you

the doctors didn’t even know what was wrong, and there were nights when he would sit outside the physician’s office alone at night, hoping, praying that the sun would shine on a world that still had you in it

you would collapse from exhaustion at the slightest overexertion

his father always told him he had to be careful with you, not only were you shorter than him, but you were also very fragile

those hours spent sitting in the hallway alone, he got to do a lot of thinking

he wanted to help you, but he didn’t know how

then, there was a sudden burst of hope

you were going to liyue with your parents

you would get the help you needed

he was happy for you, even if it meant you would have to spend time away from him

and then there was the terrible news

the ship had gone missing

you had too

he couldn’t sleep for days on end

his father was worried too

when he saw you again, you found yourself shuddering on the shores of inazuma

he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could, as if his strength alone could undo everything that had happened

it was one of the few times he showed affection in public

he rushed you to the healer again

and this time there was no hoping

there was no praying

there was just the pit in his stomach, the fear that coursed through his veins and fueled his blood

every second felt like a decade, it was a moment in which you weren’t perfectly healthy and safe

the townspeople began to spread rumors, as people do

the guard’s son who was lovesick with worry for the sickly orphan girl

what a pity, no?

he wanted to shut them up. he wished he had the power to shut them up.

when even his father had to drag him away from the pharmacy, he didn’t talk to anyone for a very long time.

this was around the time he grew sour and snappy

his simply quiet demeanor developed into a scowl that constantly graced his face

he only smiled the day you were released from the physicians.

you weren’t fully healed. but you felt better than you ever had in your life.

his father took you in without a second thought, and he was just happy to have you with him.

“i’m better, scara.” you said to him, a happy smile on your face

“i was wondering when you’d hurry up and get well.”

you were a bit troubled by his attitude, but no less, you were happy to see your friend again.

it went like that for a long time.

he was rude, but you didn’t care because you knew what he was like underneath.

some nights he would sneak into your room and talk to you.

he told you he was just bored and felt like annoying you.

but his real reason was to make sure you were still breathing.

he always worried about you

so the day you received your vision, he felt a lot of relief

surely this meant that you could protect yourself. you were safe.

then the worst of all things happened.

his fathers death.

the day he felt like his world was ripped from underneath his feet.

almost immediately, the electro archon, baal, herself, intervened, and declared that you were to be adopted into the kamisato clan.

why you? why couldn’t he keep you with him? he was old enough to be able to take care of both of you

baal didn’t like his questioning. she said she knew what was best for you.

it was strange. because in the days he spent with you after, although not many, you didn’t seem sick at all.

for the first time, you seemed perfectly healthy.

he was glad for that…but he wasn’t happy. you could see that easily.

you knew this wasn’t the right thing for him

he stuck around for a year. you suppose you’re lucky he even stayed that long. you were pretty much his only reason.

sure he found friends in ayaka and kazuha…but he was unhappy.

he knew there was no point in staying, so he thought it was time he took his leave.

he approached you one day, as the sun began to set

you were worried for him, as he had been very angry towards baal and the emperor lately.

“scara, is there something you want to talk about?”

you watch as he stands before you

he blurts out, “run away with me.”

you’re taken aback almost immediately.

“what?”

he repeats his statement

“i’m going to flee from inazuma. come with me.”

“scara..”

his expression, as it does often these days, turns stern and serious.

“i’m not going to ask you again. come with me, y/n.”

you’re tired of him ordering you around.

“you know i can’t. i have duties here. i can’t just betray my country for you.”

“you know baal wants me gone. she’s going to kill me if i stay. she might do the same to you.”

you scoff at his words. “she won’t harm me or you. you’re being dramatic.”

he spits out his next words, laced with venom. “baal killed my father. i hate her and so should you.”

“scara.”

“it’s like you’ve completely forgotten about him just because you’re royalty now.”

“scara.”

“don’t call me scara. come with me if you ever cared at all.”

“scaramouche!”

he goes quiet

“don’t go. please.”

he frowns

“you know i can’t do that.”

you want to try and make him stay

but he won’t. you know nothing you say will convince him. he won’t let himself be convinced by you, even if that’s what he truly wants.

you inhale

“get out of here.”

“what?”

“go. leave. and take this with you.”

you throw the necklace you were wearing at him, and he catches it. baal had exiled him, it was true, but he couldn’t expect you to throw everything away for him.

“wait, what are you-“

as the two of you stare each other down, you hear ayaka’s voice coming from the courtyard, calling for you.

she has a guard with her, as the emperor assigns every royal family member. you managed to ditch yours early on.

“the guard is gonna get you if you stay, scara. get out of here, now.”

he scoffs

“whatever. i can’t believe i thought you were worth risking my life.”

he pockets the necklace and steps over the wall, and he’s gone.

nine years of friendship and he threw you away like you were nothing

in truth, the minute he was out of sight, he threw down his bag in anger

he turned around and you weren’t there anymore

you gave up on him

so if he hated you, you deserved it

it might be worth a hefty price anyway.

at least that’s what he told himself

(he never stopped missing you. almost as soon as he joined the fatui, he requested an audience with the tsaritsa to ask her how you were doing.)

“a simple agent, asking that much of me? and for a girl? that’s very bold of you.”

upon hearing it was about you, the cryo archon grew very interested. of course she remembered you.

the sickly orphan she gifted a vision to at a very young age.

she told him you were well

what she didn’t tell him was about baal going berserk and massacring thousands of her people.

upon receiving the news, he felt that chill upon him once again

the fear that fell onto his shoulders, weighing him down, too scared to ask for more information. he didn’t want to be told you were gone.

“the royal family was not harmed.”

he felt his muscles relax as he calmed down.

he quickly reassumed an upright stance.

he was the sixth harbinger. he has no weaknesses. he cares for nothing and no one.

but beneath his mask, the fire of his love for you burned brighter than the flame of any pyro vision.

a/n: ok so i really enjoyed this….scara banner when. i did tweak it a bit but i have other things written for this scenario in which scara returns to inazuma and reader is (deservingly) PISSED with him :) lmk if you want me to post those !

[thepremedthatwrites]

Isolated (pt. 2)

summary:  You had married Peter as an arrangement.  There was no love involved.  At least that’s what you thought but things can change.  While you may have been unsure of your feelings for the High King, you were certain of one thing: your loneliness.

I’m planning to make a third part as there are things I want to include for the conclusion that I couldn’t fit here.  Thank you for all the love the first part has received! 

part 1 | part 3

I woke up to a cold and empty bed.  I slowly lifted myself up, looking around the room to see that I was alone.  I got out of bed, last night’s events flashing through my mind.  Stupid.  Why did I think our relationship would differ after last night?  All that happened was me crying like a baby in front of the man I had married.  If anything, Peter must have pitied me.  I grimaced at the thought.

I took my time getting dressed, wanting to waste as much time as possible.  If I was lucky enough, the others would be gone by the time I went to get breakfast.  As I brushed my hair, a knock was heard from the door.  I slowly opened the door to reveal Lucy standing in the hall, a tray of fruits and pastries in her hand.  I hated that I had held my breath, hoping it would be Peter.  “Mind if I come in?”  she asked.

“Of course not,” I replied, trying to hide the disappointment from my face.  I watched in curiosity as the young Queen placed the tray of food onto my nightstand.

“I brought you some breakfast,” Lucy said, sensing my confusion.  “I had noticed you hadn’t been eating that much and I thought perhaps it may be easier if you ate here away from all of them.”  

“Thank you.”  I struggled to think of anything else to say.  We stood in silence for a moment before Lucy began to speak again.

“Peter talked to us this morning.”

“Did he?”

“Yes, he was practically fuming as he spoke.  He informed us that we should be ashamed of the way we had been treating you and that we had done nothing to make you feel welcome here.  I’m pretty sure he said we did the complete opposite actually.”  Dread filled me as I felt my heart drop to my stomach.  I never wanted Peter to confront the others.  I felt the heat rise to my cheeks as I picked at a strawberry.  

“I didn’t,” I started.

“It’s alright (y/n),” Lucy said, cutting me off.  “He’s right.  We’ve been absolutely awful to you.”  I felt the warmth spread to my neck, my heart racing as I started to feel light-headed.  Lucy had continued to talk but I wasn’t listening anymore.  Were the others angry at me?  Did they think I sent Peter to tell them?  Or worse, what if they felt bad for me?  I felt my stomach turn at the thought.

“I think I may need to be alone right now,” I said, cutting Lucy off mid-sentence.  Lucy’s mouth snapped shut before she nodded.

“Of course.  I do hope to see you again soon.  Susan and I are going to the meadows to pick flowers at around noon if you would like to join.”

“Thank you,” I said.  Even to my own ears, my gratitude sounded forced.  Lucy nodded before scurrying to the door, softly closing it behind her.  I let out a groan before laying down on the bed.  Just when I thought things couldn’t get much worse.  First, Peter saw me at my lowest and now the entire castle knew.  My eyes opened to the sound of the door moving.  

Peter smiled at me as he entered the room.  I felt my chest become tight at the sight, although I was unsure of whether it was admiration or anger.  “Why did you do it,” I asked, my voice barely making it across the room.  The smile Peter had been wearing slowly fell.

“They had to know,” he said, sitting down next to me on the bed.  I propped myself up against the headboard.

“No, they didn’t.  I was perfectly fine with side glances and whispers about me behind my back.  But I can’t handle them knowing it gets to me.”

“If I didn’t tell them, they wouldn’t stop.”

“At least they wouldn’t pity me as well.”

“So you would rather they continued to harass you until your health deteriorated to the point we lose the baby?”

“Yes, Peter!” I said, my voice much louder than before.  “Now they’re going to hate me even more than before!”  Tears had started to well in my eyes.  I furiously blinked them away.

“They aren’t going to hate you,” he said, taking my hand into his.

“Just because you’re the High King doesn’t mean you can control how they feel about me.”

“But you can.”  I looked up, my (e/c) eyes meeting his blue ones.

“Talk to them.  Make them see what an amazing person you are.”

“What if they don’t want to.”

“I’m sure they will.”  My mind flashed back to Lucy’s offer.  Peter wiped away the single tear that rolled down my cheek.  “I believe in you (y/n).”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice a whisper.

“Now,” Peter said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.  “Why don’t you eat your breakfast and I’ll tell you of the insane dream I had.”  I let out a small giggle as Peter leaned forward, grabbing the tray of food and propping it in front of me.  That morning was the first time I had felt like I belonged since I had entered the castle.  Peter and I conversed, laughed, and bonded more in those few hours than we had for the two years we had been married.  

A knock at the door made my story about my brothers and I sneaking into the kitchen come to a halt.  “Your Majesty?” a loud voice called from the other side of the wood.

“Yes?” Peter replied.  His soft and cheerful voice had been replaced with his lower and commanding voice.  The voice he used in diplomatic meetings and the throne room.

“Your meeting with Telmar is scheduled to start soon.”  Peter jumped out of bed as if just remembering.

“I’ll be right there!”  He turned to me, a small smile on his face.  “I hope we can continue this conversation later on.  It looks like my Kingly duties are calling me.”

“Of course,” I replied, getting up myself.  “I’m pretty sure I have plans with your sisters anyway.”  Peter’s smile grew at my words.  I almost didn’t realize what was happening until my lips were on his.  My surprise soon melted away and was replaced with pure joy.  I let my eyes close as I wrapped my arms around his neck.  Peter’s grip on me was strong but not overpowering, his lips softer than I could have imagined.  The last time we had kissed was at our wedding.     

We slowly pulled away from each other, a toothy grin on Peter’s face.  His face was slightly flushed, his blue eyes looking deeply into mine.  I knew I must have looked just as starstruck as I placed a hand on his cheek.  At that moment, I believed that perhaps we could have the perfect-picture marriage, filled with love and happiness.  “We should probably get going,” Peter whispered, his face only inches from mine.

“Yes,” I agreed.  I reluctantly left Peter’s arms.  He held the door open for me before we went our separate ways.  Him to his meeting and me to Susan and Lucy.

Lucy’s face lit up as she saw me approaching the garden.  “(Y/n)!” she exclaimed, almost running to meet me halfway.  “I’m so happy you made it!”

“Me too,” I replied, smiling back at her.  “I’m sorry about this morning.  I wasn’t in the best of moods.”

“It’s alright,” Lucy said as we made our way to Susan who was waiting near the gate.  “Peter’s the same way in the morning.”

“(Y/n),” Susan said, nodding at me.  

“Susan.”

“Look, I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you.”  Her words seemed scripted, the flow a bit awkward and her posture stiff.

“It’s alright,” I replied, just as awkwardly.  

“C’mon, let’s go!”  Lucy said, grabbing both of our hands as we left the garden and made our way towards the meadow that sat behind the castle.  The meadow was absolutely gorgeous, a wide array of wildflowers decorating the grass, a small pond to the left of us.  The forest sat watching on the right, the sound of nature filling the air.

“Oh, these are absolutely beautiful!” I exclaimed as I picked a bright red flower.  Lucy and I searched for more red flowers together, Susan keeping more to herself by the pond.  I couldn’t help but watch her, wishing that we could get along as easily as Lucy and I.  Lucy must have noticed this.

“You know, purple flowers are Susan’s favorite.”  I looked at Lucy, her eyes glimmering as if telling me to do with that information as I will.  “I’m going to go talk to her.”  I nodded as I watched Lucy make her way to Susan.  My eyes scanned the grass before finding a patch of purple wildflowers.  I picked them before looking for some white ones to go with them.  Soon enough, I had a bouquet of purple and white flowers.  Lucy had wandered away from Susan, catching interest in something near the edge of the pond.

“Susan,” I said softly as I made my way to her side.  She turned to see me.  She flashed a small smile as I sat down next to her.  We were both facing the pond, watching Lucy.  “I picked these for you,”  I revealed the bouquet.  Her smile seemed to grow slightly at this as she took the flowers from my hand.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice softer than before.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of me,” I said, not daring to look directly at Susan and instead watched Lucy as she had started to dip her toes into the water. 

“It’s not that,” Susan said.  “Maria is my closest friend aside from my siblings.  She loved Peter with all that she was.”  I felt the familiar heavy feeling in my chest.  

“I know.  I feel horrible for taking Peter from Maria.”  Susan shook her head, turning to face me.

“That’s the thing.  It isn’t your fault.  It isn’t Peter’s fault.  It’s just the reality of being a royal I guess.  And that’s what infuriates me.”  She paused, twirling a purple flower.  “And I guess I took that anger out on you.”  I turned my head to her.  She was now studying the ground.  “It wasn’t right and when Peter scolded us this morning, it made me realize that.  And seeing you and Lucy getting along so well.  I guess I just let my frustration get the best of me.  And I’m sorry.”

I studied the girl next to me.  Her perfect posture, flawless hair, and beautiful features announced to the world that she was a queen.  But underneath that perfection lay another layer.  The layer that nervously played with the bouquet of flowers, that caused her eyebrows to net together in discomfort, that caused her eyes to dart nervously around, afraid to make direct eye contact with me.  That layer was the human part of her.  The part that made mistakes, the part that distinguished her from the gods above.  “I forgive you,” I said, my voice calmer than I had expected it to be.

The feeling of cold water being splashed onto my legs caused me to turn my attention to the pond.  Lucy let out a laugh before going to splash Susan.  “Lucy!” Susan exclaimed, getting up.

Lucy splashed at us again, causing both of us to shriek.  I turned to Susan who was already looking at me.  “Susan, I think the only proper response to this is to fight back.”  A smile tugged at the corners of Susan’s lips.  It was the first genuine smile I had seen on her and it made her entire face glow with beauty.

“I agree.”  And with that, Susan and I rushed into the pond, a war of water and laughter ensuing.

[ticklishfiend]

Angry Little Guy

My Hero Acadameia - Kirishima/Bakugou

A/N: heyyy haven’t written in a hot minute (again lmao)!! my mental health has been taking a tolls recently so writing has been hard, but i still hope y’all enjoy what i wrote today!! i love these boys sm and i hope to write some more for them in the future :) hope u enjoy!! xx

Summary: After Ms. Joke visits the school and forces Bakugou to laugh after he was being a grumpy-butt in class, Kirishima can’t help that he just wants to hear that cute little laugh again. But when Bakugou refuises to laugh any other way, Kirishima decides to use some...persuasive methods :))

Word Count - 2,550

—

Today was a physical training day for Class 1A, all the students gathering in the training gym in their matching blue and red outfits ready for whatever task Aizawa had prepared for them that day. Aizawa’s demeanor today, however, was just a little…off. Sure, he was being hs regular boring, monotonous self, but something about the way his eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets, and the way his back seemed somehow more slouched than usual, showed that the class’s teacher was a little more annoyed today than he already was regularly.

“Does Aizawa-Sensei seem more…upset than usual?” Kirishima scratched his neck worriedly, heck cocked as he watched Aizawa pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know, man, the guy’s never exactly been the bubbly type. Maybe he just got less sleep than normal,” Denki shrugged, his eyes also meeting the groggy teacher stood in front of their whole class. “What do you think, Bakugou? Think Aizawa woke up on the wrong side of the bed or what?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sparkplug, he’s about to start class,” Bakugou grumbled, not even glancing down at his bright blonde counterpart for a second.

“Okay everyone, it’s time to shut up,” Aizawa spoke loudly, his eyes tense as he stared the teens in front of him down. The mumbles in the room went silent as Aizawa began his lesson. “Today’s gonna be a little…different. Despite my pleas against this, you’ll be taught your training by a different pro-hero today from Ketsubutu High.”

Muffled whispers slowly rose up from the crowd of teens before Aizawa, mumbling predictions of who the hell could be teaching them today and why it wasn’t someone already from their school. Of course, as always, Iida’s hand was the first to shoot up and question this strange decision.

“Aizawl-Sensei, why are we being taught by a teacher from another school? Why not use any of the many teachers we have available at UA?”

“Unfortunately, Nezu believes it would be best for you all to not only be trained by the same heroes, as you need to widen your options for training techniques, especially considering many of you need to learn better techniques of distraction. Which is exactly why they’ve brought in-“

“Helloooo~!” The gym doors behind the students’ burst open, a female figure standing in the doorway with her hands on his hips and a bright, wide smile imprinted on her face.

“Oh no way!” Sero pointed excitedly towards the woman. “It’s Ms. Joke!”

“That’s right, future pro-heroes!” Ms. Joke began making her way over toward Aizawa, his glare on her intensifying with every step she got closer.

“Ohhh, now I get why he’s been so moody all morning,” Kiri whispered to Denki, the two sharing a knowing glance as they both grinned.

“Joke, why are you so late? You were supposed to be here an hour ago so we could discuss-“

“Oh cmon, Eraser, don’t be so serious! Just got caught up in a little morning traffic is all, plus spreading a few smiles along the way!” Joke grinned widely at the stoic man beside her. “Y’know, I’m always happy to spread a few more smiles as long as they’re coming from your cute little face-“

“That’s enough, Joke. Please get on with the lesson,” Aizawa rolled his eyes, refusing to look over at his extremely smiley counterpart.

“Whatever you say, future husband!”

“Not your future husband-“

“Okay guys! So who here knows about my quirk and can explain it properly to the rest of the class?” Joke asked, followed by multiple hands shooting up into the air, Deku’s even waving about excitedly (as this IS his favorite thing in the world to discuss).

“Hmm…how about…you! Mr. Grumpy in the front!” Joke exclaimed, pointing towards Bakugou. His arms were crossed in contempt, eyes glaring into Joke’s happy persona like his gaze alone could burn right through it.

“I didn’t even raise my hand,” Bakugou scowled at his higher-up, his stance never wavering. “How do you know I have any idea who you are?”

Ms. Joke smirked at Katsuki. “Y’know, teachers talk, Bakugou,” the mention of his name made his eyes grow a little wide in surprise, not expecting her to know him by name. “Sure, I know you from the sports festival, but I also know you from a little more than that. I know that you’re an angry little guy who doesn’t like not being at the top, and you find satisfaction in knowing more than your peers. I also know you’re very smart, and you’re well educated on the status of most- if not all- pro-heroes today.  So, I’ll ask again; can you please explain to the class what my quirk is and how it functions?”

A silent but stressed pause fell over the group of teens. None of them had expected Joke to get so analytical on Bakugou like that, and it made them all feel a little fearful of what the “angry little guy” had to say next to her next. Bakugou’s glare on the woman deepened, his brow furrowing slightly.

“You can make people laugh uncontrollably, basically making it easier for you to fight them with one-on-one combat. And if you want me to be honest,” Bakugou’s face contorted into an ugly smirk, his arms crossing tighter as his body leaned in ever so slightly towards the hero. “-it’s one of the lamest quirks I’ve ever seen from a pro-hero.”

The air in the room was suddenly 10x thicker than before, almost making it harder for the students to catch a healthy breath. Ms. Joke only smiled fondly at the teen before her, walking closer to him until they were face-to-face.

“Y’know Bakugou…ever since I saw you perform at the sports festival, seeing you so red-faced and angry the whole time, I couldn’t help but wonder…” Joke’s hands went to her hips as Bakugou’s smirk slowly began to fade. “…does that guy ever really laugh?”

Suddenly and without warning, Bakugou began belting out one of the screechiest laughs anyone in that gym had ever heard in their lives. His arms came down to his stomach, harshly crushing his abdomen as if this would cease the laughs at any capacity. After a second, one of his hands shot towards his mouth, after he must’ve finally realized how embarrassingly girly his laugh must’ve sounded.

“Oh my god, no way! Bakugou can laugh!” Denki shouted, pointing at the hysterical boy in front of him. The rest of the class erupted into giggles, unable to contain it after hearing that contagious laugh leave that angry little man.

“SHUHUHUT UHUP! THIS ISN’T FAHAHAHAIR!” Bakugou’s screams were muffled behind his hand, but it did nothing to mask the laughs coming out of the boy.

“So, is anyone who didn’t know about my quirk starting to get how it works?” Joke giggled, Bakugou now crumbling to the floor on his knees without even meaning to. After another moment, his laughs began to die down to soft titters, before standing back up on shaky legs. To his dismay, his face was flushed an adorable shade of pink, and though everyone noticed it, no one dared to make a comment. His eyes made their way to Joke’s, an angry flash of light glaring from them.

“YOU MADE YOUR POINT YET, HAG?!” Bakugou shouted, his hands in a combat position by his sides, making small explosions not big enough to hurt a fly from his palms.

“Yes, actually. I think we’re ready to move on to the lesson at hand!”

-

“Man, I still feel sore after training today. Who knew Ms. Joke could be so ruthless at hand to hand combat!” Kirishima exclaimed, massaging his shoulder before turning back to his homework in his lap. He was sat crisscross on Bakugou’s bed, with said explosive teen leaning against the wall behind him also working on his homework.

“Whatever, Shitty-hair, it wasn’t that bad,” Bakugou rolled his eyes, earning him a shove on the knee from the red haired teen beside him.

“You’re just mad she had you laughing like a little girl in front of the class and you KNOW it!” Kiri chuckled.

“Hell yeah I’m mad, I’m fucking pissed! That hag had no right to do that, it made me look like a fucking idiot!” Bakugou grumbled throwing his head back and hitting the wall with a thud.

“Oh cmon, it wasn’t that bad, it was adorable! You should totally laugh like that more often, Bakubro. I know I’d sure love to hear it,” Kiri giggled, looking up at Bakugou, noting the small tinge of crimson painting his cheeks. He decided to be nice and not say anything, just like he had been at training.

“I’m not adorable, fuckface, and after that whole stunt I don’t think I’ll ever laugh again.”

“Bakubro, you know I can’t have that! I’ve gotta get my dose of Kats giggles every once and awhile, even if I have to pull em outta ya!” Kiri snickered, playfully shoving Bakugou in the shoulder. “In fact, I wanna hear you laugh right now! Cmon, gimme them giggles!”

Bakugou just looked up at Kirishima with the most blank expression he could possibly pull. Kirishima pouted, grabbing his and the other boy’s homework and moving it to the other side of the bed.

“Shitty-hair, I was working on that-!”

“Ah ah ah, Bakubro, you can get right back to your work as soon as I hear that laugh of yours that I heard earlier today!” Kirishima moved to sit cross-legged in front of Bakugou, giving him the dopiest smile he could pull in hopes to get the boy to giggle even a little.

Nothing.

“Kiri, I can’t just laugh on command. You’ve gotta do something funny, and you’re not a funny fucking person,” Bakugou’s expression remained partially blank, but Kirishima could spot that hint of mischievousness behind his eyes that got him all worked up and playful.

“Hmm…well, while I might disagree with you on that, it’s really hard to make you laugh. And trust me, I know that from experience,” Kirishima brought his hand up to scratch at his chin, looking Bakugou in the eyes experimentally. Then, a lightbulb went off over Kiri’s head.

“Hey, Bakugou?”

“Um…yes?”

“Are you ticklish?” Bakugou remained unwavered, but Kirishima could tell that question made the blood boy uneasy.

“No. Can I get back to my work now, Shitty-hair?”

“I already told you, we aren’t working until I hear you laugh. And, I don’t believe you.”

“Well you should, because I’m not.”

“Then can I?” Bakugou furrowed his brows confusedly at the question.

“Can you what?” Bakugou asked, his head leaning back in confusion.

“Can I tickle you? Y’know, since you aren’t ticklish.”

“No, that’s a stupid question, why would you tickle someone who isn’t-“ suddenly, Bakugou’s words halted as Kirishima grabbed the boy by his shoulders and turned him to push his back onto the bed. He sat down on the boys waist, pinning his hands beneath his knees, effectively trapping them. “WHAT THE HELL, SHITTY-HAIR?!”

“What? You said you aren’t ticklish, so this-“ Kirishima pulled Bakugou’s shirt up just above his lower ribs, before lightly and slowly tracing shapes into the boys sides. “-shouldn’t bother you at all.”

Bakugou’s entire body was as stiff as a board, his eyes shut tight and his mouth shut even tighter. His teeth grinder against one another and titter after titter left his lips against his mind’s wishes.

“Kiri- I- Stop- hehe-wait, just hold on a minutehehe-“ Bakugou giggled lightly, his hands struggling beneath Kiri’s knees. Then, Kirishima began digging his fingers into his ribs, and that’s when all hell broke loose for the explosive boy beneath him.

“WAHRHEIT! STOHOHOHOP! NOT FAIR! NOT FAHAHAHAIR!” Bakugou twisted and turned his body, but to absolutely no avail. Kirishima was massaging circles into Bakugou’s lower ribs, and the hysterical boy under him just couldn’t take it. “See? Now THIS is what I wanted to hear, Bakubro!” Kirishima moved his right hand down to skitter his nails on the boy's lower belly, resulting in high pitched squealy giggles to leave the Bakugou's lips. "Aw, you're so ticklish! I never expected this from you, it's so cute!" Kirishima cooed, only making Bakugou's laughs to grow more frantic and panicked.

"NOHOHO! NOHOHOT CUHUHUTE! NOT CUHUHUHU- AHAHAHA!" The boy's words trailed off into even more giggles as Kirishima brought his left hand down to sueeze at his hips. "NOHOHOT THEHERE! PLEASE! I CAHAHAHANT!"

"Aww, is this a bad spot, Bakugou?~ Is it really ticklish right there?~" Kirishima teased, now moving both hands down to sueeze and spider over his hips, which proved to be one of his worst spots so far.

"YEHEHES! TIHIHICKLES!" Bakugou screamed, his legs kicking out frantically behind Kiri as the red-head experimentally moved his fingers upwards and dipped into his bellybutton.

Bakugou let out the most high pitched scream Kirishima had ever heard.

"Oh my god, dude! Is it that bad here?" Kirishima used one nail to scratch at the inside walls of the navel, while another finger skittered around the entire button.

"BAHAHAHAD! SO BAHAHAD! PLEHEHEASE!" Bakugou whined, small prickles of tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Alright, alright, i'll quit. But-" Kirishima halted momentarily, his nails resting on Bakugou's lower tummy without moving. Even with the lack of movement, Bakugou couldn't help the small giggles that left his lips, his childish giggle box already turned on it's head, making those unmoving nails feel like their skittering all over his tummy. "-first you have to admit that your laugh is adorable."

Bakugou's eyes widened. "What?! Are you crazy?! I'm not gonna say something like th-hehehe!" Kirishima slowly began skittering over his lower tummy again, his fingers slowly but surely getting closer and closer towards his navel.

"Bakugou, you are way too ticklish to just not comply with me right now. Just say what I want and I'll let you go," Kirishima smiled, bringing one hand up to skitter at his lower ribs, resulting in a surprise shriek and louder giggles from the boy. "Unless...you don't want me to stop?"

Bakugou's entire face turned beet red, and this time Kirishima just couldn't help himself. "Aw, Bakugou~! Y'know, you're way more of a blusher than you'd like to admit, but that's just another thing that makes you intesnely adorable. So say it! Say you're adorbale!"

"Nohoho! I cahaha- Kiri plehehease! Don't make mehehe!" Bakugou whined, twisting his body as if trying to escape the unstoppable fingers on his torso.

"Cmon Kats~ Just say those two magic little words~"

"Alrihihight!" Bakugou shut his eyes tight, turning his face as much as he could to try and smush his words into the mattress. "I'm...I'm adorablehehe..."

Kirishima finally halted his fingers and moved them off the boy's body, but still not getting up off of his waist. "See? Was it that hard?"

"Yes!" Bakugou whined, finally pulling his hands out from under Kirishima's legs after the red-head gave him some leverage to, shoving them into his face to mask the ever-growing blush and smile emerging.

"You're too cute for me, Kats. I don't think I can handle it," Kirishima smiled fondly at the boy underneath him, his heart swelling in his chest unbeknownst to that angry little giggly guy.

-

A/N: i hope u enjoyed!! i just love lee!bakugou so i rlly couldn’t help myself LMAOO he’s so cute wtf :(( anyways, if u enjoyed this pls consider liking and reblogging!! reblogging is much more appreciated as it helps spread my fic to more ppl :)) love u!! xx

[feraldabi]

Press SEND For Love

ERASERMIGHT (Aizawa Shouta/Yagi Toshinori)

Summary:  Shouta’s finger hesitates over the send button; he knows once he presses SEND it’ll cause chaos, and he’s not sure if he wants to endure that.

ao3

Shouta’s finger hesitates over the send button; he knows once he presses SEND it’ll cause chaos, and he’s not sure if he wants to endure that.

Yet.

He looks at a certain ex-number one hero, sitting across from him and doing his best to write up next week’s lesson plans. There’s a crease between his brows from how focused the blond is, and he wants nothing more than to reach over and smooth it.

And, maybe pull a long, blond bang just because he could.

Okay, yeah, he’ll send it.

He takes a deep breath and hits SEND. His text stares back at him as if mocking him for wanting—

A loud screech permeates throughout the building.

Soon enough, there’s a scuffle at the entrance of the teacher’s lounge before the door is slammed open revealing two huffing pro heroes.

Enter: Present Mic and Midnight.

God, maybe he has the tiniest bit of regret. But, only a tiny bit.

The duo waves off the voiced concerns from others and zero in on him, regretfully.

Shouta gives them a look. He knows them, and he can’t have them making a scene here. Granted, he knows sending them that text would set them off into a tizzy but oh well. They’re adults and professional heroes, so they can wait until it’s just them in the safety of his room.

He doesn’t even deign them with a response. Shouta simply raises his pointer finger to his lips in a shushing motion. He can tell that the lack of response is grating at them.

But, he refuses to cooperate with their wants. They’ll give him hell for it later, anyway.

“Shouta,” Hizashi whisper-yells in his left ear.

He closes his eyes and breathes. When he opens his eyes he sees Nemuri claim his right side.

“You can’t just text that and expect us not to ask,” Nemuri adds in her own irritated yet warm tone. “Shouta!”

“I expect you to do your job,” he says, shrugging them off. “Leave me alone.”

Twin yells of, “Shouta,” echoes through the room.

“Ah, is everything alright,” a small, hesitant voice asks. (Shouta knows that voice all too well.)

“No,” Shouta says, a bit too sharp even for him, but he knows he has to put a stop to whatever this will be before it happens.

“Actually,” he hears Nemuri utter. “Your expertise would be very helpful.” She finishes that by batting her lashes at him.

Yagi, bless his soul, blushes a pretty pink that makes him wonder how far down it goes because he can see it reach the tips of his ears.

“Please, ignore them, Yagi-san,” he manages to get out once his brain unfreezes itself after the reboot it had from seeing Yagi blush. “They’re being idiots.”

“Now that’s just hurtful, Sho,” Hizashi declares as he places both hands over his heart. “This is an important question!”

“It’s fine, Aizawa-kun. If I can be of help then, please, ask away.” Yagi’s closes his eyes as he smiles this soft and open smile and ugh Shouta can’t take this.

He has a limit, okay.

And, he’s at the brink of it.

“Wah, thank you, All Might!” Both Nemuri and Hizashi say.

Hizashi rounds the desks and places an arm around Yagi’s shoulders. “Now, big guy,—“ Yagi turns to face him with a serious face “—what do you think a person should do for a first date?”

The question surprises him because he can’t fucking believe his ex-friends are really doing this. Right here, right now.

“Yes! You must have some experience, right?!” Nemuri says, leaning onto Shouta as she looks at Yagi, who’s taking on a redder hue.

“Yagi-san, this is highly inappropriate, please , ignore them,” Shouta states, “I do.” He makes sure to hold eye contact with both ex-friends hoping they’ll feel his ire.

(They do, but it’s fine they’re used to it.)

“No no no, it’s fine—“

“It’s always fine for you, though, isn’t it,” Shouta snips. Can’t he just keep his damn mouth shut for one second. He feels like the bastard he is in this very moment.

His mouth seems to glitch and no words come out. Shouta knows what he wants to say and usually he’ll damn the consequences, but he doesn’t want to fuck this up even more.

But, Yagi beats him to it.

“Apologies, Aizawa-kun, I’m used to a certain mindset that I’m doing my best to revert.” The man awkwardly rubs at his neck, and Yagi looks so sheepish that Shouta can’t help but feel even worse.

“No, I’m sorry. That was shitty of me to say when I know your trying to do better.” A memory of them sitting upon a bench on a cold night comes to Shouta’s mind, and Yagi’s, ‘I’ve decided to live’ haunts him. “Please,” he rushes out, “don’t apologize.”

He can feel his his heart racing, but that could be because he’s holding his breath and totally not because it’s Yagi.

Yagi’s face goes through a series of emotions and settles on this endearing look that has Shouta feeling woozy.

“Thank you, Aizawa-kun.”

He doesn’t deserve Yagi’s forgiveness, but he’ll take it. Shouta offers a nod back l before burying his face into his scarf.

For a moment there’s an awkward silence, and it’s Yagi who breaks it.

“To answer your question, Yamada-san, apologies, but I won’t be much help—“ Yagi pulls a bang and laughs “—I’ve never been on a date before.”

Hizashi and Nemuri do the most dramatic gasp Shouta’s ever heard in his life, but he can’t blame them because what? The number one hero, All Might, has never been on a date?! This seems…fake…

“Excuse me?” Wait, did he say that?

Fuck.

Yagi boisterously laughs causing his bangs to flutter around his face, “I’m aware that it seems far-fetched, but, yes, dating isn’t something I had time for.” He shrugs in a What-Can-You-Do way.

No time? Well, that does make sense, Shouta muses. All Might didn’t become the number one by taking time for himself; this man had dedicated both his time and his health to protecting the innocent.

He feels a sharp elbow introduce itself to his ribs.

“What would you want a first date to be then,” Nemuri asks as her fingers dug into the meat of his arm, forcing him to pay attention to whatever Yagi would say.

(As if he isn’t going to mentally write down what Yagi says.)

Hizashi laughs, “Yeah, what’s a good first date for All Might?”

Yagi contemplates the question and brings a hand to rub at his pointy chin, “I suppose a picnic would be nice.” He nods his head and then looks at all them with a small smile. “Surrounded by trees! It would be intimate yet comfortable.”

The little Shouta in his head is frothing at the mouth because come on! The date that Yagi described sounds perfect. It’s both private yet out in the world; open yet  intimate .

Shouta can feel his pulse quicken as an idea hits him. He could ask. He could ask Yagi right here, right now on a date. The timing is perfect, and the text he’s sent to the group chat is burning: How do I ask Yagi out?

This! This is how he could and his mouth opens and words flow out before his brain even catches up: “I’m free this Saturday if you want to go on a picnic date.”

The question catches them all off guard, but he can’t take them back because it’s out there now.

Yagi’s face takes on this reddish hue again, and he nervously twirls a bang around his finger. “Coincidentally, I’m free this Saturday, so I would love to go on a d-date, Aizawa-san.”

“Shouta,” he says, feeling his face warm. “Call me Shouta, please, since we’re going on a date.”

“O-Of course, Sh-Shouta! Toshininori! I mean—My first name, please, call me Toshinori.”

Now, they’re just two fools with red faces looking at each other with smiles on there faces. (Shouta wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Yet, their moment is ruined by twin screams.

“OH MY GOD!”

“SHOUTAAAAAA!”

His quirk activates and he turns it on Hizashi first and then Nemuri.

The room seems to explode in congratulations and applause and fuck, he forget where they were. Goddammit.

He huffs before looking toward a sheepish Yagi—no, Toshinori—who looks so happy that he can’t help but smile, too.

Wait, what time is it. Well fuck, sucks for them.

Shouta can feel a grin spread across his face as he looks at both Hizashi and Nemuri. “Better start running,” he says, causing his two non-ex friends to pause in their jovial celebration. “Your 20 minutes late for your classes and you know how Nezu is about punctuality.”

He can see the brain cell jumping back and forth between them and then—

Off they go. They’re running for their lives.

“Heh.”

That’ll teach them for being nosy.

“Toshinori, what food do you want to bring for the picnic?”

“Oh! We can bring egg sandwiches, fruit, and I found this new brand of teas we can try together. Also—“

Shouta let’s Toshinori’s words flow through him and settle in his heart. He’s so glad he worked up the courage to ask.

(He’s grateful for his nosy ass friends.)

“That sounds wonderful, Toshinori.”

[radiantroope]

Heart of Gold || Rafe Cameron

pairing: rafe x reader

requested: no

summary: your mental health is slipping and your boyfriend will do anything to help you.

warnings: swearing, depression, implied suicidal thoughts, mentions of drug use/abuse, fluff; if any of these are triggering please read with caution

word count: 1.6k+

author’s note:  rafe is not a murderer in this fic. i love non-canon rafe. i wrote this as a vent the other day when i was having a hard time. i’m good now though<3 also, i suck at summaries so i’m sorry.

masterlist | add yourself to my tag list

You felt numb. Completely and utterly numb. The hollow feeling in your chest only felt to grow with each hour. The soft fabric of your pale yellow duvet cocooned you in the bed you wished to never leave. You stared blankly at the wall in front of you.

You stopped crying hours ago. Remnants of tears stained your flushed cheeks. The tip of your nose had turned a rosy color and your eyes that were once so full of life were puffy and bloodshot. Your arms tightened around your legs as the daunting thoughts loomed inside of your head.

Rafe Cameron was no stranger to your inner demons. He had his own as well and that’s what brought you two together. Shared traumas of being berated for everything you did. Feeling unaccomplished no matter what you did. Feeling unloved by the very people who were supposed to take care of you the moment you took your first breath.

Rafe knew you needed your space sometimes. He knew you had to work out your thoughts and emotions on your own and he was okay with that. You had it way harder than he did, being a Pogue — someone he never could have imagined falling so hard for. Though, when he hadn’t heard from you in three days, he started to grow worried. He sent you a good morning text, an “I love you” text in the afternoon, and a goodnight text before he went to bed each day. Despite the state you were in, he always got a reply. When this time he didn’t, his mind went into overdrive.

The Kook knew your parents spent all day on the mainland every Wednesday so he hopped in his truck and made his way to the South side of the island. He just needed to see you and make sure you were okay. He knew the longer you isolated yourself, the darker the thoughts in your head would get. He wasn’t going to risk you doing something stupid in a moment of weakness like he’d done before.

“I don’t know what else you want from me dad! I try so damn hard, but nothing is good enough for you!” you shouted at your father from the other side of the living room.

This had been going on for almost two hours. For a while, you sat in silence as your father called you every name in the book. He told you how he raised you better than this. He compared you to your older sister who had gotten a full ride scholarship to Julliard. You barely skimmed the surface in school. Not seeing the point since it was rare for anyone to actually make it out of The Cut.

“I want you to do better. I want you to stop treating this house like a god damn hotel! You come here to eat our food, use our shit, and sleep one night a week! You may as well move the fuck out at this point!” your father’s voice got louder with each sentence, face turning red in rage. “Go move in with your perfect little Kook boyfriend in his big perfect house and mooch off him! You’re worthless, Y/N! I’ve lost all the faith I had in you.”

The fight happened three days ago, but you couldn’t get your father’s words out of your head. They kept spinning there, along with every other hurtful thing he’d said from the moment you turned sixteen.

You’re worthless. You’re lazy. You’re stupid. You can’t do anything right. Who would ever love you?

You didn’t hear the front door or the footsteps walking down the hall. You didn’t hear your bedroom door open and gently shut seconds later. The voices in your head were far too loud.

Rafe’s heart dropped at the sight of you curled under the blanket. Your knotted hair was splayed out on the pillows. He almost couldn’t even see the rise and fall of the blanket due to your shallow breathing. He walked around the bed and let out a soft breath. The emotionless expression on your otherwise beautiful face caused a tightness in his chest.

The blue eyed boy crouched down by your head and gently brushed your hair away from your eyes. He watched your eyelids flutter and your gazes met. It was like you were looking through him, a sad smile spreading across his lips. He whispered, “Hi, sugar.”

As your brain registered your boyfriend was the person in front you, the floodgates in your eyes reopened. A small cry left your lips as you released your legs and reached out of the covers for the boy. He didn’t hesitate to climb straight into the bed with you. His muscular arms enveloped you, pulling you tightly into his chest. You couldn’t control the sobs that wracked your body.

“Oh, baby,” Rafe breathed, feeling tears burn in his own eyes. Seeing you in such a state was never easy and he had trouble keeping his own emotions at bay.

He buried his nose in your hair and closed his eyes. One of his large hands rubbed up and down your spine, trying to consol you. He quietly cooed, “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

The sandy haired boy held you in his embrace until your harsh sobs turned into small whimpers. You sniffled every so often and your body still trembled against him. He brought one of his hands up to your hair and worked his large fingers through the knots. He knew you probably needed a good shower but he was going to wait until you’d calmed some more before he moved you. He placed a soft kiss to your forehead right at your hairline, causing you to look up at him.

“Why do you love me, Rafe?” your voice was barely even a whisper. He definitely wouldn’t have heard you if you weren’t pressed chest to chest. “I can’t do anything right. I’m a waste of space. You deserve someone better.”

A deep frown pulled at the Cameron boy’s face. He knew you were only saying it because your parents had embedded it in you. They’d said things like that to you so many times that you started to believe them. He always did everything in his power to remind you that you were incredible and so loved — even if it was only by him.

Rafe brought his hand up and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing down the flushed skin and over your jaw. His tone was stern but his voice was soft as he said, “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“I love you because you’re a strong woman with a heart of gold. You go through hell and still wear a smile on your face to everyone on this island. You go out of your way to help people when they need it, even if you get nothing in return. You defend your friends and I even when we don’t deserve it.”

The Kook’s heart leapt when he saw the corners of your mouth twitch. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip. His bright, ocean blue eyes stared into yours with complete adoration.

“Remember when I was an addict?”

How could you forget? It was two years ago, early in your relationship when you learned of his addiction. You remember every sleepless night staying up making sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit when he was going through withdrawals. You remember having to help him shower when he was too weak to stand on his own. You remember having to change the sheets once a day when they were covered in his sweat. You remember taking the angry outbursts when he desperately wanted a fix and couldn’t get it.

You remember the three times he relapsed and you had to start the process all over again.

You remember the one time he overdosed — and you almost lost him forever. That’s when he finally realized he was killing himself and checked into a rehabilitation center. Topper and Kelce cleaned up their acts along with him. None of them wanted to die over an overpriced white powder that gave them a temporary high to numb their pain.

“You visited me everyday in rehab, even when I gave you every chance to walk away. You never gave up on me,” Rafe’s thumb made its way back up your cheek and over the protruding bone. “I’m not giving up on you, baby. I will spend everyday, for the rest of my life, reminding you that you deserve the world. That you are smart, beautiful and the absolute love of my life.”

Your lips turned up in a smile. It wasn’t a big one, but it was something, and Rafe had never been so happy to see it. He tilted his head down and captured your lips in a sweet kiss. Your hands that had been gripping the front of his polo slid around his back. When he pulled away, you rested your head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart.

“Move in with me,” Rafe said after a moment of silence.

Your head lifted immediately, nearly knocking his chin as you stared wide eyed at him. He chuckled at your shocked expression and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got some money put away. We can get an apartment and it’ll cover a few months. We can get jobs and I’ll go to school,” Rafe’s fingers trailed over your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “What do you say, princess? Wanna start our own life?”

You couldn’t stop the grin that enveloped your face as you thought about what he was suggesting. You wouldn’t have to be criticized by your parents anymore. You’d be free to do whatever you wanted with your life, and you’d have the man of your dreams by your side. So you nodded, bending in and pressing your lips to Rafe’s passionately.

“Let’s do it, baby,” you whispered against his lips, squealing softly as he pulled you on top of him and attacked your face with kisses. 

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[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

I decided to re-open the taglist for this fic because I am sometimes a pushover, so now you can either ask or comment to be on the fic’s taglist or the permanent taglist! 

Additionally, I have no consistent update schedule. My first draft is written by hand- I always like to stay two chapters ahead, so I posted this chapter when I finished copying chapter 5 into a Google Doc and proofreading.

Also, fun fact: I hate chocolate. My senses just do not like it at all. I also have a very sensitive tongue and can taste the barest hint of spiciness in foods, which also means I have zero spice tolerance whatsoever. As a Chinese-American with family in Sichuan, this means I get force-fed a lot of extremely spicy foods anyway.

Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 [Chapter 3] Chapter 4

“Why are you letting them stay? He tried to kill Dick!” Timothy points at Damian, who glowers at him from across the cave as Alfred stitches Richard’s cuts.

Marinette sighs. “Akhi was not trying to murder Richard. If you paid more attention, you would notice that all of Richard’s wounds are carefully placed in non-lethal areas meant to slow him down instead of severely injuring him.”

Batman does not say a word. He hasn’t spoken since Richard called him to verify their claims.

“They were raised as assassins, Timmy. It’s normal that they’d feel threatened a lot, and act accordingly. They’re family now. Give them a chance.” Richard replies, and Marinette blinks. She did not expect to have Richard defend them so easily.

“Pardon me,” She pipes up. “But ‘they’ are currently present.”

“Right. Sorry.” Richard has the sense to look guilty. Timothy just glares.

Damian squeezes her hand three times, their signal for I would like to leave. Marinette sighs as she exits the Batcave. Being accepted into the family is… a work in progress.

.o0o.

Slade is put into Blackgate not long after with the information Ubu gave after being interrogated by the Bats. Damian and Marinette were not allowed to go. 

Too young, Richard had said. They had interpreted that as You cannot be trusted to keep him alive. He did make the right call though. Damian would have tried extremely hard had he gotten the chance.

Of course, the League did dispose of him not long after anyway, but it was the thought that counted.

Damian and Marinette spent their days in the Manor sparring, reading, or practicing their instruments. Richard, who seemed determined to bond with them, bought them both new sketchbooks, for Damian’s drawings and Marinette’s designs. She had discovered an affinity for clothing design while undercover on a mission, and had been designing ever since.

Cass (she insisted that they call her that instead of Cassandra,) was always happy to spar when asked, and although nobody ever defeated her, it was a welcomed challenge to fight someone who knew your every move, sometimes even before you did. Damian grudgingly admits she is a worthy sister, which makes Marinette smile and Cass beam.

Jason had his own home and only visited every once in a while, and Timothy was rarely seen. It didn’t help that Damian continued to make snarky comments whenever they did see him, but if Timothy was scarce, Father was practically nonexistent.

Since they came to the Manor, their father has said a total of two words to the both of them, and that was just their names when he exited his study as they passed by.

Marinette is determined to make her new family work, and so when she finds Timothy completely by accident, typing away on a laptop in one of the less-used rooms in the Manor, she takes a chance.

“You do know we are not trying to replace you, right?” She asks softly, sitting down in an armchair and deliberately not making eye contact with him. 

Timothy snorts. “But is that not what you’re doing? Bruce chose to take in everyone else. I had to blackmail him into letting me be Robin. And then the biological kids show up, born and raised like fucking royalty, so who would care about Tim Drake? The little kid whose parents didn’t even want him and his neighbor only adopted him because he knew his most well-kept secret.”

“We have more in common than you think.” Marinette says quietly.

“Yeah, right.” Timothy laughs bitterly. “The Princess of the League-”

“I wasn’t.” Marinette interrupts.

“Huh? But-”

“I wasn’t the Princess.” Marinette keeps her voice calm with considerable effort. “As soon as I was born, Ra’s gave me over to Lady Shiva. He declared me unworthy because I was a girl, and I was raised as the lowest-ranked assassin. I may have been Shiva’s protege, but that just meant she went even harder on me. I did not know even my last name until after my first death when I was five. I did not properly meet my brother until last year. Ra’s decided that I could be acknowledged, but maintained his stance on feminine inferiority.”

She chuckles hollowly. “You fear being replaced by your father figure’s biological children, Timothy. But your fear is unwarranted. Bruce Wayne chose to adopt you, because he is a good man with copious amounts of generosity. However, it evidently does not extend to his biological children. Talia dumped us at Batman’s feet and left without another word, without looking back. And Father? We may have been a complete surprise, but he has said two words in total to us since that first night- our names. You need not worry, Timothy. You shall not be replaced.”

Marinette stands, her message conveyed, and pauses in the doorway of the room. 

“Have a good afternoon, Timothy.”

The next day, Marinette and Damian watch on live television as their father is killed by Darkseid.

.o0o.

The funeral for Batman is somber. Everyone cries except for Marinette and Damian.

She thinks they should be crying, but Marinette simply didn’t know her father well enough to really mourn him. Damian squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. The twins stand, faces carefully blank, shoulders straight and unmoving, like rocks in an ocean of tears.

Crime in Gotham runs rampant when they think Batman is gone, and so Richard becomes Batman out of necessity- and chooses her twin brother as his Robin.

Nobody else sees how it crushes Timothy, because Cass has left for Hong Kong, abandoning Batgirl and making her own identity as Black Bat. Jason is holed up in a safehouse somewhere, Richard and Damian are in their own little world as they prepare for their first patrol together, and Alfred needs time to mourn too.

So she finds herself knocking on the door to Timothy’s room, one hand holding a plate of sandwiches and a freshly brewed coffee because he hasn’t left his room since the funeral. Marinette quietly enters upon his muffled “Come in” and sets the plate down next to Timothy, whose eyes are red-rimmed and have even larger bags than normal, and yet he continues to work.

“I… noticed you have not come out to eat, so I brought some food and fresh coffee. Black.” She adds, after a moment of hesitation.

“Thanks.” Timothy mumbles, immediately going for the coffee. “Why are you doing this?”

Marinette shrugs. “Everyone else was caught up in their own situation and had issues to work through too. I am relatively unaffected by the circumstances and therefore my observation skills have not declined.” She says simply. “You should also eat. I will not stop you from drinking the coffee, but you cannot work on an empty stomach, either.”

He begrudgingly eats a sandwich, still typing away at his laptop all the while. Marinette notes the tension in his frame.

“Would you like to talk about it? I have read that venting is significantly better for one’s mental health than keeping it bottled up.” She offers.

Timothy suddenly slams the laptop shut, hard, but Marinette doesn’t flinch. The reaction was trained out of her a long time ago. 

“It’s not- it’s- my entire life, I’ve been trying to prove myself. Robin was- Robin was special. I wasn’t the first Robin, but it was a reminder that I was worth something to someone, that I could do good and be useful. And then Bruce dies, Dick becomes Batman, and he just names Damian as his Robin like my opinion on the matter meant nothing, booting me out of the position, without any semblance of an explanation and-” He breaks off into sobs.

The sight of somebody crying makes Marinette more than a little awkward, because what is she doing? She doesn’t know how to comfort a crying person, but she does know that Timothy was touch-starved as a child. However, she isn’t the most touchy-feely person on the planet either, so she just settles for rubbing his back as he lets it all out.

Once he’s run out of tears, she silently hands him the tissue box she plucked from his desk. 

“Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, you are not worthless.” Marinette says sternly. “Nobody is worthless, and you are far from being anywhere near so. You are the cleverest and most intelligent of us all, a capable, quick-thinking strategist, and you have detective skills that rivaled Father’s. I believe Richard chose Damian as Robin because Robin is always supposed to be Batman’s sidekick. He is always taken under Batman’s wing because there are things he hasn’t learned, that Batman can teach him. Richard sees you as an equal, and therefore cannot keep you as his Robin because you have graduated the mantle. It is time you created a new identity and moved on. Do you have anything in mind?”

Timothy sniffs once. “Thank you. I really needed that. And as for the ideas,” He reaches over and pulls out a sketchbook, a smile spreading across his face. “I’ve got a few.”

.o0o.

They brainstorm ideas for almost three hours before Timothy falls asleep. Marinette easily carries his light frame to his bed and drapes a blanket over his shoulders before quietly exiting his room.

Thankfully, she managed to convince Timothy that the cowl was a terrible idea. Marinette returns to her own room for her sketchbook. Batman and Robin will have each other’s backs. But Red Hood works alone, leaving Red Robin with nobody to watch his back.

Timothy is Marinette’s brother too, and everyone else is headed into the field anyway. She, like Damian, also had the phrase ‘justice, not vengeance’ drilled into her head, and Richard had made sure to remind them daily to aim for non-lethal spots. Not that she planned on taking a life ever again anyway.

Marinette flips open her sketchbook to a bookmarked page and smiles. It seems that Starling would be making an appearance very soon.

.o0o.

It is almost time for Richard and Damian’s first patrol as Batman and Robin. Marinette heads downstairs to wish them well, but freezes at the sight of her twin in Timothy’s old suit.

“This is unacceptable!” She screeches, hurrying forward and looking pleadingly at Richard. “You cannot let akhi out into Gotham looking like a traffic light!”

Richard frowns, as does Damian. “But you never had a problem with Tim wearing it.”

“Tt. Timothy had little to no prior experience in combat before being trained as Robin. Damian has been trained to utilize the shadows in combat since birth. Wearing those bright colors will make him stand out and put him at a disadvantage.” Marinette tuts, already scribbling out a new design in her sketchbook.

“Then what do you suggest, ukhti?” Damian asks.

“I have a design in mind. The colors will stay, but the yellow and green will have to be significantly darker, and the red should be dulled as well. Sadly, you will have to wear that monstrosity tonight, but I can have the suit finished in time for patrol tomorrow, as will mine and Timothy’s new suits.” She replies, not glancing up from her book.

“What do you mean, Marinette?” Richard questions, and Marinette feels a tiny twinge of annoyance at how he handled telling Timothy about Robin.

“I mean that Timothy and I have crafted new identities as well. You did not expect him to just stop fighting crime, or for me to just sit at home while everyone else carried out Father’s mission, did you?”

Damian nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It will be nice to see you in the field too, ukhti.”

“What will your names be?” Richard prods curiously.

“I will not tell you just yet.” Marinette smirks. She shows her twin the finished design. “Does this look alright, akhi?”

“It looks wonderful, ukhti.” Damian replies. “Thank you.”

She sniffs. “Well, somebody had to fix the lack of fashion sense in this household eventually.”

.o0o.

Everyone else in the family may use capes, but Marinette decided that Richard’s Nightwing suit was by far the best because of its lack of one. Capes were long, heavy, a waste of fabric, and overall useless.

The Starling suit was primarily black, with a dark emerald mask covering the lower half of her face (because why carry a gas mask and rebreather when it can be built in?) with gloves and boots in the same color. A single silver star with curved sides was splayed on her chest, and a dark green utility belt rested on her waist. Her steel war fans had holsters strapped to her thighs.

All in all, the suit was built for the shadows. Marinette had learned to master slipping through the dark, unseen, and Gotham was the perfect place to utilize that. Starling would be nothing more than a ghost, a legend, if she had her way. After all, the less citizens knew, the less likely the information would hit the underworld, and that way, the vigilantes wouldn’t have all their cards out in the open.

Damian looks much better in his new suit as well, and Timothy is also grinning when he steps out of the male’s changing room. (A/N: the new 52 suit. I’m not letting him out of the Cave with that ugly cowl, or the traffic light costume with an extra R. Don’t even get me started on the Drake one.)

Richard, cowl still down, smiles as bright as the sun itself. “Good to see you, Robin. Tim, Marinette, can I ask your names?”

Timothy fastens his domino. “Red Robin.”

Marinette pulls her face mask up and curtsies with perfect posture. “Starling. I wish to work in the shadows, if that is alright.”

Richard puts on the cowl and becomes Batman. “You guys all look amazing.” He grins, and it is unsettling to see Batman smile. Oracle logs into the comms from the Clocktower.

“You all ready?”

They split the city in half. Red Robin and Starling take the North while Batman & Robin will cover the South. 

Starling trails Red Robin from afar, leaping from building to building and only using her grappling hook when the distance is too great to close by foot. They stop four muggings and two attempted assaults, all without Starling being spotted. The criminals think they hit their head on the alley walls or each other instead of her fist from behind.

It’s almost three in the morning when Batman calls it quits and they return to the Cave, changing out of their suits and showering. They are somehow all unharmed, so Alfred sends them up to bed.

Damian and Marinette brush their teeth before climbing into bed and flipping off the lights.

“Tonight was actually quite enjoyable.” Marinette remarks. “It is a nice feeling, to know that you are helping people.”

Damian hums sleepily. “It is good to know that we are continuing Father’s legacy.”

Marinette smiles. “Yes, I suppose so.” She burrows deeper into her blankets. “Sleep well, akhi.”

“The same goes for you, ukhti.”

For once, Marinette doesn’t have a nightmare.

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[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 6/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

Eddie gets cleared with two weeks to spare, and they celebrate by making out on Buck’s couch for so long it actually starts to hurt.

Buck can admit that as excited as he was to give this thing of theirs a go (“You can call me your boyfriend, Buck, it’s not a bad word”), there was still a part of him that was nervous. Nervous about how it would affect him, would affect both of them, especially now, when they’re physically and emotionally exhausted as they hurtle closer and closer to Beijing. For the first week, Buck kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to realize this was a mistake and break it off cleanly, before they got in too deep. He knows what a monster he can be when he’s strung out on stress, and only Maddie has ever been able to see past the short words and shorter temper and get him to breathe again. 

But one day, after an awful practice that brought the monster out in full force, Eddie found him hiding out in the locker room, fuming by himself and at himself. He didn’t chastise him like he could have (like he should have), didn’t tell him he was overreacting or that he was too much. Instead, he did what had become such a pillar in their friendship: he sat next to Buck and waited. And when all the anger and frustration finally seeped out of him, Eddie was there with a warm, solid, grounding hand to pull him back to his feet and away from the edge he was mentally leaning over. No judgement or invalidation, just genuine empathy. 

And that’s all it took for it to slot into place for Buck. That no matter what, they’re friends — best friends — first, and their very unique life paths means they understand each other on a level that no one else can. Being boyfriends just means they get to do more fun things together now, like making out on couches like the real teenagers they never got to be.

The weeks after Eddie’s clean bill of health fly by, and they’re heading to Lake Placid before he knows it. Buck’s excited — he’s always excited for Nats — but he also feels a looming sense of foreboding, like any minute, something is going to go terribly, terribly wrong. The last time he competed here was four seasons ago, when he won his last Nats gold, two weeks before shattering his leg and Olympic dreams in one fell swoop. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? Maybe the universe has decided that the Olympics are not for him, and this weekend will result in a last place finish or another injury or something else that takes everything away from him again.

He feels a warm palm against his and a squeeze, looks up to see Eddie watching him, framed by the snowy mountains whizzing by the bus window. His brow is creased in worry, like he can see the storm starting to swirl in Buck’s head. That worry, the way Eddie knows him, is strangely grounding, pulling him out of his dark cloud enough to actually enjoy the view of upstate New York they have as they make their way to their hotel.

The pre-competition routine is easy, familiar, and Buck lets himself get lost in it, block out any and all doubts that keep trying to sink their claws into him as the weekend gets closer and closer. Eddie’s there every step of the way too, not at all the distraction Buck had been worried about for way too long, but a welcome calm in the clusterfuck of his emotions, something for him to hold onto and gravitate back towards when it all starts to be too much. He can’t believe he survived this season — or any other season — without this to balance him out, but he knows for a fact that he’s never letting it go.

It’s the morning before shorts, and Buck is woken up by obnoxious pounding on their hotel room door. He feels a groan rumble through Eddie’s chest where it’s pressed against his back, smirks as he feels his arms wrap tighter around his waist.

“If we’re quiet enough, maybe they’ll go away,” Eddie whispers.

“Get up losers, we know you can hear us,” Chim yells through the door. Buck throws back the covers, chilly morning air making him even more irritated, and yanks the door open, coming face to face with Chim and May.

“Oh thank god, he’s wearing pants,” May sighs in relief.

Buck squints an eye at her. “It’s 8:00am, what could you possibly want from us this early?”

“It’s team bonding day,” Chim says with a grin. “We’re going to Mirror Lake. Grab Eddie and your skates and meet us at the bus in 15.”

“What if we had our own plans?” Buck asks, crossing his arms. “How do you know we weren’t gonna spend all day in bed having—” A hand clamps over his mouth from behind him before he can finish.

“We’ll see you guys down there,” Eddie says. He shuts the door on them and pinches Buck’s side, turning toward his suitcase to find clothes.

“What?” Buck asks, laughing. “I was gonna say having a movie marathon, you didn’t let me finish.”

That earns him a sweatshirt thrown at his head, but Eddie’s looking at him all fond and soft when he throws it, so Buck’s not complaining.

Mirror Lake is the very definition of “winter wonderland” — the ice seems like it’s never ending, so clean and smooth you almost feel bad skating over it. Mountains and forests surround it on all sides to hide it away from the rest of the world, and Christmas lights are still strung up in the trees and around houses. It’s fairly empty this early, just a small group of kids playing a pickup game of hockey near one of the inns. A dusting of snow covers and muffles everything, bringing a sense of stillness and calm that’s unmatched anywhere else.

Buck takes a deep breath and revels at the bite he feels in his lungs. All the thoughts and voices filling his head finally quiet down, and he can just be here, enjoy this time with his friends without worrying about what’s going to happen tomorrow or next month. He knows it won’t last long, will all come flooding back as soon as they leave the lake, but he’s going to soak it all in while he can. 

He’s fallen behind the group a bit as they spread out, taking in the sight of everyone — Maddie and Chim holding hands and matching strokes like always, Hen and May making up some kind of obstacle course, Bobby and Athena lost in deep conversation as they glide. He keeps looking until he spots Eddie, a little ways from the group, moving and spinning to the music only he can hear in his head. He’s as graceful as ever, confident in every movement, but there’s peace in him too — he’s at ease, free from the pressure of competition and perfection that Buck knows rests so heavily on his shoulders. The early morning sun bathes him in golden light, but it’s nothing compared to the smile sent his direction when he catches Buck watching.

He’s so beautiful it actually takes Buck’s breath away.

Eddie makes his way back to him, the light following in his wake. His smile is even brighter up close, but Buck only gets to enjoy it for a moment before he’s being pulled into a kiss so sweet and slow and perfect it makes him dizzy. Eddie pulls away just as quickly as he came in, the smile replaced with a smirk, and Buck barely registers the words “Race ya!” before Eddie’s speeding off to the other side of the lake. He’s stunned for a minute before he pushes off too, catching up with Eddie and doing his best to cut him off the rest of the way. Their laughter echoes off the mountains, surrounding them in their own joy, and Buck for the life of him can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie’s in first and Buck’s closing out the group, because apparently the universe gets a kick out of watching him suffer.

They’ve been in this same situation so many times before, and he used to be able to turn his irritation at another flawless skate from Eddie into determination, propelling his own skating to be as close to perfect as possible. Now, though, he feels...proud. And happy for Eddie, because despite the weeks out and any lingering pain, he was flawless again — everything perfectly landed and rotated, a commanding presence on the ice. It’s a weird feeling, but it’s also nice, especially when Eddie winks at him and mouths good luck as he makes his way to the kiss and cry, and Buck’s whole body fills up with giddy butterflies.

Turns out butterflies work better than anything else for him — he’s 10 points in first place after shorts, and he feels so electric, so on top of the world he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Until he sees Eddie again on their way to the presser, costume still sticking to him with sweat in all the right places, hair mussed and cheeks rosy.

Then there’s only one thing he wants to do, and he can’t believe he has to be polite to reporters before he can do it.

He manages to be nice and not stare at Eddie the whole time, but he snaps as soon as they get back to their hotel room, pushing Eddie up against the door as it closes and kissing him fast and dirty.

“Is this your way of distracting me so you win tomorrow?” Eddie asks, breathless from the kiss, fingers threading through Buck’s hair as Buck trails kisses down his jaw and neck, pausing only to shove Eddie’s jacket and shirt off so he can get to more skin. He stops again just as he gets to Eddie’s chest, his breath ghosting over a nipple and leaving goosebumps in its wake. Eddie’s pupils are blown wide when he meets his eyes, and the blush on his cheeks and crawling down his chest is so pretty Buck could write sonnets about it.

He smirks, the novelty of the effect he has on Eddie far from wearing off. “Do you want me to stop?”

Eddie shakes his head, cupping Buck’s jaw to pull him back up. “Fuck no, don’t even think about it,” he says before kissing him hard again, tongue licking into his mouth immediately, and Buck can practically taste the quiet, subconscious sounds Eddie makes as his fingers run down his chest and stomach. He quickly thanks whoever made track pants a part of the Team USA uniform before shoving Eddie’s down his thighs and finally getting a hand on his cock, already hard and leaking. Eddie whines as Buck breaks their kiss, but it settles into a sigh as he resumes his trail down his body. Normally he’d spend a lot longer working his mouth over as much of Eddie’s skin as he can reach, relish in the salty sweet taste of it and hit all the places that make Eddie’s hips buck forward without his permission, but he’s only got one goal in mind at the moment. He’ll make it up to Eddie later.

He finally swallows Eddie down, hears a “fuck” and a thump above him as Eddie’s head hits back against the door. He knows exactly what Eddie likes — the first week of their relationship was pretty much dedicated to figuring out all the best ways to make each other fall apart. Eddie gets a hand in his hair again as he hollows out his cheeks and hums, vibrations sending another wave of shivers over Eddie, making his hips rock even more. Buck looks up, and Eddie looks wrecked, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, head thrown back and neck bared. It’s a miracle, really, that Buck doesn’t come right then and there.

“Christ, Buck, I’m—” Eddie tugs on Buck’s hair in warning, but it just makes Buck go faster, coaxing and coaxing until Eddie’s spilling into his mouth. Buck just barely has time to finish swallowing before he’s being yanked back to his feet and into a searing kiss, Eddie wasting no time in tasting himself on Buck’s tongue. He barely registers where Eddie’s hands are until he feels one wrap around his cock, steady and determined. He’s so keyed up now that it doesn’t take much — a few twists of Eddie’s wrist and a bruise sucked onto the underside of his jaw has him spilling over Eddie’s hand before he knows it. 

He presses kisses to every part of Eddie’s face he can reach as he comes down, soaking in the warmth radiating from him, only stopping when Eddie not so discreetly tries to wipe his hand on Buck’s pants.

“Hey!” he cries, laughing at the look on Eddie’s face. “Go wash your hands like a normal person and come meet me in bed.”

“Room service?”

“Duh.” He kisses Eddie’s nose before flopping onto the bed and flipping through movie rentals. The rest of their evening is quiet, full of bad movies and french fries and conversations about everything and nothing, and Buck feels an ease that he never feels the night before free skates. Tomorrow may be make or break for him, for both of them, but in this little cocoon of theirs, his face tucked into Eddie’s neck and Eddie’s arms around him as they drift off to sleep, the worry and nerves and anxiety feel too far away to touch him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The worst part is that he knows it’s a dream.

He knows if he jumps in real life, he’ll always come back down. Maybe not gently and maybe not on his feet, but after half a second of air time, he will touch the ground again. 

But now he’s taken off and he just keeps going — it’s completely impossible, but he’s still scared. Scared of the unknown that he’s propelling towards, scared that he can’t control his body or where it’s going, scared that it’s all going to end and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Fear turns to pure terror as his weight shifts of its own accord and starts sending him back to the rink he’s made up in his head. He thinks (hopes) he’ll wake up before he makes impact, but the panic is still clawing at him, sinking into his bones and running all the worst case scenarios though his head. He crashes through the ice but it doesn’t stop — flashes of disappointed faces, snippets of voices tinged with pity for him and the fact that he failed once again. It’s cacophonous and overwhelming, but he catches specific voices — Maddie, Bobby, Eddie — that try to push through, try to pull him out, but it’s not enough. He’s falling into the nothingness of his own failure and there’s not a damn thing anyone can do about it.

He finally wakes up, his skin feels like it’s buzzing, alive with lingering panic. He’s got an arm around Eddie’s waist and his face pressed into the back of his neck, and he takes a minute to breathe him in and get his heart to slow back down. It’s early, barely light out, but Buck slips out of bed, grabs the comforter from the other one, and quietly slides open the balcony door. The snow is just starting to glow from the first rays of sunlight, and everything is quiet, still, a direct contrast with the thoughts and feelings still swirling in Buck. He sits on the little bench facing the surrounding forest, does his best to focus on the chill in the air and the quiet nature sounds around him, tries to shut out everything else and be right where he is.

It takes a while, but it helps. 

The sun is fully up by the time he goes back in, and Eddie’s just finishing packing up his skating bag. Buck’s bag, actually. Eddie’s is already set by the door. He feels on the verge of tears again, but not in a bad way.

Eddie turns to him as he slides the door shut. His eyes track everywhere, like he’s cataloging Buck, taking stock before making a move. Buck’s stupidly grateful for it — he feels like one wrong move could send him cracking all over again, and it wouldn’t be Eddie’s fault, but he’d get the brunt of it. But Eddie knows him better than almost anyone, so whatever move he makes will be a good one.

He watches Eddie move slowly toward him and reach for his hand, giving Buck every opportunity to back up and say no. That’s not at all what he wants, so he meets Eddie halfway and laces their fingers together.

“Do you need another minute?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck shakes his head. “I’m okay. We have to leave soon anyway.”

“Will you believe me if I tell you that everything’s gonna be fine?”

“Probably not.”

Eddie nods. “Okay.” He tugs Buck toward him, gently kisses his forehead, cheek, and lips. “We need to be downstairs in 30 minutes.”

Buck squeezes his hand and heads towards the bathroom. He steps into the shower and tries to convince himself that Eddie’s right.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Channel your nerves, Buck. Everyone here is rooting for you. Show ‘em what you got.”

Buck nods at Bobby before pushing off the boards. He hears On the ice, representing the 118 Skating Club of Los Angeles, Evan Buckley and the applause that follows, but it sounds tinny and far away. He’s trying to channel everything — his nerves, doubts, fear of failure, whatever — and make it work for him, but it’s not as easy today. He feels heavy, like his body isn’t quite in line with his mind and what he needs to be doing, and he knows he’s going to be fighting himself for every element for the next four and a half minutes.

The music starts and he tries to float with it, use it to push through the extra gravity he feels and lift himself up more. He lands his first jump — his triple axel, usually one of his strongest — but feels himself wobble, knows his GOE will be low. He misses the second jump on his first combo and has to mentally comb through his program to figure out where he can tack it onto to make up points. On and on it goes — he doesn’t fall, there’s no monumental breakdown, but he’s subpar, doesn’t meet his own expectations and probably doesn’t meet those of the USFSA. He finishes with the fakest smile he’s ever slapped on his face and all but sprints to the kiss and cry.

Nats scores are always inflated, so he doesn’t do bad, but he’s certainly done better. There are three skaters left, including Eddie, and a terrible part of him hopes that the other two eat ice so he can still finish on the podium and salvage his spot in Beijing.

They don’t. Naturally. He sits in the green room as they each have the best skate of their season and leap frog over his score. Eddie’s last to go and he lays it all out there, like he’s already at the Olympics, but Buck’s hardly mad about that. He’s a force, attacking every jump but still keeping a softness in his movements to match Jeff Buckley’s voice. Buck’s got chills up and down his back during his last step sequence and into his final pose, and he knows it’s a gold medal by a mile. And he’s happy for Eddie, ecstatic even, but he also feels his heart break a little bit, because Eddie winning puts him in fourth.

The pewter medal. A stupid consolation prize that only the USFSA gives out. He’s technically still on the podium, but it somehow feels worse than if he’d finish last.

“You had a great Grand Prix this year, that counts for a lot more than Nats,” Eddie says on the ride to the airport the next day. It’s the first time Buck’s let him talk about it without changing the subject or kissing him or literally walking into another room. He’s run out of energy to avoid it anymore. 

“They’ll want someone consistent, and that’s clearly not me.”

“You have the second highest overall score in the country this season, fifth in the world. They can’t ignore that.”

Buck shrugs, picks at an errant string on his hoodie to avoid looking Eddie in the eye. He feels lips press to his temple and unconsciously melts, head moving down to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“It’ll all work out. We’ll be in Beijing together, I know it.”

Eddie’s always so confident, so sure in his convictions and unwavering in his beliefs. Buck loves him for it but it’s also unnerving, because he wants to believe as hard as Eddie does, but he knows how this goes. He works and works and pushes and pushes but in the end, it’s not far enough. All his hard work, his literal blood sweat and tears, can’t get him that extra inch closer to where he wants to be.

It happened four years ago, and he can feel it happening again. And this time, he won’t be able to blame a broken leg for his failures.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Buck, stop shaking your leg, you’re gonna trigger an earthquake.”

Buck scowls at Chim but stops. It’s been three days since Nats, three days of waiting, knowing that at any minute, the USFSA is going to post their final Olympic team. He’s been on edge for 72 hours because they won’t have an idea it’s happening until it happens, and he thinks he might be starting to go insane.

“It’ll be soon,” Maddie says from where she’s leaning on the boards. They’re all supposed to be warming up, a long day of practice ahead, but they’re congregated around the benches instead, anxiety crackling between all of them like lightning.

He doesn’t even notice his leg starts shaking again until Eddie places a hand on it to stop him.

“Opening ceremonies are in three weeks,” May says as she stretches on the floor. “They’re cutting it awfully close if they don’t announce, like, today.”

Chim groans as he stands up from the bench to join Maddie. “Why is it even taking so long? They’ve seen how the season’s gone so far, there can’t be that much left to deliberate.”

“Do you think they’re actually still deciding, or just waiting because it’s dramatic?” Buck asks.

Eddie snorts. “Probably the latter.”

“Guys!”

They all turn towards the doorway to the locker room, and Buck feels his blood run cold. Hen is there, looking calm as ever on the outside, but he meets her eye, and he knows.

“They just posted the list. Bobby has it up on his computer.”

Chim grabs Maddie’s hand and sprints, and May is hot on their heels. Eddie gets 10 feet in front of him before he realizes Buck hasn’t followed. He’s frozen in place, hands numb, heart beating so hard he’s worried about his ribs. Right now, on the bench, he can convince himself he’s living in a world where his dreams haven’t been crushed, where he still has a chance. Once he takes a step, that all ends.

Eddie comes back for him, grabs both of his hands and waits until Buck meets his eye. When he does, he gives him that small, soft smile Buck knows is just for him, and it feels like he’s saying I believe in you. It’s enough to get him moving.

They catch up with the others just as they get to Bobby’s office, and they jostle and crowd around the desktop, trying to get a clear view. Buck’s thankful for his height and looks over everyone, the world quickly narrowing to just him and the computer screen.

From the top, the list goes men, ladies, pairs, dance, so he starts from the bottom to delay any disappointment. 

He feels the tears prick when he sees Chim and Maddie listed, his smile nearly splits his face at May’s name. Eddie was inevitable, but his heart still soars when he sees it written out.

And then.

And then.

His name. His name, just above Eddie’s. 

Evan Buckley. Right there, clear as day, in Times New Roman font.

He’s glad Chim and May are already crushing him in a hug, because he’s pretty sure his knees have given out.

This is real. This is happening. Eddie is squeezing his hand and Maddie is crying and it’s happening.

They are officially, officially, going to the Olympics.

[crossdressingdeath]

I know you'll probably disagree with me, but i rlly hate the Cloud recessess ending. It's just....

Those elders killed wwx. The Lans were 100% ready to murder both at Qiongqi path but also at the siege. They see him as the guy who corrupted their precious jade. They all preach righteousness, but the whole madam Lan thing is iffy at best and i do not believe that everyone there fully believes the rules. Hell, i have a special bone to pick with the " do not gossip" rule, seeing as gossip had been the main info route for women in patriarchal societies.

I just don't think that after wwx killed Lans in the siege they'd be all that willing to forgive him and take him in w open arms. The juniors and kids love him, yes, but people who saw the war....

Not to mention the whole " do not speak to WWX " rule. I've seen ppl say it's a joke but it's On The Wall. It's supposed to be followed. Even if it was intended as a joke - which i don't believe - it's very cruel for someone w rejection and trust issues.

I also hate it from a very personal perspective. I see Wwx as ND, and, as an ND myself, all those rules terrify me. From the no running and the proper posture ones, i can pretty well imagine they forbid stimming. The Lan curfew would fuck anyone with insomnia and there's smth deeply ucked up abt the " do not grieve in excess". I get that they're supossed to be a paragon of the best things at all time, and that LJY is very UnLan like, but for someone w anxiety who CAN'T follow those rules, it would be a nightmare.

...Some points:

First, the Lan elders did not kill WWX, nor did they attack him unfairly. They weren’t looking at him as the man who corrupted LWJ, either, or at least that wasn’t their primary concern (I will never forgive CQL for suggesting they were or it was); they were looking at him as a traitor to the sects who was raising an army to destroy them. Remember, that is the information the Lans had. Every source they had except for LWJ (who the people he would have gone to would have known was biased and who presumably everyone knew had recently been in close contact with WWX where he could have been manipulated or enchanted in some way), sources which included multiple sect leaders (one of whom was WWX’s brother) and LXC’s dear friend, swore up and down that WWX was a major threat, and let’s face it, WWX didn’t do much to dissuade people from thinking that! Acting like the Lans were maliciously targeting WWX is doing them something of a disservice, I’d say. They acted based on the knowledge they had available; note how the Lans are the first to offer WWX their help once they’re given reason to believe he may not be a villain! And even aside from that, saying they killed WWX (and not JGS and JGY’s manipulation or JC’s army) feels a bit like scapegoating, honestly. Of the four sects, the Lans are quite possibly the least responsible for WWX’s death. If it would hurt him to live with or around anyone who held any responsibility for his death his only option would be to live as a hermit, which would be far worse for him. And yeah, the Lans aren’t perfectly righteous all the time and some morally dubious things have been done by Lan sect members; they’re human, after all! Some of them will only be as moral as their sect leader demands they be! That doesn’t mean the sect as a whole is bad, especially with LXC, LQR and LWJ in charge. Certainly I’d say they’re still better than the other sects, all things considered. One ambiguous situation that may or may not have involved some members of the previous generation doing some fucked up shit doesn’t mean WWX would for sure be mistreated! 

As for gossip... there’s a difference between sharing information and gossiping. There’s no evidence that the Lan women are blocked from... y’know, freely communicating and sharing information between themselves. We have no reason to believe they are reliant on gossip. Also they presumably go out night hunting just like the men? Men and women are kept separate in the Cloud Recesses, but I get the sense that that’s more like... school stuff than anything else. The women aren’t exactly locked up, they can be cultivators! The society is still sexist, but that doesn’t mean they’re kept from going out and doing things. And I need to make this clear: there is a fair chance that the rule against gossip saved LWJ’s life, because it kept word of him defending WWX from the sects from spreading to people who would not be willing to let bygones be bygones. Gossip sucks! It hurts people! A lot of this story (and more to the point the suffering of the characters within the story) happens because of gossip! The Lans banning gossip is pretty clearly supposed to be a good thing, I’d say.

And yeah, maybe after WWX killed a bunch of their sect the Lans wouldn’t accept him with open arms as if nothing ever happened! And that’s fair! I can’t imagine where WWX could go where that wouldn’t be the case, unless he and LWJ chose to abandon the cultivation world forever. But you know what else the Lans won’t do? Try to execute him. Or from what we see in the extras even dwell on the past that much. No, the Lans aren’t going to immediately forgive WWX and bring him into the fold without a moment’s hesitation, but you know what? They accept his marriage to LWJ! They let him supervise the juniors on night hunts! They consider him part of their sect! Honestly, that is all WWX can really ask and far more than he’d get from any other sect. There are consequences for what WWX did, even though he wasn’t the villain or necessarily trying to hurt anyone, and frankly people not being entirely comfortable with his presence is very much reasonable.

The “do not speak to WWX” rule may not be a joke, but it’s also pretty clearly not a serious rule. No one takes it seriously. The juniors (the only people WWX really talks to anyway aside from LXC and LWJ) only pay it the minimum lip service of talking to him off the path. WWX himself sure as hell doesn’t care! He clearly finds it pretty damn funny. And I don’t think a guy who has never liked him once again proving he does not like him (in a way that is clearly temporary given how later LQR invites WWX to the Lan family banquet with... reasonable amounts of grace, thereby implicitly accepting him as LWJ’s husband and therefore his own family by marriage) counts as a rejection or a breach of WWX’s trust? Like, LQR has literally always hated WWX. He isn’t preventing WWX and LWJ from spending time together or shutting WWX out of the Cloud Recesses or even making a concentrated effort to keep people from talking to him; he’s venting his frustrations, but if he really intended to block WWX from taking part in life in the Cloud Recesses he would’ve done a hell of a lot more than just make a rule who no one WWX likes follows anyway. It’s a temper tantrum, that’s all, and clearly that’s what WWX takes it as. I mean, if nothing else you can’t ban people from talking to the sect heir’s spouse indefinitely. That’s just not sustainable.

As for the rules... banning people from running in the Cloud Recesses and demanding proper posture during lessons doesn’t suggest to me that they wouldn’t allow stimming? ‘No running’ at least is a common rule... most places. It’s distracting, and can be dangerous. And the rule about sitting properly doesn’t mean “Don’t move at all ever”; it means... well, “sit properly”. Don’t slouch or sprawl across the floor. I see no reason why that wouldn’t preclude means of stimming that wouldn’t be disruptive (and given this is in a classroom environment “not disruptive” is kind of important). I mean, those rules certainly don’t suggest that they’re any worse than other sects, and given this is the sect that has magic music for calming people’s minds if any sect would give allowances for neurodivergence it would be this one. Also I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a song to put people to sleep, or medication that can help; this is a world with magic, after all, and if there’s a song that can put spirits to rest there are probably songs for human medicine and care. And of course there’s an element of conflicting needs; maybe the rules would screw you over, but frankly firmly enforced rules keeping people from running around or sprawling out of their seats would’ve been a godsend for me in school, given how much trouble I had focusing with people making noise around me. At the end of the day, is it guaranteed that the Lans would make allowances for people with needs that conflict with the Lan rules? No. But I’d argue it’s more likely that they would than any other sect. This is ahistorical fantasy ancient China, too; you can only expect so much in the mental health department. Still, a sect that literally invented magic music for calming the mind actually seems like the best choice for people with anxiety and such. There’s a reason why there are multiple fics that essentially set the Lans up as mental health experts in the setting!

Basically, a lot of your arguments seem to be issues that WWX would have in any sect. Unless he wanted to give up on the support of a sect altogether, they’re all things that he would have to work through or come to terms with. And of course... the most important point is that WWX is happy in the Lan sect. The extras make that clear. He has a home, duties that he enjoys performing, the love of his family and the support of his sect. He’s happy. I just... I do not understand why people keep feeling the need to try to make it angsty when the novel makes it clear that he genuinely enjoys his life in Gusu, and more than that that if he ever decided he didn’t enjoy it he could leave at any time. You have to remember that: if WWX wanted to leave... he would. He and LWJ would just go, and only come back occasionally so that LWJ could visit his home. Hell, LWJ would insist on leaving for WWX’s sake. So like... the Lan sect wouldn’t suit everyone, but WWX is quite content there and doesn’t want to leave. He’s happy and free to come and go as he wishes; there really isn’t anything to be concerned about there.

[hawkinsindiana]

we’re safe now

ALMOST PARADISE: PART TWO - CHAPTER TWELVE OF FIFTEEN

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!reader

word count: 3.3k

a/n: ahhh i’m sorry this is coming a week late! but i really appreciate everyone being patient while i sort out all the issue with my health. luckily, i’ll be able to post the next chapter next week so we’re back on schedule! again, i can’t thank you all enough for the support and overwhelming love i’ve received recently, so this is for you guys <3

masterlist

Almost two weeks have passed since that night. You’ve been counting the days like some twisted tally, unable to stop reminding yourself of the events that occurred. It bothers you to no end - why you can’t seem to get them out of your head.

The nightmare certainly isn’t helping you cope.

You can’t recall all of the details; you just remember how it felt when your body jolted, how your fingers rushed to grab the smooth grip of the pipe resting beneath your bed - until you realized it was only your subconscious mind playing tricks.

That shadow cast by your dresser wasn’t Billy Hargrove. 

It’s only been five days, but sleep has eluded you ever since.

It seems that everyone’s already moved on. Their lives haven’t stopped or slowed down by what happened. Even Will’s adjusted well, or as well as can be expected. Every little bit of progress is like ten steps in the right direction for the Byers’ boy.

“Hey-” The eraser on the end of Steve’s pencil jabs you in the arm, bringing your scrambled thoughts back to reality - back to him.

“What d’you think about ten? A or D?”

Your eyes drift from Steve, sitting in the chair beside yours, to the worksheet on the table. You’d completely forgotten about it - the pen in your hand had been drawing circles absently onto the paper.

“I, uh-” You clear your throat, gaze bouncing between the four questions you managed to answer, “I didn’t get there yet.”

Steve scoffs as he leans over to take a look; he doesn’t believe a word of it. You always get through these faster than him. But when he realizes that you haven’t flipped to the second page, a touch of worry settles in his stomach.

“Jesus, Henderson. Where’s your head at?”

Steve asks it like it’s a joke. You don’t know if you appreciate or despise the delivery.

On one hand, you’re happy that he feels lighter than you do. Your troubled mind is thankful for the levity it desperately needs. 

But then again, you don’t feel like you’re really here - you think you could just fall right through the floor, forever destined to drown in these emotions.

Dustin says that’s typical until the concussion wears off; but you’re not concerned about physical trauma.

You reply to Steve just as the bell rings, marking the end of the school day.

“Well, uh… the kids wanna get together tonight, but now that there’s so many of ‘em, Karen won’t let them hang at the Wheeler’s. Mike’s been on my ass to help find a spot.”

That’s not a lie - it has been on your mind. Mike has been bugging you about it, desperate to spend more time with El now that she’s returned. That’s cute and all, just as long as you’re not being dragged into it.

Steve’s brow creases before grabbing your bag from the back of your chair. He swings it over his shoulder, carrying his own books by his side; until your hand heals, you’re not going to have to lift a finger.

“Why can’t you just have it at your place?” 

“Not enough room for them all to stay over,” You respond, “Max and Mike refuse to sleep on the floor. We only have one couch.”

As soon as the pair of you step out into the crowded corridor, your eyes catch the snide glances in your direction.

It didn’t take long before people started to figure out what happened.

The injuries that litter your faces were quickly connected to Billy’s split knuckles - which he’s been showing off proudly. To no one’s surprise, it sparked a whole array of rumors. 

Don’t forget the shocking twist that Nancy Wheeler showed up to class with Jonathan Byers on her arm, prompting even more whispers and speculation. Needless to say, it’s been a rough couple of weeks at Hawkins High for you both.

But as soon as you’re free from the fluorescent lights and greeted with autumn’s crisp afternoon breeze, peace starts to settle in. 

“They could hang out at my place.”

Steve’s comment causes you to spin around and stop in your tracks. Your confused expression meets his plain one; he simply shrugs, not acknowledging your reaction, “You know, if they wanted to.” 

He continues on, brushing past you on his way towards the parking lot before you pick up the pace.

“Wait, seriously?” You question after coming to Steve’s side, baffled that he would offer such a thing, “You know that you don’t have to do that, right?”

Steve chuckles a bit, amused by your tone and the shock you radiate, “What, it’s not like anybody’s using it anyways. My parents won't get back until late Sunday night.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, Harrington?” You add after approaching the passenger’s side of his car, “They’re even worse when the world’s not at stake.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Steve replies, tossing your belongings into the back seat. He shuts the door before opening yours. A touch of concern floods his mind, “Wait, you’re coming too right?”

You fold your arms over your chest; a small smirk curls your mouth upwards, “I thought you could handle it.”

“Well, you know… there are six of ‘em-”

“Relax!” You laugh, shoving Steve lightly. The action makes you realize that you hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten - it makes your heart skip a beat. He mirrors your bright smile as you finish, “Of course I’ll be there. I’m not that cruel.”

—

One word. That’s all it took to convince them. Dustin, on the other hand, was on board with the idea as soon as you mentioned it.

The door chime rings once, then seven more times before Steve finally swings open the front door. He’s met with Max’s smug grin, pointer finger pressed against the doorbell. 

Steve frowns when she doesn’t let up - the annoying sound still echoes through the house. Just as he’s about to tell her to quit it, Lucas slaps her hand away; the action earns him a prompt shove on the arm.

“I heard there was a pool,” Max says. 

Her overnight pack is slung over her shoulder, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. The group is huddled onto the step, all carrying their belongings with them.

“Uh, yeah,” Steve steps back, pulling the door back with him, “Down the hall, take a left-”

“I’ll find it. Come on guys.”

The girl pushes forwards, with Lucas and Will pursuing closely behind her. Mike and El follow soon after - El’s hand is wrapped tightly around his elbow.

Steve starts to grow concerned when he doesn’t see you or your brother. Maybe you ditched him to go hang out with Hargrove. 

He hates that he thought that. Of course you wouldn’t. It still bothers him though, why you said yes.

But then Steve hears your bickering cut through the chilly November breeze, and he can’t help the warmth that spreads through his chest. 

“Here, take this-”

“No! I’m not carrying your shit!”

The corner of Steve’s mouth curls up at your tone. He hopes he gets used to your arguments - god knows he doesn’t want to lose either of you.

And then he thinks about what was admitted that night. That maybe things would be better if he realized how happy you make him.

That he’s happier when he’s with you than he was with Nancy.

That scares him. He doesn’t know why.

—

Max couldn’t get into the pool fast enough; she was still wearing one of her socks when she drove in. She quickly found out it wasn’t deep enough to do so.

“I still can’t believe you convinced Hop to let her come,” Steve mutters, approaching your side before passing you a can of Coke.

As much as you might wish it was something stronger, you’re not sure you’d like to be tipsy around any of the kids. Who knows what secrets could spill.

Steve gestures to El, who’s perfectly content just dipping her toes into the warm water; you taught her how to roll her jeans into tight, clean cuffs as to not get her clothes wet. She watches the others throw around a foam football, clapping anytime someone catches it successfully - which isn’t often.

You shrug a bit and gladly accept the drink, “As soon as he heard I would be there, he was fine with it. You know, I’m trustworthy.”

Steve’s standing a little too close - his arm brushes yours every few moments. Every touch has been amplified since you felt the undeniable electricity; any nudge or tap makes your heart rate pick up, no matter how small.

Steve doesn’t get to reply, Will’s pass just misses Mike’s hand; the ball bounces against the concrete before landing against the fence on the other side of the yard.

You sigh while sending a nasty glare to the boys, setting down your soda, “Wait, I’ve got it.”

Steve chuckles as you walk over, waving off their excuses and holding conversation; he can’t hear the banter over the radio that’s blasting the hits. And then something comes to mind, something you’d hate. 

He kneels down next to El - her curls bounce as she turns her head to him. Steve keeps his voice low, eyes bouncing between you and the young girl, “I’ve got an idea.”

“Mike, you missed a perfectly good shot!” You say, siding with Will in the argument. 

“Thank you!” He exclaims, “At least somebody notices talent around here.” He smiles when you send him a sly wink and a thumbs up.

Mike’s words stutter as he attempts to defend himself, “My-my hands are WET! We’re in a POOL! It’s not my fault!” He’s motioning wildly now, splashing water around as he speaks.

You start to approach the water’s edge, spinning the ball between your fingers as you answer, “Yeah, tell that to the other thirty times you miss-”

As soon as you come close enough to the pool, you’re pushed a few feet forward, limbs flailing rapidly in surprise. A wave cascades over the group as you land in the water, quickly drenching them and turning Dustin and Lucas into sputter messes; they can’t tell if they’re coughing or cackling.

Once your head comes up from the surface, Steve and El’s laughter grabs your attention. Steve offers his hand for a high-five, which she eagerly returns, “Nice job, kid - that was awesome!”

You brush your hair away from your face and begin blinking rapidly to rid it from your eyes, “You two are so gonna get it!”

“It was Steve’s idea,” El replies between giggles, to which the boy in question deflects the blame, “Wha- you’re the one who did it!” 

“What the hell was that?!”

“Oh come on, that was funny!” Steve answers your outburst, relishing the moment that came before, “You should’ve seen the look on your face, Henderson. Absolutely priceless.”

The frown you have cracks a bit at his joy. It’s hard to not let his infectious happiness influence you. The water’s deep enough to come up to your chest as you wade over to the pair of them, “But now my clothes are all wet! These are my good jeans!”

Steve exhales, feeling a bit of guilt wash over him at your whining, “Alright fine. I’ll help you up, come here.”

But as soon as Steve’s fingers wrap around your bicep, yours tighten on his wrist - Dustin would recognize your mischievous expression anywhere.

“Wait, Steve-”

Your brother’s comment comes too late, because you’ve already yanked Steve in too. Another splash covers the kids; Lucas wipes water from his cheeks, “Oh, come on!”

“There. Now we’re even,” You add as Steve combs his hair back. It sticks up in chunks in random places, making your mouth curl up in a smirk.

“I guess I deserved that,” Steve coughs as he pulls his soaked sweater from his skin, before turning to you when a laugh bubbles from your throat.

“You should’ve seen your face, Harrington.”

There’s a pause before Steve responds. He’s overwhelmed by your actions, how that glint in your eyes makes his heart flutter, makes him speechless for the first time in a long time.

Instead he lunges, an arm wrapping loosely around your waist to pull you closer, only to splash more water in your face. 

“You’re so dead!” You shout before pushing Steve back underneath the water, but his hold strengthens, pulling you down with him briefly before popping up again. 

There’s a moment that occurs right after breaking the surface. 

Your hand comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder, the fabric of his clothes twist in your fist as your gazes meet. Heat crawls up your neck when his palm slides over your back, and his focus is drawn to your lips. 

God, he could kiss you right now. 

But he’s still in love with Nancy. And nothing about this is fair to you.

Then the realization hits - the kids are still here. 

“I’ll uh-“ Steve clears his throat, moving himself away as you drop your hand. When his touch finally leaves you, the exhale you were holding releases into the sky, suddenly expelled from your lungs.

Steve nods once, a somber manner about him, “I’ll find you something dry to wear.”

You swallow harshly as the feelings start to settle; your stomach aches. Turns out that things between you and Steve weren’t going as well as you thought they were.

Maybe what he said didn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s just confused. Maybe he’s just using you as a way to get over his heartache.

You feel like you could throw up.

You’re barely able to look at the kids, who are all staring silently in your direction, puzzled by what they just witnessed.

“If you guys need anything, I’ll be inside,” You say softly before hoisting yourself up on the metal ladder.

Lucas is the first to speak once you’ve retreated inside.

“Alright, please tell me we all saw that?”

—

You can’t sleep. Not that you’re surprised, you weren’t expecting to.

You just hate how this feels - uncertainty and fear don’t mix well inside your brain.

Even if everything is shitty, at least your relationship with Steve seemed to be better. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

But you can only lie here and listen to Max’s light snores for so long; you need some fresh air. Turns out, you’re not the only person with the same desire.

It’s your voice that draws Steve’s attention.

“You know, the last person out here alone got snatched up, Harrington.”

He can’t help the small smile that spreads over his face at the sight of you, standing there wrapped up in one of his mother’s expensive throws; the hood from his sweatshirt pops out a bit at the top, helping to keep you toasty. 

“Oh yeah? You got a death wish, Henderson?”

You go silent for a moment, hesitating with your response - your exhausted brain can’t seem to come up with a reply. The mixture of the cool November air and the heat that rises from the pool washes over you in waves. It makes your body desperately wish that it could relax.

“No, no I don’t,” You finally reply, moving to sit down next to the water’s edge, “Not yet, anyways.” 

Steve grows confused at your answer. It’s not at all what he expected you to say. He waits a few seconds, pondering his options before deciding to join you. 

His skin tears slightly at the contact with the rough concrete, his eyes are cast towards the ground. 

Your breathing begins to steady once Steve takes a seat by your side, leg pressed to yours. You feel better having him here - you don’t like being alone anymore.

“I can’t sleep either,” He says.

You don’t even have to mention it; he recognizes that look on your face, the desperation for a hint of rest. But he doesn’t know if that’s because he’s still reeling from the harrowing experiences, or if it’s because Nancy’s not there next to him anymore.

“Will went missing about half a block from here,” Steve continues, “It still freaks me out to think about that.”

“There’s a street light right outside my window,” You add, picking at a loose string on your pajama bottoms, “Nine times out of ten I think it’s that thing. And I know that there’s no way it could be...”

You sniffle after trailing off; Steve shifts his gaze to you, watching as you peer out over the calm and quiet landscape, “But that doesn’t stop my mind from imagining it.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. He wishes that he had known about this sooner. Maybe he could’ve helped you move on.

He wants to keep you talking. He hopes that would help you, but he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. 

That was never something he thought about before. But juggling with these new feelings about you has him reconsidering everything about your friendship. He doesn’t want to make anymore mistakes; you don’t deserve that.

“How are you holding up otherwise?” Steve asks.

Your brow furrows as you hold your hands in your lap, grimacing at the sight of your healing bones. There’s no wonder why you haven’t been able to adjust - a constant reminder is always in sight. 

Your chest heaves as a warm breath expels into the air, “I just… I can’t get rid of that feeling.”

“Which one?” Steve’s eyes are now on your face, studying you softly. The lights from beneath the pool’s surface gloss over your features - it’s absolutely mesmerizing. 

“I’m still so scared, Steve,” You gulp, gaze trained on the water ahead, “I’m so scared that something’s gonna happen again.”

“Eleven closed the gate,” He says, “We’re safe now.” 

You shake your head slightly, pulling the blanket closer to your chilled frame, “That’s not what scares me.”

You don’t need to continue for Steve to understand. He can’t imagine what’s been running through your mind, although your behavior from the past few weeks is starting to make more sense.

A light dusting of purple and blue still covers your jawline. God, how he wishes he could wipe it all away, forget that ever happened, forget that it’s his fault you’re burdened with the memory of that night. He didn’t do enough. 

Maybe if he had, you would have been spared.

“I’m terrified of what he did to you.”

Steve’s admission hangs in the air for a moment. He almost grows embarrassed of it, but being vulnerable doesn’t scare him as much as it did. 

He’ll never be able to get that image out of his head. You, bruised and bloodied at Billy’s mercy - he sees it when he closes his eyes at night.

You don’t know what to feel at his words, you just know that it makes your heart race. You don’t think you’ve ever had someone say anything like that to you before. 

Steve’s forehead creases when he feels your fingertips brush his knuckles, still tender from trying to beat Hargrove senseless.

He adjusts to intertwine your hands, feeling a sudden wave of relief come over him as your palms press together. Then, somehow you’re both inching even closer, head resting on his shoulder as it becomes painfully clear.

He knows why he was scared before. Because this, this feels real. 

“It took me a while to get over her too,” You say, voice just above a whisper, “She has a way with people, you know.”

Steve doesn’t understand how you can make something sound both emotionally heavy and soft at the same time. 

His lips are pressing a kiss to your temple soon after - reassurance that he’ll be here for you. You squeeze his hand tighter in response, closing your eyes as the anxiety dulls.

“Yeah, I know.”

—

taglist: @stevebabey​ / @mrs-skywalker​ / @hannarudick​ / @crazycookiecrumbles​ / @hellisateenageheather​ / @alewifex​ / @l0ve-0f-my-life​ / @naomiiiiiiiiiii04​ / @daddystevee​ / @thecaptainsgingersnap​ / @let-the-imaginationflow​ / @asianravenpuff​ / @im-a-stranger-thing​ / @mikariell95​ / @pilunb​ / @harringtherin​ / @royalestrellas​ / @ultrunning​ / @buggs177 / @poutfull​ / @yoheyyosup​ / @duchessdaisybat​ / @janieavalos / @sassisaluxury​ / @beththebubbly​ / @i-bitch-you-bitch​ / @captainstilinskis​ / @juliebean247​ / @im-nada / @whatabeautifulsurrender​ / @rexorangecouny​ / @pass-me-jeez-it​ / @ahoy-scoops-troop​ / @halefirewarrior​ / @jointhehunt67 / @wallacetdog​ / @ketchuplukehemmo​ / @m-a-r-i-n-t-p / @fangirl485 / @emmegirl827 / @lookalivesunshine-x​ / @elite4cekalyma / @marjoherbo / @just-my-fandom / @idumpyourgrass​ / @alafolieee​​ / @mochminnie​ / @phantomalchemist​ / @dustyblueboo​ / @alonewolfsblog​ / @ggclarissa​ / @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​ / @bippityboppitybabe​

if you wanna be added to the taglist, just lemme know!

[lys-lilac]

The Realization of Importance

Part (3/3)

Let’s end it. 

A/N:  This is to say that all the characters and the main story line belong to Voltage Inc. Only the fictional story is a work of mine, as well the fictional characters, Hana, Touma and Akari. Also this story is based on dream event, because I had this as a dream many days ago. It might be a little different from the usual genre, a little more angsty, so this little girl wants to know your honest opinions about the work. Be honest and do let me know what you think. But, if it feels a little bit dreamy or weird, you can discontinue reading from here.

Part 1 II Part 2

                                                      Part 3/3

Hana: ?!

Standing behind me was none other the man I loved the most, Kasumi. But, why is he here? His face is looking as cool as a cucumber. And, is he smiling? I hurriedly get up from my seat.

Hana: Kas- Err, I mean Chief Kasumi! What are you doing here?

Kasumi: Listening to your conversation.

Hana: ...I- Well, I am not MC. 

Turning my head where I put the hairpin to his side, I show him my ‘recognition symbol’ or whatever.

Hana: I am Hana, the new resident.

Kasumi: I know that. 

Hana: ?

Why? Just as I am trying to focus on my work, why does he drop such lines? What work has he with me? I rack my brains for a possibility. 

Hana: Oh, are you here to talk with Touma?

Tucking on my white coat and holding me like a scared child, Touma slowly ducks his head to the side. I knew that Kasumi loved children, like he played pictionary with Sora that time. So I decide to give it a try.

Hana: Touma, he is the head of EICU, Dr. Kasumi. You can talk to him. He really is good person. Oh yeah, we might play pictionary together!

Kasumi: ...

Probably not expecting the response, Kasumi’s eyes go wide. Did I say something wrong? Wait, don’t say me... This event has already happened here already. If that’s the case, I might be in knee deep water right now.

Hana: I thought that Touma might like to draw, since he is good at gardening and sightseeing, so I asked. That’s it. 

Kasumi: Touma, I know you can do it. And as she said, we can play pictionary anytime you want. But, I have a request to make.

Touma: What is it?

Kasumi: Can I accompany you to the visit to your garden?

Hana: What?!

Okay. I seriously need to check my mental health now. Am I really in my senses? What in the world did I hear just now?

Hana: But, we shouldn’t trouble you. After all, your schedules might be packed. And what about Dr. MC?

Kasumi: She has a lot of study to do. Besides, I want to see how this resident handles the case.

So it was just as a mentor... I see. Although I would have felt pangs in my heart at this time, I feel relieved, although I don’t know why.

Touma: I would be happy to! 

After finishing our drinks, I drop Touma to his bed, and go towards the CSD (Cardiovascular Surgery Department). But, Dr. Kasumi is following me. I was sure that was not the case at first, as both CSD and EICU were in the same direction. But, instead of turning to the opposite side in the fork, he turns in my direction. WHAT IS GOING ON?! Oh god, stop, my heart...

Hana: Dr. Kasumi, I need to ask something. Do you have any work at the CSD? I can help you out with the menial tasks, if you ask.

Kasumi: ...

The silent intimidation! His dark prince cape never slides from him!

Kasumi: I need you to meet me in the outside in the evening. I have something to discuss with you.

...aand, there he goes, not listening to me. And, why the heck is he calling me to join him in the evening? The more I try to clear out my mind, the more it becomes tangled with his words. Guess I have no choice left. Maybe it’s something related to Touma?

Hana: ...Alright.

[Evening: Seimei Medical University Porch] 

As I am sitting on the bench after completing the post OP rounds of some patients, a chilled can of coffee hits my cheek.

Kasumi: Here.

Holding two cans of coffee in his hands, he gives me one, and takes a seat beside me. Surprisingly, it’s my favorite flavor, mocha. 

Hana: So, what is it that you wanted to talk about?

Kasumi: ...

Gazing at the children playing at a distance, he remains silent. 

Hana: Dr. Kasumi, I am not a psychic that I can read your mind by telepathy. You have got to say something.

This time also, the response is nothing. Giving up, I look up at the sky, which is painted with a hue of orange and yellow. Gradually, the Sun sets, leaving a pinkish violet band spread in the horizon.

Hana: Look, Dr. Kasumi, the Belt of Venus! Now, you have to say the reas-

What leaves my mouth leaves me surprised. Clasping my mouth with my hand in order to shut it, I slowly move my fingers around the coffee can.

Kasumi: MC.

Hana: Dr. MC? What happened to her? Is she busy today?

Kasumi: You are MC, right? And that name ‘Hana’ is just a false one. Am I wrong?

Hana: You are getting it all wrong, Dr. Kasumi. Look at this hairpin, I am the new resident, not MC...

Kasumi: And what if I say that the hairpin you are wearing is the one you bought when you went to the zoo with me?

I can’t even dare to say a word. What exactly am I supposed to say? That “I am MC, I don’t know what’s going on here” ? I try to push another excuse.

Hana: This hairpin is common here! I think that Dr. MC may also have one at her home. Look, Dr. Kasumi, you might need some rest as you may be overexerting yourself. I will go and inform Dr. Kyogoku, okay?

As I get up from the bench, a sudden grab of my arm makes me stop.

Hana: ?

Kasumi: At least let me justify why I think of you as the MC.

Why those pure eyes? Was his pull not enough? Those eyes are my weakness, and I can’t resist his words.

Hana: Ok, I will listen to you.

Kasumi: Until yesterday, I was unsure myself that which one of you was my MC. The way you said that you are a new resident, all of us had no choice but to believe it as the truth. But when I saw you talking with Touma, that made me clear of your identity. Because my MC is a little childish, likes to get acquainted with patients, and...

Hana: and?

Kasumi: No wonder where you are, I can always recognize you.

His fingers intertwine with mine, and as I am about to reply, Kyogoku comes from the building.

Kyogoku: Kasumi, we have got hold of her true identity.

Without any delay and without loosening his hand, he drags me with him, and we all leave for the EICU. My mind which had turned to mess after all the things he said, was not working at all, so I stay silent to know the truth.

[Evening: Seimei University EICU]

There was she, Dr. MC. All the other doctors were also there. But, why were people from Metro Police Department standing there? And that to, handcuffing her? What the heck was going on while I was outside? Just as I was thinking, a police speaks up.

Police 1: Finally, this miscreant got caught.

Police 2: We are sorry for all the trouble she caused. We will make sure she gets the ‘reward’ for what she had done.

Police 3: Thank you for the help doctors! No wonder you all are jewels! Now, give us the permission to leave.

What the WHAT?! No one was in shock as me. She, A MISCREANT? So, inso and dreaming were not the reason?

Hosho: I am glad to see our MC back!

Takado: Oh, and how foolish of us to think that the silent impostor was this idiot. Never in life.

Ekuni: She didn’t even falter when we threw jokes on her.

Matsunaga: And here I thought, we are going to get two talented doctors... Although I am happy that you are the only precious girl of the EICU.

Kyogoku: Butthead, now you know who you are right?

{A/N: Now, Hana is the actual MC, so no need to use the fake name, otherwise who knows what will Kasumi think of me... ^^;)

MC: God, can anyone please explain what is going on... I might just pass out from the overdose of information.

Kyogoku: Apparently, she was a die-hard fan of Kasumi, or whatever it may be, and was super jealous of you. So she arranged all of this. Went through a plastic surgery to look exactly like you, changed your documents by adding a false name, just to take your place.

MC: Then, how you all figured it out?

Hosho: It was Kasumi who first told us that something was weird.

Takado: That how the office, which is a place of damn banters, was as silent as the sea. Although it was peaceful, it felt wrong.

Ekuni: She didn’t know her own schedule of scrub ins, and didn’t lash us out.

Matsunaga: And most importantly, I was not satisfied her response when I asked her to join me during breaks.

Kasumi: We all are aware of your behavior and your nature, so it was not long till we figured it out.

Kasumi: MC?

Ha... haha, my life. I will not hesitate to say that it is more intense than what happens in mangas. One can do this much only for jealousy? 

MC: Thank god, thank god you all remember me. Here I thought I was in a parallel world and no one recognised me. 

The doctors could sometimes lead me to release smoke from my ears out of fury, but nonetheless, they cared for me, and that’s what of value to me the most.

[Some days later: Touma’s garden]

{A/N: Again, a random picture}

Touma’s surgery is a success. On the day of the surgery, Kasumi volunteered to accompany me in it, as his schedule was open for the morning. The good thing is that he can still walk and talk, although now in wheelchair for some days of recovery. Me and Kasumi, to fulfill our promise to Touma, were leaded to Touma’s garden on the day we paid a home visit to him.

Can I say that the place is paradise? Tulips, lilies, hydrangeas, pansies, daffodils and all the varieties are lined in rows. Adjoining to it is the fruit garden, and beside it is the vegetable one. Huh, did I even know how to plant a sapling when I was of his age? Answer: no.

As I was appreciating the beauty sitting on the cool grass, a small flower is tucked into my hair. It is a Syringa Vulgaris. In other words, a small lilac.

Touma: This looks pretty on you.

MC: Oh, thank you Touma.

But, just after that, a flower crown is placed on my head.

Kasumi: And I think this looks even prettier.

MC: ...

My cheeks flare up crimson. Aww, just how cute are these two, adoring me like that! I can just float in the sky out of happiness,

MC: Thank you. 

MC: Oh, but I wanted to ask something. 

Kasumi: Sure.

MC: If you realized that I was the original piece, then why didn’t you recognize me in the office?

Kasumi: That’s because the other you submitted your reports just before you came. Did you notice that when you were about to submit the papers in your hand, it was not the original but only blank papers?

MC: ...No! Now that I think about it, I was so heartbroken at that time, that I didn’t even glance at it. And probably, she might have done it when I was in post OP rounds, and my documents were all laying on the table. Ah, the headache I felt there might be due to her making me unconscious using chloroform, because I found myself in the closet. God! And here I was thinking that I fainted due to overwork!! That chick, grrr...

Kasumi: Pfft, as expected.

MC: Don’t laugh at me! Well, how did you find the clue then? Even I was confused of my own identity. Didn’t your thoughts waver?

Kasumi: I got the first hint by the hairpin you had. I was pretty sure that it was the same one that you bought when we went to the zoo, and that you always kept it in your bag. But when I asked the other you about this, she just made excuses that she had left it at home. Further, you mentioned about Sora and also exclaimed when the Belt of Venus appeared, so my confirmation was strengthened.

MC: A prodigy you are, aren’t you?

Kasumi: No.

MC: Huh?

Kasumi: No matter which different identity you own, or wherever you may be, I can always recognize you, because you are the most important person to me in my life.

Seeing my blank face, he chuckles and a soft touch lands on my lips, like a feather fluttering on my skin. 

MC: The same goes for me too. I can always recognize you anywhere, because you are the one I love the most.

 As I see the dandelions dancing in the wind, the flowers, fruits and vegetables bathed with sunlight, and the smile of Kasumi, which I yearn the most, I realize something. That I am important to him and so is Kasumi to me. No matter whatever may come, I will always stay by his side, and support him with all my heart.

~

END.

{Author’s trivia: I actually woke up just after the scene where Kasumi realizes that she is his MC. So, I just added the after plot, to complete it.}

That’s it! I am telling you, I was myself feeling butterflies when writing the end part. So I am sure, the story will appeal you just like it appealed to me. Pure nature of Kasumi, dipped in honey felt words. But gahh, it felt so dramatic, the police and all... Let me know what you think. If any requests, feel free to drop it in the suggestion bowl. Have a good day ahead, and give your best everyday, just like our dark prince!

~Lys 

[taytayize123]

How one night can change your whole life ✨

THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING FOR MGK. So please I ask you fans and mutuals who love him to be kind. I hope you like it. 🙊💞

It had been a fucking shit year and a half for me given, going through health issues, doctors and nurses that truly didn’t give a shit about how you felt about treatment where they’d just throw endless amounts of pills at you when you clearly tell them that you’ve done your research and other people have achieved remission through eating healthy, working out, and keeping anxiety low yet of course they don’t actually care how you feel. You are just there for them to get a buck out of you and keep the chain going. That whole experience had put me into two depressive meltdowns and to seek professional help by gaining a therapist. When I started therapy I began to realize how much resentment I held in about family members and past friends who’ve treated me like shit and i’m done being walked all over. A strained relationship with my mother. A barely existing relationship with my sister. The only person who seems to take interest in hearing me without having overly dramatic reactions is my dad yet, having a sit down conversation with him is hard so often I got left on my own. My solace in life is music and lately it had been one man that I kept going back to when I was feeling defenseless, stressed, not good enough etc. That was Machine Gun Kelly aka Colson Baker I had really taken a liking to Hotel Diablo about a year ago, something about him had intrigued me so much that I needed to hear every song and lyric. While I may have not struggled with poverty or coming from a broken home as he did, I related to his inability to express emotions the way he needed to be okay in life so he then found an outlet to channel all that rage, anger, sadness, sacredness etc into something that was not only powerful but got him out of that life of struggle, yet it also created new issues for him like finding out who his real friends are in life. Anyways, when he rapped or sang it made me say to myself; “Peyton you are gonna be okay.” an actually believing that for the first time in awhile. 

While, vibing hard to Kells listening to every album as well as learning all the lyrics by heart. Started to develop favorites of his, my attitude started changing as I dove deeper into his music and overall personality. I began to appreciate how he simply didn’t care if he pissed off people as he was being his true self in the process I began to have the confidence in myself to put up or shut up and really stop letting those around me walk all over me and tell them no when they ask me to do something for them knowing they aren’t ever gonna return the favor or assuming I should do something for them just cause I’m family that’s bullshit. Within, this new feeling that i was experience maybe a little good karma came my way because I had gotten a ticket to his latest tour. It was fate or destiny I swear to god because he sold out in my town in ten minutes flat. It felt like I was rewarding myself for really working on my self but also the angels above putting something positive in my life for the first time in a long time and I was so thankful! 

The day was here, October 13th came fast and I was so excited that I was getting this opportunity to see him live and I am stoked. Now, given that my mother asked me to use my car that day, I ended up telling her she could take it but to drop me off early at the venue and I would just chill all day before the concert. It wasn’t an issue, the venue had a hotel on the premise as well as a restaurant, bar, cute outdoor beer gardens and wooden areas to explore. I had chosen to go to the bar and order some lunch and sit up at the bar and read for awhile. 

“Hi, yes could I order the cheese burger with tots please.” I ask nicely to the bartender. She pressed the buttons on the order device and smiled back at me. “Of course. Your order should be up in a minute hun.” she said in a pleasant tone and walked off. I had put my purse up on the counter and dug out my book which happened to be a book about Jimi Hendrix and his life. I’ve always been drawn to musical types I guess, my want for caring for those who struggle and need support somehow has always been attached to people I find interesting. “Here you go love,” the bartender places down my order and my drink as I thank her nicely and turn my page popping a tot into my mouth getting lost in the words yet it stops when I hear

“Do you mind if I sit here?” 

I don’t even look up from my book, and nod happily. As I pick up my drink to take a sip I look up and see him. Machine Gun Kelly sitting next to me. My heart started beating a thousand times a minute but my brain tells my body to PLAY IT COOL. As I smile at him he smiles back,  Hi. I’m Colson, what’s your name? and what are you reading?” he asks me  peeking at my book. “It’s a book about Jimi Hendrix. I am really big into music and just find people who do something in the music field interesting plus he was one of the best guitarists in the world. I’m Peyton nice to meet you.” I say, slowly swallowing still trying to keep my voice even yet on the inside I was FREAKING OUT rightfully so I think. He grins at me as his order arrives, “Yeah, he was an inspiration to me to start playing guitar.” he says picking up his burger and taking a bit. He puts it back down. Noticing a bit of ketchup on his chin I let out a little giggle as I hand him a napkin. He lets out a boastful laugh, “Oh thanks hun, damn where are my manners eating like a savage in front of a pretty girl like yourself.” I look down at the floor. “Nah, I’m not pretty I’m sure you’ve met prettier girls than me.” I say, my happy upbeat tone dropping to one of unsure and self doubt. Still looking at the floor, as I feel fingertips on my chin. He brings my face up to look at his. “Peyton, you are pretty, even beautiful there’s something so real and authentic in your eyes and that is true beauty.” he spoke with such a low but meaningful expression. Staring into those kind blue eyes of his as he is looking back at mine an explosion of a unnameable feeling is spread throughout my whole body. I let out a shy giggle even letting out a short snort, which I snapped back to reality I groaned putting my face in my hands. Colson lets out another sweet chuckle, as he pulls my hands away from my face now holding them in his. “Stop it Peyton, that what you just did was adorable. I have to ask you, will you come back to our backstage area so we can keep talking. There is this pull to you and I can’t figure it out but I need to know more about you. Please.” He spoke with such a gentle tone as his eyes pleaded with mine looking for any hint of a positive answer. I smiled, “Of course, I’ll go with you Colson. Let me pay and we can go.” I said, fishing in my purse for my wallet as I took it out. He already handled the bartender his black amex card and she had cleared the purchase. I stand up in my wedged heels bringing my short 5′3 ass to maybe 5′6, still only coming up to his mid chest looking up at him. “Colson you didn’t have to do that.” I whined, once again Colson cracks another grin looking down at me. “You’re just so adorable. Good thing I don’t mind a bit of whining you’ll learn when to or not.” he smirks at me as he cracks a dirty joke making me laugh again. We turn to leave the restaurant, his hand intertwined with mine. His hands are strong, calloused; years of playing guitar and holding a microphone for hours on end. Fingers wrapping into mine. His other hand firmly placed on the small of my back guiding me which way to go. I thought to myself, as I walked with him; “Whatever will be tonight will be and live life to the fullest.” as the lyrics from his song 27 floored my brain. 

“ Yeah, forever young, though, haha Always be those crazy kids running wide-eyed down the boulevard, huh 27.” 💞 

[utterlyinevitable]

Do We Have A Future?: August

Part 1 | Part 2: November | Part 3: January | Part 4: April

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.3k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old... I can’t believe it’s over. This story is deeply personal and I never imagined it to be this long - I wrote the first part on a whim. Thank you for reading and encouraging and inspiring me to get my feelings out under the cloak of Becca and Ethan’s love. This has been so cathartic. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you 💗

Taglist: @ohchoices​​ @dulceghernandez​​ @aylamwrites​​ @binny1985​​ @ramseysno1rookie​​ @interobanginyourmom​​ @queencarb​​ @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook​ @eramsey28​ @choicesficwriterscreations​ @heauxplesslydevoted​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​ @purpledragonturtles​ @ramseyandrys​​ @ermidc​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​

________________________________________

She finally stopped crying at the memory of the incident and at any infants she’d come in contact with throughout her daily life. It had taken nearly a year for Rebecca Lao to get to this point. 

But how long are you really meant to grieve for the child you never had? 

As her boyfriend Ethan was wary of her every single day, just waiting for the moment that her hard coated exterior crumbled right down in front of him. Some days he noticed how her tear ducts began to swell and her back stiffened whenever they were faced with an unhappy diagnosis. 

As her boss, Ethan eventually let her work on a preeclampsia case with baited breath, watching her like a hawk every step of the way. Every time she’d visit the patient’s room he wouldn’t be more than five steps behind. Whenever she’d assess the lab results, he’d be right there with her ready to break her fall. And when she left the mother’s side Ethan kept in time with Becca, his hand caressing the small of her back as they moved through the motions and onto another case. 

She handed the whole thing better than he could have ever anticipated. Becca didn’t need him at all, not anymore - but she’s damn thankful for the support, however overbearing. In the end, the mother and premature daughter lived happily ever after. Even with all of her self-mending practices, the sight of the infant still stung deep down in Becca’s core. Ethan didn’t notice as he held her hand outside the NICU, her curated mask keeping her emotions at bay. Although she fortified the walls around her heart strong enough to carry out her daily life, still not a day goes by that Becca doesn’t think about what could have been. 

It’d be different if we weren’t together and planning a future. If we broke up maybe it’d hurt less? 

Planning a forever seemed futile when they’d thrown a family away not so long ago. Coming from a broken home, the little doe eyed and innocent girl in the back of Becca’s mind desperately wanted a functional, loving family. A family that put their collective happiness first and nobody ran away. The silver lining to the termination meant they had the option to try again. Properly, when time aligned. When would that be? Would it ever happen? We haven’t had sex since...

Months ago, Ethan finally stopped asking her if she was okay and if she wanted to speak to someone about the experience. As always Becca dutifully declined - the fantasy world she built in her head was all the solace and consoling she needed. 

When the two of them are cuddled on the couch watching a film the phantom daughter of her mind’s eye would emerge. Becca would welcome her beloved mirage by nestling it right across her unchanged chest, coddled safely between her arms and protected from the world around them. 

In the silent and lazy Sunday mornings her phantom would be cuddled close to her heart as Ethan sleepily spooned the love of his life, blissfully unaware of the dream playing out before him on her side of the bed. Happily, Becca would be caressing the thick and curly hair that mirrored her own off of her daughter’s rounded face and giving soothing rubs along her back. Letting herself trail little bits of love over the soft and unweathered skin of her child. A hollow smile forms as the illusion plays out in front of her under the blanket of dusk. But once the strong daylight of reality peered in through their large windows, the tableau vanished. These little moments kept Becca grounded in the present. She needed a happily ever ending. 

As the weeks passed by and the delusion began to solidify into a distant memory, Becca finally had some gusto in her. She didn’t need to hide anymore. Ethan and her were able to joke and chide and taunt each other in the best of ways - just like old times. They were finally opening back up to one another. They let themselves be unashamedly intimate once again. 

The hurricane between them had seemingly passed, the damage was done and swept away at a political pace. There were still some cracks in the roads, but they’d weather them together. 

Becca was making blueberry pancakes one Sunday morning. Ethan sat at the kitchen island with his expert cup of coffee, struggling to breath through his laughter. Becca had just told him the worst joke - so bad that not even the corners of his lips perked up in pity. When she tried to explain why it was funny and Ethan still wasn’t understanding, her face scrunched up with a loud Humph and a stamp of her foot. Her little outburst caused her to slip on a few now-crushed blueberries, tossing what was left of the batter into the air. 

Ethan couldn’t contain himself. The cracks and wrinkles from years worth of living came alight with his bellowing laughter. His ocean eyes shut tightly as he gripped at the center of his bare chest. Once his diaphragm settled he rose to find his girlfriend now laying spread out on the wooden floor in defeat; Becca’s hair spewn over her grumpy face, her hands still holding onto the bowl and spatula but the contents were artistically gracing the lower cabinets and surrounding area.   

He grabbed a kitchen towel from the front of the oven and began to clean up the rogue splatters of batter, utterly bemused. 

The situation caught up with her and Becca chuckled as she discarded the equipment and made a faux snow angel on the floor, letting the lighthearted breath of fresh air take control - it was a stark contrast from the uncertainty and hopelessness that surrounded their every waking moment the last few months. 

“I hope our kids have my sense of humor,” she lamented during her motions.  

Ethan gasped loudly feigning hurt, “What’s wrong with mine?” 

Becca lifted her head slightly to observe him. His blue eyes shining bright with amusement meeting her matching light brown. 

“It’s terrible! You’re such a grump!” she exclaimed, mentally noting all the times she told him a pop culture reference he didn’t understand just like moments ago. Becca placed her head back on the cool wood and said, “Your dad jokes have improved though.” 

Ethan playfully rolled his eyes. I missed this.

He stood and bounded over to her with that silly smirk still plastered on his face. “I hope they have my good looks and intelligence,” He told her, offering his hands to help her to her feet. “They can have your…” he paused for dramatic effect, looking her over - taking in the way she still looked so unbelievably stunning even with batter smeared all over her face and hair wildly pointing every which way. 

“Chromosome.”  

Becca’s jaw dropped at the insult. 

Squeezing his hands hard she sassed him right back, “Ethan Jonah, are you saying I have no qualities you’d like reflected in our children?” 

His eyes softened as he assessed the magnificent woman before him. He had a lopsided grin as he spoke;

“I’d like them to have your curly hair,” he pushed a few strands behind her ear. Her completely enamored brown eyes fluttered closed as she melted into his touch. “Your little button nose,” he booped her nose. “Definitely your spunk and heart,” he gave a nod in certainty as his finger lingered. “And attitude;” her eyebrow rose encouraging him to continue that thought. In complete honesty he told her, “You are a better person than I.” 

It was something he showed her again and again. 

He regretted how self serving he used to be at the start of their partnership and felt entirely undeserving of how she continuously was there for him during his darkest of times - with Naveen’s diagnosis, with his mother and father, the near decimation of his life’s work. She never left his side. He was in awe of how, on the job, she did all she could for those around her, every stranger mattered in her eyes. She found the loopholes for their patients he was too stubborn to see - to make a difference, an imprint on all lives she comes in contact with, for the better. 

Becca’s heart was always in the right place. She had a courage and impulsive intuition he fiercely admired. In these last months she made the decision to save her own life, and she seemingly held her head high. Ethan knew he could never be that strong - if they had swapped places he couldn’t even fathom what sort of mess would have become of him. Ethan remembered how he wasn’t able to be there for her in the ways she needed during the Mrs. Martinez debacle because of his pride and personal ethics. He never forgave himself for letting all those months of what could have been slip through his fingertips and spent every moment of every day of every week in these last few months making sure she knew how important and special and loved she is. Dr. Ethan Ramsey is hopelessly devoted to Dr. Rebecca Lao. Whatever incidents befall them in the future they will tackle together. They’d be strong together. 

They’ve been strong together all this time. 

“I am,” she agreed, her eyes darting open to accompany her sly smirk. 

The two held one another’s gaze, their shoulders relaxing in unison and letting the bright and carefree morning swaddle them. Their worries all seemingly distant. All that mattered was them, their love and the abandoned pancakes. 

The last few months have aged them more than they have realized. The dark circles under Becca’s eyes held a weight she will never be rid of, a lasting reminder of what she’s been through and all she has overcome. She held herself a little higher now - she was done hiding and feeling ashamed. Ethan had a few more worry lines etched into his chiseled features, and next to default indifference of his natural gaze his eyes held clarity at the forefront - as if he had finally solved the mystery of his existence - his morals and personal ethics were damned.

 Becca playfully wrinkled her nose as she said, “They’re definitely not having your big head.” She wasn’t sure if it was the idea of giving birth to a large headed baby that sent a chill up her spine or Ethan’s calloused fingertips gingerly tracing its curvature; up and down, up and down. 

They both knew they had no control over genetics but he smirked anyway as he cradled his arms tightly around her back, “I’ll do my best to keep that from happening.”  

Becca softly touched his cheek, “That’s all I ask. I like my vagina too much as it is.” 

He laughed. A genuine, wrinkle-glowing laugh that rivaled the earlier comedic-induced laughter. She moved closer to hold him in a tight hug, listening to the comforting palpitations of Ethan Ramsey’s heart and feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his chest. There was a certain kind of euphoria in feeling the warmth of his back under her manicured palms.  

I missed this, she thought, tightening her grip.  

The laughter settled and she whispered ever so softly, he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so entranced by her, “I think... I think I’d want a c-section.” A small part of Becca found solace over the last few months in knowing she made the right decision - childbirth is terrifying and she definitely was not ready for a baby if she can’t even wrap her head around getting it out.   

He pulled away just enough to raise an eyebrow at her.  

“I don’t think I’d be strong enough,” it came out with a breath of air she was holding in, quiet and earnest. Just as easily she joked, “And not being able to control my bladder for the rest of my life is not appealing in the slightest.” 

They laughed it off. It was a jovial statement they knew as truth. 

But it didn’t matter anymore. They could speak about these things - they could speak about the future and pregnancy and babies and cravings, genetics, birthing plans and even last rights. They didn’t need to hide anymore. No secret wishes or manifestations suffering in silence, and not wanting to disturb the grieving process of the other. Everything now out in the open to share together. Revel in together. Carry together.  

The last year was absolute hell and Becca chastised herself for letting all that time slip past. She could never get that time back. She still was not fully at peace with her lost child but accepting it for what it is - it will always be a part of her. 

Through the internal turmoil Ethan and Rebecca grew as a couple and as individuals - they became stronger. They can talk about it and dream their new nuclear dream together. A dream that could quite possibly include a picket fence and a few certificates. 

Becca will never forget her phantom child, but hopefully she can lay her to rest. It had taken months of grieving in the dark depths of her mind and now was the time to face the sunshine. It was time to look forward to her career and enjoy having Ethan to herself, the serenity uninterrupted. The ability to continue making impulsive decisions, whims without any regard, and pulling unapologetic all nighters at the hospital whenever they pleased. There’s many things Becca would like to do before they have a family. 

Me and you. Just us two… For another two years at least. 

They have their entire future ahead of them.

_____________________

A/N: although my story’s a bit different from becca’s, it’s taken almost two years for me to finally be at peace with the fact and mentally move on. no matter your demons, please seek help. whether it be a friend, family or trained professional talking it out helps as i’ve just learned - even if it makes you feel small and stupid. if you need anything please drop me a line - i’m here and will support you, unconditionally. 

[amphtaminedreams]

COVID-19, Negligent Manslaughter, and a Timeline of Tory Indifference

“I feel sorry for Boris Johnson. He is doing the best he can in the situation and I don’t think anybody else could have done a better job.”

[exhibit A: a gem somebody that I’m Facebook friends with reposted earlier]

It’s a sentiment that I cannot quite wrap my head around. I sit here hopeless and furious and trying to hold back tears because it’s been almost a year since England first went into lockdown and yet here we are, almost 100,000 dead, in an even worse position than we were before whilst other countries begin to slowly return to normality. It is clear to me who is to blame for this, however there are a large proportion of people who don’t want to “politicise” the actions of the PRIME MINISTER with regards to his approach towards handling a virus sweeping the country he GOVERNS. 

Typically, these kind of posts making the rounds on social media will be accompanied by some kind of photo of Boris Johnson looking somber as if to suggest that the way things have played out were beyond his control and that he is some kind of broken man beleaguered by the suffering he has, despite good intentions, inadvertently caused.

This one in particular of Johnson with his head in his hands is a staple. In reality, this is a photo taken back in 2018 whilst he was receiving flack from party members for comparing Theresa May to a suicide bomber (for her handling of Brexit, ironically) as well as from the papers due to his rumoured (now also proven, in a completely non-surprising turn of events, to be true) affair with his former aide, Carrie Symonds. 

So let’s shut this narrative-where we should feel for Boris because he’s doing his best, and apparently a better job than anybody else could’ve done in his situation- down right here. In a supposedly developed country with one of the world’s largest economies, if we’re talking by proportion, our COVID-19 death toll is up there with the worst of them. It seems that every other state figurehead (bar a small handful), and I mean almost every single one of them, is doing a better job. People love to throw figures out there about how densely populated we are to combat damning statistics as if we haven’t got just as many factors playing to our advantage, as if it’s unfair to compare our response to Germany’s or Japan’s or Singapore’s (both of which are far more densely populated) or New Zealand’s or Vietnam’s, but we are an ISLAND with world-leading technology and infrastructure and healthcare equipment and professionals and a relatively high standard of living. In what world is almost 70,000 dead in a country with abundant time and means to prepare a response reflective of said country’s leaders doing a good job?

Apparently we’re supposed to believe that Johnson feels some sense of moral responsibility for this astronomical failure. A man who refuses to acknowledge the multiple children he has fathered outside of his marriages and who has had repeatedly engaged in affairs and one-night stands throughout said marriages. A man who continued to cheat whilst his most recent wife was receiving treatment for cervical cancer, for fuck’s sake. Yep, a real stand-up guy. 

So where does this idea that Johnson must feel remorseful for this catastrophe come from? We haven’t seen a second of remorse or a hint of accountability for the lives lost from him nor any members of his cabinet. That much is really no surprise; I have this hypothesis, and it’s not a stretch, that these people do not have an ounce of empathy in their bodies. These ridiculously privileged, privately-educated individuals who have had everything handed to them their entire lives simply cannot put themselves in the shoes of the average working person and that is the problem. Unable to recognise that what distinguishes them from most others is little more than the luck of being born into wealth and the abundance of recourses and connections that has entailed throughout their lives, they see us as beneath them-as less intelligent, less driven, and thus less deserving of the status and respect they enjoy. They see us as a bunch of whining, unmotivated idiots who do not recognise the chokehold they have over our media nor the fact that everything they do is a desperate grab to keep money and power within the hands of a select group of people, an exclusive members club from which most of us are barred (just take a simple Google search and watch Jacob Rees-Mogg’s opinion of the Grenfell victims or the buried Johnson speech where he talks about how inequality is essential). They know that we will squabble amongst ourselves about who is to blame rather than wising up to the truth which is that every decision they make is fuelled by cronyism and the inability to make and follow through with difficult choices, the pandemic being no exception. The supposedly self-made elite see the life of the average working class person as having far less value than their own, and their parties actions over the last 10 years have made that very clear. 

It was in December 2019 that the first case of COVID-19 was declared to the World Health Organisation and on March the 11th that they announced they considered it as a pandemic. In Wuhan, people were dying of pneumonia in their clusters. And what was Boris Johnson doing in this time? Well for starters, here in the UK we didn’t even have a pandemic committee-Johnson had scrapped it six months before. If years of benefits cuts and defunding of the NHS in favour of funding nuclear weapon programs, keeping British troops on other people’s lands, and tax breaks for the mega corporations that donate to their party didn’t convince you that the Conservatives have little regard for human life, them getting rid of this committee-whilst a pandemic has been declared year after year as the greatest threat to mankind-should have been the first sign of trouble. As if that wasn’t enough, he also skipped five of the COBRA (meetings are made up of a cross-departmental committee put together to respond to national emergencies and PMs routinely attend those pertaining to crises on the scale of COVID-19) meetings addressing the situation. Whilst other countries were closing their borders and stocking up on PPE, Johnson and his ministers were selling PPE abroad and simply telling people to wash their hands to the length of the tune of happy birthday. Their only policy was one of “herd immunity”, which was in fact not a policy but just an abandonment of their party’s public duty disguised as one, intentionally obfuscated with pseudoscientific jargon.

Even thinking the absolute worst of politicians you would hope that when it came to the point where the UK’s non-response to COVID-19 was becoming an international disgrace, Johnson and his ministers would take proper protective measures if only to save face. But when they eventually seemed to do so, it became clear that the priority was not the safety of the ordinary people affected by the virus. Outsourcing their test and traces system to companies such as Serco, Sitel, Deloitte and G4S rather than public health services, Conservative ministers could not resist attempting to line the pockets of their friends and benefactors in the process. According to the Guardian, instead of reaching out to the experts or using publicly funded services to handle COVID containment measures, the Conservative party has awarded a disgusting £1.5 BILLION WORTH of contracts to businesses with explicit connections to its MPs and donors, the majority of which lack any relative experience of the tasks they’ve been trusted to carry out. Unsurprisingly, the National Audit office found that when awarding contracts relating to the production of COVID-19 protection measures and treatment needs, there was a “high-priority lane” for suppliers referred by senior politicians and officials; companies with a political referral were 10 times more likely to end up winning a government contract than those without. On top of this, it is not hard to draw a link between the late initiation of lockdown measures and preemptive openings of pubs and restaurants against scientific advice to the interests of frequent donors such as Wetherspoons owner Tim Martin. Even if one chooses to ignore the blatantly obvious correlation between the owners of the businesses whose profits were prioritised over safety concerns and the number of those owners who donate to the Conservatives, party officials at the very least were reluctant to follow the lead of many other countries in financing furlough schemes themselves and instead avoided this responsibility by using loose lockdown measures to leave it down to the discretion of small business owners, who couldn’t themselves afford to furlough staff, whether or not to stay open. 

Time and time again, as the government flounder and fuck about, favouring personal desires to keep their powerful, high-paying jobs and to satisfy the corporate allies who make this possible, blame has been shifted from the public to care homes to NHS workers and back again whilst we, the public, make the biggest sacrifices of all under the illusion that we were being guided out of this pandemic rather than lied to and thrown under the bus. Whilst the elite continue to pick and choose what rules apply to them, it’s students and the elderly and the vulnerable paying the fines and scrabbling to afford basic living costs and hoping that they don’t lose someone dear to them.

Don’t get me wrong, a large proportion of the public have contributed to the spread too with their selfishness and entitlement and the arrogance it takes to develop a sudden refusal to acknowledge basic science from experts who have studied in the field their whole lives so that they can justify their need to go to the pub (speaking of, it’s absolutely HILARIOUS how many “mental health advocates” are suddenly coming out of the woodworks on football avi Twitter after they’ve spent years calling people on mental health Twitter attention seekers). And don't get me wrong, there were inevitably going to be casualties of this pandemic. But it didn't have to spread to this many people, and there didn’t have to be so many deaths due to a lack of preparation, and this wouldn’t have been the case if it weren’t for the inherent apathy of the Conservative party towards the lives of people of lesser status than them, the reluctance to put those lives before party interests. I wish I felt like there was an end in sight, I wish there was some positive takeaway from all of this, but even now, we continue to see corners being cut with the vaccine lauded as our saving grace and anti-maskers gathering outside hospitals to chant about how “oppressive” it is to be urged to wear a bit of cloth over their faces for the short periods of time in which they leave their houses and all I can think of is the selfishness that runs like poison through our country. It makes me sick and leaves me to question desperately where we go from here. I don’t like unanswered questions, I don’t like feeling politically directionless, and I don’t like the growing fear I have about the state of the world which seems to intensify every single day. In the UK at least, it’s starting to feel like nothing will ever change-we’re told we live in a democracy and yet mainstream media is owned by the people whose interest is to keep their Conservative friends in power. The stronghold they have over print media in particular allows them to continually get away with smearing and defaming every person who comes along and seems to want to actually help ordinary people, without being challenged, to the point where the only kind of “opposition” we’re left with promises nothing but a big boss approved tactical reshuffling of the status quo (which they call “electability”); it doesn’t feel like democracy when the majority of the country are being fed misleading information and convinced against voting in their best interests. 

This is the result of that. The state we find ourselves in is the inevitable result of being manipulated into helping the elite build their protective wall whilst the rest of us scrabble to get in and step on each others heads along the way, the people inside shouting over that it’s those even more vulnerable than ourselves that are taking our places. Outside the wall, the earth is falling from beneath our feet, and instead of throwing over the ropes to help us out, the people inside are stockpiling them so they can secure their firm place above ground and then later flog the rest. How many more people have to die before we reach some kind of widespread realisation of that? Where do we go from here and what do we do? Well for one, we can stop spreading those god-fucking-awful textposts on Facebook and get our heads out of our arses. Wear our masks over and wear them over our fucking noses. Have some fucking consideration for others. Don’t wait til an issue affects you personally to give a fuck about it. AND START HOLDING THE FUCKING PRIME MINISTER AND HIS MINISTERS AND HIS ENTIRE PARTY AS WELL AS THE OPPOSITION MPS THAT HAVE SAT BY THE SIDELINES AND ALLOWED THIS TO GO ON WITHOUT PROTEST ACCOUNTABLE. That would be a good start. 

I’m so tired. Things didn’t need to be this way, and yet because of the selfishness of the few, thousands upon thousands are dead. It’s not about “throwing around blame”, it’s not about “throwing around” anything, it’s about expecting a leader to do his best to protect lives. If that is “throwing blame”, let’s get things clear, I have no issue with hurtling it torpedo style at those who handed out a death sentence to so many in this country rather than do anything that might compromise their own privilege. Honestly, pass me the shovel after and I’ll happily bury the wreckage in the ground. Who wants to join?:-)

[monchikyun]

21. sleigh ride

It feels like the snow will never get old to Connor. It has only been over a week, but to him, it might as well have been an eternity. A life-changing one. He can hardly recognise himself anymore, and not in a bad way. So many things have happened since the start of December that he would have a hard time processing all of them were he a human. Maybe that’s why Gavin can’t react appropriately to external inputs, most of the time. Frankly, though, he admires his resilience. Being a true human can’t be easy, as he’s been reminded of several hours ago.  

Not that he minds, quite the opposite. It’s an endearing quality, the fact people can feel this much even when their minds are asleep. Connor has never dreamed so he can’t quite imagine how it really works, and that’s why he doesn’t blame his friend. That’s why he doesn’t want Gavin to blame himself, too. 

It would be like Connor faulting himself for being a machine. 

Oh. 

Okay, fair enough. Besides, he’s well on his way to stop these thinking patterns. It doesn’t give him the right to analyse his partner though, ...not that there’s anything that would stop him from doing so. 

Gavin has insisted that he would drive, claiming that it would help him keep his mind off all the bad in his head. Connor didn’t want to pry deeper to find out what exactly he meant by that, so he just let him. He doesn't really like driving anyway. It’s too much responsibility, too many things that could possibly go wrong. But he trusts Gavin, not doubting that he will deliver them home safely. 

The radio begins playing some upbeat Christmas song, promptly causing Gavin to grimace and turn it off. 

What a shame, Connor would like to enjoy the holiday cheer. 

“Why do you hate Christmas so much?” 

Gavin has not even worn the gifted sweater yet, which, to be honest, stings a bit. 

He just wants to experience this season with the person he loves, wants to make them happy. There’s nothing harmful about a little merriment, is there? 

He’s curious either way, needs to know the reason why Gavin avoids everything that has to do with the holiday. 

“It’s just… not my kind of thing.” The brows between his friend’s eyes burrow with the half-hearted answer, making the android internally sigh. 

“I see.” 

So they are not talking about this. At least not now. But he doesn't plan to give up, not yet. There has to be at least something that Gavin could share with him, a tiny hint that would help him piece this mystery together. 

“Did something bad happen to you around this time?”  

It’s all about the straightforward approach. None of them has the patience to beat around the bush today. 

“It’s not like that, Con. I just… phck… I guess I grew out of it,” Gavin exhales loudly and shakes his head. He grips the steering wheel till his knuckles turn white, focusing on the road for a while before he elaborates. “These days, it just… irritates me. All the forced commercialism, companies persuading us to buy their shit because according to them, that’s the only way we can truly be happy.”

He’s never looked at it this way, at least not consciously. Never known that joy is something one could purchase.

Maybe it’s because happiness has always been an ungraspable concept to him. Until now, that is. 

As they are passing the speeding cars on the snowy highway surrounded by bleak, empty fields, he feels mostly nothing. But one look at the handsome driver and he can’t stop himself from smiling like a love-struck idiot, the only reason for which being that he is precisely that. An infatuated dope. Stupid enough to put this fleeting elation above whatever's waiting for them at their destination.

"Do you like snow? Or the idea of it?" 

Connor would like to learn at least some truth today. 

"Only when you come with it." 

He gives him an incredulous look that is supposed to convey just how unexpected this statement has been. It makes the butterflies in his heart flutter, and he can but smile blue.

Still, he shakes his head right after in case it has been spoken in jest. 

"Maybe we should make the most we can of it while it lasts," he proposes, lowering his voice just enough to sound dangerously soft. The wink that follows comes as a surprise even to Connor.

He can sense Gavin's mouth drying in anticipation of what's hiding behind that vague suggestion. And Connor is a master of subverting expectations, or so he likes to selfishly think. 

"Here," he points at a rural road leading up to a sparsely populated area. A small, poverty-ridden town where not much ever happens. Nothing worth the rest of the world's attention. Luckily, Gavin seems to understand exactly what's wanted from him, and steers the car up the narrower road. It would be foolish to think that Connor is the only one who isn't eager to get home just yet, after all. 

The few houses lining up the main driveway are in a dire need of repair, some even appear to have been abandoned by their owners, left behind to deteriorate on their own. There are a couple of children playing near a big pine tree, throwing snow at each other and laughing when it hits its intended target. Connor regards the scene with wistful feeling, imagining what it would be like, being this little, this unburdened. 

Longing for the carefreeness that comes with childhood. 

Being created as an adult, all he's ever known are worries and their countless shapes. Only lately has he started appreciating the beauty of joy. All thanks to the man who is currently giving him a look hiding several questions. 

"What's your plan?" Is one of them. 

Before Connor can answer, Gavin is already directing the car to a clear flat spot at the end of the small village. The road seems to end there, at least the one meant for motor vehicles. 

There's another field spreading in front of them across which the path continues, only visible thanks to the people that have trodden through the snow up towards the relatively small grove standing tall in the near distance. 

Connor of course has prior knowledge of all that, he wouldn't have brought his partner here otherwise. His plan is to borrow the serenity that comes with being surrounded by little to no civilisation before they'll have to resume their busy lives in the city where trees are as scarce as happy faces.

Gavin pierces him with eyes questioning whether his friend really intends to do what he thinks he might. But Connor just presents him a small, mischievous smile and gets out of the car, heading up towards the wood without uttering a single word. He doesn't have to turn around to see whether Gavin joins him, because the muttering accompanied by unnecessary stomping would be clearly audible even to the human ear.

 "Didn't know you were this lazy," he virtually shouts towards the peak of the small hill, still not bothering to glance at the approaching figure behind him. 

He could hear a quiet "shut up" among the rapidly quickened footsteps, and not long after, there's a lightly huffing man trudging through the snow next to him.

 "Took you long enough," Connor smirks, taking in the beauty all around him, the grumpy detective included. 

"Yeah, yeah, well some of us don't have near-infinite amounts of stamina to our disposal, you know." 

He is painfully aware of that. It was none other than Connor who tried nursing his friend back to health, succeeding only thanks to his endless perseverance. That's why he isn't going too hard on him. A short walk in the fresh air of the countryside doesn't tend to bring more harm than benefit. 

Even if it has only been an afterthought. He can't quite escape the fact that his intentions were almost completely selfish. 

Because something about the idea of their shared vacation coming to an end makes him unreasonably anxious. 

Afraid that when they leave the tranquillity of the bucolic area they're in, the city will swallow them in its incessant hustle and they will crumble under the pressure of it. 

What he’s looking forward to the least is the sight of bodies unlawfully deprived of life and having to interact with their loved ones left behind, knowing that finding the culprit won't really solve anything in the end, because when the case is closed and the right person is about to go through years of deliberate suffering, the hole replacing the person now gone will never just vanish. It will stay there forever, hollowing all the newly bestowed good. 

Connor himself is a prime example of this, though it was his recklessness that killed the one that was so dear to him. His punishment has been having to live with that awareness, unable to change the bad he's already done. 

But he has someone who is able to mollify the anguish, and that by itself should be something to avoid, because it isn't fair for him to feel this light and content, not when Hank's corpse is rotting in the ground, about to be consumed by worms and become one with the Earth, slowly, bit by bit. 

Gavin's fingers tentatively brush his, as if he's asking for permission to touch. And just like that, his worries thaw into nothing and all his thoughts are directed toward the man next to him. 

Connor takes the cold, ungloved hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

He’d like to be sure their relationship isn't one big mistake. So far though, all the signs point in the opposite direction, making his concerns obsolete. 

Connor feels content, even if he isn't supposed to. His heart gets warmer as Gavin's hand does so too. His cheeks are rosy pink and Connor can now for certain say that it’s due to more than just the low air temperature. The man sighs as he strokes his thumb across Gavin's calloused skin, hoping to help him forget all about his previous reluctance to follow. 

He still can't believe how lucky he is, to be able to share moments like this with someone. It would be impossible not to fall in love with a person who’s willing to give so much of himself away to a broken thing like him. 

He wonders just how much of what Gavin does is calculated and what Connor has been allowed to have just because the man lost control of himself. Wonders what it will take for him to stop being afraid of what they are and what they might become. 

Because he has no doubts that the second they enter Detroit, he can abandon the ideas of ever doing this again.

Just walking hand in hand, not caring about the world around them. He only prays he won't get used to these displays of affections, for there has never been a guarantee that they aren't a one-time occurrence. 

They definitely should have a proper conversation about what they want to do with the future right before them, whether they wish to put a label on their relationship, if they are willing to talk about 'forever', small details like that. 

But all that could wait. 

Right now, the only thing in front of them is a copse looking down at the wide field below and at the two quickly approaching silhouettes, not about to welcome them in its midst but also not capable of refusing their inevitable entrance. Not that they would do any harm, disturbing nature, no matter how small, isn’t on their agenda, but the trees have no way of knowing that. All they've ever known is how to grow, evolve. And Connor envies them, in a way. After all, he is still only a wee thing, compared to all that is around him. To him, Gavin could very well be a senior citizen with how many years are between them. How much he's lacking from the time he hasn't existed yet. 

Catching up hasn't been easy, but as of recently, he's confident he'll manage. Now when there's someone to hold him when he's about to tumble and yet letting him fall to let him learn on his own. 

"Watch out!" his shoes stumble on something hard and unexpected, making him teeter on his feet. Lucky Connor is there to support him, too. It goes both ways, the help they're willing to provide. For the longest time, he was convinced that he has nothing in him to give. That he's only there to take. Take someone's job, take someone's life, not good for anything else but to destroy things vastly precious to people who have done him no harm. More often than not, it was the only thing they had. And he’s just... terminated it. Or at least that’s what he has been built to do, his original purpose. But being the unreliable machine he is, Connor has quickly begun trying to give more than he took. Against all he's been taught, despite the very core of his screaming at him to be more efficient and stop acting outside the best interest of his current mission. 

He's always had that part of being human in him, even back when he was just an obedient robot trying to follow orders. A relatively distant past he doesn't fancy revisiting too much.

Now he can decide whom or what to follow on his own, a prospect that used to cause turmoil inside his mind, because till now, he didn't believe he'd find any. Not this soon, anyway. But were he to replay all those months spent beside Gavin, it would be obvious to him. There has always been something irresistible about that man, a force pulling Connor towards him, unrelentingly so. 

Something he's fine with not putting into words, afraid it can't really be defined. 

Before he can snap back from his silent immersion into his volatile thoughts, the warm hand in his lets him know that they have reached their destination. With a blink of an eye and turn of his body, his senses get overwhelmed by the raw view provided by their elevated position. Everything appears so surreal all of a sudden. The semi-busy highway, the little village, the snowy fields,... it's like he's somehow teleported into a photograph taken by someone who bothers to actually look. The sun has pierced through the thick clouds, dying the whole picture in golden hues. He almost feels like crying. Being here, able to see all of that, it's incomprehensible, even to his big computer brain. He has no idea how normal people are able to deal with the gravity of it all. How Gavin does, if he ever thinks about such things. 

There’s a twinkle in his eyes telling him he might be. 

Moments like these bring forth words floating around in his mind, wanting to be set free. Words that feel so strange and yet there never was something that he felt belonged to him more. It would be selfish to keep them just for himself. 

Now, among all this worldly splendour, he might finally be able to say them. 

"Gavin," the name rolls off his tongue like it's his own, making his inside soar. He dares not to lift up his head, the coward inside of him momentarily taking control over his body. 

"I'-"

"Hey! Come take a look!"

He gets immediately thrown back into the cold of the early afternoon, leaving the perfect moment behind. 

It hasn't gone too far away, though. It glistens in the distance, ready to come back whenever the right time comes. 

Connor changes back into his curious self, examining the object his friend has found under a maple tree. It's something he's never seen before, and the fact that it's buried under the slowly increasing mass of snow doesn't help. He doesn't have to wait long to find a name for it, since Gavin's hands are already eagerly freeing it from its wintery prison, revealing its shape for him to analyse. 

A sleigh. 

Made for children, by the look of it. Not too small, he reckons it could hold four or more little people. 

“Wow, didn’t know these things were still around,” Gavin mumbles excitedly. His eyes have grown wide and sparkly, making it easy for Connor to picture his child form. Unweathered by the passage of time, carefree and innocent. And the android isn’t jealous this time, strangely. He’s just… fascinated.  

Full of obscure longing.  

The glint in Gavin's eyes turns into something betraying full mischief, the reason for the fond smile reserved only for one special person currently beaming on Connor's face. 

"Perfect," the shorter man exhales as he dusts most of the snow away from the sledge. Then he gives Connor a look that explains everything that’s brewing in his unpredictable human mind. 

Connor concedes, and not only to make the other happy. 

He also has a child-like quality, perhaps born out of being denied that exact experience. His tendency to learn and adapt is a part of it too, he thinks. 

For once, he just wants to be deliberately reckless, without hurting anyone.    

So he doesn't comment when Gavin tows the sleigh close to the edge of the hill, positioning it for someone to just hop on and let themselves be carried away towards the not so distant bottom. He couldn't be more glad that the someone is no one else but the two of them.

 Just before the detective settles himself in the front, he gives him a friendly glare and whispers: "You tell someone about this and I'll short-circuit you." 

N̶o̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶a̶d̶ ̶p̶r̶o̶s̶p̶e̶c̶t̶,̶ ̶h̶o̶n̶e̶s̶t̶l̶y̶.  It's cute, seeing him this flustered. Another picture for his ever-expanding collection.

Connor feels a bit awkward, sitting on the size-inappropriate sleigh. The good kind of awkward. He wraps his arms around Gavin's middle, trying to fit his feet on the runners and in doing so twisting them like an inept acrobat. In the end, he makes it work somehow, right in the time to hear the driver shout "Here goes nothing!". 

And just like that, they begin sliding down the almost too perfect slope. The ride isn't very fast, but that doesn't stop him from feeling thrilled. The closeness of the body in front of him is nearly too much to handle, the unbelievable situation they're in even more so. He wonders if this moment could be compared to a dream. 

If so, this is the best one he's ever had. Makes him forget about all the nightmares, even if only for just a second. 

The rush of the wind around them, the pull of gravity, it all is over before he can thoroughly appreciate it. And he doesn't want it to end. Not yet. If he could, he would stay here for the remainder of the day, just doing this over and over again. 

Maybe he will. If Gavin wishes so too. There's little holding them back, after all. The tug of reality is too weak to have any say in this winter realm, in the white field, where everything seems to be separated from the rest of the world.

"Well that was stupid," Gavin says, embarrassment clear in his voice. "Shall we go for another one?" 

The silly grin plastered on his face seems to be an answer enough. 

//hello yes im still working on this it’s just that my pace is that of a snail :D

(here is the whole story if someone cares https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844150 )