#this has gnawed on my brain for like a week tbh

[paigebooeckers1]

Maybe, Maybe Not

AN: lowkey hate this chapter but it’s mostly a filler to get this story actually going (the first part kind of is too tbh) but yeah here it is! Enjoy 🫶🏾

Part 2

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Amiyah’s POV

I’d be lying if I said my days weren’t painfully uniform. My routine is simple, familiar. I think that’s what keeps me from going out of my comfort zone a lot, always striving to stay comfortable, knowing what the next step is.

Maybe that’s why when a stone is kicked out of place, it throws me off balance. Why when something out of the ordinary interrupts my path I can’t seem to shake my thoughts.

That leads me to where I am right now. I’m getting ready for my one class like I do every other day, putting on a bit of blush and mascara, simply not caring about my appearance. Everything about this should feel familiar, but it doesn’t. Instead my head is swimming with different emotions I haven’t felt in a while, my playlist softly playing doing little drown them out.

“Lord Amiyah, You need to get that look off your face. It’s getting old.” Jade says lazily from my bed, keeping me company like most mornings.

“I don’t have a look on my face.”

“Uh, yeah you do. It’s literally screaming ‘My mind is going a mile a minute but I’m too stubborn to admit it’ and it’s been like that for like, a week…since you talked to Paige, actually.” She smirks, but continues. “You don’t need to keep everything to yourself all the time, you know.” She says it with so much sincerity it makes me actually think for a minute.

Paige.

It’s been probably a week since that night at the bar, and I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s honestly embarrassing. I must be so painfully single that a 10 minutes interaction at a bar has me this hooked.

She has this magnetic energy around her. It makes me want to actually talk to her more, I can’t even explain it.

Or maybe I’m too deprived of any romantic connection that I’m being utterly delusional.

“Personally, I think you need to get out and let yourself feel more. It’s good for you.” It’s so easy for Jade to say that, my best friend is the most easy going people I know. I do think about her suggestion, though.

I also take a minute to ignore the foreign feeling in my gut, the question that’s gnawing at my brain; do I like Paige? I’ve been so used to the constant fighting, screaming or crying with Jordan that this doesn’t even feel natural. The warmth that I feel in my stomach when someone mentions her name, the smile that I have to force off my face when I think of the way she was looking at me.

You must think I’m dragging it— the conversation we had being no longer that 10 minutes, not to mention my first time actually talking to her. But that’s another thing about me, I catch feelings just as fast as I get attached, just as fast as I get heart broken. Also just as fast as I am to forgive, only to go through the same cycle.

So, I take that feeling and lock it away again. I have no desire to feel that.

“Maybe you’re right,” I say after a pause, though my voice doesn’t carry much conviction. It’s easier to just agree with Jade than argue. She knows me too well anyway, and I don’t have the energy to fight her perceptiveness this morning.

“You’re damn right, I’m right.” Jade props herself up on one elbow, her bun half falling out as she smirks at me. “But you won’t do anything about it, will you? You’re so stubborn it’s almost impressive.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Uh-huh.” She rolls her eyes and flops back onto the bed, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just don’t let this… thing eat you alive. You deserve to feel something good for once. Stop being so scared of it.”

Scared. The word hits harder than it should. Maybe because it’s true. I don’t even try to argue.

Instead, I focus on the mirror, running a hand through my hair, fixing curls that don’t really need fixing. Anything to avoid the thoughts swirling around in my head. The warmth in my stomach when I think of Paige is joined by a dull ache in my chest. That familiar mix of longing and dread that always comes with the possibility of letting someone in.

Because what if she’s just like Jordan? What if she’s not?

“You’re spiraling again,” Jade’s voice cuts through my thoughts like a lifeline. “Seriously, Amiyah. You’re thinking way too hard about this.”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are. You always do. Look, all I’m saying is maybe instead of locking everything away like you always do, you should just, like, message her, or maybe you’ll run into her again. See what happens. Go with it. Worst-case scenario, you it doesn’t work out, we can be outside together.” She smiles, and it’s teasing, but there’s a softness to it too.

I almost laugh. “You’re really dragging this. I’m hardly even thinking about Paige. Plus, she’s not like that.”

“So you’re saying I’m wrong?”

“For the most part, Jade, yes.” I sigh. My reflection stares back at me, uncertain and a little tired.

Jade sits up fully now, crossing her legs on the bed. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” I say automatically, then hesitate. “…Maybe.”

“Bro, you’re impossible.” She throws a pillow at me, and I catch it with a grin despite myself.

But her words stick with me as I finish getting ready, her voice echoing in my head even after she’s moved on to scrolling through her phone.

What am I going to do about it?

-

Paige’s POV

What the fuck is wrong with me. Actually scratch that, what the fuck is wrong with Amiyah?

That sounds harsh, but I can’t shake that exact thought. Why has she somehow weaseled her way into my thoughts and won’t leave? It’s beginning to be genuinely annoying. I hardly got a chance to talk to the girl before she left me standing at the bar, nothing but my dirty shirley to comfort me.

If I’m being honest, I haven’t even thought about any other girls, the fixation of wanting Amiyah’s validation eating me alive. For what reason? I couldn’t tell you. Maybe this is what a crush feels like, though I’m not sure I’ve really had a real one since high school. The constant pressure of basketball, being the best, staying on top, has been at the forefront of my mind since I can remember, leaving me with no room to really feel anything else. I blame my list of one night stands or late night booty calls on that, but now I’m pretty much created a “whore” title for myself on that. Maybe that’s why Amiyah rejec- I shake the thought, not even in the mood.

It doesn’t help that every other girl I talk to eats it up, though.

That’s when it dawns on me— I’m Paige Bueckers (pardon the cockiness). I need this girl, even if it’s only for a night.

With that, I pick up my phone and open instagram. Are my hands fucking sweating? What the fuck.

Regardless, I keep going with my plan. I open Amiyah’s account, which has become part of my daily routine this week. For the first time, I like her most recent post, and follow her.

Wow, real brave, Paige.

I then open dms and try my best to sound as casual as possible.

Yoo, Amiyahh

She sees it right away. Good start.

Heyy wsp?

Wouldn’t you like to know, huh?

Ohh she’s a jokester…pretty sure ur the one messaging me, paige.

Obviously. I’m an idiot. Regardless, I keep my cool.

Yeah wtv, just thinking bout the girl I offered a drink but thought she was too good for me

A minute goes by.

Aw poor paigey, first for everything tho, yeah?😂

I can already tell this girl is different. I’m not even sure how to reply at first.

Chill on mee

I wait before sending the next message.

Was gonna ask if u could take u out somewhere else, but maybe not 🤷🏼‍♀️

What makes u think id wanna do that either, huh?

Cuz u can’t resist me 😉

She must think I’m an idiot, but I rly don’t have much to lose here.

Oh please😂 you use that on all ur girls?

Only the special ones

Oh I’m special?

Yeahh ion even gotta know u that well to know ts

I fully mean that.

Didn’t realize I was that easy to read

She pauses, but starts typing again. Please please, lord.

I’ll go out with u, can’t tn though

A smile much too wide spreads across my face.

Bet, when u free?

When I tell u I am 😂

How you know I’ll still wanna take u out?

Cuz you willll, paige

I simply heart the message before setting my phone back down on my nightstand. That might’ve been one of the most simple text threads I’ve even sent, yet my hearts going a mile a minute, cheeks feeling slightly flushed. I’m still smiling despite myself.

I all but skip to the kitchen to get a glass of water where I see Jana, typing away on here laptop.

“What’s got you go giddy?” She asks, a knowing smile on her face.

I decide to not even share my news, not wanting to jeopardize anything. “Nothin.”

I feel like this girl is gonna have me wrapped around her finger.

Tags (lmk if u wanna be added!): @melpthatsme

[dawning-star]

One solid strike of the leg to the dummy. A second with the fist. The third jab quick to follow. A feint with the fourth.

There was a feeling gnawing at her with each motion, eating her from within. It threatened to devour her fully if she weren’t ready for it. That keen desire for more. Unable to settle for less, for any loss she was given as of late, of which there felt to be many. Far, far too many for her tastes.

Sure, losses were unavoidable. Inevitable. Yet she was damned if they didn’t always feel disappointing; as though they were a personal failure of her own making in some way. It was almost too easy to play it off, chalk it up as being rusty or yet unaccustomed to the hardware keeping her walking. That it was the first real bout in moons. Most...most seemed satisfied that she had just gone out there, done it in the first place.

Yet that much didn’t cut it, not for her. Despite the uphill battle to get to such a point she so keenly yearned for more. To be more. Why couldn’t she just be satisfied with that instead of playing it off as if she were? When could enough ever be enough.

If she couldn’t take that much with some grain of pride, what more would it take? Winning? Beating at least one fight? Taking the top? Being unstoppable?

With each thought, each frustration came another motion, another swipe at the fake target. Nevermind the bruising of the knuckles. The sweat of the brow. Those thoughts were beyond her, motions fluid yet automatic almost. Reinforcing the prosthetic with a focus of her own aether was all but an afterthought compared to her own worries.

Feeling truly useful to others or herself seemed to be eternally out of grasp. Like a dream that taunted her from one, two paces ahead. Beckoning her forth, urging her. Yet being just beyond. It had always been that way, even before the injury. Even before she had to learn to walk, to run, to fight. To kick, to punch, to roll with the punches dealt to her. As long as she has been part of the Pearl has she been seeking to prove herself.

No, longer than that. This was something that had plagued her ever since becoming free. Or, well, the shell that was her freedom before and only true freedom in years since. From early on Rin had fought, building from the ground up the skills actually needed to survive and excel on her path. That path which had grown, evolved in the years since but ever walked upon and sought out the right route for herself.

Wasn’t it natural, when surviving, to try to be the best at things? The sneakiest rogue, the toughest combatant. The one who could walk away at the end of the fight. She fought for it, every bit of ground she could gain, yet much like that path it was far beyond where she always was in that moment. Taunting, testing.

Each traitorous thought would drive the next hit, the next drill. What motions that had once flowed like water were becoming haggard, sloppier than early on. Fatigue was clearly building within those self-tested muscles.

Kaito had told her once, a while back, that she didn’t have to be the best. That it was alright. She was herself. How nearly she had accepted it then, a bitter pill it could be to swallow. Yet even now she seemed to be fighting that sense, and herself. Truth of the matter was, she couldn’t say she knew what was good enough. When such a pinnacle could be reached. What would happen if she did.

Wouldn’t it all be downhill from there? That was something that she couldn’t accept the most.

Just like how much more ground it felt like she had to recover physically. To get back to the peak she had been at, once before.

[pixelwisp-archive]

Itadakimasu!! | Part 3: Fly, Little Bird  (Written Chapter)

word count: 1.2k

Tendou never thought himself to be a selfless person. He didn't really consider himself a selfish person either, necessarily, but he promised himself a long time ago that he wasn't going to set aside his own dreams for the comfort of someone else. His ambition always came first, and the endgame had always been Paris. He supposed, in a way, that had never changed - so why was there a familiar pool of guilt settling at the pit of his stomach? 

The corner of his lips tugged downward at the slight, involuntary tremor that rippled through his hands - the ivory envelope with gold trim, 'La Maison du Chocolat'  written in a delicate golden font across its center clutched in between them. You knew about Paris - about his dreams, his ambitions - and not once have you given him any reason to doubt that you would regard this news in any way other than with a painfully large grin and arms spread impossibly wide, pride radiating off you like a sunbeam. So why...guilty. Thoughts wandered to the pickle jar. The drunken nights on the balcony of your tiny apartment; stupid, cheesy French music playing on one of your phones as the two of you laughed and talked about what Paris would mean for the both of you. Tendou knew exactly what to say every time, but when the conversation trailed back to you, you would grin, sometimes laugh, but your answer was always the same - 'I'll figure it out when I get there. I don't really care as long as I'm with you'.

Ah. There it was.

Paris was his dream. Not yours.

'I'll follow you anywhere, Ten.’

Even if it wasn't what you wanted.

He was neither a selfless nor selfish person, but he knew you, and you were as selfless as they came. You would give up everything you’ve worked so hard for to follow him if he asked, completely setting aside your own whims to entertain his. Tendou shoved the envelope into his bag and hurried up the stairs to your apartment, trying desperately to will away the unwanted feeling that gnawed at him as he flashed you his usual Cheshire grin.

 In 12 months, he would be leaving for Paris to begin a paid apprenticeship with one of the most famous Parisian Chocolate Boutiques, working directly under the famous Sculptor and Chocolatier Patrick Roger himself - and you would not be going with him.

There wasn’t any way to break that news to you now, not when you were still so unwilling to stand on your own. He knew he needed to nudge you out of the nest the two of you built, reminding you of your independence, and hopefully, the will to chase your own dreams. He grabbed the pickle jar from under the sink, took a little extra from his own savings, and began the search to find you a new nest, one with more room for you to finally learn to fly. 

“I’m sorry, you what?” Your body twisted toward him at the news, eyes bulging out of your skull. 

“I bought a new location. In Osaka! Trendy neighborhood, good lighting, pretty cheap actually-”

“When?! How?! With what-” your voice died in your throat as you picked yourself off the floor and scrambled to the kitchen. You ripped open the cabinet underneath the sink and fished around, a grunt of victory leaving you as you felt your fingers clasp around the familiar lid. Successfully retrieving the pickle jar from the depths of the cabinet, the faint glow of the kitchen light brought the full makeshift bank into view, and you couldn’t help but gawk when you saw its emptiness. 

“Tendou, why...” Your voice trailed off as your brain began to flood with worry. What made him decide to just buy a new location without talking to you first? It’s not like you would have said no. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of betrayal at the notion that he didn’t value your opinion as a business partner. Feet pattered against the linoleum as he rushed to stand in front of you, and your lifted your eyes to lock onto his own. The usual mirth that accompanied his features was ever present, but you knew him well enough to see the tiny sheen of something else that rippled over his features. Guilt?

“Paradis, it’s nothing against you, I promise. I just...I wanted it to be a surprise,” he explained, crouching down so he could maintain an even eye level with you. “I forgot you’re not a huge fan of them.” Your lack of response was probably beginning to gnaw at him, you thought, but whenever you tried to come up with something to say, it fizzled before it could reach your tongue.

“I saw your notebook, Y/n,” he mumbled. “You have so many plans for Paradis, and they’re all amazing! This new place has all the room to make your ideas on the page come to life. You could have a dining area, expand the menu, try new crazy things - this location can be your passion project; your baby.”  

Spontaneity wasn’t a new trait for Tendou. There were days where he would come home, tell you to collect your things, and wisk you away on a road trip for two days with no destination in mind, no other notice except a quick text to the team to take care of the shop while you two were away. Generally, you didn’t mind his antics, but this seemed next level, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that it came with ulterior motives. 

Something else nagged at the back of your mind too - if you were going to Osaka, was Tendou coming with you? Was he staying here? What about the apartment? There’s no way he can keep it up himself. How did he get the money for a location in Osaka of all places-

Your brain shut down the moment Tendou’s finger poked in between your eyebrows.

“Paradis, you’re gonna get wrinkles. I already took care of everything, so ask me whatever you wanna know.” You sat on his words for a moment, rifling through the growing number of questions to deem which one most important.

“Are you coming with me?” His silence was loud enough to answer for him, and you looked down. You haven’t done any of this on your own before. You’ve always had someone’s arm held out to you to hang onto whenever life tried to rear its ugly head and swallow you. 

“I won’t be able to do it all myself, Ten.” Tendou frowned. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Y/n. You can always call me if you end up stuck. Also,” he pulled out his phone as if to confirm his next words. “Kuguri has been wanting to move out of Tokyo for a fat minute now. He said he’s totally down to go with you.”

The news of Kuguri accompanying you lifted a huge amount of pressure off you. At least you weren’t going up there alone. Your thoughts drifted to the potential Osaka had just granted you; A new opportunity, a blank slate for your ideas to come to life. You could finally try things you’ve always wanted to with this new location. The worry that plagued you began to dissipate, excitement taking over as you brought your eyes to meet Tendou’s once more.

“When are we supposed to leave?” Tendou grins, and places his hand over the one you had resting on top of the pickle jar.

“Three weeks.”

Prev | Masterlist | Next

Fun facts - 

I promise this is an Osamu x reader lmao just give it time

For Tendou’s apprenticeship, I combined two popular Parisian Chocolate companies: Patrick Roger, who’s style just seems so Avant Garde and very Tendou energy, and decided to make him the head of the popular chocolate boutique  La Maison du Chocolat, solely because I thought the name was very ~French~ and ~Fancy~ lol.

I know nothing of Chocolate or France tbh - I got my info from this Vogue Article that you can read here.

A/N: So sorry for the wait with Chapter three!! I was kind of struggling with which route would best keep the plot rolling the way I want it to. I hope you guys don’t mind that this chapter is entirely written, next chapter will def have more social media caps! As always, thank you so much for reading, feel free to shoot me an ask and engage or ask to be added to the Taglist!! 

ps: This wasn’t beta read so pls ignore the bad bits lmaofnjkasndfaksj

Taglist -

@larkspyrr @oikawaandkuroostan @fucktheworlddude @doctorspencereid @keiarma @cherriechurros @halesandy​

I heard you guys aren’t getting tagged with updates and I’m p sure its because I’m st00pid so if this doesn’t work I’ll reblog and tag again! Sorry if you guys get notified multiple times lmao

[luidilovins]

You should turn your post on the Uncanny Valley into a book or something. I am not even kidding, it's brilliant and sorely needed information. Thank you for it.

Tbh its just speculative that the uncanny valley is an inherent biological trait and not cultural or a learned behavior at the moment. A good example would be the cultural phenomenon of colorophobia where in the US we have a longer history of using clowns in our horror pop culture genres than countries like Japan.

Clown entertainment has been around since the Egytian times and maybe some people have always been freaked out by them it honestly just takes one director or author to have an disproportionately irrational fear and good cinematography skills to convince people that they SHOULD hate clowns just as much, (I could say the same about the movie Jaws but thats a bit of a tangent,) or a memorable event that damages the public's trust in something that SHOULD be innocent or harmless. (A good examples being the John Wayne Gacy trials.)

Clowns are also thought to be in the uncanney valley so ita a fairly good argument on cultural phenomenon versus genetic traits. Up until aroud the 60s-70s clowns were actually fairly well liked by the US general public and a lot of older generation still find a fondness in it that would scare the living shit out of their grandchildren.

As far as evidence that I may be right about the "uncanney valley might be because of rabies" theory, there has been a small case study suggesting that the movements of a non-human robot that trigger the effect in us, is also present in people with parkinsons but the sample size is too small for me to be thoroughly convinced.

And don't be mistaken I also dislike this concept because saying that ableism is an inherent human trait is just as bad as saying racism is an inherent human trait. There is little to gain from distrust in the disabled and little historical evidence to suggest it was common or beneficial to discard disabled people. Disabled people's remains have been found time and time again to live to incredibly long livea and be cared for, and participate in their communities. I'm highly critical of this particular case study and I take it with a grain of salt because its on cosmo, but evidence of human disabilities and compassion can be sourced by actual bones and it's been placed on VERY credible sources. NPR, NBC, Discovery, Nat Geo, NY Times, literally the clostest you can get to creme of the crop news articles on DOZENS of accounts and if you have a goddam problem then pay for a tour to the Smithsonian, find an archeologist and coherse them into showing you the bones and then explain phorensics to you because you probably wouldn't understand unless you too were a phorensic archeologist yourself.

What I DO BELIEVE tho is that if the uncanny valley is a legitimate inherent trait, that like most evolutionary traits, it made it this far for this long because it somehow served us benificially. And the biggest benifit I can think of is identifying neuro-infectious diseases because they can spread agressivley, many of them lead to death or lasting effects and are fucking MISERABLE to catch. We're talking brain swelling, fevers, uncontrollable vomiting, tremors, hallucinations, motor and vocal tics, difficulty swallowing, seizures. This could all happen because they eat infected deer meat or because of one bad fox bite. It's miserable if you survive and horrifying if you dont. Rabies can survive in your muscle tissue for years before infecting your brain and once it does usually you only live for about 5-10 days in and out of concious knowledge that you're going to die painfully, and disease aggrivated psychosis. It would be hard to pinpoint the causation because the amout of time before full blown infection would vary too much to assosiate for a long time. So your only option is to hone in on telltale signs.

The disabled people who would suffer from herdeditary or developmental neurological disorders run the risk of prejudice from mistaken identity, but if a human is part of a community, and doesn't die within a week from having a wobbly head, it would sooner or later become apparent that they're not dangerous. I think nowadays culturally people don't press to learn more about disabled people due to social and political prejudice and never fucking grow up past that. Mistaken identity or not. You learn about people from the patterns of their behaviors so even ones that seem abnormal to you become a normal recognizable pattern for them. Fancy that.

We don't get grossed out by chimps or gorillas, who are even more distant cousins, and the proof that we don't have a search and destroy button for anything immediatly related to us is a bunch of bullshit can be found in almost every human's blood on earth. And not just neanderthals, but denisovans as well. And that's not even accounting for genetic backtracking the crossbreeding of other sapiens species before we were whittled down to just the three. What makes the tweet even stupider is that when neandertals still roamed the earth humans were shorter, hardier, and overall more rough looking so we looked even indistinguished then. We Also Chewed On Bones and neandertals handled cold climates better than us based on a study on chest cavity density and, skull nasal intake and heat circulation, providing genetic diversity and the upper hand in survival in the tundras or mountainous regions spanning over Eurasia. If it wasn't for humans fucking neandertals we might not have been able to spread over the contient or diversify the way we did.

So my full hypothesis is that if the uncanny valley is a genetic inherent human trait it was used to benifit people from catching agressive diseases in a time where the benifit of fearing a group member with rabies outweighed the cost of fearing a group member with a disability like parkinsons.

WHAT PISSED ME OFF was the idea that we are DESIGNED to be unwary of our evolutionary cousins could easily be used for white supremacist spaces to justify racism BECAUSE IT ALREADY HAS

So that one tweet that might seem like a quirky thinkpiece in my eyes is just fuel for eugenics trend round whatever number we're on. It's like we don't fucking learn. It would be REALLY easy to retool the concept that it's natural for people to be fearful of whatever the bullshit definition of sub-humans are. Claiming that black people were sub-human thus deserving of mistrust and submission to white ownership worked like a fucking charm.

Maybe if I go to college and major in psyche/socio/civics it'll be my college thesis. Right now I'm more of a hobbyist than anything, but what I DO know is that anyone can make an untested hypothesis to combat another untested hypothesis and it should hold just as much goddamn value. I combatted the idea that the idea that human othering was funneled into an unconfirmed effect that causes disgust and terror based on non-human sapiens is in fact racist and gave what is in my opinion a more evoluntionary practical approach to the uncanney valley.

The generalized links that I used APARENTLY weren't good enough for some people but aparently a single tweet that says "hur dur heedle dee uncanney valley exists because of human cousins" was taken at face value even tho it was probably tapped out in five seconds without regards to the reproccussions. I find a huge discomfort that less than studious links about the evolution of monkey social behaviors that I used as a guideline to explaining my concerns became the focal point for people to nitpick without even having the gall to "well actually" on the subject. That absolute ravaging NEED to rip apart at it and devolve into name calling because I MENTIONED racism is fucking suspicious and I don't trust it. I had to stop looking at the responses because some people were only reblogging and arguing with barely half of my argument and i was getting nowhere fast.

There were a few people that made actual points with cited sources that made their own rebuttle arguments. That I respect. It's just as valid an argument as mine and I'm ALWAYS willing to take on more credible sources to strengthen my stance or gain perspective.

But it's the utter dismissal of a concerning concept that just seeped into the subtext that gnawed at my gut. Some people on top of hating the linked sources I provided, admitted they didn't read it, refused to read between the lines to purposfully misinterpret or derail my main points, and detract that my claim that the tweet was a result of systemic white supremacy saturated into modern science was a bunch of bullshit because I claimed that 1500s anglos invented racism.

The thing is we did invent the racism that we fucking currently subscribe to.

We practice the science that we formulated based on our own social prejudice. Real people die from this.

We remain uncritical of our own theorums that we postulate then pat ourselves on the back like we're philosophical geniuses even though racism is a family heirloom with a new paint job.

We preach the eugenics ideals that we pulled out of our asses to benifit from fearmongering, promises of national security and unpaied labor.

White supremacists create subtext with the intention of it being consumed by accident or in ways that seem palatable.

Fuck.

That.

I don't hate the person who wrote the tweet. Chances are that they gave the tweet as much thought as they took the time to write it and went on their day as a fun little thinkpiece. Everyone on the internet does it. But its that kind of thinking error that needs to be adressed as a progression of historic and scientific prejudice that gets rehashed, recycled and untouched and continually damages and is weaponized against marginalized people. I am not wrong for taking it seriously especially when a bunch of people were sitting around nodding their heads just as effortlessly.

I don't owe the internet any more sources than the tweet. I don't owe anyone on the internet a full scientific ananysis. And the people's reaction to what I had to say was actually what further convinced me I might have hit the nail on the head.

[biaswreckeedbybts]

Hello 🥺 hope u dont mind me dropping an ask here... I agree to everything u say... tbh with u, and this is my opinion alone, he is more aware of everything than we thought... I feel that the situation had gotten worse and he really just is coping the same way we are. Withdrawn and a little hollow, he is slowly losing sense of what his life really is. You take the stage away from a performer, there will be drastic reactions. I just miss his face and its strange, bc i see him on the tl everyday. But the intimacy we used to share is no longer there 🥺😭 the dam broke today and tq for replying to my sappy emotional post 💜🥺

Wow! This is like my second ask. I'm emo & ty for sending this in. I really appreciate it.

You're right. Take a big chunk of someone's life away from them & they will feel lost & scared. Artists is general thrive on quantitative achievements & qualitative achievements. BTS have the quantitative part but I doubt they can feel the appreciation & love of armys for them right now. They might even judge our appreciation for them through whatever achievements their music/art is making. Im simply saying this by comparing my situation to theirs (our lives are quite similar to theirs,only difference is- theirs are on more grander level with financial stability while ours is on a miniscule level). In pandemic, everyone has suffered one way or another (ofc the poor people suffered once than anyone),so it's only right for us to sympathize with him.

Remember when namjoon did a vlive where the camera was very far away?it was for BE project I think, even then I felt like he's upset & I think the gnawing feeling started from there. there's also no doubt he's always on the receiving end of solo stans' hatred. Then there's also a huge cultural aspect too, in any asian country being 30+ means alot of changes & people view you differently too. I'm pretty sure the thoughts of BTS coming to an end or people giving up on them has come to his mind. Then there's the fact that BTS are becoming big & making new achievements every week- that sht is amazing but also scary. Namjoon being the most introspective Virgo I've ever come across (only judging him based on what he shows us)- ofc he's gonna see the good but attach it with the bad & the what ifs. Break the silence movie is the perfect example of how much he struggles but uses flowery words to cover up the anxiety. Then it's also the fact that getting acknowledged by the govt is a good thing but a bad one too. It restricts you, people see you as political tools even though you are a musician & that's your identity etc. The few times he showed his raw,inner demons- Armys didn't take it well. I think all this intensified in the pandemic & it hit him badly.

For me he's the most perfect but at the same time a non- omniscient human who isn't afraid of growth, that's why I guess you & I & many others relate to him & want to be like him. He's our comfort place because of the words he says & the way he says it- it's as if he understands even though he doesn't know all of us personally. The bond between namjoon & ot7 stans becomes more special because of the way namjoon's brain works.

& God!!the intimacy part?you are so right. Unfortunately for me it's not just namjoon but I feel that way towards all members & I know they feel it too. The BTS= Armys transcends beyond emotional bond, it actually is real in the most rational sense. Thats why I crave for more intimate performances, more intimate promotions,vlives etc. In such situation,that's the only way we can feel close to them but....I mean, that's just my opinion. In no way would I want them to live according to our expectations & fullfil our demands. It's just sometimes you wanna talk & let it all out. Right? Especially when our emotional support group is involved.

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (15/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: warnings for this chapter are violence (a hole punched in the wall), slut shaming, verbal abuse, manipulation. this chapter went down a bit differently than it happened irl, but i did base this off of a real experience id learned about from a friend. The way this part of my story went down involved self harm and multiple people telling me to kill myself, and i really did not want to put that sort of thing into this fic because i dont think i could write about that in detail tbh. thanks to @snowbunnylester for editing this for me! The lyrics at the beginning of this fic are from the song The Summer by Citizen!

I have started a patreon account for those of you who would like to support me and my writing endeavors! You can find my patreon account here, and also find more information about perks of this here!

Previous | Masterlist

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Chapter Fifteen

I watched you burn and I felt it. You're spitting words like you're someone else. And I watched you run, I was screaming and following you down.

-

“It’s been four days,” Nico told Phil, making him cringe and gnaw harshly at his lip.

“Yeah,” Phil agreed. He swallowed, tried again. “It has.” That wasn’t what he’d wanted to say at all. What he’d meant to ask was if Nico had found someone else in the meantime, if he’d found someone who was actually worth his while. If he’d found someone better.

He didn’t want Nico to have found someone better. He wanted Nico to love him and only him. He wanted to be Nico’s one and only, but- wait. Didn’t Phil want him to leave? Didn’t he want Nico to pack his shit up and never look at him again? There was a bruise on Phil’s cheek and a dull ache in Phil’s chest, and shit, what should he do? What should he do? What could anyone do in this sort of situation?

Nico let out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. He sounded so mad at Phil, so disappointed, that Phil felt nausea raise in his throat once more. “I have to admit, I didn’t exactly think you’d find someone else so quickly. Or that you’d… change your appearance.” Nico grimaced at this, and Phil grimaced too. He didn’t think Nico had noticed his tongue piercing yet, but clearly, the nose ring had been enough.

“Dan is just a friend,” Phil told him. “I couldn’t replace you that quickly.” Phil froze, realising how that sounded. It sounded as though Phil had decided to break up with Nico, and that wasn’t what he’d wanted to come across as. He still was unsure of what he wanted, but he knew that he could never truly replace Nico. With anyone.

For a split second, Nico went completely silent. Phil held his breath, wishing more than anything in the world that he could just disappear. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He didn’t think he could physically handle this.

The second of silence was gone before Phil could blink, and then, it happened in a flash.

Nico had been standing completely still, but in the next moment, there was a fist colliding into Phil’s wall, leaving a giant hole in it’s wake.

“Wha-?!” Phil exclaimed, jerking violently backwards in fright, but also distracted by the fact that he now had to pay for that hole.

Nico silenced him by grabbing his jaw with that same hand that had just breached the drywall. Phil froze at the touch, his body on fire, confused and twisting this way and that. What did he want? What did he want?

Nico lifted Phil’s head until their gazes were connected and Nico’s green stare was burning a hole through Phil’s head. Phil felt more nausea raise in his throat, his stomach twist in agonizing pain. “I’m not a fucking idiot, sweet pea.”

That nickname. Was it even Phil’s anymore? Did he deserve such a nickname after everything he’d done to their relationship? After he’d lied and snuck around and bailed on the only person who’d truly loved and cared for him? After he’d hurt Nico in the one way he’d always promised he never would, by leaving him?

He wasn’t so sure anymore.

“I swear,” Phil whimpered, quivering in Nico’s grasp. His jaw was hurting slightly where Nico was gripping him, but it was nothing in relation to the pain he had felt in his chest since less than a week ago. He didn’t know if Dan had heard the way Nico had punched the wall, but judging by the way his bedroom door stayed firmly shut, he assumed that Dan hadn’t heard. “I swear I didn’t find anyone else. I couldn’t. Not when you mean so much to me.”

“Then how do you explain your piercings, hmm?” Nico hummed, and Phil had no explanation for that. In Nico’s eyes, tongue piercings were for sluts, and he had just gotten one out of spite. So what else could that make him other than a huge whore? “I thought you were better than everyone, sweet pea. But I guess I was wrong again.”

Phil inhaled sharply and flinched. He tried to control his emotions, to stand up for himself, but it was hard. He could feel himself crumbling underneath the accusations, underneath the mere proximity of Nico’s body to his own. He was sinking into a dark abyss, one that he didn’t know how to dig himself out of. “I- I am better than everyone,” Phil gasped out. “Ple- please don’t leave me. I can’t do this without you. I don’t…” his eyes welled up with tears. What was he saying? “I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

Nico leaned a bit closer so that Phil could feel his breath fanning across his face. His lips were so close that Phil could probably press his own against them it he wanted to, but he held himself back because he wasn’t sure he was allowed. Nico’s eyes were green fire when he replied. “It’s already been three days, though. Shame. I was ready to take you back, but you didn’t want me.”

“I do!” Phil said desperately, even though his brain was screaming at him to run away and never look back. “I do want you! Please, Nico. Please don’t leave me!” He was begging now, panicking. How would he be able to survive without Nico? Nico was the only person who would love him, the only person who made him happy.

These past four days had shown Phil that he couldn’t live without him.

“Prove it, then,” Nico told him. “Take out those dumb piercings and stop behaving like a slut. Stop talking to Dan. I want you to keep your eyes on me and only me.”

Phil was nodding along with every word, his eyes tracing the way Nico’s mouth shaped each sentence. His body was thrumming with nerves and adrenaline. He was high on it, his head all over the place. Truth be told, he didn’t know exactly why he had been considering leaving Nico in the first place. “Anything for you,” Phil told him, and Nico smiled.

“Good boy.”

Just then, Nico pressed his lips against Phil. His lips were rough and chapped, more so than Phil could remember. At first, he sank into it, relieved that he could have this once more after those four long days without - it was familiar and felt a little bit like home - but Nico was being harsh. He bit and pulled and tugged at Phil’s new piercing hard enough to make it bleed. Phil cried out a little bit, and all he could taste was blood as Nico tried to deepen the kiss. Suddenly, it wasn’t so nice anymore. The pain cleared his head a little bit.

His lips went numb.

His brain went into overdrive.

There was a hole in the wall. There was a healing bruise on his cheek. His friend was in the other room, worried for his safety. He was sobbing into the kiss, his tears staining his cheeks. The kiss tasted of tears and blood, when it should honestly be the happiest moment of his life.

Suddenly, Phil couldn’t feel a goddamned thing anymore.

Phil pushed Nico off of him with all of his strength without thinking, ignoring the fact that Nico had been biting him so harshly his lip actually tore as well. “Get the fuck off of me,” he said lowly.

“Phil, what the fuck?” Nico exclaimed, his voice raising an octave or two. His eyes were wild, angry, confused… scared.

In that moment, Phil didn’t give two shits about anything. He couldn’t feel anymore, couldn’t feel the blood dripping from his lip, couldn’t feel the usual tingles from the close proximity to Nico. All he could feel was emptiness, a numbness that wouldn’t seem to disperse no matter how hard he tried.

“Don’t touch me,” Phil ordered Nico, adrenaline rushing through his bones. He could feel a sob rising in his chest but he tried to hold it back, tried to stay strong for once. He couldn’t live like this. He shouldn’t have to live like this. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Nico sneered at him, and Phil dodged it just in time before Nico could grab at him again. He kept his gaze on everything but Nico. The wall, the floor, the ceiling. Anywhere but the man who had smashed his heart into pieces. “Make up your mind, sweet pea,” Nico growled, and his voice wasn’t warm at all anymore. Had it ever been? “You either want me, or you don’t. Is it really that hard of a decision?”

“Yes!” Phil said, and the sob escaped from his throat. He started backing away, shaking his head, although he didn’t know why. “Just- just stay away from me.”

“So what, then? You’re having trouble deciding if you want me ,but you want me to stay away from you? Is that how that works? You don’t make any fucking sense, sweet pea.”

Each time Nico used the nickname, Phil felt a little part of him shrivel up and die. He was hyperventilating at this point, unable to capture his breath or help himself try to gain some strength again. For such a long time, he had felt as though that nickname was a part of him. It used to make him feel whole, feel wanted. Now, it felt like a taunt. It felt like chains wrapping around his ankles, forcing him to submit, forcing him to lose his independence all over again. He didn’t want this. He felt nauseous and he didn’t want this anymore.

But he was scared. He was so scared that he couldn’t move. Nico’s gaze was terrifying, cold, almost like he didn’t recognise who Phil was at all. Instead, Phil was suddenly a piece of food that Nico had dropped and didn’t want anymore. He was used and impure and he felt so dirty, like he needed another hour long shower where his skin burned off and blistered under the heat.

He didn’t want this anymore.

He steeled himself, tried to swallow down the bile in his throat, tried to look into Nico’s eyes and not waver under the glare. He took a breath.

“I don’t want this anymore,” he said as firmly as he could, even though his voice was wobbling and he was terrified. “I’m keeping the piercings. I’m going to keep being Dan’s friend. You don’t own me anymore.”

For a moment, the room was completely silent. For a moment, Phil actually thought that Nico was going to leave. For a moment, it didn’t really hit Phil that the silence might just be that he’d pissed Nico off even more, but then, Nico spoke up through gritted teeth, his hands balled into fists, and Phil realised that maybe he’d acted a bit fucking stupid.

“You… fucking slut,” Nico growled, and he raised his fist in the air, making Phil cower into the wall behind him. He was going to get hit again, and he braced himself for the flash of pain.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Nico’s fist went through the wall again and Phil heard the door to the other room open.

“You worthless piece of shit. Do you think you’re better than me? Do you think you can just leave me like I’m nothing? After everything you’ve done to me? After everything I’ve done for you?” He pulled his fist back again and slammed it into the wall again, right next to Phil’s head.

“Stop!” Phil gasped out, ducking out of the way and trying to run around Nico, but Nico grabbed his arm, held him in place, and now Phil was really terrified. What was he going to do to him? What should Phil even expect when his perception of Nico had so drastically changed in only a few short weeks?

In that next moment, Phil thought he was going to get hit. He braced for the feeling of Nico’s fist in his face, of his hands around his neck, suffocating him the way he’d done with the pillow so long ago, when he’d pressed the sharp edge of the knife to his throat, but nothing came. Instead, Nico was being roughly shoved away from him, pushed so hard that he stumbled backwards and nearly fell flat on his face. Phil turned his head, and gaped at Dan who’d suddenly appeared in front of him, a wall between Phil and the man who was threatening him. Phil had always thought Nico was so big despite his stature, but now, next to Dan’s intimidating aura, he was small, so miniscule that Phil felt like he had to squint to see him.

“If you dare lay a hand on him, I will fucking kill you,” Dan growled, and never before had Phil found Dan actually scary before, but today all of Phil’s previous perceptions were being turned on their head and Phil found himself trying to hide the way he flinched at the dangerous tone to Dan’s voice, his blood roaring in his ears.

In only a millisecond, Nico was standing tall once more, squaring his shoulders as if he could make Dan back down. For a moment, they were the same height and Phil was just an ant on the ground.

“Oh really?” Nico laughed harshly. “I’d like to see you do anything to me. You mean nothing to me and I could easily crush you in my palm.”

“If that’s what it takes to keep Phil safe, then I’ll take you up on that offer,” Dan told him sincerely, never losing the threatening tone. He didn’t move from where he was standing strategically in front of Phil, his arms crossed over his chest, keeping a space between Nico and Phil.

Once again, Phil was reminded of how lucky he was to have Dan as a friend.

Phil watched as Nico’s hands turned to fists at his sides, his mouth curling into an angry grimace, darker and more terrifying than Phil had ever seen before. He watched as Nico took a step forward, and his mind flashed to the stories Nico had told him about his father. For a moment, just one moment, Phil felt bad for Nico, and then the feeling was gone and Phil felt his heart clench in fear for what was about to happen to him and Dan.

That’s when the sound of sirens exploded throughout the flat. Normally, Phil wouldn’t think anything of it, except now, there were flashing lights reflecting in his flat, on the furniture, the ceiling, and they weren’t going away.

Phil shot Dan a confused glance, and Dan shot Phil a shrug and a wide-eyed glance right back.

“Did you call the fucking cops?” Nico asked, faltering in his movements towards Dan, lowering his fists, and instead clenching his hands tight at his sides. Phil thought he was probably digging his fingernails into his palm.

His glare was on Dan, accusing him of something Phil wasn’t entirely sure of himself.

Dan shook his head. “No, but I fucking should have.”

An urgent knock came at the door, followed by a man shouting to open up, that it was the police, and that he’d break the door down if he had to. Nico kept his glare on Dan and Phil as he slowly backed away, inching his way towards the door, trying to reach it before either Dan or Phil could react, could say anything, or get it for him. Dan glared right back, and Phil looked at the floor, shaking like a leaf, and terrified of what was going to happen next.

He heard Nico open the door.

“What can I help you with?” he asked.

Phil glanced up briefly to see that he had wedged himself between the door and the frame so that the cops couldn’t see inside. Phil didn’t know why he’d done that. Didn’t that make him even more suspicious?

“We’ve gotten complaints about loud banging noises and screaming coming from inside. Is everything alright in here?”

“Everything is just fine, no need to worry,” Nico said sweetly.

The blatant lie made Dan laugh, and Phil’s head shot up so that he could give Dan a wide eyed stare, begging him not to do anything drastic. Everything was just fine. Phil didn’t even know why someone had called the cops. Didn’t they know nothing was wrong? Phil could handle this. They could handle this. They didn’t need the police to get involved. Nico wasn’t like his father. There was nothing dangerous going on… right?

But Dan spoke up anyways, taking a deep breath, and then shouting, “Help us, please! He’s trying to hurt us!” before Phil could do anything to stop him.

“Dan!” Phil hissed, but he stayed rooted to the spot, terrified, unable to speak up any louder and try to defend the man he’d once professed to love, the man he still loved. Didn’t he? He could feel Nico’s fury wafting off of him in waves, could feel the weight of his glare on his skin, and Phil wanted nothing more than to melt into the floorboards.

“Who was that?” the police officer asked.

Nico’s head snapped back around to the police officer on the other side of the door, and Phil watched as he worked a pleasant expression on his face and laughed so easily that Phil suddenly wondered if everything about Nico was a complete and utter lie.

“Nothing, officer. Just my mates having a good laugh,” he explained.

But Dan wasn’t having that. Phil’s eyes darted back and forth from Dan to Nico and back to Dan, watching as Nico tried to close the door more tightly against himself, as Dan’s face went a deep, angry shade of red, and then Dan was calling out all over again.

“He’s lying! Please! Help us, he threatened to kill us!”

There was a brief scuffle at the door, a muffled, “Step aside, son,” and the loud sound of the door banging open, but Phil had long since closed his eyes. His heart was in his throat, and all he could think was, if Nico hadn’t been planning on killing them before, he sure as hell was now.

Would he take the police officer down with him? Would they all be slaughtered? Some deep, dark place inside of Phil laughed and thought good, I don’t want to live without Nico anymore.

But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, there was the sound of static from a radio, the gentle touch of Dan’s hand on Phil’s arm, the voice of a confused police officer asking for back up, the movement of extra feet and boots on the floor. Phil’s eyes were squeezed shut in terror, and before he could even think it through of what it would look like, he was slamming his hands over his ears and cowering in on himself, shaking his head as tears started to run warm down his cheeks.

Everything was happening too fast. Everything was moving too quick. Phil could hear his head screaming. There was mutters of holes in the drywall, bruising on cheeks, blood dripping from lips, and then Nico was being read his rights. Phil opened his eyes just in time to see Nico being cuffed, and more police officers trailing into Phil’s apartment with steady footsteps and glares as they took a look around.

As Nico was being turned and led away, Nico turned to give Phil a nasty look. Phil watched in horror as Nico suddenly got a twisted smile on his face, how he let out a loud, booming laugh.

“I didn’t need you anyway, sweet pea,” Nico told him, and he was smiling despite the way he had to twist his body to turn and look at Phil. “Chandler was a much better fuck than you ever were.”

In just a single sentence, Phil felt himself break. He tore his eyes away from Nico and tried to calm the way his heart felt as though it were going to collapse. Dan came to sit beside him, putting a hand on his back and rubbing it soothingly, but it didn’t do anything for Phil. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around what he had heard, what Nico had just disclosed.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

The text messaging. The way Nico wouldn’t hold his hand in public. Chandler’s jealousy. Sweet pea.

Phil was a fucking idiot, and maybe he did deserve what had happened to him after all.

One of the other officers came over to talk to Dan and Phil while they were getting Nico situated, and it was Dan who gave the statement, talking about how he had come out of the room to the sound of a loud banging noise, only to find Nico with his fist raised and his hand wrapped firmly around Phil’s arm to keep him in place. The man asked Phil for his statement, but Phil was too shocked, too upset to speak, so they told him that he would be able to do it a little bit later if he wanted to. The police officer's voice was soft and gentle, and he got down on one knee to tell Phil that he was not alone, that he could testify if he wanted to, that Nico wouldn’t ever be able to touch him again if he said so, but Phil was hardly listening. He didn’t know why the police officer was speaking to him like that; Nico had done nothing wrong, other than break Phil’s heart.

Phil just wanted to sleep. He was exhausted, felt as though the energy had completely drained from his body. He felt numb. His lips were still tingling from where Nico had kissed him, and he could still feel his tears dripping down his cheeks, but he felt as though he were a ghost, watching from outside his body as the police jotted down notes and Dan ran his mouth about Phil’s apparently unhealthy relationship.

He mentioned the word abuse, and Phil ended up puking on the floor.

Things happened. Phil was laid down on the couch by some paramedics, checked for bruises, checked for any sign of physical harm. They didn’t really find much. Just swollen eyes from crying and a faded bruise on his cheek. They didn’t find the mental scars that had taken over his brain and decorated his ribcage. He decided then that emotional pain was worse than the physical.

You could always have doctors patch up the bruises and the cuts, but no doctor would be able to patch up the painful memories that haunted Phil everywhere he went.

Chapter Sixteen

[hazelnatcoffee]

so since you take prompts I'd like one (1) hand kink and one (1) mouth kink and maybe a dusting of 'takashi's and like... a confession on top? thanks (JK JK this is totally not serious but blease signal boost for everyone's sake IF you want llmao)

You guys are getting scary, okay. It’s like you’re.. how you say... reading my fucking mind?? (Also I know this was probably supposed to be smut but it... it got all soft and tender mkay don’t even look at me. It’s like the bare minimum of hk/mk and probably not even tbh. It’s just tooth rotting fluff) There’s like an ounce of plot but only in basis; set somewhere in future canon... Keith still working with the Red Shirts of Marmora... same old same old.

"Still can't sleep?" Shiro murmurs, hand drifting over Keith's arm in passing, once he knows the older Paladin is there. He doesn't receive much of a reaction, oddly enough.

"Hm," Keith responds softly, arms still braced over the island. "Trying to." His fingers play at the handle of the mug absently. "Just one of those nights."

Shiro nods once, and pushes aside the familiar, dull gnaw in his chest at the words; Keith had been firm in his decision to sleep alone after returning from his most recent Blade mission. Shiro isn't entitled to anything more than a request, and it's already after the fact anyway.

"You only just got back," He reasons, opening the cabinet to fish out a mug of his own. "It might take a bit to adjust."

The suggestion drags a smile out of Keith. "You say that like I was gone a month, instead of a week."

That's what it felt like, Shiro thinks, and then caps it down while he turns and joins Keith next to the stove, reaching around him for the kettle.

His shirt is wrinkled along the back, hanging off sharp shoulder blades, a few sizes too big. Shiro wants to ask if it's his- ask if it's not, if Keith has found a different bed warmer in the Blade-

He sets down the mug a little harder than intended, but Keith doesn't seem to notice.

"Still, it's-" Shiro covers his guilt by fiddling with the mug, the tea bag- he nearly burns himself in the process of pouring the water, but his voice comes out steady enough to finish, "It's good to have you back."

"Yeah," Keith answers, and reaches over to run his hand idly over Shiro's nearest arm; the warmth of his skin doesn't quite translate across the metal, but Shiro still feels like it burns. He wishes he'd stood to Keith's right instead.

"Shiro, do you-" Keith pauses, like he's catching himself, and his eyes dart up before dropping again in what could only be hesitancy. Shiro refuses to entertain the first descriptor to come to mind, because Keith has never been bashful, and it must be too late in the night to be thinking such things.

"Sorry," Keith mutters. "So tired that my brain's not working." His fingers slide and remain over Shiro's arm, though, still absent- still light. The touch is easy, like everything with Keith; like everything Shiro has with Keith. They may be apart longer and longer as the war wages around them, but at least they have this, the casual intimacy.

The kind that doesn't need words. Not really.

Shiro finds a smile pulling at his lips, and he hides it by tugging Keith against his shoulder for an overdue hug, noting with a certain fondness how Keith's raven hair sticks up at the top- like it used to when he was still a cadet, fresh into flight training and ruffled at the collar.

What he would give to tell that Keith how far into space they'd be, in just a couple of years- in what feels now like just a heartbeat, or a blink of an eye.

"Missed me, huh?" Keith's voice is muffled into his collar, a line of heat when he lets out an amused huff. Shiro grins back, even if he can't see, and makes a conscious effort to keep his stomach from jumping under the hand that rests below his ribs- he can deny all he wants, but Keith's touch always has an effect on him. It's one that weighs guilty at the back of his mind.

"Not at all, punk," Shiro recovers, tugging lightly at the braid behind his ear- there are more scattered into his hair, and he wants to map them all. Maybe someday, if he's lucky.

"Jackass," Keith mumbles. Shiro laughs.

They untangle and settle back into conversation, and it's different every time, reacquainting themselves after away missions, but it's still easy- because it's them. They've always had a level of comfort with each other that didn't come as quickly with the others. Shiro will always be grateful, for that; he's not sure he could have endured being in a leader position without something to bridge the gap a bit.

Someone, he amends later, when the tea warms him through almost as well as Keith's low voice, Keith's barely hidden grins, Keith's gentle hands, Keith, Keith, Keith.

This is something he swears not to take for granted, for the rest of his life.

This is something to cling to.

"It's getting late," Shiro says eventually, then amends with a glance to the clock, "Early. You should get back to bed." He crosses the room to throw away their tea bags, then return and pick up the now empty mugs.

"You should come with me."

One of the cups slips through his fingers, and he hits one knee to catch it before there's a mess- god knows neither of them need more reason to stay there, when they could be heading to the dorms for some much needed sleep. "Sorry- sorry."

Shiro's thoughts race and then still, when he finally processes the request enough to glance back up at Keith, and- and he's still leaning one hip, one elbow against the counter, but there's tenseness there. His eyes downcast, face framed by his dark bangs, and Shiro's stomach jumps again to see a redness that’s just shy of a flush.

"Sure," He says, before there's time to wonder. "If you want."

"Only if-" Keith's gaze darts to him again, then away, before his flush deepens- or so Shiro thinks. The lights are too low, and the realization adds a level of atmosphere to it all that he chastises himself for noticing.

"Um," Keith drums both hands' fingers on the metal island, still standing there in front of where Shiro's- oh. He's still kneeling. "Only if- sorry. That was pretty forward." His posture has shifted from tense to flighty, like one move could send him running, as tired as he looks.

It's such a difference from before, and a contradiction to Shiro's internal dialogue about the ease of their relationship, and he worries that he's done something wrong- maybe his response?

"Keith," He tries, touching his hip like it'll ground him there a bit longer, and Keith’s catch of breath is audible.

They both freeze, so simultaneously that it’s nearly laughable.

Shiro tries to tell himself it's just a fluke. He tries- tries to reason that they're both just scatterbrained because of the hour, or the stress, or something, because Keith is looking at him like... he doesn't know what. Different, in a word.

They’re still and staring for a beat too many, and Keith licks his lips and begins, "T..." before faltering; he starts again with less confidence, "Takashi?"

Shiro feels transparent.

Keith could look at him, and reach into his chest to close around a beating heart, and he'd know why. For the moment, he knows he's laid bare and raw for the world to see, with just one word. With just one voice.

"Yes?" He breathes, finally, regaining a bit of sense that doesn't feel like much at all.

Keith hesitates again. "Put your- can you-" He swallows and Shiro finds himself mirroring the action.

"Your hands," He finishes, barely speaking. "Put them on my waist."

It's more of a question than anything, but one would think it'd been an order, with how quickly Shiro complies. Still, his touch is light when he abandons the mugs on the ground, fingers careful in sliding over Keith's small hips. The eye contact is too intense, suddenly, but he's bound. Completely and utterly, not just in this moment. Keith has always been that way- captivating.

Shiro speaks before he can think. "You- when you look and talk to me like that, I-" Keith's eyes widen and he cuts himself off.

"What?" Keith whispers. His lips are parted so slightly.

Shiro gives himself permission to finish the statement, but there's suddenly a struggle to laugh it off quietly and admit, "I don't... I don't know. It's like I'm a different man."

Keith's hands curl into loose fists, where they've been frozen flat on the counter. Shiro takes in the red that travels down his neck, gaze fixated for a split second before he realizes he's doing it; Keith's face is just as colored though, when Shiro snaps his eyes back up.

His lips quirk, like he's suppressing a smile.

"Now you know how I feel," Keith answers, voice oddly pitched. "When you touch me like that."

If Shiro's body seems invisible, he wonders how much more Keith's is; because his expression changes when the words leave his mouth. Because Shiro's never been on the receiving end of such a look before.

"Say it again," He manages, slightly loathe to accept that he's a breath away from begging, but adding on anyway, "Please."

Keith stares at him and stares at him, and his mouth opens when Shiro's thumb circles his hip slowly enough to be unnoticeable- but Keith notices. He shudders under Shiro's hands.

"Takashi," He breathes, and the undefined endearment sits strangely on his lips, but it's the best thing Shiro's ever heard. His name, in Keith's mouth; something about it is much more intimate than the way he's standing in front of Shiro, one hand dropping to cover the one on his waist.

"Shiro, can- Tak-" Keith's flush deepens. "Take... take me to bed,"

Another time, Shiro would laugh at the embarrassed face he makes after that, because it's obvious that he didn't mean to phrase it that way -because it's just so Keith- but his mind is occupied by the request, and the way that Keith's other hand settles onto Shiro's head. He brushes back a few white strands, and the touch is so gentle that Shiro almost forgets how to breathe.

He gets out a simple, okay, though, and stands carefully, hands lingering on Keith's waist and god, he thinks he might be able to fit them all the way around if Keith wanted him to, and the realization is dizzying. His hands have done nothing but hurt, for so long- but he's not afraid of them when he's with Keith.

A ridiculous line of thought, he berates, still half-confused and half-disbelieving.

And Keith is still looking at him like that.

"Can you- one more time?" Shiro asks, indulging himself in running a hand through Keith's hair, since there are still fingers settled at his own nape. Keith  smiles- more in a twist of his mouth than anything- like he can't believe the request either, and he suddenly can't seem to meet his eyes.

"If you do that again," He answers, and Shiro never wants to stop staring at his little half-grin, the way it's just a bit crooked to the right, creating only the shadow of a dimple. And the longer he stares, the more he thinks he knows how to keep it there -or at least, hopes he knows, that he's been reading this all right-

He leans and kisses Keith.

He kisses Keith and Keith goes still, goes quiet for a few heartbeats, and then his mouth opens under Shiro's and it’s everything he never knew he needed.

There's a moment of realization, where hands roam and each discover what chamomile tastes like on someone else's lips, and Keith murmurs an irregular pattern of Shiro- Takashi, god Takashi, just touch me again, and he loses himself to it like sinking through shifting quicksand.

It's such a painless way to drown, though, and he can't find it in himself to care.

I have no idea where 2k of this came from, and now I’m thinking it’s gonna go on ao3 anyway, but. God. This fluff defines gratuitous. Reblog if you like copious amounts of sap, we’re kin now sorry I don’t make the rules

[dialux]

Out of curiosity, how would you handle a writing a fic where Jon is a girl and still having Jonsa happen? Would fem!Jon go to King's Landing with Sansa, Ned, and Arya? Or stay back at Winterfell with Bran, Robb, Rickon, and Catelyn??

tbh, I see Jon (let’s call her Jonelle here, for readers’ sake, though really Ned would probably name Lyanna’s daughter after like Branda or Arya or some other Northern name lbr) as marrying fairly early in this world- probably to a guy like Lord Torrhen’s bastard son. Or someone in the Neck to keep her secret Targ-heritage safe. Or Ramsay but pls lets not do that to ourselves. Catelyn likely wants her out of Winterfell, girls tend to mature quicker than guys, and Jonelle can bind the Starks to another family without too much fuss.

But let’s say that Ned’s as avoid-until-it-smacks-you-in-the-face-prone as he is in canon, and Catelyn softens a little towards this girl who doesn’t really represent as much of a threat to her trueborn children, and Jonelle remains in Winterfell until Robert Baratheon rides North.

I would probably imagine that she’d come with Sansa as a lady-in-waiting, because I’m still side-eyeing GRRM for not giving Sansa anyone as a lady and I will continue to do so until and unless he gives a really fucking good reason for that.

(also a jonelle who stays in the North would just, like, either a) go south with robb and get killed at the rw; or b) escape with bran/rickon and go north to do badass things beyond the wall and also fall in love with ygritte; or c) get killed trying by either theon/ramsay when they inevitably take winterfell. i’d like to say that she could hold the castle on her own, but nope, not happening, not even in my wildest dreams, so we’re gonna assume she goes south.)

Jonelle’s a bastard, right?

So she’ll be at the back of the tent when Robert asks Sansa what happened with Joffrey and Arya and Nymeria. She’ll hear Sansa’s soft, quiet whisper- I didn’t see- and Arya’s scream, she’ll hear Cersei’s sentence, her father’s answer. And Jonelle’s as righteous and angry as Jon ever is, and so she doesn’t hesitate to turn around and leave, to use Robb’s parting gift to her- a sharp-edged Valyrian steel imitation dagger- to smash open Ghost’s and Lady’s chains and chase them away.

Nobody ever knows how the direwolves escaped.

Months later, when Sansa’s crying in her rooms from the humiliation and shame and pain, Jonelle presses rough, damp wool to her wounds and leans down, catches her chin, whispers, they’re alive, I swear to you, they’re alive and well and sometimes I dream of a wolf running through the woods and I know that we’ll meet them soon.

But before that, she learns how to shrink.

Jonelle’s never known it, never had to learn it.

But she learns how to twist her shoulders, duck her head, fade into the stone walls and tapestries. She teaches herself, because there’s something terrible inside the city walls and she doesn’t know what but she knows it’s something. 

This proud daughter, this fierce daughter- she’s spent years tussling with Robb when his ego becomes too large, years fighting and learning and becoming, and here, now, she has to become something less. But Jonelle’s a survivor, so she learns it: before she has to, before she even knows it. 

(It does her a lot of good when they kill her father. They come for everyone else, the septas and the guards and even little Arya, but Jonelle’s hair is in the same braids as the rest of the maids and her eyes are just as downcast, and nobody, not even Cersei Lannister, realizes who she is.)

(It doesn’t save her father. It doesn’t save Sansa, either, and Jonelle fists her hands in her skirts when she sees the blood staining her sister’s skirts, dripping down her back- fists her hands and bites her tongue and lets the hatred swamp her because she can’t help.)

(She’s never really hated herself more.)

When the Tyrells offer Willas and the Reach to Sansa, she looks so lost- she wants to go, that’s true enough, but she’s also so afraid, and she doesn’t want to leave Jonelle behind.

You’ll go, Jonelle tells her, hands seizing around Sansa’s bird-thin wrists. You’ll go, and you’ll live, Sansa, and you’ll have sons to name Eddard and Brandon and Rickon. You’ll offer them everything.

It doesn’t happen, of course; Sansa marries Tyrion, and she doesn’t weep when she goes into their bedchamber but Jonelle still stays outside, hair covering her face, feet aching, heart bursting in her chest from all the pain Sansa must be feeling- 

Tyrion leaves the room, and Jonelle steps forwards, fluid, out of the shadows like an avenging wraith, and presses a knife to his neck. 

(She doesn’t have to bend much. She’s a small woman, Jonelle, but she’s her mother’s daughter before that: flash, and fire, and rage like the roar of an avalanche.)

If you ever hurt her again, she tells him, knowing the shadows don’t let Tyrion see her face, I will gut you like a fish. 

She leaves, then, and when she speaks to Sansa next- they’re careful, always, to make Jonelle seem like a normal maid, not anyone special at all- Jonelle sags in relief to find out that Tyrion has at least taken her threat seriously.

At Joffrey’s wedding, Jonelle sees Joffrey choke, sees Cersei scream- then she’s turning, searching for Sansa, and she sees it: a flash of red, a glint of purple. She doesn’t hesitate to follow, nor to knock the man out with a well-placed elbow the way that Robb taught her. They grip each other’s hands, then, and don’t even pause, don’t even question it- they flee.

It’s on the road that Jonelle starts to fall in love.

(Not really- that’s been happening for years. When Sansa’s only tears under Joffrey’s knights’ mailed fists were of blood, when Sansa laid gentle hands on Joffrey’s arms to twist a horrific sentence to something less unkind, when Sansa refused to break to a world determined to tear her apart- well. Jonelle’s been falling in love for years. It’s only on the road that she realizes it.)

(She refuses to tell anyone. But Sansa’s beautiful, like a sunrise turned to life, like the glare of fire across a forging blade. Every day, it becomes more and more difficult.)

They find berries in places; Jonelle sneaks into a shanty once and steals a knife, and she spends hours trying to sharpen it into something properly useful. They set traps; they scavenge foods; they avoid other people. 

Sansa’s hair lightens in the sunlight, turning even brighter, until it’s almost difficult to look at. Both of them tan, turn lean- hunger gnaws at the edges of their bellies every day, and most nights. It’s still a better life than under Joffrey’s thumb.

A month later- maybe, time seems to pass differently in the woods- Jonelle wakes to a scream. She rolls, unsheathes the knife, and comes up standing all before she opens her eyes.

She opens her eyes, and comes face to face with a pink, slobbering tongue.

The white fur and red eyes sink in a heartbeat later, and Jonelle gasps in shock, dropping the knife, before throwing herself at Ghost. Sansa’s not two feet away, sobbing into Lady’s fur, and- Jonelle can’t help it, she starts to laugh.

What? Sansa asks, and Jonelle waves at Lady’s neck. 

Ribbons, she says. They’re torn, ragged, worn. But the silk still clings to Lady’s fur. Your ribbons, Sansa, they’re still there.

It doesn’t take them too long after that to meet Nymeria, nor a wolf-pack large enough to feel like an army. After that- it takes even less time for them to march north, to take the Twins. Jonelle enters, twists her lips, slumps her shoulders, watches beneath lowered lashes as the Freys ignore her, and when all of them are sleeping, she lets the wolves in. 

She kills Walder Frey herself, with a stolen farmer’s knife. His blood is still on her hands when Sansa steps forward and kisses her.

Jonelle’s brain shorts out- it’s lightning, flaring through her veins, terribly wrong and terribly right, like the blood yet staining her palms. She kisses back, then, one hand sliding up to cup Sansa’s head, bloodied hands on bloodied hair, their kiss made up of teeth and tongue and heat.

(Neither of them know anything different.)

(Neither of them want anything different.)

It takes them time- precious time- but they march further north, and at the Neck they meet with Howland Reed who tells Jonelle the truth of her parentage. Sansa kisses Jonelle that night, harder than ever before, and when she slips a hand over her breast it sparks a heat in Jonelle’s stomach that makes her quake.

Please, she says, breathes, please, Sansa-

They fumble, fingers skipping over furs and cloth, sighing into each other’s mouths, necks- one memorable time, thighs- and dawn comes far too early for either of them. But dawn does come, and they do rise, and when they ride out for Winterfell, they do it together, hands entwined.

When they take Winterfell, Jonelle kills Roose Bolton and the other lords who betrayed Robb herself, a sword heavy in her palms. Sansa insists on letting Theon go, though, when she hears that Bran and Rickon are still alive, and Jonelle doesn’t gainsay her.

That first week, they find Robb’s armor.

Jonelle shakes when she sees it, goes white and trembling as a leaf. Sansa guides her out of the room, her hands flattened on Jonelle’s neck, and drags her into an embrace.

I know, she whispers, muffled, into Jonelle’s neck. I know, Jon, I know it hurts.

He’s gone, Jonelle says, chokes. Robb. He’ll never come back.

No, Sansa murmurs, lifting Jonelle’s chin, eyes warm and soft and kind as a still forest pool. But we’re here, and so long as we live, we’ll never forget him.

Sansa melts the armor down. She gifts it to Jonelle, months later, when Jonelle goes to ride a dragon to burn an army of the dead down. They both cry, when she wears it for the first time, but then Jonelle licks the tears away and, soon enough, that turns into kisses, strokes, caresses- until they’re quivering like lambs. 

Years later, Sansa sits the cold throne in Winterfell. Arya comes and goes, a shadow to even Jonelle, the person who knows her best. Bran is beyond the structure that was once the Wall, becoming whatever he wishes to be; Rickon’s refused to accept the throne, content to rest with the Mormonts, and so Sansa and Jonelle remain in Winterfell, alone and together as they’ve been from almost the very beginning.

You won’t ever leave me, Sansa says, once, the tip of her lip curling upwards, warm and edged as a hearthfire, as the sword-sharp crown in her hair.

Jonelle stands beside her, always, close enough for Sansa to place a hand over her arm, in a maidservant’s gown when she needs to look unimportant and in Robb’s armor when she needs to look invincible.

Never, says Jonelle, cries Jonelle, swears Jonelle. Not for a hundred lifetimes.

This is the only oath Jonelle Snow ever swears.

It’s one that she keeps.