#what’s it like not having constant nerve pain because I literally can’t remember

[himblebo]

Ohhhhhh

[tehb3stsk4t3revr]

Got inspired by a post I saw this morning so here's literally 2 entire pages of headcanons comparing Infected and Kasper. Fair warning: It dips into talk of symptoms I imagine he'd have and the whole Poptart situation.

[A lot of which assume he'd have like. Actual biological needs instead of being Video Game-y, which seems to be sort of a grey area in-game anyway...]

Kasper was already kind of stupid so honestly not much is different on that front. Average 2010s gamer dudebro sort of deal. Although Infected has a bit more 'what kind of animal is the pink panther?' in him than Kasper.

Infected has next to no impulse control, leading to him doing things he shouldn't and speaking without thinking pretty much constantly.

Infected has balance issues that Kasper didn’t due to inner ear inflammation from the infection. He can’t really do anything on a skateboard anymore besides just stand there or go in a straight line. He can and will find a way to trip on flat ground.

He's convinced he still rules at it, though.

The inflammation has also made his hearing kind of shit. (The only person he can hear with perfect clarity is Folly, as she probably speaks directly into people’s minds or something lol.)

Infected loves soda and drinks basically only that. Boy who was born with kidney stones <3

The neurotoxin in his favorite soda was a deeply unreasonable amount of aspartame (and other chemicals. For fun! <3). Not being able to drink it anymore has somewhat improved his balance issues and memory, but he still misses how it tasted (it probably tasted like what you'd get if you boiled down an entire 2 liter of diet coke until it's barely a liquid then filled an 8 ounce soda can with that. Dude’s tastebuds and liver are Fucked).

Kasper had a fairly similar way of talking to Infected, minus the 1337. ("Sweet parteh trickz dud!11")

Infected is in constant pain. Headaches, body aches, sore throat, can't breathe well, burning skin, heavy eyes, nausea that won't go away, sniffles, random nerve pain, probably other shit. He barely notices it anymore unless someone asks how he's feeling. He doesn't have much energy to spare. He would come across as significantly more hyper/manic than how Kasper used to be if not for this.

He doesn't put any of the energy he has left towards cleaning. Kasper could deal with a little mess, but still picked stuff up when it got ugly. Lampert was also willing to help when he visited. Now Infected is too tired and unfocused to pick anything up most of the time, and Lampert refuses to set foot in the apartment complex until Kasper is better. Infected has started throwing garbage off the balcony when it gets in the way too much. It's kinda fun!

Infected occasionally dissociates. Finds later that he's already talked to someone about something and just repeated himself, bought something already and now he has two, spent hours on his computer without remembering a single thing he looked at, or already met someone he thought he hadn't seen before.

It has actually been explained to Infected before that Kasper is his name. This just started an argument and the topic was dropped forever from that point forward.

Infected is deeply stressed out by seeing his own face for reasons he can't communicate, so he avoids looking at it as much as possible. He used to have a mirror in his apartment but he threw it off the balcony in a fit of rage one night, then covered the blank space where it used to be with a poster. Same thing with ripping Kasper’s face off of the picture on his desk. Any photos of him that are on his PC have either been sent to the recycle bin or cropped so that his face isn’t in them. He's completely fine looking at drawings of himself though. That's definitely him.

When left to his own devices, Infected's diet is… Inconsistent. He will forget to eat for long periods of time then binge when the hunger pangs finally get so annoying that he can't ignore them anymore. He's at least sort of hydrated because there's usually a six pack of soda on his desk or by the couch, but unless someone on the elevator is feeling generous he doesn't remember on his own very often.

Kasper was very comfortable being physically affectionate with people and would be happy to cuddle or lay on a friend's lap if they were cool with that. Infected is even more touchy and would be clingy if he had chances to be, but due to his extremely obvious contagious disease nobody lets him get close. He is incredibly touch-starved and would probably get emotional if someone hugged him or even just sympathetically rubbed his back now.

 Kasper was alright at resisting the urge, but Infected has picked at every scab he's ever gotten, and he ends up with a Lot. He will pick at them until the damage is worse than the initial injury unless someone stops him/tells him to put a bandage over it.

Kasper would bite his nails to keep them short and pick his nose sometimes but Infected's nails are completely trashed. Some of them have scabbed over or still-bleeding cuticles and hangnails because he chews and picks at those too.

All of the contact with his spit has caused his fingernail textures to semi-permanently unload. You'd think they were painted if you didn't know why they looked like that.

Nosebleeds from his nasal cavity getting torn up from all the fussing are not unheard of and yet he's gonna keep doing it.

Constantly drooling when he's not talking. Some of it is post-nasal drip. Sometimes he remembers to wipe it off on his arm, but most of the time it just ends up on the floor/running down his face and soaking into the neckline of his shirt. Or sprayed all over the walls/someone's face when he sneezes.

Kasper used to keep a bottle of hand sanitizer in his pocket to help Lampert feel more comfortable. He stopped doing that forever ago after he got sick. (You know how rabies does a bunch of shit to animals to make them better disease vectors, including to their brains? Yeah, something like that).

On some level he knows he's sick. Would be more stressed out about it but the infection has repressed his ability to care (and the part of him that’s still aware of it is probably also heavily in denial). This has affected other aspects of his emotional range, causing it to come across as unusually flat, especially to those who knew Kasper.

Infected is scared that if he’s taken to a doctor’s office they’ll hurt him, so on top of genuinely not being able to recognize that he's sick he will deny all accusations regardless out of this fear. He’s technically not wrong, since trying to purge the disease to save Kasper would be extremely painful for him, but this thought mostly comes from his illness trying to preserve itself.

The last time someone tried to lead Infected to DrRETRO’s office for an intensive care stay he panicked upon realizing what was going on and fought back until they let him leave (fucked them up pretty badly), so now everyone keeps their distance and kinda uselessly tries to convince him to go voluntarily with their words.

Infected is incapable of maintaining strong negative emotions if pushed into being that upset. He'll be mad or sad for maybe a minute and then something else will get his attention or he’ll get too tired to think and he'll forget whatever was bugging him.

Every so often he will lose hope about finding Poptart and then abruptly ‘reset’ a minute or two into sobbing his eyes out, completely confident that any day now the little guy will come back safe and sound.

Despite this it is still really easy to get him Gamer Raging. Way easier than it ever was with Kasper, who was a pretty good sport in most cases.

Infected's particular brand of Gamer Rage is ‘Heckling people until they shut up/go away’, or until it's out of his system. This is the most typical way he processes anger. The impulse control is Seriously out the window when he gets like this.

Kasper knew a lot of stuff about the games he liked offhandedly (mostly competitive co-op FPS games like counterstrike, tf2, l4d2, etc) and could tell you so much esoteric bullshit about them, but if you tried to ask Infected he would get too excited trying to think of something he could share that would be really cool and then not actually be able to remember anything.

The only context in which Infected's reaction time isn't ass is video games. Something about muscle memory. In any other situations he is usually pretty slow to react. This does not mean he's slow to do things, though. When he's acting on a dumbass impulse thought he's probably halfway done doing it before anyone can stop him.

It is possible to get Infected to acknowledge that his situation is Fucked for a moment or two if you press him on the most obvious evidence that he's sick (his headaches, the fact his allergies haven't cleared up in years, the snot on his face, etc), and if you pressed hard enough you'd start to see him get scared. He knows you're right, but there's nothing he can do about it. And then the recognition would be gone again as soon as you stopped talking.

This doesn't work when you bring up his name (Who's Kasper? Never met the guy.) or objects in his surroundings, only symptoms of illness directly observable on/in his body.

[crippleprophet]

(feel free to not respond to this, hell feel free to be like “please don’t do this again”)

so i’ve had join problems for like 3 1/2 years now and they just got diagnosed like 2 week’s ago, turns out i have runners knee

so i feel bad because 1. it feels lit not as big of a deal as i feel like it is (it is a big deal, it’s impacted my life (thank you therapy))

2. i’m worried that pt and more exercise won’t make it better (i’m on my schools swim team, so 4 practices a week during the season, plus a swim meet on friday)

and 3. i feel like (at least for now) i need more support. my pt doesn’t start until february and i can’t remember the last day i haven’t been in pain or had sensations that are probably due to nerve wackiness. i have used a cane in the past and it has helped me immensely. but i feel bad for wanting something that works for both legs. i’ve literally have had 2 dreams about me having forearm crutches.

i’m just really exhausted, sorry for dumping this all on you rn, i feel like even though i was listened to i still was just told to exercise and loose weight

hey, it’s absolutely no problem & i’m so deeply sorry you’re dealing with this 💕💕

i’m gonna throw like a billion disclaimers on this that, in addition to my usual line about just being Some Guy on the internet, i am definitely responding from a place of trauma here - i don’t know your body & you are the authority on your experiences, i’m just tossing some stuff out there based on my experiences, which might be totally different in other (or underlying physical processes yadda yadda) ways. also like big tw for medical neglect

so. i ran cross country in high school and my joint pain originated in my left knee at age 16, no specific injury or incident, RICE etc barely did anything. xrays and mri showed nothing. tried cortisone shot, euflexxa injections, some sort of topical steroid that was originally used on racehorses, nothing. because i was a runner no one ever considered it could be anything but an orthopedic issue.

i had two exploratory arthroscopic surgeries (which i’ve since learned are as effective as a placebo) with extensive debridement - first dx, plica syndrome, “we have no idea why this was this bad,” cleared to run again after post-op PT, pain came back even worse after ~7 months.

second dx, grade II chondromalacia patellae aka runner’s knee. told never to run again. i knew in post-op PT that something was wrong, this wasn’t the same pain as recovery previously, it felt like the underlying issue was still there. this wasn’t pain of healing, it was making something else worse. my physical therapist didn’t believe me, just kept pushing me, literally told me once that there was no way i was in that much pain. the pattern of swelling, location & sensation of pain, nerve symptoms, etc never made sense to anyone, no matter how many people they called over to poke & prod.

i don’t think i’ll ever know why, especially when he then didn’t fucking do anything with this information, but one day he had me try a lumbar extension stretch. you know the scene in the little mermaid where she’s propping her upper body up with her arms on the rock, waves crashing behind her, triumphant music? it’s basically that pose. it was both the single most excruciating and relieving thing i’ve ever done; even my chronic migraine of 2 years lessened. but we proceeded on a normative linear recovery arc, i got cleared from PT, the pain was better but still there.

flash forward four more years of intensifying pain - first my other knee, then the bottoms of my feet, then more constant and prominent in my lower back, then my upper back & worsening of the neck pain i’d been told and believed was from looking down at books/phone, what i now know as neuropathy increasing all the while - using a cane, then forearm crutches, then a forearm rollator, then a mobility scooter, spending more & more time unable to leave the bed - and i stumbled across an article about ankylosing spondylitis that matched my history fucking eerily, right down to the car crash as a younger teenager. it turns out AS commonly first presents with knee pain, not back pain, in juveniles.

so here’s what i’m gonna tell you: even if it’s “only” chondromalacia, your pain is real and serious and you should listen to your body. and, with again the mega disclaimer that you might be experiencing something totally different, i gently suggest:

read my posts about AS. read my google doc about AS. read anybody’s posts and articles about anything that originates with knee pain, especially if it involves neuropathy.

keep tabs on your body and don’t believe anyone who tells you something is normal until you’ve investigated it for yourself. does your neck hurt? how much? how often? what about your upper spine, between your shoulders? your lower back?

try a lumbar extension stretch, just in case.

if you haven’t been to a rheumatologist before and it’s at all possible for you to do so, do it. if you have a GP and can get a blood workup from them instead, do that. more info on blood testing here - but keep in mind that negative blood work doesn’t rule anything out.

if you can get forearm crutches, one hundred thousand percent do it. make sure they’re sized properly - more info on that here.

do whatever you possibly can to shore up your trust in yourself and your experiences. surround yourself with as many people as possible, in person or online, who believe your pain and make you feel solid in your knowledge of yourself. i’m a big fan of putting up signs with reminders if you can. whether you have chondromalacia, something else, or a combination, your pain is real, it is disabling, and it is in your best interest to develop strategies to cope with the systemic gaslighting that is existing within an ableist society & medical system.

if there is literally anything at all i can do to encourage you, answer questions, etc, please feel free to dm me or send another ask any time. my whole fucking heart goes out to you - you are not the only one who’s been through this, and that is both the horror & deepest relief of chronic pain. so much love to you, may you receive everything you need.

[atlasscrumpit]

My personal Experience with PTSD and DID

(Trigger warning, ptsd, trauma)

I guess I just wanted to share a little bit of my own experience especially with DID and PTSD.

I think like a lot of others I’ve kind of gotten used to keeping all of this quiet, people teach you that sharing your pain means you’re weak. So I never share.

But I think I should start sharing more, because then maybe the more I share others will want to share as well or feel more confident.

I’m not really sure where to begin with all of this.

Well, i suppose I’ve always struggled, but I didn’t face it or realise it until I was 15.

All of the things before it were kind of just put down to ‘she’s different.’

Seizures or ptsd episodes were just put down to ‘she’s wanting attention.’

The doctors didn’t really know what to do with me, I was an ‘interesting’ case.

So, instead of helping me further they put a 15 year old girl onto 100mg of sedatives every night until I became so numb that I just stopped talking. I suppose then I wouldn’t bother anyone.

Because of the high dosage I don’t remember much of those times.

They put me on so many different pills and treatments that me and the entire system just switched off.

I remember small details, having outbursts and being on even more medication.

Or the side effects, I mean at one point I was on a treatment that made me lactate. Yes, a 17 year old girl with a body ready for a child. The medication literally made my body prepare for a child.

And if that isn’t fucked up idk what is.

Anyway that’s just some background pieces. When I began getting actual help the professionals were confused to say the least.

From every point of view I had a normal childhood, of course I had the normal trials and everything. But the doctors were confused because I had complex ptsd with ‘no trauma.’

My level of ptsd was the same as someone who had gone through years of sex trafficking. They’re not the only ones confused either because I honestly don’t know what happened. A lot of my childhood was wiped from my mind, but I don’t understand how so many people can say i had a happy childhood yet I’m left like this. Having flashbacks of horrible things, screaming in my sleep at night and having panic attacks in the grocery store.

It’s been hard, it’s been really fucking hard.

But I don’t get to say that, I don’t get to cry, I don’t get to scream.

I have seizures, I have nerve pain, I get terrible headaches, I have times where I forget everything even my own name or my own family, I get nightmares nearly every night, i get really strong deja Vu every single day, of course it’s a struggle having DID as well, the constant switching and voices can be overwhelming.

I just want to scream, i want to show people how much I’m hurting, but I can’t.

Because all of this is ‘in my head’ people don’t believe it hurts.

Life has been hard, it has been so hard and difficult but I’m not allowed to say that because other people have it worse and at least I have a home and food.

That’s a bullshit argument, having a home or food doesn’t stop the pain, it doesn’t stop the crying and the screaming.

Every job I’ve had has been terrible, the coworkers treat me terribly because I’m different. The job I have now is a little better but people still don’t understand any of it. I don’t expect them to.

There’s been times where I lose the ability to speak, I don’t know if many of you have been through that but god it’s scary and no one cares. My family just said ‘it’s just because of your anxiety’ even if it was that doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

I’m just tired of suffering, I’m tired of having to be silent.

I’ve been through so much and it isn’t fair, none of this is fucking fair.

And I still have no idea why I’m like this or what happened.

I just want a break, and i want some peace. But life isn’t fair, at least not for me.

Why does everyone get to have a life, why was I born and instantly my life was a trial? I don’t understand it one bit, apparently I did something absolutely awful and all of this is punishment.

Obviously there’s a lot more than just that stuff but that’s all I can do for tonight cause I’m already close to passing out from that.

And if you made it to the end holy shit.

[catrasredemption-moved]

Can you do a fic where catra gives birth without adora by her side and panics please

I feel like I can't do justice compared to the others that exist, but sure!

-----------------------

Adora hadn't wanted to go.

Catra hadn't really wanted to let her go, either. She was coming up on her eighth month of pregnancy, and every single nerve screamed in imagined agony when she wasn't in Adora's arms. She hated it - she had gotten over clinging to Adora years ago. But everyone assured it was okay. She was pregnant. She was allowed to want Adora right by her side all the time.

But this was important. Two ally planets were threatening to go to war, and there was a risk of Etheria ending up in the middle of it. Which, unfortunately, made it very much their problem. Normally, Glimmer would have brought Catra (who was surprisingly good at being diplomatic and talking people down), but Adora had flat out said no to the idea of her very pregnant wife going anywhere near a warzone. Catra would have argued, but that was fair, really. She felt the same way.

So Glimmer had taken Adora and Bow, with the hopes that the three of them would manage to calm everyone down. Catra had resisted the urge to point out that they hadn't even know what a coherent plan was before she joined them.

It sucked, watching the three people she trusted most clear Etheria's atmosphere and disappear into the stars. But after ten years, Catra no longer felt completely alone in the castle. Netossa and Spinnerella had agreed to stay in Bright Moon while Glimmer was gone; they had declared themselves the baby's aunts the minute Catra announced she was pregnant. Entrapta, after nearly two year of work, had managed to replicate Prime's teleportation technology to create teleporting points in each kingdom, so Scorpia could visit her bestie whenever she wanted. Micah had decided the new baby was going to be his grandchild (with a pointed look at Glimmer, who had rolled her eyes and informed him they were adopting), and was happy to look in on Catra every single hour, if she'd let him. She did not let him.

And they were great. They were all great. Catra loved all of them. But Adora's absence was an aching hole in her chest. She wanted her wife. She wanted her when she woke up at three in the morning, back screaming in pain, and there was no one she could ask to give her a massage, or even just hold her until she managed to fall back to sleep. She wanted to see the adoration in Adora's expression every time the baby kicked. She wanted to hear Adora's excited babbling as she told literally anyone who would listen about how they had just finished decorating the nursery, and it was so cute. She wanted Adora.

She really wanted Adora now, as she whimpered into her pillow, tightly clutching her swollen belly. Melog nuzzled her cheek, meowing nervously.

"No, it's fine," she mumbled. "It's nothing. Fake contractions, remember?"

That got her a very unimpressed meow in return. The fake contractions were sporadic and mildly painful, but this? This was a steady pain, pressing down on her uterus, coming approximately every ten minutes, as Melog kept reminding her. She reached out, pushing their snout away.

"I'm still three and a half weeks from my due date. It's fine."

Lying down wasn't a viable option; there was no comfortable position. She pushed herself out of bed, shuffling unsteadily around the room to try and relieve the constant ache on her back. Melog helped support her when she had to stop and lean on the wall, breathing heavily.

It wasn't fine.

"Fuck," she breathed, sliding down the wall, tears burning in her eyes. This couldn't be happening now. No. No no no no. Adora wasn't here. She didn't even know where Adora was. Not within communication range - Catra had already tried to call her. Who knew when she would be back. Catra was alone.

Not alone, Melog reminded her, nudging her shoulder. There were people here who could help her. A healer from Mystacor had even transferred to Bright Moon to be on hand for any emergencies, and the eventual delivery.

"Okay," she whispered. Melog nodded and disappeared. And she was alone.

She was alone.

Adora wasn't there. Adora wouldn't make it back in time. Her entire support system had relied on her wife, because why wouldn't it? Adora would be there. Adora didn't break her promises. Adora would be there.

Another contraction seized her, closing up her already struggling lungs. Tears pricked at her eyes as she wheezed uselessly. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't breathe.

A hand rested on her shoulder. "Easy," Micah said, squeezing. "It's okay. You're okay. Can you breathe with me?"

He exaggerated his own breaths, giving Catra a guide to follow along. It took a few minutes, but finally she managed to take a shaky breath, curling in on herself. "Okay. Good. What's wrong?"

"I - I think I'm in labor," she admitted unwillingly. "And Adora isn't here, and she supposed to be here, she was so excited, I can't take this away from her, I can't - I'm the worst wife-"

Micah squeezed her shoulder again, cutting her off. "You can't control when this happens," he reminded her gently. "That doesn't make you a bad wife. Or mother for that matter." Was he a mind reader? "If Adora doesn't make it back in time, it's okay. I know she'll be disappointed, but she'll be here for everything else. And I know this is hard, but you have to relax a little. The stress isn't good for you or the baby. Take another breath for me. Please?"

Catra nodded, sucking in a breath and letting it out slowly. The bedroom door burst open, Netossa and Melog hurrying in. "Spinny is getting Ivy. Is it really time?"

"Think so," Micah said, taking Catra's hands and helping her stand. "Keep trying to call Darla. Hopefully we can get in touch as soon as they're back in communication range."

Melog brushed against Catra's leg, purring loudly. She scratched the back of their ears, smile turning to a grimace when the dull pain of contraction started to grip her again.

It was going to be okay.

-----------------------------------

"Adora?"

"Yeah?"

"Catra is never allowed to be pregnant again. That was the worst."

It turned out talking and being diplomatic was a lot harder than just punching things. It had taken nearly four days to negotiate a deal that made both planets happy and stopped a war. Adora was fairly certain defeating Horde Prime had been easier.

She and Glimmer were sprawled out on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Bow was slumped in the captain's seat, sleeping. Entrapta was working energetically at the console. She had gotten to spend the last week on Darla, since they all knew letting her try to talk to people was a nightmare. Adora wanted her energy.

"I'm so tired," Adora groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. Glimmer reached out to shove her shoulder.

"Aren't you the one about to have a newborn? You better rest up now, you'll never sleep again."

Adora laughed, ignoring the uncomfortable swoop in her stomach. She missed Catra. She hated that she'd had to leave. She just wanted to be back.

"Entering Etheria's atmosphere!" Entrapta called, as if reading Adora's mind. "ETA - oh."

The console was beeping. There was a call coming in. Entrapta tapped a few buttons, bringing up a large screen. It flickered to life, showing Netossa, who was looking at something off screen.

"Yes I'm sure I'm calling the right - oh!" She jumped when she saw the call had connected. "Hey, finally!"

"Is something wrong?" Glimmer asked, immediately sitting up. Adora shot up as well, suddenly shaking. Netossa chuckled nervously.

"Okay, don't freak out. But um... Catra had the baby."

"What?!" Adora's voice cracked. She practically sprinted across the flight deck, grabbing the screen. "Is she okay? Is the baby okay? How?!"

"Are you asking how the baby was born?"

Normally, Adora liked Netossa's humor. This was not normally. "Netossa!"

"Okay, sorry. She's okay, the baby is okay, they're both sleeping now. It got a little rough, and Catra might need a little more time to recover, but she's okay."

Adora felt lightheaded. She took a step back, sitting hard on the ground. Catra had the baby. The baby was born while she was gone.

"Um... ETA five minutes," Entrapta said, quickly hitting a few buttons on the console and speeding Darla up. Glimmer and Bow moved to sit on either side of Adora, hugging her tight.

"I missed it," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. She had one job, to be there when Catra gave birth, and she missed it. "She probably hates me."

"There is no way Catra hates you," Bow said confidently. "Trust me."

"She never stops talking about how much she loves you and how you're going to be a great mother," Glimmer added. "I share an office with her, I hear about it every single day. 'Adora stayed up all night painting the nursery, Adora's been practicing how to swaddle with some stuffed animals, she's trying to set a record swaddling time, Adora woke me up at three a.m. because she had her head on my stomach and was letting the baby kick her ear' - seriously, it never stopped. I tried to send her on maternity leave two months ago so she'd stop."

"But I-"

"I know, you missed it," Glimmer said, hugging Adora. "But Catra isn't going to be mad. She probably just wants you there now. It's going to be okay."

Adora scrubbed her eyes, sniffling. "Yeah. It'll be okay."

They landed, and Adora darted off the ship. Bow and Glimmer smartly decided they could visit later, and let her go.

Netossa and Spinerella were sitting outside of Adora's and Catra's room, playing a game on their tracker pad. They both gave Adora a grin when they saw her approaching.

"Hey Mom. How's it going?"

Adora slowed to a walk, hands shoved in her pockets to keep from fidgeting. "Is... Is Catra mad?"

"Is Catra ever not mad?"

Spinnerella elbowed Netossa. "She's a little upset, but mostly at herself. I think she'll be happier you're here, though."

"How long has it been?"

"About twelve hours."

Adora had barely missed it. She did her best to put on a brave smile. "Thanks for being here."

"Honestly, thank Micah. He's the only one besides Ivy who knew what was going on."

"And he didn't almost pass out," Spinnerella added, smiling wickedly at her wife. Netossa gave her an offended look.

"I did not almost pass out."

"You absolutely would have if I didn't drag you out."

Adora left the wives to their argument, carefully peeking into the room. Catra was sleeping, bundled up in a nest of pillows and blankets. Adora just barely got a look at her before she was being tackled. Melog nuzzled up to her, purring and licking her cheek. She laughed.

"Hi, Melog."

This was good, right? Melog always did this when Catra was feeling particularly needy but didn't want to say anything. Adora couldn't have been in too much trouble.

She stood, feeling a bit more emboldened, and toed off her boots before making her way across the room.

And she finally got her first look at her baby.

They were so small. A small mop of blonde hair barely hid twitching ears, little claws kneading mindlessly against Catra's chest. Their fur was a mix of Adora's skin and Catra's fur - a beautiful dark blonde that was absolutely the most amazing thing Adora had ever seen. She wanted to pick them up, to hold them, to feel their weight in her arms. But she also didn't want to disrupt this moment of pure tranquility.

Catra made a small noise, nose twitching, and one eye fluttered open. "Hey 'Dora," she mumbled sleepily. "Really left me t'do all the hard, huh?"

Adora pressed a hand to her lips to keep from laughing. "Mind if I join you?"

"Left enough room for you, didn't I?"

She had, Adora realized. A perfectly sized space right next to her for Adora to slide into. She tossed her jacket off and carefully slid in next to Catra. Her wife shifted slightly to snuggled into her chest.

"How're you feeling?"

"Tired. Your child is so difficult."

"Oh, my child?"

"Yup. Stubborn, just like you."

Adora finally reached out to brush a finger against one of their tiny paws. "Cute, though."

"Got that from me."

George and Lance, it turned out, had a surprisingly extensive knowledge about Magicats, and had been more than happy to educate Catra after they'd met her. One of the big things they'd learned was that Magicats didn't name their children before they were a year old (some superstition) and all babies used neutral pronouns until they were old enough to understand what gender was and could choose their own. Two more things Shadow Weaver had taken away from Catra. Two things she was determined to give their baby.

"Do you think I can..."

Catra rolled her eyes, yawning. "No, Adora, you can't hold your own child. Come on, seriously?"

"I just don't want to bother them!"

Adora was reaching out even as she said that, carefully scooping up the little bundle. They wiggled a bit, making a few distressed noises, but stopped when they were close enough to burrow into Adora's shirt. And if the baby hadn't owned Adora's heart before that moment, they certainly did now.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, to their baby and to Catra. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"M'sorry they were so impatient," Catra murmured, snuggling a bit closer to Adora now that she was free. S'okay, though. You're here now."

Yes, she was. And she'd be damned if she ever left this planet again. Why would she? Everything she needed was already here.

[drabbles-mc]

“I Can’t Lose You”

Johnny “Coco” Cruz x Reader

Request from @loveandglamour26:  Can I get #39 & #50 from Fluff list, with #6 from Angst. Would love this with Coco 🖤 Please and thank you, doll!! 😊 (Prompts are from This Post)

Warnings: language, angst (with a happy ending)

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Putting up 2 fics in one day because I’m currently working remotely and I have time to write between meetings haha. I’m not super used to writing Coco, but I’m pretty happy with how this turned out. Enjoy!

Taglist: @mayans-sauce​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @paintballkid711​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​ @queenbeered​ @sillygoose6969​ @sesamepancakes​ @yourwonkywriter​ @chibsytelford​ @gemini0410​ @multiyfandomgirl40​ (This is literally like my second fic for Coco, so the taglist is just everyone that I could remember that wanted to be tagged in all my Mayans stuff. If I forgot you I’m so sorry! My brain is just bad lmao. Love y’all xoxo)

“You wanna tell me why those fuckin’ guys showed up to my job today?” it was coming out as anger, but really you were just scared.

“I told you,” he shook his head, “you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it. I’ll handle it.”

“That’s not the point, Coco!” tears stung at the edges of your eyes, “There shouldn’t be anything to handle. What you do is not supposed to be bleeding over into what I do. I should at least get to feel safe at work!”

“What do you want me to tell you, huh?”

“I want you to tell me why I got strangers coming to my job asking me about you and the club! That’s not my shit to be handling, so I at least deserve to know why I’m getting caught up in this.”

“It’s old club shit, Ma. Nothing that you need to worry about—it’s not gonna keep being an issue.”

You sighed and shook your head, trying as hard as you could to fight back the tears, “You’re lying to me again. I know that I’m not in the club, and that there’s a lot of things that I don’t get to know. But this involves me directly. And it’s gotta be some kind of big deal if it’s making you want to stay with me for the next few days. Why can’t you just tell me the truth for once?”

That got him to pause his pacing. He looked over at you and the expression on his face was one of pain and anger. You knew that what you said had struck a nerve, and you were just hoping that it was enough to get him to actually open up and be honest with you. He crossed the living room in what seemed like two large steps. He was face to face with you, and you could feel the heat and agitation radiating off of him.

“I don’t tell you the truth ‘cause I know that you won’t be able to handle it,” his voice was low, but harsh, “You think that this shit is scary? Huh? This shit freakin’ you out? Then you don’t wanna know all the things that I don’t tell you. I keep that shit to myself for a fuckin’ reason.”

Your heart felt heavy inside your chest. You tried to blink back the tears but instead they spilled over and ran down your cheeks. You knew that whatever Coco did with the club was way above your paygrade. When he’d come home and you’d have to patch him up, you kept your questions to a minimum for your sake as much as his. But lately it was getting harder and harder to pretend that he could keep that part of his life separate from the part that he shared with you. But you knew that he was right, that there was a lot that would be difficult for you to stomach. Despite that, though, you still wanted to know as much as you could. You couldn’t try to help him, or yourself, if you were kept completely in the dark.

“Please, Coco,” your voice was soft, anger quickly draining out of you as despair took over, “you gotta give me something. I live with the constant fear that one day you’re just…not gonna come home,” you wiped the tears off of your face, “And it’s the worst feeling in the world. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially not on you. So please, fucking please just be honest with me.”

He hated seeing you cry, hated it even more when he was the reason for your tears. He felt like he was caught in an impossible situation, though. He didn’t want to burden you with the weight of his life in the club—you had your own shit to worry about. However, it seemed like despite his best efforts it was becoming your burden to bear as well, anyway.

“Hey,” he gently grasped you by your upper-arms, “I’m always gonna make it home, alright? Don’t worry about that.”

“How do you know that, though?” you sniffled.

A smirk passed over his lips for a moment, “I’m too fuckin’ stubborn not to.”

It got you to let out a small laugh. You reached up and wiped the tears from your face, “That’s true.”

He waited for you to meet his eyes again, “And those guys? The ones who showed up at your fuckin’ job? Angel and EZ are already taking care of ‘em. That’s why I wasn’t gonna bother you with any of it.”

“Then why’d you say you need to stay with me for a while?”

He gently cupped your face, “Figured you’d be shaken up. Any reason to stay with you is a good one,” he sighed and stepped back slightly, “But if you’re pissed, I get it. I can go.”

You stepped in and took his hands in yours, “No, don’t. Stay. Please.”

He saw the exhaustion on your face and pulled you into a hug. You leaned your weight onto him as he held you, tears beginning to flow again. You might not be mad at him anymore, but that didn’t make the events of the day any less scary and draining. You felt like you could hardly support your own bodyweight at that point. If Coco let go of you, you were almost certain that you’d crumple to the floor.

He pressed a kiss against the top of your head, “I love you. You know that, right?”

You nodded against his chest, “I know, I love you too.”

“I’m sorry I don’t tell you shit all the time. I’m just tryin’ to protect you.”

You sniffled, holding him tight against you, “I know.”

“C’mon,” he scooped you up and carried you down the hall, “you’re exhausted. Let’s go to bed.”

You didn’t argue with him about it, allowing him to sweep you off down the short hallway to your bedroom. He gently set you down on the mattress. You crawled under the covers as he stripped down to his boxers before getting into bed beside you. He pulled you up against him so that you were laying with your forehead pressed against his. Your hand rested lightly on his chest, focusing on the steadiness of his breathing.

“I can’t lose you,” you whispered.

He kissed your forehead, “You won’t. We’re alright. I’m safe now, you’re safe now. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You let the comfort of his words wash over you, attempting to loosen the tension you had been carrying in your body the whole day.  His hands ran idly up and down your back, causing you to let out a contented sigh. Regardless of what the future held, for tonight, the two of you were safe. That was good enough for now. You’d face tomorrow when it arrived.

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 7

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623403705475219456/the-long-way-around-chapter-6

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 2208

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

It’s been around six months since I joined this new life. I can feel my newborn strength fading by the day, though my bloodlust does not show me the same mercy. I’ve yet to have a true encounter with a human, and I hope to avoid one for a very long time. I have no doubt in my mind that I would lose control. Jasper says it’s normal, that I’m doing well, and that I shouldn’t worry about the future and instead focus on improving today. Some days I believe him, some days I don’t. I guess it all comes with the territory of being thrust into a life you never thought could exist.

My case hasn’t had any leads since they arrested my assailant, though, since there’s no body to find, I don’t suppose I can assign any blame. I’m old news now, except for the occasional plea from my parents or a friend for anyone who knows something to come forward. Those break me every time. It pains me more than I ever thought possible to see the people I love hurting and know their hurting is in vain, but not be able to do anything to ease it because I will literally kill them. Carlisle and Esme have taken a few trips on my behalf, for which I am endlessly grateful. A run-in at the grocery store here or a quick drive by their house at night. It’s not much, and it hurts deeply to not be able to take the errands myself, but I think it would be worse not to know how they’re doing.

My self-control has gotten slightly better. I’m down to hunting only about once a week now. I fill my newfound free time with odds and ends. I read books, decorate my room, let Alice do my hair, work on learning Spanish, and play board games with the other vampires in the house. It’s nice to start seeing them more as friends rather than roommates. It certainly makes shoving myself into their daily life much more bearable.

Jasper still doesn’t let up with his constant babysitting of me, but I don’t mind it like I used to. In all honesty, we’ve become pretty great friends. He definitely knows me better than anyone else in the house, and I would seek out his company even if it wasn’t a necessity. Right now we’re reading through all the Harry Potter’s together just to pass the time. Esme was very encouraging of our project, even buying two copies of each book for us and one copy of each book in Spanish, to help with my studies. She’s so thoughtful. Jasper didn’t like the books at first, but at my and Bella’s behest, stuck with them. I think he had trouble getting into them because he didn’t grow up reading them. But now we’re on book five, and if we go more than two days without reading a chapter, he bugs me about it. It’s kinda cute. As both of us tend toward the introvert side of the spectrum, we spend much of our days in one of our rooms. Seldom are we apart, so it surprises me when he sends Emmett, Arthur, and Rosalie with me to hunt and doesn’t include himself. Hurt that I really hope he doesn’t notice pricks at me. He probably just needs a break, relax. You guys do spend a lot of time together…maybe you’re getting on his nerves. But I don’t protest outwardly, not wanting to seem annoying. Besides, I like everyone in my entourage just fine and spending quality time with them wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

“Have fun. I’ll uh, see you later.” While Jasper’s voice is calm, he looks anywhere but my eyes.

I try not to let my hurt show, but I know he must feel it. “Okay, you too.”

He offers me a smile that seems strained.

Once more, I brush off my insecurities and follow Rosalie outside to meet the guys. Emmett is grinning broadly, wringing his hands together.

“Since we ditched the wet blanket, I thought we’d hunt something a little more fun today,” He proposes, a gleam in his eye. Despite my down mood, I can’t help but be terribly interested.

“What did you have in mind?”

{***}

Bears. Bears were what he had in mind. I let out a shout of exhilaration as I wrestle with a grizzly five times my size. It’s a ridiculously intoxicating feeling to grapple with one of nature’s most feared predators and come out on top. It makes me feel so capable. And, unsurprisingly, grizzly blood is leagues better than that of a puny deer. I make a commitment to do this much more often.

By the end of it, my clothes are history, but thankfully, Rosalie thought to pack a change in our backpacks. She leads me behind a tree to change, laughing when we hear growls from both men and bear. They’re nearly indistinguishable, and the difference wouldn’t be perceptible at all to human ears.

But Jasper’s absence is still bothering me. This seems like something he would love, and it’s weird that he seemed intent on avoiding it. Did I do something to upset him? I weigh my options, and decide Rosalie is a trustworthy enough person to risk asking. It’s better than not knowing and letting my insecurities run wild.

Still, I try to sound unaffected, not wanting to reveal how much I actually care. “I wonder why Jasper didn’t want to join? Bears are so much more fun.”

Not at all fooled, Rosalie chuckles. “Jasper had some business in town to attend to. He can’t take you with him, for obvious reasons, and I guess he thought the three of us wouldn’t be that bad of a trade.”

I nod, feeling a bit better. It’s just an errand then, nothing I did personally.

But Rosalie grins, not done with me yet. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just hoped I wasn’t annoying him or something.” I shrug, wanting to exit this conversation as quickly as possible.

“Please, I don’t think Jasper could ever be annoyed by you.”

Wait, what? “What do you mean?”

Rosalie laughs, pulling a twig out of my hair. “He hangs onto your every word. He waits on you hand and foot.” When I don’t respond, Rosalie raises her eyebrows, disbelieving. “You really haven’t noticed?”

I shrug, quickly running through the past six months of my new life. “I guess I just thought it was his job.”

Rose scoffs and shakes her head. “No. Now that he knows your limits he really only needs to be with you when you hunt.” She shrugs. “He enjoys your company.” Then, with the teasing smirk of an older sister, she begins to walk away. “Do with that information what you will.”

She leaves me, and I stand, stunned. So for the past who knows how long, Jasper has chosen to spend all that time with me? The realization makes my dead heart feel something I don’t recognize, something tender. Since Edward’s not here it makes no sense to police my own thoughts. And, if I’m being honest with myself, I totally seek out Jasper’s company too, regardless of the need for oversight. With him, everything is just so natural; I feel perfectly at home in this completely strange life. I gulp, not really sure what that all means.

Thankfully, Emmett saves me from figuring it out at the moment.

“Hey kid, let’s go! It looks like it’s gonna rain.”

We speed home, all wary of Alice’s reaction if we were to ruin even more items of her carefully curated designer clothes.

As it is, she gives me a disapproving look the moment we walk through the door. “Next time, please wear something more expendable.”

I frown, feeling bad, and Arthur grabs Alice’s hand and distracts her with a kiss before she can chastise me further.

“Sorry, Alice.”

But she only smiles, all traces of a sour mood gone.

I can hear Jasper shuffling papers down in the basement and I automatically take a step in that direction. Then, I pause, deciding that it might be beneficial to test Rosalie’s theory. So instead, I drop my bag by the couch, turn on my heel, and head upstairs to my room. I pick book off my shelf and wait.

Not three minutes later I hear his steps on the stairs and his knock on the door.

“Hey, can I come in?”

I pat the spot on the bed beside me. “Of course. How was town?”

He raises his eyebrows.

I smile guiltily. “Rosalie mentioned you had business there.”

He chuckles and sits, seeming more comfortable now. “Yeah, town was good. Got everything taken care of.”

Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows, but it quickly becomes apparent that he does not intend to expand upon the term ‘business’, so I let it go. “Emmett took me bear hunting.”

Jasper grins and pulls his legs into a criss-cross, leaning his back against the wall. “What’d you think?”

“So much better than deer,” I enthuse. His grin widens. I make a face like I’m suddenly remembering something. “Oh, I left my bag downstairs. Be right back.”

And before I can even swing my legs off the bed, he’s standing, shaking his head. “No, you look comfortable. I got it.”

A thrill so strong I know he feels it rushes through me. Rosalie might not have been too far off. Still, I school my expression by the time he returns.

I express my appreciation and decide to try the next reaction I want to test. I recount, in excruciating detail, my bear hunt. And, just as Rosalie said, he hangs onto my every word. He laughs at each bad joke and grins at each clear exaggeration. He actually listens. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this before.

And then I feel a little bad for experimenting on him without his knowledge, so I try to make up for it. “Is there anything you want to do tonight?”

He shakes his head immediately. “I’m fine with doing whatever.”

“No,” I laugh, grabbing his arm and giving it a light shake. “You always have to do what I do and you’re such a good sport. It’s my turn to try something you like.”

He thinks, and then smiles almost self-consciously. “Well, okay. There’s this cliff and waterfall  about eighty miles north of here that’s absolutely gorgeous. And, being virtually indestructible and all, it’s really fun to jump from the top and land in the pool of water beneath it. I haven’t been in forever.”

I smile as I stare up at him, game for anything he suggests. “Let’s do it.”

“Really? You’re sure?” I definitely am, but even if I wasn’t, his wide, excited beaming would make me say yes. It’s just too sweet to turn down.

“Absolutely.”

He stands then, evidently ready to put our plan in action. “Just don’t tell Esme.”

I want to question why, but suddenly remember Esme’s tragic experience with cliffs. I agree readily. As quietly as possible so as not to attract attention, we decide to gather our necessities and meet at the stairs in five minutes. I throw on a swimsuit Alice had the forethought to buy under an unassuming outfit. I grab one of my towels from the bathroom and toss it in my backpack. After a moment’s consideration, I add The Order of the Phoenix, feeling that it can’t hurt to bring it along. As planned, we join at the top of the stairs and walk slowly down, trying not to be too noticeable. But of course, it doesn’t work out that way, and we’re spotted the minute we make it to the kitchen.

“Where are you two going?” Esme’s question throws me off guard, and I panic.

“Hunting.”

Jasper eyes me clandestinely, obviously not pleased with my lack of improvisation finesse.

Emmett appears then, teasing. “What, bears not enough for you?”

Thankfully, Jasper’s at the top of his game. “Interacting with the humans in town today was a little much for me. I’d rather err on the side of caution.”

“What do you need Y/n for? To watch and shout encouragements?” Emmett laughs heartily at his own strange sense of humor.

Esme smiles, and I can’t tell if she fully believes us or not. Nevertheless, she lightly pushes on Emmett’s shoulder, directing him out of the kitchen with instructions to “leave us be”.

Once outside, I work to hold in my giggles until we’re out of earshot.

“Well, remind me to never involve you in a lie.” Jasper’s voice is teasing, and he pokes me lightly in my side.

I roll my eyes, unable to stop the laughter. “I panicked! I didn’t expect anyone to actually ask. Did they believe us though?”

Jasper shakes his head slowly, considering. “They were definitely suspicious. But for now, we’re in the clear. Just remind me to catch a deer or something on the way back so I won’t be a total fraud.”

I smile, mirth emboldening me to take his hand. And with that, we break into a run, excited to reach our destination.

A/n I work like every day this week so I probably should have spaced out posting these chapters. Whoops! Buuuut I’ve had a really fun time writing them and I’ve just been excited to get them out. So this week will probably be slower with the updates, sorry! Still, let me know what you thought about this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/623575983503638528/the-long-way-around-chapter-8

Tag list: @puer-de-infinitate @charliestuff @hindustani-diaspora @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li

[candychronicles]

unrequited love, or not? // k. bakugou

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested this, and thank you for being so patient!

CHARACTER PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,668

WARNINGS: mentions of being drunk, blood, mutual pining, dumb best friends

SYNOPSIS: you’ve been best friends since you could remember, but what if you wanted more?

the first day you met Bakugou Katsuki was on the first day of school, ever. you were bubbly, upbeat, someone who introduced yourself to everyone and made as many friends as possible. nothing could get you down, well, besides Bakugou. despite your best attempts, he was mean, sassy and definitely didn’t want to be your friend. for awhile, you resigned yourself to all your other friends, but the grumpy gremlin never left your brain.

over the following years, you slowly broke down the anger and superiority of his childhood, peeling back the layers to find a kid who wanted to save lives and be a hero, a kid who used his confidence to keep himself going against all odds. it wasn’t until your years at UA high that you really figured out who he was to you, but by then, things were too late, him being too focused on climbing to the top to even spare anything other than a friendly glance your way.

it wasn’t as if he ignored you. in some ways, that may have even been better, for you would’ve been able to push aside your feelings, but no, Bakugou was anything if not an attentive friend. he was one of the few people you trusted with your life, and vice versa. he came to you for everything, with everything, about everything, because you were his partner, his best friend. this closeness only complicated things, but you persevered, determined to be the greatest sidekick you could be to him.

your friendship wasn’t one that many people understood. while you were bright, extroverted, smiling brighter than the sun, moon and stars, he was grumpy, reserved, focused, but it worked. he called you annoying every day, and yet you two were inseparable, eating together, doing homework together, shopping, spending holidays together and taking selfies that, when you posted, he threatened to blow you up. 

you watched as he blew every challenge out of the water, both literally and figuratively. from every challenge that came in high school, all of the death and destruction that you two fought together, coming out on top despite the pain, and continuing to help save people as he became a sensationalized pro hero practically overnight.

despite his constant successes, he wasn’t the number one pro hero, and until he achieved, and consistently maintained, his biggest goal of his life, there would be no other priorities in his life. you slowly watched, year after year, as he worked tirelessly, throwing away other opportunities in order to continue to pursue his goal. it wasn’t until you confronted him casually one day that your worst suspicions were confirmed.

“Katsuki, why haven’t you ever dated someone?” you questioned not so innocently one day, waiting with baited breath to hear his answer.

“Becoming the number one pro-hero has and always will be my number one priority,” he replied casually, shrugging his shoulders and continuing on with eating like he didn’t just shatter your heart into a million shards.

little did you know, his heart was also breaking, threatening to rip his chest open from the inside, suffocating and strong. he liked you, loved you, for longer than he could remember, but he was sure you didn’t feel the same way. he thought that every lingering touch, every suffocating hug, every time you called him when you were sad and drowning in tears, begging him to make you feel better, was just you being a best friend, nothing less and nothing more.

you became a bit more distant after that, nursing your hemorrhaging heart, attempting to fix it back up, using any stitch or glue that you could find so that you wouldn’t bleed out. this need to not hurt led you to a very drunk night with Mina and Jirou. it started off innocent enough, but as the night drug on and the alcohol tickled your veins, your blood began to thin and pour out of your mangled heart, and the tears followed soon after.

“why did i have to fall for him? he doesn’t love me, he never will. i’ll have to sit back and watch him continue on with his life, blissfully u-unaware that there is someone here who loves him so much that it hurts. i’m so dumb, so so dumb,” you rambled on, liquid pain streaming down your face as you cuddled a bottle of wine.

the girls tried to console you as best as they could, snuggling deeply into you and rubbing your hair, wiping the tears off your face and assuring you that you were loved, before you promptly passed out, the bottle of booze replaced with a pillow that you clutched tightly to your chest, attempting, even in your sleep, to fix the ache in your heart.

you awoke with a pounding headache and a steely resolve to distance yourself from your best friend even more than you already were. while you knew it would hurt, nothing could compare to the emptiness you felt standing next to him knowing he didn’t feel the same way. texts were replied to hours later, calls missed, and you once even pretended you weren’t home when he stopped by randomly to check up on you.

Bakugou didn’t know what he did wrong, and it was eating him alive. he texted, he called, he even tried to break down your door, knowing you were home, but you still barely responded, claiming you were busy. never in your combined friendship had you went this long without talking, even when you were truly mad at each other. 

the lack of communication took a toll on Bakugou and he finally decided to confront Mina about it one day, despite not wanting to look desperate.

“why has she been avoiding me?” he asked the second she picked up the phone, not bothering to even say hi.

he heard a soft sigh on her end of the phone before she replied, “i’m not supposed to tell you.”

“bullshit. if she’s hurt, mentally or physically, she should be coming to me. i’m her fucking best friend.”

“and that’s the problem,” she replied cryptically.

“what the fuck is that supposed to mean? does she not want to be my friend anymore?”

“well, yes and no.”

he swore, at those four words, his heart stopped.

“if she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore, then she needs to man up and tell me. i don’t have time to waste on cryptic shit. i’ve got more important things to do.”

“and that’s the problem!” she suddenly exploded, before replying more evenly, “all you care about is being the number one pro hero to even see what’s going on in front of your very eyes. someone cares about you very, very much, probably more than your shitty ass deserves, and you can’t even return those feelings because you can’t and won’t prioritize more than one thing in your life.”

Bakugou hung up on her after those words, immediately calling you, to no avail. he grabbed a jacket and some shoes and raced out of the door, heading towards your house with nerves of steel. 

how stupid could i be? does she really feel the same way? 

once he reached your house, he barged in, not even bothering to announce his presence as he headed towards the kitchen.

you appeared out of nowhere, alert and ready for anything, before relaxing your body, though there was still tension squaring your shoulders back. 

“what the hell are you doing here?” you asked, confusion and a little bit of anger tinging your voice.

“do you love me?”

you quirked your head at him, face heating up in embarrassment, not sure how to respond.

“are you ignoring me because you love me and you don’t think that i love you back? are you so dumb to think that if you confessed to me right now, that i would reject you?”

your mouth gaped open and closed, unsure of how to take his questions, so you nodded meekly back, before responding, “you told me that being the number one pro hero was your number one priority-”

“my number one priority right now, sure, but that doesn’t mean you’re also not one of my priorities in my life. sometimes you’re even my number one. i don’t spend all my time with you, tell you everything, help you with everything, just because you’re just one of my ‘friends’. you’re my other half, you idiot. will you go out with me?”

your head cocked side to side, mouth still open, attempting to process his words, all the information that he had just thrown at you like it was nothing. he liked you? he wanted to go out with you? 

“the question isn’t that hard. you also look like a fish. close your mouth and just tell me how you feel, how i know you feel now, so i can kiss your dumb face.”

at those teasing words, your face broke out in a smile before you rushed forward to capture his lips in your own, pouring all of that pent up pain and sadness into the kiss, allowing your heart to finally stitch together.

“you’re such an idiot. of course i like you, and of course i’ll date you. i’ve loved you for a long time, maybe even since you were a snotty nosed little brat, but not much has changed since then,” you teased, eyes twinkling in mischief.

“hey, just because you’re dating me doesn’t mean i still won’t kick your ass for being rude.”

“catch me if you can lover boy,” you called out, leaping away from him and into the kitchen laughing.

he shook his head, finally allowing himself a moment to breathe, feeling the heat rise into his cheeks and his blood pumping throughout his body, before he called out threateningly and began chasing after you around.

i’m in love with my best friend.

maybe being number one pro hero wasn’t the number one priority in his life anymore.

TAGS: @jojosmilktea​​ @redbeanteax​ @softforshigi​ @katsuki-bakugous-lady​ @katsukisprincess​ @secondhand-trash​

Want to be a part of my taglist? Message me!

[zanessaconfessions]

yes to the explanation ✋🏼

warning: long content.

as you all know. gabriella is new to east high. as a new student, she’s going to adjust to a whole new school system again but that’s a habit she has gotten used to. but that doesn’t mean she likes it.

Introverted Feeling (Fi): Gabriella is constantly examining what she wants for herself. Will I feel more fulfilled taking advantage of college opportunities or by staying close to the people that are important to me? In contrast to Troy (dominant Fe user), whose main concern about auditioning for a musical is how his friends will react, her main concern is how it will affect her as an individual. She tends to be shy and private about her feelings and prefers not to be in the spotlight. Her main tool for making decisions seems to revolve around what she wants for herself independently, (“I’ve got to move on and be who I am���, “I’ve got to let it go, start protecting my heart and soul”).

in hsm1, who was the first person that actually made her feel she could be herself? troy. he literally made her feel like she belonged there and told her he struggles the same problem of being stereotyped with the status quo the school has given him. troy isn’t used to standing up to people about gabriella because he just knew her. so he said all those lies to his team about gabriella not being important to him and that the musical was just time passing activity without knowing gabriella heard all of it. of course, you’d be hurt if you heard the first person who made you feel like yourself just admitted to everyone that you meant nothing to him. so gabi painfully told him she wouldn’t do the callbacks as well. implying that if he doesn’t wanna do it, she doesn’t wanna do it if he’s just gonna fake it. deep down she’s hurt and scared at what troy did. hence why she told taylor that even if they set troy and her up, no one told troy to said all those things. so everything that troy said in that video was all on him. no script. listen to when there was me and you. each lyric implies how deeply hurt she was. that she hoped troy was this person that could give her happiness that she seeks for so long but ends up hurting instead.

in hsm 2, gabi and troy promised each other that no matter what happens they’ll spend the summer together. gabi admitted to troy that after moving around all the time, all gabi wants more is to spend one summer with her friends. that she’ll remember that summer deep in her heart. at first, she didn’t mind troy being with sharpay because troy admitted in the later part of the film that she knows he’s only doing it to work on the scholarship thing. also it was tradition for lava springs workers to perform in the talent show. she grabs that opportunity so that her friends could relax and do something fun together. but then troy ends up focusing too much on the scholarship thing he didn’t realize he’s becoming someone he’s not: being a jerk to his friends, canceling on his friends the last minute, forgetting his dates with gabi. she lets troy be because she knows it’s important to him. but sharpay crossed the line by banning all junior staff workers to perform and work instead that night. she stood to sharpay. for the first time she stood up for herself and her friends. she tells sharpay off, saying she does not give a fuck about her activities with troy. implying its between her and him. that its not her place to meddle in. but sharpay meddled with her friends. the friends that did nothing but followed the rules and minding their business by practicing for the show. remember gabi first told sharpay don’t give a fuck about us but you really had the nerve to do that to your own brother? how ryan worked so hard on the performance? remember gabi was the one who picked ryan up when sharpay tossed him away once she thought she’s secure with troy. she ends sharpay by telling her that she does not want to play her game because she’ll always have the upper hand but she better watch her actions and its consequences because there will always be someone who will end up injured by it. after that, troy confronts her about hearing her quitting her lifeguard job. think about it. she’s gonna quit because she can’t work another second if troy’s gonna act that way because it pains her to see it. she tells him that working together seemed like a fun idea but after everything, she couldn’t handle it. but she painfully urges him to continue with the scholarship thing. continue with his new job post. but troy quickly defends himself that he’s acting this way because of the scholarship thing. what did gabi reply? she implied that what’s the point on working on this thing he’ll end up losing himself? that he’ll end up losing the real people that will support and love him? i also wanna imply that gabi wouldn’t have broken up with troy if she didn’t confronted sharpay. that stunt pulled a trigger on gabi. meaning if sharpay didn’t fucked up, gabi would’ve stayed with troy. she would’ve ended up being in a toxic relationship with him. yes toxic because she’ll always be in the receiving end of troy’s constant abandonment behavior. she’ll let him pass. not putting herself first. even taylor said that despite troy being the caring boyfriend he is, he’ll bound to fuck up and that gabi shouldn’t let it pass. but gabi puts herself first. in gotta go my own way, the lyrics said that she knows that her and troy are meant to be but right now, she needs to put herself first.

in hsm 3, the only problem was the honors program. lets clear this up. in the deleted scene, she stated that she wants to hold off the program. saying that she was thinking of taking courses in U of A before going to stanford. of course the reason behind this is her not ready to leave yet. leave troy. leave her friends. and especially leave albuquerque. the one place that felt home for a long time. she wasn’t ready to tell troy because she knows that he’ll tell her to attend the program. the reason why gabi doesn’t wanna leave is because if she leaves, she knows that she’ll have to leave everything behind. the same way she has been doing since moving around the country. her phone call with troy was her saying that she couldn’t do the long distance thing no matter how much her and troy talked about it. it’ll always bring her pain to go back to albuquerque for her to leave again. if she went back for prom and graduation, her pain would double. she tells troy that she loves him but she couldn’t leave stanford because it has become her priority now.

[ddaenggtan]

black irises in the sunshine | kth

anger is everything. other gods tease you for the short fuse, but it comes with the territory. people have called you stupid, have called you dumb, oafish, useless, incompetent, insolent, rude, arrogant. all of it. insults and mockery flung at you, but even your skin isn’t thick enough to deal with constant abuse. it’s the exact reason you keep going to the underground, knuckles bloody and bruised, fighting anyone that dared enter the cage. it’s the reason you go to the clubs, surround yourself with mortals and their writhing bodies. it’s there that you see him the first time, voice husky as it rolls through the room. it’s there you find someone who treats you differently than the rest. you just never expected him to be one of the muses. | monsters and gods pt 3 (masterlist)

pairing | taehyung x reader

genre/warnings | greek god au, calliope!taehyung, ares!reader, theres a lot of violence and it does get descriptive so be aware of that, none of the main characters other than ares get hurt and its not uncalled for or anything in a narrative sense, so just be aware of that; there are mentions of other idols, but if you can guess them you get a cookie because they are Vague; suuuuper bisexual Ares, Ares Can Step On Me, like I am SO gay for her it isn’t funny; explicit smut ft: cunnilingus, taeHUNG bc hes got MASSIVE SCHLONG,  some body worship kind of and then just....regular worship? like? idk how to explain that? lots of praise and lots or orgasms

word count | 14k | cross posted to ao3

a/n | HOOOOOOO this has been sitting in my google docs for literal months waiting for an ending and i decided to try to get it out for tae's birthday bUT that didn't work because i have a Job and shit so YEET I GUESS HAPPY FUCKIN NEW YEAR??? LIKE??? YEEEEEEEEEEEEE this fic is very near to me because Ares is my sweet sad angry babie and i love her, and i love tae and i love suho and i love the muses and i just........lOVE this fic like i think this is currently my favorite of the mag series so!! i hope yall also enjoy it!!!! yall are welcome to send me messages about this even tho I'm terrible at replying to them in a timely manner!! thanks to everyone who helped me with this, and everyone who has expressed interest in it, and everyone who has ever read anything of mine, because you're genuinely the best people ever, and this is literally a gift to y'all because you deserve it. 

Fuck, that was too hard .

The guy across from you goes flying, hitting the chain link wall of the cage harder than you intended. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and even holding back, you've got a better buzz than even the best nectar can give. Your blood sings as the guy gets back up, and you almost wish you could remember his name, because he's put up a hell of a fight. For a mortal, anyway. 

He charges at you again, and time slows as your vision tunnels. You can see the feint as he decides on it, how he hesitates in bringing his left up. You wait, watching him get closer and closer. You start to dart to your left, letting him think he's got you, before you side-step and dart to your right instead. His punch goes wide as you steady your balance and move. The top of your foot connects with his ribcage and the resulting crack of bone is lost amid the cheers and yells of the audience. 

Your opponent steps back and you're proud of the way he doesn't show the pain. He doesn't wince, doesn't move to touch the spot you hit, just tightens his stance and clenches his jaw. It's only you that notices the hitch in his breath, the way he flinches with every inhale. Your eyes narrow at that, zeroing in on the rib. You'd meant to just crack it, had been holding back most of your strength to keep from hurting him too seriously, but as he steps forward, you can see the way he grits his teeth against the pain. 

The fight leaves you immediately, like a bucket of cold water straight to the chest, and you drop your hands. 

"Yield." He just stares at you, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Yield to me, and then go to the doctor."

"I'm not gonna yield," He says. He spits a mouthful of blood out onto the floor. "I'm not weak."

"Seriously, dude," You insist. "You're not gonna win this, and I don't want to hurt you more." 

His scoff has you seeing red. "As if a princess like you could hurt me."

Your fist connects with his face before either of you registers that you've moved. There's a voice in the back of your head reminding you that he's just mortal, he can't take the same kind of beating you can, but it's lost in the haze of fury. The next thing you know, the ref is dragging you away and slamming you into the cage wall. Your opponent is being dragged out - you still don't know his name - and he looks beaten senseless. Victory rolls through you accompanied by a sick satisfaction at the way his blood looks decorating the canvas beneath your feet. 

It lasts for less than an hour. It's always like this; the thrill of the fight, the burn of success, it's gone faster than you can blink. It's what drives you to keep fighting, to keep going to match after match, just to seek out the under-the-table stuff afterwards. It's never enough, not anymore. Back in the old days, they'd let you fight anything. Bears, bulls, lions, giants, anything they could get a noose around long enough to point it at a colosseum. That was a long time ago, though, before all the rights movements happened. You won't lie: you miss fighting beasts like that. The sheer power and strength they have, the survival instinct that makes them such fierce competitors, it's so much better than the rules and regulations of the mortal world now. Fights have gotten dull, rehearsed, more like a performance or a show than an actual fight. People make more money losing than they do winning and it's made the world boring. 

You flex your hand as you open the door to your favorite bar. Something caught it at some point in the last fight, a cheekbone or a tooth, and it stings a little. Doesn't hurt, not exactly, not for a goddess, but it did enough that you feel it at all, which means it couldn't have been anything but torture for the guy on the other end. The bartender waves at you and gets your usual ready as you sit, and you idly wonder if Busted Rib Guy will be okay. It looked painful, for a human, and you'd tried to hold back, but…

Well, you weren't really responsible for what happened to condescending little fucks, were you?

You sip the bourbon, enjoying the burn as it goes down. The lights are dim, tonight. You're glad. You don't want to deal with people looking at you, men coming over to talk to you, trying to advise you on how to properly bandage your knuckles or how to avoid the bruise on your cheek next time. If you had wanted to avoid it, you would have. You'd intended it to hurt worse, honestly, but that first guy'd had a weaker right hook than you expected. 

You look around, wondering if anyone here would provide a decent distraction for the night. There's a pretty brunette in the corner with carefully crafted braids, and as your eyes travel, you imagine what's hiding beneath the silk and leather. You're pulled from the thought by the sound of music, and you curse under your breath. You forgot that it's an open mic night and you'd meant to go to the bar across town instead. Irritation colors your vision; every open mic night is awful, full of lofty poets talking about their trauma and wannabe Taylor Swifts thinking they're on the same level as Sappho. Ah, now that was a girl with a set of pipes. You miss her, wonder what she would say to the butchering of whatever song you're about to hear.

The voice that comes isn't what you expect. It's smooth and deep. The world turns to velvet around you as the voice wanders from one speaker to another, creating a mesmerizing multi-dimensional effect despite the way the singer doesn't ever leave the stage. You turn, knuckles white around your bourbon glass; he's utterly magnetic, every eye in the room trained on him as he purrs into the vintage mic. Long fingers are wrapped around the scuffed metal, decorated with jewels that glitter in the dim light of the bar. You can smell the lingering cigarette smoke from the guy beside you and the Jäger from the girl two stools down and for once, you don't even care. He's captivating, voice travelling between speakers in the bar and coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Your eyes don't leave him, and you wonder if you can memorize the way the blond waves fall against his forehead if you stare long enough. 

The red seeps away from you, slinking back into the corners of your mind, settling once more into a low thrum under your skin. It fades into the background of this man's voice, the charisma that rolls off him in waves as he pulls the mic in close just to push it to the side with a teasing smirk. It settles something in your chest that hasn't been calm since the fight in Athens so long ago. 

The music fades out sooner than you'd like, and he gives a slight bow before wandering into the crowd. You do your best to follow him, but the gold of his hair disappears almost immediately, lost in the throng of people around the stage waiting to speak to him. You turn back around, downing the next bit of bourbon that Suho pours you. 

"I know," He says with a grin. You cock a brow at him, not having said anything he could agree with. "He's good. That's what you were thinking, right? He's why we're so packed on open mics. Got the audio and lighting guy whipped, so he's got all these special effects, too. Drives people crazy.”

"He's alright," You mutter. You toss a few bills down on the bartop and step back. Suho gives you a courteous nod as you leave. The bouncer gives you a dirty look when he spots the lit cigarette between your lips, but he knows better than to try to tell you otherwise. You've taught him better. 

You lean back against the brick wall of the alley and take a drag. The warm smoke fills your lungs and you close your eyes. It's a different kind of burn than you're used to, a distraction from the crawling sensation that drives you to fight. It's calmer, more controlled. Feels like the smoke from Hestia's fires. Feels like home. 

"Never expected to see you here," A voice calls out. It's deep and startling in the darkness, but you don't jump. You just open your eyes, exhale, and look to where it came from. 

The singer stands before you in the same undone white button up and black tee he performed in. He doesn't have a cig, doesn't seem to have much of any reason to be outside. He moves almost lazily, as if he doesn't even need to, just wants to, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your vision fills just for a breath with every opponent you've ever faced lying at your feet. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" The words slip from your tongue before you can stop them. It's not his fault, the voice in your head says, he didn't mean it that way, but still, your blood is thrumming now that he's here and you want to know what he's talking about. Want to know why he thinks you wouldn't be here when there's attractive people and good bourbon and you've never seen this man before in your life. Want to know why he already seems to think you aren't civilized enough to be at a bar, why he spoke but all you heard was Zeus' voice in your memories.

"Exactly what I said. Should I be clearer?"

"Yeah, probably," you spit. Yet another person that assumes you're stupid, that you don't understand basic languages, as if you haven't been speaking them since the ancient times. As if you couldn't speak circles around him if you wanted. "Unless you want your teeth on the fucking ground."

"Good to know the stories are true." He tsks and you're filled with a strange sense of disappointment and fury, both at him and yourself. Your vision turns red at the edges and the cigarette between your fingers is crushed in your grip. He pays no mind to it, just saunters past with a lazy, swaying gait that draws your eyes to his hips and then down the long leather-clad legs. "See you around, Ares."

"That's not my fucking name," You yell after him. He doesn't respond when you shout your actual name, the one you chose, on your own, as a middle finger to the Olympians. "Get it right next time, dickwad."

He turns the corner of the alley and the streetlight catches his face just enough for you to see the smirk he wears. For once in your life, you're torn; you want to smash his face in, yes, because how dare this random guy speak to you like that when you could kill him with one finger to the right pressure point. You also find your skin's hotter than usual, stretched too thin over your bones, and you want him to run his hands over you until it feels right again.

Until it feels like it did when he was singing. 

How did he know my title?

The thought comes unbidden, days later, with the desperate hit of a palm against your shoulder. You've got the woman in a headlock, patiently waiting for her to pass out completely so the fight can be called, and your mind is wandering. 

How did the singer know who you are? You hadn't thought anything of it at the time, distracted by fury and frustration, but with time comes a special kind of clarity. You've never seen him before, not that you know anyway, yet he didn't hesitate to call you Ares. The only ones who know of your kind are your kind, but you haven't seen any of your siblings among mortals in a long time. You thought you knew the other gods and goddesses, but maybe not. It has been a while since you stepped foot in the golden city.

The woman in your grip goes slack and you release her. You're still lost in thought as the ref calls the match and leads you out of the makeshift ring. The cheers of the audience are background noise at this point, akin to static or the buzz of electricity, and you pay them no mind as you head to collect your winnings. You didn't even get any kind of buzz from success this time, too immersed in the way the singer walked and talked and looked. The image of his smirk is burned into your retinas. 

"Yeah, you didn't hear? He just got out of the hospital. They had to keep him overnight because they thought he might puncture a lung. I heard that if it had been a little worse, they would've had to wire his jaw shut." You stop, fingers brushing over the stack of bills you don't even remember being handed. You look up, making eye contact with the guy whispering nearby. Your suspicions are confirmed when his friend smacks his arm and juts his chin in your direction before they both disappear into the crowd. 

You shove your way outside, frustration creeping through you and coloring your vision. You manage to keep it contained long enough for you to make it to the alley behind the warehouse, but it explodes from you in a rush of thrown dumpsters and sheet metal. 

Fuck , you never meant to hurt him like that. You told him, you fucking told him to yield, it isn't your fault he didn't listen. It's not your fault that he went and insulted you, acted like he was better than you just by virtue of being a dude, as if you weren't worshipped in the old days for the power you had and the blessings you could give. You'd held back, through all of it, you'd told him to yield, and he insulted you. It wasn't your fault. 

You slide to the ground, running a shaking hand through your hair. It isn't your fault , you repeat. You close your eyes and take deep breaths, the way Hestia taught you, willing the fury to dissipate. It's like a fire in your veins, burning and bubbling your skin until you can't resist anymore. You take another breath. It isn't your fault. You tried. You offered an out. It isn't your fault. Fuck, what was his name? 

With a growl that quickly morphs into a scream, you kick the dumpster once more before stalking off into the darkness. You need a fucking drink and you're gonna find a distraction in someone else if it's the last thing you do. 

The club is packed when you get there; you're not usually a fan of clubs like this, too full of people who are too friendly, but they're perfect for nights like tonight. You don't even need to wait in line, just slip the bouncer a 50 as you pass, and the bartenders are quick to spot you. You're pretty notorious in the city for over-paying, which means you're knocking back bourbon before you have a chance to ask for it. There are people everywhere, pressed up against both sides of you while the bass thrums in your throat, and it takes you longer than you're proud of to realize why. 

There's a band playing, apparently. They're not bad; the vocalist isn't anything like the singer from Suho's, but it doesn't make you want to tear your ears off, so you consider it a success. 

You're dancing before you remember deciding to. Everything's a blur when you get the itch in your bones, the need to make someone bleed. To feel something that isn't rage or condescension. People are even closer here on the dance floor, suffocating in their proximity, but there's a woman grinding her ass into you, and it sparks the dying fire in your gut. The beat of the music drowns your own heart, and it's all flashing lights and heat and a body pressed against yours that is all too willing.

She follows when you go back to the bar for another drink, and giggles when you lick salt from her wrist before downing tequila. Her hands are wrapped in the leather of your jacket as she kisses you, your own resting lightly on her hips. She laughs against your lips and says something you don't hear before ordering another drink. Something makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You take the brief reprieve to look around the club, searching for whatever it is that has you on alert. You find him on the upper level of the club, leaned over the balcony with a drink in hand. You can't make out his expression, exactly; it's too far away and too guarded. But you'd know him anywhere now. The singer knocks back whatever's in his glass, eyes never leaving yours. You don't know why he's here, if he comes here often or if the Fates are having a laugh at your expense, but you do know you want to make the most of it.

The girl is back, pressing a heated kiss to your lips and drawing your attention from him. You return it, nipping at her lips and getting a small gasp in return. You smirk and bite your way down her neck. She's breathy in your ear, hitched moans lost in the beat of the music, but you barely hear her as you suck bruises into the skin of her neck. He's still watching you. His drink is gone and he's gripping the bannister of the balcony, rings glinting in the light. You wonder if the cool metal could soothe the burn in your bones. You want to know if he can bring that calmness from before back, if he can soothe the frenzy in your mind with his hands the way he can with his voice. Just imagining it has you soaking through to your jeans.

The girl makes a particularly loud noise in your ear and you're brought out of your thoughts. As if he can sense it, the singer straightens. He gives you one last look before disappearing back into the crowd, and you wonder if you're imagining the disdain in it. You draw back from the girl's neck, about to tell her to find her friends when she slides her hands in your hair and tugs.

The burn in your blood is back, now, and you hope this girl is prepared for what awaits her.

"You're here early," Suho says when he spots you in the nearly empty bar the next night. He's not wrong, either; you skipped the fights tonight completely. There was no buzz last time, no relief, and you have no reason to believe there would be tonight. Not with the way the singer captivates your thoughts. 

Besides, you have enough money leftover from the previous few to last a couple days.

"What, did you decide not to kick someone's ass before getting wasted?" Suho doesn't wither at the look you give him, just pours you a couple fingers of bourbon and slides the glass over. "Or did they just stop letting you in completely?"

"I might change my mind if you don't shut up," You tell him. There's no real heat behind it. You've known Suho for years now, been coming to his bar for so long it almost feels like home. You're almost friends at this point. 

It helps that he knows when to bite his tongue so he doesn't get his teeth knocked out.

"Seriously though, I don't think I've ever seen you here this early. Especially not on mic nights." You're very careful in your lack of a reaction to his words. You'd seen the workers setting up for it when you came in, and even if you hadn't, you know when mic night is. You've spent enough time avoiding it.

"Does he sing every time?" You ask in lieu of an explanation. You don't look away from the amber liquid in your glass, letting the silence hang as the bartender does his best to follow your thought process. 

"Taehyung? Most weeks, yeah. It's been a nice change from the usual drunken karaoke. He goes around to some of the other places in town, too. Apparently he just likes to sing." 

"Taehyung," You repeat. The name rolls from your tongue a bit awkwardly. It's more than you expected, somehow, but you can't place exactly how . Just...more. "Is he always that good?"

"Oh, yeah. We have regulars now for mic night because of him. He's got a whole fan club and everything."

"Hm." You drain the rest of your bourbon and Suho refills it. He leaves you in peace then, serving some others that appear at the bar. 

The place fills faster than you can blink. That's what it feels like, anyway. It's like one moment there's you and a handful of other people scattered around, and now you're being jostled between some dude a million feet tall that definitely doesn't look old enough to be here and a girl with her tits up to her throat and surrounded by a cloud of perfume so thick that it starts a migraine behind your eyes almost instantly. She flirts with Suho a little, likely trying to score free drinks, and you roll your eyes. She pouts at him when he gives her the total, batting eyelashes that go on for miles, and for once, you wish Suho would just give in and comp the drinks. 

"I'll pay for them," You say. She was definitely saying something, maybe you should have been paying attention to it, but fuck , this migraine is only getting worse the longer she stands there. "I'll pay for your drinks."

"Oh, thanks," She says. Her smile is hesitant, and quickly turns apologetic as she takes in the boots and the ripped jeans and the leather jacket. "Um, I'm not...I don't, uh…"

"Do I look like I want to fuck you, sweetie?" She looks a little affronted and a laugh escapes you. You lean closer, letting your breath ghost over her cheek as you speak in her ear to be heard better. "If I wanted to fuck you senseless, you'd know it. And I can guarantee you it would be a hell of a lot better than the watered down rat piss this guy's giving you." 

When you lean back, her face is flushed and she's stammering. You smirk and hand her the drinks she'd ordered. 

"Too bad you’re not, you don’t, huh?" You tell her. The patronizing tone isn't lost on her, nor is your mockery of her earlier words, and she shuts her mouth with an audible click before strutting off. Suho glares at you as he pours more bourbon.

"Can you please try not to run off my patrons?" He mutters. "Some of us actually need money to live."

"Some of us would like decently timed refills and to not choke on perfume," You quip. "And better bourbon, for that matter." He hisses something about what he's giving you being top quality but you tune him out, throwing one leg over the stool Perfume Girl vacated. You'd like to keep just a little bit of personal space. 

Across the bar, you catch a brief glimpse of the girl from the night before and you wince. Her neck is thoroughly bruised, and you catch a peek of bruises and scratches on her back as she shrugs her jacket on. You didn’t mean to be so rough with her, even if she had been into it; you’re usually pretty good about remembering that the mortals are just that - mortal - and as such have to be handled delicately. They’re so fragile, it feels like they could break with a strong wind. Guilt settles in your gut and turns the bourbon in your glass to cough syrup. You’ve half a mind to just leave before she sees you, are about to turn and do exactly that, but the speakers screech to life and the deafening feedback from the mic keeps you glued to your seat. 

The crowd quiets even as the excitement ramps up, all talk silencing but for the occasional hushed whispers here and there. The first few notes of the song echo through the speakers, and a spotlight appears on him. 

He looks different this time, his hair dyed a vibrant blue that matches the glinting jewels in his ears and on his hands. He's an absolute vision and you wonder how Aphrodite has allowed him to live so long when he's so beautiful. His voice hangs in the air and calms you, the same settling in your chest as last time, the same freedom from the burn in your veins. It's addictive. 

The song doesn't last nearly as long as you want it to but the stillness inside you lingers long after he's done caressing the microphone. You place a few bills down for Suho and light up a cigarette as you head outside, ignoring the dirty looks from other patrons as you do. You're on a mission, the thrum of bloodlust returning with every second that passes, and you can't even be sure if he's still around or if he's wandered off already. 

You stand in the alley for what feels like hours, turning at every sound and smoking cig after cig just so you have something to do. You've almost decided to say fuck it when footsteps sound from the back of the bar, coming closer to you. 

His blue hair is visible even from the other end of the small alley, a giveaway similar to the light at the end of your cigarette and the smoke you blow into the air. There's no way he hasn't seen you, you think, you're making no effort to hide or be sneaky, and yet he's continuing forward as if he doesn't see you at all, eyes focused on a phone in his hand. You wait until he's just a few steps away before speaking.

"How do you know my title?" You ask him. He stops as if he'd always meant to and doesn't even bother to glance up at you or respond. The edges of your vision turn scarlet at the blatant disregard and you're speaking before you can even process the words. "I asked you a fucking question, pretty boy, you're gonna answer me. Unless you want that precious mouth bloodied up."

"And you wonder how I know who you are," He drawls, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. A scowl grows over your face at his sarcastic tone. "If you're going to hit me just get it over with. Otherwise, I have places to be."

He stands, waiting and expectant, but you don't move. He's humming, quiet and to himself like he doesn't even realize he's doing it, and the red seeps away from your mind until you're left clear-headed once more. You sigh, long and heavy, and crush your cigarette into your denim-covered thigh to put it out. It tickles. 

"I'm not going to hit you," You tell him eventually. "I just wanna know how you know me. And how you do it."

He cocks a brow at that, finally looking up from the phone in his hand to level dark eyes on yours. "Do what? Sing?"

"No." You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. The words are harder to find than you thought they'd be, lost in the depths of his gaze, in the clarity you're so unaccustomed to, in the way you feel like you can breathe for the first time in days. "I don't care how you sing, that's not important, it's the...fuck, you know what, never mind, it doesn't fucking matter." You push off the wall and step past him to head towards where the streetlight gleams off the bar windows. 

"Tell me." The command has you stopping in your tracks, and you're again flooded with just wanting to know how. How he clears the haze, how he stops you, how he makes you feel real. You turn, hands stuffed into the back pockets of your jeans. "How I do what?"

It takes you several long breaths before you can answer, and you aren't even sure he can hear you over the sounds of people leaving the bar, and you find yourself disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response. Your own words are reverberating in your skull, getting louder with each step you take, and you wish you could just turn it off . 

"How you make me feel like a person again."

You avoid the bar for a few weeks, going hours away from your usual area to an unfamiliar hole in the wall just to make sure you don’t see him. You’re more deadly than usual in your fights, victories coming quicker, injuries piling up along with the guilt, but you can’t bring yourself to return. It’s unnerving, the way everything goes quiet around him, the way you can think, but the worst is the way you can feel. Everything’s calm and steady and blue, and it only makes it easier for the regret and the guilt and the anxiety to curl around your throat and squeeze until you can’t breathe, to clog in your throat while the laughter of your siblings echoes in your ears, and you...can’t. You can’t do that, you can’t let it win, you can’t let them win, they can’t know that you’re everything they think you are and worse. 

You can’t let yourself drown in that, and yet you find yourself back at Suho’s, lost among the crowd while Taehyung’s voice surrounds you. The ache in your bones fades away, chased by the thrum of the fight that still lingers despite the hours that have passed since you felt your opponent’s femur break under your palm and their screams echoed in your ears. Everything is calm again, and the guilt nearly drowns you.

He hasn’t even finished singing before you’re outside, chest heaving as you gasp against the weight on your chest. You broke someone’s femur , and did you even really need to? The fight itself is a blur even now, snapshots playing through your mind like a montage. The way they’d darted at you first, how their foot felt connecting with the backs of your knees, the determination in their eyes when you went down, the jolt of shock as your hands wrapped around their leg, the dull throb of a barrage of hits against your waist as you pulled them down as well and bloodied their face, the blood-curdling scream as you snapped the bone like a pretzel stick.

Your breath comes faster in your lungs, forced out by the growing guilt that lodges there in its place. Images swirl in your mind, chased by a never-ending stream of thought and regret that you should be used to by now. Fuck, you didn’t need to, and you still did it; you lost control, you fucking hurt them, and for what? A couple hundred? Was it even worth it? Who knew when they’d be back into shape to fight, what if they needed the money? They weren’t even half-bad. They got you down, at least, shouldn’t you have gone easy on them? You don’t even remember their face, can’t remember what the announcer said their name was, words drowned out by the buzz under your skin.

Metal crumples under your grip and you spare a half-second to mourn Suho’s dumpster before you slam your knuckles against it. It tingles, not even real pain, and you don’t hesitate to repeat it. By the time the metal is disfigured completely, a distorted mess of paint and steel and garbage, you still aren’t in pain, but there’s a sheen of gold across your knuckles and you feel less like you’re drowning and more like you’re suffocating. The usual. You can handle that. You think. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve slid down to the ground beside the dumpster until the back door of the bar opens and footsteps echo through the alley. You wish you knew how long you’ve been here, how long you’ve sat among empty bottles and stale beer and broken glass, but you can’t be sure. The brief reprieve brought by Taehyung’s voice is long gone, chased away by the guilt and rage that still sits heavy in your chest. You hope you’re not noticeable here, that whoever’s left will just pass by and leave you to piece yourself back together on your own. 

Voices tell you that it isn’t likely, the deep baritone of one too familiar to ignore. The other is new, but you’re familiar with the tone, the inflection, the intent behind it. You've heard it before, in crowded clubs as a guy pushes too close to some girl who can barely stand, in a coffeeshop when a random customer can't take a fucking hint, at the local campus when some professor insists that there could be maybe one thing her student could do to pass. It makes everything in you curdle, the bourbon from earlier threatening to work its way back up; it screams predator , and you absolutely refuse to let anyone fucking talk to someone like that, like they have some right to whatever it is they want. 

You refuse to let someone talk to him that way. 

"Seriously, Kratos, didn't I tell you to leave me alone? Did Aphrodite not teach you your lesson last time you harassed someone?" Taehyung's voice brings a calm that's an unsettling match to the anger washing over you. You're used to the red at the corners of your vision, the tint to everything you see, but you aren ' t used to the way it all turns purple and focused and clear . 

There's no haze this time, there's no abrupt shift of you moving before you know you've done it. You can feel the glass crunching under your boots with every step you take, can feel the way the air has a chill that creeps down into your lungs with every breath, can almost taste the apprehension that's rolling off of Taehyung despite his relaxed stance. The only thing that gives him away is the tense set of his jaw and the mix of relief and fear when his eyes land on you. 

"I'm pretty sure he said no, Kratos." The god turns at your voice and you watch the realization wash over him as he realizes what - who - you are. 

"Been a while since anyone's seen you, Ares." He scoffs a little, not moving from where he has Taehyung caged against the wall of the bar, one hand pressed firmly into the brick. He's entirely too close, and you have no doubt that the stench of him permeates the very oxygen around them. 

"Been busy. Doesn't change the fact that the man said no. Take the loss, walk away." Kratos' eyes narrow at your words and he steps away, but only to move closer to you. 

"Why do you care so much? You've never been one to care about any of us before." Kratos inches closer and the hyper-focus that Taehyung's voice causes starts to melt away with every twitch of your fingers. You've never liked Kratos, all brute strength with no respect for the challenge, no appreciation of the fight, too focused on sheer power and exhilaration. He is the worst of the worst of the worst of your kind, of all the war-focused gods. Every bit of yourself you hate is every piece that Kratos loves about himself. 

"I care that you don't seem to be able to understand when someone doesn't want to be around you, you absolute piece of filth. Taehyung had a point though, I really thought the whole thing with Aphrodite would've taught you how to back off. Or should I pull the video out, I think I still have it saved for when I need a good laugh." Malice and fury twitch across the other god's face and you absolute revel in it. You can feel his anger prickling across you, like needles in your very pores, and you ache for it. It's been so long since you last had a good fight, a real challenge where you didn't need to hold back at all. 

Too long since you fought a god like yourself.

"You're testing my patience, cousin," Kratos spits. It's a little generous to call the two of you cousins - you're several times removed, at best, and potentially closer than that with your family's warped history - but you let him have it. It might make him feel better. "I'm having a conversation, that's all. And if said conversation means that we end up back at my place, then, well, can anyone really blame me for what might happen to this pretty little m-"

Your fist connects with his jaw immediately and the red floods you for the few seconds it takes to register Taehyung calling your name. The calm struggles for a second, warring with the rage, but it wins out eventually. The singer's talking, but you can't make out any actual words. You're too focused on Kratos, the way he's righting and readying himself for a brawl. There's a fire in his eyes that matches the one in yours and everything in you feels alive for the first time in too long. 

This fight is different than your usual ones. There's no blur, no warped sense of time that usually comes with the adrenaline. You're focused and controlled in a way you haven't had to be for centuries, careful and precise and deliberate with every swing and every kick. The red seeps back in slowly and every time you think you're about to lose it, you hear Taehyung, still pressed against the wall of the bar. 

Kratos lunges at you for what has to be the tenth time, clearly trying his best to knock you to the ground - he succeeded, once; you let yourself get distracted, too caught up in thoughts, but it didn't last long - and you sidestep him just in time for him to ram into the ruined dumpster instead. He looks pissed when he turns back around and something in you sings at the sight. He makes for you again and you dodge again, only to be dragged back towards him by the grip he has on your jacket. Fuck, should've taken that off , whatever, he's too close.

Pain explodes in your side and you're fairly sure he's busted part of your rib, but you just slide your arms out of the sleeves and twist to plant your knee straight into his gut and then slam your heel down onto his much-less-safe toes, and then back up to knee him in the groin. It's nowhere near enough to take him out, but his nose is oozing golden ichor and he groans with every shift of his weight, and you've got him pinned against the wall with your forearm pressing hard into his windpipe. 

"Now, you're gonna listen to me you steaming pile of dog shit," You hiss. "When someone tells you no, it's not a fucking negotiation. It means you fucking leave and find someone with loose enough morals or enough internalized self-hatred that they're willing to subject themselves to your absolutely pitiful fucking excuse of an existence for the thirty-two seconds it'll take for you to get off." 

Kratos doesn't respond, just sneers and spits blood at you. It's a miracle you don't actually try to rip his head from his body, because the thought crosses your mind for a second too long. Instead, you just press harder against his windpipe and enjoy the choked gasp that it draws. 

"You don't stalk people either, the way you did with 'Dite. Don't you know it's better to let them come to you sometimes?" You tsk, ignoring the way he claws uselessly at your arm. Gods may not need to breathe, that's a fact, but they feel pain, and there is no way this isn't absolutely excruciating for him when even you can feel the small bones in his neck cracking and breaking. "And if I hear even a whisper of you pulling shit like this again, then I'm gonna find you, you pigshit. And when I do, I won't hold back even the slightest, and do you know what comes after that?" 

His eyes are full of fear now, and only grow wide with terror as you lean in close enough that he can feel your lips against his ear as you whisper. 

"You are going to wish that you could die." 

When you do release him, he disappears instantly, with a cloud of acrid grey-green smoke curling around your ichor-spattered boots. He's only been gone a second when you slump, the adrenaline fading as quick as Kratos had left. Your side is throbbing now, your knuckles are bruised and broken and gold, there's a pain in your leg that you aren't sure what's causing, your head is screaming even through the high of the fight, your face stings in the crisp-cool air. Every breath makes the pain worse so you stop breathing. The brick wall of the bar is rough against your palms, but it's the only thing around that can keep you upright, so you'll take it. 

"Well," a voice drawls from your left. You'd jump if you had anything left in you, but every ounce of energy is gone, spent teaching Kratos what Aretha Franklin meant when she sang about respect - and really, there was another fantastic singer, you really should visit her sometime soon - so instead your head lolls to the side. You aren't sure what it is that jolts through you when your eyes land on Taehyung, fingers curled carefully around the collar of-

Your jacket. That's your leather jacket. You barely remembers shrugging out of it, but you're glad it's not on the ground, trampled and covered in the gold spatters that decorate the rest of your body. 

"Well?" You echo, wincing at the pain it causes. You've definitely got a busted lip, that's for sure from the way it feels different and swollen, and you're pretty sure there's a head wound, too, because you don't remember there being a golden halo around Taehyung before the fight. 

"Well," He repeats, slinging the jacket - your jacket - over a shoulder. "You should get that looked at." He starts walking, making his way to the entrance of the alleyway. He gets halfway there before he stops and turns and cocks a brow. "Are you coming, or do I get to keep this?" Your jacket waves a little, as if he's wiggling it, and it makes you feel like a stray dog being lured off with treats. 

You're never going to tell anyone that it works.

Taehyung's place is as nondescript as the car he parks outside. It's a plain apartment building on the outside - looks like maybe it was a hotel back in the 1930s, based on the outdated carpeting in the lobby and the grate on the elevator he steps into. Even the hallway is plain and unassuming as he leads you to the end and uses an old, tarnished brass key on an older, more tarnished brass knob. You aren't sure what you expected, you can't even begin to guess what Taehyung is like outside of the dirty alley or the stage where he sings, can't fathom what kind of decor he could possibly have. 

What you step into isn't anything you could have guessed. It looks like he has the entire rest of the floor to himself based on what you can see, but there's also a spiral staircase tucked into a corner, bookshelves built in under each step that are filled to the brim, and a fireman's pole in another corner, so there's at least one more level above this, but something tells you both the staircase and the pole continue past that. There's artwork everywhere, pieces you recognize and pieces you don't, several van Goghs and a couple from Matisse and you think in the corner you spot an actual fucking da Vinci sketch that's supposed to be somewhere in Europe. There's a gramophone beside a top-of-the-line sound system, an entire wall that's just a record collection, books upon books, framed bits of poetry - including an actual hand-written rupi kaur, a signed Maya Angelou print, and a signed cover of ain't i a woman by bell hooks that you would die to know how Taehyung got his hands on. It's a museum's wet dream and yet it retains a lived in atmosphere. There are mugs left on tables, blankets strewn about as if someone just got up from a nap, an easel propped up by a far window with what looks like an impressionist painting of the cityscape, books tossed down half-read with receipts and coupons and candy wrappers and everything but a bookmark tucked between the pages. 

It feels like a home and it makes your heart flutter in your chest at the same time that something in your stomach shrivels up into itself. 

Taehyung walks like he’s meant to be followed, so follow you do. You spy another man - older, you think, but it’s hard to tell, really - sprawled across a couch, blanket splayed across his lap as he watches some kind of dance show on a flatscreen hung above a warm and roaring fireplace, a couple of girls in what looks to be the kitchen, one sitting on the counter while the other stands between her legs and pretends not to notice the former stealing strawberries from her bowl as she taps at her tablet, and there are footsteps creaking above you, hidden behind walls even as Taehyung leads you up the staircase. They all look up when you pass, but only the man gives you a second glance; his eyes are a weight on your back that doesn’t leave until you’re upstairs and following Taehyung into a large, rather nice bathroom. 

It’s vintage as well, but it’s spacious and well-kept, like the rest of the place. Taehyung pats the marble counter by the sink and you bite your tongue against the urge to tell him you aren’t a dog. You don’t move though, instead watching him as he lays your jacket across a brass bar on the wall and then digs around in a cabinet for a minute or two. When he straightens up, he’s got a somewhat dusty off-white box in his hands, and he frowns. 

“Up,” He says. “I need to look at your ankle.” 

You don’t move, but you can tell he doesn’t miss the twitch of your nose at the thought of being commanded like an animal. Like someone who can’t understand. Like-

He sighs. 

“Please, will you sit on the counter, so I can look at your ankle?” You huff, but you do as he says. 

He doesn’t speak as he works, completely silent except for the odd command - “Roll it for me...alright, now flex that...deep breath...stop fidgeting or I’ll only make it worse…” - and the occasional hum under his breath. It seems to be second nature, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, and it endears you more than you’d like. His touch is gentle but firm as he lightly squeezes your ankle and wraps it, lifts your pant leg to rub some kind of cream into a somewhat worrisome golden bruise forming on your calf, darts under your shirt to quickly and painlessly set your ribs before wrapping those as well. He doesn’t say anything at all until he’s almost finished with the cuts on your hands, golden ichor long gone and wounds already on their way to healing thanks to some sort of mist he spritzes on them. 

It only stings once, as he’s spraying something over some kind of cut on your thigh where Kratos ripped through the denim there without you noticing. You can’t stop the hiss as the pain hits, though you regret it when he glances up at you. 

“Sorry,” He mumbles under his breath as he dabs lightly at it with his long fingers. 

“It’s fine,” You tell him. “I’m used to it.” Your voice is rough, always, but softer than usual. You don’t know why. You can’t decide if you like it.

The entire time he works, you wait. For him to tell you it wasn’t necessary, that he can fight his own battles, that he’s not surprised a brute like yourself got into a fight, that you’re no more than what the rumours say you are. You’ve got a million different curses and insults ready to spit back at him when he finally speaks.

“Thank you,” is what comes. It shocks the words out of your mouth, and you actually look up from where you’ve been watching him methodically wipe gold away from a scrape on your forearm. His gaze is concentrated on the injury and his lips are pursed and you wish you could figure him out. 

He must take your silence for the confusion it is, because he continues. 

“I mean it,” He says. “I’m usually not someone that lets other people fight for me, but we both know that I couldn’t have taken Kratos. He’s too strong, and he was counting on that. Until you showed up.” You don’t respond. “Is there a reason you left before my set was done? Or why you were sitting in an alley beside what is possibly the most gnarled dumpster I’ve ever seen?”

You don’t answer him, instead focusing on the way his hands feel as they tilt your chin so he can look at the cuts and bruises and scrapes that decorate your face. You focus your gaze just past his shoulder, content to memorize the pattern of his gaudy vintage bathroom wallpaper, and he doesn't press for more. The distracted humming picks up again every time he stops talking, and eases the storm of guilt shame rage pain hurt grief loneliness in your chest. 

"I fight," you eventually say. Your voice is too loud in the quiet of the bathroom, shatters the silence like a sledgehammer, and you hate the way it trembles. Still, Taehyung doesn't look away from where he's carefully wiping gold from your skin, just cocks a brow, and it's as if a dam breaks in your throat. "Like, real fights. Actual competition, with rules and shit, and...sometimes the bad ones, because they tend to fight differently, it's a different kind of fight, y'know, and it's never really fair, because I'm...I'm me, but I hold back, just for fun, y'know, and it's, uh. It's alright usually, I go in, do my thing, I win, I go drink, and it all gets, I dunno, easier, maybe, for a while, like I can think right, but, um.”

You hesitate for a split second and force yourself to focus on the way the alcohol-soaked cotton tickles the cut on your head. 

“Sometimes it's not...sometimes I can't control it as well, the anger, and I kind of just lose it on people, and a while ago this guy, he almost needed his jaw wired shut, but he was kind of a prick anyway, I guess, so whatever, but, uh, today, I...there was this girl and she was doing really well, actually, y'know, managed to get me down to the mat, which is rare and pretty impressive, and I'm pretty proud of her for it now, but then, I just. I just kinda lost it, like, I just kept swinging, I couldn't stop, and then I just...I broke her leg, for no real reason, just because I wanted her to hurt, and I don't...I'm not sure why I even did it, because I'd already won, right, like what was the point of doing any more, it wasn't even helping at that point, y'know, it's not like the buzz kept up any longer because I broke this kid's leg, and I love the fights, they help clear my head for a second, but I never wanted to actually-"

You words stop short, like there are too many of them to say in too short a time, and it's then you realize Taehyung's hands are in his lap and he's looking at you fully. His expression isn't neutral anymore, it's not the carefully crafted mask of a performer, it's real and open and genuine and all you see there is pain . For you. Pain and understanding and compassion you never expected to find anywhere but the deepest corners of your soul. Looking at him looking at you like that makes you feel like you can breathe again.

"You never wanted to hurt anyone." His voice is rough, like maybe there's emotion clogging his throat as well, and you aren't sure what that does to you, but something in you jumps at the thought.

Tears mar your vision as you nod and you curse under your breath before wiping them away. He catches your quivering hand in his and just holds it for a second. His eyes don't leave yours and there are a thousand things you expect him to say but what he says is: 

"I believe you."

And that...it's more than you can take, and you break, right there on his bathroom counter, sobbing into his chest while he just rubs your back and hums and you remember the face of every person you've ever hurt and the look in their eyes as you left some of them for dead. 

You wake up the next morning curled up on the most comfortable chaise lounge in human history, sitting up and shoving the blanket off of you in a rush before you remember where you are, why you're there. A glance around tells you that you aren't alone; there's two guys bent over a table that you think might also be a tablet, conversing quietly and pointing every so often at whatever they're looking at, a girl balanced along the edge of the staircase holding a lyre - which, wow, you haven't seen a lyre in that good condition in a while - and strumming lightly along it before she frowns and shakes her head and restarts whatever melody she's playing, and the same guy sprawled over the couch with a blanket strewn haphazardly over him while he watches a different dance video on the flatscreen. He's the closest and you don't really want to talk to any of these people but you think you might have to because you aren't really sure how Taehyung got you here last night but you know it was quite a drive. You'd just mist over to the bar if you really wanted to, but your ribs hurt like a bitch still thanks to that fucker Kratos. Anything as intense as misting is out of the question for the time being.

The man on the chaise spares you a glance that feels longer than it should, full of a judgement you have no doubt you deserve and yet somehow fires your anger anyway. 

He rolls his eyes before you even say anything and waves a hand towards the kitchen. You snap your mouth closed and shoot him an irritated look, but you storm in that direction anyway. Healing is exhausting, and you want nothing more than some meat to tear into and a cold beer. 

When you get into the kitchen, however, Taehyung is standing there already, as if he’s been expecting you any minute. There’s a plate in front of him, full of food you barely recognize, and he slides it towards you. 

“Eat,” He says. You grit your teeth, unmoving, and he sighs again. “Please sit, and eat. You need the strength to heal properly.” 

You resist for a split second, but there’s a softness to him now. Something you can’t exactly put your finger on, but that you know is different , somehow, and it changes things. It makes you want to listen, to do as he asks, because he is asking . He’s not telling, he’s treating you like an animal. 

It’s a request, not a demand, and that makes all the difference. 

Taehyung is quiet while you eat. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t watch to make sure you’re doing it, but you have no doubt he’s keeping an eye on you. It’s quiet, but not unbearably so; the air is broken by the sounds of the lyre and the television, as well as the soft chattering of the men at the table. It makes it comfortable, makes it soft in a way you’re unaccustomed to being, like the way people talk about lazy Sunday mornings or that voice they get when they see a cute animal.

It feels like home should be, instead of what yours is. 

“So why’s Pretty Boy giving me the death glare?” You eventually ask past a mouthful of food. Taehyung barely looks up, just glancing past you to the guy laying on the couch. You can feel his eyes boring into your spine, but it’s nothing new. 

“Taemin’s just protective,” Taehyung says softly. “Especially considering the stories.”

“The ones about me, you mean.”

A myriad of emotions passes through his eyes when he nods, and you wish you could more easily decipher them. Maybe in time, you will. 

Maybe.

“Those, yes,” He says softly. “But he’ll learn.” He doesn’t say it, but nonetheless, you hear the words as clear as day. Just like I did.  

Someone hums behind you and you glance over to see a woman - the strawberry thief - making her way into the kitchen. She gives Taehyung a look you don’t care enough to figure out, and they have an entire conversation in the span of five minutes. Something about it irks you, and it only gets worse when they start moving around each other, Taehyung handing her things without her asking. 

It’s ridiculous, and you know it, but the air gets heavy in your lungs and your head starts to swim and suddenly you’re suffocating. It’s too much, there’s too much here, and you can’t take it anymore. 

The force with which you shove away the counter would have slammed it into the wall were it not already attached. There are slight cracks in the granite tops, though, and there’s just enough clarity as Taehyung calls your name for you to feel guilty about it. It’s not enough to stop you though; you have to get out, you need to get out, before you do something worse, and the cracks in the granite are proof of that. 

You’re out the door in an instant, your form coalescing painfully back into solid matter as you reach the hallway. Your ribs ache, screaming with the effort of trying to mist away from this place, this home , and you lean against the wall in the hope that it will help steady you. 

The door opens behind you, the creak of the old hinges deafening in the silence of the hall. There’s a commotion behind it, voices overlapping each other and reverberating in your skull until they’re a twisted mockery of your siblings. 

You stumble down the hall, one hand clutching your ribs to keep them as still as possible despite your movement. It’s not lost on you that there are footsteps following you, but you can’t focus on them now. You’re not moving fast, and you need to be, you should be running , but you can’t. Your vision is already clouding slightly at the edges, the sudden spike of adrenaline waning now that you’re out of the apartment. 

Someone says your name and you swing. 

It’s instinct, the way your fist flies through the air; you can’t control it, not this, not when the red is all you can see even as it seeps away and turns lilac. It doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t make contact with anything but the wall, plaster crumbling around your fist and onto the carpeted floor. 

“That was rude,” Taehyung says softly. He doesn’t sound mad, though he should, considering you almost decked him straight in the nose. “I’ll take you back.”

He drapes your jacket over your arm and walks away, toward emergency stairs tucked into the corner instead of the elevator, and you follow. He hums as he goes, and he lets you lead the way down the stairs, keeping pace with your quick steps until both of you step out a side door into an alleyway. 

Out of habit, more than anything, you light a cigarette and put it between your lips. You don’t miss the disgusted scrunch of Taehyung’s nose, but you do ignore it. The smoke is familiar in lungs, comforting, and he doesn’t understand it, won’t ever understand it, but he doesn’t have to. 

“Sorry, Tae,” You say after a few minutes of silence. Taehyung shrugs one shoulder and moves to lean beside you against the stone of the building. 

“Are you okay now?” You nod, taking a deep breath, remembering how Hestia had taught you, so long ago, how her hand felt against your chest, the warmth and love it held. “Then you’re forgiven. And you can call me Calliope, if you want.”

You’re both quiet after that. He doesn’t make fun of you, he doesn’t judge you, he just silently drives you back to Suho’s bar, which is when you remember that he doesn’t know where you live. You’re fine with it; you don’t want to see him in your run down hovel. It’s not much, especially compared to his own apartment, but that makes sense, too. 

What could ever live up to the home of a Muse? Not even a muse, really. The Muse. The Head of the Nine Muses, the one called on most often by those in need, the one that everyone knew, the one that Hephaestus just put statues of in the gardens of Olympus, according to the rumors that Apollo sent you. 

The calm that he brings lasts until you get back to your apartment, nearly ten full minutes after you disappear into the alley beside Suho’s bar. It’s the longest the calm has ever lasted, and the view of the city tinted lavender is one you think you love. 

If you can love. 

Things get clearer, somehow. The weight on your shoulders lessens, makes you feel less like Atlas and more like you, how you were all those years ago in the now-ancient days when things made sense. When people fought for honor and glory and justice more than they fought for oil and death and greed. 

It could be because open mic nights are frequent around the city, and you’re able to figure out his schedule pretty well. You don’t go every night that he sings, just when it gets to be too much, when the scarlet haze starts to bleed into your irises like a flag in front of a bull. It helps, for a while, lets you settle long enough to pull the pieces of you back into a shape that vaguely resembles yourself. 

It could be because the fights happen every night, and Taehyung is no stranger to where to look to find them. He watches every one that he can, when he isn’t singing, and his presence anchors you. Focuses you, so that you can pull your punches just enough, so that there’s less hurting and more fighting. It doesn’t work every time, you still lose yourself in the rage and do more damage than you ever mean to, but it helps enough. And when it doesn’t, he’s there, to slide a hand across your shoulders in that exact same way that Hestia used to, that Apollo might if you let him close enough to know you’re alive, that Artemis would , were she anywhere but where she is. 

It’s a strange feeling. You’re not used to companionship, you don’t know how to have friends. You still say the wrong things and do the wrong things and he still speaks to you like he expects to be listened to, but you both are learning. You apologize more often, and he corrects himself quicker. It’s a slow, fragile thing, this friendship, but it’s there. 

Until the night when it’s not. 

You aren’t sure how it happens. It’s been weeks since you last saw Taehyung; he mentioned some project he was working on, something or another that would have most of his attention along with that of several of the other Muses. You had brushed it off when he said it, some snide remark about how you don’t need him there to win. 

You would take it back if you could. 

Because you were right, of course, you don’t need him there to win; you can do that on your own. And your control has gotten better, stronger, over the last few months, but complacency is what always leads to disaster. 

The guy deserved it, is what you tell yourself as you’re pulled out of the ring. He was a piece of shit anyway, you remind yourself as you call Apollo with shaking hands. He didn’t deserve your mercy, you tell the golden gold after you’ve begged him to help save the man’s life. Artemis would have done the same, you insist to him, long after he’s hung up the phone and left to follow the ambulance to the hospital. 

You don’t go to Suho’s. You can’t bear it, not when he might be there, not when he would read it on your face in a heartbeat. You don’t want to watch the disappointment crumble into something more familiar, something worse, you can’t watch him look at you with the knowledge that your siblings are right, that they’ve always been right, that you’re nothing better than a crazed animal. 

The club is packed full when you get there. The bartender starts to pour you a drink and you just take the bottle, leaving a too-thick wad of bills in return. The bourbon tickles as it goes down but it warms your stomach and distracts you from the haze in your mind, the repetitive beat of they were right they were right they were right they were-

“Whoops, sorry,” someone says, a second before they knock into your shoulder. You’ve been around long enough to know a fake fall, and you scowl as you glance towards them. 

He’s cute. Taller than you, with skin that would hide the marks you so love to create, and hair that looks like it would be soft in your hands. His clothes fit well, and they look like they were chosen for comfort over style despite the way he walks like a model in them, which you always find attractive. 

The smile that slips onto your face is familiar, as is the way you bring your hand up to rest on his hip in an effort to steady him. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” You tell him, not being subtle in the way you eye him. He looks soft; you love them soft. “You headed to get a drink?”

“I might be,” He says teasingly, a coy grin forming on his lips. 

“I’ve got something better, if you’re interested.”

His eyes roam along your body, his breath drawing somewhat quicker when he notices the scrapes on your knuckles. “I might be.”

It takes five minutes to get him to a corner quiet enough to talk. Less than three to get your lips on his. One and a half to start sucking a mark into his neck that makes him moan so pretty you can’t help but want to hear it again. 

One of your hands is up his shirt, playing with the pebbled buds and the metal pierced through them, while the other teasingly massages the skin of his hip when he’s torn away from you roughly. 

“What the fuck?” Your voice growls as you look up. The guy is standing there, looking for all the world like he’s ready to run, but he isn’t watching you. 

No, his eyes are on a familiar sight; Taehyung, his hair now a pretty lavender that makes you think of a home you don’t have, even as he doesn’t look at you. 

“Taken,” He growls, releasing the collar of the guy you had every intent to make cry with pleasure. The guy scurries off before you can stop him, though, and you don’t bother to hide your disdain. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” You demand, already lighting a cigarette as you head outside. Taehyung follows, pulling it from between your lips and crushing it in his hands before you have the chance to get your lighter out.

“Me? You looked like you were about to eat him .” He follows you all the way to the street outside and down the sidewalk, pulling each cigarette out of your hands before you can light it. He waits until you’re a decent distance from the crowd outside the club before he stops you, one hand lightly encircling your wrist. 

Your boots scuff against the ground as you stop, not turning to look at him. You’re too afraid to, too worried he’ll see it all on your face and just know that you’ve fucked up, maybe beyond repair. 

“Apollo called me,” is what he says instead. “Said I might want to find you tonight.”

You should’ve known. That little fuck, of course he would rat you out. 

“I didn’t-” 

The words choke in your throat. You want to say you don’t need him. You don’t need him to come running like you’re some scared little girl who can’t control her strength, you don’t need him to piece you back together because you aren’t broken, you don’t need him because you don’t need anyone, you never have. 

“I know you didn’t,” Taehyung says quietly. “I know he deserved it, I know what he did, and I know you didn’t mean to.”

Something inside of you breaks and you find yourself shaking. 

“He hurt her , Tae, I heard it, I heard her telling her friend about it on the phone, I saw her crying, I saw her clothes, okay, he-”

“I know,” Taehyung says, pulling you into a loose hug. “I know you did, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s not gonna escape his punishment from that, you didn’t send anyone to Hades today. It’s okay.”

The cloud struggles, for what feels like hours. Guilt settles like lead in your stomach, and you wish you weren’t so used to the feeling. The rage returns every time you remember what that girl looked like, what she sounded like on the phone, how you felt when you realized it was your competitor who had done that to her. 

There’s no honor in that. There’s no justice, no glory, in beating an opponent who was never aware they were in the ring, and it makes your blood boil all over again. Taehyung’s voice soothes you, slightly, makes the edges of your vision turn indigo, but it isn’t enough. 

It’s never enough. 

“I have to go,” You say, pulling yourself away from him. “I need- I have to find-”

“A distraction,” He finishes for you, too aware that you can’t find the words you need. “Some mortal that you can bruise and break and bang until you feel less like a monster?”

That’s exactly what you want to do, what you had been about to do with that guy at the club, and it’s only Taehyung’s voice calling your name in that soft, sweet way of his that makes you wonder if that’s not a good plan. 

“I’ll be a distraction, if you need one.” You whip your head around, staring at him, but he doesn’t flinch. “I’m sturdier than the mortals, I can take more. Let me be your distraction.”

“I…” You hesitate. You don’t know why. You shouldn’t even be entertaining this idea, it’s not a good one, but then...when have any of your ideas been good? “I can’t fuck in a house with eight other people.”

“You have an apartment,” He says easily. “Let’s go there.”

It’s a bad idea. You don’t do that, you don’t fuck people at your apartment, you don’t have people in your apartment, it’s your space. It’s a bad idea, it can only end in disaster. 

“Okay.”

Taehyung’s lips are soft against yours, yielding and pliant just the way you’re used to. His hands are big and warm against your ass, even through your jeans, and the feeling gives you the courage to slide your own under the ridiculously patterned button-down he’s wearing. 

He lets you lead the way through the door, kicking it closed behind you with slightly too much force. Your apartment is small, a studio with a bed tucked in the corner for the rare times that you need it. 

You push Taehyung onto it and slide yourself onto his lap, already grinding down onto the hard length you can feel there. He's not quite as enthusiastic, but his fingers are like steel against you, pulling you down with every rut of your hips. 

This, you can do. This, you're familiar with. 

You push on his shoulders, doing your best to get him on his back so you can have better access to the clasp of his jeans, but he resists. You try again, firmer, using a harsh suck against his skin as a distraction, but he still doesn't go. 

Frustrated, you pull back. 

"Not like this," He says. His voice clears some of the fog, and you frown. 

"Do you want to be on top, then? Because I don't mind, I just need it," You tell him. He sighs a little, but he flips the two of you over so he's kneeling between your open legs and your back is cushioned against the mattress. 

"How long has it been since you spent the night with someone who knows who you are?" He asks, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sits back on his knees. 

You shift, uncomfortable. "A while. Why does that matter? Just fuck me."

"No," Taehyung says, voice gentle but firm. You cock a brow at him and move to get out from under him, but he stills you with a hand on your thigh. 

"You are a goddess," He tells you, trailing his hands down so he can undo the laces on your steel-toe boots and slide them off. "You have held Victory in your palms and set her free." 

His palms burn through the denim on your thighs, but you welcome it as he slides your jacket over your shoulders to the bed beneath. 

"You are the winner of wars. You are the one who grants battlefield wishes. You are the dead's escort to Hades." He leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek and then down your throat. 

He pulls back as he gets to your collarbone, eyes blown wide with unfamiliar desire, and it makes your breath catch in your throat.

"You," Taehyung tells you, with desire in his eyes and belief in his voice, "Deserve to be treated like the goddess that you are, with the respect you have earned, and the care you deserve." 

As often as you fuck people, it's been a very long time since anyone wanted to fuck you for any reason beyond your appearance and the personality you show them. But this? This look in the muse's eyes as his hands settle on your knees as he waits? 

Taehyung wants to fuck you because you're you. Not despite it, not because he doesn't know . He has seen you at your worst and yet he keeps coming back, keeps showing up as you fall apart. Each time he stays, hands you a basket so you can pick the pieces of yourself up off the ground, holds the tape so you can mash it back together, and is ready to help steady you when you start to crumble again. 

He's here for you , to treat you in a way no one has ever treated you before. He's your friend.

He cares.

You nod, however tentatively, and his lips are on yours in an instant. They're firmer now, less pliable and more controlling, but you don't mind. Not this time. 

Not with Taehyung. 

His hands don't hesitate as he strips you both of your clothes, but you can feel it each time he checks to make sure you're okay. The way that he watches your expression, the tense of your muscles under him, the cadence of your gasps for air between kisses, he reads all of it as clear as if it's a book in front of him. He slows down before you can stop him, his lips drawing back from the kisses he draws across your thighs, and he speeds up as your thoughts start to drift, swiping his tongue and two fingers through your folds to tease and bring your attention back to him. 

His fingers bury themselves in your heat, crooking slightly to brush against that soft part of you that makes the world spin, and it's all too intense. His lips are hardly even touching your skin, just pressing gentle kisses against the skin of your thigh, a gentle complement to the way he glides his fingers in and out of you, slow and steady and delicious, but it's absolutely intoxicating. 

He's talkative, too; he gives you constant praise. He tells you how well you take his fingers, how good you look with his fingers inside you, how absolutely fantastic you taste on his tongue, how he'd live between your thighs if he could. 

It's too much, and you can't be sure why, not when your orgasm is approaching quicker than it ever has, not when your walls clench around him and you soak your sheets, not when he's cleaning your cum off his fingers with his tongue.

"Good," He purrs. "Now you're all warmed up." 

His mouth hits your heat without hesitation or warning, before the aftershocks are even finished, and your hips buck upwards. His arms slide underneath your thighs only to grip them and bring them back down. You can't move much in his grip except to grind your pussy against his mouth, which he seems to enjoy, if the muffled grunts that escape him are any indication.

He doesn't stop until his tongue is buried inside you with one finger drawing lazy circles on your clit and you're cumming again, hands gripping the soft strands of his hair so tight that you would be afraid of pulling it out if you could focus on anything besides the feel of him against you.

He lets you ride the aftershock, this time. Waits until your pants die down slightly, until you're back in your mind. 

"Good?" He asks you. His voice is deeper, rumbles instead of slides, but it breaks through the post-orgasm haze long enough for you to nod. “More?”

“More,” you agree, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a heated kiss. You haven’t been this clear-headed in a while. Every sensation is clear and crisp, every sound heightened, everything is simultaneously more while also being exactly what it’s always supposed to have been. 

Taehyung’s cock is everything you could have expected from a muse; thick, long, beautiful, and it fills you in a way that’s indescribable as he slides inside. He groans at the feeling, deep and throaty and beautiful, and begins his thrusts nearly immediately. 

It’s as slow as he was with his fingers; steady and forceful, but unhurried. As if he wants to take his time. As if he wants to savor it. Savor you . 

“Do you have any idea how amazing you are?” He mutters, almost as an afterthought. “What you look like right now, what you look like when you’re fighting, when you’ve won and you’re triumphant? It’s fucking addictive, seeing that confidence in you.”

“Shit, Tae, don’t stop-”

“It’s so fucking intoxicating,” He groans, pace quickening. Your arms wrap around him more fully, nails like claws down his back as you arch your back to get him deeper. “You get this look in your eyes, like you can do anything you fucking want to, and it’s so fucking brilliant, because you can , you can do anything and everything you ever fucking want to do, and no one can stop you.”

A whine you’ll never admit to escapes your throat, and Taehyung drives his cock further into you. 

“Let go, my sweet,” Taehyung purrs in your ear. “Let yourself relax, just this once. For me.”

His hand touches your clit and it’s so much, too much , you’re feeling everything so intensely that it takes a solid minute to realize you’re coming down from an orgasm. Taehyung has stilled inside you, unmoving but groaning as you flutter around him, and you push weakly at his shoulder. 

He slides himself out of you, looking entirely too proud of wet spot underneath you and glistening against his lower stomach. You wobble your way up to rest your elbows underneath you, and it’s like he can sense your words before they come. 

“No,” He says simply. “I don’t you to get me off with your mouth.”

“A hand then? I don’t want you to leave unsatisfied.” 

A frown pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he leans down just enough that your lips are almost touching, a not-there kiss that you can only wish for. 

“In what world is fucking you to the point of Elysium unsatisfying?”

The crowd around you is deafening; some of them are cheering for you, but the majority are rooting for your downfall. Such is the life of a challenging the champion, you suppose. 

You don’t know how Taehyung found this place; maybe Artemis had heard rumors, or maybe he searched for it himself. You can’t bring yourself to care, not when you’ve got someone worth fighting on the other side of the arena. 

The sand crunches beneath your feet. It’s hot, hotter than it should be since you’re still wearing your signature jeans and boots - without the jacket this time. You learned from that mistake. 

Your vision tints pink as you size up your opponent; he’s massive, not one to be easily defeated, and you relish the challenge. It’s been so long since you’ve fought a giant. Excitement thrums under your veins as he turns to you. He scoffs. 

If you had a little less control, you might be flying across the arena already. He clearly has no idea who’s standing across from him. Probably thinks you’re some demigod, come to challenge him for the fleece he isn’t supposed to have. 

He’ll learn. 

Something moves in the distance. It should blend in, considering how dark it is, but instead it draws your eye, and you don’t even question why. You would recognize him anywhere, have recognized him everywhere, and his presence calms you. Makes you remember a few nights ago, falling into bed in a hotel in Rome because the burn was to much and you needed him to help you release it. 

“Try not to be too quick, princess,” The giant across from you huffs. You cock a brow and send a look to your muse, who just rolls his eyes, despite the smile playing across his face. 

Violet rings your vision as you ready your stance. The announcer yells something that’s lost over the noise of the crowd. Taehyung leans forward, elbows on his knees, excitement and pride in his eyes. 

The giant swings. 

[ayellowcurtain]

can we please please get another part of Elu ABO?????

This has a little bit of smut in it, be careful! 

After being used so many times, Lucas has a hard time understanding real feelings or intentions. He doesn’t smell any type of bad intentions on Eliott, but he still struggles to trust him. Why would Eliott care so much? They don’t even know each other. Eliott doesn’t owe Lucas anything, but he’s still at his door at least once a week, coming to visit, but also to check if Lucas needs anything, forcing him to go out with him and the kids to go play at the park near his house. Lucas never had a chance to go to the park because there’s no way he would go anywhere willingly with two crazy kids.

It starts to get even harder to see Eliott at his door every Friday afternoon when he feels his next heat creeping under his skin. Lucas is used to it by now, he knows how to...handle himself. It has always been like this so it’s okay, it’s not like it’s going to change because a hot alpha is constantly around him these days.

Lucas tries to pretend he and the kids are busy this Friday, that they’ll go to Yann’s for the night or something, but he knows Eliott can literally smell it. Even Margot and Noah are bothered by the change in his smell.

Eliott is at his door anyway after lunch like he always is, but Lucas tried to organize himself. If Margot or Noah saw Eliott, Lucas was ruined. They would be all over him instantly and Lucas wouldn’t have a chance to say no. There would be screams and cries for twenty four hours and he’s not risking it. 

So Margot and Noah are sitting inside their bedroom, the door locked so they won’t have a chance to escape and Lucas gave them a huge bowl of ice cream - which they aren’t always allowed to have - and watching Margot’s favorite movie: Hotel Transylvania.

“Hi…” Eliott frowns as Lucas steps outside, closing the door behind him, not even bothering to let go of the knob.

“Hey...I...I mean we can’t go out today. Noah is not feeling too good.”

“What? Is he okay? You want me to take him to the hospital? My car is just downstairs and-”

“No, Eliott, really. It’s okay. He just needs some rest, to stay in bed and eat and drink water. You know, rest a little.”

He squeezes the cold door handle tighter, trying to ignore how his inside clench at the thought of hurting Eliott’s feelings, of creating a distance between them.

Eliott looks at him throughout and something changes. His smell changes, heightened and Lucas straighten his posture, feeling like the walls are closing around him when nothing is really moving. Eliott looks down and nods his head, putting his hands on his fancy, black social pants that seem a little different than the usual skinny black jeans.

“Okay...I’ll see you guys next week then. Call me if you need anything…”

Lucas exhales as Eliott accepts his defeat, looking at Lucas for just a brief moment, turning on his feet and walking away, but Lucas waits a little before he moves, all his insides begging him to ask Eliott to stay.

“I can help you…” Eliott says out of nowhere, turning back around suddenly to look at Lucas. He’s not naked, but Lucas feels like he is. He hates that his smell was so strong to the point where Eliott couldn’t just fucking ignore it.

“No, you can’t. It’s okay, I can handle myself, it’s what I do best.”

“But you don’t have to do it now.” Eliott comes closer again and Lucas steps back on instinct and Eliott notices it or smells it, Lucas is not too sure.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Lucas. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

And the offer is so tempting. Lucas craves affection more than he’s willing to admit most of the time, but his feelings are not letting him be the strong lone omega he always is.

He thinks about his empty apartment, the kids inside their bedroom. He can be reckless for once, do whatever he feels like doing, without thinking about consequences.

“You should go…” Lucas says firmly and watches as Eliott sighs, looking down.

“Okay.”

-

Eliott should focus on this big, rich people party Lucille begged him to come as her plus one. He can’t stop thinking about Lucas, about his smell, how nice and grumpy he is. And how he didn’t want Eliott to stay.

Lucille walks back to their table, dancing a little as he gives him whatever alcoholic beverage she got them, her bright red, silky dress moving sensually against her long, skinny body. Lucille is so fucking pretty.

“I think my boss is trying to hit on me.” Eliott frowns, drinking the also red and very strong drink Lucille ordered for him.

“You mean generally or like right now, at your work party?”

Lucille continues to move her hips to the beat of the music, her slip dress leaving very little to the imagination.

“I mean right now, tonight. I was at the bar and he came to stand right next to me, we talked a little…” She wiggles her eyebrows like she does when she’s teasing Eliott about what he does constantly without noticing. 

He wiggles his eyebrows back at her, knowing she has made up her mind already. Lucille is not one to lead people on. She wants the guy, whoever he is.

“Well...make sure to get a promotion out of tonight then.”

“Oh, that would be so fucking good. Imagine: having sex with a hot guy and getting a promotion, all in one night, just because you had sex with the hot guy. Oof, that would be a good night.”

She finishes her drink in one go and Eliott watches, laughing as he takes his time with his drink.

“And what about you? And your hot guy…” She frowns and stops moving her hips, actually having to work hard to remember his name.

“Lucas.” Eliott does it for her and she smiles at him.

“Exactly! Lucas...how are things going?”

“He’s going into heat…” Just thinking about it makes Eliott’s skin get rough and sensitive. Lucille must smell it because she finally sits back on the stool she was sitting before the trip to the bar.

“Into heat you said?”

“Yes.”

“And...?”

“And what? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“Did you pick me over him, mister Demaury?” Lucille is trying to make a joke, but they both know there’s also a hint of truth in it. 

They don’t love each other, not as lovers anymore, they’re just friends and they’ve been for years, but they both know they would have sex if they both were in desperate need of it. And if he said yes to her, even as a joke, Eliott knows their hormones would get a little too awake. But he doesn’t want to, Lucas is the only person he can see, that he can think about, that he wants.

“No. Of course not. He didn’t want me there, so I took a very cold shower and came to help a desperate friend in need.”

Lucille raises her eyebrows and nods her head, acting like she believes his words. Eliott waves his hand away.

“Come on, let’s go, chop-chop, go find your promotion. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Lucille doesn’t think twice, leaving Eliott alone, watching as Lucille adjusts her dress around her hips - making it just a little shorter - stopping at another table where a guy instantly stops talking to his friends, his eyes very focused on Lucille. 

This is going to be a long night, he thinks as he finally finishes his drink, thinking one it’s more than enough for tonight. Eliott knows his limits are paper thin so he’s constantly aware of his choices. As he’s about to get his phone, check if he didn’t get any messages, it starts buzzing on the inside pocket of his black suit. 

Eliott gets up from his stool, accepting the call as he tries to find somewhere quiet so he can hear Lucas.

“Lucas?” He says loudly over the now annoying music and there’s no actual answer, but Eliott stops as he finally finds an unlocked door, getting inside the bathroom and closing the door. He hears it instantly, lighting all his nerves like an electric wire. 

Him panting, moaning, breathing hard, and close to the phone. He hears the softest, whiniest noise, very low, but he would recognize his name coming from Lucas’ mouth any day.

Holy fucking shit.

“I’m on my way, okay?”

“...okay…” Another long, almost painful moan, “The door is open, kids are asleep, be fucking careful...”

Eliott hangs up and rushes out of the bathroom, not even bothering to look for Lucille to explain, not even waiting for the elevator, running downstairs to the parking lot where he left his car.

-

Eliott opens the door as carefully as his nerves and hormones let him, getting inside and locking the door, turning around, just one light turned on and Lucas walks out of that bedroom, stopping at the door like the most perfect wet dream. 

He takes a few, uncertain steps forward and Eliott rushes to him, not able to stop looking at his completely naked body, his blotchy pale skin with reddish-pink stains appearing everywhere as he’s overheating.

“You can’t be here when they wake up,” Lucas whispers when they’re so close, resting their foreheads together.

“I won’t be.” Eliott nods his head, already putting his hand on Lucas’ side, letting the boy jump to his lap as Eliott takes them back inside the bedroom, closing and locking another door.

-

“Fuck! They’re awake…” Lucas can’t help but contract himself, not ready to be empty again and Eliott grunts, resting his forehead against Lucas’ chest.

“Lucas...fuck!…” He keeps his pace with slow, deep trusts, and Lucas arches his back, his underwear bothering him, hanging around one of his feet. 

They tried stopping a few hours ago, took a calm, intimate shower with long gazes and not much touching or talking, and Lucas even tried to put his clothes back on, but that didn’t last.

He presses his fingers on the small of Eliott’s back, keeping him inside. Eliott still looks him in that way he did the first time they met where Lucas’ brain goes blank and Eliott crashes into them, another heated, long kiss to keep them quiet, picking up the pace.

There’s a constant knock on the door when Lucas comes back from his high, his back still arched, still contracting to keep Eliott inside.

“Shit…” Lucas slowly gets the control over his body again, relaxing his body and whining and Eliott carefully slips out, lying next to Lucas.

He rolls out of bed, having to focus completely on making his legs work enough to keep him standing, leaning against the door, hoping he doesn’t have anything on his face as he opens the door just enough for Margot to see half of his face.

“I’m late, okay? I’m going to take a shower, you go back to bed and I’ll call you when breakfast is ready.”

Margot still needs to learn how to behave herself. She’s barely listening to Lucas, her eyebrows meeting in the middle of her forehead, creating the biggest wrinkle and she’s just smelling.

“Is Eliott there?”

“Margot. To your room, right now. I’ll call you when you can get out.” He has to snap his fingers for her to blink, aware of her surroundings again, not just whatever smell she’s smelling. And she’s finally walking away, clearly not convinced, but she knows better.

-

Lucas rushes out of the shower, putting some sweatpants on and Eliott is still in his bed, looking so tempting, still very much naked under the sheets. He needs a shower too, Lucas wishes he could go with him, but Margot is probably impatient already.

“You stay here, ok? Take a shower if you want, I’m gonna go give them something to eat and a bath and then you can leave.”

“Okay…”

-

The apartment is quiet, Lucas is finally alone with himself. Both the kids are fed, tired after playing, running around the apartment the whole day, sleeping in their own beds.

Every muscle in his body aches and a long night of sleep sounds impossible but so good. He finally lets himself think about Eliott, about him in his bed, with Lucas, all day long. Lucas would never have the courage, but he wishes he had asked Eliott to stay while he was busy with the kids. 

Just thinking about his touch and Eliott calling his name makes him shudder as he walks to his bedroom, hating the thought of still having to change his sheets, put them to wash, put a clean one on his bed. By the time he’s done with all of that, Margot will probably be awake again, dragging Noah with her to Lucas’ bed to sleep with him.

He sighs and opens his bedroom door, stopping right away. His bed is made, clean sheets and all and he looks back, just then hearing the washing machine working hard like it always does when it’s on.

Lucas rests against his door, closing his eyes. He drags himself inside, already feeling so relaxed with the thought of Eliott there, cleaning his bedroom, putting his things to wash. Lucas pushes the blankets to get underneath when he finds something underneath his pillow, a black thing slipping out and Lucas grabs it, carefully pulling out and he’s hit instantly with the smell.

He smells so homey…

Lucas buries his nose against the clearly worn-out shirt. Honey, softener, Eliott. He takes his shirt off, still a little damp from the bubble war Margot and Noah had and he puts Eliott’s shirt on. it might be his mind, but the shirt still feels warm and soft. Lucas pulls it to cover his nose and mouth and he’s out.

[jawritter]

You and Me...

Chapter 17

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non con, male!rape, injury, violence, discription of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self harm, panick attackes, implied female non con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chatper Warnings*** Whew okay here we go, self harm, insinuated panic attack, lots of fucking crying, mentions of blood and hospitals, Angst, Fluff if you squint. I think that’s about it.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1901

A/N: As always all mistakes are mine!, Please do not copy my work!! Feedback is gold! I hope you enjoy this one!

Summery: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter you course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getthing through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

The next morning you found yourself waking up on Alex's couch.

If you could call it really ‘waking up’. You never really went to sleep… You may have dozed off for like 30 minutes, most. You felt numb, drained, and just broken...

"So then he pushed you?" Alex asked, trying to wrap his head around everything that happened last night just like you where.

You’d just gave a small nod, you couldn’t even get your voice to work anymore.

"Well babe I'm no expert, but the poor guy isn't exactly stable... You kind of hit a nerve, and he just reacted. I don't think he did it on purpose." Alex said, and you knew he was right, but you were too embarrassed to go back to Jensen's right now.

Everything felt so… raw… like salt in an open wound raw..

What if he didn’t want to see you again, what if he can’t forgive you for leaving him, what if it’s over between the two of you, and now he has to go through all that shit he’s been going through alone, and it’s all your fault...

Picking up your phone you checked it for the first time since you walked out of Jensen’s door last night. You had over 80 missed calls from Jensen. Your voice mailbox was full. The same message every time. Jensen, telling you how sorry he was, that he loved you, and wanted you to come home.

Begging, crying, some of the messages you could barely even make out what he was saying.

"I know you're right. I pushed him, I shouldn’t have pushed him. I feel so fucking stupid.” You say, looking through your call log.. Noticing that they stopped somewhere around 4 this morning.

"Well my opinion on the whole situation is the two of you were just under way too much stress. Causing you both to over react. It's not abnormal for people that have been through the trauma that he's been through to have to take some sort of pills for nerves and stuff, and it’s not uncommon for them to act out the way he did when you struck a nerve with him last night. You hit him where it hurts" Alex’s wife said, sitting down on the arm of the couch next to you.

You knew she was right. Which only made you feel horrible for the things you had said to Jensen last night.

He wouldn't want you back. You must have hurt him badly. Striking where you knew he was weak, just because you were upset that you found the pills, and jumped to conclusions. That’s why he stopped calling at 4 this morning, he’s done with you.

Well that’s what your head was screaming at you anyway.

A loud knock on the front door jarred the three of you from your conversation.

"I got it," Alex said, getting up and opening the front door.

Of all the people that you thought you would see when he opened the door, Jared wasn't who your money was going to be on.

"Jared?" You said, shocked, sitting your coffee cup down on the table in front of you, and standing to your feet. "How the hell did you find me?" You asked him.

"Well, the last thing you said to Jensen last night was that you were going to Alex's. I remember you telling me about an Alex you know that owned a bar. I got to the bar and the girl behind the bar was more than willing to tell where Alex lived to a 'successful movie star' like myself." He said, his voice annoyed, but still dripping with sarcasm.

Alex turned to his wife, eyes narrow and mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Remind me to fire her." He said, stepping back letting Jared in.

"Come on y/n, i'll buy you breakfast, we need to talk in private." You dropped your gaze to the floor. You knew you were in for it, but you also knew you deserved it.

Turning around you hug Alex and his wife, thanking them for letting you stay the night. Jared grabbed your bag, and the two of you made your way to a small café just outside the apartment complex that Alex lived in.

You had never seen Jared this quite, or this serious, and it was unnerving.

When the two of you had ordered, and the waitress disappeared, he finally spoke.

"So, you wanna tell me what the hell happened between the two of you last night? My best friend calls me, crying so hard that I couldn't understand him, telling me that he'd pushed you, and that you'd left him... When I finally got his front door open, I find him on the floor bleeding in the bathroom."

He reaches in his pocket and throws his phone across the table to you. You picked it up slowly, and looked at the photo's there. There were pictures of Jensen arms. Long deep cuts littered each wrist, almost all the way up his forearms. Clearly taken at the hospital right before the doctor stitched him up.

"I left the ER and brought him home about an hour ago. They had to stitch up about five of those cuts on each arm." Jared said, he was angry, and you were in shock..

"Why did he do this?" You asked, trying to swallow back the tears that threatened to spill over, and the nausea that pulled hard at your stomach.

"We don't really know for sure…. Some sort of self mutilation... Said he'd hurt you, so he deserved to hurt. I don't think he was trying to kill himself, and after a talk with the inhouse therapist at the hospital neither do the doctors, even though he came damn close to doing just that. It seems he was just trying to inflict pain. Some sort of self harm." Jared said.

You close your eyes and rub your face. You didn't know what to say, what to think. Your heart hurt so much. This was your fault, you overreacted, and it literally almost killed him..

"You know he didn't mean to shove you, he's not well. You pushed a button, and he just reacted. He'd rather die than hurt you, you know that." Jared said, after the waitress left your food on the table.

"Where is he now?" You asked, afraid he was alone, and still not in good mental place. You couldn’t stop your hands from shaking.

"He's at his house. Gen is staying with him until we come back.... Assuming that you're going to come back." Jared said, looking at you like a father looks at his kids when they've done something stupid, and that the moment you felt like a stupid kid for the way you had acted, and now Jensen was hurt, and it was your fault.. If you could literally kick yourself in the face you’d do it.

"Yeah, I'm coming back..I overreacted...This is my fault.” Taking a deep breath you try to stabilize yourself.

“I still love him Jared, I don't want to leave him. I just don’t know if he wants me back." You tell him. Shoving your food around your plate with a fork to keep your hands busy in an attempt to try, and keep yourself from bawling like a baby in a crowded restaurant.

"Oh he wants you back. He literally cried himself to sleep by the time I got him home. Poor guy was so hysterical that they didn’t want to release him from the hospital, but telling him that he could go home so that I could go find you was the only way I could get him to calm down." He said, stuffing food into his mouth, seemingly satisfied that you agreed to go back to Jensen.

"Let's just go. I can't eat." You tell him, standing from the table. Too nauseated to even attempt at eating anything..

"Go ahead. I'll meet you there. The two of you need some time alone." He said, turning back to your plate as you gathered up your stuff.

"Oh and y/n." He said, causing you to stop and turn around. "Don't let stress get to you guys like that again. Be patient with him. That man is crazy about you. If he lost you for good, it'd kill him, and I don’t intend to bury my best friend any time soon." With that he turned back around to his food, and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, making your way back to your car that was still parked at Alex’s building.

-----------------------------------------

Pulling up into Jensen's driveway the sense from the night before play in your head, making you feel that much worse.

It was like a horror movie that was stuck on repeat in your head....

You had to make yourself get out of the ca,r and make your way to the front door. When you walked through the front door Gen smiled, and hugged you tightly.

"I'm glad you came back." She said, then walking toward the door. "I'll give you two some alone time. He's asleep right now in the master bedroom, but if you need me, just call. Jared and I will be back buy later to check on you guys." She said, showing herself out before you could even so much as nod.

Taking a deep breath you slowly make your way toward the room where your world almost fell apart last night.

Each step felt like a heavy weight was attached to your ankles, and it took all you had to just put one foot in front of the other.

Opening the door to the master bedroom you see a heap of cover laying on the bed. Slowly you close the door, and walk around to his side of the bed.

He looked horrible, even in his sleep. He was pale, his eyes were swollen from crying, his face was read and raw from constant rubbing. You felt like you wanted to just die right there, he’d been through so much already, you never wanted to cause him any more pain.

Pulling the cover back slowly you slide in right next to him.

He woke up instantly.

Wrapping his arms tightly around you like if he loosened his grip you'd disappear. Even though his injured arms must have been screaming at him..

"I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry!!" He said, tears streaming down his face. His arms were bandaged, and it made you sick to know what caused him to do that was you leaving him.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that stuff to you. I overreacted, I shouldn’t have pushed you like that and jumped to conclusion." You tell him, tightening your grip on him as best as you could.

You don't know how long the two of you laid there like that, but you were sure that you'd never walk out like that on him again.

This man was your heart, he was your reason for being, and you were his. You definitely vowed to never fight with him again. You'd find a different way to work out your problems, but fighting caused this. Fighting hurt you both last night. So what good did it do. It didn't solve anything that's for sure.

After a long time without speaking Jensen finally put his lips lightly to your forehead. "I love you, please don't leave me like that again."

"I love you too. I'm not going anywhere ever again. I promise"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[lvnce-mcclain]

This is Totally Not a Fic, it’s only a Thought, okay, but imagine:

AU where Buck’s search for his calling didn’t lead him into the SEALs but rather the army, specifically right smack in Eddie’s squad somewhere near year two of his second tour. Miraculously Buck’s bullheadedness in being able to finish something he starts (his father’s words ring in the back of his head you won’t last a week, you’ll quit as soon as it gets too hard every time something he’s ordered to do nags at his conscience) outweighs his humanitarian nature long enough to make it to active duty.

(Fair warning I know next to nothing about the military, ok, go on)

Imagine Buck 1.0—self-satisfaction searching Buck, cocky and too-sure of himself to make up for the fact he has no fuckin’ clue what he’s gonna do with his life and he feels like he’s drowning out here in the desert, so he’s drinking every off night and hooking up with locals freely—meeting Army Sargeant Eddie. Imagine Eddie absolutely Not Having it from this dumbass kid, more ready to jump on a landmine for the heroic headline than listening to how to act as a part of a team.

Imagine Eddie—guilt ridden for leaving as soon as he found out Christopher was diagnosed and in denial he was running away, fighting with Shannon over their video calls more than he even gets updates about their son anymore—wound tighter than ever when Shannon shows up to a video alone one day, announcing she wants to separate and disconnects the call as Eddie starts to let that sink in, before he really knows what it means. Imagine Eddie stewing, finally going off on this Buckley one night about how he’s going to get someone killed with his more glory seeking behaviors because Buckley was the perfect target for all Eddie’s aggression—not like the kid didn’t have it coming, really, with his behavior and attitude and Eddie really, really needs something to hit so he’s kind of hoping it hits the wrong nerve for Buckley.

But then—then Buckley just. Doesn’t react. Well, doesn’t react in any way Eddie was expecting at least; before the sizzle of aggression begins to show in the defiant glare Buckley immediately sports—and Eddie’s thinking yes, this is what I needed—it’s fizzling out under weighted resignation. It’s like—like Buckley agrees, and just takes it, and it stops Eddie up short. He doesn’t know what to do with this Buckley that’s all soft-sunken shoulders and disappointment that’s too deep for Eddie to understand, so he leaves with adrenaline soaked bones.

The next day, Buckley still looks a little too introspective and Eddie can’t help but feel guilty at his outburst; the kid may be dumb, but he’s not a bad person. Eddie knows for a fact Buckley is the first many of their squad seeks out when hit with bad news, because he’s always quick smiles and solutions—knows that he’s also the first one to place a hand on a shoulder sunken in sorrow, and is quickly known by the local kids to be generous with sweets when placed in friendly territories.

So Eddie tucks tail and bolsters himself for an awkward apology after he finishes in the mess hall, but Buckley beats him to it; as soon as Eddie gets him alone, Buckley is all bunched shoulders and rapidfire remorse. Eddie can barely get a word in before he parses out what’s going on, and then he’s shaking his head and using the firmest tone he can muster that’s still friendly and telling Buckley that he “isn’t looking for an apology; it’s the other way ‘round, actually,” and there’s something a little too wondrous in Buckley’s expression so Eddie blurts out something like “you don’t deserve to be my emotional punching bag, ok? And you don’t need to be your own either, kid. Just take half the work you put towards being a pain in the ass and put it towards working and you’re gonna do just fine.”

After that, things get… Better. More tolerable, at least, from a work perspective. Buckley seems to put his head down and starts actually listening and the improvement is noticed even by some of Eddie’s peers, who joke over raised eyebrows about what Eddie could have done to tame the wild child of the whole company. There’s still some incidents of minor insubordination, but they’re fewer and farther between.

Buckley, meanwhile, has taken that whole talk as some sort of permission to hang around Eddie as much as possible and Eddie has to admit when he doesn’t have his head shoved up his own ass, Buckley can actually be good company. He’d never admit that out loud, of course. Buckley’s flipped some sort of switch and now he wants Eddie to tell him everything he knows about literally everything, and on the days Eddie feels the most patient it’s honestly pretty calming to just have a constant drone of information come from Buckley, whether just to reaffirm something he’d learned or looking to Eddie for approval over something new.

But then it’s a few weeks later when Eddie finally gets through to Shannon to talk about what the hell she had meant the last time they spoke, when she says she’s come to the decision to leave Christopher with Eddie’s parents so she can go take care of her sick mother. Eddie can’t believe it at first, his entire being slamming against this reality and refusing to accommodate it. He soon finds out this wasn’t a conversation but rather being informed over a decision already made, and then it’s over.

And sure enough, it’s Buckley who he seeks out first, who takes one look at Eddie and is hauling him away from prying ears and is all concern when he asks what happened. Eddie feels so tightly wound he’s going to snap if he doesn’t hit something, but there’s nothing here he can take a swing at; so instead he deflates, letting out all the hot air along with every heavy truth that has weighed in Eddie’s chest since he ran away from his son.

And Buckley… Seems to get it. (Eddie looks but doesn’t see a barely grown boy running from a distant father, looking at a new father struggling so hard to make the right decision for a son he obviously, obviously loves.) He has a more level head about it all than Eddie thought to give him credit for, quietly telling Eddie that what matters is that he stays solid for his son. That it doesn’t matter where he is, so long as Christopher knows he’s on Eddie’s mind, that’s all that’s gonna matter until he can get back stateside and be there for him. That every day will be a new step until then, and even bigger ones after, but all that matters is that Eddie tries to take them.

Buckley’s words stick with him while Eddie struggles to connect with Christopher over video, even though his parents try hard to push a connection, but the burn of that disappointment in himself grows. He vents it all to Buckley one night—the same night Buckley tells him he’s one incident away from being discharged, and there’s something a little too warm to be annoyance settling in Eddie’s chest at the news. By the time they both let themselves get riled up and pulled back down with deprecating jokes about what’s on their minds, that warmth has become a little more defined and Eddie thinks oh.

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to think too hard over the smallest flare of attraction that had been building in his chest, because by the next week Buckley is discharged for an altercation with a commanding officer and Eddie doesn’t see him again. Eddie loses a comfort he didn’t realize he’d grown into, and things are hard enough trying to focus on his family while thousands of miles away so he just doesn’t think too much more about it.

Things from there would go about the same for Eddie as canon: he gets sent home after his purple heart rescue, only this time he goes straight to his parent’s house and still struggles to get them to release their hold over Christopher (except it would be even harder for them now, with having interim custody); struggles with finding a job until applying for the fire fighters’ academy; ends up picking the LAPD with something small niggling in the back of his mind asking him to remember something about LA (but the offhand comment from Buckley one night over beers about a Plan B is too buried in Eddie’s memories to dig up).

Imagine how much s2 would change, how much of an impact it would have on Buck. I think this is enough for one Not Fic but I still have some Thoughts over this au so I might post them later. There’s just so much potential. 

Pt 2 HERE Pt 3 HERE and Pt 4 HERE

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 09.10.20 lb

lol, lemme preface this by telling you what i know about the show from my out-of-context insta-viewing:

kabir sends his gf riddhima in to spy on vansh RAISINGHANIA (naam ka wazan check karein ji. kaafi hi bhaari-bharkam, just like the fake baritone the actor playing the character is being forced to put on.) vansh is some kinda shady, but idk WHAT SPECIFIC KIND of shady..... like is he just your garden-variety-evil-capitalist-ala-ambani-bezos, or is he into shit like drug smuggling and human/organ trafficking???? no one knows. maybe a little bit of both. but kabir’s a COP, and we all know that those fuckers are the shadiest shits around (#ACAB) so yeah, true to type, kabir shadyyyyyyyy. he’s actually the secret illegitimate son of vansh’s stepmom and together they wanna ruin vansh and take all his monies. so anyway, kabir sends in riddhima, who’s just a whole special brand of dumbass, but also extraordinarily determined in the way only tellywood heroines are. so she’s basically sticking her nose everywhere that doesn’t belong and being a pain in the ass of literally everyone in the show, including her own (coz she seems to get injured in novel and entertaining ways in every second episode.) kabir ultimately manipulates her into marrying vansh, while vansh has apparently married her KNOWING that she’s a spy and is probably playing the long game to see who her puppet-master is. long story short, heterosexuality is too potent a force and the Stupid Spy Girl and Gangsta Guy are currently slowly giving in to the Feelz™, despite missing that one-little-teensy-weensy-who-even-needs-it-in-a-real-relationship thing. y’know, that little thing called, idk, i think it’s called “TRUST” or some such strange unheard-of concept.

oh, in between all this there’s also some bizarre plot about some ex of vansh’s called ragini, who’s dead??? missing? idk. kabir is real interested in that and wants to jail vansh for it, but we’ve long forgotten about ragini by this point #RIPSis anyway, there’s some kinda statue of her’s in the attic or some shit, coz vansh is some kinda modern day gender-reversed medusa who turns women who cross him into statues??? idk man, idk. so riddhima is pretty much in constant danger of being statue-d.

also vansh has a requisite irritating famiy in tow, that he’s burdened with being in charge of (coz no rest for the unfortunate eldest son who lives in this godforksaken mansion, be that an oberoi or a raisinghania) feat: a dadi who is well-meaning, but as annoying as the one in IB was, constantly spouting platitudes about how vansh and Spy Girl trooooooly lurrrrrrrrrrve each other *kissy noises*; some chachi/chacha who are all “HEY WHY DOES HE GET TO BE THE BOSS, WE WANT CONTROL OF THE CRORE-ON KA BIJNESS TOO”, some very fake kanji-eyed siblings/cousins who are supreme bitches, and ofc one (1) normal sibling who is sweet but really does nothing around here. oh and there’s his right hand man/bff too, who seems to be not 100% (maybe just 83%?) incompetent like everyone else. that poor sod just got suckered into marrying Kanji Aankhon Waali Bitch Sister, who is pregnant with some total rando’s baby, and is just an all-round asshole to Riddhima/Right Hand Man, because “ugh, yeh do kaudi ke middle class naukar log, cheeeeee.”

ok now that the sasta, not-at-all-useful recap has been done, LET’S GET INTO THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

———————————————————————

the chachi is screaming her goddamn headdddd off coz her room is on fire. ofc it is. when has anything good ever happened in this manhoos house of horrors.

lmao the kanji eyed cousin has like 3% concern that his mom will be fried like a taaza jalebi. he's literally sauntering luxuriously towards his mom's room jaise park mein tehel raha ho.

chachi's screaming is getting on my nerves. aunty you're wasting valuable oxygen this way.  

riddhima is behind some secret box that aryan and chachi stashed in the room.

THESE PPL ARE SO CHILL ABOUT A WHOLE ROOM ON FIRE (note: it’s shivaay's room in IB) and they're just hanging out in the living room (which if you’ll remember, IS ATTACHED TO THE ROOM THAT WAS SHIVAAY’S) as if fire doesnt have a tendency to y'know..........  SPREAD RAPIDLY.

riddhima is fighting with the bloody fireman saying ki i need to save the box. #priorities

aaaaaaand the fireman is kabir, who has come to haath maarofy on Box of Secrets.

and we know this coz he did a DRAMAAAAAAAAATIC reveal by taking off his mask. in a room FULLY ON FIRE. idhar non-flaming rooms mein bhi ab mask nikaalna danger ho gaya hai, and this guy justtttttttttt dgaf. tum jaison ki wajaah se hi we can't bloody stop the spread.

my god this house has been decorated soooooooo fucking tackily. never thought the oberois would be the classy ones.

shady saasumaa and riddhima stinkeye-ing each other over a bowl of shehed. lol, what even. truly some "rasode mein kaun tha" lvl of politics.

oh ho, saasumaa and kabir lagaaofied the aag.

saasumaa gloating over the fact that riddhima will now never get her hands on Box of Secrets.

flashback time: hahahahaha KABIR LITERALLY LOBBED A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL INTO THE ROOM AND CHACHI DIDN'T EVEN FUCKING HEAR IT OR ANYTHING. lmao everyone in this show is a dumbass. how blissful life must be with just one (1) working brain cell.

riddhima runs into flaming room. ofc now we will have a prolonged sequence where kabir tries to keep his identity and riddhima being the dheent that she is, will give chase.

please note, that not even 48 hours ago, this woman walked barefoot on a bed of coals AND a hallway full of broken glass. AND NOW SHE'S RUNNING FULL SPEED BEHIND KABIR AS IF SHE’S PT USHA. SIS, TUMHARE PAIR HAIN KI KYA HAIN? YOU'RE LONG OVERDUE FOR AN INTENSE PEDICURE AFTER THIS WEEK.

and ofc, he got into a getaway car and made it away.

yeh lo, iss beech mein dadi behosh. ouff.

whooooooooops, dadi has some weird blue nishaan on her neck.

LMAO KABIR SHOT AT RIDDHIMA WITH A POISON BULLET OR SYRINGE OR SOME SHIT, WHICH HIT DADI INSTEAD. LMAO MAN THIS SHOW. IT'S SO FUCKING DUMB, I LOVE IT.

some more stinkeye politics between saas bahu.

bahu is passive-aggressively giving saasumaa roses to congratulate her on winning this round.

riddhima is dheent!max. she's like kuch bhi ho, i'll find the secret anyway and your victory will witherrrrrrr awayyyyyyyy like these flowerssssss and you will be left with the thorns that will prick youuuuuuuu!!!!!!!

LMAO SAAS IS FULLY ROLLING HER EYES AT RIDDHIMA'S DRAMATIC ASS #SAME

just looking at helly's ears is making my ears hurt like a bitch. 

hey riddhima, have you ever thought that maybe this secret child of hers is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS?????? like honestly, the entitlement desis have to know the workings of other ppl’s wombs.

lol dumbass mummyji crumpled the flowers in her hand and played right into riddhima's stupid kaante waala metaphor. #ramMilayiJodi

hero ko covid hai toh ainvayi ke phone calls se kaam chalaana pad raha hai.

the dude left his house for literally the first time in months and the place is on fire and dadi got shot in the neck with poison. and the wife doesn't think she should tell him so that he doesn't become "pareshaan". sure, this seems like a dude who'll take this kinda thing real light when he finds out later.

(hint: he’s not. he’s a crazed, overprotective weirdo about his family. sound familiar?????)

this guy's dialogue delivery is so dodgy. idk what it is, it just seems so affected.

that plus the ainvayi ka editing just showing him in some random car (clearly from the earlier eps)  is just adding to the jankiness of the scene.

husband dude seems to know wifey's quirks quite well. kinda cute, kinda creepy. 

lol kal tak toh yeh banda itna romantic nahi tha. like he had a smooth moment here and there, but he was mostly real awkward and robotic and unsure how to handle These Strange New Feelings™. now he’s spouting cheesyass lines about being able to see the one who is special to you with dil ki aankhein and idk what.

who are these people who like SHARING their room with another person? #unrealistic

but i also i get you, riddhima. he was pretty much the only thing worth looking at in this room, coz the rest of it is so damn fugggggg. this room should be the one set on fire.

dang, some steamy scenes between them in the flashbacks. ouff abhi jaake episodes dhundne padenge. coz #tharkiTTisTharki

riddhima doing dadi seva. boooooooooring.

ofc dadi ki sui is always atkofied on playing cupid for pota, taaki she can score some par-pota/potis.

riddhima ki best friend ka happy birthday hai.

riddhima is like a lottttt has happened in my life, can't really tell you over a call. yup, that’s for sure. 

ok apparently sejal who said she’s in dubai now is NOT in dubai?? she's just up and flew to mumbai to "surprise" riddhima...... on HER OWN birthday? #doesNotCompute

lmao kabir's annoyance with mummy's useless glass of water. WHY DO MOMS THINK EVERYTHING CAN BE SOLVED WITH DRINKING MORE WATER?!?!?!!

now he's yelling at mom about how she's ruined everything. sure. blame the only one who's actually doing shit around here, while you sit on your ass in this room, glaring and growling like a hangry bear.

some menacing dialogue about how he needs to thikaane lagaaofy riddhima's hosh.

which has been overheard by bff sejal, who went and dropped a showpiece from shock. cool. so she gonna die. bye sejal, hardly got to know ya!

sejal being here doesn’t even make sense. she thought he was a PT teacher. then why did she show up here at his police waala office? also how did she connect the dots about the whole damn story with like 0.04% context that she got from what she overheard? kuchhhhhhh bhi.

[camillemontespan]

erin update

Hey guys. So I thought I would just write a thing about what’s going on with me right now. If you don’t want to read, totally cool, just scroll past. But I guess I’m needing to vent/explain my feelings and writing always helps me sort things out in my mind. It’s a long vent. 

I haven’t written the latest chapter of Her One Constant yet. I was planning to this weekend but anytime I go to do it, I have the blank word doc up and it just sits there, blank. I can’t summon any enthusiasm for it. Usually, writing Drake x Camille helps as a distraction but it’s proving difficult right now.

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On Thursday, it will be the one year anniversary of my grandad’s death. He was everything to me and this month has been tricky so far as I’ve tried to handle the fact that it has been a year since we lost him. Little things remind me of him - especially sunflowers, which were his favourites. I am currently working in a garden centre where I see sunflowers all day and old grandad’s that look and act just like him, so everyday I am reminded. That said, I feel close to him when I’m outside with the flowers so in a way, it’s nice. 

I’m planning a few things to remember him this year and I am trying to be positive. But it still gets me in unguarded and vulnerable moments.

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I have developed a crush on a guy I work with. To begin with, it didn’t register with me. But as time has gone on, it’s gotten worse. Now, you may not see that as an issue except I have a boyfriend. I’ve been with my boyfriend for 6 years. I feel like a terrible person. I have spoken to a few mutuals about this and you have all been reassuring and kind, trying your best to calm me down, but some days it feels like I have a heavy weight in my chest from the guilt and keeping my feelings in. I have become withdrawn, low and prone to bursting into tears at random moments. Whenever my bf tries to make a move on me, I shrug him off or make an excuse. Not because I don’t want to - but because I feel like I don’t deserve his love and attention. 

The crush and I started to message each other on/off. Just banter and inside jokes, in which I tried to reason to myself that it was innocent. I’m allowed to message male friends, right? 

Am I allowed to message male friends I find really attractive?

My bf was aware of this but not about how often we on/off message.  I suddenly felt bad because if the tables were turned and it was my bf messaging a girl from work, I’d be very very suspicious.

I realised that in this situation, I am the villain. The crush has nothing to lose here and to him, he’s just a guy messaging a girl who has a boyfriend. I am his new work friend. It’s me who should be under the microscope and I know that if people at work knew we were messaging, they would say ‘what the fuck is she doing?’

It’s not fair to my boyfriend. 

As a result, I’m not messaging him anymore. 

But it doesn’t help at work when he gives me a nickname - ‘trouble.’ ‘Hey trouble.’ THAT IS HOW I WRITE LEO TALKING TO OLIVIA. Or that interspersed between our banter and inside jokes, we actually have serious chats and I enjoy talking to him. I keep telling myself that logically, there is nothing between us. He has met my bf. He chats to all the girls at work like this. I assume he gives them nicknames. 

My bf made a joke that me and the crush like to flirt. Alarm bells went off in my head. So, I sat down with him and spoke to him about it.

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This leads onto my next issue. Turns out that while I’ve been spiralling, so has my boyfriend. He is feeling low and thinks he might need antidepressants - a revelation which he told me last night. 

One of the things that is getting him down is the fact that me and him don’t feel right atm.

Probably because I’m being a withdrawn and quiet asshole who messages a dude at work. 

I’ve been so involved with my own emotions and shit that I didn’t realise my bf is struggling too. Yet again, I’m a terrible person. 

I asked him if me and the guy at work has had something to do with it. He said in a way but only because everything feels heightened. He works from home so is alone from 9-5. I’m away at work, meeting people and just getting out the house. So he is in this little bubble where he feels, yes, isolated. 

He says he wants me to have male friends and he trusts me. He doesn’t know what the crush is doing messaging me or what he is getting out of it, but he trusts me and to him, that’s what matters.

I could not and would not tell him that I have a crush on the guy. That won’t help. That would be a slap in the face. 

Now do you see why I am a terrible person?

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Last but not least, I have a trapped nerve in my neck which is sending horrible searing pain into my skull. It feels like hot knives are going into my skin. So, on top of feeling flat, low, guilty and down, I also feel literal pain. 

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That is why I’ve been low. All of these things are building up and I don’t know what to do or who to talk to. Instead, I’ve been looking at blogs about Jimin from BTS because thanks to him, he is the one surprising thing that is making me smile right now. I feel calm watching him in youtube videos and I feel less alone when listening to BTS. 

I’m sorry for the vent. I just needed to write this out. If you think I’m a shitty person, I don’t blame you. 

[mamacleo]

Personal from Mom: the Good Bad Day

CW/TW: Physical distress leading to medium-duty progress, change, adaptation, and growth. Also spiritual stuff. CW: Really damned long. Sorry. I know, it's a chore, but if you follow me and Callie, you know how deeply layered a lot of this stuff is. Nothing extraneous is in there, though, I promise. You know I love labels. Like my winter distress, once called the Winter Monsters, now referred to (for accuracy) as the winter terrors. People who've known me since way back when have seen me struggle with labeling myself. They would tell me not to, and I couldn't really phrase it at the time, but what I needed to say was: no, please, don't ask me to redefine myself according to your perceptions of validity. Please accept that I am like this and help me work through it. So I want a label for the kind of day I am having today. I've been getting them more and more often without my having to try. For lack of anything catchier, I am labeling it a Good Bad Day. The word order is important! It means that there is also such a thing as a Bad Good Day, but they aren't the same. This isn't a gripe day, but this girl is just reporting. I think it's one of my bad pain days, one of those where all the weed in the world won't help. Maybe not that bad, but you may have read my description of the pain at its worst: it literally feels like each and every nerve-laden cell in your body is trapped in a vise and being crushed. Chronic pain sufferers know this day. It's that day where you cannot imagine making yourself move, yet you have to get to the bathroom SOMEhow, and ain't nobody gonna fix your coffee for you. So you do. You wake up in negative spoon territory and somehow you do it, even if "it" comprises only going to the bathroom. Now, I do have an emotional alarm clock, two actually, and their names are Adorable and Rosie. As I told my beautiful bride today, Adorabe gets this look when she realizes when, like today, only one hand is busy, and look old lady, I don't CARE if you're laying on it, I KNOW you got two hands. Let's see the other. Every morning she runs in to wake me up and get attention, and even if it irritates me some mornings, she always wins me over. Rosie comes in next for her morning affection, and...that's the start of a Good Bad Day. I'll sum up because Constant Reader knows the details. There's the pain, and the pain brings weariness. Today's promised partly-sunny day in the 60s is now just the latest in a long couple of weeks of chilly cloudfests. I'm starting to get really tired of them. We're broke for a few days and we need a couple of things. (Luckily not immediate necessities, but.) Things need picked up a bit, but there's no energy for it. I wanted to grill today, but can't see it happening. . And yet, my mood is good. Not just agreeable, but positive. The progesterone, which my love calls my "chill pills," have become the last piece in a 60-year puzzle. Callie and I remembering us joking around last night, some silly humor and some bawdy humor. Me promising that if I feel up to it (I will), I will redesign some pages for her. Realizing that, you know, it's weird, but I actually LIKE bird and squirrel videos for cats. Having a couple funny observations and sharing them. Getting to pet the outside cat, Buddy, when I brought him his breakfast. Adorable is right next to me, napping. My writing skills are in great form today, and I said a couple of things that I felt were more well-written, more helpful than before. Having people reach out just to share this or that with me privately. Feeling content because yesterday, I redefined my purpose in life, and the situation in which we live, in a way that is both rewarding and helpful to my beloved bride. Because that redefinition might not have happened without the exact right intervention at the exact right moment by my pearl, my girl, myErie (Because this is important at the end, I'm gonna sum up what happened that was so bad, Erie had to call. An issue I thought was settled turned out not to be, and that was moving to Cleveland, my girl's home town that she

misses so much. There were levels of significance to it that I just plain couldn't see because of my privilege, but the Chauvin trial brought them all to the front for her. My episodes can be weird. In this case, everything was emotional, and there were some severe conflicts involving resisting some selfish motives while trying my best to look out for her. The emotional issues involved for me triggered my BPD, of course, and the bottom dropped out and I had a really, monstrously bad episode. I isolated badly and was so overwrought, Callie thought I was going to leave. Erie intervened, made perfect sense as always, and sat with us on the phone while we worked through it. Like that, everything is right again. I say again: I will walk in front of her in case of bullets.) , responded to my plea to adopt me (to get his food!) and he asked me if I wanted to be his daughter fo real. And I said yes. So really, my breath left me and I was alive with fear and hope at the same time, and I said: "Thanks, mom." She was more than okay with it. And...Mom has a mom. Mom didn't know how much she needed a mom until one day, this powerful soul, this woman namedLinda , said the exact right thing at the exact right time...and out of nowhere, the urge, the *need,* to say this knocked at the door and took my breath away. I don't exaggerate. The last time I felt this was when my Pop,Greg And yes. She really is a mom. She really is my mom. Just thinking about it takes my breath away again. I waited my entire life, wanting a mom who never existed. And then... See, she said a thing to me that struck me hard for two reasons, and it was not long after I transitioned. It was a picture of modeling a bodice dress and looking happy, and she said, "You have a powerful strength that I'm not sure you even see yourself." It struck me hard because she is not the first to have said this, and she and the first person to say it, when I was 19, are not the only ones who have said it. I capped that and kept it so I would never lose it, and in the hopes that one day I could show it to her and say, hey, I see it now. I'm living it now. It gets amazing sometimes. The other reason it struck me so hard was that, and if she wants to talk about this I would love her to, when I reads those words, I felt something. The other day I talked about the gestalt and the lack of physical distance, and how items and artifacts can be conduits for spirit. The internet is the same way. Someone's words on the screen can be a conduit for your spirits to connect, and I felt it at the time and knew it was a different one than the other spiritual connections. The thing she said, others have said to me, but the thrill that took my breath away was that I could feel her faith. The boss who said that to me when I was 19, he had an expression that was, now that I reflect on it, quite possibly the trigger, THE moment, that things turned around. Because he was the first person to express faith in me. I mean, really, upon examination, I remember people encouraging me, but he was the first one to express faith in me. Damn, I wish I could find him and rock his world. That was what Linda said, too. Across the miles, I felt her faith. Yes, mom, I am going to say it right out loud in case I'm not being clear: you made a difference in my life. I called you mom, and that was where it started. You made my hope grow. (ASIDE: Ahh, it is NOT one of those pain days after all. Hallelujah for herbal medicine.) (Edibles hate it when you talk shit about them and get you back.) So it is a Good Bad Day. Things would probably, ordinarily, make me grumpy today, but I feel content. For today, at least, things are consonant. Nothing is bothering me. I have redefined what I saw as a coming traumatic struggle into the opportunity to guide both of us into a new and more exciting life. We are surrounded by love. The day is gray, but there are sunny days coming. We want for nothing. We're having a handfasting in two months and family will be here. In September, I'll be able, finally, to legally change my name,

and we'll change hers legally at the same time. On top of all of this, I am confident now that the 40 years in the desert is over. There is a sea change happening. You can see it in the resistance against the worst of it by the majority of Americans. The awfulness reached its worst and shocked every decent American, and the people who drove it have lost their credibility outside anyone in their sewing circle. Their influence is now waning. There are good years coming, and much to look forward to. I feel happy, and that's the weirdness that set this all off. Everything is in balance. Of course there will be bad days again. I'm still mentally ill and while it's under as much control as it can be under, it's not under total control. But I'm okay with that. I know they'll happen, but they make the sweet times sweeter. My beautiful, wonderful Lilith, you will be rewarded for all the good you do. I love you. I love our life. I love being who you need. I will do more to be who you want. Mazel tov!