#you can only have so many panic attacks in the space of like 12 hours before your body gives up

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Hey, not to alarm you two, but I think Gustavo is coming in.

Peppino, I’d suggest prepping an explanation, and maybe tell Pep to stay calm and use the grounding exercises we taught him.

If you don’t think Pep is up to it though, there’s a box out next to the dumpster. It seems to be his safe place.

Pep, don’t worry, people a lot smarter than me can help put the pieces together, but for now we need you to breathe. You’re in the restaurant right now, and you’re safe.

Peppino: "Gus is here???"

Gustavo: "Sorry, we're late, Peppino! Brick saw a cat, and we ended up the next town over-"

Peppino: "GUSTAVO!!!"

Gustavo: "AAA-!?!?"

Peppino: "GUS!!! MY CLONE THAT I FOUGHT IN THE TOWER WAS LIVING IN THE DUMPSTER FOR A MONTH, AND HE CAME IN AND WE TALKED, BUT HIS LITTLE MAGIC BOX OF A THOUSAND VOICES TATTLED ON HIM AND HE HAD A VERY MELTY PANIC ATTACK, AND THEN I WAS PUPPY-DOG EYED INTO LETTING HIM STAY AND WORK HERE, AND THEN WE WERE COOKING THE PIZZA AND HE HAD A MEMORY ABOUT USING A KNIFE, AND THEN HE JUST TURNED INTO SOMEONE ELSE FOR A SECOND AND NOW HE'S HAVING ANOTHER PANIC ATTACK, AND IT'S BARELY INTO THE AFTERNOON, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE HELP ME!!!"

Gustavo: "You know I am always happy to help you, Peppino, but can you please explain that again a little slower?"

Pep: *muffled hyperventilating*

Pep: "!!!"

Pep: "Si tahw...?"

Pep: "Efas... Mraw... …Tfos si…"

Gustavo: "Oh, good job, Brick!"

Peppino: "Yes, thank you, Brick. She's nice to cuddle with, huh, Pep?"

Pep: "...Mhm..."

Peppino: "Good, good. Now, what were your-a friends saying? There's a box outside? Would you like me to get it?"

Pep: "...Yes please..."

Peppino: "Alright, I will be right back."

-

Peppino: "Oh, there is-a box here..."

Peppino: "Oh... It is conveniently covering that hole in the wall I forgot about... Mm, fixing it will have to be put off again... Getting stuff for Pep is more important."

Peppino: "Hm? What's this? 'Peppino's Special Things'? I should-a bring this inside too. Must be important to Pep."

-

Peppino: "Pep, I got your box! But are you-a sure it's the right one? It seems-a really small for you-"

Peppino: "!!!"

Peppino: "Well, that answers that. You feel better?"

Pep: *quiet but relived gurgle*

Peppino: "Good. Here, let's let you rest with Brick and with-a your friends. It's been quite the day for you."

Peppino: "Okay, so Gus and I are going to-a continue the work day, but we'll put your pizzas aside for later, and when you feel up to it, you can finish them off. But if you feel like resting for the rest of the day, that's alright too. Does that sound okay?"

Pep: *soft burble that vaguely sounds like the word 'okay'*

Peppino: "Alright then. We'll be in the kitchen if you need us."

(Gustavo and Brick (the Rat) are now available for asks!

Pep is having a little break and is too tired to form a mouth, but you can still leave asks for him)

[mouwrites]

HIIIi love your writing so much so here i am making a request with promp 12. or 19.?? maybe combo or you can choose whichever youd like with the character Zane from Ninjago

when maybe with prompt 12 where Zane has some sort of panic attack so the reader is there to help him??? THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU DO HAVE A GREAT DAY AND DONT FORGET TO DRINK AND EAT UP😼😼😽

YAH thank you sweets!! One Zane fic, compliments to the lovely anon!! <3

Word count: 1.3k

Ninjago - 12. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” and 19. “Your hair looks so soft.” (Zane) (300 follower event)

The market was alive with noise and movement. The torrent of people was thick and powerful; if you stepped into it, you were bound to be swept away. So you and the ninjas made sure to stay on the outer edge, using alleyways as they were available instead of braving the main street.

Zane was never a fan of large crowds. They caused him a faint anxiety, especially when he was with people, as that added the responsibility of keeping track of them. You, of course, knew about this, so you were holding his hand to ensure you wouldn’t be separated. You still saw the occasional flicker of worry in his eyes, but you knew it couldn’t be helped.

“How far did Ronin say it was?” You asked, getting a little impatient. “We’ve been wandering the streets for hours.”

“That’s the thing,” Lloyd sighed. “He didn’t say how far it was. He just said to ‘look for a cart in a caravan with a blue feather painted on the door.’”

Jay rolled his eyes. “How specific of him.”

“I still think our best bet is the market. Where else would a caravan be in such a huge city?”

“Nya’s right. We’ll keep searching here,” Kai agreed as they emerged from an alley into a new portion of the market.

Before you stepped into the noisiness again, you paused, leaning in to speak softly to Zane. “Doing okay?”

He gave a sincere smile, squeezing your hand. “Yes. Thank you.”

You smiled back, hurrying to catch up with the others before they got too far.

You traversed several more streets before you found anything; the market was like an endless maze, seemingly never ending no matter how many twists and turns one made.

Your blind trek finally came to a conclusion as the sun was beginning to flush the blue from the sky with orange, and the people were beginning to head home. Many vendors had also left, but fortunately for your party the caravan appeared inhabited still.

It was a posse of quaint carts, each not much bigger than your average camping trailer. The intricate blue feather painted on the door distinguished the one you were looking for, and Jay practically bounded up the steep stairs to pound on the door.

There was no answer. Jay’s fists clenched. “If Ronin sent us on yet another wild goose chase—!”

“Are you looking for Natalia?”

Everyone turned their heads to see a young boy peering out from behind the cart. After exchanging glances and shrugs among yourselves, you turned helplessly to the boy. “Is this Natalia’s cart?”

“Yes. I will tell her she has visitors. She will be a while. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you waiting inside.” The boy disappeared as quickly as he had come.

Jay opened the door just as you had opened your mouth to ask if it was a good idea to go inside. You hadn’t missed the way that Zane’s hand was tightening around yours, and you had a pretty good guess as to why. It had been a long day full of stress, and now he was being packed into a little cart with six other people. The strong smell of incense wafting from the open door wasn’t promising, either; you could tell before even stepping inside that you’d be choked by the smell.

And choked you were. The oppressive heat in the cart (partly from the several sticks of incense burning in the small space) only worsened the smell. The numberless trinkets and furniture impossibly crammed into the little space made it twice as claustrophobic as it should have been, what with seven people now crammed inside.

It was the smells. The colors. The heat. The voices of the ninjas. The voices of the remaining people out on the street. Everything. But most of all it was the stress of being on a mission in such a place. Zane had been trying to keep serious, knowing that what they were doing was important. But it was too much. It was all just so noisy.

Zane suddenly let go of your hand. Even the feeling of your skin on his was making everything worse. He tried to close his eyes, but it didn’t help, so he opened them again, and that didn’t help, either. It seemed that whatever he did, he was making the panic worse.

You knew what was up the second he stopped gripping your hand.

“Guys,” you spoke over the others, sounding as casual as you could. “Why don’t you go and keep a lookout for this ‘Natalie’ person?” You nodded at the door.

Jay opened his mouth to protest, but Kai, who seemed to suddenly notice Zane, smacked his shoulder before he could speak. He ushered the others out quickly, sending an encouraging look your way before stepping out himself.

You turned to face Zane when you heard the door close. By now his breathing was ragged and he was shifting his weight uncomfortably, his fingernails digging roughly into his palms.

“Hey,” you spoke quietly. “Zane. Just look at me.”

His head snapped up, distressed eyes wild as they bored into yours.

“Good. Now focus on me. Look in my eyes. It’s just you and me.” You seamlessly wrapped your hands around his, wedging his fingers out of his palms to entwine with yours as they relaxed.

He nodded subtly, but his breathing was only growing faster. You repeated your last line a few times, making sure to keep your tone calm and encouraging.

Zane’s hands gradually unclenched, and after a while his breathing finally began to slow.

“You’re doing great. Deep breaths. Here, just follow my lead.” You breathed deep too, letting him synchronize his breaths with yours.

Tears started to brim his eyes, and you could see the exhaustion of the day taking its toll on him: his knees wobbled a bit, so you guided him to a chair.

“Just take it easy,” you whispered, pulling up another chair beside him.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulder, letting him put his head on your torso. You felt him start to shake, and though he was clearly trying to keep his breathing calm.

“Your hair looks so soft,” you murmured. “Can I touch it?”

Given a small nod by Zane, you reached up a hand to stroke his hair. This seemed to help keep him relatively calm as he trembled, working the remaining anxiety out of his system.

It was a while before he tried to straighten himself. He suddenly pulled away from your chest, looking into your eyes with a sincere smile. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice a little unsteady.

You just nodded, bringing the hand that was buried in his hair down to cup his cheek. “Of course.”

Zane placed his hand atop yours, adding pressure to quell the shakiness. He turned his head a little to kiss your palm as he leaned into your touch.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You blushed a little, making Zane’s smile spread wider.

“Do you want to go back?”

“No. I’d like to finish the mission. I feel much better.”

You eyed him warily, prompting him to grab both of your hands and hold them on your lap. “Trust me, I’m fine now.”

You didn’t like the twinge of exhaustion you saw in his eyes, but ultimately you respected his judgment. You gave a small nod.

Not two seconds later a knock came at the door of the little cart. You heard Jay’s voice on the other side. “Guys! Natalia’s coming!”

You both shot up, you scrambling to the door, Zane following a step behind. You paused as you grabbed the handle, looking back at Zane one last time.

“Let’s go out,” Zane insisted. “The smell in here really is oppressive.”

You laughed, affirming your agreement by swinging the door open and hopping into the fresh air outside.

When on flat ground, Zane held your hand once more, once again aware of the (admittedly smaller but still not insignificant) bustling market.

Kai sent you a look that asked: All good?

You gave a thumbs-up, earning a confused yet innocent smile from Zane.

“All good,” you said, kissing Zane’s hand quickly before getting down to business; Natalie was approaching, and the mission had to go on.

Thank you so much for participating in our event!! And thanks for reading, take care guys <33

(divider by saradika)

[ghostfishk]

i hate it here. i don’t know if i can handle spending the night with them both anymore. i feel like a nuisance. a third wheel. just something getting in the way.

a spider appeared in my car. i physically cannot move when there’s a spider. i completely freeze up. and if i try to do anything else i will have a full panic attack/meltdown. i. cannot. do. spiders. and she got so pissed at me. i had nothing to smush it. it didn’t go a way that i could hit it out the window. i physically couldn’t do anything. and it made its way over to her side and they also couldn’t do anything. so after a while of absolute silence and tension they finally told me to just go. okay. cool. so what’s the plan with the 2 drink carriers and 2 bags of food? now i was definitely kinda rushed in saying that, and came across pushy and maybe even a little shitty but i just had a really rough shift and there’s a fucking spider in my car that’s supposed to be my only safe space right now, but she got mad at me for asking and i could see once we actually got going that she was texting our other friend, probably ranting about the whole situation which is valid, like it was really wonky but it also makes me feel like shit and i don’t know what to do about it.

they keep correcting me on my own existence. they say i am asleep the whole time. from 1-4 i slept maybe 2 hours if. and when i was out. i was generally out, but most of it was me with my headphones trying not to have a meltdown and just fucking ignoring them because they do not fucking understand that i just don’t care. they might be able to function off of 3 hours of sleep but if i even try, with the shit i do in a day, i will have a meltdown and die. i can barely function on a normal 7-8 hour 12-8am sleep i realistically probably need to sleep 10+ hours with the amount of stuff i do in a shift but if i did i simply wouldn’t have a life.

i talk about how i push all shift, and it feels like she tries to show me up by saying how many racks she pushed. which yes. it sucks how much you had to do but i also did a lot and it doesn’t feel good when i try to rant about work and you IMMIDIATLY hit me with how bad your shift was, or how thats “normal” to you or you’ve had worse. like i love you but genuinely shut the fuck up i cannot handle it much longer.

today was good work wise, productive, not overwhelming as much as it’s been. good people? talked to him quite a bit, starting to build a genuine connection, and humor between the two of us, along with mentioning some things about trans existence. nothing major, just mentioning that i’ve only been going by K- for about a year. he made a joke i should go as a ghost for halloween, and i made a joke that with normal friends would be funny but i don’t know if it actually landed with him.

tomorrow i get to meet kittens when i go play d&d and im so excited. they are what’s keeping me going this week. i’m so excited to leave work early, same time as him. and i’m so excited to go and see cats. and to sleep in my own bed after, and then not work until 3 the day after but it’s also the easy job. i cannot wait until 845pm so i can be over this week and start next week maybe a little bit more normal

hopefully my ipad doesn’t die before i can fall asleep

because i will have a meltdown if i cannot music. they will not be quiet. they’re talking about some comic con ripoff.

9/7/24

[awkwxrdapple]

Fallen Angel (Part 1) - Peter Parker x reader

Request: Hi! I love your writing! I was hoping you could do a peter x reader where the reader gets badly hurt and captured and it takes a long time for the avengers and peter to find her and once they do, she is scared half to death, jumpy, nervous, and stays by Peter's side during pretty much everything. They are living in the avengers tower with everyone and since they are the youngest, Peter is particularly protective of her during her recovery. Thank you!

Word count: 1.6k 

WARNINGS: mentions of anxiety, light torture, injury, trauma (after reading if you think I should include any others please let me know thank you)

Part 1

Simultaneously, you removed your headphones and slammed the textbook shut in front of you. Your assignments were getting tiring. It wasn't that they were hard and you were struggling, it was just that after being part of the Avengers, doing calculus and algebra seemed too easy for you. You could do it easily, but after all that you had done and seen already in your life, you knew your time could be better spent. 

Being the youngest Avenger alongside Peter Parker was exciting. You felt unbelievably honoured to be given the opportunity to be part of a team that did wonderfully amazing things. You had made friends for life, and most especially so with Peter. When you had come to New York you were enrolled into the same school as Peter. Midtown High was a good school and you enjoyed it, it also meant spending more time with Peter even though you both lived in the Avengers Tower now. 

Lying back against your bed you realised you were hungry, you'd been studying for what felt like ages. 

Knowing you had nothing sweet that you wanted to eat in the tower you decided that a quick trip out would let you get what you needed. If you were going to carry on studying you were going to need all the help you could get. 

Grabbing your purse from your dresser, you wandered down the corridor to where Peter's room was. The door was slightly open but you knocked anyway and waited for his reply. 

"Hey, I was just going to go to the store, do you want anything?" 

He, like you had just been, was sitting on his bed with papers strewn around him. When he saw you he gave you a warm smile. Having Peter living with you in the Avengers tower was amazing. Peter really was your best friend and you trusted no one more in the world. 

"I'm ok, but thank you. What are you going for?"

"Chocolate, ice cream, cake, anything." You said. 

"Homework giving you a hard time too?"

"Is it that obvious?" You laughed before placing your hand on the door handle again. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Bye Y/N."

Taking the elevator it didn't take too long to get to the ground floor and out into the centre of New York. You knew there was a little grocery store a few blocks over that made homemade chocolate cake. 

Unknowing to you, a set of eyes were watching you leave the tower, cross the street and make your way down the sidewalk. It was busy, and you were tired. Your instincts were slower and less aware of your surroundings. The one set of eyes soon became two, then three, then four. You were blissfully unaware of the imminent danger you were about to find yourself in. 

Taking a swift left at the next building you passed, your face collided with a hard arm and sent you stumbling backwards. Jolted out of your oblivious state, you raised your guard and lunged to land a punch square into your attackers chest. They struck back, using their larger build to throw their weight towards you forcing you to the ground. The air was knocked out of your lungs. 

Kicking back up from underneath them you tried to force their body off you, but they were heavy, and armed. You could feel a gun strapped to their hip pressing into yours. Rapid footsteps were heard around you as more people wearing a similar black combat suit to your assailant emerged and began to hold you down. You continued to fight in any way you could but soon all your limbs were rendered useless. 

"You're coming with us. Don't try to resist." A low male voice spoke into your ear as a cloth was placed over your face, a strong smell evaded your nostrils and then you relaxed back into the concrete. 

+ + +

Upon waking, you found yourself cold, aching and stiff. Your head hung towards your chest and a dull throb emanated from your forehead and rang throughout your skull. Your hands were tied behind you back and placed behind a chair, with your legs also tied to the chair legs completely restricting all of your movement. 

Fear and panic flooded through you and your chest became horrifically tight. The room around you was incredibly dim, with the only light coming from a single dull light bulb above your head. Feeling your breathing become hastened you remembered your training.

Don't panic. Be calm. Assess the situation.

The situation looked bleak. There were no sounds to be heard so you couldn't even begin to work out where you were being held. You remembered the last memory of being free, but couldn't place the people from anyone or thing you had seen before. 

You weren't kept guessing for long as a door creaked open to your left and two figures entered the room. The door was roughly closed behind them and a click of the lock was distinctly heard. You nervously swallowed and waited for one of them to speak. 

"We hope you aren't too badly hurt, Y/N." One spoke and made his way over to you. His voice was calm, and in any other situation you would have mistaken him for a nice man. 

"How do you know my name?" You ignored what he had actually just said to you. It was far more disturbing that your first name was known to these people. 

"That doesn't matter. We may know a few things about you, but you know much more than we do about things important to us."

"And those would be?"

The other man laughed coldly at your attempt to sound confident. 

"Your friends." The first man now knelt down a meter away from where you were sat. 

"My friends?"

"The Avengers."

To this you had nothing to say. You instantly felt guilt at being caught in this way, no other member of the team would be trapped like this. It made you ashamed. These people needed you for whatever heinous reason they had. 

"We understand you know a great deal about the runnings of that Tower, and of the inner workings of the group itself." The man continued. "We think you would be very useful to us."

"I won't tell you anything."

This brought a sigh from him. It was almost sarcastic. 

"We thought you would say that." 

He stood up and took a few steps backwards, allowing the other man to walk into your focus. 

"Maybe this will change your mind."

The first strike to your face stung. The next hurt. The third, numb. The intensity of the punch quickly removed all feeling. You could taste your own blood as your lip was cut upon the second blow. 

"It… it won't change my mind." You spluttered. Tears welled up in your eyes but you were not going to give them the satisfaction. You would never betray your friends, your family. 

"We shall see."

+  +  +

"Has anyone seen Y/N?" 

Peter was worried. You had left the tower four hours ago, and still had yet to return. 

"No I haven't, why?" Nat answered him as she wandered into the shared living room and kitchen space. 

Peter told her that you'd told him you were quickly going to the store and that you weren't back. 

"I'm sure she will come back soon. Maybe she ran into a friend?" Steve offered as he sat holding a mug of black coffee. 

"Yeah… you're right." Peter tried not to think about it too much. But after an hour or so that he hadn't heard you walk down the corridor, he went to check your room to find it empty. And he couldn't find you anywhere in the tower. 

Wanda gave Peter a small smile. She had seen how close you two had become. It was only natural that Peter was concerned. 

"If she isn't back tomorrow morning, we shall then worry, yeah kid?" Tony walked behind Peter and placed a brief hand on his shoulder. 

"Ok…"

The next morning resulted in Peter's worry increasing exponentially. He had sent you multiple texts and phoned you many times to receive no response. Usually you would let him know if you were staying with a friend. The whole situation seemed off. 

"Still no sign of Y/N?" Tony asked as Peter wandered through the kitchen on his way to school. 

"No. I am worried." 

Tony considered Peter for a second. 

"Come with me, I might be able to find her." Tony stated and headed for the elevator. "School is important, but it can wait."

Walking into one of Tony's labs, Peter realised he hadn't been into this one before. Tony tapped on a screen and brought up a map of New York on one of the monitors. 

"Mr Stark, what is this?"

"I regret not telling you sooner but I have tapped yours and Y/N's phones. So even when it's off, it can be tracked."

"You're going to track her phone?"

"I think that's what I just said." Tony raised his eyebrows. "Let's see if she still has it with her." He could see how upsetting this was to Peter. He began to wonder if you two were just friends, or something more.

After putting more information into the computer a yellow dot appeared on the map, quite far from the Tower, but still within the city. 

"Is that her?" Peter asked urgently. 

"It should be. I don't like the fact she's in a decommissioned warehouse though."

Peter suddenly felt a sudden urge to drop everything and run to you. 

"According to this, the signal hasn't moved in 12 hours." Tony turned round to face Peter. 

Peter's jaw was tight. Tony could tell he was ready to fight. 

If you would like to be in the tag list for part 2 or any of my other Peter Parker imagines please let me know! 

"Alright kid, suit up."

PART 2

Tag list: @unmistakablyunknown

Masterlist

[incorrectbatfam]

Can I get headcanons for an au where Bruce adopted the kids when they /were/ babies, please?

Use the bathroom, get comfortable, and maybe have some tissues on hand.

For these headcanons, we’re gonna assume they were adopted in order of age, and that they’re all under 18. So Dick and Babs are 16 (with Babs being older), Harper is 14, Cass is 13, Jason is 12, Tim is 7, Steph and Duke are both 5 (with Steph being older), Carrie is 3, and Damian is 1. Yes, I’m aware that it diverges from canon age gaps but once you keep reading you’ll see why I did that.

Now for the headcanons (in no particular order):

Alfred is “Grandpa” and Bruce is anything from “Dad”, “Pops”, “Old man”, “Baba”, etc. All the other adults, like Kate or Clark, are aunts and uncles.

Steph and Duke compete over everything, like who can tie their shoes the fastest or learn to ride a bike first. Steph makes a point of letting everyone know she’s older, but Duke fires back with the fact that he’s taller. They’re both at the top of their kindergarten class and are known for butting heads, but God help anyone who decides to pick on one of them.

Harper got her first period at school while wearing white shorts. Thankfully, Dick and Babs came in clutch.

At school, Kon told Tim that he got ten dollars every time he lost a tooth. Tim tried to hack the system by pulling a bunch of teeth out at once (thankfully to no avail) until someone caught him.

Babs has a different secret handshake with each person.

When Damian first came along, everyone expected Carrie to be angry or jealous since she’d no longer be the baby of the family. And she was a little jealous at first. But the moment she saw him, her eyes went wide and she whispered, “He’s so tiny” and vowed to protect him with everything she had.

The last business trip Bruce took was when Cass was a baby, and the reason why it was his last one was that while he was abroad, Alfred sent him a video of Cass taking her first steps and he burst into tears in the middle of a meeting because he wasn’t there to witness it in person.

Dick once used Damian as a wingman to pick up girls. It worked so well that Jason tried the same thing, only to have it grossly backfire on him.

Whenever Bruce needs a break, Alfred will call everyone to the living room for one of his infamous spy stories.

Cass is the queen of April Fool’s.

Tim, Steph, and Duke regularly climb on each other’s shoulders to try to reach the cookie jar.

Harper is a pro at getting gum out of people’s hair. Tim is a pro at the exact opposite. 

Bruce gives Dick “the talk”. Dick then gives it to Harper who gives it to Cass who gives it to Jason and by then it’s so misconstrued by then that Bruce has to re-give it to all the kids.

One time Jason lashed out at school and it led to the teachers referring him to a therapist. Bruce stayed with him during the first appointment and Jason admitted to feeling unwanted because of what some kids at school said. Meanwhile, back at home, all the other siblings were trying to get their names to be Damian’s first word, like a competition. None of them ended up winning because when the other two came home, Damian called out to Jason. (And Jason cried on the spot because it didn’t matter what people said at school, he was wanted by the right people).

Group outings with the Kents or the Allens are a normal occurrence.

Harper gave Bruce a heart attack when she DIYed her hair dye and piercings.

The first time Tim saw a shooting star, he was convinced that aliens had arrived to take over the world. His conspiracy-driven panic spread to his younger siblings and that’s how Alfred found them all hiding in a blanket fort wearing saucepans as helmets.

Steph once got lost at the mall and the first thing she did was buy ten Build-A-Bears. 

Cass regularly carries her younger siblings like suitcases.

Bruce never rushed Dick into getting a license or helping out around the house.

Harper once snuck on a train to the next town without telling anyone because she wanted to ask Kate advice on coming out.

Nobody got any sleep for the forty-eight hours when Damian’s favorite stuffed animal went missing.

Duke is a LEGO kid. Carrie is a horse girl. Together they created the ultimate toy equine sanctuary.

Bruce can’t ground the kids. They’ve unionized.

Jason is no longer allowed to pick movies on account of the time he chose an R-rated slasher.

It’s an open secret that Cass accidentally left Tim at a haunted house once. 

Alfred custom sews a ten-person "get along" shirt.

Duke once snuck Damian to school for Show And Tell. Steph ratted him out almost right away.

Jason tried to make his younger siblings reenact Shakespeare. It lasted a good thirty seconds before it dissolved into people hitting each other with props.

As a big mystery/conspiracy theory person, Tim was wholly convinced that Damian was an extraterrestrial because the first time he saw him, it was at the hospital where Damian was hooked up to a bunch of machines after he was born. It wasn’t until after three different people explained the concept of preemies to him did Tim finally get it.

Carrie loves to play dress-up and will rope in anyone in the vicinity.

Bruce’s favorite song to sing to someone when they’re upset is Lean On Me by Bill Withers

Cass taught everyone obscenities in sign language and it was all fine until someone caught Babs at school and she got detention

Alfred can’t remember the last time the house was not babyproofed.

Between birthdays, holidays, Gotcha Days, and other special days, there’s always a reason to celebrate at Wayne Manor.

Whenever they fly on the private jet Duke's in the cockpit insisting he knows more about airplanes than the pilots (Alfred or Kate) bc he watched the Planes movie.

Harper got matching leather jackets for all the sisters.

Bruce gives Tim "coffee" that's 90% milk and a splash of coffee for flavor.

Cass and Jason communicate solely in inhuman grunts.

Carrie can and will latch onto the first person she sees like a koala bear.

There's a running gag among friends on how many siblings Dick has because he tells stories without ever using names.

Bruce comes home after a long day of work and everyone drops what they're doing to dogpile on him.

Harper only got an after school job to pay for her Club Penguin membership.

They all make snowmen in descending size order with Bruce's being this huge towering one and Damian's being like three inches tall.

The girls have a "no boys (except the baby) allowed" zone.

Carrie can't pronounce the letters "R" or L".

When Damian learns to crawl suddenly all the other family members become a jungle gym.

Bruce doesn't notice when someone invites a friend over without permission because what's a few extra kids anyway?

Harper comes out and for a week people wouldn't stop making bi puns.

They try to do that thing where each family member puts a different colored handprint on the mailbox and they end up running out of space.

As the oldest Dick gets stuck with babysitting or he's forced to let Jason tag along when he goes out (bc all parents make their older kids do that) and he resents it but at the same time no one can talk trash about his siblings.

Damian's animal collection begins when he brings in a mouse from the yard. (Cue the hilarious siblings-helping-him-hide-new-pets montages.)

Someone beat Bruce for “World’s most attractive man”, but that’s okay because he was voted “World’s happiest man” instead.

[lemonzestywrites]

sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

paring: buck x eddie

word count: 2,268

tw: panic attacks, implied claustrophobia 

[ao3 link]

_____

Buck has never been a fan of the dark. Especially as a child, the thought alone had brought along too many nightmares and memories of running to Maddie’s room to make her double-check for monsters under his bed. It doesn’t bother him as much anymore, but still, every now and again, on nights where his anxiety is all too present for his liking, the same twinge of uneasiness will find itself scratching away at his brain.

He hasn’t felt it in a while, but that itch has been sitting at the base of his subconscious since he’s clocked in for his shift, and now Buck can’t help but be on edge. He tries his best to ignore it and go on with his day, but the next 12 hours tick by with a foreboding weariness he can’t quite place.

The hospital only makes it worse. The plain white walls, the PA system going off every other minute, the frigid cold that sticks to his skin, he hates all of it. There’s a small voice in the back of his head that wonders if it’s just the result of having been admitted so many times. It doesn’t feel like all too sure of reasoning, but he’d rather not linger on the thought too long. So instead, Buck settles for it and chalks it up to nerves, making a mental note to bring it up during his next session with Dr. Copeland. Until then, he should be fine.

Emphasis on should.

Because apparently, the universe gets a real kick out of watching Buck suffer since it wasn’t enough that the hospital’s power went out- no, the entire fucking city got hit with a widespread blackout. And if that wasn’t worrying enough, Eddie hasn’t been answering his radio, and Buck’s phone isn’t working either. He does his best to stay calm, really he does, but with every passing minute of radio silence, the sick coil of nerves knotted in his stomach only gets tighter and tighter.

After 10 minutes of no response, Bobby had given Buck the go-ahead to go look for Eddie, and that’s all he needed before he’s off, weaving through the halls of the hospital heading to where he’d seen him last. If it weren’t for whatever shred of self-control in him, Buck would probably be sprinting through the building by now.

Eddie’s been back to work for only about a couple weeks now. And he’s doing great (obviously, he wouldn’t have gotten cleared to go back if he wasn’t). Buck is happy for him- happy that his best friend is back. God knows the last couple of months had been rough without Eddie, he had spent the last couple of years carving out and filling a special place in the station especially reserved for him, and then all of a sudden, it had been vacant again.

Buck is excited that he’s working again, really he is. But now the energy between them feels…different, and he knows why- they both do. It’s not like Buck had expected them to come back completely fine either. But even months after the shooting, they still have yet to talk about any of it. A part of him feels like they should, but in the months he stayed over at Eddie’s, helping out however he could during his recovery, Buck could see the toll everything had taken on him, both physically and mentally. Eddie didn’t seem ready to unpack that with him yet, and Buck wasn’t going to push him.

It’s fine. He knows Eddie has been going back to therapy. They’ll talk whenever he’s ready.

Buck does his best to give Eddie his space, let him, you know, do his job, but the past weeks feel like he’s been doing nothing but living on the edge. Every time Eddie’s out of his sight for too long, he can hear a voice screaming at him, ‘Where is he? Is he okay? Find him. Protect him. Find him. You said you’d have his back. Your fault. Your fault. Your fa-’

Then Eddie will turn the corner, and Buck’s lungs will release a breath he hadn’t known he was holding on to. He hopes it’ll take the fear, too, that with every sigh won’t just be a release of pressure but help let go of the irrational worry he has. But it never does. It eats away at him, taunting him with the idea that Eddie might get hurt again, but this time Buck won’t be there to help him.

(God, they really should talk.)

He still doesn’t bring it up. Instead, Buck sets aside his apprehension and tries not to indulge in the panicked voice in his subconscious. He’s been getting better at it.

At least he was.

All it took was 15- no, 16 minutes now- of radio silence for Buck’s heart to start pounding against his chest in rapid succession. For the nervousness to shoot through his veins, thrumming all the way down to the tips of fingers as they twitch with a numbing unease. He treads through the halls keeping his head on a swivel, alert and attentive to trying to find his best friend in the sea of patients and doctors. Eddie’s probably somewhere in the hospital helping out the staff; he is a medic after all. Yet despite any amount of reasoning Buck tries to apply, the sickening feeling in his stomach doesn’t seem to dissipate. It’s been 16 minutes, and he hasn’t had any luck. He’s even circled the floor twice just to be sure, but still, nothing.

He’s considering doing another lap when he hears it- the distant noise of someone banging on metal coming from behind the elevator doors. The sound is so faint, paired with the loud frenzy of the rest of the hospital floor, that Buck almost doesn’t hear it.

He rushes to the doors, pressing his ear flushed against it. He can hear someone yelling, but the voice is too muffled to make out what they’re saying.

“Eddie?” He calls out, no doubt getting a couple odd looks from the passing medical staff, but he pays them no mind. He bangs on the doors a couple times before yelling again louder, “Eddie! It’s Buck- can you hear me?”

There’s a beat of silence before the pounding continues again, this time with much more force in response. Buck doesn’t waste any time before he digs his fingers between the doors, using everything he has to pry them apart. The muscles in his shoulders and arms strain, but the creaking of metal offers enough motive to keep him going. Even if it’s not Eddie, it still means someone’s trapped down there.

(A selfish part of him still hopes, though.)

Once the doors are opened wide enough for him, Buck drops to his stomach to peer down into the elevator currently caught between two floors. Even with the little light he does have, he sees a curled-up shadow crouched in the corner below him, “Eddie?”

The person shifts, “Buck?”

There’s nothing more Buck wants than to revel in the relief he feels when he finally hears Eddie’s voice, but it quickly scatters when he notices the trembling panic coated in his tone.

“It’s me,” Buck reassures with as much steadiness he can force out and just hopes that Eddie doesn’t hear the way his voice shakes out the words. “Are you okay?”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t know. I-I can’t breathe.”

Buck’s mind starts to spin, panicking on what to do now. The gap in between the doors isn’t that big, so it’s not like he can slip down there with Eddie or pull him out either. He has enough sensibility to grab at his radio to at least let Bobby aware of his status, “Cap, I found Eddie. He’s trapped in an elevator stuck between the 7th and 6th floors.”

A few seconds pass before he hears Bobby’s voice on the other end, “Okay, we’re working on getting the hospital’s backup generator working. Stay with him until we can get it back online, then we’ll head up to you.”

Eddie lets out a strangled noise at his words. The twinge of panic in Buck’s stomach only coils tighter when he realizes how Eddie’s breathing seems to pick up, now coming out in quick hallow shivers.

‘He’s having a panic attack.’ Buck realizes.

It takes less than a couple seconds after for Buck to murmur a hasty “copy that” into his radio before he readjusts his focus back to his friend.

He’s not unfamiliar with panic attacks, his or Eddie’s, most of which being the results of nightmares that seem to linger when dusk settles. During the last few months, Buck has lost count of the nights that either one of them has woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air, and in the midst of alarm and fear, craving a recognizable magnetism of being held. A silent want to be assured protection and comforted.

It’s sick now. How there’s nothing more Buck desires than to provide that same security now, but the small two-foot gap between the elevator doors draws out to what feels like miles of distance.

Even though he can’t crawl down there with him, Buck finds himself reaching into the elevator shaft as far as he can, “Eddie, can you grab onto my hand for me?” Listen- he knows what he’s doing isn’t entirely safe, sticking his arm into an elevator that hasn’t been secure yet. But the sound of Eddie’s breath coming out in nothing but shaky huffs is more than enough to make him forgo any logic.

From within the enclosure of the elevator, he feels Eddie grasp his hand with an iron grip, the distress trembling at his fingers.

“Hey, I’m here, I’m right here, alright?” Buck presses the conviction through his tone, his best attempt to override his own uncertainty. “Do you think you can try and take some deep breaths?”

Buck can faintly make out the silhouette of Eddie nodding, “Y-Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, I can try.”

“We can do them together,” Buck offers. He takes a deep breath himself, and from below him, he hears Eddie take one too. Unconsciously, Buck starts to tighten his hold in tandem with their breathing, squeezing his hand on an inhale, loosening his grasp on the exhale. He hadn’t really realized he’s doing it until after a couple breaths, Eddie starts doing it too. And with each squeeze, his grasp slowly becomes more determined and less shaky. It doesn’t take long for them to eventually sync up for the tremor in Eddie’s hands to fade.

A couple more moments pass, and his breathing begins to steady more.

“How you doing down there, Eds?”

“Can you…”, he clears his throat, an attempt to hide how wrecked he sounds. “Can you talk to me?- About anything, it doesn’t matter.”

Buck rattles his brain for something, anything to talk about before he remembers the nature documentary he had watched several nights prior, “Did you know toucans are born blind?”

He hears Eddie laugh; it comes out breathless and nervous, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, “Really?”

“Yeah, ironically enough, they also aren’t great at flying either. They usually hop from one branch to another to get where they want to go.”

“Tell me more?” He asks, his voice quiet.

Buck smiles and keeps going, rambling about birds for a while. He doesn’t really know for how long, and at some point, he loses his awareness of what he’s saying, more focused on Eddie than anything else. Faintly, he wonders if his arm is getting tired by now.

“You know, Chris has been learning about biomes and ecosystems in school…he’d love to hear all this stuff.”

“You can tell him all about it after work.” He reassures.

Eddie’s hand twitches in his palm. “How much longer?” Buck can hear the dread creeping back into his tone.

“I…”

Not too long. He wants to promise, but the words get caught in his throat. There are a lot of things Buck can do- lying to Eddie isn’t one of them. “I-I don’t know.” He finally admits, the shame dripping down from him. “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Eddie laughs, yet this time there’s no shred of humor in his voice, “I’m not sure if I can last any longer down here, Buck.” God, he sounds on the verge of tears.

“What can I do?” Fuck, at this point, Buck would do anything. Hell, he’d pull the damn elevator up himself if he had to. Whatever it would take to get Eddie back on safe ground.

“Just-” A pained noise escapes him, “Please don’t leave.”

Buck swears his heart fucking shatters. “Hey.” Even though he can’t see exactly where Eddie is, he does his best to look him in the eye before he squeezes his hand, “I’m not leaving your side, okay?”

The first thing Buck’s fire instructor had said during his training at the academy was never make a promise you can’t keep. Buck knows how important promises are to people, especially in states of emergencies. In the middle of chaos, those two words are all anyone needs to cling to. So that’s why, when Eddie looks at him, with what little light there is provided catching the edges of his watery eyes laced in fear and worry, Buck doesn’t hesitate to grip his hand as tight as he can. To hold on and look at Eddie with all the conviction and certainty he has and tell him,

“I promise.”

[charlie-boio]

Learning to Love Again - Part 1

Pairing: Mitch Rapp x Reader

Word Count: 6089

A/N: Hey hey!! So this is the start of my new series for @writingsbychlo​ Mitch Month. She also helped me develop this idea which I am very grateful for! This will be a mutual healing fic for both Mitch and the reader, so please enjoy while I take you on a journey. I love this idea so much so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do!

WARNINGS: gun violence, talks of past abuse, domestic violence, emotional abuse, mentions of panic attacks.

  “Stay away from me!” you back away slowly, your arms extended shakily out in front of you. Unfortunately, you were running out of space and your back hit a wall.

“You really thought you could leave me? ME? Who else will have you, you worthless bitch!” Jake slammed his hand against the wall next to your head. You flinched, jerking your head away. He was uncomfortably close, his breath hot against you, his glare piercing right through you.

“Please…go away…” you whimpered, tears falling freely now. You felt yourself shrink into yourself more and more, internally begging whatever God was out there to let you escape this situation.

Apparently, He wasn’t listening.

Jake moved even closer; his chest pressed hard against yours. “You’re staying right here, with me. I’m not going anywhere,”

Feeling as though you had nothing left to lose, you jerked your head forward, ramming it up into his nose. Jake yelled out, stumbling back clutching his nose, blood dripping through his fingers. Your eyes went wide for a split second before you bolted, running down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door. You weren’t sure what to do or where you were going to go, but right now the adrenaline coursing through your veins wasn’t concerned about a plan. All you were concerned about was getting away.

A loud clap came roaring through the air, followed by an extreme pain tearing through your side. A loud shriek echoed, and for a split second you turned to see if anyone was hurt before realizing the screams and cries were your own. The starry sky above you began to blur away, voices shouting around you that began to blur together with your vision. Eventually a face came into your view, but by that point you were too far gone.

Now you were in darkness.

Falling…falling…falling…

*

*

You jerked awake, sitting up in your bed. Your hand remained clamped onto your side while you gasped for air. You tried your best to remember what your Dr. Hanson had said to you, but her words died in your head, feeling frustratingly out of reach.

After a few painstakingly long minutes, your gasps turned into deeper breaths. Your eyes glanced around the room, taking in your new surrounds. You went through a mantra in your head ‘This isn’t Jake’s house in Los Angles. This is your apartment that he cannot get into. He’s currently in jail, and he cannot hurt you.’ You repeated that to yourself a few more times until it truly stuck in your head.

Tentatively, you touched the scar on your left side, feeling the raised mark against your skin. You said your last mantra out loud, “It was only a dream…”

Knowing sleep wouldn’t come back to you, you got up and stretched. Picking at your fingers, you glanced at the clock. 4:58. You smiled a little to yourself. Dr. Hanson would be proud of you for sleeping in an hour longer than last week, though she’ll be disappointed you couldn’t get a night without nightmares. That thought killed your mood slightly as you got up and made your way to the kitchen.

Your apartment was small, with only one bedroom since you didn’t know anyone who would come to see you. The living room and kitchen were connected, and you had a lovely little porch outside of the living room on the third floor of your apartment building. There wasn’t much to your apartment since Jake made sure you didn’t have many possessions anymore, but you were proud of it, nonetheless.

You settled on the couch, flicking through different channels on your bulky TV until you found a show that was mind numbing enough for you to watch. The thought of eating crossed your mind for a split second before you shook it from your mind. You weren’t hungry, you never were in the mornings anymore.

Besides, after your session today you go to the coffee shop down the street, and that would be a lot of your calories for the day.

Instead, you sat there watching the screen, but your eyes and ears weren’t really focusing on it. You just needed the noise to distract you from hearing Jake’s voice ringing in your head. Or maybe by now it was your own voice. Quite honestly, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

You blinked and apparently now the sun was up. You blinked rapidly a few more times and rubbed your eyes together. A surge of panic raced through you as you checked the time before immediately sighing and seeing that it was only 8:28 now. You still had about another hour before you had to leave. Since you had the time, you decided to shower before heading over to Dr. Hanson’s office. You walked into the bathroom and clicked the lock on the door. Even though you lived by yourself you always locked the door. You didn’t think you could relax without it. Turning on the water, you stepped out of your clothes and made sure it was a slightly too hot temperature before stepping in.

Showering was another way for you to shut out your past trauma and memories, and perhaps it wasn’t healthy, but right now you didn’t know how else you could deal with Jake’s pounding in your head, and there wasn’t anyone you were close to anymore who could tell you that this was wrong, other than Dr. Hanson. All you wanted was a moment of peace, so you’d spend way too long just standing in the water, letting it wash over your skin before rushing through washing your hair and body and hopping out.

Unfortunately, the shower took a little longer than you thought it would, and by the time you got out, changing into a plain white t-shirt with leggings and tennis shoes, it was already 9:42. You should’ve left 12 minutes ago.

Your eyes widened at the clock while your heart began to race. Fuck, fuck, fuck! You thought to yourself miserably and you ran out the door. You didn’t want to seem like a freak, so you instead walked a little faster than normal as you made your way to Dr. Hanson’s office. Thankfully, you still arrived by 8:56, four minutes early. You still felt the familiar pool of guilt in your stomach as you sat down and waited for Dr. Hanson to call you back.

You bounced your knee while looking down and picking at your fingers, opening the barely healed scabs that were around them. You glanced up at the secretary Trevor, who didn’t meet your eye as he was typing away at his laptop, looking over all the therapists’ schedules for the day.

You looked over to your right to see someone else sitting, his leg crossed over with his foot resting against his knee. His dark hair was a little on the longer side, but the look suited him well, along with the dark wash jeans and black t-shirt that clung to him well. A few moles scattered across his face; some you couldn’t see quite as well beneath the stubble he had. You couldn’t help but feel like he was out of place; he looked completely at ease, slouching in his chair while he read one of the community magazines they offered. He looked like everyone else, someone who didn’t have nearly as many fucked up problems as you did.

You had seen him here a few times, showing up every other Sunday, and while he spoke warmly to everyone he’s interacted with (Trevor), but he looks like he just keeps to himself. Still, he looked so calm to you. It’d be nice to have that in your life.

His golden eyes flicked up to yours, making eye contact with you. You jumped and immediately casted your eyes down to your fingers, resuming your picking. It’s impolite to stare, Jake’s voice echoed in your head. And he was right. Your head began to pound. Rude, rude, rude, RUDE!

“Y/n?”

Your head snapped up at Trevor’s voice, meeting his gaze. He smiled politely at you. “Dr. Hanson’s waiting for you. You can go right in.”

You nodded and mumbled a thanks under your breath and you gathered yourself up and wait past Trevor’s desk. You could feel the other man’s eyes on you, but you refused to acknowledge him.

You sat in Dr. Hanson’s office, adjusting yourself left and right, continuing to bounce your leg. Her office was rather small, nothing super extravagate. It was painted a pale blue, with her desk turned to face the large window. On the sides were bookshelves, which were filled with different classical reads you recognized. In the far corner was a cat tower, where Herbert was sleeping lazily, and in the center laid a rug with two couches on it, one of which you were sitting in. You crossed your legs politely, and you kept your head low, keeping your gaze down at your hands, which picking at the skin around your fingernails.

“Y/n? Did you hear me?”

Your head snapped up; eyes wide. Fuck. You were definitely not paying attention.

“Um…I-I’m sorry, Dr. Hanson” you mumbled, casting your eyes back down and sinking further into your chair.

“It’s alright, I simply made the observation that you hadn’t been working on what we discussed this past week.”

Double fuck. She’d asked you to work on not picking at the skin around your fingers, and you had agreed that it was something you needed and would work on. In all honestly, you had completely forgotten about it; you were really wrapped up in doing your own thing and just trying to survive.

You contemplated lying, but that didn’t work out too well last week. Not that Dr. Hanson got angry with you; she never seemed to ever get mad with you. Disappointed, maybe, but never mad, and now that you thought about it, she never even seemed disappointed either.

You forced yourself to make eye contact, something else she had asked you to work on that you never did. “No, I haven’t. I’m really sorry.” You said, voice raised to be slightly above the mumble you usually went with nowadays.

Dr. Hanson took notice and smiled at you encouragingly. “That’s okay. Would you feel comfortable trying again next week? Or should we adjust a our strategy?”

You shook your head. “No, I want to try again. I really just forgot about it, Dr. Hanson, but I want to try and focus on it this week. If that doesn’t work, then we can try something else. I want to try and get better.”

“I know it’s hard for you to see, but you already are doing better than before. It’s small, yes, and it may not feel like something worth feeling proud over, but I can assure you it absolutely is. How’s your routine been doing, for example,” Dr. Hanson asked while scribbling something down in her notebook.

“Really well,” you answered. And it was. Until you heard Dr. Hanson say so, you just now realize that your routine had been something you greatly improved on. Until you thought about your nightmares, suddenly a pit fell through to your stomach. “Um…I’m not too sure you’ll like my routine…” you lowered your voice as you spoke.

“Would you mind telling me anyways?”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t mind. Um…so I still have nightmares every night. It’s never the same incident, unless it’s…that night. Um, so I’ll usually wake up around 3:30 to 4:30. Somewhere in there. Um, then I’ll make a cup of coffee…but Decaf. I only have regular coffee on Sundays, so I’ll just watch TV until around 7:00, then I’ll shower and get ready for work which starts at 9:00, and then 4:00 I’ll go home and take a walk for about an hour or so. Then I’ll dinner and then I’ll…try to sleep,” you finished with a nod.

Dr. Hanson was nodding along, a smile on her face as she happily took notes while you spook. When she finished, she looked up at you. “What do you usually do on weekends?”

“Um…well nothing. Just watch TV, maybe read something. On Sundays I come see you and then go to this little coffee shop down the street, but other than that I don’t do anything,” you said, and honestly even reading was a small lie. You used to read a lot, almost five books a week. But after this past year, you honestly couldn’t remember the last time you read a book.

Dr. Hanson gave you a questioning look but decided against saying anything. “Can I ask a nudge question?” she asked.

Nudge and push questions. Nudges were topics that for you were uncomfortable to talk about but wouldn’t be panic attack inducing. It was mostly the “after-effects” of your and Jake’s relationship. Pushes were scarier and were questions specifically about what he did during your relationships. When you had first started out with therapy, you struggled to open up and it was awkward, and a little tense. However, once you developed this nudge and push system, it made your sessions go much smoother, especially if you weren’t ready to talk about certain things.

You took a deep breath and nodded, “I’m ready,” you answered.

“Can you tell me what your nightmares were about this week? If any of them are pushes, you don’t have to talk about them,”

Herbert had woken and was moving up on the couch and into your lap, so you were petting him as you thought it over. “Can I keep them brief?” you asked, a slight waver in your voice.

“Of course, whatever you feel comfortable with,” Dr. Hanson smiled at you encouragingly.

“Okay, well, most of them were from…that night. That’s usually when I would wake up, too. One of them was the day he locked me in the closet, only he never lets me out and I slowly shrivel away, and the last one was when we first met. Everyone was giving him weird looks, but I didn’t know what was wrong. Then he tore off his face and turned into a demon, and everyone was laughing at me…” Herbert cuddled into you closer, his big green eyes looking at you expectedly. It took you a second to realize you’d stopped petting him.

“Do you believe that dreams have any significance to your daily life?”

Nope, you thought. “I haven’t given it much thought.”

“Well, some might say in your latest dream, the one where Jake is a demon, that you blame yourself for not seeing it the signs sooner, and that everyone around you was able to see through it immediately. Would that have some semblance to real life at all?”

Whoops. You sighed. “…but it is true. I didn’t see it.”

“Y/n, a lot of people didn’t see it. Jake had a job, normal friends, and you both had neighbors that you regularly interacted. All of them didn’t see what was happening either. Do you blame them as well?”

“No, but-“

“Then it’s not your fault either. I know it’ll take some time for you to fully see this, but you were manipulated and groomed. This happens to people all over the world, and it’s no one’s fault but the person who did this to you, and you’ve been building your life back.”

Tears were lining your eyes now. “But-but I don’t feel like I’m accomplishing anything. I don’t feel better, and somehow even though he’s gone, I don’t feel free from him,” you blinked, and the tears fell.

“It’ll take time. Lots of time. Two years is a long relationship to undo, and it’ll be very hard I won’t lie, but you’re a strong girl. A survivor. You can get through this, I know it.” Dr. Hanson was able to say it with such confidence that you almost believed it.

Glancing at the clock, you realized 50 minutes had passed. Somehow, it still shocked you how much time flew by during these sessions.

“One last thing before we call it a day, sound good?”

“Okay,” you wiped your tears from your face.

Dr. Hanson handed you a tissue before continuing, “How about your job? You’ve been doing that for about two months now, and I haven’t heard you talk about it much.”

“Oh, it’s going good. I mostly just answer phones and organize people’s schedules. It’s a simple job, but I’ve been liking it a lot.”

“Have you made any friends?” Slowly, you shook your head. You barely spoke to anyone outside of the mandatory meetings to go over their upcoming week.

“Okay, are you up for another task to work on? You don’t have to accomplish it this week if you don’t want to, but maybe something to keep in mind, okay?” you nodded for her to continue. She smiled and said, “Make a friend. Maybe someone to join you at your coffee shop? Or someone to grab lunch with on Saturdays. You’ve been living here for almost three months, so make some roots; someone to talk to other than me. Give it some thought for me, okay?”

Herbert jumped off you, signaling the end of your session. You sat there for a moment. Another person scared you. Right now, you had your safe little bubble with you and Dr. Hanson. Anyone else was untrustworthy. What if they were like Jake?

Still, you knew it was unrealistic to shut everyone out, and if you were being honest, it’s been lonely. “…okay. I-I’ll try,” you said slowly.

Dr. Hanson smiled brightly at you while finishing up her notes. When she was done, she’d bid you a good day, and you left her office.

Walking down the street, you started thinking it over a bit more. You hadn’t even thought about starting over your life or making new friends. Thinking it over, you realized that’s probably why Dr. Hanson was pushing you to get a job in the first place. 

Therapists are sneaky…

That wasn’t true. They just point out obvious information and guide you through. It’s not her fault that your oblivious to it.

Turning the corner, you walked into The Roasted Bean. Sunday’s were popular, and today wasn’t an exception. You were about seven people back with everyone else buzzing around the shop, but you didn’t mind; it’s not like you were doing anything anyways. Besides, there were always tables available somehow.

Ben always worked Sundays, so he had gotten to know you briefly, or at least he knew your name. “Hey y/n, what would you like?” he asked warmly.

“Small iced caramel latte with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle please,” It was your usual order, but sometimes you liked to shake it up. Ben nodded at you before quickly going over to make your drink while you stepped aside. You started picking at your fingers, then quickly closed your fists, instead opting to fiddle with your wallet strap instead.

“Y/n?” Ben called, pushing your drink across the counter. You gave him a small smile, grabbing the drink from him. You turned to go to your usually spot to sit down and enjoy your coffee, but found a couple sitting there already. You fumbled for a moment and realized there weren’t any empty seats left.

You took in deep breaths, thinking over your options. You didn’t want to go back to your apartment, you would just lay in front of the TV again, and the park was a far walk from here, so by the time you would get there your coffee would be finished. You scanned the bakery again, hoping to find an empty seat when something caught your eye.

The man from the lobby was sitting at the far corner table, sipping on his coffee while reading a book. You weren’t sure how he found the peace to do that in a coffee shop. Like before, he looked relaxed and calm, something you were still drawn to. Taking another look over, you saw no one else sitting by themselves.

Dr. Hanson’s words echoed through your head. Make a friend.

Your legs were moving before you registered it, walking over to the man. Before you could think of a way to grab his attention, his eyes were already focused on you. They weren’t cold; they had a cautious undertone beneath the warm amber hues.

Still, he smiled at you softly, closing his book.

“Hi,” you said, wincing slightly as the stiffness in your tone.

“Hey, can I help you?” he responded evenly, keeping a pleasant smile on his face, but you could see him stiffen with you, though you had a feeling it was for different reasons.

“Um…” Fuck, this was a lot harder than you thought. “So-well-okay, I usually come to this coffee shop every Sunday and sit over there,” you jerked your thumb in the general direction of your usual spot. “And I usually sit by myself, but there isn’t open seats…and I guess I could you know go outside…or um go home, but I’m still pretty new here, so I was hoping I could sit with you for today?” You shuffled back and forth on your feet, flashing the man a quick smile.

He stared at you for a moment, still analyzing you. “Why me?”

You blushed. You didn’t really have a good answer for that. “Oh, well…I’ve seen you around before, and you seem to be pretty calm and…friendly…or at least able to tolerate someone while they drank coffee and talked about the weather,”

The man still didn’t say anything, his gaze hardened slightly. You were starting to think this was all a big mistake, but before you could open your mouth and apologize, he spoke. “Okay,” he said slowly, still not trusting you. “you can sit here.” He gave you another small smile.

It took you a moment to register what he said before you smiled back, settling down in the seat across from him.

For a few minutes, the two of you sat there uncomfortably, sipping your coffee. Maybe this was a bad idea. He probably changed his mind about you and now thinks you’re too odd to have as friend. I should just leave… As you went to make up an excuse, he spoke up. “What’s your name? I should probably know you a little better if we’re gonna sit together so it’s not like I’m talking to a brick wall.”

You giggled at his comment, “My name’s y/n y/l/n. What’s yours?”

“Mitch. Mitch Rapp.” You nodded, repeating the name to yourself under your breath. “How long ago did you move here?”

“Oh, I’ve only been here for a few months now,” you said.

“Ah, so that’s why I only just now saw you at O’Neil offices,” Mitch said smoothly.

You raised an eyebrow at him, “O’Neil?”

“O’Neil offices yeah, for therapy?”

Your eyes widened; your stomach dropped as you flicked your eyes down.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…” Mitch said softly as he gave you a worried look.

“No, no its fine it’s just…I always thought you weren’t supposed to talk about it…” you said, lowering your voice as you talked.

“Oh no, not at all,” Mitch visible relaxed. “I mean, it’s about whatever you feel comfortable with, so if you’d like I’d never bring it up again, but you don’t have to think about it like it’s a bad thing that you’re going or something that you have to keep a secret. It’s for you, and for whatever reasons you’re going.”

“How long have you been going?”

“A little over a year now,” he said. “I, uh, probably should’ve started awhile ago, but better late than never.” Mitch took another long drink of his coffee.

“So…it gets easier?” you asked, voice small.

“Eventually. It takes a lot of work, and a lot of patience. I’m not even where I want to be, but you know, it’s about setting goals for yourself, and you’re always adding and changing them, no matter how big or small they are. My biggest goal right now is to one day look back and see just how far I’ve come, you know?”

You smiled at him. “That…that sounds like a great goal to have,” you said. “I might steal it from you,”

Mitch laughed, and it confused you for a moment before you realized he laughed at the joke you made. It’s been so long since you had any friends you had forgotten what it felt like. You decided to be brave for a moment, “Um, what kind of coffee is that? I’ve always been a big coffee fan and love trying new ones,” You both smiled at each other.

You two stayed in that coffee shop for a while, talking about little things. To some, it may have seemed like a meaningless conversation, but for the both of you, it meant everything. For you, it was another step in taking back your life and placing roots in a place that maybe one day you could call home. And though you didn’t know it, Mitch was opening up to you slowly in a way he hadn’t done with anyone else in a long time. It felt like a positive step, for both of you.

Mitch’s sense of humor was darker than you expected, but so was yours, especially after everything that happened. You laughed and smile more in the short time with Mitch than you have in the past two years of your life. Maybe longer. It felt easy and comfortable, like perhaps you two have known each other your whole lives.

After a particularly long set of giggles, you finally managed to ask, “So, what do you do for a living?”

“Oh, I’m a CIA consultant,” Mitch answered, twirling the now empty coffee cup in his hands.

Your eyebrows shot up, “Holy shit! That’s really impressive,” and you truly thought that. Normally, someone with a violent job like that terrified you, but for some reason, you weren’t scared of Mitch.

“Yeah. A while back I used to work in a Special Forces part of the CIA, and I’m sorry but I can’t tell much more about it, but we would travel a lot and would be involved in the more serious cases. I can’t go into too much detail for obvious reasons, but it kept me distracted. I…had gotten into it for the wrong reasons, so after a few years of doing it I just felt…really empty. And I hated that. I guess you could say my passion for going out into the field had died down. It didn’t satisfy me anymore, and I wasn’t getting…what I wanted out of it. So, I moved to the desk job version of it. Now, I’d only go in the field if it was extremely serious, but they haven’t used me yet. After I moved to that desk job, I started going to therapy. Now here I am,” He gestured to the café you were in. He shifted in his seat, “I, uh, haven’t, told many people that…”

You blushed, before settling on another bold move. You reached out your hand, “Um…can I?” Mitch nodded, holding his hand out to you. You grabbed it and squeezed it gently. “I’m…I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to tell me. And I get that, you know…the empty feeling…”

If you were really honest, this was the first time you had felt something in a long time. Even if it was just the start of your friendship.

Mitch squeezed your hand back, and you two left it like that on the table. The back of your said that this wasn’t something friends do, but you weren’t really listening to it. Instead, you two sat that, not saying another but not needing to. You could tell that Mitch was holding something back, but you couldn’t blame him. It’s not like you were being an open book yourself.

“What about you?” Mitch asked.

“Well, right now, I’m a secretary at the office down the street. I hope one day I could save enough money to go back to school, so I can finish my degree and become an elementary teacher,” your brain caught up to you, and you realized that you hadn’t told anyone about that dream, not even Dr. Hanson. Your heart quickened just a little bit. Why do I trust him so much? He’s a bigshot CIA member, he probably thinks that’s stupid…

However, Mitch smiled genuinely at you. “I can see that for you,” he said simply.

“R-really?”

“Yeah. I can read people pretty well, and I can just tell by looking at you that it’s something you’re passionate about, and you’d be really good at it,”

Happy tears sprung in your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. Dr. Hanson always said she thought you were strong and brave, but somehow you wouldn’t believe her simply because she was your doctor. She was supposed to hype you up and say those things. But hearing that from someone you felt you had made a genuine connection with? It was something you hadn’t heard in a while, and it made you feel that maybe your dreams weren’t worthless after all.

“Thank you for saying that, Mitch. It…means a lot,”

“Meant every word, and I’m an extremely honest person. I promise I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it,” Mitch took a glance at his watch. “Do you live far from here? I would love to keep talking but I have a phone meeting at three that I can’t miss.”

You raised an eyebrow, fishing out your phone, “Three? But it’s only-“ you cut yourself off. It was 2:33. “We’ve been here for three hours?” you exclaimed.

Mitch chuckled, “Yep. Time flies, right? I can walk you to your apartment building, if you don’t mind. Do you live far?”

“Oh, just around the corner,”

You two left the coffee shop, still making some small talk to each other until you arrived outside the apartment building. Mitch turned to you, another soft smile on his face.

“I had a good time. We should do this again.”

“Absolutely! I had a wonderful time,” you said. And it was true, you did.

“Can I have your number then? I’d love to meet up for coffee next Sunday again,” Mitch was pulling out his phone.

“Oh, of course yeah!” you said happily, pulling out your phone. Your mood faltered slightly when you looked at the four pitiful contacts you had in your phone: Dr. Hanson’s number for emergencies, your boss’s number, your landlord’s number, and the only number Jake could never get you to delete.

Mom

You stared at your mother’s contact screen of the two of you together, big grins on your faces while the two of you had been vacationing in Rome. Your mom was always your biggest supporter, and you would never forgive yourself for the things you said to her that night.

Quickly, you pressed the ‘Create A New Contact’ button, looking up at Mitch. If he saw the contact list, he didn’t say anything, which you were grateful for. The two of you exchanged numbers.

“Okay, I’ll text you alright?” Mitch said, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile.

Mitch stepped towards you and wrapped his arms around you in a hug. You froze for a second, unsure of what to do before melting into it, wrapping your arms around his neck. This feels nice, you thought, and you could’ve stayed like that for the rest of day.

Instead, Mitch pulled back, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead that caused your heart to flutter in a good way.

“See you around,” Mitch said, stepping away and giving you a wave.

“Bye!” you waved back at him as he turned around and walked in the opposite direction. You stood there for a moment, watching him leave before you entered your building.

Walking through your apartment door, you realized a few things: 1. You were still smiling from the hug Mitch gave you. 2. On the walk home, you two had held hands then too, and 3. In the entire time you were talking to Mitch, you hadn’t picked your fingers once.

You sighed happily as you set down your things and headed for the couch. For the first time in a few years, you had had a good day.

[joyrose-fandomer]

Please, don’t fall for me (Sanders Sides fantasy school AU) Chap 3

Relationships : Future (Prinxiety, Intrological, Mocite, Platonique Moxiety and platonique Analogical)

POV : Virgil

TW : Water, Manipulation

Previous<<

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

Virgil couldn't focus on anything after that.

He kept looking at the pamphlet and the folded paper on his laps. 

The pamphlet showed a picture of a big white building. It looked like a bad copy of Harvard. 

It was named "Pine hills High school and College of art, sport and science" which was long for nothing and boring like literally any school.

But most importantly, it looked pricy. So Virgil looked around the pamphlet but he couldn't find any price anywhere. 

Tss, of course, they wouldn't.

It said on the pamphlet that the school had good infrastructure and good results in every sportive, artistic and scientific field. That it had 100% chance for the student to have a diploma and list several students that became important.

Virgil didn't know any of those names and most importantly, never heard of that school.

  On the other hand, the folded paper was a lot less fancy. There was no picture only a name and a few commentaries.

It didn't look official in any way. In fact, it was very obvious that Remy had written everything.

But it gave a strange feeling, like the ink and paper weren't normal. Like it could disappear at any moment if Virgil stopped looking at it or if anyone else looked at it.

He knew it didn't make much sense, but he could swear that he saw the words glitter from time to time.

"The Argus school" was the name written on the paper. 

"School for young magical creatures to learn how to control their powers in safety."

So, like a school of magic? When did Virgil step into Harry Potter?

  It was so cliché and suspicious, Remy was surely messing with him. 

What if it was all an elaborate prank?

What if it was a kidnapping technic and Virgil was falling straight for it?

Should he call the police?

Would they believe him?

But what if it was not a joke?

It was so unrealistic but it explained so many things...

That day when school ended Virgil didn't directly go home.

He went to the pool.

"Hello, do you have a ticket ?"

The young women at the entrance asked.

Oh. Well, he needed to confirm that too eventually.

The high school boy took a deep breath.

"No, I forgot...sorry"

Her voice was suddenly a lot softer.

"It's ok, I can give you one. It's 7$"

Alright, he won't have to meet her again, he could do it.

He took off his mask and hood

"I'm sorry miss. I forgot to bring money"

She blinked like she was trying to adjusted her eyes after being flashed with a stong light.

"Alright, I will take your name and you can pay later"

"Wait really?" Virgil exclaimed, not expecting the woman to actually let him get away with it so easily.

The woman smiled. "Yes, but don't tell anyone, I'm not supposed to do that. So what's your name ?"

"Virgil Apkallu"

"That's an interesting name could you spell it ?"

Virgil spelled his name like he always did. Before remembering an important fact.

"I don't have my swimsuit!"

She laughed. Virgil couldn't blame her, he really didn't think that through.

"Do you want to go home to pick it up?"

If he got home it would be too late, his father wouldn't let him go back out again.

He looked up at the women. Making eye contact with someone for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"If I go home I don't know if I would be able to come back..."

She froze and thought for a bit before walking away and coming back with her wallet. 

"Here, go to the dispenser and get yourself a swimsuit"

"Wha- but it's your money, I can't"

"It's fine kid, it's just 2$. Now go before we close"

Virgil sighed and bought simple black shorts. He thanked the woman and she let him get in.

He felt guilty. He knew he didn't ask her to do all that and she was the one who insisted. But he couldn't help but feel like he manipulated that woman.

But it's what he was trying to do, didn’t he ?

The pool was empty. It was late and during fall it was too cold to go swimming.

The pool attendants weren't here, probably thinking that no one would come at that hour.

So Virgil had the water for himself.

Time to get it over with.

The good thing with being an anxious mess like Virgil is that you end up collecting techniques to get rid of disillusions.

Often the biggest disillusions were the hardest to get rid of. It's the ones that make the less sense. 

Like thinking everyone you meet want to kill you, or that your parents were secretly robots.

But the good thing is. The bigger they are the easier it is to prove your brain wrong.

If you don't turn into a wolf under the full moon, you're not a werewolf.

If you don't have magic powers you're not a witch.

And if you can't breathe underwater you're not a siren.

A normal human can't survive underwater for more than 5 minutes, a trained diver can stay at best 12 minutes.

Virgil only had to stay underwater until he felt the huge to breathe.

If he could stay underwater for longer than that without needing to go out to breathe then... haha no, it was stupid last time he was just confused because he fell into the pool in the middle of a panic attack. 

He will be out in a few seconds.

He slowly went down the stairs. The water was colder than he remembered.

It was probably reckless to test that alone but at least no-one was here to stop him.

Once he was in, the cold was a lot more bearable. In fact, it was numbing pleasantly.

The only swimmer went around the pool using the border to hold himself. But he didn't really need it, it was mostly the lack of confidence.

Eventually, he let go of the side of the pool and swam to the center of the water.

He felt free. Like floating in space. Swiming was so easy, it was second nature.

Virgil set the timer at 0.

And go !

He let himself sink.

The echoes of the empty room, the lapping of the water, the far-away cars.

It all dissolved into silence.

The golden hue of the sunset reflected all around, slithering in the water like hundreds of glowing vines.

Virgil was still holding his nose under the water but he didn't feel the need to breathe. Actually, he was already breathing. 

He brushed the side of his neck. His skin was taking off but it didn't hurt.

He breathed in.

Water entered the gap in his neck.

He breathed out. 

Water went out of the gap.

Gills.

He never had gills. Since when did he had gills?

He let go of all the air he was holding in a string of bubbles. 

He watched them float away. Reflecting the sunlight, making them shine the away fairy lights would.

Bright and clear.

When he tried to breathe through the nose, the airway seemed blocked and he ended up breathing by his Gilles again.

He was breathing underwater. He could see underwater.

He could see and breathe better than on land.

His hair fell on his face.

He could see his own eyes reflecting in them like a mirror and his eyes reflected his hair the same way.

This was new. Usually, they were both jet black. 

He swam to one of the Hublot around the pool.

His hair reflected the pool around, perfectly merging with the water like they were trying their hardest to disappear. His eyes were hardly any better. They were glossy and blue with gold lights just like the water around.

Usually, his eyes were so dark he could barely see his pupils well now that his eyes were different... He still couldn't. Apparently, his pupils also got this mirror effect.

This one was probably not a new thing. The boy could remember every time someone had the great idea of pointing a flashlight at him only to scream because his pupils were shining like a wild animal.

The confused boy swam around. 

It was so simple, like taking a walk around the park.

So peaceful,

So comfortable,

So pretty,

So safe,

It felt like home.

Virgil didn't know how much time he spent here. He didn't want to look at the timer. 

He didn't want to walk. He didn't want to choke on air. He didn't want to feel the pressure of the world.

This was where he belonged. He was happy.

He didn't want to go.

He looked up. The golden light turned silver.

It was night. He needed to go home.

With a sigh, the half siren swam out. Posing the timer but not looking at it.

Everything was so heavy out there. Virgil dresses up slowly and difficultly. His clothes stuck to him and made moving even harder.

Taking a deap breath of his inhaler and dragging himself away from the pool.

The woman looked surprised that he was still here but she still waved him goodby with a smile.

The cold autumn wind gave him a headache, the boy hid his wet hair in is hood and walked.

By the time he arrived home, his body was freezing.

His mind bearly felt anything.

"Do you have any idea how late it is? 

I was so worried! Where were you ?!"

His father immediately yelled when he opened the door.

Virgil stayed silent. He didn't feel guilty, just, empty.

He walked around mindlessly, working only on muscle memory. His father still yelling behind him but he couldn't hear anything.

When he took off his hood his father went silent and stared at him wearily.

"Virgil, why are you soaked ?"

His son took a deep breath and locked eyes with his parent with a serious expression.

"Dad. Who is my mother ?"

***<>============<>***

Sorry, the story didn’t advence a lot this chapter, I really just wanted to right water again ! (^u^’)

Tag list : @angstysunshine @sander-sides-fics 

@moments-of-selves @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes (I still don’t know if you want me to tag you or not so if you want me to stop just tell me ok ? (^u^))

[inwardboundseagypsy]

A breakdown of my LATELY.

- My 6 year old is diagnosed with ASD Level 2 and ADHD

- Some teachers are supportive and helpful, others are pulling their hair out and telling me about it on a daily basis while disciplining him in sometimes physically aggressive manner.

- Husband is traveling between Italy (where we are) and the U.S. during COVID times, spending the majority of his time (3 weeks) in the U.S. raising up a new business, and less than one week at home with us. (We are trying to be patient and understanding...we are saving for a new house so that we can get out of our current rental situation.)

- Current rental situation: house floods, black mold in bedroom, water refuses to get hot in the morning hours (no hot showers until evening), there is one small room dedicated to all: living room, kitchen and dining area (and it's seriously tiny!), it's by the beach which is wreaking havoc on my sinuses (I suffer from sand dust allergies and sinusitis due to the extreme humidity - makes me tired and miserable most of the time.), No place to control the dogs' activity (they're old and pee wherever they want), kid's bedroom is so small, we cant even fit his toys, nor does he have ample floor space to play, everything breaks (fridge, toilet seats, shower hoses and heads, the pumps that suck water from the ground level when it rains - thus the flooding, closet doors get stuck, paint is pulverizing and falling right off the walls, bedroom door is accordion style and impossible to fix - thus it wont close. The list goes on.) We are truly miserable here and can't find another rental - we've looked and exhausted all options in the area! So we need to buy, ASAP!

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

So...I'm alone with my special needs child, getting him set up with therapy appointments, trying to communicate with his angry and frustrated teachers in a language I'm not yet fluent in, while working on my own anxiety and depression following bouts of extreme stress trying to get his cooperation in the home as well. There is no family for support and help. All friends and possible babysitter options fall through the cracks as everyone is getting COVID, we are forced at times into distance learning depending on how many of my kid's classmates test positive at any given moment, and I'm still trying to work on my Italian by attending an adult school three mornings per week for a total of 9 hours.

I have a lot on my plate. It almost seems like I'm living life in a foreign country as a single parent without the help of family. OK, well I kind-of am! And I suffer from anxiety, depression, ADD, and now after having researched and studied about Autism for hours, days, months on end...I'm beginning to believe that I, too, need to get evaluated.

I'm starting to have panic attacks. I've had only 2 in my entire 43 years of life...and now I'm having them regularly. What's concerning for me is that my young boy is serving witness to them. And for me, that's not OK. That's an alarm bell for me that's ringing toward the direction that I need to get help for myself as well. I NEED to be focused on him. I NEED to be strong and stable for him. He is too little to see his mother in this state of mind all of the time. He's also witnessing a plethora of emotional meltdowns and breakdowns, as I'm back to the fragile state of not being able to control extreme moments of emotional overwhelm.

My head hurts on a regular basis, not only over trying to suppress emotional responses to repeated and continual stress, but also triggering situations like when one of his teachers are 12 inches away from my face, shouting at me because she's frustrated with my son. So my head already hurts from poor emotional and stress regulation, ENTER - non fluency in a foreign language which is necessary for survival and all communications with those around me.

Many expats know that when you enter a life in a foreign country, and begin to learn a language through full immediate immersion, your head gets so hot and feels like it's about to explode some days, if you're focused on listening hard to understand what's being said, and combing your rapidly increasing vocabulary for the right words to be able to articulate what you need, what you want, and how to hold a conversation.

Add to the list of normal expat adaptation: how to communicate about the needs of your child and understand school protocols concerning entering a new school or grade level or switching over to online distance learning where you need to help your ADHD Autistic child to understand and focus on the school work that you barely understand...these directions being given....in the new language! Doctor appointments and communications. Therapy appointments and communications. Psych evaluations. The list of a parent is even greater!

People are very empathetic about this struggle. But then let's throw in that the person who's needing to navigate all of this, not just for herself, but for her son....also has anxiety, depression and ADHD. (And I guess sooner or later, we'll find out about the Autism.) Dude! I'm fighting a steep and treacherous uphill battle!

I guess it's important to understand that if I can get through this...all of those moments where I break down and cry (because I can't control my emotional response to triggers and stress) that make me feel like a broken, incapable, weak person...are just crumbling rocks on the hillside beneath my feet making it difficult to gain traction, but I always do! I always come through it, and if I can manage THAT, I'm not weak after all. I'm stronger than the average person who's got their shit together and treads a lighter path. But in the end, who are any of us to assume everyone's path is free of debris. We only know our own unique situations. And as a result, we tend to feel consumed with our own situations and swallowed by our own challenges, forgetting...that we are NOT alone.

My goal in divulging all of this chaos to the world wide net is not only to process and find release (IT's good for me), but also in the hopes that someone else out there who may relate to my story for one reason or another, someone else who struggles on a daily basis to do the basic things or the hard things in life...or who finds the basic things to be hard things...I want you to know that you're not alone. I get you.

More and more sensitive people are popping up, surfacing from the waves of a regimented society that for too long has covered up or ignored those of us who are deeply emotional and sensitive to situations and tangible things in life that others don't bat an eyelash over. It's often misunderstood by others, and for so long we've been made to feel psycho or crazy by the rest of society. Really, at times, being sensitive can be a gift. But it's hard when you're in the hurricane of the struggle, and even harder when it happens in front of people who don't. get. it. I'm here to tell you, I do.

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

hiya! since tomorrow is thanksgiving I thought it would be better for everyone if I posted this week’s chapter today! hope you like!

Chapter Two. February 

give me moonlight, and a smile from you that I can // that I can barely believe — dancing under red skies, dermot kennedy

It comes on slow, the way waves lap up against the shore late at night, when there aren’t many boats out to disrupt them. Over and over, bit by bit, it settles in. The first wave of it bites at Lu’s ankles when her toilet overflows at 6am, leaving her standing in her socks in the bathroom, soaking wet, worrying about the water leaking into the shop below, while Ruairí meows in concern from his spot atop the sink. Frantic, Lu calls her dad, and it goes to voicemail twice before she remembers it’s 1am in New York. 

Accompanied only by a YouTube tutorial and the rising sun, Lu manages to fix the mess, shower, and start the day all on her own. Her dad calls back five hours later, and Lu feels like she’s lived a whole lifetime between then and now. 

The second wave of it has more venom. She sleeps in on a Sunday—the only day the shop is closed—stirring around 10 because Ruairí is relentless, screeching in her ear, kneading at her belly, desperate for something to eat. Mindless, she feeds him, freshens up his water, makes herself a cup of coffee, pulls out a pastry leftover from Siobhan’s bake the day before, and settles into a spot by the window of her flat, overlooking the sea, all before thinking to take a look at her phone. 

Even if she goes 12 hours without looking at her phone, Lu finds she doesn’t miss much these days—she left home on a whim, without a ton of fanfare, and knows full well that she isn’t putting in the effort she should to keep in touch with friends from home. She also knows that’s why she left.

So, most mornings, she wakes up to a few messages in the family group chat, a message or two from her best friend Georgia, and not much else. This morning, it’s different. 

208 texts. 12 missed calls. 

Lu’s stomach sinks like a stone. Her whole body heats up at once. Her hands start shaking and her heart starts hammering, all before she even manages to swipe open a single notification. 

She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to cycle through possibilities. Her brain, hitting overdrive from the start, has no question that it’s bad. 

In WhatsApp, Lu finds that her family group chat has 206 messages. She has one separate text from her dad, and a final separate text from her brother. Nothing from her mom. 

Shaking, she swipes open her dad’s first. On the counter, Ruairí is sniffing at a banana. 

Hi, love, his message says. Figured the number of messages in the group chat is overwhelming. We’re at the hospital with Sam now. All is well, the appendix is out and he’s resting. Mary’s with us, she got back from Honduras yesterday. Good timing. Give us a call when you get a chance. 

From her brother, Lu finds a selfie. He’s in a hospital bed, gown around his shoulders. He looks pale, dark circles around his eyes, but he’s okay—he’s smiling, giving the camera a thumbs up. Underneath, the message says I lived, bitch. 

Relief coursing through her, Lu lets out a shaky laugh. It’s scarily on-brand for Sam to pull out a meme at a moment like this. 

Slowly but surely, Lu’s heartbeat slows to its normal rate. As it does, she scrolls back through the messages from the night before: her brother raising the alarm that he had a pesky pain in his side, their mother, a doctor herself, urging him to get it checked out. There’s a moment where Sam says the doctor is sending him home, and another where their mom urges him to demand an ultrasound, just in case. He does, and they find the appendicitis. Lu shudders to think what would’ve happened had her mother been the one sleeping soundlessly an ocean away. 

It’s five am in New York. Lu figures they’re all shattered. Rather than call and risk waking everyone up after what was surely a late, long night, Lu shoots off a text to her dad, asking him to call her when they wake up and sending lots of love. She turns her ringer up all the way so she won’t miss anything else. She feels a million miles away. 

####

On February first, Lu wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t mean much in a place where the sun doesn’t rise until nearly 9am. Still, Lu doesn’t even need to look at a clock to know it must be early: perched on the pillow next to her head, Ruairí is snoring gently, dead to the world, not yet ready to demand breakfast. 

Heart hammering, Lu gropes around the bed until her hand closes around her phone, cold. She squints, then sighs, as she checks the time.

4:45am. 

Lu is no stranger to waking up mid-panic attack. Sometimes, it feels like choking—like she can’t get a breath down deep enough, to pool in the bottom of her lungs. Other times, it feels like an unavoidable urge to get up, move, get as far away from the space she woke up in as physically possible. Right now, it feels like a stomach ache, period pains, itchy skin, her body trying to tell her that something, somewhere, is going terribly wrong. 

Logically, she knows it’s not. She holds her breath, five, four, three, two, one, and checks her phone as her heart jackrabbits away. Nothing out of the ordinary: her mom texted a picture of her glass of wine with dinner to the family group chat, her dad reported the score of a soccer game, her brother sent that he’d managed to run a full two miles today, his furthest since the appendectomy. Everything is fine. 

Except for Lu. 

There’s no use trying to go back to sleep; Lu knows herself better than that. Heart still working overtime despite reassurance, she slips out of bed as gently as she can, praying that she won’t wake Ruairí. She’s silent as she gets dressed and silent as she tiptoes out of her bedroom, out of the apartment, and down the stairs. The morning is still and dark, but you can hear for miles and miles on Inis Mór, and as she begins her walk the soft, familiar sounds of tractors roaring to life, cows mooing for their breakfast, sheep and goats bleating, remind Lu that she’s not the only one—that others are here too, alive, beginning their day, pushing on. Home. And underneath it all, there is, always, the sound of the waves, constant, crashing against the shore. 

####

Lu doesn’t get a chance to nap. She walks, balancing on the edge of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic, breathing in the sea air and thinking about how the water here, crashing, violent against the cliffs below her is the same water that once lapped up on the shores of Long Island, of Coney Island, of the Rockaways, of home. Seagulls swoop, low and graceful, over her head, over the ocean, and Lu thinks that if she asked her dad to drop a floatie into the Atlantic for her it just might make it—just might wash up here, on the edge of the Earth, the way she has. 

She walks and walks—you can walk all the way around Inis Mór and back in under five hours, but she doesn’t have that kind of time. She walks along the cliffs, the white, blinding, otherworldly geology of the Burren, through the grass and the mud and the cow shit, until she’s back at the cafe, windows glowing golden against the rising sun, condensation clinging to them from the inside. Siobhan is pulling pastries out of the oven when she opens the door around 6:30, and Ruairí, curled up on the counter, looks at her, bitter. 

Siobhan smiles, “There you are. No worries, pet, I’ve fed him his breakfast.” 

She wobbles through the day, exhausted from the panic, the walk, the lack of sleep. She messes up at least two orders—gives Mrs. Duffy whole milk instead of skim, drops Mr. Kennedy’s sandwich on the floor while she’s bringing it over to him—but, as always, no one bats an eye. They touch her arm gently, lull “oh, it’s no bother, darling, we’ll make it right, now,” and the cadence of their laughter carries as she does exactly that. There’s no venom, no rush, nothing to give Lu the adrenaline she so badly needs to make it through the day. 

Somehow, she almost forgets that it’s Niall’s first day. But all of a sudden it’s twelve hours later and he’s bustling inside, bringing a rush of cold air with him. The door swings shut behind him and Lu, who had been curled up at the cushioned window seat with Ruairí on top of her in a moment of quiet, jumps. The cat’s only just forgiven her for this morning, and her movement causes him to stalk off in anger. She sighs after him.

“Oh, no,” Niall laughs a little, “sorry, did I interrupt something?” He looks soft and sweet in his dark jeans, his hat pulled low over his forehead. He’s shedding his puffer jacket to reveal a navy blue cable knit sweater and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. His eyes, bright and blue as Lu remembers them, find hers. He smiles.��

“Yeah,” Lu just about manages. “He just forgave me, you totally ruined it.”

Niall barks out a laugh, head thrown back, shoulders hunching up. “What did you do?” 

“Forgot to feed him breakfast this morning,” Lu sighs. “Siobhan did it, but he held it against me anyway.” 

“Ah, well,” Niall shrugs. “I’d be mad too, if I were a cat.” 

“S’a good thing you’re not, then,” Lu smiles. “I’m not here to feed you.” 

Niall’s still giggling. Lu wonders if he ever stops. 

“I’m thinking I might make him pupcakes or something as an apology…” Lu is rambling a bit now, but she’s so tired, and Niall’s so cute, and nothing is real here, anyway. “I know they’re for dogs but I can’t imagine they’re bad for cats? I bet he’ll like those—honestly, I bet he’ll just like knowing I slaved over a hot stove for him. It’s like he can tell, you know?” 

It wasn’t meant to be that funny, but Niall is fully cackling, crinkles by his eyes on full display, one hand clutching his tummy. “You’re funny,” he says between laughs. “A bit looney, me da would say—hey, Lu, looney, Looney Tunes. It all makes sense.” 

“Isn’t ‘looney’ offensive?” The banter with him comes so easily, Lu doesn’t let herself overthink it. “Think we’re supposed to stop using it.” 

“Ah, well,” Niall’s pulling his guitar out to tune, now, “You’re in Ireland now, love. All good nicknames are a little offensive.”

####

The night is mostly quiet, a dozen customers at the most, which Lu thinks is probably good for Niall’s nerves. He’s just as stunning as he was the night Lu first met him, pulling out an arsenal of covers ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Post Malone, somehow making them all work for his voice, for the vibe, for everyone, but he’s shaking—she can see it when he pushes his hair off his forehead, or when he drops his pick on the floor between songs, laughing awkwardly as he bends to grab it. Even with the mistakes, the dropped pick, the few stumbles over lyrics, he’s endearing, engaging, all-consuming. Lu’s meant to be working, but she can’t find it in her to look away.

From her spot at the counter, Lu watches how Niall keeps his eyes trained on the window across from him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything, but Lu suspects it’s easier than looking his audience in the eye—despite the fact that she can see for herself just how captivated they are. It shouldn’t take an hour and a half to drink one coffee and eat one slice of chocolate cake, but that’s how long old Mr. Kane spends in the shop anyway, eyes closed, listening to Niall play. 

For two full hours, Niall keeps the shop warm and alive. Everyone is so captivated that Lu barely has to work after all; she leans up against the counter instead, cradling the mug of hot chocolate that Siobhan made her before she left for the night, and taking him in. She barely knows him, and yet. 

Lu has seen plenty of nervous first-timers performing in front of apathetic crowds—it was practically her job, after all. She’s also seen more than her fair share of world class performers stunning crowds that want to eat them up, keep them on stage forever, bottle their energy and carry it through the rest of their lives. Working in the music industry, even just as an assistant, for five years turned her hard and jaded, made her feel like she’s seen the seedy, rough, rude underbelly of it all—but she’s never seen anyone perform like Niall before. His unadulterated, all consuming love for music is tangible, even from across the room. This is now Niall communicates. This is how he understands the world. This is how he sees life. Half of Lu feels lucky to hear it—the other half feels sick knowing that his talent is wasted here.

It almost makes her sad to have to close up at 9. Niall’s good about it—he’s designed his set to last exactly two hours, finds a climax in the middle with “Dancing in the Dark” and tapers his song choices toward a slow but steady ending, letting everyone know, without having to say it, that it’s time to head home. Lu doesn’t even have to ask him if he knows how to play “Closing Time.” 

Mr. Kane is the last to leave, sticking around a little after nine to shake Niall’s hand and tell him he had no idea how talented Maura’s son is. He talks about Maura—Lu assumes she must be Niall’s mom—while Lu slowly, quietly begins putting dishes away. She likes the routine of this already, Niall’s quiet voice, his booming laugh, his warm presence keeping her company while she settles down for the night. It’s something she could get used to. It’s something, the first thing, she thinks she could miss, if she left. 

Niall masterfully leads his conversation with Mr. Kane toward goodbyes, shaking his hand again as he shuts the door behind him. Lu looks up from where she was rinsing a cup to watch as Niall watches through the window to make sure Mr. Kane gets in his car. He waits for the car to start before turning around, leaning his back up against the door, dragging a hand through his hair, and letting out a long sigh. 

“Alright?” Lu asks, gentle. Niall’s got his eyes closed, his head back, neck exposed to her. It’s thick and littered with freckles, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. In her chest, Lu’s heart does something funny. She presses her thighs together, tight. 

Niall opens his eyes halfway, exhaling a little laugh as he meets Lu’s gaze. She hopes he can’t tell—how could he? 

“Yeah,” he says then, standing all the way up and shaking his head. “That was mad.” 

“It was amazing,” Lu counters. She gently places the mug back into the sink, bracing her hands against the edge. Part of her is afraid of what she’ll do without something between him and her. “They were so into it. No one could look away from you.”

Her cheeks flush, and Niall catches it. The corner of his mouth pulls up in half a smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Ya think so?” 

“I know so,” Lu presses her lips together, but it doesn’t do much to prevent her smile. “‘Dancing In The Dark’ was my favorite one; it’s perfect for your voice.” 

“Thanks, Looney Tunes,” Niall hums, making his way back over toward her. “Can I help ya clean up? I wash, you dry?”

“Oh,” Lu stills. She’d half forgotten about the dishes still left to clean, the floor to sweep, the leftovers to toss, the counters to wipe down. Her mind stumbles over the best way to go about this: it would be rude to keep him, but, God, she wants his company. She realizes, with a slight swoop in her belly, that she hasn’t felt homesick in two hours. She needs him to stay. “I actually—I have a dishwasher. I just like to rinse everything before I put it in.” 

Niall smiles. He comes around the counter to stand next to Lu at the sink, knocking his hip against hers. “Sensible,” he says. It’s quiet. Just for her. “I’ll rinse and put ‘em in. You’ve been stood here all night. What else do you have to do?” 

“Uh,” Lu feels like her whole body is vibrating. Her mind turns over itself like an engine that won’t start. “Sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, lock up.” 

“Alright,” Niall is so close that Lu can smell his aftershave. Warm, soft, mixed with sweat from his nerves and the smell of his skin. “Let’s do it.”

####

taglist: @missy14us @antisocialsocialclub5 @coconutdawn @ficnarry @bopbopstyles @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings @kara-246

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[notgonnarememberthis]

today (of all days) - pt. 1

Hello! I am back! Dropped off writing for a bit due to hiatus and my utter inability to write things in order but I have returned with a brand new 5+1 idea. Hope y’all enjoy it!!

5 times Gil helped Jessica + 1 time he was too late

Jessica wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing here, not really. With a bottle of bourbon in one hand and two suite tickets to the Mets game in the other she was certain it was a thank you. For helping her with the interrogations, for being there for Malcolm the past few months. Everything felt like a tornado right now, ripping her life apart but Gil-

Gil felt like something to hold onto.

However, standing here, in front of the door feels a lot more like moving on than she expected. Having someone to hold onto meant having something to lose. She’d already lost everything. She couldn’t do it again. Not this time.

She’s almost completely convinced herself to leave the gift on his doorstep and call once she was out of earshot when the door swings open. Gil doesn’t even look shocked to see her there, only raising an eyebrow at her dumbfounded look.

“How long were you planning on standing outside my door?” The smirk on his face tells her he’s joking.

“How-”

“I heard your heels. Nobody that lives on this floor would risk their neck walking in those.” He steps aside pulling the door open a little wider for her. “Come on in.” She does, taking a moment to look around. She’d seen his place for only passing moments. Mostly when she needed someone to watch Malcolm and Ainsley when she had a court hearing. The process of Martin’s trial was exhausting enough without Malcolm having a panic attack at the thought of being left alone with even just Luisa, who he’d known his whole life.

Though, he’d thought he’d known Martin his entire life too.

“Would you like a drink?” Gil’s voice pulls her out of the spiral she’d slipped into. He looks concerned, not many people do now-a-days.

“No, actually. I brought these for you.” She lifts the gifts to hand over to him. “It’s a thank you. For everything you’ve done for the past few months. Without you I-” She almost laughs. Truthfully, without him she would be nowhere. Likely lost in some pit of alcohol and pills, praying that neither of her kids are the ones that find their mother like that. After her family disgraced her with tuttering remarks that they always knew Martin Whitly was trouble, she felt abandoned. Cast aside with two children, one traumatized beyond any reason for a 12 year old and the other so painfully oblivious that even when she tried to go on as normal it unintentionally ripped Jessica’s heart out. Suddenly a single mother with no family.

“You didn’t need to do this.” Gil smiles, taking the tickets and bottle from her hands.

“I wanted to.”

“Well, I can’t wait to teach Malcolm the correct team to be rooting for.” Her jaw drops again. That wasn’t who the other ticket was meant for. He was supposed to bring a friend, or family, or a girlfriend. Not Malcolm. “What? You didn’t think I’d bring Shannon, did you?”

She tilts her head disapprovingly. “You don’t.”

“Jess.” He sighs placing both down and taking her by the shoulders. It’d become a common practice. A stance he adopted when he could see everything becoming too much all at once. Especially on the days of the trial where she was forced to testify against the man she loved. Or, once loved. “Malcolm is a good kid. I like having him around. Right now, he needs to feel normal and If I can give him a day where I teach him everything I know about baseball? If it distracts him from everything else for just one day, that makes me happy.”

“You’re a good man.” She smiles, almost lamenting how she wishes for a moment that Gil was Malcolm’s father. He was the antithesis of her, grounded and calm. A hero for both the city but for her son too.

“Should I get two glasses?” She looks to the door, her lips searching for an excuse to leave that truthfully doesn’t exist. Her schedule completely cleared of everything shortly after Martin’s arrest other than press hounding her every other day. Publishists demands for the story of Mrs. Whitly flooded her voicemail. Both Malcolm and Ainsley at school for another 5 hours meant she would be all alone in a home that whispered with the voices of dead women she never even met before.

“Sure.” She decides. He moves to the cabinet retrieving two glasses that look more expensive than anything she’d really expect him to own.

“Family heirloom.” He explains, having caught her expression of surprise. “My mother gave them to me as a good luck gift after I graduated from the academy.”

“Well I could use all the luck I could get.” She chuckles dryly.

“That and I don’t think glasses I got on sale at Macy’s are quite fitting for what you brought.” That does actually get a genuine laugh from her. It feels good to laugh. Truthfully she doesn’t remember the last time she had a real one, not laced with a fake polite tone or sarcasm. He pours them both a glass and they move into the living room.

His decor is much simpler than her home. The walls hold a lot more frames, family and friends smile back at her and she stops in her tracks when she notices one of Malcolm. He’s smiling at the camera with a wide toothed grin that brings tears to her eyes. She remembers Gil had asked her if it was ok that he had that photo in his apartment. A small moment from a diner she heard Malcolm talk about a lot, Mel’s if she remembers or something along those lines. Seeing the photo here, amongst other family of Gil’s, hit something different. A chord struck that she wasn’t the only one looking out for him now.

“Jess,” Gil calls to her, his voice a little panicked. She looks over and she wonders just how long he’d been trying to get her attention.

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“How are you doing?” The question catches her off guard. So many people have asked her that in the past month alone. A call from her mother, from Birdie, her attorney, Alphonso, the therapist that Luisa recommended to her.

“I’m fine.” She tries.

“Jessica.” The tone is a don’t bullshit me one. He had a knack for knowing when she was lying.

“I can’t think about it. Not right now. It’s all-” Her voice catches in her throat and she chases the lump away with a drink. “Right now everything is too close. If I stop, it will all hit at once. I can’t let myself be swept up by Martin. Not when Malcolm and Ainsley need me.”

“But who’s there for you?” She stops again, staring off for a moment. Truly, the only person that she thought was ever there for her is getting a cushy space in a psychiatric hospital when he should be rotting in prison. When she can’t find an answer Gil speaks up again, “Well, I’ll tell you what. If you ever need anything my door is open.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not when you do so much for this family already.”

“Well, how about this. You bring the bourbon and we can talk about anything you need to talk about over a good drink that probably costs more than my paycheck.” She laughs, again it feels like it loosens some of the tension in her chest. A part of her screams at her, knowing that she’s getting to close again but yet his eyes are so gentle. With a smile that feels so soft that it should only be shared with the purest of heart. She doesn’t deserve to be smiled like that, and yet.

“I’d like that.”

[nerdybibeans]

 Random Dr,Nefarious headcanon Part 1

So, no one has ever asked for this but I have been reading a lot of Ratchet and clank fanfic, and recently replayed crack in time and the 2016 game, so here is a bunch of Dr nefarious headcanon, romantic and not

1 - Nefarious is somewhere on the autism spectrum, though he is extremely intelligent he struggles a lot in social settings, with more then 4 people, he becomes extremely anxious in large groups, he also can’t really read peoples emotions well which can make him seem a bit unfeeling towards others, Also Unless they are his jokes they well usually go right over him, which is why Lawrence can get away with insulting him constantly, Since he doesn’t really understand he is being sarcastic, he likes to stem with small soft things he can squeeze and are not easily destroyed, he also fidgets a lot with his hands when he gets very nervous, he also can struggle with expressing his own emotions, which is why he tends to blow up a lot,

2 - Nefarious desperately wants a relationship, despite not being very good with people he hates being alone, and having no one to talk to / at, and often worries about being alone for the rest of his life, since he struggles to maintain relationships, Mostly again since he doesn’t really always knows or understand what his partner needs emotionally from him, but he is a Down right hopeless romantic and thinks about romantic in general a lot,

3 - Nefarious does some-what misses being a ‘squishy’ now this strictly applies to the 2016 universe, but can be used in the Main one if you want, he misses just being able to sustained his own body temperature, and not having to worry about his mind glitching out, he also feels very uneasy in his new form for the first few months, trying to relearn everything,

4 - Nefarious and Elaris were Very close friends, again this applies to 2016, these two were basically inseparable and would hang out even outside of work, Elaris was also kinda his emotional support person, Especially as he felt more and more ostracize from the team, she was the one person in the rangers he didn’t want to hurt, even after leaving and going evil, and she still blames herself for not being a good enough friend and thinks maybe if she was better she could have prevented all of the 2016 game,

5 - Nefarious is very creative, outside of his evil plans and Weapon designing, he full on wrote a epic romantic action comedy space opera, and has probably written more, he is also a very talented artist and keeps a lot of his drawing hidden, since most of it is just fanart of things he enjoys, though he has no idea lawrence has gone through his sketchbooks multiple times, and so far only been traumatized twice,

6 - Nefarious had actually been fired from the Rangers about a year before he attacked the city, due to have a very public panic attack, he had been working for days on end without much more then a few hours sleep, and Qwark yelled at him when he found out he hadn’t finished the project, which completely pushed him over the edge, and he ended up completely breaking down...outside of the building, And The Rangers were about investigated because of it, which is why Qwark fired him,

7 - Nefarious is a total Cuddle Bug, in Cracken time we get to see his bed for a moment and he has way to many pillows for just one man, and he uses them all in some capacity, mostly for cuddling, but he will use them more normally if he has someone in his Bed with him, his favorite way to cuddle is just very ‘ subtly’ moving a little closer to whom ever he is with and putting him arms around them, once he got you should probably accept you’re not going to be leaving that position for at least a hour, since he will fall asleep or talk to you,

8 - he can’t regulate his own body temperature, for reasons unknown to both him and Lawrence, he struggles with getting overheated and freezing up, which is why he tries to stay in a very climate controlled area, but he can be on hotter planets for about 5 hours before he starts to have any negative affects, or overheats which usually results in him being kinda Drunk, while if he gets to cold he will pass out and won’t wake up until he at a reasonable temperature,

9 - he very secretly want a Family Nefarious grow up in a extremely dysfunctional home and was Very abused by his mother verbally, and maybe even physically sometimes, and he moved out the moment he turned 16, but as he gotten older he often wondered if maybe settling down is something he wants, maybe giving up on the whole galactic domination thing, but at the same time maybe once he achieve the galactic domination he can settled down, and find someone to rule with him, maybe even have a child with, even though the thought alone of being a father is a bit daunting, since he didn’t have one growing up is something he knows he wants, so he can have something that’s truly apart of him, that will live on passed all his other accomplishments, and someone who will love him unconditionally for in him mind no real reason,

10 - Nefarious is in his mid to late 30s, I don’t have much other then that lol

11 - Nefarious is extremely insecure, though he acts like he is Very confidence in everything he does, their are hits though the games that is it very much a façade, and he isn’t as bad as he plays up to be, he worries if he doesn’t constantly appear evil that the very few friends he has won’t like him anymore, but when he is alone he tends to be a bit more softer spoken and really just wants to relax,

And 12- he is surprisingly not a horrible boyfriend, despite having a hard time reading emotions and getting frustrated very easily, he does everything he can to show his partner he cares for them, in little ways such as sharing things he likes with them, or VERY proudly telling anyone who will listen that you are indeed his partner, he also will do his best to carve out a little a little time everyday just to hang out with you, no talking about work or taking over the Galaxy, just a hour or two of being together, he also likes to leave you little notes, since he finds it easier to tell you his emotions in writing, you will find them scattered throughout your apartment or work place, most of them are extremely cheesy and a bit over the top, but always very sincere, and finally if a very committed relationship and makes it passed the first year, he becomes very open and trusting, telling you just about anything you want to know about him, he also becomes a bit dependent if the relationship makes it a year, since that would be the longest one he had ever been in, and is constantly worried about fucking it up,

So yeah!! I hope y’all enjoyed this Dumb list, and tell me your opinions on it and if I should make more!! Of just relationship headcanon,

[thetomorrowshow]

Slower Than Words Ch. 5

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12

I legitimately feel sorry about this chapter! It wasn’t meant to be this intense, just lightly angsty. Virgil really threw himself under the angst bus for this one so buckle up y’all

cw: gagging, unethical eye operations (not in great detail), panic attack, kidnapping, by a cult specifically, character being restrained (both on a table and not), brief mention of blood, fever, intense pain, vomit, that’s a lot of warnings, passing mention of drugs, singular mention of an IV, surgical implications

~

Everything was decidedly not going to be okay, Virgil realized several days later when he was rudely awoken by rough hands pulling him out of bed and out the door before he could say a word. He opened his mouth to scream and had a rag stuffed in it, which was also rude.

While being dragged down a hallway, Virgil took the moment to reflect on his current mental state, which was scarily calm considering what was happening. Shock, probably. Even more likely was the overwhelming gratitude he was feeling that it was him leaving the safety of the room, not Patton. That gratitude gave way to fear (finally) as he was brought into another room, one with a distinctly medical smell.

The room. Not the room, please, not the place where his eyes burned and he could hear himself screaming but was fairly detached, watching from the side as the men and women in white coats leaned over him and measured his reaction. The place where he was left alone, for weeks, as his eyes slowly healed but never saw again. The place where they had strapped him down, hadn't drugged him even as he struggled and sobbed with pain—

They were doing that now, Virgil realized with a start, and he began to fight, trying to force them away and roll off the table, but they already had his ankles secured.

“Get that out of his mouth, we're not monsters.”

Virgil would have cried at hearing words that didn't come from his own mouth if he weren't already crying. The rag was pulled from between his teeth, and he gasped out incomplete sentences of pleas and desperation.

“Virgil, is it?” a woman said.

“My name, that's my name,” Virgil sobbed, almost incoherently. No one had said it in so long, he almost wanted them to say it again.

“Well Virgil, we're here to help. All we need you to do is lie still.”

Virgil would have promised anything, but he was suddenly aware of the fact that they had finished strapping him down. He didn't have a choice here. He tried to calm his hitching sobs, aware that he definitely looked not only like a fool, but weak.

“Wh-what are you going to do?” he asked pitifully. There were several long moments of silence. Then the same woman before spoke, saying eerily familiar words.

“We're going to fix you, in the name of the Prophets.”

Virgil screamed.

-

Virgil had been in the back of this van for far too long. His mind was still in overdrive with fear, but now he could wonder—why had he been kidnapped? There was nothing special about him. He was just like any other college kid, trying to make his way in life with money in the negative and relationships even lower. The only person who might care about him was his roommate Roman, but he also had no money and therefore would never be able to pay a ransom. Not to mention, Roman was promising. He was only failing geology, he'd just gotten a role in a production at the high end theater across town, and he had a boyfriend who definitely didn't care about Virgil.

There was nothing he could do to escape whatever awful fate these strangers had for him. They didn't look too dangerous, all four men wearing square-looking jeans and plain t-shirts, but none of them had very built figures. Only one looked like he worked out, which was a testament to the fact that Virgil was a pathetic weakling. He should've splurged and bought that gym membership.

The van stopped for hours at one point, Virgil assumed in a hotel parking lot or something. He would've liked to get out of the cramped space, but it was clear that wasn't happening any time soon. His hands were tied to his ankles (a fact that had sent him into more than one panic attack) and both were pulled behind his back in a hog tie, and a bandana was bundled up in his mouth and tied around the back of his head. He could tell it was night; some of the light from the part of the van with seats filtered in during the day. It was nice to have a little light. Darkness scared him—he always slept with the blinds on the window turned to let some moonlight in, now that he was far too old for a nightlight. Now, however, there was zero light and Virgil was barely keeping himself from freaking out. He just had to survive the night, then nothing would ever be dark again.

They were back on the road. The men chatted loudly, but so many of the words seemed to have a different context for them than they did for him. Haven? Blessings? Liberating? It sounded like a cult, and Virgil once again attempted to free himself of the ropes. The only thing he gained was rope burn.

When the door opened and Virgil blinked at the sudden light and wave of heat, he had to assume they'd arrived. Instead of moving (or shooting) him, two people stared. A man and a woman, the man in a simple suit, the woman in an even simpler dress. Sweat trickled down Virgil's temple as he stared back at them, his jaw aching and limbs strained.

“This one will do,” the woman said eventually. The man nodded agreement, and then the ones that had kidnapped him in the first place were dragging him out of the van. Virgil maintained eye contact with the two as he passed. What did that mean? What did they need him for?

The sun beat down on them as the four men carried Virgil across a dirt road. There were small, one-story houses lining the street, but nobody outside. Virgil only had a moment to wonder why before he was being ushered into a large building. It was cooler inside than out, but still stuffy, like the air conditioning was one of those old window units.

He was carried into a room that smelled like a hospital—and looked like one. The counters were laden with different tools that he had no idea what they were to be used for, but looked vaguely like they belonged in a horror movie. The four men rolled him onto the operating table in the center of the room, then set to work untying him. Virgil lay still, hoping to trick them into thinking he would be compliant. He'd wait until his legs were free, then start fighting back.

That was a no-go, as it turned out. The men easily grabbed his legs and pulled a strap over them, securing him into place. He managed to flail his fist into one person's nose, and felt a deep satisfaction when the man doubled over, bleeding. It was quickly snuffed out as the other three got a hold of his arms and strapped them down as well. Then they all left, even the man Virgil had hit, shutting the door and leaving him alone.

Virgil's eyes darted around the room, taking it all in. The only sound was his heavy breathing. He flexed his fingers and toes a few times, trying to get feeling back into them. He groaned deep in his throat as they began to tingle, then ache. He shifted a little, the sweat pooling under his shirt and hoodie making him supremely uncomfortable.

The door opened with a bang, startling Virgil enough that he jumped. Quite a few—seven, maybe—people in white lab coats entered, the last man wearing plain clothes and looking less like a nerd than the others and more like a bodyguard. Virgil swallowed. What were they going to do to him?

“Hello, Virgil,” an older man with a scar on his chin said, smiling too wide. He leaned over the table, and Virgil tried to lean away. The man tsked, his smile dimming slightly.

“Now, that won't do. Don't be scared, Virgil. We aren't going to hurt you.” The man frowned for a split second, then chuckled. “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to lie. This will likely be very painful, Virgil.”

Virgil couldn't force his eyes away from the man's, cold brown eyes boring into his soul. He felt the fear rise, bubbling out of his throat in a muffled cry, even as a tear slipped out of his eye and rolled toward his temple.

“We're going to break you, in the name of the Prophets.”

Then they were holding his head still, and—no—no—not his eyes, please, anything else—

Virgil screamed.

-

Virgil didn't know how long he feverishly drifted, but it was certainly hours. His eyes—it was more than burning, somehow. It was the fire of a thousand suns, concentrated in his eye sockets and pounding through his head. All he could feel was the pain, not knowing where he was or aware of any outside stimulus.

The moment Virgil recognized that it was terrifying was the moment that he could feel his fingers. Suddenly, he was no longer a miasma of pain, but a human being (engulfed by pain) again. That was also when he realized there was something pressed up to his lips. He opened his mouth—water, warm and stale but still water—flooded his dry mouth and and he choked as it hit the back of his throat. The bottle was pulled away, and Virgil spluttered for a few moments before all the water was clear of his airway. Exhausted by the fight and debilitated from the pain, Virgil let his eyes slip closed and drifted again.

When he next woke, it was to incomprehensible pain and the sensation of moving, as if whatever he was laying on was being moved. Barely letting himself wonder where he was headed, Virgil drifted again.

The cycle repeated for a while before Virgil found himself fully conscious. It hurt to turn his head, so he laid still, despite all the noises around him. He was shaking constantly, and he was pretty certain he was strapped down. The room wasn't cold, exactly, but Virgil longed for a blanket, something to perhaps weigh down his legs and ease the quaking.

“Can you hear me?”

Virgil wasn't sure if the person was talking to him or not, so he didn't respond. The other noises around the room—a sink running? A quiet conversation?—continued as if nothing happened.

“Can you hear me?”

This time, the voice was louder, and distantly familiar. Virgil nodded slightly, cut short as he grimaced in pain. Moving his head made the pain spike, inducing nausea. Now he felt he was going to throw up, as well as shiver to death. Great.

“Tell me your name.”

“Virgil,” he rasped. He'd never given these people his last name—how they'd found out his first was a mystery to him—but it didn't quite count as an act of defiance when just saying his first name had sapped all of his energy. He tasted copper in the back of his mouth and wondered vaguely if he'd screamed so much that his throat had bled.

“He's conscious enough. Try to get him to stand up.”

Virgil was trying to figure out how to respond to this when he registered the sound of Velcro tearing, then hands grabbed his arms and pulled him off of the surface. Immediately his headache spiked, and he cried out, barely aware of his knees buckling and hitting the floor.

A sigh was heard. Virgil sniffed back tears, despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him he had literally zero dignity left. He didn't want to cry, especially not at just standing up.

Then suddenly, they were moving. Virgil struggled to get his feet underneath him, but failed and resigned himself to being dragged. He was certain he was about to pass out. His head grew fuzzy, limbs filled with pins and needles. The sound of himself being pulled on the concrete was even louder than anything that had just been going on in the room; it filled his ears and pounded along to his heartbeat.

He distantly heard a laugh, then gasped as someone let go and his head cracked against the floor. It wasn't too bad, he wasn't very far from the floor anyway, but the pain of the impact still caused him to lose the battle against his stomach, vomiting all over himself and the floor. Some commotion followed that; Virgil's head was spinning and splitting and his eyes burned and put simply, he couldn't keep track.

He drifted again, laying on the floor in his own sick, not sure what was real and what wasn't. Too soon, though, he was brought back to the waking world by a jet of water hitting him square in the stomach. He jerked, then spluttered as the water hit his face. Somehow, while shocking, it was more pleasant than the pain, a nice distraction. That didn't last, though. Soon enough, Virgil was shivering and numb as the water kept spraying, a sob tearing from his throat as more and more went up his nose.

Finally it stopped, the only sounds being the water dripping from his soaked clothing and his shuddering sobs. Virgil couldn't stop crying and shaking, and there was only one thought in his head, playing over and over: I want Patton. Please I want Patton. Please Patton please I want Patton please—

After what felt like hours of just laying there, hands grabbed his wrists again and began dragging. Virgil didn't even try to stand, or stop crying. He was so cold. So, so, cold, and he just wanted Patton, just wanted to be safe. . . .

More noise—so loud—and a little more strain on his arms before he was dropped, palms bouncing lightly off the floor. Virgil wanted to curl up on his side, hoard what little body heat he had, but he couldn't move. He couldn't move, and they were coming closer. His sobs ratcheted up as he just knew they were right above him, holding those tools and moving closer and—

Someone touched him, and Virgil whimpered loud. He couldn't—not again—please no, please please please no—

They took his hand and touched his wrist—an IV, they were just putting drugs in him—with warm fingers, tracing something—

Tracing . . . something. . . .

P-a-t-t-o-n.

“Patton,” Virgil croaked. Patton was here. Patton was safe, Patton would make everything all right. With that knowledge, Virgil finally fell into a comfortable sleep.

~

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @enragedbees @gotta-love-alejandra @bunny222 @basiic-emo @patt0n-sanders @rosiepupper @fangirlgeekandfreak @dn-fan21 @that2000skid @remy-the-lemon-berry @itsadastraperaspera @xionbean @sanderssides-angst @hell-yea-we-gay-tonight @maybedefinitely404

[emoboijk]

jjk | stardust

we’re all made of stardust, looking to find each other again; one time for the present, two times for the past —soulmate au

12,356 words

Jeongguk doesn't really know why he's here. Well, he knows why. Taehyung's his friend after all. Jeongguk would do anything for him: walk through fire or start a fight. Unfortunately, that also means going to his parties. Not that he doesn't like parties! He just... he also likes video games and beer in his apartment and getting enough sleep for practice the next day.

God, Jeongguk likes sleeping.

Any other night Jeongguk might be three drinks in by now and chugging a fourth, but tonight he's exhausted and he wants to play Overwatch. Any other night he could push the extroverted part of himself to the surface and force himself to have a good time until he actually does. But tonight…

Even the buzz from his beer doesn't lift his spirits.

Tired of watching the stillness of his beer in its red cup, he pulls his attention back to the party. Everyone's crammed into Jimin's and Taehyung's shared apartment. There are various snack foods laid out on the coffee table and in the kitchen. Bottles of hard liquor mingle with dozens of six-packs of beer. There's trash... everywhere.

Jeongguk glances at the watch on his wrist. 12:02 AM.

His eyes do a quick scan, like always, for his friends (it makes him feel better to keep track). Jimin is plastered and fully committed to a game of drunk Jenga with a couple girls from the Poli Sci department and an equally plastered Seokjin. Hobi is teaching a girl from their dance class how to do an advanced hip hop move despite the rather slow Sam Smith song playing over the speakers. Taehyung is talking enthusiastically by the kitchen bar with Namjoon and a few guys Jeongguk doesn't know. It takes him a second to find Yoongi but he eventually spots him in a secluded corner, smirking with some girl from the Music department.

Jeongguk feels lonely. Just for a moment, leaning against the wall with his half-empty cup of beer, observing the party instead of participating in it, he feels lonely. He and the others have been close for so long, have been like brothers for so long... when he realizes that things won't always be this way and they each have their own lives to live... loneliness hits him like a gunshot.

He downs the rest of his beer in one drink, chucking the empty cup in a nearby trash can perfectly without paying attention. He waves absently to Taehyung and the others on his way out, slipping into his jacket and opening the door.

That's where he finds you, bathed in fluorescent light and clutching a bottle of red wine that has a bow wrapped around it. You look so startled to see him there, to see anyone there, that Jeongguk almost thinks you might start crying. Your face is drained of color and the bottle of wine starts to slip from your hands.

Jeongguk's eyes move quickly over you, catching sight of the falling bottle and moving on instinct. He swipes the bottle before it hits the floor, placing one hand on your shoulder to keep you steady.

"Close one," he says, handing it back to you. He doesn't realize that he's too close until you flinch at the feeling of his breath on your cheek. He pulls away too fast, his nose filling with the smell of peonies and lavender fabric softener. Desperation tugs at something in his chest and he watches you with wide eyes, like seeing the sunset for the first time.

He shakes off the feeling and steps aside, holding the door open so that you can see inside the apartment to the party. "Going in?"

You take a step back, hugging the wine even more tightly now. There's conflict in your eyes and Jeongguk takes the opportunity to give you a once over: soft floral sundress, wrinkle-free beige cardigan, soft pink headband pushing back your hair, neat ballet flats. All this and a bottle of wine that... that almost looks like a gift.

You do seem familiar. The polite neatness off your clothes, the apprehension, the hopeless deer-in-the-headlights expression. But Jeongguk finds it hard to believe he knows you from an association with... Taehyung? He just can't picture the two of you even existing in the same space, let alone partying together?

"N-No."

"Oh...kay." Jeongguk releases the door and lets it fall shut behind him. "Uh," he sidesteps you, "bye."

You watch him descend the staircase with a knot in your stomach, following only after you've given him enough time to have left the building. You sigh and hang your head as you descend.

I froze up, you think. It makes you want to cry. Your knuckles turn white gripping the bottle. You feel a panic attack in your throat, the urge to hit your head against the wall making your heart race. You're just so... frustrated with yourself. Why can't I just be normal! Why doesn't my brain work like everyone else's? Why am I so... defective? You think you'll probably end up drinking this whole bottle tonight.

And you got so dressed up, too. This is your favorite dress. On good days it makes you feel confident, like you can talk to anyone or do anything. On bad days, it makes you feel safe, just that much less anxious.

You pause once you're outside. The night air is crisp and it helps clear your head. You sigh into the empty air and let disappointment sneak into the crevices off your mind. At least I can see the stars tonight, you think, craning your neck back to count the golden specks dotted into the inky blue night sky.

You startle when your mind floats back down to earth and the present moment to find him there on the sidewalk near you. He's leaning against a street sign with his phone in his pocket, watching you.

Oh crap. I must look like a crazy person.

Jeongguk doesn't think you're crazy. In fact, you remind him of Namjoon. You have the same kind of absentmindedness. Although, admittedly, Namjoon hides his insecurities better; you're wearing yours on your sleeve.

He's also thinking that you're stunning. The dress and the cardigan and the ribbon-wrapped bottle of wine didn't match the energy upstairs, but it's perfect here. Cool evening, yellow streetlight, and a girl. It's cinematic.

Your eye contact is only broken when a car pulls up to the curb, "Jeongguk?" Someone barks from inside.

"Yeah," he says softly. He blinks, hoping the spell will be broken. But whatever kind of magic that existed before still exists when he opens his eyes. You're still watching him, frozen on the sidewalk. He climbs into the car feeling that same eerie kind of magic snaking around his heart.

That night you dream of him. The way he looked at you on the street. The dewy softness of his skin in the yellow light. The feeling between you both.

You wake up in a sweat, your body remembering something your mind can't fathom. Ghost fingers caress your skin and make your blood burn. You stumble to the kitchen for water, trying to rid your mind of his face. It's 3 AM and you lie awake trying to forget him.

It's 3 AM and Jeongguk needs to sleep. He has practice in the morning, class after that. He was going to do laundry, catch up on some homework. He was going to relax for the first time in a few days, no parties, no plans. Just himself, some video games, and some soju.

Instead, he has long since kicked off all his sheets, skin heated from thoughts of you. The image of you on the sidewalk conjures so many other pictures. But they don't feel like fantasies, they feel like memories. Images of lives forgotten. It's making his blood warm and his body overheat. He burns through his buzz and tries to think of anything else.

The next morning, when Jeongguk's alarm goes off at 7 AM, he feels dead inside but also a little high. It feels like the one time Taehyung convinced him to do ecstasy ("It's a college experience!") and his heart felt like it was going to explode. But that feeling eventually wore off. It's been hours and he feels both hungover and like he could run a marathon. It's fucking wild.

He rolls out of bed, landing on his feet with a thump. His head feels like a 20-pound weight on his neck and it hurts when he blinks. What the hell, he thinks, did someone spike my fucking drink last night?

Jeongguk meanders to his bathroom, wincing at his own reflection in the mirror. He closes his eyes and tries to inhale as much oxygen as possible. If he stays perfectly still, nothing hurts. He hears his phone ding from the other room and he knows it's Jimin complaining. With a sigh and another stabbing pain in his head, he reaches blindly for his toothbrush and toothpaste.

He spits into the sink and looks up at his reflection again. He should probably shave. He should probably shower, truth be told. But he'll work up a sweat at practice so he might as well wait till later. Besides if he even tried to do anything more complicated than get dressed his body might fall apart. He already feels like 110 degrees just standing.

He swipes his phone from the nightstand on his way back into the room.

Jimin: who the fuck talked me into this

Jimin: 8 am dance practice

Jimin: are they fucking crazy

Jeongguk chuckles.

JK: So you're pretty hungover

Jimin: shut up

Jeongguk laughs again and launches the phone toward the bed. He steps out of the shirt and boxers he wore to sleep, relief flowing through him at the cool air on his skin. Maybe I'm getting sick, he thinks.

He pulls a pair of sweats and an oversized tee from his closet, slipping into them before stuffing a pair of jeans and a second shirt into his duffle for practice. He checks there's a full stick of deodorant and the travel-sized soaps Jin got for him forever ago.

He swings the bag over his torso, pausing in front of his bedroom window. He loves the view from here. It's nothing special. His apartment is on the 10th floor, just high enough to clear most of the buildings on this side of town. He can see a mountain range in the distance and the sky. He's spent all semester trying to capture it in his art class, but none of his renderings do it justice.

Then, as he's about to turn and leave, the sun breaks over the horizon and he's struck. His whole body flushed warm and soft pink, an image fogging his mind.

A similar sunrise. A girl wrapped in a sheet wrapped in his arms. The smell of peonies and citrus. A rose gold tint on his skin.

When his mind clears, he's still standing by the window, drenched in sweat. He's breathing heavily but his headache is gone and his fever has broken.

You're already awake when your alarm goes off. You're sitting at your desk with a fan on high pointed at you. It could be 102 degrees outside for how hot you feel. You slept on and off for a few hours, but every time you drifted off your dreams…

You try to clear your head, but his face pervades your thoughts. The dreams were inconsistent and fleeting; there were different scenarios, time periods, and people. But the one constant was him. The stranger you'd met briefly last night.

You run a hand through your hair and shut off your alarm, glancing at your notifications and seeing a text.

Taehyung: you didn't come to my party!! :(

Guilt wells within you and you twist your mouth trying to think of the best response.

You: Sorry! Last minute study group!!

You flip your phone upside down then so that you don't have to look at it. You don't have class for another few hours, but you're so warm that you can't think of anything but a cold shower.

You just stand to go into the bathroom when your phone dings again. Twice in a row.

Taehyung: fiiiine next time then!

Joy: coffee before class?? around 9?

You text back quick affirmative responses and head into the shower.

Jeongguk pulls up to the apartment building in his purple, beaten up Toyota Corolla and honks his horn. It takes three full minutes for Jimin to come stumbling out. He looks almost as bad as Jeongguk this morning, sleep-deprived and hungover but with large purple hickies littered over his neck.

Jeongguk is nearly glaring at them by the time he climbs into the car.

"What?" Jimin says, stuffing his duffle bag between his legs.

"Subtle," Jeongguk grumbles, shifting gears and pulling out of the parking spot.

"Taehyung's a biter," Jimin says lightly. He reaches forward to swipe Jeongguk's phone from the dash and change the music, and Jeongguk catches sight of the Chinese character imprinted on his wrist. Friends.

Jeongguk sighs, squinting out at the road, a pang of loneliness wrinkling his brow.

You're already sitting with a cup of hot apple cider and a book when Joy walks in. She dives through the mid-morning crowd bumblingly, accidentally hitting people and stopping to apologize several times. When she finally slides into the seat opposite you, she's out of breath.

You slide the hot chocolate and ice water you'd ordered for her across the counter. She pauses, somewhat surprised at your thoughtfulness, before smiling and thanking you.

"Sure," you grin and check your phone. Thirty minutes.

"You okay?" Joy wonders, wincing when she sips her hot chocolate and it's too hot.

You shake your head and run your fingers through your hair. "I think I might be getting sick," you say, tucking your book into your bag and sipping your cider again.

"Oh no," Joy pouts, "Are you sure you wanna go to class? Cuz we can totally skip!"

You narrow your eyes at her playfully, "Why would you skip?"

She chokes on her drink slightly and sputters, "Uh, solidarity."

"Of course," you giggle.

Dance practice was...fine. But Jeongguk realizes too late that he's irritable and that dancing isn't helping. Usually dancing always helps; he has to focus so intently on his body and it's movement that everything else escapes his attention. But today he doesn't even know why he's upset so nothing helps.

But he thinks maybe it's because of soulmates. Jimin and Hobi are both in this class, both with soulmates, and they aren't even talking about them but Jeongguk feels like he would rather bang his head against the wall than be near them.

And that's frustrating because he loves them, they're two of his best friends.

He does a series of pop and lock movements that the teacher demonstrated earlier with so much aggression that it's almost like krumping. He doesn't get why he's this angry. The soulmate thing...it's never bothered him this much. He has long since accepted that it's not in the cards for him. And even at his worst moments, he feels more sad than angry…

He leaves class with a half-hearted wave to Jimin and Hoseok before disappearing into the showers. He feels so flushed it's almost like he's going to pass out so he cranks the knob to cold water and lets it run over his hair and back, sighing at the relief as his body temperature goes back to normal.

Suddenly a spasm runs through his body, electrocuting him and sending his mind spiraling. He braces himself against the wall of the shower, the water cascading down his back.

Everything is misty and foggy and the grass beneath his feet is damp and soft. There's a person a few feet ahead of him, staring at the large expanse of the forest beneath the hill. The sun breaks over the horizon and the person turns to him—

"Hey, Kook, you good?" someone says from behind him, a towel hitting him square in the back the head.

No, he thinks, definitely not good. His whole body feels weak and exasperated, his mind hazy with confusion and memories he doesn't recognize. He knows the person he just saw but he can't place it. The memory feels familiar and yet separate from him somehow. His chest tightens uncomfortably.

"Yeah, fine," he mumbles, reaching for his shampoo.

You and Joy split after your first class. She has an art seminar on the other side of campus and you're free for another few hours. You wave her off and turn in the direction of the quad; the weather is nice and you want to spread out on the grass with your assigned novel for Lit.

But somehow, you find yourself in front of the music hall. It's almost like waking up after a blackout, you have no idea how you got here. You've only ever walked by the building, it's by your favorite coffee cart and across the street from the building where you take poli sci, but you've never been inside.

And now you're standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the funky Art Deco designs of the courtyard, with an insistent need to go in. It's like there's a cord anchored in your chest gently tugging you in this direction.

Your brows are furrowed in thought when you see him. His hair is damp and his expression is serious; he's wearing a giant white t-shirt and hip-hugging jeans, and your brain immediately conjures very sexual images in your head. Dirty, dirty thoughts that make you blush and turn away from him.

Jeongguk spots you, too, and it stops him in his tracks. Your back is to him and he can't place where he's seen you before, or even conjure specifically your face in his mind, but your posture strikes him immediately as being the same as from that memory.

His heart hammers against his rib cage and he's sweating, his mouth opens as if to call out to you, but it gets stuck in his throat. What would he say?

"Hey, want to walk together?" Hobi approaches him from behind, clasping a hand around his neck and squeezing comfortingly.

"Uh, yeah," he says, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. When he looks back up you're gone.

Am I fucking hallucinating?

Hoseok is watching him with a concerned look and Jeongguk forces a smile. Best not to say anything, he thinks, it's probably just a bad day.

You're not sure why, but you're hiding. You ducked behind a tree, your heart racing. Your palms and forehead are sweaty, and you lose your breath when you realize why. The dreams.

You peek out from behind the tree to see him walking away with another guy, down toward the science library. You breathe a sigh of relief and step out. What the fuck? you think.

Jeongguk can't focus on his Weather Studies class, although that's not unusual, he spends the entire time sketching out the scene from this morning on the edge of his notebook. Taehyung yawns and leans against his shoulder heavily, peeking at the sketch and saying, "New idea for your art project?"

Jeongguk shakes his head sharply but otherwise doesn't respond. His pencil scratches on the paper rapidly, making quick decisive movements that surprise even himself. His usual approach to art is planned and a bit apprehensive, but he never dives in like this without at least thinking about where to go next.

Now, though, he just has that memory? Flashback? Whatever it is imprinted beneath his eyelids and he can't think of anything to do with it except get it onto paper.

Taehyung watches Jeongguk's profile for a moment in concern. He's acting colder than usual and he's never seen the maknae sketch with such intensity.

Taehyung straightens and tries to shrug it off. It's probably just a bad day. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his lastest messages from Jimin.

Chim: kookie was acting weird at practice

Tae: weird how???

Chim: 🤷🏼‍♀️

Chim: upset about something maybe? Idk

Taehyung glances back over at Jeongguk, a crease forming in his brow as he watches anxiously. Without looking up from his page, Jeongguk says: "Stop it, hyung."

Tae nearly jumps out of his seat, but otherwise turns away, frowning.

Jeongguk keeps sketching and he feels bad. His voice was colder than he'd intended and harsher. He knows Tae is sensitive to those kinds of mood shifts and he wants to reach over and apologize, offer to buy lunch to make up for it, but he's still irritable. He tells himself he'll make it up to him later.

"Bye," Jeongguk says at the end of class without waiting for Taehyung. The elder watches him go with a frown. He clicks to call Jimin before he's even left the classroom, sniffling.

You end up in your building for poli sci instead of the quad, sitting in the hallway outside the classroom to wait another hour and a half. You're sipping on the sugary iced coffee you bought downstairs, earbuds in, eyes closed, listening to music.

His face swims before your eyes. He's so handsome that it makes your heart physically hurt. He's smiling with his nose scrunched, leaning in so that your foreheads touch. His lips are moving but you don't know what he's saying. A warm feeling crowds your chest and heats your skin.

You blink awake to find forty-five minutes have passed. Your coffee is sitting by your side, condensation pooling on the tile. You press the back of your hand to your cheek and find that you're flushed, beads of sweat on your forehead. You feel woozy like you might pass out.

Someone says your name and you blink up at them, your mind refusing to focus. The person kneels down in front of you, "Hey, are you okay?"

You blink again, "Taehyung?" His boxy smile comes into focus and you squeeze your eyes shut hard before opening them again.

Taehyung tilts his head to the side and says, "Taking a power nap?"

"Um, I guess," you whisper, taking his hand as he helps you stand. You lean against him heavily as you start to fall forward once you're on your feet.

"Woah," he says, "Alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm...fine." You shake your head, willing the room to stop spinning and your skin to cool down. Everything begins to straighten out and you say, "Woah, that was weird." You pull away from him and fan your face with your hand.

"I didn't know you had a class in this building," you say.

"Yeah," he rolls his eyes, "there's this logic course I take instead of math." He sticks his tongue out, "Hate it. Logic is for pussies." As he runs a hand through his hair, you spot the Chinese symbol on his wrist, friendship. His soulmate mark.

You force a smile and avert your eyes, glancing over to see your classmates filing into the room. "Oh, I should go."

"Okay, feel better." Taehyung's mouth twists into another frown as he watches you disappear into the classroom. Everyone's weird today, he thinks.

Jeongguk blows off the rest of his classes to run laps. He obviously can't be trusted to be around other people. The look on Tae's face as he ran out of class haunts him; it pushes him to run harder, faster, until his lungs, legs, and heart hurt.

Nothing's helping. He's still so irritable. Like there's something beneath his skin. He skids to a stop when he feels a swell of nausea in his stomach, his skin flushing from something other than running. He stumbles and barely catches himself, sinking to his knees as a memory comes to him unbidden.

"Wooo!"

He looks over. A beautiful girl in the stands with a handmade banner. There's a name on it that is unfamiliar but that is his. Someone bumps into him and he's...playing soccer. He kicks the ball and it goes flying into the net, cheers erupt around him.

His teammates slap him on the back and the girl barrels toward him, arms looping around his neck and squeezing.

Jeongguk blinks and the memory's gone. "You," he whispers, finally placing your face. "From the party." He falls on his back on the track, staring at the sky, unable to shake your image from his mind. "Who are you?"

Days pass like this. Days of endless wandering and a heat so extreme that Jeongguk peels off layer after layer of his clothing until he's laying in bed with nothing but his boxers on. Days of memories and flashbacks so intense it's like a bad trip. Or a good trip? The memories make him feel warm and fluttery, but when they're gone he's left in a cold sweat with a feeling of longing so painful it's like being shot.

You spend the next week and a half similarly. Lounging around in just your underwear and a camisole, fanning yourself with whatever you can find. You can't sleep. Your dreams are so lifelike and you wake up drenched in sweat. And it hurts. The waking up is a nightmare because it leaves you feeling so lonely and lost. You sit up in bed and wonder why you're alone. Something is missing and you don't dare admit to yourself that it might be the person that stars in your dreams, the tall, handsome man who takes you in his arms…

Sometimes you wake up crying. Sometimes you cry as soon as you wake up. Sometimes you stare at the ceiling and wonder if morphine would even be powerful enough to dull the pain.

Jeongguk gets fed up on day nine post-party, and calls Taehyung. It's 2 AM.

"Hello?" Taehyung answers, his voice thick with sleep. Jeongguk can hear Jimin mumbling curse words in the background. "Kookie?"

"Who is she, Tae?" Jeongguk growls, surprising himself.

"What?" He says, confused.

Jeongguk scrunches his face up in frustration, trying to calm down enough to have an actual conversation with an actual person. He breathes deeply.

"There was a girl," Jeongguk says and his voice is like a string pulled taut, all tension, "She came to your party, but she didn't come inside. She was wearing a dress."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The girl, Tae!" Jeongguk snaps, lashing out and kicking the small trash can by his desk so that it goes flying into the wall. "The beautiful girl in the sundress with the bottle of wine! She obviously knew you, but she didn't go inside. Who is she?"

On the other end of the line, Taehyung is staring at Jimin with fear in his eyes. Jimin swipes the phone from his other half and growls into the speaker, "What the hell, Jeongguk? You can't just call us in the middle of the night and demand answers to vague-ass fucking questions! You need to calm down."

Jeongguk has the urge to throw his phone against the wall. He wants to trash his apartment. He wants to go out and start a fight. "Whatever," he growls into his phone, the line going dead.

You don't leave your house for days. Three to be precise. On day four you realize you're running out of food. Two more protein bars, a handful of potato chips, a questionable apple.

You pick the protein bar and lay back down in bed. You're torn between wanting to sleep and staying awake. Exhaustion coats your skin beneath the heat, you feel it in your limbs and your eyelids. You're so tired. And you want to see him. That beautiful slim face, those bright wide eyes. You want to feel his hands against your skin and in your hair, his lips dragging across your shoulders and neck, his voice floating in the air like music.

It's like a drug. But when the high's gone, you're left with a terrible feeling. An emptiness. Loneliness. You chew slowly at your granola bar, fighting to stay awake and losing.

When you come-to, Joy is in your apartment. She has her hands wrapped around your upper arms and is shaking you awake. When you blink your eyes open she nearly collapses on the floor, "Oh, thank god."

"What is it?" You say and your voice is dry and quiet. It hurts to speak.

"I've been texting and calling," she says, watching you with a frazzled expression, "I haven't heard from you in three days!" She leans forward and cups your cheek in her hand, "Are you okay?" Her voice is gentle now.

You look over and into the mirror, surprised to find red streaks on your cheeks. From crying. You haven't really looked at yourself in three days and it's shocking how different you look. You haven't showered; your hair is dirty and piled on your head, skin oily and blotchy from crying. But it's the sadness, so plainly evident in your face, that makes the tears come again.

"I need you to take me to the doctor," you whisper.

On day thirteen since Taehyung's party, Seokjin organizes a get together with just the seven of them with the full intention of having a conversation with Jeongguk about his behavior. Something is obviously wrong and he must talk to them about it.

Jeongguk goes. Even though he doesn't want to, even though he thinks he will probably end up doing or saying something stupid. Even though his skin feels like fire and every bone is filled with lead.

He's the last to show up and he does find this suspicious but he's too tired to do anything about it. The apartment smells like kimchi and gochujang, and he can hear everyone talk quietly with each other. There's music in the background that's soft and soothing so he thinks Namjoon probably got to the speakers first.

Jeongguk slides onto the couch without greeting them. He sinks into the soft pleather and feels as if he could fall asleep then and there.

"Hey." He knows it's Namjoon without having to open his eyes. "Kookie, can we talk to you?"

Jeongguk squeezes his eyes tighter. This is just like them. To do something considerate and caring and try to talk to him about what's going on. But how can he talk to them about it if even he doesn't know?

He opens his eyes slowly and sees that all six of his hyungs have gathered around him.

"Is everything okay?" Namjoon says and when Jeongguk meets his eyes they're dark and filled with concern. It stabs at his heart.

"Yeah, you've been acting kind of weird," Hoseok adds, sitting down next to the maknae. Jeongguk frowns and tries to look away from all six of them at once. He stares at his lap.

"That phone call to Tae the other night…" Jimin whispers. He was angry that night, but now distress is laced into his words.

"Are you mad at me?" Taehyung squeaks. Jeongguk's head snaps up to look at him at that, finding him clinging to Jimin's arm and looking so upset it breaks him.

"No, no, of course not," Jeongguk gushes, shaking his head.

"Then what's wrong?"

What's wrong. What's wrong, Jeongguk? You can talk to us. What's wrong? They're all talking. Talking talking talking. All their voices jumble and hit his ears at once. And he's so hot. And tired. And woozy.

"I don't know what's wrong with me!" He screams, wrenching his hands through his hair painfully. All six of his friends watch him in shock. Most of them have never heard Jeongguk so much as raise his voice. Now his hair is plastered to his forehead, there are deep purple shadows beneath his eyes, he looks pale and sunken.

"Kookie, when was the last time you slept?" Jimin wonders softly.

Jeongguk clenches his jaw, "I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see her."

A look goes around the group before Jin finally steps forward and presses a hand to Jeongguk's forehead. "You're burning up."

Jeongguk nods, leaning into the cool temperature of Jin's palm. He speaks softly now, exhausted, "For days."

"Maybe we should take him to a hospital," Taehyung suggests quietly.

"When did this start, Kook?" Yoongi steps forward.

"Last week, after Tae's party." He pauses as Hoseok hands him a glass of water, gulping it down quickly.

"After you met that girl?" Namjoon says suddenly, his voice strung with tension, "Taehyung's friend?"

Jeongguk nods, letting Jin and Hoseok guide him to a chair at the kitchen table. Immediately, he leans against the table's surface, pressing his cheek against the cool wood and exhaling softly.

"Okay, okay," Namjoon says, flinging his hands in the air dramatically, "Wait a sec!"

"What? Namjoon—" Hoseok starts, but he's already run from the room.

Jimin sits beside their youngest member at the table, pushing the messy mop of dark hair from his forehead paternally. He presses the back of his hand to Jeongguk's skin and whispers softly, "It's going to be okay."

"Got it!" Namjoon says, losing his balance, socks sliding against the hardwood floor as he runs back into the room. He rights himself and sits on the other end of the table, opening the book he's brought with him and flipping through it.

"Okay," Namjoon scans the page, his finger flying fast down the text until he reaches a certain point, "Ha! Okay Kook, so you've been having hot flashes? A fever since that day?"

Jeongguk nods half-heartedly. The coolness of the table and the water have helped, he feels like someone drowning finally breaking through the surface. But he's still barely treading water.

"Have you been experiencing vivid, life-like dreams, daydreams, or memories?" Namjoon reads, some of the others coming to stand behind him, looks of shock on their faces as they realize what he's reading.

"Yes," Jeongguk groans, "I can't sleep."

"Do they focus on a particular event or person?"

Jeongguk sits up at that, leaning back in his chair and mustering as quizzical a glare as he can summon. "Yes, always her."

"Does your mind wander and you suddenly find yourself somewhere you've never been before but that seems familiar?"

Jeongguk thinks of the bookshop on the outskirts of town. "Yes."

"Have you found any birthmarks or tattoo-like marks on your body since the fever and the dreams started?" All six pairs of eyes watch him expectantly.

"What?" He says, "No."

Jimin's brow furrows. "But what about the heart-shaped mark on your forehead, by your hairline? That hasn't always been there has it?"

"The what?"

Jeongguk pulls out his phone faster than he thought possible, switching it to selfie mode and pulling his hair away from his face. Holy fucking shit. There's a pale pink heart peeking out from his hairline.

"It's a Late-Onset Soulmate Bond!" Namjoon exclaims, slamming his book shut to reveal the title. Modern Soulmate Science and Theory.

"What does that mean?" Taehyung wonders.

"According to my class, it's an incredibly rare type of soulmate bond. As you know, 98% of soulmate bonds occur in adolescence, with a person's individual bond type manifesting around puberty, usually represented by a mark on the body. 1.9% never manifest a soulmate bond at all. And the remaining 0.1% are assumed to have no soulmate bond, but then meet their soulmate later in life, resulting in these symptoms," Namjoon explains.

"But why are they so severe?" Yoongi says.

"Yeah, when my soulmate bond manifested I was only out of school for a day," Taehyung adds.

"Adolescent bodies and minds are more elastic and are thus more adaptable to changes. When a soulmate bond manifests, it takes less out of an adolescent body. It's also theorized that Late-Onset Soulmate Bonds are borne of past lives, and it's only when the two souls physically meet that the bond can be reawakened. Of course, this theory has been often hypothesized because of the memory-like dreams experienced by the soulmates, but research thus far has been inconclusive. At least…" Namjoon says, finally looking around to find his friends dumbfounded, "that's what my textbook says."

"So, she's my soulmate?" Jeongguk says softly. He's gone completely still.

"I think so, Kook," Hoseok beams down at him.

"I...I have a soulmate?"

The doctor is smiling at you so warmly that it's starting to give you the creeps. You can tell she's expecting you to react a certain way - cry, cheer, hug her maybe - but all you feel is shock.

"What...does this mean?"

The doctor blinks as if you'd asked her to explain the meaning of life. It takes her a moment to respond, "You find them, of course."

"How do I do that?"

"It's whoever it was when the symptoms first started." She's still looking at you like you're going to cry from happiness.

"Will the symptoms stop?"

The doctor nods. "Yes, to abate the symptoms, you have to..." her faces scrunches up, "exchange bodily fluids."

"I'm sorry, what?" you stutter, "We have to...do we have to—"

"Oh!" the doctor shakes her head, "While that would do it, a kiss will suffice."

You leave the clinic fifteen minutes later. The doctor is still watching you expectantly but you can't find it in yourself to have a big flood of emotion. You don't feel that way. You've seen soulmate matches in real life before, there's always tears and giant grins. The love becomes almost palpable.

But all you feel is apprehensive.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't spent most of middle and high school daydreaming of having a soulmate. But after it became clear that you didn't have one...it was just too painful to keep daydreaming. So you closed off that part of yourself with a heavy padlock, resigned to your fate.

You're not sure you even have the key to unlock it anymore.

You're standing on the sidewalk with your phone in your hands. Alone. Joy was running late for work and, although it took some convincing, she left.

You stare at the black screen. You know who it is; you're... soulmate. Your mind skips on the word, it feels awkward in your mouth. But it's obviously that stranger from the night of the party. You can conjure his face in your mind easily now. And if the doctor is correct, you've seen his face from dozens of different lifetimes.

Meeting him would be as simple as texting Taehyung. But there's apprehension caged in your chest like a nervous bird.

Ding!

But it looks like you won't have a choice.

Unknown Number: Hi, this is Jeongguk. I'm a friend of Taehyung's.

"Are you sure I should've texted her?" Jeongguk worries his bottom lip and stares at his phone. His hands are shaky and the smell of ramen coming from the kitchen makes his stomach growl. He turns to look wide-eyed at him, "Are you sure it's her?"

Taehyung nods, "She's the only person I know who could match the description you gave me."

When a full minute passes and the screen still holds only his message and 'delivered' Jeongguk thunks his head against the table heavily. Yoongi snorts a laugh out through his nose at this and when Jeongguk turns his head to glare at him the elder keeps his eyes on his phone. But he's still grinning.

"Kook, it's going to be fine," Jimin says, taking the bowl of noodles Jin handed him and placing it on the table by Jeongguk.

"Maybe she's just busy?" Hoseok offers, taking his own bowl.

Jeongguk hits his head softly against the table a couple of times. He sits up, pausing when he feels the telltale signs of a flashback under his skin.

A small retro apartment with linoleum floors. A kitchen with pale green cabinets. A flimsy card table and folding chairs. And you, in a ratty apron smiling at him like there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

Jeongguk shakes his head and the memory dissipates. His chest feels a little lighter, though, and his fever's gone. The memory infuses him with confidence. As awkward and weird as the next part is, it's meant to be.

When he looks up, everyone is now seated at the table and they are all staring at him. "What?"

"Well, aren't you going to see what she said?" Yoongi asks, deadpan.

Jeongguk looks down at his phone. It's lit up with a message from you.

You: The one I met at the party?

You: I guess we need to talk...

Jeongguk's not sure what he was expecting. But he wasn't sure he had ever anticipated this level of awkwardness. If he's being honest, he was hoping for one of those heartfelt soulmate matches he's witnessed from the sidelines for so long. But you're just sitting opposite from him at a coffee shop, staring at the mug of hot cocoa you'd ordered.

Your face looks so uncomfortable. So, instead, he watches your hands as they trace the funky art design on the mug, shift it back and forth. His focus catapults him into a flashback.

You're both still sitting at a table, one that's small and wooden and sturdy. The mug in your hands this time is black and glazed and he knows that he's the one who made it. You're smiling.

He's gotten so used to the flashbacks now that it doesn't take any effort for him to adjust back to the present. All he thinks about is that he wants to see you smile now, at him in the present.

His chest hurts with longing. Maybe it's worse to know he has a soulmate and not be with them. At least before his pining was arbitrary and foundationless.

"Are you okay?"

He looks up from the mug and you're staring at him openly, your eyes wide and concerned. He tilts his head, "Huh?"

"What was that?" You wonder, "You like...zoned out for a second."

"Flashback," Jeongguk frowns.

"What?"

"You don't get...flashbacks?" He stares.

You shake your head, "Dreams."

"Dreams?"

He hopes you'll elaborate, but you just stare down at the table. His heart feels heavy.

Your mind is blank. You feel so nervous and anxious that unshed tears are burning your eyes. You feel like a disappointment. You feel like you're doing this wrong, like you should be more and do better.

Your bottom lip is bruising from chewing on it nervously. You haven't even taken a drink of your hot cocoa.

It's so weird, him being here. You've seen his face over a dozen times since that first night but it's different when he's here. When he's so close that you could run your fingers through his hair or draw stars on his cheeks or run your thumb over his bottom lip.

Desire swirls in your stomach and turns to disappointment. So many things you want and feel you don't deserve. So many things you had accepted that you would never have and here they are. The possibility hurts more than the clear cut absence.

He starts to drum his fingers against the table and you let your eyes move over to them. It's his right hand, littered with tattoos. There are sets of initials on his knuckles, a heart on the back of his hand, a smiley face on one of his fingers. They're kind of quirky and you like them. You want to know what they mean.

Jeongguk's hand freezes when he sees you staring. You blush and look away. He's surprised to find that this gives him hope. You're interested. There's just something stopping you.

He can work with that.

"So," he tries again, "how do you know Taehyung?"

Jeongguk is relieved when you look up at him. It's odd to think but he really likes your face. Clear, expressive eyes and soft lips. And when you're looking at him...everything clicks. It's like finding his place in the world. Finally, obviously. It's by your side.

You narrow your eyes, "He didn't tell you?"

Jeongguk shakes his head and sips at his ice water. He holds his hands up as quotation marks and says, "It's something the two of you should talk about." He shrugs, running his fingers through his hair, "Why? Is it bad?"

You sigh and sip your cocoa to buy time. "No."

Jeongguk opens his mouth to say something, his eyes alive with the playful comment he had planned, but he's interrupted by a crash.

Directly beside you, a man drops his mug of coffee and it shatters on the ground, splashing your leg, shards of porcelain slicing your ankle.

You gasp, but your reaction is lost when you see the scene play out before you. The man who dropped the cup is wearing khakis and a button-down, but more noticeably there is a large, dark birthmark spanning his cheek, jaw, and neck. Across the room his eyes have found a woman, older than he is, dressed in a bohemian-style, with the exact same mark on her face.

Soulmates.

You'd seen this play out before and avert your eyes.

Jeongguk watches every detail. It's hard to describe, and others say that to truly understand, you have to experience it. But it's almost like the world slows down for these people, everything else fades and it's just them and the start of their new life.

When Jeongguk's eyes find you again, he's surprised to see how painful you find this. There are tears in your eyes.

"Hey, are you okay? I know that it can be—" He holds his hand out but stops himself short of touching you.

You shake your head. He's not wrong, that is part of it; these displays have always...bothered you. But it's mostly, "My leg," you wince.

Jeongguk's eyebrows rise to his hairline and he ducks over and beneath the table to inspect your leg. The whole side of your calf is soaked and the exposed skin of your ankle beneath your cuffed jeans is flushed from the hot coffee and bleeding.

"We should go," Jeongguk insists. Ignoring the display of love beside you, he shoves the stranger out of his way and helps you stand.

Jeongguk keeps an arm around your back and you just barely hear him whisper, "Lean on me."

Compelled by something beyond your control, you do.

You hobble out of the cafe and onto the sidewalk together, pausing as your adrenaline ebbs in the open space.

"Um," you fumble, trying to retrieve your phone from your purse despite being held up almost entirely by Jeongguk. It doesn't help that he smells like fabric softener and boy and it's making you lose concentration. "I just need to call a car."

"What?" Jeongguk shakes his head, "No." Using his arm at your back, he steers you down the sidewalk and away from the cafe. "My place is literally right here."

"Oh, no, I couldn't," you shake your head, but your body doesn't get the memo. One of your hands is twisted into the fabric of his cotton shirt, turning you so that you're almost hugging him as he helps you walk. Your mind won't listen to reason, you find yourself helpless in the face of your desire to stay in his arms.

"Please," he smiles warmly at you, "It's the least I can do." His nose scrunches up and his eyes crease, his front two teeth peeking out in an honest smile.

And now you know: you really are a goner.

Jeongguk lives in a cramped studio apartment. It smells like air freshener and fabric softener and...weed? Kind of. You're frozen in the doorway, leaning against his dresser to keep upright while he frantically clears the floor of his bags and schoolwork and art supplies.

The walls are covered in band posters and artwork (some of which you see is signed with a flourish of JK so you know it's his). There's a magnificent view of the mountains from out his window, mid-morning light pouring in and making the room stuffy. You let your eyes just barely skirt over his bed (which has a navy blue comforter and has been made), and move to look at this desk. There's a massive gaming computer, complete with a light-up keyboard, and different kinds of sound and editing equipment.

"Sorry," he says, grunting as he wrenches up the window, a brush of cold air coming in. "Wasn't expecting visitors." He's facing you, but his eyes are still skirting over his room.

"It's fine," you smile.

There's a long moment when Jeongguk finally looks at you, only mildly satisfied that there's nothing too embarrassing left out, and he just can't believe what he's seeing. You're his soulmate. You're in his room.

It's nighttime. You're standing in a dress that hugs your curves and hovering in the doorway. Your expression is nervous but hopeful as you step out of your heels. He's across the room, standing by the bed, his hands itching with the desire to touch you. "You sure?" he says, and his voice is soft and almost lost amongst the city sounds outside his window. You nod, stepping towards him.

Jeongguk comes back to the present, flushed and a little bit horny. Holy shit, he thinks.

"Flashback?" You wonder.

"Yeah," Jeongguk says, hiding his face in case it's too clear what he's thinking. He catches sight of your leg and jumps in the air, "Oh! Sit down!" He crosses the room and guides you to the expensive, high-backed desk chair, spinning around and darting into the bathroom.

You peek at the polaroids stuck to the edge of his computer screen. You recognize Taehyung and his soulmate Jimin, but everyone else are strangers. The one that catches your eye is of Jeongguk with six others (Jimin and Tae among them), they're standing in a line with Jeongguk in the middle holding a cake. Jeongguk looks younger, rounder cheeks and wider eyes. Scrawled beneath it is written Happy 16th, Kookie!!! -Hyungs

It makes you feel...warm and fluttery.

"Found it," Jeongguk chuckles, reappearing with the first aid kit and a towel. He kneels at your feet and the action feels familiar, like one of your dreams.

"What's it like?" You ask softly.

"Hmm?" Jeongguk says, intensely focused as he wipes the coffee from your ankle and starts disinfecting the cuts.

"The flashbacks."

"Oh," he says, pausing with a cotton swab above your skin. He shrugs and leans in closer as he starts again, "Just like memories. But I'm not expecting them," he chuckles. "Kind of like hiccups? Or sneezing?"

"Do they feel...real?"

Jeongguk leans back and watches your expression. He's surprised to find how scared you look, apprehensive. He can feel a flashback coming in his chest from this angle, but he's determined to answer.

"Kind of. It's like...watching a movie. I know that it's me, and you," he whispers, "and I empathize with them. But it doesn't feel like I'm living it." He looks away from you, the flashback he had sensed fading, and digs through the first aid kit for bandages. "It's like...the universe is giving me proof that it's meant to be. That we've done this before. That we will do it again. That this…" he pauses, wondering if he should say what he really thinks, finding that he can't say anything but the truth when he sees the vulnerability in your expression, "is a love that's meant to last lifetimes."

He pulls a bandage roll from the kit and his face scrunches up into that bunny smile from earlier, "Sorry, I know that was corny," he laughs, "also because this is all I have." He begins to wrap the gauze around your ankle, muttering that he really only has this stuff because of rolling his ankles and wrists during dance practice. But it sort of fades out as you identify the feeling that's formed in your chest...hope.

You avert your eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands on you and this light happy feeling crowding your chest. Your skin flushes but not in the hot flash way you've been experiencing all week, more pleasantly than that.

"Um," you stutter because you can't be alone with your thoughts anymore, "Who are all these people?" You wince at your own awkward attempt at conversation but Jeongguk laughs jovially.

He bounces up from his knees and squints at the birthday Polaroid you're motioning to. "Oh," he grins, his face doing that adorable bunny smile again, "My hyungs!" He peels the Polaroid off the edge of the monitor and hands it to you. His finger points to each person in turn as he says, "Jimin and Tae, you know them, Namjoon, Seokjin, Yoongi, and Hobi."

Your eyes follow his finger and then move to his face. He's lit up talking about them.

Your thumb moves over the center of the photograph where young Jeongguk stands, looking almost identical as right now. Completely overjoyed.

"How did you meet?" You whisper, feeling his proximity.

Jeongguk moves to sit on the bed and shrugs, "We all lived pretty close together, in the same neighborhood. I've always gone to the same school as Jimin and Tae, they're one year ahead of me. Namjoon and Hobi were seniors when I was…" he thinks, screwing his face in concentration, "a freshman? I think." He shrugs, "I don't really remember how it began, we've been friends forever."

"Wow," you say, looking down at the photograph again.

"Yeah. Namjoon-hyung is like the smartest person I've ever met, he speaks four languages and is working on a doctorate already. And Seokjin-hyung is so funny and he's helping me learn how to cook! He's gonna open his own restaurant one day, I think. And Yoongi-hyung's a composer! He even traveled with a national quartet once, as a pianist, but says he likes hip hop and rap more so now he's a producer. Hobi-hyung is the one who started teaching me how to dance, he says I'm pretty good, but I don't know… He's the captain of our dance team and is amazing! Jimin-hyung was the student body president of our middle and high school, and one of the top-scoring students in math, and a really amazing modern dancer. He almost joined a ballet company, but he said his body probably wouldn't be able to handle it so now he just does hip hop dance with me. I think he should be a choreographer or something but he's double majoring in math? I don't get it. And Taehyung is amazing! He's a theater major and he's starred in every school play that he's auditioned for, and he's the one who convinced me to start taking art classes. But I think I like film better, I'm not really sure, I—" Jeongguk stops abruptly when he sees your face, frozen in surprise. His cheeks turn pink and he says, "Sorry."

"No," you shake your head, "don't be sorry. They're your family. It's good to be so proud of them."

"Yeah," he says, scratching the back of his neck and looking away. I can't believe I just ranted about my six hyungs to my soulmate, he thinks, what a fucking nerd! God just be cool for once Jeon, just once!

He looks back over to you when your phone dings loudly. You reach into your pocket and pull it out, Jeongguk smiling at the corgi butt design decorating the case.

"Oh," you put the phone to your ear, "Hello? Joy?"

You turn away from him and he stands up quickly, wandering away under the impression of putting up the first aid kit to give you privacy. He hears you mumbling into the speaker, catches small snippets of your conversation.

"I think it is going well, actually—""

"No! Joy! Oh my god." He peeks out to see you blushing fuschia.

You talk for another minute before he hears, "Yeah, okay, maybe in an hour? I have to change first. Yeah, yeah, what would you do without me?" You laugh and hang up, Jeongguk reappearing from the bathroom. "Sorry," you say bashfully.

Jeongguk holds up his hands, "It's fine. Everything okay?"

You nod, chuckling to yourself, "My friend put off this project to the last minute and she needs my help. I need to go."

"Okay," Jeongguk nods, trying to hide how disappointed he is. He wonders if all soulmates feel this way when their other half leaves them, even if only temporarily. "I can give you a lift. If you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he grins, scooping his car keys from the top of his dresser and helping you stand.

You like this car. The washed purple color, the faded black seats. It smells like the sun and a bit of cologne. There's a stuffed D.va plush hanging from his rearview mirror that makes you laugh. As soon as he slid into the driver's seat he plugged his phone into the aux cord.

The car starts and "Circles" by Post Malone starts playing through the speakers.

"Oh, I love this song," you say, humming the lyrics under your breath.

Jeongguk looks at you like there's nothing else he will ever need. He realizes this is a bit extreme, but it feels accurate. "Me too," he grins, his nose scrunching up in a smile.

It takes you three days to text Jeongguk. Three days to decide that you want to and summon the courage. You feel nauseous when you send the text and unsure. And it takes nearly ten minutes of constant encouragement from Joy for you to hit send.

It takes three days for Jeongguk to get a text from you and it nearly drives his hyungs crazy. He jumps around their apartments muttering, "She said she would text me. She said that right?" His eyes dart frantically to whoever's in the room, "Right?"

"That's what you said," Yoongi responds lamely.

"So I shouldn't text her? I shouldn't? Like that would be a bad idea?"

Jimin laughs loudly and Taehyung chuckles under his breath. Seokjin steps forward and squeezes his shoulder, "Do not. Do not text her."

When his phone buzzes and he sees it's a message from you he nearly starts breakdancing in the middle of the room. Instead, he starts jumping up and down frantically, looking more like a bunny now than he ever has before.

"And?" Namjoon wonders, "What did she say?"

Jeongguk glances down, beaming, "Hi."

His hyungs roll their eyes.

You: Hi

You: Sorry I know it's been a few days…

Jeongguk can't stop himself from replying. He doesn't care about remaining aloof or mysterious. All he knows is that he's been dying to talk to you and now that he has the chance he won't let anything stop him.

JK: No it's fine! No worries!

JK: How are you?

You: good...busy

JK: oh yeah me too

Jimin snorts, reading over his shoulder, "As if you haven't been staring at your phone for three days waiting for her to text you."

"That counts as busy!" Jeongguk pouts, eyes straying back to his screen when he sees the text bubble floating beneath his last message. He hears Jimin say something else but he tunes it out.

You: I was thinking we could hang out again?

You: If you have time

You: If you're too busy, just forget I said anything

JK: YES

JK: Was that too eager?

JK: I don't care, let's hang out

You giggle down at your phone, warmth spreading to your cheeks and crowding your rib cage. Joy peeks over your shoulder curiously, "So who is this guy anyway? I was surprised when you said you had a date." She squints down at your screen, shoving you playfully, "And you like him!"

Your blush turns crimson and you can't force yourself to meet her eyes. She wraps her hands around your arm and shakes you vigorously, "I want all of the information right now!!!" She pauses, a thought occurring to her, and stops shaking you, "But...does he have a soulmate?"

You can tell she's afraid to ask the question. You've known Joy for almost five years now, and she's known about your lack of a soulmate bond for almost the entire time. She knows how uncomfortable it makes you and how depressed you get about it sometimes. She doesn't really want to ask because she doesn't want to ruin whatever happiness you've found. But it does need to be asked.

"That's the thing," you chew on your bottom lip. You're hyperaware that you've never said it aloud before but that you are about to now. "I'm his soulmate."

"Dinner, dinner, dinner," Jeongguk chants, standing in front of his closet with a serious expression. Behind him, Jimin is on his bed reading a magazine and Taehyung is spinning around in the computer chair. "Dinner," he says again, squinting.

"Just wear that yellow button-up and jeans," Jimin says absently.

"Yellow?" Jeongguk crinkles his nose in distaste. He only owns that shirt because Seokjin-hyung bought it for him. The rest of his closet is a spectrum of black and white. In fact, the only colorful items he owns are gifts from others.

"Don't get too goth on her just yet," Jimin chuckles.

Jeongguk pulls the shirt out with a sigh, holding it up to himself in the mirror and twisting his mouth in confusion. He hangs it on his closet door, turning back to his closet with the same frustrated expression.

"It's so weird," Taehyung says.

"What do you mean?" Jeongguk's eyes grow wide with concern.

"Just that...well for Jimin and I, after our soulmate bond manifested and we connected that was kind of...it, y'know? We didn't have to, like, do this whole courting thing." He shrugs.

"Yeah," Jeongguk sighs, "It's hard because I can see our whole history together and it's us but not us? I don't know how to explain it."

It's a nice night, a soft breeze and a clear sky. You have your arms wrapped around yourself as you wait in front of the restaurant, and your heart nearly stops when you see him. He looks like a god. He looks so good. Tight jeans and a perfect muted yellow shirt. His hair looks soft and smooth and it falls into his eyes. And he's smiling, his nose scrunches up happily. He's only walking at first but he starts jogging when he sees you.

When he stops in front of you, you know you should say something but can't find the words. There's a feeling in your chest. Disbelief. That he's here, that this perfect person is in your life, is forever intertwined with yours. You have the urge to run your fingers through his hair and you have a distinct feeling that it's something you've done before.

Instead, you let out a shaky breath and avert your gaze.

"I've never tried this restaurant," he says, tilting his head back to read the sign.

You're too aware of how close he is. Of how good he smells. Of the heat coming off his skin. You want to wrap your arms around him and hold him close to you, bury your face in his chest.

"I really like it," you say, turning away from him because you're afraid of what you might do otherwise.

The restaurant is small because you hate large restaurants that cram people inside. There's soft classical music playing from speakers and warm lighting. But what you like most is the metal archway over the entrance that has pure white jasmine strung through it. You walk through and instantly feel at ease from the smell.

"Oh, hello miss," the greeter says from behind your podium, recognizing you instantly.

You blush and smile at her, a bit embarrassed that he now knows how frequently you come here.

The hostess glances behind you and you see her eyes sparkle at the sight of him. You wonder if that's what you look like when you see him too. When she looks back at you she gives you a conspiratorial thumbs up, whispers, "You didn't tell me your soulmate was so hot!"

Your flush goes darker. Soulmate. She said it so casually. But you suppose it's true. He's your...soulmate. The word feels right.

"Table for two?" She smiles, "I think I have your favorite one open."

"Yes, thank you."

Jeongguk focuses back on you and grins cheekily, "How often do you come here?"

You avoid his eyes, "Couple times a week. I like to...study here."

You sit at a table on the open patio. String lights curl around the wooden awning and the metal fence. Tall potted plants are perched in the open spaces. On the table is a flickering yellow candle and a lavender bouquet.

The hostess gives you both menus before taking your drink orders. You ignore the menu, while Jeongguk opens his and starts perusing.

He's so focused that you let yourself watch him. He's so beautiful; dewy, glowing skin, plush, pink lips, wide, brown eyes. It all feels so familiar. Dinner in soft lighting, sitting across from each other.

Your cheeks heat up thinking about it.

Jeongguk is surprised that, despite how nervous he feels, the night is going so well. You both order wine and pasta and just...talk. There's a familiarity that pervades through the night that he keeps from thinking about; if he thinks about it he knows he'll just freak himself out. He tries to keep his hands busy to stop himself from reaching over and intertwining your fingers with his.

"I like your tattoos," you say softly. Your plates have been cleared and Jeongguk seriously considers ordering a second serving of dessert to prolong the date.

Jeongguk raises his eyebrows and looks down at this hand. He often forgets they're there. "Oh," he says, flexing his hand, "Thanks."

"What do they mean?" you cock your head to the side.

"Oh, the initials are for my hyungs," he blushes, "And the rest just...seemed like a good idea." He runs his hand through his hair nervously.

You grin and boldly reach across the table, your fingers wrapping around his wrist and pulling the appendage closer to the light. Your fingers trace softly over the inked pieces of his skin. You giggle at the smiley face on his finger, trace the heart on the back of his hand, tap each of the initials on his knuckles.

Jeongguk sucks in a breath as your fingers move up his forearm. You spend a long time on the flower decorating his arm, until Jeongguk finally says, "It's my, um, birth flower."

"Tiger flower," you whisper.

"Uh," he watches you with wide, doe eyes that reflect the flickering candle, "Yeah."

You meet his eyes, realizing suddenly how intimate this has become and pull back. Jeongguk coughs loudly, awkwardly, afraid he's having a heart attack from how fast his heart is beating.

"Is, uh, is yours on your forehead?"

"What?" you ask, wide-eyed.

Jeongguk sits up straighter and pulls his mop of dark hair from his face. There's a heart, just a shade or two pinker than his natural skin tone, peeking out from his hairline. A soulmate mark.

"I...don't know." You do the same as him, revealing your forehead and hairline.

Jeongguk's face transforms into a smile, his eyes light up happily. He presses two fingers to a spot just beneath your hairline, "Right. There," he says softly. He looks down at the table, his cheeks turning pink, "Meant to be," he whispers.

You let your hair fall back over your face, blushing.

The date goes well. The next three dates go well. A month passes and Jeongguk sees your progress. It's slow. You keep your distance. The fevers, dreams, flashbacks...they all continue. Subdued but still there.

You feel guilty. You know the solution. You're not sure if Jeongguk does, but either way, you're glad he hasn't forced you into anything physical. It's such a major shift in your worldview...you have a soulmate. You still have to remind yourself when you wake up in the morning.

"I'm not alone." You whisper it to your empty room. Your fingers find their way to your forehead to touch the heart that's now printed there. You stalk JK's social media and text constantly.

But every time you're with him (which is...as often as possible), something stops you. Fear, probably. You're afraid of making it real, of cementing everything.

Jeongguk's happy. Frustrated but happy. He can tell you're afraid, he senses your hesitation. He's glad, too, that things are moving slowly because he doesn't know what he's doing. He was popular in grade school, but soulmate bonds manifest during puberty. Once someone gets their soulmate mark...they pretty much refuse to make out with anyone else. He has little experience, but he doesn't care with you.

Anytime he's within six feet of you, his fingers start to twitch and his heartbeat quickens and he just...he just wants to wrap his arms around you and squeeze, he wants to kiss every inch of your skin, run his hands through your hair.

So he's frustrated. Because of the lack of physical intimacy, yes, but also because he doesn't know what you're afraid of. Or how to help.

And the flashbacks aren't helping. They feel like taunts. Like someone showing him something that could be his if only he'd do the right thing, say the right thing. It's infuriating.

"I think you should talk to her about it," Namjoon says flatly when he broaches the subject with his hyungs.

"Yeah, Kookie," Hobi says, looking up from the game of cards he and Yoongi are playing, "Can't resolve anything if you won't talk about it first."

Jeongguk huffs and throws himself against the couch, whiny.

It takes a week for him to build up the courage to bring it up. Date night.

You made sure to pick a movie for tonight that you'd seen before. You had made the preemptive decision to hold his hand. You did feel...slightly stupid for having to make a preemptive plan for something as innocent as hand-holding. But you figured that was the only way you were going to get yourself to do it.

So you waited until after dinner, halfway through the movie, the sun has set. You're sitting a few inches from him on the couch in the low lit room. You make a bit of a show of yawning and lean over.

His shoulders are broad and round and comfortable. Your cheek rests easily against him and you find a sense of security wrapping around you like a blanket from the proximity.

His hand is resting, palm up, on his thigh and you tentatively link your fingers through his.

You love his hands. Long fingers, soft palms, dark tattoos. It's warm and comforting, and they fit together perfectly.

Jeongguk doesn't need to bring it up, he realizes. This is progress. You're both trying. He squeezes your hand, leans his cheek against the top of your head. You fall asleep on his shoulder.

But it's getting worse. The dreams are so intense you can barely sleep. You keep waking up every few hours, remind yourself that he's real, talking yourself out of the anxiety. And his flashbacks are intense. Debilitating. He had one during dance practice and it ended up with him on the floor. The fevers are so intense sometimes that neither of you can move.

"Shit," he whispers one day, walking with your hands through the door of his apartment. You look over and find that he's drenched with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead. He pales and his knees go weak.

"Woah, oh my god," you gasp, trying to hold onto him enough to ease him to the ground. "You're burning up," you whisper, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead.

Jeongguk shakes his head almost, "S'fine."

His eyes blink rapidly and refuse to focus, "Are you having a flashback?"

He shakes his head and you can tell he's trying to stay present but he's struggling. His skin is so hot and he's sweating so much...you think he might pass out.

You screw your face up. You know what you have to do.

You take his chin between your fingers and lift it up, leaning in and pausing, whispering sincerely, "I'm so sorry I put this off for so long." You close the distance between you both, your lips brushing softly, tentatively against his at first.

Jeongguk eyes open wide, his mind suddenly reeling back into the present. Your lips are pliant against his and he finds himself responding without thinking. He surges upward, his tongue slipping between your lips and into your mouth. His hand threads into your hair and presses your head closer.

Your hands grip tightly at his shoulders, your mouth opening in a gasp as he's suddenly so responsive. You feel his fever break beneath you, your lips moving of their own accord.

And then suddenly, it hits you. All your lifetimes. Every memory, every moment. And it's all...Jeongguk. You understand now, what he meant about the flashbacks, about how they're you but not you.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. You're both breathing heavily, grinning like fools. You close your eyes and just smile, "I remember everything," you whisper.

"Me too," he whispers, and he peppers kisses across your nose and cheeks, "It's been so long. So many lifetimes." He pulls your hair away from your face and presses his lips softly to the heart-shaped mark on your forehead.

"I can't believe we found each other," you whisper, wrapping your arms around his back and pulling him into your chest, "Again."

"Always," he says, curling into your embrace so that his face hides in the dip of your neck, "Always. We'll always find each other."

"Always," you affirm. You kiss the mark on his forehead and say it again, "Always."

author’s note—i really really really love this; i'm so proud of it omg

m.list :: wips :: ao3

[kaluawoo]

OC Character Ask

Tagged by @nyanberri​! I have too many OCs to choose from so I’ll uhhh just take Lexy/Lexie/Lexi I guess bc she’s my KH OC and I’ve met you through KH. and bc I need to flesh her out more Putting it under a cut for length and some KH spoilers until like KH3-ish

Tagging @silverfeathers to do it too :3

1. Do they have a morning routine that they do to get ready for the day? What about a night routine?

Aside from the standard get dressed, brush teeth, etc, not really.

2. Is there anything specific that they need before they go to bed? A night light? Warm milk? Maybe a story?

She didn’t before, but after she and her family got attacked by Shadows, she started writing a journal each night, and some nights she needs a night light.

3. Do they have a skin care routine? If so is it long or short?

Not really skin care, but she’s tried out a lot of scar creams. I’d put more info but all google gives me is “How to get rid of scars” and not “How to make sure they don’t feel uncomfortable”

4. Do they like tight clothes or loose clothes?

Either is fine as long as it’s colorful, she’s basically a walking rainbow.

5. What is their favorite color?

Do you have to make her choose...? I guess if she has to, she likes dark blue, the sky just after sunset. Or the red of Axel’s hair and the black of his coat

6. What kind of stuff do they dream about? What do they have nightmares about?

Most of her dreams are those weird dreams that make you go “????” but when you think a bit you can easily decipher which happenings during the day caused what part of the dream. Nightmares, though, usually have to do with her or people she cares about getting cornered by a hulking black mass with piercing yellow eyes.

7. Do they have any special talents? Singing? Dancing? Playing an instrument?

Well it’s definitely not playing poker, Lexi can’t do a pokerface to save her life lmao. She’s gotten a little bit of training with different weapons, but not much, like, Sora’s experience with wooden swords was probably better than what she can do at the start of her journey.

8. Are they active? If so what do they do? Workout? Play a sport?

She’s gotten Axel, Demyx, Roxas, and Xion to teach her a little bit of fighting cringe is dead my OC is friends with half the Org deal with it but not a lot tbh, especially since it’s several different fighting styles that she now knows the basics in, but none she’s actually good at.

9. What is something that they are really passionate about?

“Listen Nobodies DO have emotions, I HAVE BEEN HANGING OUT WITH THEM FOR AGES, EVEN THEY REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT because they’re all IDIOTS, but trust me I know that!”

10. Do they ever have a self care or 'me’ day? If so, what do they do?

Lexy is a total extrovert and loves company, so a “me” day usually still involves hanging out with other people. Maybe if she really just wants to relax, hanging out with Demyx specifically and listen to him play the sitar.

11. What’s something they’re secretly really insecure about? Is it something physical or maybe something related to who they are or what they identify as?

Her non-existent fighting skills. Lexie kinda-sorta joins Sora’s group for the timeline of KH2, and she tries but especially at the start she’s just... Not good at it. And if she faces Shadow Heartless she has almost no chance because she tends to freeze up then. She does get better at fighting over time though.

12. Have they ever dated? If so, how did their last relationship end?

She’s probably had a few dates as a teen, maybe a partner, but nothing too serious. She’s (with almost no success) trying to hide that she’s got a crush on Axel/Lea, and they finally get together around DDD.

13. Do they care about quality or quantity with their work?

When it’s for friends, quality, otherwise she’s kinda just “eh, good enough” for stuff.

14. What is their favorite scent?

The smell of a campfire. Heat in general is nice (hot water smells different than cold water I swear), but campfires especially.

15. What is their favorite genre of music?

Lexi’s fine with whatever tbh, but it varies a bit on her mood. If she’s stressed or just wants to chill, she’s taken a liking to sitar music, otherwise she really likes pop.

16. What do they usually have for a midnight snack?

Nothing, usually.

17. Have they ever snapped because of what someone said or did to them? If so what happened? Do they regret it and did they apologize?

Theoretically that scene isn’t written yet, buuuut. Lexie’s best friend is Demyx. Sora is not exactly sad about killing her best friend. I’d say it’s pretty damn understandable for Lexie to get pissed off in that situation. She’s very emotional in general so probably snapped at people in general when it came to the topic of Nobodies; sometimes she’d apologize, but not always.

18. Do they have any kind of medical condition? If so what? Asthma, kidney disease, etc.

Well I’m pretty sure having her parents and almost herself killed in a Heartless attack could’ve caused PTSD, so I need to do some research on that before writing more with her.

19. Have they ever had a panic attack? If so, what caused it and how were they able to calm down?

Well, I’m pretty sure seeing the monsters who killed your parents and seeing your friends and crush killed in front of you can cause those - The Shadows moreso directly, while the friends/crush stuff usually needed a while to really hit. Like, so much happening it once, that a few hours or days afterwards it hits her all at once and she just. Curls up somewhere.

20. What are they genuinely afraid of?

Shadow Heartless, and losing people she cares about (yeah she’s gonna suffer). As for the Shadows, she knows there’s stronger and more dangerous Heartless around, but the Shadows scare her the most.

21. How organized are their living spaces? Do they keep things clean or are they disorganized?

“Damn girl you live like that?” Her room’s chaos, but somehow she always knows where stuff is.

22. If they ever had a YouTube channel, what would they make videos about?

Pretty scenery videos around Twilight Town. The view from the clock tower, pretty places in the woods around the city, etc.

23. Do they have a birthmark or any scars? If so how do they feel about them and how did they get their scars?

Lexi’s pretty much covered in scars. Her family wanted to get out of Twilight Town when the Heartless started becoming more and more, but didn’t make it all the way to the train station - Lexy’s parents got killed in the attack, and Lexy almost died. Her little sister is the only one who got away without physical damage.

24. Are they the type to start or finish fights?

Hm... Neither and both. Lexi can get worked up quickly, so arguments with her might get heated, but she usually wouldn’t start an actual fight, especially since she calms down pretty quickly, her emotions burn hot and bright but not long.

25. Do they like cuddling? If so are they a big spoon or a little spoon?

Yes.

26. Do they prefer baths or showers?

Baths, though she usually takes showers because it’s quicker.

27. How do they sleep? Do they stay in one position all night or do they toss and turn? Do they snore or talk in their sleep?

Lexi sometimes mumbles in her sleep, and she moves around a lot. That’s how you can tell she has a nightmare: She moves almost not al all when she has one.

28. How touch starved are they? Would they like a hug right now?

Technically not touch starved, but yes, she’d love a hug.

29. What are their favorite kinds of foods? Sweets, sour foods, salty, etc?

She likes all of them on occasion, but she’s especially fond of spicy food and all kinds of curry.

30. Do they still have anything from their childhood? If so what and why? A stuffed animal, a piece of jewelry, a book, etc?

She’s got a stuffed animal that belonged to her little sister, and a few of her own. Other than that a few trinkets that were gifts from friends, but most of them are too recent to be called “from her childhood”.

[samthemarvelfan]

Goodbyes: Chapter Seven

Summary: Ella Monroe is the Avengers newest recruit, handpicked by Steve Rogers himself. Indebted to him for reasons unknown, Cap pairs her up with Bucky Barnes. He is tasked with training her to relearn and hone the skills that have long since rusted. Bucky is cold and distant, and Ella can’t seem to break through the wall he’s built up for decades. He sees something in her though, and it scares him to death. Has the fate of these two strangers been sealed? …or will they always be longing…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, feat Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark

Warnings: DARKER THEMES AHEAD. Angst, Bucky is a dick, mutual pining, self sabotage, PTSD, Fluff! Mentions of Panic attacks, flashbacks, and vomiting Def not following a specific MCU canon or timeline.

A/N: WOW! I am so grateful for all the love! Thank you so much @captain-rogers-beard for taking the time to not only read, but enjoy and reblog my work! i am honored! Please enjoy this hastily written chapter. (life is hard, but i love yall so much(

Taglist:@iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @heartofagamotto​  (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry! Tags are OPEN!)

Bucky should have kissed her.

When he woke up, it was the only thing on his mind. He would do just about anything to turn the clock back, so he could grab her face in his hands and feel her pillowy lips against his.

Just imagining it sent a familiar heat to Bucky’s lower abdomen.

“Hey Iceman, what’s up?” Sam said as he entered the training room.

Bucky looked up, shaken out of his daydream, “Hey Sam, hows it going?”

Sam feigned a look of shock, “Wow you’re in a good mood this mornin’! Any particular reason why? Hm?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he moved equipment to make space, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Sam laughed, “Whatever you say, just tell me one thing—y’all fuck yet or what?”

Bucky stopped dead in his tracks, “What?”

“You and Ella. Did you guy fuck yet?”

His causal tone threw Bucky for a loop. Bucky swallowed hard and shook his head, “Sam it’s not..I don’t...I’m just—“

“See that’s your problem right there,” Sam interjected, “you don’t know what the hell you want with that girl, but you know you want her. I’ve seen you guys in a room together, the sexual tension is off the charts.”

Bucky laid mats down in the center of the room, “Sam, she’s just a—“

“A recruit. Yeah I know, but if you think for one second I believe that’s all you see her as then Iceman, I got some baaaad news for you.”

Sam took a sip from his water bottle, taking in Bucky’s expression. He looked happy on the surface, but Sam saw the dissatisfaction wading underneath.

“Bucky,” Sam called. He only ever used his name when he was serious. “Why are you so hard on that girl? It’s so obvious you two are crazy about one another. Why are you pushing her away?”

Bucky looked up to Sam, and simply shook his head. “I’m not good. For her or anybody else...but especially her.”

Sam look at him confused, “What the hell is that suppose to mean?”

Bucky sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I would love to be a guy who could have a girl like that on my arm without worrying I might kill her? That I could take her out somewhere and not have this constant paranoia hanging over my head like a guillotine ready to drop at any second?”

Bucky hadn’t said these thoughts out loud to anyone, not even Steve. “Sam she’s...she’s everything I want but can never have. I gotta keep my distance, but she makes it impossible. I’m mean to her, downright cruel, and boy, does she give it back to me...” Bucky smiled and let out a chuckle at the thought.

“But she’s kind. She’s so sweet and genuine and I-I’m a time bomb. Ella...she’s been through hell and back. I don’t want her to have to go through anything like that again.”

Sam stood in front of his friend, seeing the pain in his eyes. He sighed taking a step toward Bucky, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Does she make you happy?”

Bucky looked up confused, “Did you not just hear m—“

“Does. She. Make. You. Happy?” Sam repeated.

Bucky nodded slowly, “She makes me feel alive again. After feeling nothing for almost a century.”

Sam nodded to himself. “If I were you Barnes? I wouldn’t push away my chance at happiness. Who knows? You might be her chance too.”

You look through the doors to the training room and see Sam with Bucky.

Is he passing me off to Sam again? You think.

You take a deep breath and push the door open. They stop their conversation and Sam turns to you.

“What’s up, Punchline? How you doin’?” He asks happily.

You can’t help but smile, his grin is infectious. “Hey Sam, you joining in on the fun today?” You ask, hoping for a regretful answer.

Sam shakes his head, “No, apparently Barnes wants you all to himself. Isn’t that right, Iceman?”

You look to Bucky whose gaze is unwavering, “Ella needs an actual trainer, not a comedian with a whistle.” He jests.

Sam’s jaw drops open slightly and you let out a small giggle.

“Alright, alright. I see when I’m not wanted. Catch ya later, Punchline. And Barnes, I’ll see you in hell.” He flips Bucky off on his way out the door, and you can’t help but laugh.

A few moment pass as a comfortable silence falls over the room. You try not too, but you can’t help but remember the last time you were here. When you were alone with Sergeant Barnes, and what happened.

When he almost killed you.

He noticed the sudden discomfort in your eyes. “Hi, Els.” His smooth, honey voice calls to you; drawing you in.

“Hey, Sarge.” You reply kindly.

He steps forward, testing the waters. “Bucky.” He says.

You look at him confused. “What?”

“Bucky. Use my name. Please.” He says quietly.

“But I thought—“

“I like your voice. The way you say my name...I like it.” His boldness takes you by surprise, but nonetheless you smile.

A small nod, “Bucky.” You say happily.

He smiles back, a real genuine smile. One of the first you think you’ve seen from him.

“Where’s your sling, Doll?” He asks concerned.

“Oh,” you say baring your bandage covered shoulder to him. “When I woke up this morning, my shoulder was...I don’t know. It feels...different? The wound itself still hurts but somehow, it feels healed.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, “Can I?” He gestured to the bandage, and you nod.

He gently sweeps your hair behind your shoulder, rubbing circles on the exposed skin.

When he pulls back the bandage he can’t help but be a little curious.

“Have you ever been injured like this before?” He asks, replacing the bandage.

You shake your head. “No, when I was...where I was, they were very careful not to hurt me this bad.”

“Why’s that?” He asked.

You smile sadly, “Can’t use a punching bag with a hole in it, can you?”

A flash of anger dances in Bucky’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Doll.”

You shrug, “I can’t change the past, no point in living in it.” You push the flashbacks out as they threaten your mind once again. You’re not going to ruin this. Not this time.

Bucky strokes your arm a few times, before his hand grasps at yours loosely. “When HYDRA had you, Steve said they experimented on you?”

He asks like he’s afraid of both your reaction and your answer.

You nod. “Yeah. They injected me with so many solutions and serums. I have no idea what any of it was or did.”

Bucky smiled softly and gently thumbed your knuckles. “Well whatever it was, one of them must have helped you with healing. Steve and I share that trait too. Cuts heal in hours, fractures and breaks in a few days.”

You nod thoughtfully to yourself. “Huh, finally a perk from those assholes.”

He dropped your hand softly, “We’re gonna take it easy still...I don’t wanna push you too hard.”

A laugh escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Bucky asks curiously.

“Who are you and what have you done with the real Sergeant Barnes?” You ask sarcastically.

Without missing a beat, Bucky steps into you, cupping your cheek with his hand. The pad of his thumb is swept over your cheekbone tenderly, prickling your skin with goosebumps.

“I’m trying to be me. The real me. We got off to a terrible start and that’s my fault. I’m sorry.” His voice is so genuine and honest, it takes you by surprise.

“You like keeping me on my toes, huh?” You ask.

He nods fondly, “I could say the same about you, ya k now.”

Silence crept into the room, blanketing the air you shared with him. Suddenly, you can’t help but look to his lips.

It would be so easy to kiss him, too easy. You look down to Bucky’s feet hoping to shake the eagerness from your bones, but it doesn’t help.

“Look at me, Els...” he coaxes you.

You catch his gaze again, and your breathing hitches in your chest.

“I’m gonna earn your trust, Doll. I promise.” Bucky whispers.

Before you had the chance to reply, a chime echoed in the room.

“Excuse me, Sergeant Barnes you’re needed urgently in briefing room C.” FRIDAY’s accent called out.

He looked confused for a moment, “On whose order?”

“Mr. Stark’s.” It was a simple reply, but a telling one nonetheless.

Bucky looked at you quickly, “Let’s go.”

On your way back to the compound, you couldn’t help the nervous feeling in your stomach. Since Tony retired, he never helped out for missions. He came in a few times a month to check on the property and get debriefings from the staff, but his main job was being a Dad.

That’s why when you heard it was him calling for Bucky, you knew something was up.

“What do you think it is?” You asked Bucky, shoving your hands deep in your pockets.

The elevator doors opened and Bucky ushered you out, placing his hand on the small of your back.

“Not sure, but if Tony’s involved it can’t be good.”

As you approached the room, you saw Cap, Bruce, Sam and Wanda at the table, Tony heading the meeting.

You slowed, allowing Bucky to walk ahead of you.

“Come on, Doll.” He said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head, “They didn’t ask for me.”

Bucky chuckled, “Just come on.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. 

The room got instantly quiet. “Look who decided to join us...” Sam jested.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve said kindly.

You sat in the chair by the door, ready to leave if you were asked too. Why should you be here? You’re not an Avenger—or whatever these guys are called now.

“We all know why we’re here. They’re back. This time it seems like for good.” Tony spoke.

He pressed a button on the console, projecting a hologram above the table.

It showed an aerial image of some kind of camp, though fortress would probably be the better word. You stared at the image, when your stomach suddenly dropped. Your skin prickling and clammy before you had time to think.

“Where is this?” Wanda asked.

“Romania.” You whispered.

All eyes were suddenly on you. “Ella? You know this place?” Steve asked.

You nodded subtly, “Y-yeah. I—excuse me.”

Feet carrying you faster than your body wanted, you ran from the conference room. Opting for the stairs instead of the elevator, you run down the several flights to the living quarters.

Luckily, you made it to your bathroom before you were sick. Unable to stop the dry heaving and shaking, you knew there was no point. You’d successfully avoided the flashbacks for over a year, stealing your mind had become second nature, but this...this was too much.

The light headed feeling over took you as you laid in your bed. You desperately drank water, hoping to calm your nerves, but nothing was helping. This was a panic attack, one of the worst you could remember.

“Ella? Ella open up.” Steve’s voice was outside your room, muffled by the door.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move.

“FRIDAY?” You heard him ask. The A.I. didn’t respond, she simply unlocked the door.

You were in the fetal position now, hugging the pillow desperately to your chest.

“Ella.” He said, moving his hand to stroke your back. His touch elicited a fight or flight response you’d been denying for months. You instinctively began kicking and punching him.

“No! No! Don’t take me! Don’t touch me! Stop!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. Steve wasn’t there. You were suddenly back in Romania, in the cell you’d been kept in. The faceless men of your mind were there, touching you. Stabbing you. Hurting you.

“Ella no! Please it’s me, it’s Steve. You gotta fight it, Ella.” He tried you comfort you. “You’re safe, Ella, I promise you’re safe!”

Without warning, the faceless men vanished. Revealing a panicked Steve, sat just inches from you on your bed.

Oxygen filled your lungs once again, as you began to come down from your panic attack.

“Steve?” You question.

He nodded, stroking your hair. “It’s me. You’re safe. It’s me.” He pulled you in for a hug.

You blinked the tears out of your eyes, “Oh my God. Steve, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking embarrassed.”

He shook it head, “Stop that. Stop that right now, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn’t know you’d be coming in with Buck, I wouldn’t have let them show that had I known...”

“No, I can’t be put in this bubble and hidden away my whole life! It’s not your fault, it just took me off guard, I haven’t seen that place...thought about it in so long I just...” your voice drifted off as you wiped your eyes.

The camp was where you’d been held--where you’d been taken from your family and hidden away all those years ago.

It took a while, but you’d calmed down. People kept coming to check on you, but Cap would kindly move them along, giving you the space you so desperately needed.

It seemed everyone had come to see you, except one person. The one person you actually wanted to see.

“Cap? Where’s Bucky?” You ask innocently

Steve sighed, “Bucky’s been sent ahead of the rest of us.”

Your eyes widened, “Sent? Sent where? Not Romania. Steve he can’t do this alone he can’t, they’ll—“

“We’re headed there tonight. In just a few hours in fact.” He replied, cutting you off.

You stood from your bed grabbing your pistol from the night stand. “Let’s go now, he needs backup.” You’re desperately trying to hide the panic in your voice.

“Ella no, we’re going. You’re not ready for this.” Steve stood from you bed as well, what does he mean not ready?

“Steve I can’t just sit here and—“

“You can and you will. That’s an order, Ella. It’s clear you need more time to heal, both mentally and physically.” Steve put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You said it yourself, you need time. I want you to take it.”

The wind had been knocked out of you. You nod at Steve somberly, accepting his words for what they were; orders.

A few hours after Steve had left, you hear the rumble of the Quinjet take off from the roof. Despite the lack of worry in his voice, you could help the awful feeling in your stomach, telling you something terrible was going to happen...

and you couldn’t do anything about it.

You worried for Bucky, but despite your worry you couldn't help wonder why he just left. Why he wouldn't come check on you, or at least say goodbye. He just...left.

You flopped on the couch in the common room, flicking mindlessly through the channels. Tonight would bring nothing but sleepless bouts and nightmares.

You shut the tv off and stare at the ceiling, unsure of when, or if you’d see Bucky Barnes again.

Chapter Eight: Light Bulb