#I can predict when baby will sleep now so I can actually schedule time to do these
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Season 2, Episode 6: the need for speed caper for @csweekly
I simultaneously love and hate this episode. It’s an excellent showcase of Ivy and Zack and it ends so well. But it highkey gives me secondhand embarrassment. It’s what makes it excellent but man do I find it hard to watch Zack going off the deep end here.
I continue to be obsessed with how VILE works in general. Coach Brunt has a BEST FRIEND. THE others REACTION to her though is the most Hilarious. They are so unenthusiastic. Just that little “hello”. Just. There is so much That separates Brunt from the Faculty in an obvious way. Just every opportunity they have she’s completely in another world as the other three. And Shadowsan WAS different but he blended in Dhchchcg. I feel like I’m on the tip of analysis here. It must be intentional. I just don’t know if Brunt was meant to eventually get some sort of redemption or if she doesn’t and that was the point.
And lol Neal foreshadowing.
This season I love that we are introduced to a lot of the senior operatives: Cookie is part of a caper, the Mechanic, Lady Dokuso, Roundabout. It really gives VILE so much more depth to show how they keep running. What is interesting to me, is that the current Faculty was so young when Black Sheep arrived. It makes me wonder. Has VILE been ongoing for a thousand years continuously? Or did the current Faculty revitalize it? Modernize it. I want to know how all of the Faculty became Faculty. We’re they all students at one point like Shadowsan? (Which is a whole other can of worms can we assume that VILE has partnerships with criminal organizations all over the world? The yakuza seem cool sending one of their most talented young members to school and Lady Dokuso seems to have kept ties)
This NUGGET of info on how the team spends their plane rides. We are blessed to have Ivy and Zack.
Listen, as an adult I feel very viscerally Shadowsan stopping. Taking a deep breath to ground himself. And grunting in disapproval.
Then Carmen saves the day!!! Listen I think this was planned. Carmen is very aware that Player is not Shadowsan’s biggest fan. Carmen has to acknowledge that it’s 95% her fault that he feels this way. Player knows that Carmen knows this. They talk. They’re open with each other.. BUT put yourself in Carmen’s shoes. How desperately must she want her very best friend to approve of Shadowsan. Who she regards as a parental figure. She must want so badly for the two of them to get along. This, I feel, is the root of why Carmen wants Shadowsan to stay behind. Certainly he could have chatted with Player on the plane? They’re the two most important people in her life. Carmen wants them to like each other. So bonding time. Though Shadowsan learning their operations is an important thing as well as decoding the hard drive. From the way Player is already on video chat on Carmen’s phone and he’s ALREADY grumpy, he and Carmen had this conversation about what was going to go down before informing Shadowsan.
Please I would have given my left leg for Shadowsan to actually go to Player’s house. The PANIC on Players face.
IVYS EYE ROLL. Specifically at Zack gagging one second and drooling the next. That is peak sister energy.
I love knowing she’s the Driver upon rewatch. That was so well done by the writing team.
Trey puts on his cocky airs. But. This is key. He still remembers Zack and Ivy. Considering we are about to meet his dad, I wonder if this isn’t the first time that Zack and Ivy have been spoken of fondly in his own home.
I’m a Duke and Ivy’s a rocket scientist. 😂😂😂
The Driver looks SO ANGUISHED.
This part is so hard for me to watch, I hate seeing Zack so bothered and angry when he’s usually not. Especially since it’s usually Ivy who is on guard. So it’s striking to see the situation switched and Ivy letting it all roll off her shoulders. And especially when Carmen yells at them. The fact that they were late in meeting her was really nice foreshadowing for it though.
Okay also interesting that Carmen isn’t *upset* until Zack and Ivy are caught. This…parallels interestingly with VILE’s “failure is forgivable, capture is not”. I wonder if that was ingrained in her on the island?
OH I think so! All Shadowsan says is that she needs better help than amateurs. And she defends Zack and Ivy in that moment. And out if the blue mentions no HQ? She loves Ivy and Zack because they’re everything VILE isn’t. I think…I think that Carmen wants to show Shadowsan how good her team is. She wants him to be impressed with all of them. And she’s angry because Zack and Ivy did themselves no favors (though Zack’s the one at fault). Urgh. “Not a good time” for Shadowsan to check in. Carmen was hoping to smooth it over after the fact but she’s holding to her end of the bargain of “no secrets”. I’m losing my mind this episode all goes back to Carmen distancing herself from VILE. That’s the real reason she’s mad at Ivy and Zack.
Shadowsan’s at least impressed with Player. CoNFIRMiNG that Player is Carmen’s secret weapon my mind is going nuts what must he be thinking. “I’m sure glad we didn’t know about him when I was Faculty”
THEYRE more upset about letting Carmen down 😭😭😭
I LOVE this subplot to the episode. It increases the stakes so much. Ivy and Zack have a legit job offer from a guy who has no problem outright saying they are family. Carmen at this point hasn’t said it herself and Zack’s attempts to bond with Shadowsan have been, as Ivy says, embarrassing. At this point they are at their lowest and Carmen’s mad? Yeah the script does an excellent job to really make the audience wonder if they’ll take up Mr Sterling on his offer. It’s a 1:1 trade off. Crime fighting or racing. That’s what this episode becomes about. And for Carmen there’s a choice too. Her team has changed. What changes does she need to make.
The separation of the team for even one night kills me emotionally. Carmen just isn’t good with being vulnerable. She confides in Player the next morning that she hopes she didn’t run them off. Player is interestingly neutral. He doesn’t support or condemn either side. He kinda just. Guides Carmen in telling her that she was direct. She’s not in danger, so he doesn’t intervene. Gives her the freedom to figure things out. Because VILE didn’t let her have that.
Okay this is such cool emotional maturity from Ivy? She acknowledges correctly that Carmen doesn’t hate them?? Okay so that’s a fic concept I can run with. I wonder if Ivy’s been talking to Player? They likely collaborate a lot so wouldn’t be surprised if their conversations drift to “is Carmen okay?”
THE STIG?????
Zack, are you telling me that you don’t have race car boxers?
Ivy spends this whole episode assuring Zack and the audience that Carmen does not hate them. And she gets vindicated in the end. I think I’m appreciative for what that is now. Because this is for younger viewers it’s good to reinforce that. Refreshing honestly. It could have been even worse miscommunication. But it shows that the team was close even before this. Ivy wouldn’t be so certain otherwise. Proves they’re family.
Legit car chase scene. EPIC.
Carmen is THIS close to having a Chase Devineaux moment and I’m mildly sad we didn’t get it. I guess that was last episode.
“Look, I think you know you’re more than just my crew” GIVE ME ALL of the in between caper gossip sessions and fun times PLEASE. I can only read between the lines so much. But also again Carmen not being emotionally vulnerable. She says she loves them indirectly here, but the message is clear in her actions. Zack and Ivy jumped in to continue to help despite her yelling at them. Carmen takes them along no questions asked. RIP Ivy and heights
Ivy and Zack response to facing a senior VILE agent excellent and fearful. Meanwhile Carmen literally is bored waiting lol
Lol! The Driver was gonna right the blimp but Carmen’s all “I’m the main character and good guy I’m gonna save the day here”
Ivy thinks of the plan the same time as Zack and she’s still terrified out of her wits during the execution
Awww Carmen apologizes in her own way. “Pro moves”
“Who were they?” WHY HAS VILE nOT SCOUTED Zack and Ivy???? There should be FILES and background checks VILE could know everything about them and use it against the team.
The warehouse scene is SUCH a good fake out. It was set up so well.
Midnight calls to room service. They tease the bonding moments so much. Give me all the fics.
#carmen sandiego#carmen sandiego 2019#carmen sandiego netflix#liveblog#cs weekly#csweekly#carmen sandiego weekly#I can predict when baby will sleep now so I can actually schedule time to do these#I feel like I keep learning things by doing a liveblog#things I didn’t notice before#what a joy#cs liveblog
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For ask game: what about an au where Izuku has complete power randomization? I'm thinking the way it would work is any quirk that is on a written record is a quirk that he could potentially wake up with, with the powers resetting everytime he goes to sleep
fascinated by the fact that a quirk has to be officially in the registry for him to get it, and the implication then that if one is mis-registered he'd get the quirk the user thinks they have, not the one they actually have.
1- izuku was a difficult baby because every now and then he'd wake up on fire or short circuiting everything in the house. but he was still very sweet and inko loves him dearly, even if she thinks his quirk is the cause of both of them getting more scatterbrained.
2- his sleep schedule is ruined. he will stay up for 50 hours straight if he gets a new cool quirk and wants to practice and study it more, but he will also train himself to fall asleep faster and quickly to reset to a different quirk when needed.
3- everyone thinks izuku really should be some kind of doctor, support, or other quirk expert instead of a hero because its just too tricky and predictable, but he insists he'll manage as a hero. (he plans support equipment to quickly knock him out and wake him up when needed. is this a bad idea for ones health in the real world? yeah but so's hagakure's 'support tech' so.)
4- izuku wakes and goes to bed five times in the early morning before the entrance exam, before he gets a quirk he's sure will work- engines. this leads Tenya to walk up to him before he can reach Uraraka and go "Hey, you're that kid who was talking during the instructions and - what- are those- i've never seen you at any family reunion! i must remedy this!" Izuku and Tenya waste thirty seconds clearing that up at the start of the exam, but luckily both are fast enough to make up for it before the end.
5- at the end, izuku races forward to help get Uraraka out of the rubble while Tenya runs away. He almost gets crushed pulling her out of the pile but she floats them both to safety before the leg could move down. as soon as they're safe on the ground, he passes out from exhaustion and soreness since he used his engines to slam his body into several metal robots. after RG heals and wakes him up, the engines vanish and he suddenly grows rabbit ears and enhanced hearing- to the further confusion of Tenya and delight of Uraraka. new found friends talk all the way out of the school, and exchange numbers, all wishing each other the best chances of getting into UA.
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Travelling with a 3 month old on holiday
So you’ve made the decision, bitten the bullet and booked your trip away. However, this time it’s with little one in tow and by little I mean a few months old. You’ve told your co-workers and friends and they’ve said it’ll be easy since they’re at the age where you can pretty much enjoy the holiday rather than run around after them. Little do they know that you’re having sleepless nights leading up to the flight thinking through all the possibilities of a catastrophe. Well, look no further as I have some experience to give off as first time parents who travelled to Dubai from the UK with a formula fed baby…so let’s begin.
Before you think about anything to do with a holiday, ensure you are at a stage where things are kind of predictable, by this I mean feeds are consistent, baby is sleeping well and overall the baby is considered happy and healthy. If that’s the case, then you my friend should go ahead and book that holiday.
When thinking about destination, think about the practicalities of the holiday since it’s not just you and a partner anymore. You’ll now be trucking along with little one so have a think about the challenges certain destinations may pose such as travelling with a pram in cobbled streets, weather, safety, access to baby facilities etc. The idea is to keep things within your control and the less thinking you have to do to adapt, the better. Ideally you want conditions similar to where you live with some degree of fluctuation but not too much as that’ll throw you off and more importantly baby.
So you’ve chosen your destination, now comes the preparation. My biggest advice is don’t pack too much! If you’ve followed the above advice, you’d have picked somewhere that has plenty of the supplies you need should baby require them. Don’t forget babies exist in every country so your precious little one will be catered for. Take enough nappies to last you as if you were at home, if formula feeding, order online a supply of ready made formula from Boots (although security allows ample baby food as it’s considered a medical need) and a fresh supply of powder unopened in your checked in baggage for use during the actual holiday. As we’d booked Dubai, it’s even possible to order to your hotel from Amazon so of course we ordered a supply of bottled baby water, bottle cleaning soap, travel kettle and big bowl to sanitise a days worth of bottles.
So the day has arrived and you’re ready to fly, I can’t stress enough the need for you and partner to look after each other and work together as it really is a double team effort from here on in - organisation here is absolutely key. You should know how many bottles you need to pack in that baby bag for the flight, pack a decent supply of bibs / muslins / nappies dependant on duration of the flight. Remember you’ll be offered your seat on the plane before everyone else so take advantage, arrive early allowing you ample time to prep. Sleep wise, little one should be offered a crib at the front provided you checked in early and that your baby is the youngest on the flight. To keep little one comfortable on take off / touch down you’d want to try and time a feed so that they’re drinking to avoid ear popping pain, dummy works also but bottle is better in our experience. You’ve made it past take off, now is the autopilot. If you’re lucky they’ll sleep through, note that when people say this, what they mean is usually baby has slept say 2-4 hours of a 6 hour flight, I’d be a bit worried if baby slept throughout simply because the environment is new - with feeding, stick to your usual schedule, don’t change it. Do the usual stuff, keep them occupied, change nappies to break the monotony, walk up and down the aisles showing off your creation to onlookers, go to the back of the plane and look out the door window, the possibilities are endless. Usually towards where parents sit at the front, there are booster seats reserved for the crew on take off / touch down so there’s space there for you to do the obligatory rocking of the baby to keep them quiet. Take things in turn with partner to keep you sane and sleep / nap during any breaks if you can. Baby will cry / screech at points of course they will, it’s down to you as a parent to OWN the situation, you’re experienced now so use it. If you’re worried about prying eyes, don’t. The fact you’re trying to make the situation better is enough for people, remember that most people are sympathetic to you when they see your baby cry, the rest can go do one.
So you’ve landed / checked in to hotel (ensured there’s a crib in your room) and now you’re out into the wild. Believe it or not you can now get back to some normality and start to enjoy things a bit more. Again, keep things structured and stick to your baby’s routine and in the gaps you can choose to enjoy yourselves (but don’t drink too much!). Travel with your trusty baby bag, keep enough supplies of bottles, formula, muslins, sanitiser bottle, change of clothes in case of a blowout and nappies for the day. Don’t go mental with these supplies, be sensible as us dad’s can only carry so much. Added on to this list was our trusty Nuby Rapid Cool, Thermos Flask and MAM powder dispenser - I’ll explain why.
Before leaving for the day we’d feed baby using a ready made formula feed, we didn’t want to mess around in the morning so just got the job done. The following three feeds we would prepare for. This involved dispensing three lots of feeds into our MAM travel dispenser, filling the 0.5 litre Thermos with 75 degree centigrade water as it allows for some cool down during the day and making sure to pack our Nuby Rapid Cool. At the time our little one was on 6x180ml bottle feeds so here I will explain a typical one of the formula powder feeds. This would involve filling a bottle to 180ml using the pre-prepared water from the Thermos, pouring 120ml of it into the Nuby Rapid Cool keeping 60ml of it in the bottle. With the 60ml in the bottle, you’d dispense the powder from the MAM dispenser and swirl it around - this is your hot shot. Once the Nuby had done its thing, you’d then mix it with the 60ml hot shot and shake - this way you’d not have to keep sanitising the Nuby as it’s just hot water entering and leaving it. Once the three formula feeds had been done we’d be a bit flexible in terms of whether or not the next one was instant or prepared by us - last feed was always prepared by us.
All this feeding meant we of course have to think about sanitising - this is where you need to be open to improvisation. As you know a hotel room does not have a kitchen so I was forced to sanitise in the bathroom. I had thought about this scenario before so had prepared for it. What you need is a big plastic wash up bowl or something able to soak bottles in, easy access to water, bottle wash fluid and I’d really recommend Milton steriliser tablets. End of the days before I’d shower looked like this:
There you go, holidays are a piece of cake!
Enjoy.
PS - We decided to check in a car seat as Dubai encourages using one especially since we’d be using taxi’s a lot. We’d also recommend buying a travel pram. We bought an Ergobaby Metro+ which we took on to the plane as it literally folds into the tiniest space.
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love is more than a word
w/c: a very ouch 3.6k
warnings: so so so much angst and an unhealthy (ish) relationship
summary: after nearly four years together, peter has stopped trying
a/n: listen y’all i don’t know what came over me when i made this but i think it’s the saddest thing i’ve ever written? uh try to enjoy tho
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you never thought this would happen, but you’re getting tired of peter. it isn’t your fault. that cliche it’s not you, it’s me line doesn’t apply here.
at first, you actually did find yourself believing the it’s me part. you’d came to the conclusion that you expect too much from peter. he goes to class, he works, patrols, sometimes parties, takes you out when he can. he’s got a lot going on for a full time college student, which is a busy life to lead on its own.
it’s why you don’t complain when he wants to spend the night in and order a pizza instead of cooking together like you’ve been wanting to try. it’s why every time your friends ask you two to hang, you have to reluctantly explain that peter is passed out at eight o’clock on a saturday.
there’s a lazy “wanna make out?” some nights, if peter isn’t yawning when he steps through the front door. even that has lost its enjoyment. kissing peter doesn’t give you the rush it used to, the taste of his strawberry chapstick not flooding your senses and intoxicating you. it’s become predictable. comfortable. boring.
peter is boring.
you’ve slipped into unspoken routine. say your hello’s, work on separate assignments in different rooms. peter eventually yells something like “babe, you hungry yet?” across the apartment, his passive way of asking you to make dinner. you usually order takeout because why make an effort if he doesn’t?
you might watch one of the ten movies peter has liked since before the start of your relationship. he’ll usually fall asleep during it. no surprise there. his overpacked schedule exhausts him, which you’ve talked to him about spreading himself too thin. peter is too nice and can’t say no, so this is where it leaves him.
the main reason you’ve stayed with him is that he can’t take care of himself. he’s clueless about paying the bills, sorting his laundry, simply remembering to drink water. peter wouldn’t be able to go a week without you. he even says it himself.
“crap, i totally forgot about these,” when you picked up his special ordered textbooks from your school library. “can food go in the garbage disposal?” a rare time you didn’t wash the dishes. “thank you, y/n/n. you’re literally a lifesaver,” whenever you do a task for him that someone in their 20s shouldn’t need assistance with.
you didn’t used to mind much. he watches over the city every night. you felt you should return the favor. spider-man could use some help, too. after the almost four years you’ve been together, peter has become completely dependent on you. it only got worse when you moved in together your junior year. you’re concerned how he’ll manage later in his adult life.
you’d think he’d be a little more passionate about your relationship considering how much he needs you. you know peter still loves you, of course he does. that’s not what the problem is. he’s become content with the mutual feeling, so he doesn’t try anymore. he expects the spark to keep itself lit.
no more random joke of the day texts that he used to send you. he stopped surprising you with your coffee order in the morning, the one that he memorized the first time you two went to a starbucks. what you initially found most endearing about peter was that he remembered every little thing you told him.
he put whatever energy he had into showing you that he listened. he’d do it all with rosy cheeks and that toothy smile of his. it seems now like he’s under the impression that being in a long term relationship means none of that matters anymore. there’s no need to impress you, keep you guessing, make you feel special.
tonight is your breaking point. as you go over all of this in your head while peter lays peacefully next to you, you can’t take it. you’ve been making so many excuses for him. you lie to yourself. you’re desperate to believe this is okay and normal and you can work this out, and you can love whatever version of him this is.
but, you can’t. you can’t do it. you need to tell him now because if you sleep on this, you’ll end up feeling bad and be stuck under these suffocating blankets forever.
“peter?” you whisper his name, your back turned to him in bed. you haven’t cuddled each other to sleep in a while. his arms don’t make you feel held now, they make you feel trapped. you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore his look of hurt when you reject his open embrace.
“peter?” you speak louder after a moment of silence, except for his occasional snores. a loud one escapes him before they stop altogether. his eyes stay shut as he mumbles out a, “uh... huh?” your heart is thudding through your entire body. you take a breath in from your nose. “i wanna break up.”
the breath you let out next is one of relief, those three words that have been scratching your throat for months finally out. peter slowly turns his head over his shoulder. he blinks rapidly at your motionless figure. you’re still not facing him.
“what?” is all he says. his voice is surprisingly steady, the confession not yet registering with his sleepy mind. his eyes are burning into you. “i wanna break up,” you repeat and squish your face further into your pillow. peter suddenly sits up, flicking on the lamp on his side. he tries to sling an arm around you. you move further away until you’re at the edge of the bed.
“i’m serious, peter. everything we had, it’s gone.” your words cut through him harder than literal knives he’s been stabbed with. “i- i don’t understand. where is this coming from?” he rakes a hand through his mess of curls. you turn onto your back, looking up at peter. his eyes are fixed on your lower half.
he’ll most definitely cry if he meets your eyes. he really doesn’t want to cry, not ever again when you won’t be here to make him feel better.
“it’s been coming,” you almost scoff at him as you prop yourself up against your pillows. peter’s teeth tug at his lower lip. “all we do is this.” you gesture to your bed, slapping your hand down at your side. “i get tired,” he speaks quietly, refusing to look at you. “i know you do, peter. i know, but you’d be a lot happier if you ever listened to me.”
your statement comes off as condescending to him. he works up the courage to look you in the face. “are you kidding? all you do is boss me around, and i take it. i’ve never once complained.” anger is coursing through his veins and voice. at the situation, that he’s about to lose the one stable part of his life. you’re getting pissed, too.
“that’s because you can’t do anything yourself!” you throw the blankets off you and swing your legs over the bed in one motion. peter hops out of bed entirely. “my whole life, i’ve been on my own half the time,” he spits as he comes over to stand in front of you. “sorry for taking you up on your offers to help.”
your peter would never spew that shit out. he wouldn’t guilt you for something he’s in the wrong about. this peter takes you for granted. he has no clue how fucked he’d be without you.
the first time you spoke to peter was on your way to history 227. you’d recognized him from your class, much more interested in the pretty boy taking notes with his tongue stuck out than whatever war your professor would lecture about.
he was carrying some books, a pencil case that didn’t fully zip, and a five subject notebook. you watched him do his balancing act through the halls until his legs started to wobble. a knowing smile on your face, you tapped his shoulder. it was a gentle one so you didn’t scare him and make all his things fall over.
“can i carry something for you?” you laughed out and pushed one of your backpack straps up on your shoulder. peter only stared at you, his doe eyes prompting you to reach for his pencil case. “uh, no, it’s fine. i got it. see?” he proved that to you by hiking everything up in his arms. he gave you a smile of his own.
“are you sure? we’re going to the same place,” you’d checked again and pointed at his impressive pile. “i’m not gonna steal your sharpies.” “really, i’m fine,” peter insisted with a heart clenching chuckle. “you can have one, if you want,” he offered and attempted to unzip his case, one handed. you put your hand over his to stop him.
“wait until we get to class,” you let go of him, leaving the tips of peter’s ears a shade of pink you’d later fall in love with. “i’ll sit with you.”
peter was once determined to do things on his own, to be self-sufficient. it used to be something he was proud of. now, he’s completely incapable of holding his independence.
“we’re done, peter.” your tone is short, you getting to your feet. “you’d probably forget how to fucking breathe without me, but call it bossing around, i guess,” you laugh bitterly and go over to your drawers. peter’s face falls as he grabs your wrist, stopping you when you pass by him. “where are you going?”
no answer. you pull yourself out of his grasp with your lips pressed into a stern line. peter follows you step by step over to the dresser. “wait, wait. don’t leave, baby. please,” he begs you, getting onto his knees beside you. you’re pulling random clothes out as quick as you can. a science t-shirt peter outgrew is in your hands.
peter used to give you all his old clothes. the signature smell of his cologne lingered no matter how many times you washed them. they kept you calm on nights he was out late patrolling or away on missions. peter would sport a smirk whenever you wore them out in public, pulling you closer to him and complimenting the look.
it started when he was packing for his first mission since you two had begun living together. he’d realized he became too buff to fit in some shirts. remembering how many times you’d giggle at their funny sayings, peter gave them to you. you threw one on and thanked him with a peck on the cheek. it became your tradition.
peter would set off for a new continent, but a piece of him would stay home with you.
the stretched out hoodies and ripped sweatpants just sit in your drawer now. another meaningful thing discontinued. whatever he doesn’t want goes to may for donations now. the memory of what they used to mean to you makes a fit of rage burst through you.
you slam down his ‘find x’ shirt in the space between his knees and yours. you’re on a mission of your own this time. you aren’t going anywhere until you get rid of all the stuff that went from him to you.
“y/n, don’t do this. i- i love you. i love you.” peter chokes out, tears filling his eyes. his vision is clouded while you toss more clothes to your side. “i love you, y/n/n,” he whimpers again, and this time you briskly push the drawer shut. the whole dresser shakes. this is the most emotion either of you have shown in the past few months of your relationship. it’s a little too late.
“love is more than a word, peter. you have to back it up with actions.” you’re doing your best not to cry. the memories of how loved peter made you feel play in your mind. he briefly wipes under his eyes and shakes his head. he’s so oblivious. “i thought i- i did.” “exactly, you did. you gave up at some point.” your voice gets weaker as a tear drips down your chin.
you didn’t plan on breaking down when you imagined this moment. part of you wishes you could give him another chance. most of you knows it wouldn’t do any good for you or peter. you’re not right for each other anymore. he outgrew some sweatshirts, you outgrew him.
that takes you all the way back to it’s not you, it’s me. it’s really both of you.
for the last time, you pull peter in for a hug. the two of you need this. he loops his arms around your back, keeping them loose around you as he tucks his face into the side of your neck. you’re a mix of tears and sharp breaths with your chin on his shoulder. you bring a hand up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of curls.
he sobs right into your ear, effectively destroying whatever composure you had left.
even though you’re not in love with peter, you haven’t stopped loving him. somewhere inside of him is the goofy boy who asked you out on a post-it during class. the kindhearted man who gave so much of himself to the world and saved enough for you. the one whose fingertips left goosebumps on your skin with every touch.
seeing him like this, having caused it feels like a dull pain rippling in every part of your body. you’ve been there to soothe him during countless breakdowns over the years. you managed to stay strong for all of them. this is the only exception. he lost people, felt down about life, made mistakes. you were there to pick up each piece and put them back together.
the one mistake peter made that you can’t fix is not loving you right. you became his rock, his anchor whenever he let grief and sadness rule over him. you’d get him back to himself. he could’ve at least bought you flowers once in a while, or done anything that showed his gratitude. every iteration of awful put together isn’t enough to describe how he feels.
“i’m so- i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i don’t deserve you. i never have,” peter murmurs as he cries, wetting your skin that his face is still pressed into. your fingers pull roughly at his hair. hot tears overflow from your own eyes. “i should’ve done more.” his voice cracks on the last word. “that’s all i wanted to hear, pete,” you breathe out and pull away from him.
“does that mean you’ll stay?” he croaks, arms still wound around your body. his eyes are hopeful when they lock with yours. a frown pulls at your lips. “only for tonight. i should... one of us should sleep on the couch.” “oh,” his voice is gravelly, so he clears his throat. “i’ll do it.” you’re not going to fight him on it for once.
peter removes his arms from your waist, you sitting back down on your thighs. you give him a blink and you’ll miss it smile because you can’t keep one for long. it’s to let him know you’re not mad. you were at the start of this conversation, then he took accountability. you also came to terms with the fact that the downfall of your relationship was a joined effort.
there are more factors than peter not giving you what he should have. time, different goals, new outlooks on life. you can’t hate only him because a whole bunch of things lead to this.
instead of a smile, since he physically can’t put one on his splotchy face, peter brushes the pad of his thumb over the corner of your lips. he gets up to leave the room, but you stop him with a “wait!” he freezes in front of you. you get out a hoodie from his pile of old clothes and stand up. “it’s cold.” you put it in his hands, earning a grin that he didn’t think was possible.
“thanks, y/n,” peter sighs and holds the hoodie against his chest. “goodnight. um,” this is the part where he’d usually say i love you. “sleep well, okay?” the replacement stings for both of you. you’ll have to learn to fall asleep without hearing that phrase first. as much as you didn’t feel it anymore, you’d become used to it. “you too, peter. night,” you say softly.
you head back to your bed while peter walks out the door. he glances at you once, and you’re already settling under the covers. he shuts the door behind him before finding his way to the couch.
your bed has always seemed too small. it’s gigantic without peter. you aren’t sure how you feel about that yet.
peter lays across the couch, the hood that doesn’t quite fit him pulled over his head. he’s only wearing it because you gave it to him. you doing that not even five minutes ago was how you backed up your love with actions. it’s so easy. silent tears spill from his eyes at the realization.
he wishes on every star that he could’ve figured out he wasn’t doing enough sooner. you’d be together right now, had he just caught on. there was a time he prided himself on knowing you fully and completely. how to turn you into the shy one with certain combinations of words, what your schedule was each week so he could plan his free time around it.
your relationship became something he thought would last unconditionally. if only he was able pinpoint the exact moment he went wrong.
you’re right in the other room. he can go in there and bawl, plead for you to take him back. how could he do that and claim to love you, though? you’ve made it clear you‘re over him.
the best way for peter to show you he loves you is by letting you live your life, without him in it.
-
you don’t see peter again for weeks. he moved back in with may, and you got to keep the apartment. you were the one who took all the care of it, anyway.
your semester ended at the perfect time because peter isn’t in any of your new classes. the city is too big to bump into each other. you’re free from the hold he had on you, which would’ve been four years long since yesterday. you’ve been good at picking up his broken pieces for too long, and now it’s time to pick up your own.
for all the hangouts you missed on his behalf, you made up for it. you called mj the day after your breakup and met for lunch. she never explicitly said it, but she took your side. peter had a feeling because when he had the same idea as you, to lean on his friends for support, she never reached out.
betty is indifferent, ned stays cordial with you. his real loyalty is to peter. you can’t blame him.
peter hasn’t been doing well since you broke up. he’s not eating enough, he can’t focus on work of any kind. you were right when you said he would forget how to breathe without you. he often wonders how you’ve been.
he finds out today.
you’re walking around campus, heading in the direction peter just came from. he has a class in the building your last one was. the two of you are on the same sidewalk, opposite sides. he almost doesn’t recognize you.
mj is on one side of you, a guy he’s never seen before with an arm around your shoulders. you’re all laughing about whatever dumb thing your professor said during the lecture. your hair, which is done in a new style, flows behind you in the spring breeze. a smile takes place on your glossy lips. the smile is directed towards that guy. your new boyfriend, peter assumes.
you look amazing, and not only physically. you seem happy with your small group of people. peter hadn’t been able to give you that happiness in years, so it’s nice to see you got it back somehow.
he must have stared too long because you notice him. you fall behind mj and your potential boyfriend, both of them wrapped up in discussing your next project. peter stops walking. you do the same. he’s not sure if he upset you, or what’s going on. his instincts tell him to apologize. his mouth stays closed.
that infectious smile of yours appears once again. you thought about peter yesterday, it being your anniversary and all. you’d only let yourself remember the good things. they outweighed the bad ones when you look back on everything.
“aye, grandma! get over here!” mj calls to you, your boyfriend nudging her side. “take your time, y/n/n. i’m not in a rush to write seven long ass pages.” you laugh to yourself at the two of them. peter fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. it’s from the drawer of things you used to wear. “one sec!” you yell back.
“hey,” you turn to face peter, who’s giving you a tight lipped smile. “how’ve you been?” “i’m okay. just, you know,” he shrugs and clasps his hands behind his back. there’s a short silence before peter says, “you seem good. really good.” he smiles for real this time. “yeah, i am. i hope you are, too,” you tell him and genuinely mean it.
you’d like to catch up soon, but it’s not right yet. you both need more time. “i’ll see you around?” you’re already starting to walk, backwards so you can see peter. “uh, sure. bye,” he gives you a quick wave and continues on his way.
you get back to mj and your boyfriend, his arm returning to your shoulders. they waited for you by the stoplight. “what’d ya get up to over there?” he teases, mj suspiciously watching your face for any tells. you carefully think through your answer with a grin. “love.”
#tom holland#peter parker#tom holland fluff#tom holland angst#tom holland smut#tom holland imagine#tom holland x reader#peter parker fluff#peter parker smut#peter parker imagine#peter parker x you#peter parker x reader#spiderman#marvel#peter parker angst
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「𝒂-𝒛 𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔」
— na jaemin
a; aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
jaemin is so caring after sex, probably one of the most caring members, he absolutely has to make sure that you're alright and taken care of. i know this is not an aftercare aspect but i totally see him as the type to finish you by eating you out if you didn't cum during sex. he goes all out with aftercare, helps you walk or even carries you, takes a shower or has a bath with you and does all the work of washing you clean, gives you his sweater to sleep in and cuddles and kisses you until you fall asleep in his arms. everything for his baby
b; body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
i feel like jaemin sees your body as something precious to him and he makes sure you know that, but i feel like he has a soft spot for your neck and eyes. on him it's probably his arms and maybe his eyes too, he really knows how to use them to his advantage
c; cum (anything to do with cum basically)
i think jaemin's favorite way of cumming is inside you. he loves the intimacy of it, especially if he gets to look into your eyes while he does so
d; dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
this is something that jaemin thinks is well hidden from everyone but what he forgets is that you're the one that does the laundry and it's pretty noticeable when your underwear starts to slowly disappear. he just can't help himself when he sees all the pretty underwear you own, thinking about how good you would look dressed in them or remembering that one time he fucked you so good in them. so he kinda gets lost in his thoughts with your panties in his hand that he slowly drags down his body until he has it wrapped around his cock and well you know the rest
e; experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
i definitely see him as someone that would much rather have sex while in a relationship, he's not one to do a lot of one night stands but he does have some experience. he has had a few partners before and he's definitely really good at what he's doing and he takes his time learning what works for you
f; favourite position (goes without saying)
i'm sorry if this comes off as predictable but i don't see jaemin enjoying any other position more than he enjoys missionary. he loves eye contact and intimacy and missionary checks all the boxes. he also gets to hold your hands and kiss you and watch how pretty you look while you cum around him. he also really enjoys to lift your legs up and hold them over his shoulders while he fucks you
g; goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)
i definitely see him getting a bit more goofy sometimes, jaemin doesn't need to be all serious during sex and he knows how to balance things out. he loves teasing and making you shy so he's not afraid of making some jokes or be more playful during sex to get what he wants
h; hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
i think jaemin is pretty well groomed, he doesn't shave it all off but he likes things neat and he takes care of it
i; intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)
i think i've mentioned this aspect a few times already but jaemin loves intimacy during sex and feeling close to you. he doesn't need to be romantic all the time to make you feel special because he naturally already makes you feel that way. however he does go all out when it comes to special occasions like anniversaries or birthdays, he likes to put in the effort and prepare something really romantic. he also loves to praise you during sex
j; jack off (masturbation headcanon)
i think this really depends on his mood, i don't think he has a set schedule for it. sometimes he feels more horny than other times but i would say that he does it regularly, not everyday but pretty often
k; kink (one or more of their kinks)
i think jaemin's main kinks would be praise, light bondage, daddy kink, foreplay, body worship, lingerie and light marking
l; location (favourite places to do it)
jaemin isn't big on sex in public places, he prefers the comfort of his home where both of you can feel comfortable and safe. i would say his favorite places are his bed and the couch
m; motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
something that really gets him going is being able to intimidate you and making you shy and sensitive to his touch. he loves seeing you at his mercy and trying to avoid eye contact, makes him confident and he thinks you look cute and that turns him on
n; NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
something i have the feeling jaemin wouldn't enjoy is anything involving too much pain on you. he's not really into too hardcore stuff so anything that makes him feel like he's hurting you rather than pleasuring you he won't do
o; oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)
jaemin is all about giving. of course he loves when you go down on him but he loves seeing you squirm under him while he makes you feel good with his mouth and he's really good at it
p; pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
i don't see him as someone that likes really rough sex. he's more into slow but deep movements and he makes it very sensual. he makes sure every thing he does feels good to you just as much as it feels good to him. his movements might get a little faster when he's about to cum or if you ask him to go faster but besides that he likes to take his time with you
q; quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)
i don't see jaemin being into quickies that much. like i said he loves to take his time and he loves foreplay and quickies are just not as fun to him so i don't see it happening that often
r; risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)
i feel like he prefers to be safe but he's not boring either. if he sees that you really want to experiment something new then he will try it for you but he's not one to risk it too much
s; stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)
i feel like jaemin has pretty good stamina and he can last for a really good amount of time. he likes to pleasure you above all and he won't stop until he knows you're satisfied, so if he needs to go for a long time he will
t; toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
i think jaemin likes smaller toys and he likes using them on you from time to time. he loves foreplay so toys are a great addition to see how far he can push you. i feel like he chooses the cutest designs and colors for the toys he uses on you but that's it, he will only use them on you, never on himself
u; unfair (how much they like to tease)
i touched on this before but he loves to tease you, so much. it's one of his favorite parts and he has managed to be able to make you wet for him just from his teasing, whether through words or by touching
v; volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)
jaemin isn't that loud but he also doesn't feel the need to be quiet either. he knows you like to hear him too and he will be louder when you suck him off or you focus more on him as a way of praising you and showing you he's enjoying what you're doing, he knows that makes you happy. i feel like he groans and grunts more than actual moaning but he let's out some moans sometimes
w; wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)
you let out a weak moan as jaemin guided your hips against his, your hands holding tight to the couch behind him, your thighs starting to burn at the constant up and down movement.
"you're doing well princess, just like i taught you." he remained calmed but the breathiness on his voice gave away how much he was enjoying seeing you ride him. "look at me baby." he said as you realized your eyes had been closed the whole time, both due to the pleasure you were feeling and to how shy you felt being this exposed to him, even if it wasn't the first time.
you slowly opened your eyes, being greeted with jaemin's cocky smirk as he confidently stared at you. your hips stopped moving involuntarily as you got lost in his gaze and you had a moment to realize how your cheeks burned and how your fingers hurt from holding onto the couch so tightly.
"don't stop now baby. i know you're so close to cumming, aren't you?" you whimpered as you felt his fingers moving slowly over your clit, encouraging you to keep moving up and down on him, the combination of his fingers and his cock inside you making you bite on your lip to suppress the moan that threatened to come out. "that's it, that's my good girl."
x; x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)
i think he's just on the average side, not big but not small either, kinda like the "perfect size" to make you feel good. i think his girth is also pretty average and he has an overall pretty dick and i feel like he's circumcised as well
y; yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
i think his sex drive is pretty normal, not too high and not too low and definitely depends on how stressed or tired he is from work. i think it's not hard to turn him on so i think his sex drive will also depend on his partner and their sex drive
z; zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
like i've mentioned jaemin is big on aftercare so he won't fall asleep until you're taken care of even if he's really tired. so after sex he makes sure you're all clean and comfortable and then cuddles up with you until both of you fall asleep
#nct smut#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut#wayv smut#jaemin smut#na jaemin smut#nct scenarios#nct reactions#nct dream imagines#nct dream reactions#nct 127 scenarios#nct 127 imagines#wayv scenarios#wayv imagines#jaemin imagines#jaemin scenarios#na jaemin imagines#na jaemin drabble#a-z analysis
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Silence Speaks
Summary: Virgil can't get out of bed. Days like this are nothing new, he just doesn't know how his new family will react to him being so pathetic.
TWs: Depression, depressive episode, brief death mention, self-hatred, temporary nonverbal episode
Notes: Found this fic in my drafts from a few months ago, so I cleaned it up to post since LB and Permafrost are taking a bit. Enjoy <3
Virgil knew it was going to be one of those days when the third hour passed with no change.
Everything was too much. His chest hurt, every breath was just too much work, all he wanted was to sink into the blankets and sleep the rest of his life away. He’d been staring blankly at the wall since he’d woken up, curled up on his side with tears pooling in his eyes. He couldn't get up, couldn’t get back to sleep, couldn’t even call out to ask for help.
It had been a while since he’d had a day like this, when just the thought of getting out of bed made him sick,
They’d used to be more frequent, back when Virgil was alone and shut out, hated and scorned by the people he just wanted to protect. The resentment took its toll, and sometimes he couldn’t find a reason to get out of bed.
It wasn’t supposed to happen anymore. He was supposed to be over this. He was supposed to be better.
He had everything he’d ever wanted. He had his family, Thomas listened to him, and he wasn’t just needed- he was wanted.
He was wanted. He knew he was. Sometimes it was just...hard to convince himself of that, despite the overwhelming amount of kindness he’d been given for months now, the reassurances and patient understanding that felt too good to be true.
But now here he was again, unmoving in the dark of his own room, closed off like the brooding villain he was trying so hard not to be anymore.
God, he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere. He didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to go back to sleep, and he didn’t want to get up and go downstairs.
He just...didn’t want to do this anymore.
Why couldn’t he just disappear?
Virgil thought he could hear voices downstairs, but nothing was really registering through the fog settling around his head. His room was pitch dark, the curtains pulled tightly shut, leaving it impossible to tell how much time had passed.
He thought it might have been a few hours by now, and he hoped everyone would just continue on with their day and leave him here forever, trapped in his own body with a brain stuck trying to sabotage his happiness. He’d fade away on his own, and they’d forget about him, never bothering to even question his absence.
Virgil knew better than to really believe that. A year ago he could have gotten away with it, he could lock himself up in the dark for days and nobody would care. They’d probably celebrate.
Now...now they would notice he wasn’t coming down for breakfast. He had a job to do, he had people who actually cared. Virgil couldn’t just lay here, pathetic and useless. He was letting himself waste away and fail everyone who had taken a chance on him. They’d given him so much. He couldn’t undo all that progress because he was feeling a little sad.
But he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t. It would be so much easier if he could just die.
Virgil still wasn’t sure how much time had passed, laying there wide awake without the energy to move a single inch, but suddenly a knock on the door sliced through the haze around his brain.
More tears gathered in his eyes, frustration and dread making his chest unbearably heavy. He didn’t want to be ridiculed and yelled at right now. He wasn’t ready to be forced out of bed, selfish as it was to want to stay here.
A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, light spilling in from the hall, the faint smell of coffee wafting into the room.
“Virgil?”
That was Logan, even though Virgil couldn’t bring himself to turn his head to look. The logical side’s voice was comforting and familiar, but he wasn’t sure he could handle his blunt judgment right now.
He’d think Virgil was ridiculous, his refusal to leave his room illogical and stupidly selfish. He’d made everyone worry for nothing. Anxiety was just being lazy again.
“Virgil, it’s almost eleven,” Logan said, and Virgil kind of wished he could just die right here and now. Death would get him out of being lectured. “You need to wake up and eat something. You missed breakfast.”
Virgil still couldn’t move, but his breath caught in his throat at the reminder. He knew he was being stupid, and he knew he was behind schedule, but the thought of food just made him feel nauseous.
He heard footsteps, carefully tracking Logan’s movements as he came closer and listened as he carefully set down what was probably a mug of coffee on the dresser.
“Virgil?” he called, and it was getting harder and harder to see as more tears built up. “Are you awake?”
Virgil still couldn’t bring himself to answer, even as Logan moved around to the side of the bed. Virgil didn’t glance up to his face, but there was no way Logan couldn’t tell that the anxious side’s eyes were open and aware.
He tensed, waiting for anger and judgment, or even just an annoyed huff. He waited to be told that it was easy to get out of bed and Virgil was just being difficult, that he needed to stop being so pathetic or they had no reason to keep showing him so much kindness.
He needed to be useful, or they wouldn’t want him around anymore.
But Logan was suddenly kneeling down to his level, eyes kind and worried behind his glasses.
“Are you alright?” he asked, frowning when Virgil just clenched his jaw in response. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Virgil couldn’t force words to form no matter how badly he wanted to, and to his dismay a few tears slipped free, trailing down his jaw and seeping into the pillow.
Logan’s expression softened, but the concern in his eyes only grew. He reached forward, slow and careful, and somehow Virgil managed to move just enough to latch desperately onto his hand.
He didn’t have the energy to choke out any apologies, although he was almost certain Logan was about to demand one.
“That is alright,” the logical side said instead. “You do not have to talk. Do you think you can manage a nod or headshake?”
Virgil forced himself to respond with the tiniest of movements, even though just reaching up to take Logan’s hand had felt like running a marathon.
“Alright,” he said gently. “Are you feeling ill?”
Virgil wished he was just sick. That would be so much easier to explain. Being sick was fixable, and it wouldn’t look like he was just making excuses to be lazy.
But he didn’t see the point in lying, and he certainly didn’t have the energy to deal with even more anger if he was found out. He managed a small shake of his head, even as Logan reached up with his free hand to carefully feel his forehead. He had to force himself not to lean into the touch.
“Are you in pain?”
Yes. Everything hurt so bad and he wanted it to stop. His chest felt like someone was sitting on it, his head felt like something was pounding at the back of his skull, and every bone in his body felt heavy and useless.
But he couldn’t say that, because he knew it was all in his head. It wasn’t real.
He shook his head again, choking on a small sob, and something like realization dawned in the other side’s eyes.
“I see,” Logan said. “Is this...just a bad day, then?”
Logan had finally figured it out, because of course he had. Virgil being stupid and useless probably wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to, anyway.
He nodded, tense and staring at nothing as he waited for Logan to rip his hand away and demand Virgil grow up and stop wasting everyone’s time. Or maybe he’d just roll his eyes and leave, closing the door and locking Anxiety back in the dark where he belonged.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Logan said, and to Virgil’s surprise his hold only tightened. “Are you able to get out of bed?”
More tears welled up at the question, dread rising in his chest. Because he couldn’t imagine even standing up right now, but of course he couldn’t expect to be able to get away with that. Logan was being polite about it, but they had a schedule to stick to.
“It’s alright if the answer is no,” Logan continued. “I have no intention of forcing you. I only thought it might be easier to take care of you today if you’re set up on the couch.”
Wait...what? Take care of him?
Logan seemed to sense his confusion, and the hand that wasn’t currently being held hostage moved to run gently through his hair, smiling sadly at Virgil’s barely audible whimper.
“If you’re more comfortable here you can stay. But I know being left alone with your thoughts is not always...ideal. We can keep you company in the living room if you like. If you’re overstimulated, the lights will be kept dim, and the noise to a minimum.”
Virgil hesitated, trying to figure out if Logan was joking- or if this was some kind of cruel trick to teach him a lesson. They didn’t need to do anything. He didn’t deserve it. And he wasn’t sick, he was just being a baby.
Logan was suddenly cupping Virgil’s cheek, wiping tears away with his thumb. “There is nothing to be ashamed of, Virgil. Would you like help sitting up?”
And Virgil felt ridiculous, because he had no real reason to feel so weighed down, but he gave another timid nod.
Logan didn’t even hesitate before moving to help, a steadying hand against Virgil’s back as he guided him up to lean against the headboard. He didn’t complain, didn’t lecture Virgil about how inconsiderate he was being, just silently assisted and pulled away when he was done.
Again Virgil wanted to apologize, but the words got stuck in his throat, buried deep beneath the fatigue.
“There is no need for an apology,” Logan said, and Virgil wondered when he’d become so predictable. “If you aren’t able to walk, I’m sure Roman would be more than happy to carry you to the couch. I only need your permission to inform him and Patton of what is happening.”
Virgil wasn’t sick or injured, he was competent enough to get himself out of bed and down the stairs. People were busy, and he was already being awful by forcing Logan to stay.
But just the thought of getting out of bed and walking out of his room was enough to make him want to bury himself under the covers and dissolve into sobs. He curled in on himself and eyed Logan warily, hoping that was enough of an answer.
“Alright,” Logan said, squeezing Virgil’s hand. “I’ll go get him, just wait here a moment.”
Logan squeezed Virgil’s hand, and he’d known the logical side long enough to know the smile he sent was nothing but genuine.
Virgil felt cold when Logan pulled his hand away and moved off the bed, but being unable to talk meant he couldn’t call him back as he disappeared through the door.
He let out a shaky breath and pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He squeezed teary eyes shut as he rested his chin on his knees.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before Virgil heard footsteps in the hallway, his bedroom door creaking open as the creative side cautiously stepped inside the doorway with a small frown.
Virgil tensed, because if anyone was going to make fun of him for this it would be Roman- well meaning but so brash and over the top at times- and he could already picture Roman’s mocking laughter, his exasperation as he tried to just drag Virgil out of bed, his—
“Hey there,” Roman called, softer than Virgil could ever remember him sounding. “Feeling under the weather today, Stormcloud?”
Virgil shrugged, hunching his shoulders and staring at his own hands. From the look in the Prince’s eyes, it was clear he understood.
“That’s ok,” he said, ducking his head to meet Virgil’s eyes as he smiled and made his way to the bed. “Bad days happen, Doom and Gloom. You just have to ask for help.”
Virgil let out a pitiful whine, the closest he could get to telling Roman that he couldn’t. Even if he could, he didn’t know how. He’d never been able to ask for help before. The Prince’s smile turned sad, and he slowly lowered himself on the bed beside Virgil.
“I know,” Roman said, and Virgil watched as he opened his arms in a quiet invitation, looking so ridiculously hopeful. “But we’re here now.”
Virgil broke. What little walls he’d still been holding up crumbling at the Prince’s simple words, and he choked on a sob, vision blurring with the tears he finally allowed to fall. He collapsed forward into Roman’s chest, shuddering when strong arms wrapped around and pulled him close.
Roman didn’t speak, and he didn't force Virgil to even try, just held him tight and rocked them both on the edge of the bed, the Prince’s chin hooked over Virgil’s head, almost cocooning him in safety.
Roman held him, strong but gentle all the same, letting Virgil cry into the Prince’s shirt as long as he needed, hushing him through violent sobs. He didn’t rush him, didn’t tease or berate him, just kept him close and safe.
“I’m here,” he said when Virgil had quieted down a bit. “Is it ok if I take you downstairs now? Logan and Pat are worried about you.”
Virgil nodded with his face still buried in Roman’s chest, breath catching in his throat when the Prince carefully maneuvered them both towards the end of the bed. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around Virgil’s back, the other hooking under his knees.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered when Virgil clutched desperately at the back of his shirt, squeezing his eyes shut as Roman stood from the bed, Virgil secure in his hold. “We’ve all got you, Virge.”
Virgil kept his eyes closed, breaths coming out as nothing more than pitiful, hiccuping sobs. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, look at anyone, or be seen by anyone. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to exist today.
But Roman’s embrace made him forget that for just a moment. The memory of Logan’s comfort and the promise of Patton’s care made it just a little more bearable.
It was all a blur, Virgil barely able to focus on the world around him, overwhelmed and so so exhausted. The curtains in the living room were drawn, keeping the room comfortably dim, and Patton and Logan moved quietly, keeping everything blissfully peaceful.
Roman set him down on the couch, letting Virgil curl up on his side and pull the nearest blanket over him, taking a moment to run his fingers through the anxious side’s hair.
Patton kneeled beside him, searching his watery eyes for silent permission before leaning in to kiss Virgil’s forehead with a soft smile.
“Hey kiddo,” he said, just as loving as Logan and Roman had been. “You want your old dad to make you some hot chocolate?”
Virgil blinked, not sure how to respond to that. It sounded nice, but...but he was already convincing them enough. They were all busy, and probably annoyed and—
“It’s not an issue, honey,” Patton assured, like he could sense Virgil’s internal panic. “We didn’t have much planned for today. You can relax.”
He had his suspicions that Logan had actually just changed their schedule in favor of keeping an eye on Virgil while he rested, but he wasn’t exactly in the place to ask questions, as panicked as the thought made him. He’d make it up to them tomorrow.
Virgil couldn’t quite look Patton in the eyes, but the parental side seemed so eager to help, and...hot chocolate didn’t sound terrible. He gave a hesitant nod, chest loosening a bit at the way Patton positively beamed.
Patton hurried into the kitchen, only to come back less than five minutes later with the biggest mug Virgil had ever seen, overflowing with marshmallows and whipped cream. Roman perched on the arm of the couch, close enough to keep running his fingers through Virgil’s hair.
“Just rest, Virgil,” Logan said, smiling when Virgil took his hot chocolate with unsteady hands. “We can put on a movie if you like. Or we can leave you alone if you’re overwhelmed.”
Virgil bit his lip, a few stray tears still running down his cheeks and dripping onto the couch. It was a bad day, not his first and definitely not his last but it wasn’t the worst he’d ever had. It was already getting a little better.
He took a steady breath, raising his head to meet Logan’s eyes, mustering what little energy he had to force his voice to work again, the words small, breathy and ragged, but clear all the same.
“Stay? Please?”
Logan smiled, Roman scooted closer, and Patton gave Virgil’s forehead another kiss. They gathered around him on the couch, similar to how they usually ended up after a bad panic attack.
Roman and Logan ended up on either side of him, while Patton let Virgil put down his mug for a second to wrap his arms around the moral side’s waist, relishing in the warmth of one of Patton’s hugs.
There had been more days like this than Virgil could count, everything weighing down on him until he just wanted to disappear. He’d never...had this before. He’d always been alone, locking himself away until he could face his own existence again.
This time his family was on all sides, Patton holding him tightly, Logan taking his hand, Roman still playing with his hair, reminding him that it would be ok soon. He had a reason to fight through it.
Virgil couldn’t bring himself to thank them, not out loud again, but he knew they understood.
#sanders sides#virgil sanders#roman sanders#logan sanders#patton sanders#depression tw#nonverbal tw#crying tw#fanficiton#writing
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Infinity & Beyond (Wanda Maximoff x Reader) Chapter 4
Summary: This chapter focuses on the journey of the reader during the five years without Wanda.
A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Hope that you are all enjoying the story.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3
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You wake up a few months later in the Avengers compound once again. This time with your memories intact and feeling unbelievably disappointed. “She found him,” you find yourself saying to whoever was in the room as you involuntarily sit up on the bed. The nurse brushes it off as some weird superhero thing and not something to address. But then you repeat yourself again and again until she alerts Bruce who grabs the attention of the other remaining Avengers.
"What do you think she means?" Natasha questions as you make the statement again.
"Maybe she's talking about Wanda and Vision?" Steve chimes in with a concerned look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.
"Why would she be talking about Wanda and Vision? Vision was an advanced robot with a stone in his head, he had no soul for Wanda to find. If any of that exists," Bruce points out.
"I don't know then," Steve shrugs. Then you repeat the phrase again. "Maybe it's Wanda and her brother? I don't know, maybe we're too focused on the cloudy eyes thing. We could be thinking about this too hard."
Then Rhodey comes into the room to inform the members that the radar has picked up a signal of an unidentified flying object. He thinks that Carol might be back. "Just say UFO," Natasha rolls her eyes as she follows the guys out of the building. On their way out she spots a worried Pepper Pots and quirks her lips into a reassuring smile. "I think she found him," she says to the woman and leads her to the landing zone of the compound. It's only then that Natasha realizes what you meant. Sure enough, a woman is carrying a ship into the landing zone with Tony Stark and someone named Nebula. Pepper wraps her arms around Tony in tears and relief. He is quickly brought to the medical wing where you remain. Somehow having watched the whole thing from your bed.
When you come out of it the nurse informs you that your eyes had gone cloudy for a moment and you had predicted the return of your father. "He isn't my father," you grouched. Huh, must be another ability, you think to yourself.
Later, after passing a few diagnostic exams with flying colors, you are discharged from your hospital room and are eating across from a very serious Thor as people argue and yell at each other. It was weird to eat actual food. Thor was almost amused watching you figure out how to hold your sandwich.
Tony is then rolled into the room with a furious energy. You can tell that he is really hurting from this loss, that he is frustrated and you can even feel betrayal radiating off of him somehow. Of course, it's not until he's shouting at the Captain that you realize you are feeling his emotions. You were feeling everyone's defeated emotions and it was beginning to suffocate you. As you try to distract yourself with the food, your mind wanders to how overwhelmed Wanda must've felt being able to read people's minds. That leads to the memory of Wanda slipping from you and it's almost too much to handle. You toss the plate in front of you, disrupting the ongoing argument. You’re squeezing your skull as the tears come and you scream for it all to stop. Natasha and Steve fall to your side as they do their best to calm you down. Once the memory leaves you and you've settled, everyone in the room gets serious about finding Thanos.
Nebula is useful as she provides the only lead to finding Thanos and you join them on the spaceship, brushing off everyone's concerns. The talking racoon asks how many of you haven’t been to space before, you raise your hand among the others which seems to be enough to make him laugh. You don't understand why until the ship rushes off to space.
Arriving just outside the planet, a floating woman you hadn't been introduced to yet appears at the front window and is surprised to report that the planet is just Thanos. Along with everyone else, you are heart broken to find out that he had destroyed the stones. You feel for Thor when he says he went for the head and shed another tear for the woman that Thanos had taken from you. It feels like you just lost her all over again.
The first year is the longest. The days feel never ending and drag on. Most nights were spent jolting out of bed in a cold sweat as you're being haunted by memories. It often felt like you were back in the hands of Hydra being electrocuted and injected, spoken to in a language you didn't know, probably German. Everything that was done to you in the time you were captured, everything that your mind had originally suppressed, was attacking you each night. Going through it alone made you miss Wanda even more. So once you could remind yourself that you were safe, you had also been reminded that you were alone. Lots of tears were shed in the night.
After Tony built up enough strength to leave the compound he did but he never stayed gone long. He would return often to attempt to build a relationship with you. It wasn’t easy trying to let him in, the lack of sleep being no help, so you didn’t. Your resistance never stopped him from making the effort to get to know you. Now that he knew you existed, he wanted to be part of your life. Tony knew that you needed family and he was all you had left, even if you didn't want to accept it. He promised to never abandon you ever again.
That didn’t mean he stopped living his life. Within a few months of his recovery, Tony invited you to his surprisingly low-key wedding which you begrudgingly attended with Natasha and Steve. They had been helping you out a lot with coping and figuring out whether or not you wanted Tony in your life. Steve often joked about fighting him again to get him to back off, but you never took the offer. You did your best to enjoy yourself at the wedding but it only reminded you of what you couldn’t have.
You smiled your way through the night as you thought about Wanda.
Her smile, the dress she would’ve worn, her laugh, that look in her eyes that is so full of love and only reserved for you. Your mind went even further back to a time when Pietro was alive and how they would’ve danced together and how happy he would have been for the two of you. You even imagine the wide grin he would have walking Wanda down the aisle and the single tear he would shed. Once he found that ring of yours he was constantly harassing you about when and how you were going to ask his twin. Even giving unwanted advice and ideas. It was all so consuming. That night you fell asleep crying in Natasha’s arms.
Months later, while Tony was visiting you he included you in on a secret. Pepper was pregnant. You didn’t exactly give the most joyous reaction but you were happy for him and Pepper. “When she’s born, promise me you won’t come back here,” you find yourself saying.
“Well I don’t know if she’s a girl yet but… why don’t you want me to come around here?” Tony asks as he returns the ultrasound image to his pocket.
“I want the three of you to be happy. I don’t want you to worry about me. Besides, I’m thinking of asking Nat to start assigning me to missions. I probably won’t be around as much and I really just need to get my mind off of the things I lost and the things I can’t have.” You keep your eyes on the promise ring Wanda had given you on your first anniversary. “But I want you and Pepper to be happy. Enjoy your life Tony. You don’t need to make things right with me to do that.” Tony disagrees but hugs you as he says his goodbyes and you find Natasha for your first assignment.
You are there for the birth of Morgan Stark. You forge her a special necklace from your powers and smile at the little bundle of joy. “Congrats you guys, she is so precious,” you say as you hold the baby.
“Thank you, Y/N,” Pepper says with hooded eyes and a tired smile. You hand the baby back to Tony and leave before thoughts of Wanda could invade and cloud your head. She always wanted a family. She used to fantasize about the kinds of parents the two of you would be. The types of kids you guys would raise. Baby names… Being away allowed you to forget her. But moments like these threatened to tear you down.
More years pass and Natasha is forced to ground you from missions because you have become too mentally unstable and a major liability. Steve drags you to his group therapy sessions but you hardly pay attention or contribute. You just miss Wanda and you allow yourself to feel that pain because running from it has only made it grow. For the most part you spent your time sitting in meetings with Steve or Nat. You preferred being in Natasha’s meetings since they were about mission updates and strategy and not about people crying over first dates. Shortly after that particular meeting Steve began to hint that maybe you should give it a try, you shut him down and turned it around on him. He quickly dropped the subject.
Among that daily schedule you would end your nights curled up on your bed in the room Wanda stayed in while she was waiting for you to come back to her. You would hold some clothes that still smelled like her to your nose as you listened to sad songs. For a while you’re stuck listening to Little Talks wondering if her spirit was lying by your side trying to reach out to you. Some of the things you felt were too painful to keep around and you had them stored at a special place far enough from here. One of them being the old computer. Well, they had been stored away for you but sometimes you convinced yourself that you made the call on your own. Not that Natasha arranged a team to steal most of your belongings.
Tony was generous enough to copy every video and photo file from the computer and put them into your phone. They helped you go to sleep at night.
Then one day, a man you swore had to have been on the vanished list that Nat viewed often, appears at the gate. “Is this old?” Steve asks.
“This is live,” Natasha says. They let him in and the three of you stand around as he explains how he can help. You, Nat, and Steve are skeptical but not so much that you guys don’t have hope it won’t work. Immediately you guys are on the road to find Tony Stark.
Over the years you tried to visit between missions, when you could. Not for Tony but for Morgan. You couldn’t help but fall for the little girl, she was your sister and you wanted to be the best big sister you could be for her. You also wanted to make sure she knew how many people cared for her and that she would always be safe and protected. Natasha was also captivated by her and would sometimes join you on the visits. You girls would play once she was able to run around and you even showed her some of your powers. During this time you finally allowed Tony in and even established a healthy relationship with him and Pepper because whether or not you wanted to accept it, they were your family.
When you arrive at the cabin, Morgan jumps out of Tony’s arms and runs into yours. “Y/N/N!” She shouts happily. You greet her with just as much energy and take her into the house to let them do the talking.
Pepper prepares some drinks and has you take them out to everyone. You re-enter the kitchen to help her with lunch. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them?” Pepper asks conversationally.
“Because my powers are connected to my emotions and if your husband says no… I might accidentally blow him into bits and pieces,” you sigh.
Despite herself, Pepper laughs a little. “You know,” she starts. “If you called him dad, he won’t have any other choice than to say yes.”
You shake your head, not this again. “Not going to happen.” Tony hasn’t directly asked you to say it but Pepper has and she keeps bringing up how much it would mean to him to hear you say it. “Besides with what we’re trying to do there’s a chance that he might lose all of this. I’m not even sure if I want him to say yes.” Your gaze lands on Morgan playing with her toys. Pepper follows your gaze and smiles softly.
“Hey Morgan, sweetie?” Pepper calls attention to her daughter who curiously looks up at her mother. “You should go out there and rescue daddy,” Pepper says. The little girl's face lights up as she stands to run to the front door. “Knowing Tony, he will find a way to protect everything he loves and save the world. Even if it kills him,” there is something in the way she says those words that causes the two of you to share a look. A hopeful let’s hope it doesn’t come down to that.
She then gives you a hug and tells you to stop by more often, she wishes you luck, and you leave the warmth of the home to the frowns of your rejected friends. You don’t look at Tony when you bid him goodbye.
Next you find yourself in Bruce’s diner and watch as Scott Lang fails to be recognized as Ant-Man by some kids. Bruce is willing to give the time travel a try and on the day the test run is done, you begin to lose hope again. You eat your taco near a window as you observe Scott set up in the landing zone. You laugh when Nebula and Rocket arrive blowing away his food. You almost can’t believe that is the guy who had access to the closest thing they had to a time machine. Steve walks in smiling at your laugh, you don’t do that often, with Tony barking orders behind him. People get to work on the machine and that pesky flicker of hope is restored.
As you work on things Tony is by your side teaching you about every part you are using and putting together. You just let him rattle on and on as you let yourself fantasize about holding Wanda in your arms again. Before you know it they are doing the first test run with Clint Barton. He disappears and instantly reappears with a baseball glove and a stunned expression. “It works,” he says and that feeling of hope causes your heart to pound in your chest. You are going to see her again. Now to find out when to travel to.
“See you in a minute,” Nat says with contained excitement. She is just as excited to complete this mission as you are. After a lot of thinking and planning they separated into three teams of people. Tony, Steve, Bruce, and Scott leave to 2012 to retrieve the tesseract, scepter, and the time stone. Nat, Clint, Nebula, and Rhodey vanish to 2014 to grab the power stone and the soul stone. The last team is just Thor and Rocket to grab the reality stone that is apparently inside of Thor’s former girlfriend. Tony, Steve, and Nat wouldn’t let you go on the mission because they still think you’re a liability. You argue that Thor isn’t exactly the picture of mental stability but they point out that Thor is the only one on their team that knows Asgard and where that stone is.
So you sit and pout in a chair for the quick minute that everyone is gone. Part of what has you so pissed off is that you didn’t get to experience time traveling. All because of a few bad missions. You watch them disappear and stare at the platform but time seems to drag on and you look down at your phone with a sigh. In that second everyone has returned with their stones and your heart drops. You notice one person missing and frown. “Where’s Nat?” You ask. Clint wears a broken expression and takes a breath before explaining how he received the stone. “Oh,” is all you can come up with.
Clint felt that it should’ve been him and you didn’t disagree but you understood why Natasha sacrificed herself. She confided in you a few times about how she felt like a monster because of what she was forced to do when she was being raised in the Red Room. She even talked about the mandatory hysterectomy and hated that she could never carry kids of her own. You did your best to try and cheer her up by telling her that adoption was always an option. “No agency is going to allow a former assassin to adopt a kid. Trust me… I tried.” She then boasted about Clint and his family, she loved them as if they were her own family. “I’ll deny it if you tell anyone but I cried like a baby the first time his daughter called me aunty Nat,” she got teary eyed and you passed her another shot of vodka.
Natasha missed them so much and you knew she would sacrifice herself to get them back. She wouldn’t have been able to live with herself if his family came back and she had to inform them that he died to save her. She probably would have felt like a bigger monster than she already thought she was. You stood up and left the room to collect yourself and get as far away from everyone’s grief as possible. Natasha had easily become your best friend these past few years. In the past year that you’ve been stuck at the compound there were days when it felt like all you had was each other. You can’t believe she’s gone but you have to hope that there is still a way to bring her back.
Banner finds you later and makes you some food and Rocket sits with you and the rest of the guys sit by the dock to talk. You force the comfort food down despite feeling too sad to eat and notice Nebula walking back into the time machine area. They call you into another room where they’re going to put the stones together but you ignore them and follow Nebula. They let you go, assuming that you’re still upset about losing Natasha. The first time you went on an actual mission with Nebula, you were put off with how serious she was so you came up with random nicknames to call her. She was annoyed initially but eventually she mentioned how funny she thought it was. Her tone had remained emotionless as she told you that and you had to refrain from laughing because it felt rude to do so as she was opening up. Nebula was still a very serious person to be around but she loosened up a bit around you, even called you her friend.
“Hey Neb-Neb!” You called out after her but she ignored you. “Bu-Bu! Hello?” You followed her to the control panel, “Nella, what’s going on with yo–” she cuts you off by wrapping her hand around your throat and speaking to you through gritted teeth. There was definitely something off about Nebula but you couldn’t quite figure it out. So you fought back because you weren’t fighting your friend, you were fighting a stranger. The two of you go hand in hand until she slips out of your hold and goes back to the control panel. You move to stop her but are too late. Next thing you know, you are waking up in rubble.
With a groan you sit up and dust yourself off then quickly panic, you don’t even know if they had time to do the reverse snap. You crawl your way out of the rubble and find Steve, Tony, and Thor speaking in hushed tones. “Did you guys do the snap? What happened?” You ask frantically, you need to know that you’ll be seeing Wanda again. Losing her a third time was simply not an option. Then you see a very alive Thanos just sitting there. That’s when it connects in your head. It was a different Nebula and she was getting a past version of Thanos into this present. “Please tell me you guys did the snap,” you look at Tony and he nods. But the look on everyone's faces told you that they didn’t know if it worked.
You join them as they attack Thanos but he is powerful and not easy to bring down. You’re tossed into another pile of rubble and shake your head, annoyed with yourself because you felt useless. Your powers were failing you and you couldn’t fathom as to why. Out of nowhere you see portals open up one by one, the people that had vanished and the people that hadn’t stepped through each portal. Then an enormous Ant-Man emerges from the ground and drops off a few more people that must’ve been trapped from the destruction of the compound. You gather with the rest of them and really focus to activate your powers as Steve grabs Mjolnir and shouts, “Avengers… Assemble!” Despite the unsuccessful attempt, you still charge along with the rest of them to fight against Thanos’ army.
Without seeing her, you could just sense that Wanda is among the rest and as much as you want a reunion, saving the world takes precedence at the moment. You could practically hear her telling you to go be a hero anyway. As you fight against Thanos’ army, using the hand to hand combat skills Natasha and Steve taught you, a part of you is still distracted and searches for Wanda. Regardless of where you want your focus at the moment. You make your way around the battlefield hoping to knock into her or something so that you don't get yourself killed trying to find her. Then you hear her.
“You took everything from me,” her tone is heavy and her eyes are glowing. You come to the conclusion that she must not know whether or not you are alive. So you don’t let her know and wait to find out what she does.
“I don’t even know who you are,” Thanos responds, angered by the woman's threatening glare.
“You will,” she says before she starts attacking him with her powers. Discreetly killing off a large gathering of Outriders hurtling towards you, you watch Wanda as she comes very close to killing Thanos herself. He calls for the ships to rain fire on everyone and that’s when you finally make yourself present to her. You jump from your spot and land right beside her and create a force field to protect the both of you. Other members are being protected by the sorcerers and it isn’t until Captain Marvel comes flying through that the bullets stop coming down and people are trying to get the gauntlet out of there. You turn towards Wanda and feel her mixed emotions, you wink at her with a smile as you let the barrier go.
“It’s time to be a hero right now, love. We can say hello later,” you tell her before you go back into the fight, the adrenaline rushing through you as your powers have finally activated. Each member does their best to keep the gauntlet out of Thanos’ reach but sadly no one succeeds and he holds the extreme amount of power once again. Carol fights him with as much power as she has to keep him from snapping his fingers but eventually gets tossed aside. You step up next using everything that you have inside of you, using abilities you had no idea you even possessed. But in the end you are tossed onto a metal rod that had been protruding out from the destroyed building. It had stabbed you through your side making it difficult to breathe. As you fight for air you look around to watch Thanos and his army disappear. Tony collapses beside you. “No,” you cough out weakly. You reach out for him and luckily he was close enough for you to touch his shoulder. “Tony,” you gasp as the tears sting your eyes. His eyes follow the sound but you can tell that he’s not actually looking at you.
“Mr. Stark, we won. Mr. Stark,” Peter says as he tries to grab Tony’s attention. Rhodey lands beside his best friend with understanding and sadness in his eyes. Yours tighten shut for a moment as your tears start to fall. You want to wake up from this horrible nightmare but this is reality, a piece of you knew that you couldn’t avoid. Then Pepper arrives and pulls the boy in the spider suit away from her husband. You look up and see that he has finally returned somewhat enough to recognize his wife.
She tells him that he can rest now, then she looks over to you so that you know that now is the time to say something so you don’t regret it later. With a weak grip on his shoulder you nudge him to return his attention to you. It looks like he’s trying to smile at you but is obviously far too weak to do as such. You offer him the best one that you could muster in your current state. “I love you, dad. It’s okay, we’ll be okay,” your hand lands in his and he gives it the lightest squeeze before it falls limp.
Wanda makes her way over to you and panics at the amount of blood you’ve lost but at the moment you don’t feel anything. Not even the pain of losing your father. You just feel… numb. It dawns on you that your body must be failing but that doesn’t scare you. She takes your hand as your loud thoughts of just letting go enter her mind. “No,” she starts through frustrated teeth. “You can’t leave, Y/N. Please, keep fighting. This can’t be our ending. I need you, please don’t leave me,” she sounds so broken but equally determined to keep you alive. As you hold her gaze she lets out a broken sob and tenderly whispers, “I love you to infinity.” She continues to beg, depositing small kisses to the back of your hand. As her words sink in, you find the strength that you need to fight off the thoughts of letting go. Then, with your heightened vision, you look around and find every remaining Avenger kneeling out of respect for your father and you have the urge to join them. You struggle to get up from your position, Pepper and Wanda try to stop you from moving but all rational thought has left you.
“I’m not dying right here,” you grumble as you reach behind you and cut the rod. You shift your position and Pepper sprays your wound to close it around the remaining bits of the rod that was still in you so that the bleeding would stop until you could get it properly treated. Then you kneel for your father to show your respect for him in his death that you failed to show while he was alive. You think about how grateful you were for the last five years and how much you appreciated that he never gave up on you. You silently thank him just as the adrenaline leaves your body and it succumbs to the full extent of your injuries causing you to collapse and pass out.
Chapter 5
#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda marvel#wanda x fem!reader#wanda x you#the scarlet witch#wanda mcu#wanda x y/n#wanda x reader#wanda maximoff#fanfic fanfiction#fanfic#mcu#marvel
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you dont have to write this if youre not comfortable doing it, but could you do something where the reader is toms girlfriend and is diagonsed with a brain tumor and starts forgetting things, like she suddenly cant remember his family anymore or that toms spider-man?
wc: 1.4k words - please READ WITH CAUTION. it's heavy tw // brain tumors, diseases, MRI's, crying, angst
requests are open
—
“And I’m telling you there’s something obviously wrong with her.” Tom was just on the edge of yelling at the doctor. You were sitting on the medical bed in the lonesome room.
One month of Tom being home was enough time for him to realize you were not the same person you were when he left for filming. You were quiet, more conserved, and a bit more curious than you normally were. But not in the sense that you were inquisitive about new things. No, you were forgetting what you already knew to be true.
“Sir, we just asked her a series of questions and she’s showing no signs of change.”
“Then that’s not enough, goddammit!” His fist slams down on the counter, startling everyone in the room.
“Please refrain from raising your voice, sir.”
“I won’t refrain from doing anything until you keep running more tests. Try- try something different if you’re not getting anywhere with these ones!”
The man, his tag reading Dr. Goldstein, offered a tense smile. He whispered something to Tom, something out of your earshot, and he nodded.
“I’ll be right back, okay baby?” He leaned close to your ear, leaving a gentle kiss under the lobe while you nodded. His fingers slipped from yours and suddenly you were alone in the room.
Goldstein brought Tom into a separate medical room, and Tom sat in one of the chairs provided while the doctor logged himself into the company database.
“Can you explain what you’ve been noticing? Your reason for being here?”
“She’s having a lot of headaches.” The doctor hummed, a sign for Tom to elaborate. He did. “She- she told me to bring home extra medicine but the headaches got so bad she had to call in sick for work. About three days later she was throwing up frequently. We took her to the local doctor but they said it was a stomach bug and it would go away.”
“And it didn’t?” Tom shook his head. “Is that all? Has she had any seizures?”
“No.”
“Does anyone in her family have a history of having seizures?”
“Not that I know of.” Goldstein looked at Tom through the tops of his glasses, eyebrows raised as he wrote all the information down.
“Has she had any memory loss, fatigue or sleeping problems?”
“Yeah, sleeping problems were big with the headaches. She- uh… she’s been forgetting things a lot easier now, too.”
“Do you know any of the things she’s forgotten? Anything major, that is.”
Tom scratched the back of his neck in thought. “I mean… she forgot her phone password once. A few hair appointments maybe, or a dinner reservation. I think the big one was when she forgot how to drive.”
“She forgot how to drive?”
“Not entirely, just a couple steps.”
The doctor clicked his tongue. It wasn’t calming Tom’s nerves. You, however, were swinging your legs back and forth as you waited patiently for someone to return. A nurse had come in to give you some water, which you gratefully accepted. You weren’t sure what was taking so long for Tom to get back; you were the one sick, afterall.
“We’ll have to run a few tests just to confirm anything, first. Can you make an appointment with the front desk?”
Tom nods, standing as the man leads him out of this room and into the one with you.
“Hey,” He breathes out. “You okay?” You nod, he hums with a small smile.
“Everything okay?” He nods.
“We’ll have to come back, though.” You frown but nod nonetheless.
**
Medical dresses reminded you of movies that would leave you crying for a happier ending. You felt like you were the movie, a camera in your face while family members cried because of the news.
You had just gotten an MRI-scan. Magnetic resonance imaging, as the doctor had put it. They explained everything to you in such detail that the information had flown right over your head. You drowned everything out, the only thing keeping you grounded being Tom and his voice.
You were still wearing the dress as the doctor came back in forty minutes later with his head hung low and your verdict on the slip of paper.
“Well?” Tom’s voice was eager, and not in a positive way. His hand was holding yours tightly as his nerves rose to an all time high.
Dr. Goldstein sighed as he sat in his rolling chair. “It’s called neurofibromatosis. It’s a tumor located in the prefrontal lobe. It’s a hereditary disease that can last a lifetime.” Tom physically deflates at the news. A tear slips from your eyes, but the doctor keeps going. “Though we just performed the biopsy, we can already tell it’s spread to the temporal lobe. We can predict it’s probably going to affect your spinal cord and your central nervous system.”
“Can… can it be cured?” Tom was so hesitant, so afraid he’d lose the one stable thing in his life. He was afraid of losing you, watching you slip through his fingers while he tried to hold on, grasp as much of you as he could. What he didn’t want to admit, though, was that you were already slipping, and his hands were already losing grip.
“No. But treatment can help prevent the spread.”
“Am I going to die?” Your shrill, quiet voice cuts the tension, asking the question everybody was afraid to know the answer to.
“The average life expectancy of a patient with your tumor is eight years.” He clicks his tongue and Tom scoffs.
“Eight years? Of what, chemo?”
“Sir, there’s no way to tell if it’s permanent or not. If the treatment goes well, it could die out without killing her. You’re lucky you’re still in the early stages.”
The drive home was quiet. You weren’t reacting the way Tom wanted you to. You were acting normal, and it killed him inside that you weren’t batting an eye or pointing out the elephant in the room.
“Can we go bowling tomorrow?”
“I have work tomorrow.” Tom sighs as he grips the steering wheel harder.
“Work…?” You look at him expectantly. He blinks
“We’re filming Spider-man 3 for the next five months.” He tells you almost irritatingly, as if he expects you to know his schedule better than himself. And you do. But not anymore.
“You’re an actor?”
When he pulls up to the driveway, he parks the car and looks at you strangely, as if a piece of his soul just washed away, lost to never be found again. He looks as if he’s about to cry.
“Sorry if you don’t like talking about work,” You say it defensively. “I just didn’t know you were an actor.”
“Love….” He sits back defeatedly, shoulders sagging. “Maybe Harry can take you bowling tomorrow instead. I need to talk to Jon about something.”
“Harry…?” You trail off as if he’ll fill in the blank to who this person is. Before he opens the car door, he stops to look at you again.
“My brother?” He’s soft as he tries to see if you’ll remember him. You don’t. “You don’t remember my brothers?”
“You have multiple?” The two of you step out of the car as you head inside.
“I have three.”
“I wish I knew them all.” Tom chokes on air.
“Y/N, you do know them.”
You watch as Tom’s figure nearly deflates again, and you pout. “I’m sorry.” He turns around hastily.
“For what?”
“I just… it feels like I’m not trying hard enough.”
“Baby… ” He pulls you into his chest as you gasp out a cry, sucking in a breath as new tears fall. Tom cries too, gripping you tightly as the salty waters flow out of the rivers, breaking the dams and flooding all around it.
“I’m so-” You whisper out between sobs. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” He’s trying not to cry too loudly, too harshly. “‘S Not your fault.”
He feels you nod against him, and for the first time in weeks, he feels as if he finally has a grip on you again, as if he can pull you out of the drowning waters, let you come up for air before another wave crashes over your helpless body. For the first time in weeks, he feels like you might actually be his Y/N again. But you’re not, because as soon as you’re in his grip, he loses you again.
He just doesn’t want to see what happens when he loses his grip for good.
hello here’s part two <3
#tom holland angst#tom holland fluff#tom holland x you#tom holland fic#tom holland x reader#tom holland fanfic#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland blurb#tom holland imagine#tom holland oneshot#tom holland#tom holland angsty#husband!tom holland#boyfriend!tom holland#tom fic#tom x you
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Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:
The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist
The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.
By Adam Sachs,
Photographs by Norman Jean Roy
May 2012 Issue
"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.
"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"
We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.
On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.
"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.
Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"
But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.
"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"
Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.
To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.
Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:
Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'
Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.
Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.
Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:
Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?
Chris: Nothing wrong with that.
Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?
Chris: Looooong time.
Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?
Chris: No names, Ma!
Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.
Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.
Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.
We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.
East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.
"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."
Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.
Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.
From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.
It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.
What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"
By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."
Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.
"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"
Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.
Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"
One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."
What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."
There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."
Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."
"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."
"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.
"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."
My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"
At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"
I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"
Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."
East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.
"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."
I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."
Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."
The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"
And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."
We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."
Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."
I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."
He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"
Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?
"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"
Here is the 2012 Detail Magazine interview with chris evans:
The Avengers' Chris Evans: Just Your Average Beer-Swilling, Babe-Loving Buddhist
The 30-year-old Bud Light-chugging, Beantown-bred star of The Avengers is widely perceived as the ultimate guy's guy. But beneath the bro persona lies a serious student of Buddhism, an unrepentant song-and-dance man, and a guy who talks to his mom about sex. And farts.
By Adam Sachs,
Photographs by Norman Jean Roy
May 2012 Issue
"Should we just kill him and bury his body?" Chris Evans is stage whispering into the impassive blinking light of my digital recorder.
"Chris!" shouts his mother, her tone a familiar-to-anyone-with-a-mother mix of coddling and concern. "Don't say that! What if something happened?"
We're at Evans' apartment, an expansive but not overly tricked-out bachelor-pad-ish loft in a semi-industrial nowheresville part of Boston, hard by Chinatown, near an area sometimes called the Combat Zone. Evans has a fuzzy, floppy, slept-in-his-clothes aspect that'd be nearly unrecognizable if you knew him only by the upright, spit-polished bearing of the onscreen hero. His dog, East, a sweet and slobbery American bulldog, is spread out on a couch in front of the TV. The shelves of his fridge are neatly stacked with much of the world's supply of Bud Light in cans and little else.
On the counter sit a few buckets of muscle-making whey-protein powder that belong to Evans' roommate, Zach Jarvis, an old pal who sometimes tags along on set as a paid "assistant" and a personal trainer who bulked Evans up for his role as the super-ripped patriot in last summer's blockbuster Captain America: The First Avenger. A giant clock on the exposed-brick wall says it's early evening, but Evans operates on his own sense of time. Between gigs, his schedule's all his, which usually translates into long stretches of alone time during the day and longer social nights for the 30-year-old.
"I could just make this . . . disappear," says Josh Peck, another old pal and occasional on-set assistant, in a deadpan mumble, poking at the voice recorder I'd left on the table while I was in the bathroom.
Evans' mom, Lisa, now speaks directly into the microphone: "Don't listen to them—I'm trying to get them not to say these things!"
But not saying things isn't in the Evans DNA. They're an infectiously gregarious clan. Irish-Italians, proud Bostoners, close-knit, and innately theatrical. "We all act, we sing," Evans says. "It was like the fucking von Trapps." Mom was a dancer and now runs a children's theater. First-born Carly directed the family puppet shows and studied theater at NYU. Younger brother Scott has parts on One Life to Live and Law & Order under his belt and lives in Los Angeles full-time—something Evans stopped doing several years back. Rounding out the circle are baby sister Shanna and a pair of "strays" the family brought into their Sudbury, Massachusetts, home: Josh, who went from mowing the lawn to moving in when his folks relocated during his senior year in high school; and Demery, who was Evans' roommate until recently.
"Our house was like a hotel," Evans says. "It was a loony-tunes household. If you got arrested in high school, everyone knew: 'Call Mrs. Evans, she'll bail you out.'"
Growing up, they had a special floor put in the basement where all the kids practiced tap-dancing. The party-ready rec room also had a Ping-Pong table and a separate entrance. This was the house kids in the neighborhood wanted to hang at, and this was the kind of family you wanted to be adopted by. Spend an afternoon listening to them dish old dirt and talk over each other and it's easy to see why. Now they're worried they've said too much, laid bare the tender soul of the actor behind the star-spangled superhero outfit, so there's talk of offing the interviewer. I can hear all this from the bathroom, which, of course, is the point of a good stage whisper.
To be sure, no one's said too much, and the more you're brought into the embrace of this boisterous, funny, shit-slinging, demonstrably loving extended family, the more likable and enviable the whole dynamic is.
Sample exchange from today's lunch of baked ziti at a family-style Italian restaurant:
Mom: When he was a kid, he asked me, 'Mom, will I ever think farting isn't funny?'
Chris: You're throwing me under the bus, Ma! Thank you.
Mom: Well, if a dog farts you still find it funny.
Then, back at the apartment, where Mrs. Evans tries to give me good-natured dirt on her son without freaking him out:
Mom: You always tell me when you think a girl is attractive. You'll call me up so excited. Is that okay to say?
Chris: Nothing wrong with that.
Mom: And can I say all the girls you've brought to the house have been very sweet and wonderful? Of course, those are the ones that make it to the house. It's been a long time, hasn't it?
Chris: Looooong time.
Mom: The last one at our house? Was it six years ago?
Chris: No names, Ma!
Mom: But she knocked it out of the park.
Chris: She got drunk and puked at Auntie Pam's house! And she puked on the way home and she puked at our place.
Mom: And that's when I fell in love with her. Because she was real.
We're operating under a no-names rule, so I'm not asking if it's Jessica Biel who made this memorable first impression. She and Evans were serious for a couple of years. But I don't want to picture lovely Jessica Biel getting sick at Auntie Pam's or in the car or, really, anywhere.
East the bulldog ambles over to the table, begging for food.
"That dog is the love of his life," Mrs. Evans says. "Which tells me he'll be an unbelievable parent, but I don't want him to get married right now." She turns to Chris. "The way you are, I just don't think you're ready."
Some other things I learn about Evans from his mom: He hates going to the gym; he was so wound-up as a kid she'd let him stand during dinner, his legs shaking like caged greyhounds; he suffered weekly "Sunday-night meltdowns" over schoolwork and the angst of the sensitive middle-schooler; after she and his father split and he was making money from acting, he bought her the Sudbury family homestead rather than let her leave it.
Eventually his mom and Josh depart, and Evans and I go to work depleting his stash of Bud Light. It feels like we drink Bud Light and talk for days, because we basically do. I arrived early Friday evening; it's Saturday night now and it'll be sunup Sunday before I sleeplessly make my way to catch a train back to New York City. Somewhere in between we slip free of the gravitational pull of the bachelor pad and there's bottle service at a club and a long walk with entourage in tow back to Evans' apartment, where there is some earnest-yet-surreal group singing, piano playing, and chitchat. Evans is fun to talk to, partly because he's an open, self-mocking guy with an explosive laugh and no apparent need to sleep, and partly because when you cut just below the surface, it's clear he's not quite the dude's dude he sometimes plays onscreen and in TV appearances.
From a distance, Chris Evans the movie star seems a predictable, nearly inevitable piece of successful Hollywood packaging come to market. There's his major-release debut as the dorkily unaware jock Jake in the guilty pleasure Not Another Teen Movie (in one memorable scene, Evans has whipped cream on his chest and a banana up his ass). The female-friendly hunk appeal—his character in The Nanny Diaries is named simply Harvard Hottie—is balanced by a kind of casual-Friday, I'm-from-Boston regular-dudeness. Following the siren song of comic-book cash, he was the Human Torch in two Fantastic Four films. As with scrawny Steve Rogers, the Captain America suit beefed up his stature as a formidable screen presence, a bankable leading man, all of which leads us to The Avengers, this season's megabudget, megawatt ensemble in which he stars alongside Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Robert Downey Jr., and Chris Hemsworth.
It all feels inevitable—and yet it nearly didn't happen. Evans repeatedly turned down the Captain America role, fearing he'd be locked into what was originally a nine-picture deal. He was shooting Puncture, about a drug-addicted lawyer, at the time. Most actors doing small-budget legal dramas would jump at the chance to play the lead in a Marvel franchise, but Evans saw a decade of his life flash before his eyes.
What he remembers thinking is this: "What if the movie comes out and it's a success and I just reject all of this? What if I want to move to the fucking woods?"
By "the woods," he doesn't mean a quiet life away from the spotlight, some general metaphorical life escape route. He means the actual woods. "For a long time all I wanted for Christmas were books about outdoor survival," he says. "I was convinced that I was going to move to the woods. I camped a lot, I took classes. At 18, I told myself if I don't live in the woods by the time I'm 25, I have failed."
Evans has described his hesitation at signing on for Captain America. Usually he talks about the time commitment, the loss of what remained of his relative anonymity. On the junkets for the movie, he was open about needing therapy after the studio reduced the deal to six movies and he took the leap. What he doesn't usually mention is that he was racked with anxiety before the job came up.
"I get very nervous," Evans explains. "I shit the bed if I have to present something on stage or if I'm doing press. Because it's just you." He's been known to walk out of press conferences, to freeze up and go silent during the kind of relaxed-yet-high-stakes meetings an actor of his stature is expected to attend: "Do you know how badly I audition? Fifty percent of the time I have to walk out of the room. I'm naturally very pale, so I turn red and sweat. And I have to literally walk out. Sometimes mid-audition. You start having these conversations in your brain. 'Chris, don't do this. Chris, take it easy. You're just sitting in a room with a person saying some words, this isn't life. And you're letting this affect you? Shame on you.'"
Shades of "Sunday-night meltdowns." Luckily the nerves never follow him to the set. "You do your neuroses beforehand, so when they yell 'Action' you can be present," he says.
Okay, there was one on-set panic attack—while Evans was shooting Puncture. "We were getting ready to do a court scene in front of a bunch of people, and I don't know what happened," he says. "It's just your brain playing games with you. 'Hey, you know how we sometimes freak out? What if we did it right now?'"
One of the people who advised Evans to take the Captain America role was his eventual Avengers costar Robert Downey Jr. "I'd seen him around," Downey says. "We share an agent. I like to spend a lot of my free time talking to my agent about his other clients—I just had a feeling about him."
What he told Evans was: This puppy is going to be big, and when it is you're going to get to make the movies you want to make. "In the marathon obstacle course of a career," Downey says, "it's just good to have all the stats on paper for why you're not only a team player but also why it makes sense to support you in the projects you want to do—because you've made so much damned money for the studio."
There's also the fact that Evans had a chance to sign on for something likely to be a kind of watershed moment in the comic-book fascination of our time. "I do think The Avengers is the crescendo of this superhero phase in entertainment—except of course for Iron Man 3," Downey says. "It'll take a lot of innovation to keep it alive after this."
Captain America is the only person left who was truly close to Howard Stark, father of Tony Stark (a.k.a. Iron Man), which meant that Evans' and Downey's story lines are closely linked, and in the course of doing a lot of scenes together, they got to be pals. Downey diagnoses his friend with what he terms "low-grade red-carpet anxiety disorder."
"He just hates the game-show aspect of doing PR," Downey says. "Obviously there's pressure for anyone in this transition he's in. But he will easily triple that pressure to make sure he's not being lazy. That's why I respect the guy. I wouldn't necessarily want to be in his skin. But his motives are pure. He just needs to drink some red-carpet chamomile."
"The majority of the world is empty space," Chris Evans says, watching me as if my brain might explode on hearing this news—or like he might have to fight me if I try to contradict him. We're back at his apartment after a cigarette run through the Combat Zone.
"Empty space!" he says again, slapping the table and sort of yelling. Then, in a slow, breathy whisper, he repeats: "Empty space, empty space. All that we see in the world, the life, the animals, plants, people, it's all empty space. That's amazing!" He slaps the table again. "You want another beer? Gotta be Bud Light. Get dirty—you're in Boston. Okay, organize your thoughts. I gotta take a piss . . ."
My thoughts are this: That this guy who is hugging his dog and talking to me about space and mortality and the trouble with Boston girls who believe crazy gossip about him—this is not the guy I expected to meet. I figured he'd be a meatball. Though, truthfully, I'd never called anyone a meatball until Evans turned me on to the put-down. As in: "My sister Shanna dates meatballs." And, more to the point: "When I do interviews, I'd rather just be the beer-drinking dude from Boston and not get into the complex shit, because I don't want every meatball saying, 'So hey, whaddyathink about Buddhism?'"
At 17, Evans came across a copy of Hermann Hesse's Siddhartha and began his spiritual questing. It's a path of study and struggle that, he says, defines his true purpose in life. "I love acting. It's my playground, it lets me explore. But my happiness in this world, my level of peace, is never going to be dictated by acting," he says. "My goal in life is to detach from the egoic mind. Do you know anything about Eastern philosophy?"
I sip some Bud Light and shake my head sheepishly. "They talk about the egoic mind, the part of you that's self-aware, the watcher, the person you think is driving this machine," he says. "And that separation from self and mind is the root of suffering. There are ways of retraining the way you think. This isn't really supported in Western society, which is focused on 'Go get it, earn it, win it, marry it.'"
Scarlett Johansson says that one of the things she appreciates about Evans is how he steers clear of industry chat when they see each other. "Basically every actor," she says, "including myself, when we finish a job we're like, 'Well, that's it for me. Had a good run. Put me out to pasture.' But Chris doesn't strike me as someone who frets about the next job." The two met on the set of The Perfect Score when they were teenagers and have stayed close; The Avengers is their third movie together. "He has this obviously masculine presence—a dude's dude—and we're used to seeing him play heroic characters," Johansson says, "but he's also surprisingly sensitive. He has close female friends, and you can talk to him about anything. Plus there's that secret song-and-dance, jazz-hands side of Chris. I feel like he grew up with the Partridge Family. He'd be just as happy doing Guys and Dolls as he would Captain America 2."
East needs to do his business, so Evans and I take him up to the roof deck. Evans bought this apartment in 2010 when living in L.A. full-time no longer appealed to him. He came back to stay close to his extended family and the intimate circle of Boston pals he's maintained since high school. The move also seems like a pretty clear keep-it-real hedge against the manic ego-stroking distractions of Hollywood.
"I think my daytime person is different than my nighttime person," Evans says. "With my high-school buddies, we drink beer and talk sports and it's great. The kids in my Buddhism class in L.A., they're wildly intelligent, and I love being around them, but they're not talking about the Celtics. And that's part of me. It's a strange dichotomy. I don't mind being a certain way with some people and having this other piece of me that's just for me."
I asked Downey about Evans' outward regular-Joe persona. "It's complete horseshit," Downey says. "There's an inherent street-smart intelligence there. I don't think he tries to hide it. But he's much more evolved and much more culturally aware than he lets on."
Perhaps the meatball and the meditation can coexist. We argue about our egoic brains and the tao of Boston girls. "I love wet hair and sweatpants," he says in their defense. "I like sneakers and ponytails. I like girls who aren't so la-di-da. L.A. is so la-di-da. I like Boston girls who shit on me. Not literally. Girls who give me a hard time, bust my chops a little."
The chief buster of Evans' chops is, of course, Evans himself. "The problem is, the brain I'm using to dissect this world is a brain formed by it," he says. "We're born into confusion, and we get the blessing of letting go of it." Then he adds: "I think this shit by day. And then night comes and it's like, 'Fuck it, let's drink.'"
And so we do. It's getting late. Again. We should have eaten dinner, but Evans sometimes forgets to eat: "If I could just take a pill to make me full forever, I wouldn't think twice."
We talk about his dog and camping with his dog and why he loves being alone more than almost anything except maybe not being alone. "I swear to God, if you saw me when I am by myself in the woods, I'm a lunatic," he says. "I sing, I dance. I do crazy shit."
Evans' unflagging, all-encompassing enthusiasm is impressive, itself a kind of social intelligence. "If you want to have a good conversation with him, don't talk about the fact that he's famous" was the advice I got from Mark Kassen, who codirected Puncture. "He's a blast, a guy who can hang. For quite a long time. Many hours in a row."
I've stopped looking at the clock. We've stopped talking philosophy and moved into more emotional territory. He asks questions about my 9-month-old son, and then Captain America gets teary when I talk about the wonder of his birth. "I weep at everything," he says. "I emote. I love things so much—I just never want to dilute that."
He talks about how close he feels to his family, how open they all are with each other. About everything. All the time. "The first time I had sex," he says, "I raced home and was like, 'Mom, I just had sex! Where's the clit?'"
Wait, I ask—did she ever tell you?
"Still don't know where it is, man," he says, then breaks into a smile composed of equal parts shit-eating grin and inner peace. "I just don't know. Make some movies, you don't have to know…"
If someone doesn't want to check the link, the anon sent the full interview!
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1C for Totty? Baby brother doesn't get babied enough!!
Ultimate Whump Writing Meme! / ACCEPTING!
1. Acute infectious diseases
C: Tonsillitis
funny story, I actually had something half-started with this concept from a while ago, before I even made that whump meme... and I've been itching to finish it lately, so I slapped some paint on it to make it fit the request, wrote the rest of it up, and WHAM-BAM THANK YOU MA'AM this one was done fast!!
Totty really doesn't get babied enough, he needs to be babied more! he's the youngest, after all <3
also inspiring Oso and Kara's suggestion of taking a doll in with him... when I had my gallbladder out in high school, I brought my Gaara plushie with me lol. they let me take him in and have him with me on the bed and he was still right there when I woke up. so I dunno if any hospital would do that, but the one I went to let me take my lil plushie dude into the operating room with me! (to be fair, they probably removed him after I went under anesthesia and put him back once they were done operating, but XD)
-
Sometimes Totty leaves for work early in the morning, when the manager at Sutabaa schedules him for an opening shift.
That means he has to be at work by 6 A.M., forcing him to get up around 5 to ensure he grabs something to eat and cleans up and in general prepares for the day. His alarm typically wakes his brothers up a little, not all the way but enough that he finds himself quietly shushing them and telling them to go back to sleep, he’s just leaving for work and he’ll be back in the afternoon.
Today Osomatsu doesn’t remember Totty even doing that much, and today, the absence of his youngest brother next to him makes it difficult to fall back asleep. So he gets up at the ungodly hour of 7 A.M., bleary-eyed and unable to rest further, to go downstairs to the living room. At least that way he won’t disturb any of the others, and he can always nap later once he’s sufficiently tired again.
For now he busies himself with grabbing some cookies and a magazine and settling in at the table. He can entertain himself until the rest of his brothers get up, can’t he? It’s still a bit dark out, and Dad’s gone to work. Mom isn’t up yet, though… he doesn’t remember being awake all by himself in the house since he was a little kid.
… Even then, he wasn’t usually all by himself. There was almost always someone else with him. He almost wishes he woke up alongside Totty and his youngest brother didn’t have to go to work so they could enjoy the morning peace together.
Still, it’s quiet and that never lasts in this house, so he starts reading. This is a manga he’s already read before, so he knows what’s happening, and it’s predictable; that’s not a bad thing, though. It means he doesn’t need to put in a lot of brainpower to read it.
He’s nearly done with his plate of cookies and almost halfway through the manga when the front door suddenly opens.
Totty seems just as surprised to see his big brother as Osomatsu is to see his little brother. A quick glance toward the clock reveals that it’s only just after 7:30, so Totty shouldn’t be home yet.
That said… a look at Totty tells him a lot more than the time. The youngest looks like shit. His cheeks and nose are red, the kind of pinkish red that’s basically a signal to everyone else that someone isn’t doing so well. There are lines under his eyes, and there’s a paper face mask in his hand.
All in all, Osomatsu can kind of guess what’s going on, and he feels a little guilty for not noticing something was wrong. “Hey, Totty… I thought you worked till noon today?”
“Ugh…” Totty sniffles thickly, walking over to where Osomatsu is sitting. Once there, he just sort of slumps himself down on the floor. His voice is congested and hoarse, sounding like it hurts to speak. “They sent me home. I’m sick. Sacchi told me I should go to the doctor since this is like the sixth time I’ve had a sore throat in the last couple years… but…” His fist tightens around the mask as if it’s his only lifeline right now. “… I don’t wanna go alone. I hate the doctor.”
Osomatsu shuffles closer and carefully runs a hand through Totty’s hair. “Well, fuck, I could take you.”
Totty turns his eyes up a bit. Though they’ve got their usual sparkle, there’s a marked exhaustion shining in them as well. “R-really?”
“Yeah, really, you’re my baby brother! Of course I’ll take you. I don’t have anything exciting going on today, anyway.” His hand continues to make long, slow strokes through Totty’s locks. “You’re not feeling good, huh? Does your throat hurt?”
Totty laughs softly, but it lacks any real mirth. “Gee, how’d you know?” He closes his eyes, pressing his head in against his older brother’s hand. “Mmm… yeah, it’s pretty bad. If I try to talk any louder than this, I start coughing and it feels like a bee sting in my throat. And I think have a fever… I’m all achy… God, I just wanna go to bed…”
Osomatsu gives a few more pets to his baby brother’s head, then tries to pull him up into a more… vertical position. “Here, let’s get you bundled up and we’ll head over to the doctor’s office. Think you can handle a train ride?”
“Mhm… as long as you’re there.” For the most part, he lets Osomatsu move him around, feeling too tired to move himself. “Can I sleep on the way?”
“Yeah, sure! We’ll sit together and you can lean your head on my shoulder.” This time Osomatsu is determined not to miss anything. He wasn’t paying attention this morning, but that won’t happen again. He doesn’t want Totty having to be in pain speaking for himself, so he needs to make sure to note down everything that’s going on. He reaches over to touch his fingers against Totty’s neck, frowning. “Hey, this looks kinda swollen, Totty, does it―”
The instant reaction is a yelp, or as much of one as the youngest can manage. There are tears in poor Totty’s eyes immediately, and as much as he wants to move away, his current malaise prevents him from doing so. “O-ow, Osomatsu-nii-chan!!”
Osomatsu winces in sympathy. “Ah, shit, I’m sorry. Well, there’s my answer… that hurts, huh?”
“Y… yeah… k-kinda like you just poked a sunburn…”
“Yikes, fuck. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. C’mon, let’s get this taken care of.” He gently tugs Totty to his feet, and somehow manages to get him into his coat with a scarf wrapped around his neck. Loosely, just to make sure it doesn’t get bumped again. “Hey, this could be your new look.”
Totty lets out a raspy giggle. “I dunno… sick chic? I don’t think it’ll catch on. I’m sure I’m making it work, though.”
Osomatsu shakes his head. “Pretty sure you can make anything work, you priss. Let me grab my wallet and leave a note for the others, okay? Just in case they wake up while we’re gone, I don’t want anybody to worry.”
“Okay… I’ll just lean on the wall for a sec and try not to fall asleep.”
He grins before giving a kiss to Totty’s cheek and hurrying upstairs. It’s not a great idea to leave the house without some money, and he doesn’t want Mom or their brothers to panic if they wake up to find the youngest and the eldest nowhere to be seen.
He also doesn’t want to disturb them, though, so he tiptoes into their bedroom to get his wallet from the table, and scrawls a quick note before heading back downstairs.
Mom + little bros―
Totty got sent home because he’s sick. Another sore throat. I’m taking him to the doctor, so don’t worry if we’re not back when you guys get up. See you soon!
Love, Osomatsu
-
“Th-this isn’t fair, nii-chan! How come I have to do this? Why couldn’t they just give me a pill??”
“I dunno, but this is what they recommended, Totty… like you said yourself, this is, what, the sixth sore throat you’ve had in two years? And you admitted to the doctor that it hurts to swallow and you’re having trouble breathing this time.”
“Y-yeah, well… I thought she’d just say I should use my inhaler and take some painkillers… maybe give me a prescription for an antibiotic.”
“She might still have to do that; she put that swabby thing in your throat and said she’ll call with the results tomorrow.”
“And that thing sucked! It made me cough so hard my eyes watered…”
“Yeah, I remember, I was there. I almost thought you were gonna throw up. I hate to say it, little bro, but you’re in rough shape here.”
“I know… but… but surgery?!”
“Doesn’t your throat still hurt?” Osomatsu finally sighs as he helps Totty up the stairs now that they’re back home. “You should rest your voice so this shit doesn’t get worse. The doc said your throat was really red and irritated. Do you think bitching your little heart out is gonna make it feel any better?”
As usual, everyone is huddled up in the spare room, trying to get warm under the kotatsu, when the two of them open the door. “Hey, there you guys are!” Choromatsu pipes up from his spot, where he’s reading a book. “We got your note, but it’s almost one in the afternoon now… did you guys spend like five hours at the urgent care center??”
“Not exactly,” Osomatsu replies as he guides Totty over to the couch and carefully helps him settle in. “We spent like an hour at urgent care, then they sent us to the hospital to talk to a surgeon.”
“A SURGEON?!” Choromatsu’s book is immediately abandoned in favor of zooming over to grab at Osomatsu’s collar. “What do you mean, a surgeon?! How sick is he?!”
Karamatsu has drifted over toward the sofa and set a hand on Totty’s forehead as if to confirm that, yes, things are really that bad. “Well, our dear youngest has a fever, at any rate.”
“Ow! Get off me, Fappyski!” Osomatsu smacks the third eldest’s hands away and straightens his shirt out. “Fuck, he’s not dying or anything.”
“If only,” Totty moans, nuzzling into Karamatsu’s embrace. “I’ve got… um… a-ah, shit. Do you have the discharge paper, Osomatsu-nii-chan?”
“Yeah, it’s in my pocket.” He takes it out and unfolds it, handing it over to Choromatsu. He memorized most of it already anyway, having pored over it on the train ride home. “They’re still doing that test to determine if they need to put him on antibiotics, but long story short, seeing as this is over five times he’s had a sore throat in the last two years, he needs to have his tonsils out.”
Thankfully, Choromatsu’s initial panic flattens into anxiety as he takes the paper to read. “A-ah, okay… well… that’s not so bad… I-I mean, it’s a minor surgery.”
Totty starts to wail and presses himself into Karamatsu’s chest. Even doing that, his voice is barely a whisper. “Noooo, they’re gonna cut me open and take out part of my insides! Don’t let them do it, Karamatsu-nii-chan! Don’t let them!”
“I won’t, sweet little Totty! I won’t let them!” To his credit, Karamatsu commits to it, snuggling the baby of the family even closer like he can protect Totty from the surgery. It looks to be mostly for comedic effect to diffuse tension for everyone else… though nobody can be sure with Karamatsu.
“You have to do it, you dumbass,” Ichimatsu snorts, lying down with his legs still under the kotatsu. “That shit’s infected, so you need it cut out. If you don’t get it taken care of, you’re just gonna keep getting sore throats.”
Osomatsu settles down on the couch next to Karamatsu and Totty, patting the youngest on the head. “Not even just that. He told the doctor he was having trouble breathing and swallowing this time, and that when he does swallow, it hurts like a motherfucker. You’re not getting out of this, Totty.”
Totty briefly peeks out of his Kara-cocoon. “You’re all being mean. Peer pressure. I’m gonna tell Mom.”
Jyushimatsu laughs and launches himself over to the couch. He hits the bottom of it with his head, but it doesn’t appear to have shaken him much, because he’s sitting with his legs crossed and his back pin-straight in a second. “Whaddaya think Mom’s gonna do, Totty?? You’re her baby! If you tell her you don’t wanna get the surgery, she’ll probably grab a steak knife and do it herself!”
“… Oh, my God.” Totty whimpers. “Oh, my God, you’re right.” Tears well up in his eyes, and this time they’re genuine as he leans back in against Karamatsu. “B-but I don’t want surgery! I-I’m scared… they’re not gonna let anybody else into the room… they’re gonna stick some sleepy liquid into my hand and… and everything’s gonna get dark… and I won’t have you guys or Mom or Dad there…”
The three eldest share a concerned look between them, and Ichimatsu and Jyushimatsu do the same with each other. After a moment of Totty crying, Osomatsu scoots over to make room for Choromatsu to sit down.
“I-it’s okay, Totty. Um…” He slides his hand up past Karamatsu’s arm so he can rub his baby brother’s back. “Hey, hey, it’s… it’s okay that you’re scared, you know? You remember when I had to have surgery to take my appendix out? You remember how freaked out I was when you guys showed up, and how Osomatsu had to talk for me because I was crying so hard? That’s normal.”
Osomatsu somehow manages to put his arm around all three of them. “And he still did it anyway! He was really brave, ‘cause he knew it needed to be done. And you remember how it was before? Even when they take you to surgery, we get to hug you and kiss you and slobber all over you before you go in. I bet you could even take a stuffed animal or something in with you if that’d make you feel better.”
“I wish I could t-take one of you guys,” Totty mumbles. “Just shrink you down and bring you with me.”
Karamatsu hums. “When did they schedule the surgery? I could sew up a doll that looks like one of us!”
Choromatsu glances down at the paper again. “Ah, looks like two weeks. At least you have a lot of time to prepare, Totty! You can cry a lot and be super anxious in the next couple days, then you’ll have got it all out by the time you actually go to get it done.”
“There’s really no way around it, Totty.” Ichimatsu stretches his arms so he can flick Totty’s ankle. “You don’t wanna keep getting sick, right? A lot of throat infections can probably seriously fuck up your throat, and you’ve been getting a lot. Aren’t you tired of that?”
Jyushimatsu waves his arms in the air. “Plus, we’ll get to take you home afterwards, and you’ll get lots of ice pops and ice cream and we’ll get to baby you!!”
“Yeahhhh,” Osomatsu grins. “We know you like that even though you say you don’t. Now we’ll have the perfect excuse.”
“Exactly,” Choromatsu adds in, leaning to kiss Totty’s head. “You can do it, Totty. Even if we can’t be in the room with you while it happens, we’ll be right there in the hospital waiting for you. This really is the best thing for your health. Like Ichimatsu said, repeated sore throats like this could really hurt your voice.”
“Not to mention,” Karamatsu muses, “you could post about this on your blog. I can see it now… you’ll get so many comments… so much sympathy…”
“So many people wanting to nurse you back to health and kiss your stupid face!!” is Osomatsu’s contribution.
… Well. When they all put it like that, Totty supposes that there’s no getting out of this. After all, he’s sick (pun not intended) of constantly getting sore throats in the past couple years, and if this is the only way to make it stop, he can’t really act like a coward. He already got the surgery scheduled.
Plus if his brothers are all pushing at him like this, it’s almost definitely because they think it’s the right call. Even though it’s fucking surgery.
“You guys… promise you’ll be there when I wake up?” he rasps, leaning into Karamatsu’s shoulder. “That’s… that’s all I really care about.”
Of course, he didn’t really need to worry. As soon as he says that, he’s sort of engulfed in a hug of big brothers, with everyone surrounding him and stroking his hair and kissing his face.
Yeah. They’ll all be there.
#Osomatsu san#whump#Benimatsu#Totty#Osomatsu#Allmatsu#illness#tonsillitis#caretaking#WHAT GOOD BOYS THEY'RE SO SILLY#KARA SAYING HE WON'T LET THEM EVEN THO HE KNOWS IT NEEDS DONE IS KILLING ME#Totty being babied is fucking EVERYTHING ok
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margin of error
Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.
Or, Sophia struggles to grasp why Akira and Ryuji don't follow her predictive algorithm.
read on ao3 or below the cut :)
Sophia knows a lot.
She can tell you almost anything in the known world in an instant. Calculate the radius of the sun. Who won Best Picture three years ago. The outfit to wear when you need to 'dress to impress.' Just yesterday, she was able to find them a bath, a takoyaki restaurant, and an overnight camping site within 0.3 milliseconds. That’s not very many seconds.
Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.
She’s quiet while she’s propped on the phone stand, watching the rest of them lounge in the RV. There’s a shape to the interior that wasn’t there before—where it had been pristine when they had first gotten it, now it’s littered with crumbs and instant-food packaging despite Makoto’s half-hearted attempts at scolding them for it. Empty surfaces are filled with knick-knacks, stuffies and a plastic ramen bowl rattling gently along with the RV.
There’s a rare lull amongst them, a moment of quiet. Most of them were napping away the road, gently snoring and bodies jostling whenever a pothole hits, oblivious to the scenery that passes by. Only the soft tunes of pop music from the front and the hum of the engine broke the quiet.
Other than Makoto, there were only two people awake: Akira, scribbling in his journal, and Ryuji, watching him do it. They sat across from each other in the booth, with Ryuji’s chin propped against his hand.
Probability and pinpoint accuracy is what she excels at, and being able to apply them to her friends excites her. Not to mention, she hasn’t been wrong yet.
Idly, she runs the numbers—according to the data she’s collected from spending time with them, the silence will be broken by Ryuji within approximately two minutes. Pulling up a time from within Akira’s phone, she waits eagerly.
A minute passes, and then another. And another. Akira is still scribbling in his neat penmanship and Ryuji is still watching him doing it, unspeaking.
Frowning, she double-checks her calculations. No errors that she can see. It seems that he simply does not want to speak. This is surprising, and very unlike him. He is not usually this quiet. In the Metaverse, he is by far the loudest of them; calling on his Persona’s name can often leave her own ears ringing.
The real world does not stray from that data. His voice is clear in crowded areas, helpful in guiding their big group throughout bustling cities. He is often shushed by the girls when they are trying to sleep at night—Futaba even goes as far as to kick the ceiling from her bunk bed.
The data is strong and sure. There should not be a reason that she should be wrong in this assumption unless there’s a confounding variable that she had missed.
Akira looks up and catches his eye. “Am I boring you?” he asks quietly.
Ryuji shakes his head, grinning. “Couldn’t be happier,” he whispers back.
Sophia’s about to ask when Makoto cuts her off.
“Wake up everyone. We’re here.”
—
“Okay,” Akira calls. His voice isn’t raised, despite the crowded street of downtown Sendai, but they all straighten up. “We’re probably not going to spend too much time here, especially once we take over the Jail. Grab what you need now—snacks for the trip. Shopping. Souvenirs. Frozen pineapple. Any questions?” Yusuke raises his hand. “Yes, I’ll pay for you.” The hand falls back down, relieved.
“Cool. How about we meet back here…” he squints at the large clock hanging on the wall, hand blocking out the blaring sun. “In an hour?”
A chorus of agreements rolls through them as they rush out, excited to explore a new city. “Good speech,” Sophia pipes up from his hand. “Do you do them often?”
“I try not to,” he yawns. His thick black hair is even more unruly than usual, glasses barely hiding the light blue that’s beginning to form underneath his eyes. “Most of the time, they can handle themselves fine. All they need is a schedule and some rules to work with.”
When she doesn’t answer, Akira brings his phone up. “What? Did I say something?”
“It’s because she’s worried about you, you moron,” a disgruntled voice says.
Akira’s gaze flickers towards it. “You’re still here?”
“Of course I am,” Ryuji says. “You really think I’d leave without saying goodbye? Glad I didn’t either, cause you look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
“Still pretty, though. No worries about that part.” He shoves his hand deep in his pocket, stray yen clinking against each other as he rummages. After a moment, he throws something at Akira. “Catch.”
He plucks it out from the air with ease. “Car keys?” he asks, surprised.
“Grabbed them from Makoto before she ran off for stationery shopping.” Ryuji reaches forward, gently turning Akira’s head this way and that, frowning. “I told you to quit staying up so late. You’re exhausted.”
“I am not.”
“He is,” Sophia refutes. “Last night, he had approximately four hours of sleep, with only four minutes of that being REM sleep.”
“I told you. She’s even bringing up computer stuff now.”
“I think you are thinking about RAM, Ryuji.”
“Whatever,” he shakes his head. “Look, just head to the RV, get some shut-eye. You can finally sleep in a proper bed that isn’t an overheating tent with three sweaty dudes and a cat. Oh, and trade phones with me.”
He hands it over without hesitation, sliding Ryuji’s phone into his own pocket. “Why?”
“You have the grocery list in here, yeah? Not to mention, I don’t want Sophia getting bored while you nap it up.” He looks down at her. “Hi, by the way.”
“Hi!”
Akira still doesn’t seem convinced. “But I promised Yusuke—”
“Who’s with Ann now, shopping like they’d die if they didn’t get the perfect skirt to fit her next shoot,” he says, uncompromising. “Chill. It’s fine. We’ll survive an hour without Joker keeping an eye on us.”
They stare each other down for a long moment with Sophia watching. She does not need to run the numbers on this one; Akira will not allow himself to go back to the RV.
To her surprise, he relents. “Twenty minutes.”
Ryuji scoffs. “We’ll see about that. You suck at waking up.”
“Shut up.” And then, quieter, “Thank you.”
“You know I got your back.”
He yawns once more, slowly walking back to their car. “Sophia, please make sure that when he gets the Pocky to get the strawberry one. Futaba won’t eat anything else. And also that Haru wanted doilies to make the place look nicer. White, if you can find them.”
“Roger that,” she replies, distracted. How is she wrong again? This is troubling.
“My hoodie’s in my bag if you get cold!” Ryuji calls out. Akira throws him a thumbs up without looking back. “Jeez, that guy. He’s gonna run himself to the ground before he’s thirty, I swear. Like some geezer with a bad back but with really good hairline or something.”
An old man with a thick head of hair shoots him a glare as he passes by them. Ryuji laughs, high-pitched. “Yikes, that was awkward. Let’s get out of here, we need to hit up the grocery store before they run out of carrots.”
Sophia doesn’t answer, too deep in her thoughts and running endless calculations.
—
It’s impossible for her to get a headache, but her code is trying its best to give her one.
Two mistakes now. That isn’t allowed to happen. She’s lucky that they were both relatively small errors, but it can easily become a bigger problem. What can she do?
Luckily, that had a very simple answer.
“Ryuji?”
“Hmm?” He peels his eyes away from scrutinizing the oranges in his hands, the wires from his earphones swaying when he does. After one too many strange looks when he talks to nothing, it was just better to act like he was on a phone call. “Yeah?”
“I have a question.”
“What am I, a teacher?” he snorts. “If you got a question, go ahead. Friends can do that.”
That’s right. They’re friends, and friends have trust in one another. Sophia jotted that down as lesson number forty-eight, thirteen days ago.
“Okay,” she says. Questions float around her, and she picks the one that’s giving her the most stress. “If I was not as useful as you think I am, would we still remain friends?”
The orange tumbles out of his grip, and he rushes to catch it before it hits the ground. “Wha—!” he stutters out. “Duh! Obviously! What the—where the hell did that come from? Did we do something to think that we’d just ditch you like that?” he lifts the phone so that she was eye-level with him. “Be honest,” he says seriously, quickly. “Did I say something to hurt your feelings? I do that sometimes, and I’m working on it, and I know that’s no excuse—”
“You did not say anything to hurt my feelings,” she says before he spirals even further. “In fact, I do not have feelings for you to hurt.”
Relief blooms on his expression, and he sags his body against the fruit display. “Okay, good. Good. Thought I was gonna get a heart attack. I’d be pissed at myself if I did, and I just know Akira would give me so much shit.” He sighs, ridding himself of panic before giving him her full attention. “So what’s up?
“Sir…” an employee shuffles towards them, hands shaking knees knocking against each other. He is afraid, she notes, but of what? “I’m sorry, but it’s against store policy to lean on the product. Please try to understand.”
“Oh, shoot!” Ryuji exclaims, straightening up. “Sorry, man. I didn’t even realize. I think I squished an orange, but I’ll buy it so your boss doesn’t give you hell for that one.”
The employee blinks. “You would?” he says, shocked. “That would be great, actually. Thank you so much!”
“Don’t sweat it,” he waves it off. Tugging the shopping cart, he places Sophia where they’d normally put babies. “Hope he doesn’t get in trouble. I feel kinda bad.”
She thinks for a moment. “Ryuji, why was that man afraid?”
Swiftly, red rushes to his cheeks. “That obvious? Aw, man.”
“I don’t know if it was obvious, but all the signs were there,” she says, watching as he ducks his head, embarrassed. “What is happening? I do not understand.”
“It’s just—” his eyes shift sideways, meeting the eye of a young girl. Immediately, she directs her gaze downwards. “I look really scary to people.”
“You do?” It isn’t in her program to doubt, but she is rather skeptical. During the entire trip, he has been nothing but kind to her. Yes, there are times when he has arguments with others in the group, but more often than not it’s him that’s being teased rather than the other way around. “Why? You aren’t even that tall.”
“Ouch?”
“I’m just saying that you are not scary to me, so I don’t really understand why other people would be.”
He sighs, picking up a box of miso unseeingly. “It’s a combination of a lot of things. My hair’s bleached, and people usually see that as like, punk or whatever. My posture sucks and my voice is loud.” Shrugging, he throws it in the cart. “It doesn’t really bug me though. At least that means strangers usually don’t bother the group, cause they think I’ll kick their ass.”
“And would you?” Sophia crosses off miso. Only bandages are left on the list, but the cart is filled with snacks, sodas, and a small cactus. “‘Kick their ass?’”
“No way. If I did, my mom would kick my ass, and I can’t pull that shit twice in a lifetime.” Pushing the cart, they slowly meander through the aisles, occasionally looking at what’s on sale. Ryuji tosses in rainbow marshmallows, and after a moment, reluctantly puts it back.
“But you know,” he says eventually. “If someone was bothering the group, it’s not as if I’d just let it happen.”
She considers his answer. “You are tough,” she concludes. “But not scary.”
“Uh, yes,” he says, unsure. And then, with more conviction, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
“Got it. ‘Ryuji is tough, but other people are terrified of him.’ I will make a note of that.” He looks like he wants to say something, but she keeps going. “Synonyms for ‘tough’: robust, stalwart, and strong. Would you say that’s accurate?”
He laughs, disbelieving. “No idea what the first two meant, but the third one isn’t right.”
“Why not? You can fight Shadows. Your muscle ratio is high. One time, when Futaba couldn’t unscrew her water bottle, you did it with no problem.”
“Because, Sophia,” Ryuji picks up gummy worms, and turns to her with pleading eyes. When she shakes her head, he puts it back on the shelf with a grimace. “Strength isn’t always about muscles and who can kill what. It’s more than that.”
It seems as though he doesn’t want to speak about this anymore, but the topic is too interesting to stop here. “Explain, please.”
“It’s...it’s like mental strength,” he says begrudgingly. “Like if someone failed an exam they studied real hard for, mental strength would help them get through a tough situation like that. Like Akira.”
“Akira has high mental strength?”
“Oh, the highest out of all of us without a doubt. The world could explode and he’d be all—” Ryuji lowers his voice by an octave. “‘Here’s what we can do,’ and then fix it somehow. That’s just the kind of guy he is. All plans and no fear.”
All plans and no fear is a good way of describing Joker. “And you aren’t like that?”
“No way. Have you ever seen me have a plan in my life? I’m more of an ‘act before I can talk myself out of it’ person. Usually works out fine in the end. Besides, he does it enough for the both of us.” His eyes light up. “Do you think if I get the panda bandages, it would work better in the Metaverse? Cause of the brain stuff?”
“I think so, as long as it makes people think it works better.”
“Great.” Ryuji tosses it in with the rest. “And I think we got everything! Let’s head out. If we’re lucky, we can grab some ice cream before we meet up with the rest of them.”
“Good job! But you may want to consider removing the orange soda. Makoto is already unhappy with how much junk food you are always eating.”
“Fine. I’m keeping the cactus though.”
It was only when they’re all sleeping back in the RV when she realizes that she never got to ask him her actual question. Actually, she ended up with even more questions than when she began.
Maybe she’ll have better luck asking Akira instead.
—
They, or rather Akira, have their knees buried in a patch of grass in the middle of Sapporo with a small pile of four-leaf clovers by his ankles when she decides it would be appropriate to ask him.
“Akira, can I ask—” she pauses, and tries again. “I have a question.”
His face is so close to the ground that even the dirt would realize that his glasses don’t have prescription, and people are shooting him worried looks that he completely ignores. “Shoot.”
“Actually, I have many questions, and I’m hoping you’ll answer all of them as honestly as you can in order to have the most accurate data possible.”
“Research?”
More often than not, Akira has been giving her information about the world that she does not have access to. Slang terms that Futaba yells out in frustration, Ann’s tendency to jump from one topic to the next with little regard to who she’s talking to. It’s all confusing to Sophia, so she makes sure to memorize all of these instances and bring it to him for clarification.
“Sort of,” she says. “Some of my predictions have been off lately, and I am trying to figure out why.”
“Sure. Oh, another one.” Gently, he plucks it from the soil and gently places it with the others. “For Haru. Apparently, she’s really struggling with economics, so hopefully this helps her out next semester.”
“How many more?”
“Four,” he replies. “Yusuke, Sojiro, Akane, and Ryuji.”
She frowns. “Ryuji already has one.”
“He’s going to need more than one.” Akira turns to her, distressed. “Entrance exams are coming up.”
“Oh.”
“Yup,” he turns back to his task. “Anyway, you had a question?”
“Right,” she says, clearing her throat: a sign of taking a more serious tone. “Why are you scared of Ryuji?”
Akira freezes. Sophia waits patiently. But after a moment, then two, then five, there is still no reaction from him. And then slowly, he faces her with a blank expression.
She has not known Kurusu Akira for very long—only a few weeks in fact. But in that time, she feels that she has come to learn a lot about him. For instance, he does not like pears. He also finds grocery shopping relaxing, and he would die for his friends. Another thing she has learned from him is that he is very quiet; even in the Metaverse, amidst the explosions and gunshots, he does not yell. It is not as if he has nothing to say, but rather he would rather express himself through gestures and the odd comment here and there. He is much happier to let the people around him carry the conversation for him.
Shock racks through her as he bursts out laughing. His shoulders move up and down as laughs pour out of him uncontrollably. “What—?” he tries, pushing his glasses atop his head. It’s almost hidden amongst his thick, black locks. “Did you seriously ask if I was afraid of Ryuji? Sakamoto Ryuji? Blond guy, helps out in the Metaverse? My best friend?”
“Um.” This was not what she was expecting, despite having no expectations to begin with. “Yes.”
He sighs, content. “I really have to thank you, Sophia.” Akira brings his glasses back to his nose, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “That was really good. Haven’t laughed that hard since Yusuke thought Italy was near Mexico.”
She tilts her head sideways. “I was not joking.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He sits up, crossing his legs over each other, giving her his full attention. “Tell me why you thought I was scared of him.” Even as he’s sobered up, he can’t quite finish the sentence without smiling.
“My predictions have been off lately,” she says, a wrinkle between her brows. “This is normal—predictions by their nature cannot always be right. However, I’ve noticed that they’re incorrect more often lately. I ran the data, and these errors are related to two things:” Sophia brings her hand to the screen so that he can see properly. “You and him, as a unit. Individually, there doesn’t seem to be any errors. It is specifically when you are being measured together that creates mistakes. My prognosis on everyone else in the group creates more stable and accurate results.”
Sophia twists her hair in her hands. “The only reason it would be wrong is because of a confounding variable. Maybe there’s something between the two of you that others do not have. So I thought that answer—”
“Was fear,” he finishes. There’s an odd tone in his voice that she doesn’t comprehend. His gray eyes, sharp but never unkind. “I see where you’re coming from. But, and I can swear on this fact—it isn’t fear. I am not, nor will I ever be, afraid of him.”
She deflates. Wrong again. “And he’s not afraid of you?” she asks, out of desperation than anything.
Akira thinks for a moment. “Do you remember when I was cooking, and Ryuji went in to smell the broth, and knocked the whole thing over and onto my suitcase?” She nods. She had taken many pictures of that moment. “He felt really guilty, but he wasn’t scared of my reaction. He was more scared that he had ruined my stuff. You know what I mean?”
“I think I do.”
He bops the top of his phone a few times, an odd resemblance of patting her head. “Cool.”
Sophia stares at the road past their garden of clovers. Cars speed forward, too quick for her to focus on what the driver looks like. It’s hot today, but she doesn’t feel it. She runs her data one more time. “Akira, do you love Ryuji?”
His hands do not pause. “I love all my friends,” he answers simply.
—
At the end of the day, it does not matter if her attempts at predicting the future are fruitless. If she is in fact humanity’s companion, her code makes sure of one thing above all else: to help humanity with any of their endeavors.
That’s a tall order, especially when there are 7,874,965,825 humans within that humanity at this moment. Sophia is only one being, and realism is etched into her. To make things simple, she gave herself a domain of discourse. A sample size. Narrowing what she can do, and who she can help. The entirety of humanity then, at least in Sophia’s mind, falls under the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.
Sapporo is freezing. Frosty. Crisp. Chilly.
“Fucking cold!” Ryuji shivers, jogging around them in an effort to get warm. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”
“Even with the space heaters on, it seems that the winter isn’t interested in going anywhere,” Makoto says. She’s standing uncomfortably close to Ann, trying to leech off of her inherent heat. Actually, she wasn’t the only one—Haru is also inching her way to her. “It should probably get better once we start moving. Good thing we won’t be here long.”
Yusuke nods, unperturbed. “Yes, this should be a quick run. We’re just here to collect a desire gone astray, yes?” It seems that the ice does little to bother him. “Oracle, can you find its location?” No response. “Oracle?”
He glances to the ground, sighing when he finds her on the ground, eyes closed and breathing deeply. “Wake up,” he says, nudging her with his boot. When she doesn’t move, Yusuke throws an exasperated look at Akira.
Reluctantly, he nods. “Yeah, yeah, I got her,” he says, summoning Queen Mab. Instantly, the temperature seems to rise, just a little bit. Scooping her up, Akira shakes her roughly like a particularly malicious sack of flour. “Wake up, your space heater’s here.”
“This may be a quick run,” Haru says. “But it doesn’t mean we should take this any less seriously. Someone’s desire got lost on its way back, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, that sounds—Mona, get off my leg—about right.” Ann squints her eyes along the horizon. “It’s far, right? If we start moving now, we can probably work off the frost on our skin.”
“Yeah, it’s about…” Futaba yawns as Akira sets her on her feet. “Twenty-minute walk? Ten-minute run, but unless you want me slipping and turning the ice red, we’re gonna want to slow down.”
Akira touches his mask. “Agi.” A wave of heat rushes over them, and she sighs, grateful for the respite. “Hopefully that helped a little. But it won’t last long, and we shouldn’t waste energy warming up. Quick recap—someone lost their desire, we’re here to make sure it gets back. Our top priority is getting that desire back as quick as possible. Questions?”
Sophia raises her hand.
“Yup?”
“Did you say top priority?”
“Yes, I did say top priority.”
“Understood!” she chirps, making a note in her head. It was hard to concentrate when she felt like her insides were freezing up.
Another hand shoots up.
“Noir?”
“I don’t have a question. I just think you’re doing a wonderful job.”
“Thank you, Noir. Always a pleasure.” He looks around, nodding. “Alright. If that’s it, then let’s do this thing.”
They all move ahead, wary of their footing. Sophia frowns as she scuttles forward, scared of being left behind. There is no room for error here. If she feels that she is not useful in the real world, then she can at least utilize her talents here. And the first step to doing that is to make sure she is doing two things:
1) Not slow
2) Won’t trip
After a while, she looks up and feels her eyes bulge. How did they get so far already? Sophia can hardly see them anymore, especially with the slight fog that’s beginning to emerge. She has to get there faster.
Failed step number one already. For once, she’s glad she wasn’t hardcoded with emotions, or else humiliation would be overwhelming. Quickening her pace, she’s determined to do this correctly. One foot, then the next. One foot, then the next. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left—
She slips.
With a gasp, she moves to twist her body so that it wasn’t her head that would take the impact, and closes her eyes shut.
Just before she slams into the ice, arms grab her torso, swinging her forward. “Whoa there, shorty!”
Ryuji uses the momentum to swing her onto his back, and she latches around her neck, bewildered. “You okay? Almost got knocked out before any Shadow got to us.”
“Yes,” she replies, breathless. “Thank you for saving me. That would have been bad.”
“No prob!” he marches onward as if he wasn’t carrying an entire human being on his back while treading through sleet.
“...You can settle me down if you’d like.”
“I would not like.” He grins, boots finding matte ice with ease. “I kinda love carrying you like this. Not like I can do this in the real world, can I? ‘Sides, Futaba would chew my head off if I tried it with her.”
“Have you?”
“Maybe.”
She laughs as they finally reconvene with the rest of them. When Akira turns to them, his expression softens with relief. “All good?”
“All good,” Ryuji says. “Nothing Sophie and I can’t handle.” He raises his fist at her, and she bumps it enthusiastically. Lesson twenty-three: never refuse a fist-bump. It’s one of her favorites.
“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Futaba calls out from beside Ann, arms were linked as if they were strolling through a park, and not a Shadow-infested land. “I said stop!”
“We heard you the first time!” Morgana yowls. “Are we here?”
“We’re close. Kinda weird though.” She smacks the side of her goggles a few times impatiently. “Nothing’s showing up.”
“Lucky!” Ann whoops. “Let’s get this over with and get some gelato!”
Rounding the corner of an empty street, Yusuke points forward to a glowing heart, beating in time to its pulsing light. “That’s it, I take it?”
“I can get it.” Sophia pats Ryuji’s shoulder, and he lets her down. “That way, we can finish this as soon as possible.”
She runs forward, eager.
“Wait—!” Futaba cries out from behind her. “We’re getting ambushed!”
As she says it, footsteps surround them, the clanging of weapons and the grunts of Shadows appearing out of nowhere. She starts to run faster, terrified of slipping but pushes on anyway. She can do this.
“Shit,” Akira hisses. “Sophie, come back here!”
Sophia ignores him, the Desire almost in her reach when she feels it. A cold breeze, impossibly colder than the temperature before, almost seems to pierce through her skin. She did not need to turn around to know what it was—every cell in her body is screaming it for her.
A curse. A strong one that would have no problem wiping her out like fly on the RV’s windshield wiper.
Would she at least be able to save the Desire? Even if she ceases to exist? Would it be worth it then? It should be, since this is what she was made for.
Something solid shoves her from behind, and she gives out a yell before hitting the ground, hard.
“What…?” she mutters, disoriented. Somehow, she isn’t dead, or even near death. Shaking her head, she grasps for the Desire in front of her before turning around.
Instantly, her heart stops. The Desire in her hand continues to pulse steadily as she stares down at Ryuji, collapsed on the ground.
“Skull?” she whispers. Leaning down, she can still hear his breathing, though it’s faint. Her hand reaches out, before she remembers. Top priority. The Desire needs to get to Joker first.
The ground begins to rumble, and Sophia looks up in time to see an arch of glowing white explode. Every Shadow is eviscerated, their ashes scattering violently at the aftershock of wind that follows from the impact. Concrete cracks, snow blows away. Without a doubt, it’s an attack from a Persona user, but she has no idea who it came from.
As the dust settles, stray bits of ice falling from the sky like hail, Akira shoots out from the fog. He’s moving faster than she’s ever seen him, and there’s a desperation to his movements that throws her off-guard. Maybe he didn’t see yet? Sophia steps forward.
“Joker!” she calls out when he gets closer, thrusting her hand forward. “I got the Desire!”
He rushes past her without a blink.
Akira skids to his knees. “Ryuji!” When there’s no answer, he pulls Ryuji to his knees, resting his head on his lap. Akira presses his fingers against the pulse on his neck, concentrating intensely. Then he grits his teeth. “I can work with this.”
More footsteps. Familiar ones. “Dammit, Joker!” Morgana says. “You can’t just throw around attacks like that, especially with such weak enemies. You know how draining that spell is.”
He ignores him. Akira removes Ryuji’s mask with great care, setting it aside, before touching his own. “Aid me, Sarasvati.”
“Joker?” she tries.
A floating woman donned in green with a delicate instrument in her long fingertips appeared from the fibers of his mask, her expression kind and tender.
“Joker.”
Healing power flows through his hands, so potent that it glows green. Sweat pours from his brow, and his wrist begins to tremble with effort.
“Joker!”
“What, Sophie?” he rounds on her, gray eyes intense.
“I got the Desire!” she announces triumphantly.
A beat passes. And then another. It was as if there was never even a deafening battle not one minute prior.
When Akira finally speaks, his voice is low. “Panther, take Sophie away please.”
Her breathing stops. She could not inhale the air even if it was demanded of her. Akira turns back to Ryuji, but Sophia’s eyes stuck to him—like she was hypnotized, cemented to the back of his head, unable to look away. Every inch of her body is numb, but none of it has anything to do with the cold.
Ann gently takes her hand, hot as iron against hers, and takes the Desire in the other. “Come on, Soph. Let’s go for a walk, huh?”
She lets herself be led away, blank and unseeing, a part of her staying wishing to stay behind to...what? She didn’t know. There’s so much she doesn’t know.
They keep walking, rounding street corners, quietly passing underneath frozen lamp posts. Sophia wasn’t sure where they were going, but she didn’t bother to ask. Eventually, they duck underneath a railing, Ann covering her head to make sure she doesn’t accidentally bang her skull against the metal. When they straight up, she blinks.
“A heater?”
“Yeah,” Ann sighs, flopping down on a toppled column as if it were a sofa. “I figured if we were going to talk, you might as well stop shivering during that time.” At her words, Sophia realizes how hard she was shaking. Ann pats the spot beside her. “Sit. Nothing a little girl talk can’t fix.” She does.
At her silence, Ann hums. “Cold, isn’t it? You guys haven’t stopped complaining since we got here. I’m super lucky that Carmen’s here to help me. Warms me up even better than this heater, if you can imagine that. Completely different from the real world, where we feel like we’re going to burst into flames any second.” She yawns. “But god, there’s no one in all of Japan that can run his mouth about the weather like Ryuji.” Sophia clenches her fist, but she keeps going, speaking almost wistfully. “I mean, he’s just so loud, you know? Like, how many times have we driven by cows on this trip, and he’d literally wake us all up just to show us? Not to mention, he eats up all the food and snores like crazy. God, one time I invited everyone over at my place, and he just slept in my bed when he got tired! Who does that?”
Ann sighs. “But man, I’ve never met someone more devoted to his friends than him. Sometimes, he’d even give ‘Kira a run for his money, the way he’d just drop everything and run to where trouble is. Day or night, that idiot would show up on your doorstep the minute you shoot him a text, wearing the most ridiculous pajamas you’ve ever seen,” she scoffs. “He started the Thieves with Akira, you know? All gung ho about justice and stuff, you should’ve seen it. And he had the spine to back it up, too.” She smiles, just a little. “Don’t tell him, but I think he’s really, really cool.”
A drop of water hits Sophia’s wrist. And another. And another, until her vision blurs and her chest is heaving. “I just—” she sobs without restraint. “I was just trying to help. I just want to be useful and do what I was made to do, and Akira said from before that this—this was the top priority, and I even made sure, so I asked, but when I finally got the Desire and I was so sure that I’d finally done something right...” the image of Akira’s cold gaze makes her flinch, hard. “He’s just so mad at me, Ann. And Ryuji—” she chokes on his name like a curse, her tongue tumbling over it as if it were getting caught in a lie. “He protected me from before, but he said he was tough, so I thought it was okay since the Desire was the top priority but he got hurt because of me.”
“I don’t even know what I’m feeling, or why I’m crying, or why you’re being so nice to me even though I know I did something bad! I just—” Sophia buries her face in her hands, muffling her scream. “I just don’t understand anything!”
Warm hands rub her back. “I know,” Ann says quietly. “You’re trying your best. We all get that, and we all think you’re doing an A-plus job.” She pauses. “Sophia, Ryuji didn’t take the hit for you because he was thinking about the Desire. He did it because he didn’t want to see you hurt.”
That makes Sophia peek up. “But that was the top priority, wasn’t it?”
“Uh-huh, but that wasn’t his heart’s top priority.” Ann pokes her temple. “That whole logic and calculation thing you have going on is good and stuff, but the thing about the human heart is that you can’t always choose why you do things, or how you react in certain situations. I bet you anything that he totally forgot that we were even looking for this thing when he pushed you,” she waves the beating heart in her hand, still glowing. “And that’s also why Akira got a little mad at you from before.”
She deflates. “He hates me,” she mumbles, feeling her insides churn uncomfortably.
“That boy doesn’t have the time in his schedule to hate anyone,” Ann reassures her. “He’s just...really, really terrified.”
“But why?” Sophia’s starting to despise that word. “He already knew that he was okay. Why would he still be worried?”
Ann looks up, thinking. “You really love and care about Ryuji, right?”
Love was still a foreign concept to her, but for once the answer came forth with ease. “Yes.”
“Take that feeling, that dense, little ball of love and adoration in your tiny body, and multiply that by about eighteen million. That’s probably about the range of what Akira feels about him.”
She quickly runs the numbers. “Whoa.”
“Yeah. Kinda scary, huh?”
It is scary. With numbers this high, she can only begin to imagine what it felt like for Akira to think that he might be seriously hurt, or even worse, dead. All because of Sophia.
“Hey now, I know that look!” Ann flicks her forehead. “I don’t want you to get all mopey about this. You said it yourself—he’s a tough guy. The toughest there is, but don’t tell him that. It’ll go straight to his empty head.”
She stands with exuberance, stretching. “Alright, I think we’re about done here. How we feeling? You ready to go back?”
No. Her heart speeds up at the thought of going back, her shoulders tensing in on itself, but somehow it would be worse to stay here. “I’m ready.”
“That’s what we like to hear!” Ann cheers. “No chickening out now, okay? You can do this.”
“I can do this.” Sophia repeats, and then, louder: “I can do this!
“Yay! And Sophie?” she looks up in time to see Ann giving her a warm look. “Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean we love you any less. You are allowed to be confused and make mistakes. Do you understand that?”
Sophia smiles wide. “I understand.”
—
They were a block away from the rest of the group when Akira emerged from the fog. With his black attire and dark hair, he could have looked like a picturesque horror movie figure, but somehow his expression ruined that facade the moment she saw it.
“I’m going on ahead,” Ann says when Sophia stops in front of him. “Someone has to make sure Futaba doesn’t sleep on us again.”
“Thanks,” he answers. Then, to Sophia, “Hi.”
“Hi, Joker.” She’s been practicing her speech the entire way back, her points all lined up in her mind, all leading up to the big apology. “I—”
“Pause,” he cuts in, and she shrinks. Is he still mad? She can’t read his expression. He kneels in front of her, squinting, and it suddenly shifts to horror. “Did...did you cry? Did I make you cry?”
“No,” she says quickly, but he doesn’t believe her for even a minute. “Yes. Sorry.”
“Oh god, no, please don’t apologize. Shit,” he rubs the back of his neck, sighing. It’s guilt, she realizes with a shock. “I’m such an asshole. I can’t believe I let myself lash out like that. A thousand apologies won’t even be enough. I was scared out of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I can just treat you like that. I even sent you away, like you’re some sort of kid,” he winces. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”
She stares at him. “I was supposed to say that stuff.”
He looks taken aback by her words. “No? How could you have known that we would have been ambushed? Ugh, I’m so dumb. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” Akira sends her a pointed look. “Though, you really shouldn’t split off from the group next time. Top priority means important, but above all else is your safety. Put that in your code.”
“I will,” she promises.
“Good. And the second priority is—” he reaches forward and engulfs her in a tight hug. “Is that you won’t ever, ever think that I’d hate you.”
She frowns. “How did you know?”
“A hunch.” Beat. “Also, Ann gave me a look.” He pulls back. “Are we still friends?”
Relief washes into her, crashing like a wave. “Of course,” she says, before hesitating. “Is…?”
“Yeah, he is.” Akira rolls his eyes, but there is no hiding the grin that takes over him. “A little too good, actually. He hasn’t stopped running around since I poured some energy back into him. I kind of think I overdid it, actually. Oh, and he’s excited to see you again.”
“He is?” she asks, hopeful.
“Absolutely. Asked about you the minute he came to.” Akira gets to his feet. “Shall we say hi?”
“Please.”
As they walk back, an epiphany takes over her. “Oh!” she exclaims, making Akira jump. “I get it now.”
“What’s up?”
“You love Ryuji.”
“That’s right,” he raises a brow.
She shakes her head. “You love Ryuji,” she insists. Even accounting for a margin of error, there’s simply no mistaking her results.
Akira stares at her for a long moment, before huffing out a laugh.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he says softly.
The moment Ryuji sees her, she sprints, throwing caution to the wind as she leaps into his arms. He catches her without hesitation. “Glad to see you’re safe, shorty.”
Sophia knows a lot of things, but there’s also a lot she doesn’t understand. But that’s fine. She’ll get there, and her friends will be waiting for her when she does.
#p5#fic tag#margin of error#mine#ryuji sakamoto#sophia#no p5s spoilers sans the locations#kiss ryuji day#just a quick thing yeah sure 7k is quick#my moon and stars#the leader and his right hand man#big shoutout to pear for holding my hand while i had a breakdown in life and decided to write this#akira kurusu
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hey...I kinda just needed to vent. you can ignore this.
on-site school starts tomorrow and even though it's only 2 days a week I'm nervous as hell. actually, screw that I'm terrified. we've literally been online for the past 2 years only going to school for tests sometimes. but this will be different. it's a new year and new teachers and my biology teacher used to have me for maths in grade 6 and years have passed but she scares the shit out of me. I don't know why she's just...
TW S3lf h@/rm
I've recently started cutting. oh my god saying it like this...I'm terrified. because every time I'm less hesitant and that's scary. I'm afraid one day I'll hurt myself too deeply. my thoughts are all over the place and it's all kind of a mess. I've always had self-harming tendencies but never to the point of blood. It's been a few days since I last did it and I've been trying not to. but with school starting and having to face people, face teachers...I've been getting that urge again. I don't want to but it's...goddamn I sound crazy.
anyway, do you have some tips on dealing with on-site school after years of online and scary teachers who gave you nightmares years ago and still do?
Hi.
I've been meaning to write something about this since a lot of my friends here on tumblr are going to back to school in soon.
I understand your anxiety. The world is pretty shit at the moment and it's already terrifying enough.
Apologies for the late reply. I was doing some reading on this before I could write back to you.
Every single resource I read was aimed at parents. They kept talking about "how to help your child" and "how to help your teenager". But I don't think these people who are writing these resources know that the biggest problem children/teenagers have is their inability or hesitancy to talk to their parents - especially about something like this.
There is very little content/support directly addressing teenagers - which I think is absolutely ridiculous. So, I read all the resources written for parents - and tried to salvage some useful stuff.
Here is something they all recommended - which I second.
You need to establish a routine.
Having a routine generally helps reduce anxiety. Most of the anxiety comes from not knowing what is going to happen and how you are going to react to it. So, having a predictable routine - especially in areas you are able to control - will be of great help.
For example, (while this might sound boring) I map out my daily tasks every day - to the dot. I know exactly what I will be doing at any point of the day because I write it down on my phone. It helps me keep my anxiety in check. So, when you are going to back to school - especially on the days you physically have to visit, try to have a routine. Before you go to the bed the previous day, go through this mental schedule. It will make you feel a little better knowing what’s gonna happen tomorrow.
Other than that, remember to take one day at a time.
We really need to take baby steps here. Remember that you are not alone in how you feel. Everyone, including your peers, are terrified of what’s going on. And when people are scared, they have a tendency to act like shitheads. So, try to be kind - to others and yourself.
About this teacher of yours - I don’t know why exactly you are scared of her. If she has done something to hurt you or another student, then you should talk to someone at your school at about it. But if it is just “a vibe”, then I would suggest (if you want to) you talk to her directly. I understand how terrifying that might sound. If that’s the case, talk to another teacher (who you can trust). It is very important that you feel comfortable in your learning environment. So, if you are terrified of your teacher, then you need to be able to assess why that is - so that you can get rid of it.
As for the self-harm, I understand why you are getting the urges again. One of the main ways to cope with self-harm is to distract yourself with a coping mechanism or a different activity. I’m not sure if you currently have any coping mechanisms that might help you. But here are some suggestions that might help. People self-harm for different reasons, I’m just going to write a bunch here. Hopefully, some of them will be useful for you!
If you're feeling anger and frustration
exercise
hit cushions
shout and dance
shake
tear something up into hundreds of pieces
go for a run.
Expressing your anger physically, or by doing things like shouting, won't work for everyone and could intensify feelings. Try things out and continue with any that have a positive effect.
If you're feeling sadness and fear
wrap a blanket around you
spend time with an animal
walk in nature
let yourself cry or sleep
listen to soothing music
tell someone how you feel
massage your hands
lie in a comfortable position and breathe in – then breathe out slowly, making your out-breath longer than your in-breath. Repeat until you feel more relaxed.
If you're feeling a need to control
write lists
tidy up
declutter
write a letter saying everything you are feeling, then tear it up
weed a garden
clench then relax all your muscles.
If you're feeling numb and disconnected
flick elastic bands on your wrists
hold ice cubes
smell something with strong odour
have a very cold shower.
If you're feeling shame
stop spending time with anyone who treats you unkindly
recognise when you are trying to be perfect and accept that making mistakes is part of being human
remind yourself that there are reasons for how you behave – it is not because you are 'bad'.
If you're feeling self-hatred and wanting to punish yourself
write a letter from the part of you that feels the self-hatred, then write back with as much compassion and acceptance as you can
find creative ways to express the self-hatred, through writing songs or poetry, drawing, movement or singing
do physical exercise (like running or going to the gym) to express the anger that is turned in on yourself.
And finally and most importantly - whether it’s self-harm or anxiety, something that ALWAYS help is to talk to someone. The fact that someone else knows what you are going through and someone else is listening can really be helpful. So, if it gets tough in school or if you are getting the urge again, please please reach out to someone you can talk to - online or offline. There is no shame in getting help when you need it. I’m always here if you want to distract yourself by talking about malec or fics or anything else.
I wish someone had told me this. So, I'm gonna tell you now.
It’s just school. You’re gonna get through it.
#sending you all my love!#good luck and come talk to me if you need me!!!#support#back to school#tw self harm
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Luke Alvez x Reader: Our Place
Description: You ask Luke to sign the divorce papers, but he decides to try one last time.
Tagged: @ssaic-jareau , @alvezstan , @lcvischmitt , @ogmilkis , @ssa-morgan, @akimagies, @zhangyixingxing1 , @pinkdiamond1016 , @yourwonderbelle , @rachelxwayne , @sc4rletw1tch , @ellvswriting
Word count: 3k
Warnings: Angst
The two of you had made a promise. For better or for worse- til death do us part. And now that he thought about it, maybe you’d kept that promise. After all, he was feeling like he was dead inside. He didn’t know if he was a helpless romantic or if he was just too stubborn to break that promise.
Or if he just couldn’t bear the idea of losing the love of his life.
...
“You’re not going to meet your wife at a club, so just relax,” Matt had said close to his ear, patting his shoulder in a condescending manner. They sat at the bar of the club, and Matt was trying to lighten Luke’s mood. “But you can get laid, which really is our only goal here.”
He guessed that Matt was right- but that didn’t take his attention away from the girl sitting at the end of the bar.
“You’re not helping, Matt,” Luke had replied, trying to look nonchalant while the most gorgeous girl he’d seen in his entire life glanced at him.
“Actually, I am.” Matt tilted his chin not so subtly towards the girl.
When Luke looked up, the girl was smiling at him. She tips the clear drink in her hand towards him, like a salute of some sorts. Luke blinked, confused, and looked back at Matt.
A stuttered “What?” was the only thing he could say.
After an eye roll followed by a long-suffering sigh, Matt smirked, “I told the barman to give that girl a drink and say it was from you.”
“You what?” Luke gasped.
“You’re welcome,” Matt said, patting his shoulder again. “Now go talk with her, or you'll look like a dick.”
“I hate you,” Luke mumbled, but Matt couldn’t hear him as he got up to walk away.
It wasn’t the first time Matt had embarrassed Luke ― or pushed him in the right direction, in his own words ― at a club. The thing was that Luke wasn’t the most confident man to exist when it came to girls. But he always tries hard, and he’s gotten really good at pretending. So, he finished his beer in two deep swallows and walked towards the girl, acting like liquid courage was a thing.
The girl stared at Luke with a small, almost shy smile while he walked towards her.
With a grin, Luke came closer and said, “Hi, I’m Luke.” He knew his chat up line was lame, but he was a polite person and he thought it was only right to introduce himself first. “Sorry if I overstepped,” he added, and looked at the just emptied glass of alcohol.
“I’m Y/N.” Even her voice was beautiful.
Luke smiled. “I don’t know-” he sputtered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would you wanna dance or something?”
“Not really,” you had laughed, cringing a little. Instantly, Luke’s shoulders deflated, and opened his mouth to apologize again for bothering you, when you quickly added, “But you can sit, and buy me another drink.”
...
In the end, Matt was wrong. Well, partially wrong at least, because Luke did get laid that night ― but he also found his wife.
Luke wasn’t sure why he walked to the park that he and you had gone for your first official date. At the time, you had called it a ‘dog date’, because you used the excuse of taking your dogs to play at the park to see each other again. There was a river there and you sat while Roxy and your dog played in the water.
The two of you kept going there with your dogs until you decided to officially make this into something it already was.
Luke had asked you to marry him there, too ― with an expensive ring and kneeling and flowers and a bleeding sunset pouring across the sky from above.
“What is it about this place?” Luke had beamed at you, admiring the ring on your finger with the backdrop of the flowing river.
You had smiled, standing on your tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips. “It’s our place,” you said, claiming the spot proudly.
“Our perfect place,” Luke confirmed.
You had gone there for your anniversary the next year as well. And then again the year after that.
The year after that though, was when everything started to crumble.
...
“It’s our anniversary, Luke. Don’t you remember? ” you hissed angrily on the phone, and okay, Luke knew he promised he’d be there- but work had gotten in the way.
“You know I want to be there- but this case just came in. We can celebrate next week,” he said, apologetically, trying to make things better.
You had plans to go to the river again, but Luke’s work was demanding. For the most part, you accepted that and supported him, but Luke could see that you weren't happy. Luke spent too much time at work ― and when he was at home, he was too tired to do anything besides sleep.
“Or you could tell your boss that it’s our anniversary and come meet me at the river,” you snapped back.
“You’re already there?” Luke asked, surprised. He looked at the clock and saw he had an hour before the time you had agreed to meet. Then, he understood. You were already there because you must have planned something special, which meant you were getting something ready. “Baby, I’m sorry-”
“Don’t be sorry. Just be here, ” you said, sighing tiredly.
“I’m already on the jet,” Luke sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I called you now so I could catch you at home.”
You were quiet and Luke didn’t know what to say.
“Okay, ” you finally said, after a minute of silence, which startled Luke.
“I swear, as soon as I get home from this case, I’ll set aside some time and we can have a special night- just you and me,” Luke said. The defeat in your voice, paired with the easy acceptance made his skin crawl, and he should be thankful, but something felt off.
“Okay,” you said again. “Have a safe trip.” You hung up before Luke could say anything else.
...
Luke thought that walking in the park would be good for him- like closure of sorts. But he guessed wrong. All it did was make the manilla folder with the divorce papers inside feel heavier in his hands. As he sat on the familiar bench, the packet clutched tightly between his grasp, he couldn’t help the tears glistening in his eyes. He wanted to tear them to shreds, throw the remnants into the river, watch them wash away and disintegrate into nothingness- he wanted to do anything but sign them.
The worst part was that Luke couldn’t sit here and wonder where it all went wrong. He couldn’t claim his innocence and plead that he did nothing wrong. He knew what he did. He knew what he didn’t do. What he didn’t know was when you decided to give up.
...
“Luke, you said you’d make time for us-” you said, and you didn’t sound angry, just really, really tired.
Luke had learned that he couldn’t schedule a date ahead of time, because he could never predict when the team would have a case and he’d have to be whisked away to some other part of the country. So he decided that he would just ask you to go out spontaneously and try to do this at least a few times a month.
The thing is, when he gets home he’s drained. Physically and emotionally exhausted, and he couldn’t even think about going out.
“I know, I’m working on it,” Luke said, from where he had collapsed on the couch.
You had mumbled something under your breath that Luke didn’t quite catch.
“What was that?” Luke had asked.
“Nothing.” You sighed and sat by his side on the couch, leaning into him.
Luke frowned. “I can’t understand you when you mumble. How can I stop doing what bothers you if you don’t tell me?”
“Because I have told you, Luke. More times than I can even count. I’m married, but it feels like I don’t have a husband.” You snapped, leaning away from Luke’s side.
“Babe, you know I can’t just not go to work,” Luke frowned.
“Actually, you can. You could quit that job and maybe find one that doesn’t keep you there eighteen hours a day,” you said.
Luke was shocked. “This is my dream job-I can’t just quit it.”
“You can, you just don’t want to.”
“We’re not having this fight. I don’t want to fight about it again,” Luke said, and got up from the couch.
“You used to apologize when you were wrong,” you mumbled, crossing your arms tightly.
“Yeah. I would, if I was wrong.”
No one says anything for a while, and for a second, Luke can see that your anger and hardened features give way to a look of hurt. A tear slips down your face before you can wipe it away.
“Why did you stop trying?” You whisper, your voice trembling.
Luke hates himself for making you cry and tremble and hurt. He’s stunned and can’t come up with an answer soon enough.
His silence is enough of an answer for you, though. And with that, you went to the bedroom.
...
The wind blew the folder so hard it almost flew away. Luke tightened his fist to prevent the pages from flying everywhere. There was no comfort or closure for him at this park.
The folder with the divorce papers made sure of that.
...
Luke made his way back home. To the home you two shared- although it barely looked like you lived there anymore. Luke supposed you didn’t. You spent the nights at your sisters house, and he could only assume popping back in during the day, while he was at work. Each night he came home, more and more of your things were missing.
The pen was on the table, and Luke picked it up while he flipped the pages until he found where he was supposed to sign. You had already signed it, and Luke just stared at your signature for a while.
The point of the pen was poised over the line in which Luke should put his signature. His hand was trembling so much that he dropped it, exasperated.
You were right, he stopped trying. Every time you complained, Luke knew you were right, and knew that apologies wouldn’t change anything, so he stopped with the empty promises and instead started to keep quiet.
He chose a job over you, waited until it was too late- when you had already left him. And he accepted that he no longer had the right to ask you to stay.
But that was the thing, wasn’t it? He never really asked you what you wanted, never talked about how you two could find a balance together. You always tried to talk, but Luke would choke on his feelings and wait until he was under so much pressure, he couldn’t even think of what to say. Which only ever made things worse.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell you everything he’s realized since you’d left. But you didn’t want to see him right now- Luke doubted that you ever would.
Why did you stop trying?
Your words echo in Luuke’s head and he breathes deeply. You deserve someone who would fight for you, someone who realized your worth and your value. He picked up a clean sheet of paper and started to write.
‘Baby,
I know you don’t want to see me, but please, please- read this.
I’m not good at talking about how I feel, you know that better than anyone. That’s why I decided to write a letter. Because I do feel- even if I can’t talk about it. And you at least deserve to know that. I need to tell you some things, and you might think it’s too late, and maybe it is. But I want you to know- above all else, that I understand. I mean, I understand why you left, and I understand why you don’t want to see me. I hurt you. I know I hurt you- and you’re still hurting.
It has killed me to know that I disappointed you. To know I’m the reason behind your pain. And I am so sorry.
I have been so focused on not breaking the promise we made on our wedding day, that I forgot all the other promises I made to you. The ones I didn’t keep. And because of that, I lost not just my wife, but my best friend too.
There’s some things I should have said to you… The first one is that I don’t want to divorce you- I never wanted you to leave. I didn’t say anything before, because I thought I didn’t have the right to try to stop you from leaving. But me not speaking up made you think I didn’t care. And that’s another thing I didn’t say before, but I’m saying now: I do care. I care and I miss you so much it hurts.
Our home doesn’t have a meaning without you. It’s too big and too empty, and I see your ghost in every room. I can hear you humming in the kitchen when I close my eyes.
Maybe I’m too late, maybe your mind is made up- but I have to say it. I have to let you know I care.
I almost ripped the divorce papers up today, but I didn’t. They’re still here. I haven’t signed them. I will if you want me to. Just not until you read this letter. Because I’m telling you- I don’t want to sign them.
I love you. And I want to see you again, to talk about this face to face. I’ll be at our place tomorrow and I’ll take the divorce papers with me. If you go, we can talk about it. If you don’t go, I’ll sign them.
If, in the end, you don’t want to go, just know that I understand. I understand and I’m sorry and I’ll love you until the day I die.
This is me, trying.
Luke’
...
Luke was anxious. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat, and he went to the park early in the morning. He knew you wouldn’t arrive early, if you even arrived at all. But Luke didn’t want to just wait around at home.
He sat on your bench, under the tree, looking at the river flowing in front of him.
His phone’s alarm was set to buzz at noon, but it didn’t stop him from looking at the time nonstop. The minutes crawled and he started to sweat. When it buzzed, he jumped and looked at it, his heart pounding in his chest. He started looking around the park frantically, but there was no sign of you. Luke willed himself to calm down- to wait longer.
When fifteen minutes passed, he got up and started to pace. When half an hour passed, he sat again, feeling defeated. You were never late. Which meant you weren’t coming.
His eyes started to burn, but he swallowed hard. Luke sniffed and bowed his head, his sight falling at the damned folder.
With a deep sigh, he picked the folder up and flipped the pages until he found the signature place.
His hands were trembling, but he forced them steady as he pressed the pen to the page and began signing his name. Each line tore deeper and deeper into his heart.
“Luke?”
He heard the soft call from behind, making him jump and turn quickly.
You were standing in the grass, hands buried in your coat pockets as you shivered in the cold. Your cheeks were red and your eyes were puffy, evidence that you’d been crying too. But God, Luke thought you were still the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
“Hey,” he said, still in shock that you had showed up.
“Hi,” you answered.
After an awkward moment of silence, you shuffled your feet and nodded towards the paperwork in Luke’s hands. “Did you sign them?” you ask.
Luke nods, holding the folder up, offering for you to take it.
You sighed and walked closer to him, taking the papers before sitting down by Luke’s side.
“I didn’t think you were coming,” Luke explained. He watched as you stared towards the river.
A weak smile spreads across your face as you sigh. “Neither did I,” you admit.
“But you did,” Luke continues.
You nod, biting your lip. When you turn to him, there are unshed tears glistening in your eyes. “All I ever wanted was for you to try,” you tell him, your voice cracking.
And before Luke can respond, you’re grabbing hold of his face and kissing him firmly. Luke pulled you closer, deepening the kiss quickly, needing you closer, closer, closer. Luke felt you smile against his lips, and for the first time since you’d left, he feels like he can breathe again.
When you finally pull away, breathless, you just look at each other for a moment.
“I am so sorry,” Luke’s voice was soft, but serious. “I am so sorry I made you feel less important than work- because you’re not. It’s just a stupid job, I’ll quit tomorrow if it means I can get even one more minute with you.”
“I forgive you,” you whispered, watching as Luke’s eyes fell shut, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You gather his hand in yours and squeeze it gently.
“God, what is it about this place?” you say, lighter now.
Luke smiles and turns his body so that he’s facing the river. “Special place for a special girl.”
You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips before leaning into Luke’s side. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting him wrap an arm around your frame and pull you closer.
“Our place,” you state.
“Our perfect place,” Luke whispered, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.
#luke alvez x reader imagine#luke alvez imagine#luke alvez x reader#luke alvez x reader fanfic#luke alvez fanfiction#luke alvez fluff#luke alvez fanfic#luke alvez fic#luke alvez x reader fic#luke alvez angst#luke alvez x reader fanfiction#criminal minds x reader imagine#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader fanfic#criminal minds x reader fic#criminal minds x reader masterlist#criminal minds x reader fanfiction#criminal minds angst#criminal minds x reader fluff
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Twisted Soulmate shorts.
Listen, I do plan on making a sequel eventually, but in the meantime, can I tempt you with some half assed bits of Tim’s life as Ra’s Bonded/Bride/Unwilling Sugar baby? All in the spirit of putting off studying for my finals :D
~.~
“We need some ground rules”, Tim stated plainly, staring at the fiery hell in front of them. By his side, Ra’s sipped his wine glass, as cozy in front of all the destruction as one would standing by a fireplace. He looked ready to break out the s'mores. “Some Do’s and Do not’s, with penalties for each one we break. So, you know. We don’t completely destroy each other.”
“Be honest with me, Beloved, would that actually stop you from infringing damage to my properties?”
In the spirit of good sportsmanship, Tim actually thought about it for a few minutes.
~.~
Or; Tim elopes with Ra’s and commits to his role as the world’s most unimpressed, reluctant bride ‘soulmate’. Featuring Pru (who is having entirely too much fun), four little minions (whoever catches the reference and knows which fandom I stole them from gets brownie points) and absolutely no sign of any bats to spoil Tim’s fun.
~.~
~.~
The robe was green, and that was a problem. It wasn’t itchy, it wasn’t uncomfortable, it wasn’t restrictive.
But it was green.
Pru’s eyes found his in the mirror, a scowl and a smirk facing each other. Tim crossed his arms, the exquisite silk not even creasing, and his frown deepened. One of the robe’s sleeves covered him from shoulder to wrist, the other leaving the opposite limb completely bare. The intent was obvious enough, one mark on display, the others hidden away like dirty secrets.
So why the need for that branding color?
“Isn’t this excessive? Putting a collar on me may be easier, for his purpose.”
“Should I forward that idea to the Master?”
“Only if you want another punch to the nose.”
A snort, and Pru took the two steps keeping her at his back. Her hand dropped to his shoulder, and the expression on the assassin’s face changed to a far more serious one.
“Are you sure you want to do this? I could help you out of the base. Still owe you a few, we can call this one even for that time in Budapest.”
Tim’s scowl went away, a contemplative look on his eyes as they lowered to the ground.
“I’m not sure of anything nowadays, Pru. Except perhaps that I don’t want to wear this color.”
Her grip tightened for a second, two, three. Then, her eyes flew to the window and back to him before her next words came out, fake smirk back on place.
“Well then, the Master expects you to join him for breakfast. We’ll be moving bases soon, and I think he wanted to give you the tour before that.”
Tim’s eyes, that had followed hers to the window, stayed there, guarded and cold like they never were. He nodded.
“I’ll be there shortly. Just need to… fix my appearance a bit.”
She nodded, her smirk more sincere now, and left his bedchambers.
The shadows jumped into the room before the door was even halfway closed.
A little over half an hour later, Ra’s Al Ghul looked up from the reports he was revising, cup of tea still untouched on the table, pastries and fruits perfectly distributed in front of him, to watch the Detective approach.
His robe was a curious maroon.
As if sensing his question, the young man took his place across from the Demon’s head, placid smile softening his features despite ice cold eyes boring into his.
“Oh, this?”, demurely, he raised the covered arm, accepting the coffee one of his servants provided. The sleeve slipped down enough to show three names on white skin, but Ra’s eyes strayed to the clothe. He knew that shade of brownish.
“I could have sworn I sent you green robes, Detective. I do wonder, where did you find a dye?”
“As I’m sure Pru can tell you, noses bleed a lot. On the bright side, you don’t have to worry about sending a clean up crew to tidy up my bedchambers. Nice morning workout, too, thank you.”
Amused despite himself, Ra’s threw his head back and laughed.
----.---
“We need some ground rules”, Tim stated plainly, staring at the fiery hell in front of them. By his side, Ra’s sipped his wine glass, as cozy in front of all the destruction as one would standing by a fireplace. He looked ready to break out the s'mores. “Some Do’s and Do not’s, with penalties for each one we break. So, you know. We don’t completely destroy each other.”
“Be honest with me, Beloved, would that actually stop you from infringing damage to my properties?”
In the spirit of good sportsmanship, Tim actually thought about it for a few minutes. “I mean, as long as you respect my boundaries, I won’t have a reason to show my displeasure.”
“And what about my boundaries? It’s only reasonable that for each rule you decide on, I get to demand one of my own making.”
“If they don’t conflict with mine, I guess I could learn to work around them. Considering what you do for a living, it’s not like you can ask for more.”
Ra’s tilted his head, as if saying ‘yeah, fair’. They watched the flames consuming one of Ra’s favored castles in silence for a while longer. The parisian authorities would be arriving soon, though no before they were ready to leave; Ra’s wouldn’t allow any interruptions.
They were probably making the ninja standing guard behind them uncomfortable, with the silence, veiled threats and mind games. Except for Pru. She’d be thriving in her fellows’ fear.
“Should we go somewhere more private to decide this rules, Timothy?”
A shake, long raven locks hitting the air like small whips, and the young hero turned on his heel to go back to the plane waiting for them.
“I need some time to think them over. I’ll let you know when I decide.”
---.---
Is the Demon’s Head, instead, who demands the first one.
“You will allow a squad of my people around you at all times, Detective, and you’ll let them tend to you as it’s becoming of my bride.”
“If you ever call me your bride again”, states the young man, calmly turning a page on the book he was reading, curled up in the armchair Ra’s had specifically made his men drag into his office for the sole purpose of tempting him into staying put and in Ra’s direct line of sight, “the next base I make go boom will be the one you’re in at that moment.”
“My soulmate.”
“Still creepy, but significantly less; I’ll accept it. What were you saying about bodyguards? The answer is no, by the way, but I thought it would be fair to let you explain your reasoning before shooting you down again.”
“I have no need for explaining myself; you were the one to suggest rules. This is merely the first one. As it is, and since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you that, as my bonded, you have a price in your head so high even the purest of heart man would be tempted to hunt you down. It’s merely for your safety, as I worry so.”
The dirty look the younger gives him over his book shows him exactly what he thinks of Ra’s obvious jab at his abilities and strength.
“There’s also the matter of your lack of sleep, or the blatant underweight you’re showing.”
“I don’t need a nanny nor a bodyguard, Ra’s.”
“Maybe so, but what would my enemies think of my power if I couldn’t spare a few men to protect my bonded? You can think of it as a political tactic, if it’ll lay your worries at rest. It won’t be to spy on you, as I already have a team dedicated to that.”
Not even a blink, of course he knew, he’d be an idiot to think Ra’s was giving him wiggle room without someone hounding his steps. A hum, the flicker of something behind the man’s eyes that put Ra’s instantly on guard, but not enough to help him predict his next movement.
“You know that any rule you make, I can counter with one of my own.”
“I do, and am ready to honor, as it’s the nature of our deal. I’m a man of my word.”
“Okay then”, the detective finally conceded, sitting up straight, book closed on his lap and hands resting easily over the cover. “I’ll accept your terms, and won’t give my future clique the slip.”
Despite this small victory, Ra’s didn’t allow himself to relax; now came the detective’s countermeasure.
Calmly as still water, the slim man stood up, walking towards Ra’s desk, opening the book on its first page and softly placing in on the wood between them. One slice of paper, carefully folded, gave the Demon’s Head pause.
“Since you insist this is for show, and thus not requiring specific skills on the ninja’s part, I’m going to choose who will be part of my clique. After all, I’ll be in perpetual close quarters with these people, it’s only fair I get to decide who it’ll be.”
Ra’s eyes never left the icy blue ones staring him down. It’d be a fatal mistake to let one’s sight wander when there was a viper in the room.
“Prudence is already tasked with managing your schedule, she can’t be considered among these you selected.”
“She isn’t”, was fired back. “These aren’t fully fledged ninja, they have just begun their training. As such, I can make sure their progress aligns with my needs, something that will make them more useful in the long run if they are to be my shadows. A sniper that can socially blend in as a perfect camaleon. A prodigy, both in mind games and the technological world. A mechanic well versed in a caregiver tasks. A naturally born fighter, showed proficiency particularly on swords and hand to hand. I think those four tick every box you might want to fill, don’t you?”
A few seconds pass, while Ra’s tries to think back on every newish recruit who had the described qualities. He couldn’t come with a single one. Too many variables.
Despite himself, he nods. His bonded lifts his hand from the desk, and picks up his book on his way to the door, not looking back while Ra's unfolds the list.
He feels himself freeze.
“Children?”
Timothy has already left the room. Ra's can't help but feel pride. As foolish as he thinks his bonded's mission to be, he has to admire his dedication to it, and Timothy had just spent the equivalent of a Genie's first wish with the purpose of freeing four young ones from the League's training and future.
-----.-----
Tim is looking down at his three 'bodyguards', knowing he made the right call but still feeling the panic creeping up on him. Like, fuck, this was clearly an evil organization, as no self respecting moral one would allow him to be responsible of four impressionable, probably traumatized children.
L, P, H and K. 9, 7, 10 and 9 respectively. All sitting down, hands on their laps, eyes down. Ready to obey any order.
Fuck, he wanted to puke.
Breathing in deeply, he crouched in front of them. Tried for a smile. Too forced. Settled for a grimace.
“My name is Tim”, he started, “and you're safe with me. I'll train you, protect you from the League as much as possible, and try my best to help you escape if I find a better place for you.”
He doesn't bother lying for appearances sake. Ra's must know Tim's reasons for choosing children (too good, would be noticed soon by their teachers, would be under Ra's thumb sooner rather than later), but it didn't matter. Even if Tim managed to get them away, it was his right. For all intents and purposes, as far as the League was concerned, he owned them. Not that he was going to tell them that: if it made him sick to think that, he can only imagine that information on the children's minds.
They don't seem to believe him, but answer honestly when asked questions about their past. L had (bravely, stupidly) sold himself into servitude to the League to help his family. P, apparently a smart cookie, was sold away by some scientific organization back home when she started asking too many question about the disappearance of her father and brother. One of H's mothers had left the League when she married, and her son was taken away as compensation in the middle of the night, when she couldn't fight back (luckily, as she'd have died and they would have still taken the kid). K was an orphan, sucked into the League too young, but saved by an older apprentice who took him under his wing: said boy was now missing, and K's obvious short fuse wouldn't stand for it long.
He wants to save these children so bad it hurts. Has to remind himself that whatever he will do about this (and he still has to think about it), he won't be able to do for a while.
----.----
He keeps some sort of schedule. Waking up in the morning, breakfast with Ra's unless previously canceled by the other man, training his new minions, break a fight between L and K, lunch, give them numerous tasks to get them off his back (keeping one close for appearances sake; they were his bodyguards after all, or would be after some training), wander along whichever base they were at the moment, tea with Ra's, picking up his brats, wander some more and some time for them to play like actual children, dinner, bed. Rinse repeat.
Some variations, however, were inevitable.
Groaning Tim rolled on his back, silken sheets under him and around his legs, to look at the four little heads waiting by his bedside, various degrees of alarm there.
“What is it?”
H's hand gripped tighter L's, who had the other arm wrapped around P. K was standing in front of them, dagger at the ready.
“The base is under attack. We await our instructions, Master.”
“Tim”, he reminded the child, before yawning. “Who is it again?”
This time, the youngest and only girl talked. “We are not sure. Said something about The Demon's Head being their archenemy and/”
“Then it's a Ra's problem, not a Us problem. Let the man handle it, he has enough manpower as it is, and even if he doesn’t, he's due for a swim anytime now”, dropping his head and closing his eyes once again, he vaguely waved a hand in their general direction. “You guys go back to bed, just be careful and lock the door in case some of Ra's worst people let someone wander.”
“We can't possibly leave you! What if you're attacked? We'd be too far away to protect you!” K’s tiny hand tightened around his knife. “We'd fail our mission!”
Reigning in a groan, he gave it a thought. They had a point, in that were anything to happen, he risked not being close enough to keep the children safe.
Sighing, he waved a hand again.
“Okay, you guys can stay, but we are not getting up. It's like five am, I went to sleep less than an hour ago.”
P jumped in place and frowned at him. “We escorted you here right after dinner.”
“That you did. Anyway, cuddle piles anyone?”
L jumped right in, as he expected, worming his way under the sheets until he could cuddle to Tim's left side, dragging H behind him. P seemed to think about it, but if the dark circles under her eyes (and his informants) were to be trusted, she'd probably slept as much as him, most assuredly looking into her family's disappearance. She finally fell on his other side, instantly groaning.
K looked at all of them in disappointment, and stubbornly sat down behind P, his back to them and facing the door. Tim wondered what it would take to get the kid to chill.
Shrugging (you can't win them all), he went back to sleep.
By the time he really woke up, it was to an amused Pru holding hauntingly a camera and smirking down at him. All four kids were now cuddled around him.
“Shut up, Pru. Like you can talk. I saw you giving L that practice gun the other day, don't think I didn't.”
#twisted soulmate#soulmate au#nemesis au#Tim drake#Ra's al Ghul#Pru#four small minions Tim's gonna steal from Ra's#those are a reference to another fandom I love#brownie points to whoever notices the reference#spy vs spy kinda thing#Tim drake is an unwilling sugar baby#Ra's is all too happy to play sugar daddy for this kid#Ra's is creepy#my writting#my writing#Red robin
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Bloom Me A Flower, Maybe Two
(AO3)
Summary: Silly fluff, Kaneki meeting his daughter for the first time and giving her a name.
Word Count: 1,582
Notes: This was the first work I ever shared online and I deleted it along with my account during a particularity difficult time. Although reading it now, I see a lot of things I would like to fix, I am still proud of being able to share it.
*****
“Touka is in labor. Come quick.”
The call was short, like all of Ayato’s calls, but it was enough to send a jolt of panic through Kaneki’s body. He was on the outskirts of the city with some members from the United Front and was preparing to start running in whatever direction led to the hospital until Hide placed a calming hand on his shoulder, implicitly understanding the terrified look on Kaneki’s face, and telling him they could take Marude’s car.
So that was how he found himself squished in the backseat between Takeomi (Yoriko was already with Touka) and Itou (just excited about seeing a baby) while Hide (for the father’s emotional support) took the front seat and Marude (who wouldn’t allow anyone else to drive his new car) drove, grumbling about having to leave the mission early.
Itou was excitedly asking Kaneki a lot of questions like is it a boy or a girl? (he didn’t know, they wanted to keep it as a surprise, but he could’ve sworn Kimi slipped and said a she during their last appointment). Natural or cesarean? (natural if they could help it, despite his own objections to Touka having to put herself through so much pain after seeing that educational video). Would the child eat normal food? (Most likely if Kimi’s predictions were right, and they usually are). Did they have the nursery ready? (It’s been ready for a month with Urie personally doing the drawings on the wall). Will they have anyone to help the first few weeks the baby is born? (They had so many people volunteering to help that they couldn’t schedule all of them, and he and Touka wanted to spend the first night alone with the baby to bond anyway). What were they planning to name the baby? (They actually had no idea, but it wasn’t due to lack of trying).
Question after question, Kaneki appreciated Itou trying to take his mind off worrying about Touka but he really couldn’t focus with him at all. He had read too many books and too many disaster birth stories on mom forums to be able to just relax, and he hated that he wasn’t there to support Touka through what was probably the most painful experience of her life. He kept asking Marude if he could speed up and the man kept telling him, through gritted teeth, that it was the fastest he could go in a residential area.
After what seemed like an eternity, they finally reached the hospital and Kaneki all but jumped through the window and into the hospital, running up the stairs to the birth ward. He was met with Yoriko who was crying outside room 125 (the room they booked in advance, Touka thought it was a lucky number), and she came running towards him as soon as she lifted her head. “She is so beautiful, Kaneki, so beautiful. They both are.” she said through sobs while hugging him tightly.
Kaneki mentally beat himself up for missing the birth (and considered beating up Marude before the more sensible version of himself took over) but he returned Yoriko's hug and thanked her. “Go in, she’s waiting for you” Yoriko gently pushed him to the door "I'll join everyone in the cafeteria so you can find me there if you need anything".
Kaneki stood for what seemed like another eternity at the door. He was overwhelmed by so many emotions that he felt a little tingling at the tips of his fingers. On the other side of that door was Touka, and their child, the child she fought so hard to keep, the child they both tried building a better world for, the culmination of all their hopes and dreams. He was so happy and scared that he felt his heart could stop any moment now.
He braced himself and opened the door to be met with an immense amount of sunlight (unusual for this time of year). Once his eyes adjusted, he was witnessing the most beautiful sight in his life. His wife, Touka Kaneki (whom he expected to be exhausted after such an ordeal), was absolutely glowing, looking at the bundle in her arms with the biggest smile he had ever seen. The scene was so perfect that it looked like a painting and Kaneki took a few moments staring to preserve the memory in his mind.
“Touka, I am so sorry I missed the birth” he apologized quietly, but Touka looked up at him, still beaming, and gestured him to come closer.
“It doesn’t matter, you’re here now, come look at our daughter” she turned the bundle towards Kaneki so he can see.
“She has sesame pudding hair!”
Those were not the first words Kaneki wanted to say upon first meeting his daughter but he couldn’t help himself. Touka laughed and nodded “I was surprised too but it’s cute, I like it”.
Mesmerized, Kaneki couldn’t help but agree as he gently stroked the hair of his sleeping daughter with his finger. “Poor thing was exhausted after the birth and Kimi doing her exam so she is just taking a well earned rest”, Touka brushed her cheek with her finger and the little girl scrunched her nose, much to her parent’s delight.
Kaneki was still in awe, he had read and heard stories, but nothing could compare to the feeling of warmth spreading through his body now. He moved his finger to his daughter’s hand, and she quickly gripped it. He read about this instinct in babies but in that moment, it felt like she was welcoming him.
“We need to give her a name; I can’t keep calling her Usagi forever. Unless…” Touka looked up at Kaneki with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“We are not naming her Usagi! We discussed this already!”
Touka pouted playfully and turned to look at her child’s face again. “What will we name her then?”
They went through Kaneki’s list of names with meaningful kanji again, Touka rejecting each one again saying they were too old, too pretentious, or just didn’t feel right, then they moved to the names suggested to them by friends and family (Ayato being a huge supporter of any variation of Usagi), but none of them felt right either. They finally got to the list of ridiculous names Hide sent them after creating an online poll with Saiko. Surprisingly enough, Usagi was the most normal name on that list. Kaneki put the list away after reading the first few names, not wanting to name his daughter Toyotama-hime or after a manga character.
With Touka resting her head on his shoulder, Kaneki tried to brainstorm a good name but he was drawing blanks. His eyes drifted back to his sleeping daughter, noticing for the first time the blanket wrapped around her “the hospital has some really nice blankets, don’t they?”
“Oh this isn’t from the hospital, Yomo gave me this. He embroidered that flower on top himself, with Uta’s help of course”. As he felt the intricate design on the blanket, Kaneki couldn’t help but feel his heart swell a little at the thought of all those people in his life that loved him and his family, those people who willingly intertwined their lives with his and allowed him to be part of theirs. It’s been months but he still wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to the feeling.
“It made me really happy” Touka suddenly spoke up after a long period of silence, her voice a little somber “back when we first moved underground, I was really afraid we would spend the rest of our lives there, if we managed to live long enough. I never liked that place when I was little and I really dreaded the idea of us dying in a place with no sunlight.”
She had never spoken so candidly about that before, and Kaneki’s heart ached a little at the memory of all they went through during that period.
“But I prayed back then that we would get a sign, even if it’s one flower blooming through a crack” she looked up at him again, eyes filled with tears and a small smile on her face “I didn’t think my prayers would be heard but they were, I got my flower when I found out I was carrying our daughter, and I just knew things would turn around, I would make them turn around myself if I had to” they both chuckled through tears as Kaneki brought her head to his lip and kissed it over and over again.
Kaneki felt his mind clear for a moment and as if it was lurking there all along, he finally thought of the right name.
“How about Ichika?”
“Huh?”
“For a name, how about Ichika?”
One flower.
“Ichika” Touka whispered the name then repeated it, a little louder each time, her face brightening up as if she had finally found what she was looking for, “Ichika, do you like that name?” The little girl in her arms suddenly sneezed and woke herself up. She looked up at her parents with big curious eyes and a little smiled formed on her lips.
“I think she likes it.”
“Kaneki Ichika, has a nice ring to it” Kaneki felt a strange sense of pride at his name being carried by the symbol of hope to Touka and himself.
“And it’s really useful for keeping track of the kids in the future” Touka joked, gently elbowing Kaneki in the ribs.
“You want another baby already! Aren’t you tired?!”
“Not right now! Maybe in a few years. I want us to take our time getting to know little Ichika first”
Ichika made an incomprehensible baby sound that her parents interpreted as agreement.
Overjoyed with the prospect of raising a small child in a world that will be much kinder to her than it was to them when they were little. Kaneki and Touka couldn’t wait to build their life with the new addition to their family.
Their story had just begun.
#touken#fanfic#ken kaneki#kirishima touka#Touka Kirishima#kaneki ken#ichika kaneki#kaneki ichika#kanetou#tg#tgre#tokyo ghoul#My writing
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Snuggly puppy
Fandom: Stray Kids
Sickie: Seungmin
Caregiver: Felix
Sequel to ‘Not sleepy’
Noone’s POV.:
It had been almost a week since Seungmin had taken a sick Felix back to the dorm. The Aussie was finally feeling better, his voice was back to normal and his fever had broken the previous night. Over breakfast a small dispute arose because the dancer couldn’t wait to get back to work, while Chan would have preferred the younger resting for at least another day. Their loud voices soon quietened down when a disheveled looking Seungmin joined the group at the table. The members exchanged worried glances at the lack of a greeting from the vocalist and watched the boy listlessly push his food around the plate. It had been predictable really, given how cuddled up Hyunjin had found Seungmin and Felix the previous week. A hoarse cough confirmed their suspicion, the second youngest had caught Felix’ cold. “Hey, Minnie, you ok?”, Hyunjin whispered from his seat next to the vocalist. The younger just nodded, not feeling like talking with the straining ache that had settled in his throat. Chan nudged Felix and motioned for him to follow the leader to the kitchen. They took their empty plates and announced, they’d be doing the dishes today.
When they were out of earshot, the oldest spoke up: “Lix, would you do me the favor of taking care of Seungmin today? There’s no way he’ll go to practice today. We can’t afford to get another member sick and you’ve just gotten over the same thing, so it’s unlikely you’ll catch it again. Only if you feel up to it of course.” – “Hyung, I feel fine. And sure I will, it’s my fault he’s sick to begin with. I’ll be missing another day of practice though, and I really need to catch up with how many mistakes I made with my dancing last time”, the younger Aussie replied, a pained expression flashing across his face. “Ah, don’t worry, we’ll help you catch up. We can all take turns going over the choreography with you, we’re not gonna leave you behind”, Chan promised, “Just please watch Seungmin.” Felix smiled: “I already told you I will. I owe him anyways.” Just as their conversation had ended, the members came in one by one, carrying their plates for the Aussies to wash while they got ready for their schedule ahead. When Seungmin passed them, Chan stopped him with a hand on the younger’s arm. “Hey, I think it’ll be best if you stay home today, since it seems like you caught Felix’ cold”, the leader hummed, frowning at the dark circles adorning the vocalist’s eyes. Seungmin shook his head, avoiding his hyung’s eyes: “I feel fine, hyung, just a bit tired. There’s no need for me to stay back.” Felix who was overhearing the conversation from where he was standing over the sink, shook his head slightly. This was exactly how it had started for him too and if it wasn’t for the strained rasp in the sick boy’s voice, they might even have believed him.
Before Seungmin could react, Chan had spread his palm over his dongsaeng’s forehead: “I mean, you don’t have a fever, at least not yet but neither do look nor do you sound alright, so you’ll be taking the day off to rest.” – “Hyung-“, the younger whined, voice cracking. “Hey, maybe you’re really just tired and will be fine tomorrow. In that case you can tell me how much of an ass I am for making you stay back, but for now, you’re staying back”, when the oldest saw the fight building in the vocalist’s eyes, he added, “Leader’s orders.” – “This is abuse of power”, Seungmin fought back, “and completely unnecessary.” Though he immediately proved his statement wrong by turning away and muffling a cough into the sleeve of his sleep shirt. “Aish, Minnie. Stop fighting, last week you were the one lecturing me about how I shouldn’t push myself when I’m sick and now look at you”, Felix scolded, drying off his hands. The vocalist shot his youngest hyung a deathglare: “’Look at me’ ? It’s your fault that I’m in this situation anyways, so who are you to talk?” – “See, you just admitted it and yes I know and I’m sorry, that’s why I’ll stay back too and keep you company”, the dancer giggled, while his dongsaeng quickly covered his mouth noticing how he had just messed up. Chan pulled the sulking boy into a hug and tried to get him to look at him: “Min, it’s ok to be sick and if you rest now, instead of pushing on, you’re chances of recovering faster than Felix did are pretty high. You’re not as stupid as him, forcing yourself to hours of dancing, now are you?” – “Hey, I’m not stupid!!!”, the dancer yelled, smacking his hyung’s butt with the towel he was still holding. Seungmin giggled: “No, I’m not. I’ll stay back but only to prove to Felix-hyung that I’m the smarter one.” Felix put on a fake-offended act but if that was what made his dongsaeng rest, it was fine with him.
The group soon left, leaving Felix and Seungmin alone at the dorm. “Hey, what do you want to do now?”, Felix asked, “Do you want to sleep more?” – “I’m not a baby, I don’t need to sleep again immediately after getting up!” The dancer rolled his eyes, he should have expected how difficult of a task it would be to take care of Seungmin. The younger was way too stubborn and insistent on his independence. “Ok ok, no need to sass me. What about a movie?” The vocalist seemed to actually think about it: “Alright, but if you make me watch another of your boring dramas, I swear to god…” – “No, I’ll let you choose what we’ll watch, like the good hyung I am”, Felix retorted, throwing him a blanket as the pair got settled on the couch. True to his promise, the dancer let his dongsaeng choose a movie. He hadn’t seen it before, but the vocalist insisted it was really good. They were both focused on the screen in front of them, the only thing distracting Felix were the increasingly frequent sniffles coming from his dongsaeng. He glanced over at the younger, only to see him bring the blanket up to his face sneezing twice in quick succession. “Bless you”, Felix hummed, reaching for the remote and pausing the movie, when he noticed the younger’s eyes closing again. “Hh’ktCHhsx!”, Felix watched expectantly, “hh’txCHH’uh!” – “Bless you again”, he chuckled when it seemed like the younger was finally done. “Thanks *sniff*, I’ll just go get some tissues”, the vocalist mumbled. The older wanted to offer, getting them but one stern glance made him keep his mouth shut. He really didn’t want to fight with Seungmin right now.
When Seungmin returned, they continued their movie. By the time it ended, his eyes were watering from focusing on a screen and his head hurt worse than he wanted to admit. They considered watching another one when Felix had an idea: “Hey, how about we shower now? That way we won’t slow things down when the others get home and the steam might help you breathe better.” The dancer had noticed how miserably congested his friend sounded, which was the sole reason he wanted the younger to take a shower. “I cad breathe perfectly fide”, the younger rasped, his glare not nearly as intimidating as intended, due to the itchy tears dotting his lashes, “but yeah, shower sou’ds alright.” – “Sure, so why don’t you go first?”, Felix offered, pushing his dongsaeng in the general direction of the bathroom. ‘That little spawn of Satan, why does he have to make this so difficult?’, the dancer thought, making his way to the kitchen when he heard the bathroom door close. He decided to prepare some of Seungmin’s favorite tea, because he still remembered how irritated his throat had been not to long ago. The younger didn’t really seem to appreciate his hyung’s efforts to help but Felix knew that under this overly independent facade were mostly insecurities, so he would just continue to care for the younger despite his protests. He could hear the painful coughs over the sound of the water running and cringed in sympathy, sure he felt guilty. Seungmin had only cuddled him because Felix was in desperate need of cuddles when he was sick, ‘like a little child’, the dancer thought. Had he acted like the adult he physically is, his dongsaeng wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences now but now it was too late and all Felix could do was make the younger as comfortable as possible, while he rode out his sickness.
Locking the bathroom door behind him, Seungmin finally let his guard down. For aa minute, he just sat on the closed toilet lid, burying his aching head in his hands and rubbing his face. He gave a few wet sniffles before finding the strength to get up and strip out of the clothes he had slept in last night. Goosebumps spread over his body as the cold air touched his overly sensitive skin and he hurried to get into the shower, letting the warm water soothe his chills. The vocalist kept turning the water temperature higher and higher because he still felt cold. Soon the room was filled with thick clouds of steam and he took deep breaths in hopes it would loosen at least a fraction of the congestion clogging his airways. And it did, but the dislodged mucus just fell deeper in his lungs, choking him. The sick boy had to lean against the wet tiles of the shower to keep his balance has he prayed for the coughing fit to end. When he finally managed to catch his breath, the damage was already done, his throat felt really swollen and tender and his head was spinning from the lack of oxygen. With his last remaining energy, Seungmin rinsed off the soap and dragged his achy body out of the shower. He felt so much worse than before, weak and shaky, his muscles not willing to cooperate, but there was no way he’d ask Felix for help with this. After drying off, he put on some fresh clothes, a hoodie and sweatpants, hoping they’d keep him warm against the chills wracking his body, before dizzily stumbling back to the livingroom. Getting comfortable under the blanket on the couch, he told Felix to go and take his turn showering and not wanting to blow his cover as to why he forced his dongsaeng to shower, the dancer went to the bathroom.
While Felix was showering, Seungmin found the tea the older had left him on the coffee table. He was barely able to hold the cup with how much his hands were shaking and he had to use both hands to not spill the hot liquid, but the vocalist sighed in relieve when the few sips he managed to force down soothed his abused throat. Laying down, he pulled the thin blanket up to his chin and draped one arm over his eyes to block out the light. ‘How could I get so much worse so suddenly?’ He lay there not able to sleep due to the pounding in his skull, but also not able to move with how badly his muscles were burning. “Hey, did you feel homesick?”, Felix laughed as he walked into the living room with a towel around his neck, “because the water was hot as hell.” Seungmin just blinked at him confused, too out of it to get the pun. “You ok?”, the Aussie asked, sitting down next to his dongsaeng. The vocalist tried to be strong, he really did, but way too soon the tears he fought to hold back spilled from his eyes and he shook his head defeatedly. Felix’ face softened and he pulled the younger into his arms, alarmed at how much strength he had to use, because Seungmin didn’t seem helping by using his own muscles at all, though he did, he was just really weak. He allowed the vocalist to cry into his fresh shirt, while he ran a soothing hand through the younger’s hair, frowning to find it still dripping with water. Glad he still had a towel with him, Felix whispered sweet nothings, while gently rubbing the other’s hair dry. “We wouldn’t want you getting worse from running around with wet hair, would we?”, he hummed lowly, stroking the sobbing boy’s back. “Is already worse”, Seungmin managed to choke out before turning away to cough. The older used this opportunity of not having the younger’s face buried in his shirt to feel his forehead for a fever and sure enough, the vocalist was burning.
The dancer continued to gently rock his dongsaeng in his arms till the latter either calmed down or had exhausted himself, Felix wasn’t sure. “I guess the hot water raised your temperature, sorry you feel so bad”, he whispered, aware of the headache the younger was suffering, “I’ll go find you some medicine and then you can go to bed and hopefully sleep as much of this off as possible.” Seungmin nodded gratefully, though he really didn’t want to let go of his hyung. Feeling cold, he curled into himself tightly, shaking while he waited for the older to return. His nose was itching again and he brought a sweater paw up to his face: “H’iKTsh!’tsh! H-’khSHt’NGsT!”. He must have nodded off after the stuffy triple because the next thing he knew was the dancer rubbing both of his arms for warmth humming: “Hey puppy, do you think you could sit up for a second to swallow this? It should help with both, the fever and the pain.” The vocalist tried but weakly fell back, needing Felix to pull him upright against his chest. “Tha’gs hyu’g”, he mumbled, accepting the pills and washing them down with the lukewarm tea, the dancer steadying the cup to avoid spills. Swallowing was a struggle with how swollen his throat was but his hyung rubbed his chest through the entire following coughing fit.
Felix was getting worried at how weak his dongsaeng had gotten within less than an hour. First, he was sassing him not accepting any help at all and then suddenly he wasn’t even able to sit up by himself. Since it was obvious that Seungmin wouldn’t be walking anywhere, the dancer just scooped him up and carried him to his room, figuring the younger would be most comfortable in his own bed. He was met with no resistance at all but he wasn’t sure whether the flush on the vocalist’s cheeks was from fever or embarrassment, both probably. Tucking Seungmin in, Felix chuckled when his dongsaeng held onto his wrist, tugging him. The grip was really weak and the dancer would have had no problem freeing himself, but he climbed under the blanket with a small smile, heart beating fast, when the younger snuggled into his side. “Want me to read you a story, puppy?”, he whispered. The vocalist nodded against his friend’s arm: “I-I lohh- N’gsCH! *sniff* -love y-your voice.” Chuckling Felix pulled out his phone and searched up a calm and peaceful bedtime story, making sure to keep his voice soft and low, while the hand that didn’t hold the phone drew comforting circles on his dongsaeng’s back.
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