anyway going to ~feel my feelings~

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Ten)

Summary: Din and (Y/N) spend the next couple of weeks trying to repair the Razor Crest themselves, and his close proximity to the beautiful captain begins to stir up complicated feelings for Din.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Ten The Repairs (Previous Chapter)

“Son of a mud-scuffer, Mando!” (Y/N) groaned in pain, making no attempt to get up off the floor of the ship that she’d been knocked down onto. “Ow…you did that on purpose…”

Beneath his helmet, Din rolled his eyes in exasperation; he stood above the captain with his hands resting on his hips as he heaved a sigh. “That’s kinda the point, isn’t it? An attacker’s not gonna go easy on you just ‘cause you asked them nicely to.”

Din, (Y/N) and the child had been traveling through space for a little over three weeks; in that time, they’d been slowly but surely working on the repairs that the Mon Calamari hadn’t completed. Neither of them were very knowledgeable mechanics, but they did their best as they worked side-by-side.

Whenever they weren’t doing repairs, they relaxed in the cargo hold; Din would work on cleaning his weapons and entertaining the child while (Y/N) sewed, and they’d usually fall into easy conversation. True to her word, she’d quickly completed a new robe for the child – much to the kid’s delight – before starting on what appeared to be a golden-yellow dress. The captain hadn’t said anything to Din about his impromptu gifts of fabric and sweets, but he could clearly see how much the gesture meant to her; he’d often sit and secretly watch her work, admiring how carefully her hands moved across the delicate material and how her eyes narrowed in concentration. She was happy, and he was proud that he’d been the one to help give that to her.

But whenever they weren’t working or relaxing, they were training; Din hadn’t forgotten his promise to teach his partner how to fight and after their recent adventures, he decided that it would be wise for her to learn sooner rather than later. I’d feel a lot better going to Corvus to confront a Jedi if I knew she’d be safe, he thought to himself one evening as he lay awake in his bunk, remembering how easily she’d been overpowered by the Black Sun operatives and the bandits on Tatooine.

“Okay, okay,” He watched as (Y/N) gritted her teeth and clambered to her feet, her brow covered in perspiration. “Can you repeat what you said one more time before we try again?”

“Of course. More often than not, you’ll go up against attackers who’re bigger than you and maybe even stronger, so you use all that to your advantage; a well-placed kick or punch could easily change the course of a fight, but what really matters is that you act faster than they do.” Moving to stand in front of her, Din gestured for her to raise her fists. “Now, I’m gonna attack you and you’re gonna do whatever you can think of to knock me down. Got it?”

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes narrowed and body tensed in preparation, and Din threw his first punch. His partner managed to block it and twist out of the way of his second attack, sucker-punching him hard in his un-armored stomach and hooking her leg around his as he doubled over in surprise; she took advantage of his off-balance by shoving him down, where he landed flat on his back.

Din couldn’t help but grin as the captain let out a celebratory cheer at her success. “I finally did it!”

“Good job, alor’ad…” Deciding to have a little fun with her, he held his arm out towards her; the captain, being the kind-hearted woman that she was, grasped his hand to help him stand and that’s when he acted. He yanked on her arm and brought a foot up to her stomach, flipping her over him and onto her back before quickly maneuvering so that he was straddling her waist and trapping her against the floor of the ship with his hands on her wrists. “…but you should never let your guard down around an enemy.”

Struggling to catch her breath, (Y/N) flashed him a teasing grin. “Mir'sheb. You’ve been waiting to do that since our very first sparring lesson, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Din replied, only then realizing that his joke might not have been the smartest idea; in their current positions, their bodies were flush with one another and being so close to her was only causing his head to spin and his face to warm. In an attempt to save face in front of his partner, he hurriedly continued. “How would you break away from an attacker who has you boxed in like this?”

(Y/N) bit her bottom lip in thought as she considered his question; Maker have mercy on me, he thought to himself, swallowing hard and forcing himself to avert his gaze from the tempting sight. “Well, it seems like the only way to gain the upper hand in this, um…position, is to use the attacker’s weight against them.” Before he could reply, she hooked her right foot around his leg and in one fluid motion, she flipped them over so that she was straddling his torso and he was the one now lying flat on his back. “How was that?”

Din let out a breathless chuckle. “Perfect, alor’ad. You’re coming along great.”

“Well, I guess I have my ex-bounty hunter instructor to thank for that.”

“That mean you’re finally admitting that bounty hunters are better than smugglers?”

Her smirk widened and she shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe better at bragging, but that’s about it.”

As she looked down at him with (Y/E/C) eyes twinkling in amusement, Din realized with a sudden jolt that their innocent flirting was rapidly on its way to becoming something much more complicated; his gloved hands had somehow found their way to her hips while they talked, and one of the captain’s thumbs was resting tantalizingly close to the collar of his undershirt and was only centimeters from touching the bare skin of his neck.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he struggled to find his voice but was mercifully saved by a familiar coo; they both looked over to see the child standing beside them, his brow wrinkled in concern as he stared at them with widened eyes, and (Y/N) laughed. “Aw, it’s okay, little guy, I promise I’m not hurting Mando.” She moved to kneel next to the child and pointed towards Din, who was sitting up and trying not to think about how much he missed their closeness. “See? The only thing that’s bruised is his ego!”

“Just for that, alor’ad, you’re the one who gets to change the kid today.” Smirking at the look of stunned disbelief on (Y/N)’s face, Din got to his feet and made his way over to the ladder. “Have fun!”

Her protests followed him as he climbed the ladder to the cockpit to don his armor. “Oh, come on, Mando, I was only joking! Mando? Mando! Dank farrik…”

Once Din put his armor back on, he and (Y/N) decided to try their hand at some of the more complicated repairs in the cockpit. Their work kept them busy and at opposite ends of the small space, much to Din’s relief; the temptation to touch or even be near the captain like he’d been when they were sparring was overwhelming, but it helped a little to have a complex distraction to focus on.

“Hey Mando, could you hand me those pliers on the control panel?”

Din, who was seated in the pilot’s chair and had been busy testing which switches were still operational, glanced over and nearly fell out of his seat. (Y/N) was standing on the right passenger’s chair, her arms elbow-deep in an exposed panel full of tangled wiring, but that’s not what had stunned him; it was the full, unobstructed view of her trouser-clad hips and legs right in front of him. So much for those complex distractions, he thought with an inward groan, trying and failing to avert his gaze from the appealing sight.

“Mando? The pliers?”

“Right, right,” Giving his head a small shake, he grabbed the pliers and stood, leaning against the wall of the cockpit as he handed the tool to her. “How’re the repairs going up there?”

(Y/N) smiled to herself while she continued rewiring. “Well, we should be able to land safely and avoid plummeting to our deaths now but I’m not making any promises, though. What about you? Did you get the hyperdrive fixed yet?”

“No, not yet. I have to rewire the ship’s circuit board, which just so happens to be four feet behind that tiny opening there.” Din pointed to the opening in question before sighing. “You don’t think you’d be able to reach your arm in there, do you?” The captain shot him an ‘are-you-being-serious’ look, to which he merely shrugged and glanced back at the opening. “I figured I’d ask just in case. Unfortunately, it’s one of those kinds of repairs that a ship can’t function properly without; we just need to find something small to fit…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“…I’m beginning to think this might’ve been a bad idea, Mando.”

Din shot (Y/N) a look of disbelief from under his helmet. “But it was your idea!”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who agreed to it; as my partner, you really should have better sense than to indulge my off-the-cuff ideas,” (Y/N) retorted, crossing her arms as she knelt beside the small opening; she nervously bit her lip as her brow furrowed in worry. “He’s just a baby, after all.”

Although her comment was fair, her words sparked a surge of protectiveness towards the child. “He’s not just a baby, alor’ad, he’s special. He understands a lot more than people realize and with all the crazy power he has, I’m sure he’ll be able to help us rewire a simple circuit board.” Din turned back to the control panels and began flipping switches. “All right, let’s try this again…okay, do you have the wire?” He asked over his shoulder, hearing a faint coo as one of the ship’s alarms began to blare; pressing another button, he shut off the alarm and sighed. “No, nothing.”

He got up from the pilot’s seat and went over to kneel beside (Y/N) as she patiently called out, “Did you get the wire out? The red wire?”

Peering into the opening, Din watched as the child let out a small coo and raised the tiny hand that held the blue wire, and he pointedly ignored the skeptical look the captain threw him. “No, no. No, the red one, show me the red wire. The red one.” The child looked down at the wires in his hands before waving the blue one around, and Din fought the proud smile that was tugging at his lips. “Yes, good. Now, you’re going to plug that red wire where the blue wire goes in the board.”

“I think you might’ve confused him…” (Y/N) whispered as they both watched the child tilt his head; she leaned in closer and called out, “Okay, little guy, you’re gonna put the red wire where the blue wire goes in the board. Okay?”

“But don’t let them touch!” Din hastily added, noticing how close the two wires were to one another; the child tilted his head again and let out a confused sort of whimper. “You see where you took the blue one off?” The child held up the blue wire and he nodded. “Yes. Now, put the red one – no, don’t put the blue one back. Put the red one where the blue one was, and put the blue one where the red one was.”

With the added hand gestures, Din was confident that the child had understood his instructions but beside him, (Y/N) had resumed nervously biting her lip. “But be careful, little guy. They’re oppositely charged, so keep them away from each other; make sure you hold them apart.”

The child ignored the captain’s warning and while he brought the two wires closer, Din frantically shook his head. “No, don’t let them touch-” He and (Y/N) both jumped when the wires connected and sent an electric shock through the child’s body, briefly surrounding him in bright sparks and smoke; once it dissipated, Din hesitantly asked, “You okay?” The child coughed in response, but he seemed to be uninjured, much to Din’s relief. He glanced over at (Y/N) and met her ‘I-told-you-so’ expression with a sheepish sort of shrug. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

“If you say so, Mando. I’m gonna go prepare some broth for him now.” His partner got to her feet and gave his arm a pat before turning and making her way down to the cargo hold; her touch seemed to send an electric shock through Din, his skin flushing as he once again remembered their earlier closeness, and he let out a shaky breath.

Looking back to the opening, the sight of the child standing at its entrance with widened eyes caused him to smile. “C’mon, kid, let’s get you some lunch for your hard work.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din sat beside the child on one of their storage containers and enjoyed some warm broth, since (Y/N) insisted that he needed to eat something as well. Although he’d explained that lifting his helmet to take sips of broth in front of her and the child wouldn’t break his Creed, she insisted on sitting behind him on her makeshift cot and sewing so that he’d have more privacy. Her consideration for his Creed was touching, but after his confrontation with Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorians on Trask, he found himself realizing that for the first time in his life, someone else cared more about his Creed than he did. His recent feelings towards his Creed were…complicated, to say the least; if what Bo-Katan said was true, then he’d grown up within a cult of religious zealots who’d coerced him into swearing a Creed than wasn’t truly Mandalorian but on the other hand, the so-called Watch had saved him as a child and raised him after he’d lost his parents, and that was a kindness he couldn’t just ignore.

“You’re kinda quiet over there, Mando.”

Smiling to himself at her unspoken question, Din lifted the bottom of his helmet up and swallowed a sip of broth before answering. “Yeah, just lost in thought. Are you ever gonna tell me what it is you’re making?”

Her laugh carried through the cargo hold, and Din was reminded of how much he enjoyed hearing the sound. “What’s it look like I’m making, a fathier blanket? It’s a dress!”

“Mir'sheb. I know you’re making a dress but I was just wondering…well, why? Dresses aren’t exactly practical in our line of work, alor’ad.”

The captain was quiet for a moment and just as Din silently cursed his bluntness, she replied, “Ever since I was little, I had a dream of settling down on a peaceful planet and opening up my own shop, just like my mother had done. But then the Empire tightened their control of Naboo, she died of illness and I fell into the smuggling life…and suddenly, my dream seemed irrelevant. When the Rebellion finally ended and the New Republic was established, I began thinking about that childhood dream again; the way I see it, if I can create this one thing with only my mother’s sketchbook and the memories of my old trade to guide me, then I’ll know whether or not I’m meant for the life I’d envisioned for myself.” The cargo hold was silent for a moment. “What about you? What kind of future do you imagine for yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Din answered truthfully, the words almost falling out of his mouth as he continued. “Living the life I’ve lead, I…well, a future’s never a guarantee, so I never allowed myself to imagine one. But if I had to, I don’t think I’d want any specific future…just a peaceful one…” He didn’t know what else to say; he couldn’t exactly follow up something heavy like that with a witty comeback, so he merely nodded and glanced down at the child, who was happily drinking the last of his broth. “You want some more broth, kid?” The child tilted his head and held out his empty bowl towards Din, who couldn’t help but smile as he ladled some more broth into it. “There you go.” The child began gulping down his second helping, and Din glanced around the derelict cargo hold with a sigh. “You know, there’s no way we’re making it to Corvus in this shape.”

“I’ll have to agree with you on that. With the hyperdrive broken, it won’t be long before we’re fighting off bandits and bounty hunters.”

“You know, I think we need to visit some friends for repairs,” Din remarked, turning around to meet (Y/N)’s curious expression. “How’d you like to visit Navarro?”

“Navarro, huh? I’ve never been, but it sounds a lot better than floating around in space like a sitting porg.” Setting aside her bundle of fabric, (Y/N) got to her feet and gestured over to the ladder with a tentative smile. “Wanna help me chart our course, Mando? You can tell me about these friends of yours while we work…”

Din nodded and the captain’s smile widened as she began climbing up the ladder to the cockpit. Making sure that the child had everything he needed, Din hurried up into the cockpit after her; maybe a peaceful future wasn’t in the cards for him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy the brief moments of happiness whenever he could.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain Mir’sheb-Smart-ass

Chapter Eleven

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty @sinon36 @seninjakitey @thatonedindjarinfan @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mostclevermiss @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @zukoyonce​ @itsnottilly​

Long Nights - part 5

Neil x Reader

Chapter 5: After rain

(see chapter 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: you learn to cope with the new situation, but you aren't the only one struggling

warnings: 18+, angst and pain, explicit language and other things

author’s note: This part of the story's been with me for... oh, so long. I just hope I did it justice. ✨6,1k words.✨ I don't even know.

Hurt/Comfort.

The song for this part is Dermot Kennedy - After rain

Enjoy! All feedback is greatly appreciated, let me know what you think?

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision ​ @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway @mellifluous-cosmos @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

Your hands clenched on the bed’s frame, its coldness felt like the only real thing your drugged mind could process.

Doctor’s words were filling the room, but they were muffled as if they were coming from behind a barrier. Falling from such height...extreme luck...no broken bones…head trauma...internal bruising....

Was all that talking really necessary? Yeah, you were battered, all right. And it seems that even with painkillers the weird throbbing, like a morse code from your bruised cells, was about to stay with you for a little while.

...just like the darkness.

The more the doctor spoke, the more it became clear that they didn’t have any definite answers for you. Seemed like the day spent on being prodded, stabbed with needles, and tossed into various machines resulted in nothing more than a verdict: optic nerve injury.

As for what were you supposed to do now--

“Let me get this straight, doctor,” you said, slowly losing patience. “Your only solution now is: let’s wait and see what happens?”

Drumming fingers against a piece of plastic, followed by a sigh.

“Yes. There is no effective treatment, we could try a high dosage of corticosteroids, but there is no evidence that it’s gonna make any difference, really. And as some recovery may spontaneously occur within days or weeks--”

Weeks.

A cold shiver ran down your spine and you swallowed with effort.

And that was a maybe.

You just wanted to go home.

“Grand,” you cut in, “please tell me I can wait for that possible joyful occurrence anywhere else but here.” You aimed for a lighter tone, but every word coming out of your mouth was dripping with bitterness. Grimacing at your own attitude, you forced a weak smile to appear on your face. “No offense, doc.”

“None taken,” the doctor said with a snicker. “I get it.” A short pause filled with a rustling of paper. “With all the tests done, I don’t think we need to keep you here for observation any longer, but I’d recommend you weren’t alone for the next few days. Do you have anyone to take care of you after we discharge you?”

“I don’t need--”

Neil’s firm voice overlapped with yours.

“Yes, she has.”

You huffed, startled. And a bit annoyed.

You almost forgot Neil was in the room, but to be fair, you were quite sure he’d never left your side since you woke up. His initial nervous chatter got replaced by a silent presence, always ready to jump in should you needed anything - no matter if it was a glass of water or an arm to lean on. It was all comforting, endearing even, and you were so grateful to have him around, but the thought of having Neil in your apartment triggered an irrational panic.

Instead of dwelling on the roots of the anxiety, you decided to over-talk it.

“Neil, I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be okay, and you surely have better things to do than babysitting me.”

“I don’t.” Was that a hint of hurt in his voice? “Doctor, can you discharge her even if she is gonna be alone out there?”

“I’d rather she spent at least one more day here then.”

Unbelievable. You rolled your eyes, hoping it would make the same effect as always, and groaned. “Fine, you win, only because I want nothing else but to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

“Excellent,” said the doctor cheerfully, “I’ll get the forms and come back to you soon.”

“Thank you, doc,” you sighed, hanging your head in defeat.

After spending enough time with a person, it was always easy to recognize them by the way they walk. That’s how you knew it was Neil who approached you, ever so hesitantly.

And only because of a brush of his fingers against your hand you realized you were still clinging onto the bed frame.

“Hey, I’ll just help you set up everything you need there, all right?” he said quietly and you felt him sitting down next to you. “You’re gonna have all the space you want, and as soon as you decide it’s too much, I’ll get out of your hair, I promise.”

He must have noticed that little panic of yours, huh?

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to form a coherent thought. “It sounds good though, thank you.”

“Sure thing.” Neil shifted slightly. “How are you feeling?”

You shrugged and grimaced. “I don’t know, but either I’ve slept through the best high or these drugs they gave me are kinda lame.” Hearing Neil’s light chuckle, you cracked a small smile. “Honestly? I’m knackered.”

He hummed with sympathy.

“Is there anything I can do for you now?”

The softness in his voice was more than your tired and dazed mind could handle. You leaned to the side and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Just… take me home,” you asked, forcing the words past your clenched throat.

Neil exhaled sharply and carefully wrapped an arm around you, pressing a cheek to the top of your head.

“Of course.”

------

“Welcome to my crib.”

“Thank you, it’s...” - Neil hesitated as he closed the door behind you - “...cosy.”

Patting the wall to your right, you located a small hook and hung the keys on it.

“That is certainly one word for it,” you snorted. “Why, what did you expect?”

“Frankly? Considering you’re such an... acclaimed locksmith, I imagined something… well, bigger, for starters.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he stumbled on words, trying so hard not to sound offensive in any way.

Grinning, you put on your most snobbish tone. “Ah, sorry to disappoint, all my gold, glitter, and general pizzaz got moved to one of my many summer houses as my spacious lair worthy of the most infamous thief is under renovation, so I was forced to retreat to my humble family place in this ghastly neighborhood.”

“Such a shame,” he said and a smile brightened his words. “I like it, though. Matches your vibe, somehow.”

“Because it’s small, detached, empty, yet somehow messy?”

Neil sighed in a way you were absolutely sure he was rolling eyes at you, then helped you with the coat. “It’s gonna take more than putting words in my mouth to make me want to leave you here all by yourself, you know.”

You were quite sure a dirty joke was hiding in there, but it eluded your tired brain.

“Damn, need to up my game then,” you giggled, leaning against the wall to take the shoes off without losing your balance. “Nah, I’m messing with you, I’m grateful you got me out of there. Can’t wait to rinse that hospital stench off of me.”

“Do you want me to run a bath for you?”

You mused over the idea for a moment, “Thanks, I’ll take a shower - two minutes tops and I’d end up asleep in the ‘tub.” Probably even faster, considering that you already were running on fumes. “Anyway, make yourself at home, gonna grab some fresh clothes.”

Neil was not willing to give up.

“I’ll get you--”

“I’ve got this,” you uttered, instantly hating yourself for how harsh it came out, so you quickly added, “But would you please put the kettle on?” sending an apologetic grimace along with your words.

“On it.”

He seemed happy to have something to do. Or at least sounded like it as he took the crackling grocery and takeaway bags to the kitchenette.

You walked across the room with confidence, your hand reluctantly extended ahead on your waist level just in case you miscalculated the route to the bedroom. When you reached the door frame, you smiled to yourself. It wasn’t that hard, was it? Almost like going to the bathroom at night, not willing to put the light on to avoid waking up, right?

And exactly then, your shin hit the edge of the bed footboard, the impact sending a searing wave of pain up your whole leg. You bit your knuckle to stifle a groan and a curse that was bound to follow. Every. Goddamn. Time.

The noises coming from the other room stopped, but luckily there was no question. Nor a hero coming to rescue you from the sudden and vicious attacks of furniture.

Finally, the closet. Your fingers ran through the folded clothes. Clean underwear. A soft t-shirt. Comfy pj pants. The fatigue was so severe that the term dress to impress didn’t even cross your mind. Not that Neil cared, right? But before you stepped back from the wardrobe, you hesitated, sliding your hands down to one of the bottom drawers. All that boring into nothingness was straining, and keeping your eyes closed all the time felt wrong, somehow. Might as well, you shrugged, pulling out a silky blindfold. Maybe this would trick your brain into thinking it was just a game. A temporary thing. Nothing serious.

...but what if--

You took a shaky breath and slammed the closet shut. Swallowing with effort, you took the clothes and limped out of the room, then followed the wall to the bathroom.

Neil’s concerned voice reached you halfway there.

“You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said and flashed your teeth in a strained grin.

“Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

A change of strategy, then. You certainly didn’t mind, at least this way it didn’t trigger the unnecessarily rude reaction. And you had a feeling that you were going to need a pair of eyes to take care of those bruises of yours.

...or you could just follow the radiating ache and slap some gel where it hurts most, but at this point, as the painkillers were slowly wearing off, it would probably be easier to just pour the whole tube on the tiles and roll over in it.

“Will do, thanks.”

You closed the door behind you and sighed. The undressing required an accompaniment of grunts, hisses and curses, and when you finally got into the shower (hitting yourself only once while doing so) you were all sweaty and panting as if you’d run up twenty flights of stairs.

You winced as the warm water poured over your body, but you couldn’t wait to get rid of the lingering smell of antiseptics. Using soap uncovered the injured spots with a burning precision, but you gritted your teeth and soldiered through it, changing position slightly so you wouldn’t cause more damage with shampoo and conditioner. Condemning your past self for choosing a matching set of hair products, you were forced to guess and pick one to pour a little bit of it on your hand to judge which is which based on the texture of the fluid. Why did you even bother…?

When you were done and more or less dry, you put on the panties and wrapped another towel around yourself. A slow thumping in your head was growing stronger by the minute, but it was still bearable. As for taking care of the bruises… you realized you didn’t even know where the arnica ointment was. You’d bought one on your way just in case, but that meant--

You groaned and rubbed an eye with the back of your hand. Help it was, then.

“Neil?” you called out, cracking open the door.

A sudden rumble of a chair made you cringe, but a corner of your mouth twitched.

“What is it?” he asked as his rushed steps carried him closer.

“Could you help me with putting something on the most banged-up spots, please?” - a sheepish smile crept on your lips - “I thought about just mixing some cream with my lotion and rubbing it all over, but--”

He scoffed as if the idea personally offended him. “Jesus, please don’t. I’ll be right back.”

Your legs seemed to weigh a tonne, but also started to shake as though they were about to give in any moment, so you sat back on the edge of a bathtub with relief.

Neil came back after a while and muffled clanking suggested he brought a full medkit with him. You waited as he washed his hands thoroughly, and you stifled an amused giggle at the dedication, even though it was nothing more but common sense.

Neil’s soft voice broke the silence. “I’m gonna take a look at those wounds first, but for that, I need to touch you, is it okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you shrugged. “I imagine you can’t do plenty without that, huh?”

A light chuckle. “Fair enough.” And featherlike touches that followed.

Careful fingers examining every bruised inch of skin, starting from the freshly hurt shin, scraped knees, going up your thighs until they met the edge of the towel. Then, ghosting over your hands, unhurriedly moving up the forearms…

You realized your breath got shaky.

He tucked a still quite damp strand of hair behind your ear and his fingertips glided over your forehead and down your temple, traced your jawline up to your chin. His knuckles grazed your neck, then moved across your collarbones, but when they met the towel again, Neil hesitated.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, right?” you joked playfully and untucked the corner of the towel, letting it slide down your body.

A sharp inhale and a slipped-out curse.

“Christ…” uttered Neil, and you were quite sure what he was referring to. Your hip pulsated with dull pain in the place where the oxygen container had been, or rather where it must have moved to during the escape, bruising the hip bone and surrounding area at the impact.

You forced a crooked smile to your face. “And here I was hoping it looked better than it felt.”

“I can always lie to you if you want,” he offered, aiming for a lighter tone.

Shaking your head, you nibbled on your bottom lip. Somehow, the sole thought of him lying to you seemed like a certain heartache.

“No.” Your voice sounded weak, but maybe that was understandable, given how powerless you felt overall. Or maybe you could stop being so pathetic any moment now.

You closed your eyes, and while you tried to parley with your brain to give you a break, Neil started meticulously treating your wounds, focused on not causing any more discomfort than it was needed. You switched all your attention to his ministrations, grimacing slightly from time to time as he was tending particularly sore spots. Neil’s warm fingers contrasted with the cold ointment, all the different sensations fought a merciless battle to take precedence over one another, making even more of a mess in your tired head.

You heard Neil shifting in front of you as he was about to move to your injured face. Acting on an impulse, you spread your legs to allow him to come closer, and so he did, positioning himself on his knees between your thighs without a word. Quite a concentration, you thought and smiled fondly to your memories of the times you’d seen him so committed to a task. Slightly furrowed brows, blonde strands falling into shining blue eyes, with a bottom lip tugged between the teeth...

A brief touch on your temple brought you back to reality and you gasped, reaching out to hold on to Neil to keep your balance. As you rested your hands on his sides, he gently cupped your face and continued with taking care of the bruises. It felt as if the warmth radiating from him was mending you whole, even more so when it got combined with tender, soothing brushes of Neil’s thumb against your cheek. You melted into his palm and exhaled slowly, dropping your shoulders and relaxing.

Before you could stop the words from spilling out, you said under your breath, “It was just a fall, I don’t know how it got that bad,” voicing the thought that’s been on your head all day.

Neil pulled back abruptly and the tranquil moment shattered like glass against the bathroom tiles.

“Are you being serious right now? Just a fall? You’re lucky you’re alive, goddamnit, let alone able to walk!” Disbelief mixed with anger in his tone, taking you aback. And to your surprise, it felt like yet another wound, inflicted right at your chest. “Y-you hit the wall before you crashed on the ground, you--” his voice broke and Neil sighed. You heard him packing the medkit, simply tossing things inside before he moved away.

“Oh,” was all you could say, reaching for the abandoned towel to wrap it over your shoulders, in a sudden and desperate need to cover yourself. In every way possible. “Remind me to tie a cat and a buttered slice of bread to myself the next time we do this.”

He didn’t respond to your poor attempt at lighting up the mood, instead, you heard the door handle, a deadpanned “I’ll heat up the food” and he was gone.

You had no idea where his reaction had come from. Normally, you’d have followed him straight away to confront him, but right then you felt so exhausted and helpless you just slouched in your spot, with your hands fisted on the towel, and sat like that for a while, leveling your breath. You mustered all the strength you had left, found your clothes and put them on. Then, you tied the blindfold, letting a piece of sleek material bring a shred of comfort and hide a pitiful glimmer in the corners of your eyes.

You joined Neil in the other room and sat at the table. He didn’t comment on your attire nor the choice of accessories, hell, he barely even spoke to you when he put the plate in front of you, as well as through the whole meal.

Even though you’d picked up your favourite comfort food on the way, it tasted bland, and with your stomach tied into a knot, you couldn’t force more than a few bites into your system. Judging by the sounds - or rather the lack thereof - coming from across the table, Neil’d lost his appetite too.

Finally, you cleared your throat, breaking the heavy silence. “I think I’m full,” you said and stood up, grimacing slightly.

“I’ll do the dishes, go lie down,” he said quietly. “Please.”

As if he anticipated an argument. You really had no energy for that.

“Thank you. Are you--...” you stumbled on the question, but Neil chimed in.

“I’ll be on the couch.”

...maybe it was for the best.

You nodded and turned on your heel to fetch a spare pillow and a blanket while Neil was occupied with the dishes. The ever-growing headache was becoming unbearable, but you hoped that the sweet arms of Morpheus would bring a much-needed release soon. You brushed your teeth quickly and mumbling “‘night,” you disappeared into the bedroom, leaving the door half open for god knows what reasons. Perhaps to make you feel less alone.

The plan of sleeping off the worst pain looked good on paper but proved to be too hard to execute. That bloody awful feeling of being tired beyond comprehension and still unable to doze off, right? You tossed and turned (although carefully), trying to find the most comfortable position. After a while, you took the blindfold off and curled on your side, staring into the nothingness again. Listening to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Forcing every breath through your clenched chest. Trying to focus on anything other than neverending soreness.

You heard Neil’s footsteps and how they stopped right at your door. Stalling.

And you didn’t even try pretending you were asleep. Waiting.

“Hey... I wanted to check if you need anything before I turn in for the night.”

The softness of his voice was tainted by something as if he was holding back. But you were so glad to hear it anyway.

“Actually,” you said, propping yourself on the elbow and wincing, “could you bring me one of those fancy painkillers, please? I thought I might do without for a little while but-- ...yeah, not quite.”

“Of course, coming right up.”

When Neil was back, you sat on the bed, allowing him to hand you a glass and ...a shot glass? You shook the latter slightly and something rattled inside.

“Ah, okay, smart,” you smiled with recognition. “Thanks.”

“Don’t tell me you thought it was vodka?”

A hint of amusement in his tone made you snort.

“I can’t say I would mind,” - shrugging, you swallowed the pill and washed it down with cool water - “but this is gonna be more efficient, I guess.”

You shifted in your spot to put down both glasses on a bedside table. Neil was there to make sure you actually placed them on top of it, pushing your forearm gently when you were about to create a mess.

That light touch brought a lump back to your throat. As if the awkward silence wasn’t suffocating you enough.

“If that’s all…” said Neil quietly, taking a step towards the door.

But you reached out into the darkness and found his hand.

“Neil…” you squeezed his fingers, desperately trying to convey words that eluded you. Your plea was barely a whisper. “...stay?”

The pulse pounded in your ears as the stillness that followed seemed to last forever.

Then, Neil squeezed your hand back.

“I will,” he choked out, and his thumb grazed over your knuckles. “Be right back.”

You nodded and let go of his hand, not even sure that he could see your gesture, then moved to the other side of the bed. The held-back breath escaped in a shudder as another wave of pain overrode your senses, leaving a trail of cold sweat down your spine.

A faint tock of the light switch in the other room, then footsteps and a pillow landing next to yours. Neil snuggled down, keeping his distance, and you curled again in your spot, hoping that his proximity will calm you down enough to fall asleep. But as you said your goodnights and Neil’s breath leveled and got deeper, you still waited on the pills to start working, getting more and more lost in your own head and thoughts you’d managed to keep lidded on until now.

Because if only you’d cracked that safe faster. Or maybe if you’d discussed that escape route beforehand, somebody would have found a better path through the roofs. No, scratch that, the plan was tight, and it was your goddamn fault that you’d gotten distracted by a sodding rain, of all things. And that jump? Bloody amateur hour. Should have seen that coming, stepped to the side, or caught onto anything. You’d been granted a second chance at that wall. But no, you’d had to panic like a bush-leaguer, as if it had been your first fall in your life. And now you were lying there, feeling sorry for yourself. Abso-fucking-lutely pathetic.

What if Madame Karma finally decided to make you pay? What if you were never going to get your sight back? A warm tear trickled down your face slowly. No more free runs and adrenaline rushes while taking shortcuts through the most obscure places. No more lying on the rooftops to observe how the sky changes colours through the night. No more sitting on the hill and watching how the sun reflected in the river. How it danced on that messy blonde hair. You would never see his blue eyes lighting up again--

Your chin trembled as the tears stained your pillow. It felt as if you were nothing but pain, fear, and heartbreak. Pressing your lips together, you stifled a sob that shook your body mercilessly. You were nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

You wanted to brush it off, to tell him you were okay and he could go back to sleep. But instead, you sniffled and whimpered, unable to pass any word through your tightened throat.

Neil gasped and placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey, come here,” he said softly as his fingers pressed lightly onto your back, urging you to move and you shifted into his embrace, clenching your fists on his t-shirt, struggling for every breath. “I’ve got you, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” he cooed, wrapping the arms around you gingerly. A much-needed reassurance whispered over and over again like a plea to anyone who could be listening.

Weeping quietly into Neil’s chest, you sought refuge in his closeness, clinging onto him as he held you and stroked your hair, waiting for the worst to pass. Soon, you ran out of tears, and there were just sobs, convulsing you whole like a heart-wrenching hiccup. Neil hugged you a little tighter, placed a small kiss on top of your head, and started humming, a melody barely more than a murmur. It felt familiar, but why?

By and by, the song and a steady heartbeat against your cheek weaved together and calmed your racing mind. Enough to finally let you drift off, with Neil’s soothing voice and warmth enveloping you, bringing comfort and hope for a better tomorrow.

-----

You should have known better than to expect something to be different when you woke up. Swallowing down the disappointment and resignation, you dug yourself up from under the covers. The pain dialed down, but was very much there, especially during sudden moves.

Maybe you would feel better if you washed your face, still a bit puffed after all that--

…oh shit.

Your brain halted, torn between making you cringe and spreading the warmth through your chest. If you were to survive the day, the key was not to think about what happened last night. At least you didn’t have to look him in the eyes, huh? Armed with a smile, albeit a bit sour, you grabbed some clothes on your way out and ventured into the quiet living room.

“Neil?”

For a split second you were sure he was gone, but--

“Over here.” Judging by the sound of it, here was somewhere near the couch. “How are you feeling?”

Concern. Obviously. He’d seen you at your worst, so there was no point in hiding your state.

“Like I’ve spent some time inside a cement mixer,” you sighed. “But better, thanks. What time is it?”

“Almost 3 o’clock.” A faint thud of a book being put down. “Are you hungry? I was about to fix something.”

It was a good moment for your insides to growl in confirmation, but at least this time your body decided to spare you. Although your stomach was pretty much cleaving to your backbone, all right.

“Oh yes, please.” You smiled with appreciation and raised a hand with a bundle of clothes. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

That minute took a little longer, as your mobility was still pretty lacking, but fresh as a (beaten-up) daisy, in a comfortable outfit and a blindfold, you followed your nose to the kitchenette.

“Smells delicious.”

A soft chuckle came through the sizzling. “Hope it tastes good as well, wanna try?” When you nodded, you heard Neil walking up to you. “Open your mouth, careful - it’s hot.”

You recognized the rich flavor as some variation of the Napoli sauce, perfectly balanced, and you could only hum in approval. Where the hell had he gotten those herbs from?

“It’s amazing,” you said, but couldn’t resist a little smirk, “or I’m just starving.”

Neil scoffed lightly. “Might be that.” There was a smile and a hint of pride in his tone, and it made you beam a little wider. “Come sit down.”

When you did, and a bowl of pasta landed in front of you on the table, your mind involuntarily went back to last evening. That tension. Sudden distance. Everything after that. What was worse, it seemed like you weren’t the only one thinking about it, because the silence that fell between you now grew heavy with unresolved issues lingering in the air.

But maybe you were misreading the room and you were fine.

“Listen, about yesterday--”

...or not.

Instead of letting Neil finish, you panicked, and before you could stop yourself, you used his moment of hesitation to blurt out, “Oh god, I’m so sorry, I was exhausted and everything hurt and--” you frowned and hid the face in your palm. The shame felt like a tightening ring around your chest, making it hard to breathe. ”I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Wait, what?” huffed Neil, his voice filled with consternation. ”Jesus, no, that’s not what I meant, I--” he faltered and groaned, then added more softly, “Why are you even apologizing for that?” And when you shook your head, unable to find the right words, Neil gently touched your arm, rubbing it up and down slowly. “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”

Your heart clenched with fondness as you palmed over his hand.

“Thank you for being there for me.”

A twist of the wrist and a light squeeze on your fingers.

“Of course.”

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

After a moment, you asked quietly, “If it isn’t about that, then what?”

A loud buzz cut through the air, the unexpected noise almost making you jump in your seat. Impeccable timing.

Neil picked the vibrating phone from the table. “It’s work, I have to get that.” His hand was still holding yours, reluctant to let go. “If I’m not done by the time you finish eating, two words: bed rest.”

“May I make it a couch rest, doc?” you grinned, and by the resigned sigh you could tell Neil definitely rolled his eyes at you.

“Just make yourself comfy and horizontal, all right?” A final brush of his thumb against your fingers and he was up, walking off from the table. “Hi, what’s up?”

Whatever they needed him for, it took so much time that you finished your meal and obediently moved to the couch. That unfinished talk left you anxious enough to nervously pick at the edge of the blanket, but as Neil was still lost in a hushed conversation, and the aforementioned blanket was way too cosy, you slowly drifted off into a dreamless nap.

You weren’t sure what woke you up - a shift on the other side of the couch, or a heavy sigh, one of those signaling the weight of the whole world on somebody’s shoulders. Hearing the latter was enough to wipe the remains of sleep from your system and you sat up, grunting slightly.

“What is it?”

Another sigh.

“I’m an idiot.”

You puffed your cheeks and shrugged, a corner of your mouth twitching in a nervous smile.

“Before I let out a purposeful no and kick you - why are you saying that?” Silence. “...Neil?” When the answer was not coming for too long, you moved to your knees, reaching out until you touched his shoulder. No reaction. Trying to keep a rising worry at bay, you urged him quietly, “Talk to me, please.”

Neil inhaled slowly and he finally spoke, his voice barely there.

“I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” you asked, knitting your brows together as you brushed your hand down his arm only to find his clenched fist, tightening even further under your touch.

“For yesterday, for letting it out on you, when you were just--” he paused to swallow audibly, and then continued, blurting out one strained word after another, “and all of that while this whole mess is my goddamn fault because if I hadn’t hesitated out there, we both would have made it in time--”

“No, no, no, you can’t do that to yourself,” you said, crawling into his lap and nestling between his legs, wrapping yours around his waist. “It was a perfectly normal reaction.” The pulse thumped in your ears when you placed one hand on Neil’s chest and the other one travelled up along his neck to cup his face. Then your thumb glided over a wet trail on his cheek and it felt as if your heart shattered into a million pieces. Oh please, no. “My darling...” you whispered, but it was as if Neil barely acknowledged you were there, trembling and lost.

He pressed his forehead to yours and continued, traces of dread ringing in his hollow tone more and more with every choked-out sentence.

“When I turned back and I saw that--….at first, I thought you’d been shot, then you fell and-- suddenly all I could think was if your oxygen container was intact, or--... I called the Cavalry on the way down but I was so scared I was too late, I thought--” his voice broke and you felt him frowning as he shuddered, struggling to carry on. “I thought that you were gone, and I didn’t--”

His heart raced under your palm while you kept stroking his cheek, consoling him softly, “Neil, I’m here, it’s all right, I’m here.” But when that didn’t seem like enough to bring him back to you, you reached to his neck to pull him closer and kissed him, desperate to make him stop spiralling down. To make him stop hurting.

A muffled whine against your lips. But then you felt him melt and he kissed you back, still helpless, wrapping his arms around you carefully as if he expected you to fall apart under his touch. Not quite there. You deepened the kiss purposefully, burying your hands in his hair, tugging at the strands as you pressed yourself to him as much as you could in your position. You didn’t care about your own pain or discomfort. If any of you were meant to be lost in any way, it might as well be this. Neil gasped and lifted you up so you properly straddled him, then tightened the embrace, clinging on to you for dear life as he captured you in another kiss, and this time it was his turn to try to convey the unbearable mixture of despair, relief, and immense longing. All of that poured into this simple act of devotion until there was nothing but pure need. To touch and to be touched. To hold and to be held. To be close. To be wanted. To be found.

A breathless moan escaped your mouth and Neil pulled back ever so slightly.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, his fingertips gliding over your features.

Oh, how much you missed looking into his eyes.

The fact that he cared, without simply going ahead with it, made your chest clench with fondness. At this point, you trusted him beyond reason, although it was still nice to hear it.

“I’m not made of glass,” you huffed, nuzzling his nose.

A low hum and a trail of kisses along your jawline. You shivered when his lips reached a spot just below your ear and then smiled against your skin.

“Are you sure?” his husky voice was playful, but you knew he was double-checking.

“Try me.”

That moment was not about chasing the high. It was about feeling each other. Being with one another. As close as possible. That couldn’t wait, and neither could any of you, tugging at the clothes in random order with urgency.

Neil looped his arm around your shoulders, settling you on your side in his embrace. Keeping you steady. Safe. Close. And even though his kisses were desperate and leaving you winded, his touch was gentle, and you knew the blue eyes were watching you attentively, ready to react to the smallest sign of discomfort. But also to any encouragement to go further.

A hitched breath. A leg hooked on his hip. Fingers dragged across his back.

He was ready to give you everything and take whatever you were willing to offer. And you wanted to do the same for him until everything else lost its meaning and it was just you and him, and the fire that burned inside you. Searing every nerve. Cleansing the doubts. Numbing the pain. Lighting up the darkness. And, in the end, bringing resolution as you both came undone, moaning and gasping for air only to be comforted by hands cupping cheeks and yet another kiss. Slow. Tender. Full of admiration.

When Neil drew back and shifted slightly, you whined in protest, wrapping your leg around him tighter to keep him in place.

“Where are you going?”

A quiet chuckle, followed by a feeling of a soft blanket sliding over your naked body. And a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You sighed with content as Neil pulled you closer again. The light stubble scratched your fingers as they studied the impossible angles of his face unhurriedly.

“Good.”

(next chapter ->)

if we used to share a discord server, this post is for you!

hello! i am going to try to do this as anonymously and non-confrontationally as possible. i do not want this to be a spectacle or call out post, but i will say that i am quite disturbed by the way situations have transpired on the server. 

in case you didn’t notice, i left! when i left, i wrote a little goodbye post in #general, which has since been deleted. either the mods deleted my goodbye or they banned me from the server (which automatically would delete my message). in case you didn’t see it, here was my goodbye message:

hi everyone, i’m leaving the server. if you’re a POC who is interested in joining an ATLA server where POC can talk about ATLA and critically discuss race, feel free to PM me for a link! otherwise, this is goodbye. see you all around.

i won’t rehash everything that happened in the events leading to this, nor will i name names in this post. if you were on the server, you probably saw what happened publicly or you can message me personally, either here or on discord. if we know each other through the server and you want some clarity over names/events in this post, please PM me. 

if you are a POC in the ATLA fandom who is concerned by the events of this post and you would like me to clarify which server i’m talking about, please PM me.

i just wanted to share the very long message that i sent to the mods (on their prompting!) because i feel that it shows my perspective on what transpired.  unfortunately, this message did not result in any meaningful change, except for me getting banned/my messages removed from the server. i suppose that’s a type of meaning! haha. 

anyway. here’s the message. cw for racism, yellowface

hi MOD 1 (and presumably the other mods who will read this message)! thanks for reaching out. i’ve had some time to dwell on the situation and discuss it with other people in the server who witnessed it and reached out to me personally. this is going to be an unbelievably long message, so i apologize in advance and thank you for your time in reading it.

i think the first thing i’d like to do is give some context for the incident and to give my perspective on why i said the things i said.

i have PMed a mod about a racist incident in the server exactly once. it was when i first joined, and i saw a picture of a white person in yellowface in the cosplay channel. i didn’t know any of you personally yet (and this was before some of you even joined on as mods). i have since told SERVER MEMBER 1 about this incident and i’m pretty sure they mentioned it to you because i noticed you’ve changed the yellowface rule. but i think that the context of me pinging a mod about a racist incident and then witnessing another (although less egregious) instance of racism by the mods might explain why i am, in general, hesitant about talking to mods about racism on the server. i am just trying to live my life and experience as few micro-aggressions as possible.

i also think the fact that i regularly educate and push back against white people’s racially harmful messages in the server is also important context. i realize none of you likely know this, but about every two weeks i receive an unsolicited PM from a different white person apologizing/asking for forgiveness/asking for reassurance/asking further questions about their racism on the server. i’m glad people are learning from me, but this is a huge amount of emotional labor that i put into the server and its members because of course i have to reply and explain things and tell them not to worry and thank them for apologizing, etc. i know that these messages aren’t your fault, nor am i asking you to do anything about this. but it feels important that you know the price that i (and perhaps other poc in the server, although i can’t speak to that) pay in order to share space with you.

MOD 2 has even messaged me personally to thank me for educating people in the server and responding to racist messages, saying: “really appreciate how much effort you put in and everything, i was trying to type something up but floundering badly.” it was a nice message, and i appreciated it a lot! it also led me to believe that the mods would prefer if i engage with racist messages myself, rather than ping them, because it felt like i was just going to be more able/willing to articulate a response anyway.

so when SERVER MEMBER 2 messaged the zukka channel “thought that lives in my head rent free: Sokka's hairstyle in canon is just a warrior's hairstyle and has meaning because of that. Sokka wearing the same hairstyle in a modern AU is undisputably queer-coded” and nobody replied for a while, i assumed that it was because they had seen what i had seen-- a racially insensitive message that totally ignores sokka’s indigenous heritage and the history behind indigenous hair-- so i decided to step in with what i thought was a balanced response. 

SERVER MEMBER 2 then replied with a cheery “Fair enough! I will defer to your greater knowledge,” which i couldn’t tell was sarcastic or not, but i decided to be generous and to believe they were genuinely thankful for my reply, so i responded with a “you too can have great knowledge. i only know things because i read things. anyone can read things and learn,” which is something i firmly believe and also a way to divert the conversation away from SERVER MEMBER 2’s mistake, which i felt was the most dignified solution for them. i suppose this message could be read as aggressive because i didn’t use exclamation marks? but that feels unfair and ungenerous because i genuinely did not mean this message in a harsh way.

then SERVER MEMBER 3 jumped in and asked a few questions, which i read as a request for clarification, so i tried to continue to explain my point. it felt like SERVER MEMBER 3 wasn’t understanding what i was trying to explain, or at least i wasn’t able to articulate myself well enough, which was making me a little tired and stressy (and i was also thinking about my own race and queerness in stressful and triggering ways), so i decided to tap out of the conversation. 

me: dude i love u and i respect u and i truly believe that u are trying very hard to understand, but this conversation is making me kinda heated

SERVER MEMBER 3: I’m gonna step back from it because it’s not my conversation to insert myself into, which is what I did initially and apologize for

me: i think it's so important to engage + ask questions & i appreciate that u respect my opinions on these things, but i think i'm just. i have said what i need to say and now must sleep. much love to all.

to me, this felt like me expressing that i was feeling tired and upset and leaving the conversation, while still attempting to reassure SERVER MEMBER 3 that i still admired him as a friend. i felt like the conversation had ended peacefully!

i hope this helps explain why MOD 3’s message came as such a surprise. 

“the escalation to defensiveness and accusation regarding the original (relatively benign) statement was unnecessary and exaggerated. There’s an atmosphere of purity policing that’s been growing, which is why I took away the squick channel, as I assumed that a space that encouraged no repercussions was facilitating irresponsibility aggressive arguments. “

i truly didn’t believe i was being defensive. i was very careful not to accuse anyone of anything. in fact, i tried as far as i could to coat my language in “i” statements-- “i would personally not choose…”, “i would just. stay away from…” in order to avoid “accusations.” i was also trying very hard not to be aggressive, and i (and other poc that i have spoken to about this) believe that the idea that my messages were aggressive is racialized. just because a poc is upset about racism, it doesn’t mean they’re attacking you personally! 

i feel so hurt that my messages were wilfully interpreted in this way, instead of being read generously and from a more compassionate perspective, especially since i voiced my own upset and discomfort during the conversation. it distresses me to think that me expressing negative emotions is seen as aggressive, rather than a cause for empathy or care, and i do believe that this is because of my race.

if a mod had asked me to take the messages to the DMs or to squick or even just let me know that someone was interpreting my messages as aggressive, i would have changed my behavior. (like i said earlier, i spend a HUGE amount of energy coddling white people on this server. i am very used to it.) 

instead, i got the shock of 45 minutes after the fact, being publicly chastised and labeled as aggressive and being told that my conversation was “something nasty or unwanted.” 

the idea that SERVER MEMBER 3 was de-escalating a “clearly escalating situation” feels untrue to me. i was ready to move on after i sent my message to SERVER MEMBER 2, but he kept engaging me on the subject! (no hate to SERVER MEMBER 3 on this.)

i think one of the most painful parts of this whole situation is the implication that i was attempting to “purity police,” as though i am a person who picks fights just because i want to feel good about picking fights?? or to act holier-than-thou???? i do not do this. if you have witnessed ANY interaction i’ve had with a racially insensitive white person on the server, you will know this. 

i am simply a person of color trying to live my life. i do not want to fight about racism. i want to chill out and watch my cartoons. unfortunately, sometimes, someone will say something that i consider racially insensitive and i will do my best to engage and explain why i find this insensitive. that is all. (it is important to note that most of the time, when i see racially insensitive things on the server, i do not say anything because i am tired and it is a lot of effort to engage. i truly only engaged this time because nobody had replied to the message and i was just like, oh, fine, i guess i’ll educate, since no one else has!)

this whole incident has honestly made me really hurt and disrespected. i have enjoyed my time on the server and i have made some good friends there. however, it feels clearer and clearer to me that the server is a space where white feelings of safety (not being criticized for their racist content) are prioritized over poc’s feelings of safety (not having to witness and experience racist content). i sincerely considered myself to be an active and enthusiastic member of the server, maybe even friends with some of you, but it feels to me that all of our previous positive interactions have been displaced by this idea of me as an aggressive, overzealous purity cop who calls things racist for fun. 

i don’t even know how to repair my relationship with the server after this because i really do feel horrible and sick about the whole thing. i have spoken to other poc who also expressed their concerns about the way the mods handled the situation, even if these other poc weren’t directly involved, and some of us are considering leaving the server, if we haven’t already. (i would also like to note that these people reached out to me, unprompted, to make sure i was doing okay after what they and i interpreted as a micro-aggression by the mods. like, we independently read the situation in this way.)

(also, not sure if this matters, but i talked to SERVER MEMBER 3 the morning after the incident because i wanted to make sure he was okay, and we both ended up apologizing to each other and having a really good and productive talk.)

thanks again for reading this. i hope that you’ll be able to better understand my perspective on what occurred. i truly appreciate the work that you put into the server (especially as someone who also puts work into the server lol), and i know it’s difficult to mod a large server (i also mod an atla server!), but i continue to feel hurt about this. i know it’s hard to read tone over server messages, but i really wish that my (and SERVER MEMBER 4′s and SERVER MEMBER 5′s ) server messages had been read with greater compassion. 

...

and that’s all folks! i’m going to be remaking my blog soon, partially because this whole experience has exhausted me and partially because i have been meaning to anonymize my internet presence for some time.

Superpower TS Fic Recs

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What You Can Stand by manyfandomsonelog

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary:  Virgil tried so, so hard to avoid becoming a supervillain. He really did. But when your superpower is literally manifesting a person's worst fears, it's a hard thing to avoid. Still, he really, really tried. Even when his own parents feared him. Even when the whole school feared him. Even when he hated himself and his Propensity so much that he wanted to give in. He might've succeeded, if he hadn't met him- Roman Reyes, AKA Roman Spectacular, AKA The Prince, AKA the worst thing that has ever happened to him (which is saying something).

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality 

CW: Psychological stuff, nightmares, bullying, physical harm, spiders, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, brief discussion of racism, self-hatred,  bomb, explosion, blood, injury, bad/abusive parenting, imprisonment, fire,  homophobia, pedophilia mention, discussion of child abuse, evidence of physical abuse, sexual innuendo, anxious thoughts, death, funeral, flashback, reference to sex, fairly aggressive arguing and yelling, public speaking, secondhand embarrassment

My thoughts: My quarantine savior!!! I started the fic like a week into quarantine, so I really mean that literally. The characterization is absolutely fantastic--I love seeing all of them interact. It’s so natural and fun and interesting. The plot is also just wonderful--one thing keeps happening after another and these guys just cannot seem to get a break. The pacing is awesome, and whether it’s a character or plot chapter, you just can’t look away. Log is such a fantastic writer and a wonderful person, so if you like awesome prinxiety, superpowers and secret identities, trust and betrayal, humor and angst, you really need to read this one! 

Rewind by ravenclawicecream 

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary: When a group of superheroes show up to kill him, it's just another Wednesday for Virgil Messana. After five years of being on the run, he's used to the idea people want him dead. That fact is just an unfortunate side effect of having the power to destroy everything you touch. What does surprise him, however, is when he finds himself agreeing to join those superheros and become part of the team. It's not long until Virgil learns that all the heroes have chapters of their lives they'd rather keep unpublished, along with events they'd rather not relive. And, as he spends more time with the team, he realizes that he may know certain members much better than he'd originally thought. Virgil longs for a moment to figure everything out but by then it's too late. He's already caught up in a bigger scheme; one where they no longer have the power to control their own destinies. With every movement monitored and every action proven to be calculated, the lines between allies and enemies blur, leaving Virgil caught in between. When the stakes are inevitably raised, the remaining heroes must do all they can to change the future of the world. But time has always been a cruel master, and sometimes the only answer is to rewind.

Relationships: Loceit, Logicality, Prinxiety, Remile

CW: Major Character Death, Murder

My thoughts: Gosh, I wish this one got more love. It’s probably the MCD tag, so understandable, but also take into consideration the time travel tag and perhaps give it a chance? I feel like this fic is setting up for so much, and I cannot wait to see how it all goes down. I have so many questions for this fic which is always a good sign (so many that I may have freaked the author out with my WALL of questions on chapter three don’t worry about it /j). Please. Read. This. 

Powerless by patentpending 

Status: Complete

Summary: “People like us,” Logan had once remarked to Virgil. “Are statistical anomalies.”(Almost) Everyone in the world has powers. As for those who don’t, well, they’re such a small part of the population - only 0.04% - why would anyone care about them?Ever since he realized what people mean when they call him Powerless, Virgil Sanders has tried to fight back against the system that oppresses people like him, Patton, and Logan. When Patton’s bakery is targeted in a hate crime, he finally snaps. With the help of a mysterious sponsor, Virgil becomes a villain, ready to remake a broken society. The only thing standing in his way is the world’s most Powerful (and infuriatingly charming) superhero: The Prince, who is hiding the fact that his gilded life isn’t as perfect as it may seem.

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality, Roman/Female Fanon Character 

CW: Classism, Unreliable Narrator, Thinly Veiled Criticism of Society,  emetophobia, violence, gun mention,  implied suicide attempt, dub-con, mentions of blood, graphic depictions of a riot, non-graphic description of a wound, possessive and abusive behavior, kid being kicked out of the house by parent, kidnapping, kinda torture (?), body horror, gore, graphic descriptions of injuries, emotional abuse, police brutality, pain and injury, burning building, swearing, vomiting, murder, panic attack, dysphoria, misgendering, minor character death, major character death, self deprecating talk, mentions of suicide

My thoughts: Well, doing a TS superhero rec without Powerless is just treason. I don’t know--I’m trying to figure out a way to describe it and instead launching up to pace around the room with an instant replay of different scenes in my head. I mean, the grocery store chapter?!?! This stuff lives in my head rent free. The characterization, the banter, the tension, the motives--I can’t describe it y’all. Just, if you love yourselves (love yourselves, please <3) then just go read it. Or reread it. Do that for yourselves. 

Waterspout by Greenninjagal

Status: Complete

Summary: "Hail!” The boy says all smug smiles that Virgil immediately hates. “You’re Recluse aren’t you?”As if there was some other spider themed weirdo who clung to buildings in their free time.“No,” Virgil says, because he can. *** Virgil finds himself stuck on the side of a building in a rainstorm and is helped by an annoying-admittedly attractive-guy.

Relationships: Prinxiety

CW: Mild cursing, storms

My thoughts: This one is very cute. Virgil is a spiderman-like hero who went up a waterspout, and down comes some rain trying to wash him out. Roman comes to help, they banter a bit, and, maybe, there’s a little surprise at the end. I would not mind more of this AU. In fact, I would love it. But that should not discount how wonderfully made a oneshot it is either. The author wrote it perfectly for the length it is, presenting the charm of the characters, great plot and symbolism, and left me wanting more at the same time. Definitely go check this one out. 

Technically. It’s A Secret by supervillain 

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary: Virgil Storm, the adopted son of a reality TV star with telekinesis was born without a power. That's been a problem for him all his life. His only friend is Patton Vega, his only chance at romance the irritating Cros Corson--until he gets a job at a top-secret facility, playing babysitter to a bunch of kids with dangerous powers and even more dangerous minds. Kids who happen to be exactly his age.Yeah, this is going to be a piece of cake, especially when the enigmatic villain Believe (aka Roman Torres) takes a liking to Virgil. And even worse, when Virgil starts to more than like him back. Pull in some evil mad scientists, a plague created to decimate the world, a murderous villain, an obnoxious stalker, and the greatest Kinetic the world has ever known, and you're in for a hell of a ride.

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality 

CW:  Anxiety attacks, arson, murder, minor character death, blood, spiders, being eaten alive, falling, death, sleeping, fighting, cop mention 

My thoughts: I’m behind on this one, and I wanted to catch up on it before I posted this rec list. Today is the last Friday of the year though, so I decided to just go ahead and do it. I love this fic a ton so far, and I can’t wait to read more. I can tell the author put a lot of thought into writing the world and characters, and that the plot is interesting and deliberate. There’s mysteries unfolding which intrigues me So Bad. It’s a super interesting one, so I’d say go read it!

A Helping Hand- Chapter One

◇ Jungkook x reader ◇ Neighbor AU ◇ 5K {1/?}

Summary: The minute the word ‘fuck’ slipped from your daughter’s lips Jungkook saw his life flash before his eyes. He’d been in love with you for a while and the last way he wanted you to find out was by your daughter telling you two to fuck. Seriously he was going to kill Jimin for ever telling her that.

Warnings: Fluff alert

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“Ha-eun, I swear if you unlock that front door, I’ll put you straight in time out.” You warned upon hearing the familiar click of the deadbolt unlocking.

  A second later the sound of it relocking was heard followed by your daughter huffing impatiently. At six years-old Ha-eun already acted like a teenager stifled by their parents’ babying, and while she tested as smarter than those her age, Ha-eun would always remain your little girl. She was the light of your life. One of the few good things to ever happen to you, but that didn’t stop Ha-eun from driving you crazy sometimes.

   “Hurry up, we’re going to be late, mommy!” Ha-eun ordered with a stomp of her foot.

“You did not just stomp your foot at me, young lady.” You called out, putting the finishing touches of your makeup on. Taking one last glance at the mirror to make sure you look as professional as possible, you grabbed your purse and headed to the living room where your  daughter waited expectantly.

   Ha-eun glared at you arms folded over her chest. Her lips pursed together in away that would make the Karen’s of the world jealous. When she finally did grow up, Ha-eun undoubtedly would be a force to be reckoned with. For now though, you couldn’t take her seriously  with her sailor moon backpack and light up shoes. “You took forever getting ready.” Ha-eun bemoaned, “Now Kookie is going to think I’m the reason we’re late.”

  You rolled your eyes. “Well excuse me your majesty. I only woke up, cooked breakfast, cleaned, and  put your hair in bear buns before getting ready for work-which may I remind you pays so we can live here.”

     Ha-eun’s dark eyes narrowed. “I hate it when you use mom-scuses.”

      “So do I, but unfortunately I’m a mom and I kinda like my kid for some reason.”

An exasperated sigh escaped her along with an eye roll. Yup, she definitely was six going on sixteen. “Can we go now? I want to see Kookie.”

  “Wow, I see how loved I am.” You teased unlocking the door. You bit back whatever comment you had about her seeing the young man only yesterday. In all honesty, you couldn’t blame Ha-eun for liking him so much. The boy next door was wonderful in ways that drove you crazy. He personified prince charming, and the girl who won his heart would undoubtedly be the luckiest thing on the planet.

  The thought brought a bitter taste to your mouth, but you pushed it back. As handsome and amazing Jeon Jungkook was, he remained four years your junior. You highly doubted he saw you as anything more than the Noona next door. Moreover Jungkook had unlimited potential to go far in life. Something you gave up when you dropped out of college to raise Ha-eun. “Stop it. There’s no point in thinking about such things.” You murmured slapping your cheeks.

    Ha-eun gave you a curious look. “Thinking about what, mommy?”

You give her a cheesy grin. “Nothing baby, mommy’s being silly.”

“Oh, okay.” Ha-eun said, sounding not entirely convinced. Thankfully she turned her attention to the front door leading to your neighbor’s apartment. “Can I knock now?”

  “Of course, I’m surprised you haven’t yet.” That earned you another eye roll. You swore one day your daughter would get her eyes stuck from rolling them so hard.

  Standing as prim as possible Ha-eun knocked on the door. On the third knock the door swung open to reveal your neighbor dressed in a white shirt and torn jeans. His dark brown hair a messy mop that suggested he had yet to brush it. Your mouth dried at the sight as arousal pooled between your legs. Subsciously you closed them embarrassed by how easily turned on you were.        

    “Ha-eun! (Y/N)! Good to see you this morning.”” he cheered, eyes lighting up. His plush lips split into a wide bunny like smile. It only made your situation worse. Seriously it should be illegal to be this attractive so early in the morning.

   “Jungkook.” You nodded, swallowing back your desire. “Thanks again for helping watch Ha-eun on such short notice. I swear I’ll pay you when I pick her up tonight-”

   He raised a hand silencing you. “Nuh-uh, you know I don’t accept your money. I enjoy hanging out with Ha-eun, she’s the best teammate a guy could ask for.”

   “Yeah, Mom. I’m the best. Last time I helped used my blue shell in Mario Kart to help Kookie defeat Hobi-oppa.” Ha-eun smiled smugly.

    “That’s wonderful, Ha-eun.” You said, attention still focused on the boy. “Seriously though, let me pay you. I mean you are giving up your weekend to play with a six year-old. It can’t be how you wanted to spend your Saturday.”

  Jungkook shrugged, “I’m not really one for socializing. If it weren’t for my old fraternity brothers, work and home would be the only places I’d go to.”

  You smiled, trying to picture Jungkook as a hermit. As much as he claimed not to like people, he certainly had a lot of friends. Ha-eun always mentioned some new person she met while hanging out with her favorite babysitter. “Still...let me do something to repay you. You do so much for us, I feel like I am taking advantage of your kindness.”

   “You’re not, I promise.” He reassured. “But if you really want to repay me...a home-cooked meal would be nice.”

    Your smile widened. Jeon Jungkook really was a saint. “Deal. How does dinner with Ha-eun and I, Monday night sound?”

 “Sounds like my type of evening. I’ll bring dessert-”

You held up your hand, grinning as he blinked surprised. “Don’t you dare. I promised you dinner. Dinner includes desserts, drinks, and anything else edible you can think of.”

    “Alright. I got it. I’ll leave it to you.”  He chuckled, causing your heart to skip a beat. Yeah, you really needed to get laid. Too bad being a single mom puts a damper on that sort of thing.

  “You two are weird.” Ha-eun interrupted. “You should just fuck and get it over with.”

   Words can’t describe the embarrassment that washes over you, as well as the shock of hearing your six year-old say something so vulgar. Not only were you sure your face matched the lipstick you wore, but you no longer knew how to speak. Jungkook’s mouth hung open his tongue running across his bottom lip as if he wanted to say something. He didn’t appear embarrassed like you rather at a loss of what to do.

  ‘He probably doesn’t know how to respond without being rude.’ You lamented to yourself.

Sparing both of you even more embarrassment you turned to your troublemaking daughter. “Ha-eun (L/N), where did you learn such a thing?”

   She shrugged. “Jimin-oppa tells Kookie that all the time. By the way what does fuck mean?”

  “It means you’ll get a mouth full of soap if I ever hear you say that again.” You replied, not in the mood to explain the constructs of sex to your six year-old so soon. “Sorry about that Jungkook-”

    “No, I’m the one who should be apologizing! Jimin-hyung likes to joke around a lot, sometimes he says things without thinking.” Jungkook sputtered. “I promise I’ll have a word with him about it.”

  Ouch...well that hurt. “Please do. I mean I’m sure it’s all guy talk, and Ha-eun is probably supposed to be asleep when you guys talk, but please be more weary.” You lectured in your best mom voice.

    You weren’t too worried about it honestly. You met Jimin before, and knew he wasn’t a bad guy. Moreover you knew Jungkook wouldn’t expose Ha-eun to any bad influences, the young man acted rather protective of your daughter. Just one of the many things that attracted you to him.

     “Of course.” He promised.

“Thank you…” An awkward silence filled the air cueing you to leave. Bending down you kissed the crown of Ha-eun’s head. “I guess I should be off. As always behave. Don’t cause any trouble for Jungkook, you understand? And don’t ever say that word again.”

   Ha-eun gave her signature eye roll. “It would help if I knew what it meant.”

   “Ask me when your fifteen.” You deadpanned. Turning back to Jungkook you offered a small smile. “Thanks again. I really appreciate your help.”

  “Anytime.” He responded. “Like I said I enjoy Ha-eun’s company.”

With one last nod you left trying to ignore the painful pang in your heart. Funny how only a few simple words felt like a total rejection. It wasn’t like you seriously considered dating Jungkook in the first place. He was too young and you needed to focus on Ha-eun. So why did his dismissal hurt so much?

///

Jungkook wanted to die, but not before killing Jimin. He told the blonde time after to watch his mouth, especially when Ha-eun was over. The little girl hated bed-time, and would pop out of nowhere attempting to avoid it. So it came as no surprise she heard something not meant for little ears. It was Jungkook’s luck she heard his best friend advising him to fuck her mother. God...he wouldn’t blame you if you decided not to let him watch Ha-eun anymore.

  “Kookie, are you alright? You look sick.” Ha-eun asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not going to barf are you?”

  “I’m perfectly fine, Ha-eun. No barfing here.” Jungkook reassured, running a hand through his hair. His fingers tangled in its knots only bringing more ire to him. Great not only did Jimin’s mouth get him in trouble, but he looked like a hobo in front of you. What a great way to start the day.

    “Good, because Bon-Hwa threw up last year at school and….” she trailed off, detailing how a classmate barfed everywhere. Normally Jungkook listened to Ha-eun finding her stories quite entertaining, but his current level of self-hatred distracted him. He made a fool of himself in front of the woman he loved. There was no coming back from this.

    “Are you even  listening Kookie?” Ha-eun demanded to know.

  Jungkook turned from his thoughts to see the young girl pouting at him. “Sorry kiddo, wasn’t trying to ignore you.”

     “Uh-huh…” Ha-eun squinted. “You’ve been acting weird since I told mommy to-”

“Why don’t we go to the park? Maybe grandma will be there with Sami today?” Jungkook suggested. On many levels Jungkook considered Ha-eun his own, but that did not mean he wanted to have THE talk with Ha-eun.

  Thankfully it did the trick for Ha-eun ran to get her shoes on, her face beaming with excitement. The white samoyed was the closest thing she had to dog. Often Jungkook and Ha-eun would visit him and his owner (an old neighborhood woman) at the park. There they’d play catch or tug-o-war with Sami, until either Granny or Jungkook decided it was time to go home.  “Do you think I can feed him meat skewers again?!”

   “Ha-eun, we aren’t supposed to feed Sami in the first place.” Jungkook sighed. For such a brilliant girl, Ha-eun didn’t always think things through. He wondered if that was just her age or something she inherited from you. You were kind of scattered brained at times.

   “But Sami was a good dog. Good dogs get treats.” Ha-eun stated.

Jungkook shook his head. “They do, but not with my money okay?”

   The (h/c) haired  girl shrugged, but said nothing more. She was definitely plotting something though. “Ready Kookie?”

    “Ready.” Jungkook smiled, taking her hand. It always amazed him how full of life Ha-eun was. You would think someone so small would tire easily, but Ha-eun had a thirst for life that neither naptime or bedtime could quench. She was truly something.

//

   "We need more bread! Kookie loves bread." Ha-eun ordered, dissatisfied with the small amount placed on the table. The small girl decided to take it upon herself to ensure that tonight's dinner was nothing less than spectacular. Granted Ha-eun didn't cook a damn thing, but she did boss you around every chance possible.

  Normally you wouldn't condone such behavior, but the nerves for tonight reframed you from parenting duties. Ever since Saturday things between Jungkook and you have been awkward. Neither of you could really look each other in the eyes, let alone speak. In fact you were sure dinner would've been cancelled if not for Ha-eun excitedly reminding Jungkook about it the other day. The young man was a sucker for Ha-eun, and refused to upset her

  The doorbell rang jolting you to attention. Ha-eun let out a gleeful cry, "He's here. He's here!"

 Like Saturday morning you heard the familiar jiggling of locks along with the scraping of a chair being moved. "Ha-eun (L/N), we've talked about this. " You called out.

    "But it's Kookie!" She wailed.

"I don't care if it's Santa Claus himself, you do not open the front door without me. " You replied, walking over to the door. Ha-eun pouted, but wisely chose to keep her mouth shut. "And stop standing on chairs. They're for sitting not standing."

  "Okay moooom, can I open the door now?" Ha-eun pleaded.

 Shaking your head, you waved her off the chair. You unlocked the deadbolt, allowing Ha-eun to do the rest. The girl practically slammed the door open, startling both you and a well-dressed Jungkook behind it.  "Kookie!" Ha-eun launched herself at him, ignoring the shocked expression on his face.

   "Ha-eun!" Jungkook smiled, catching her with ease. His eyes yet again alit at the sight of her. It was the type of look you used to imagined Ha-eun's father giving, before everything went to hell: a look of love and pure adoration. The type of fatherly expression Ha-eun deserved.

   “Jungkook, I’m glad you could make it.” You greeted, pushing back the bittersweet feeling rummaging around your heart. Jungkook was not Ha-eun’s father. He was a kind neighbor boy who you needed to stop pushing your creepy emotions onto.

   Jungkook’s smile lessened a little as he shifted Ha-eun in his arms. “Noona, it’s good to see you. I wouldn’t miss Ha-eun for the world or your food.”

    You forced a smile. “Well, come in. Dinner’s about ready, I hope you like curry-”

“You’ve brought me flowers, Kookie?!” Ha-eun squealed. She pointed at a colorful bouquet of flowers on the ground. Their petals tousled from their inevitable drop when Jungkook caught her.

  “Crap-I mean darn it. They’re not supposed to look like that.” Jungkook muttered to himself as you picked it up.

   A giggle escaped you. “’I’m sure they weren’t expecting to get dropped in exchange for an excited six year-old. Besides…” You smelled them. “They’re still lovely.”

   The corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave a toothy grin. “I’m glad you like them. You said not to bring anything edible so I thought these might do.”

  "They're perfect. " You grinned, clutching the bouquet. How long had it been since you got flowers?

    “Hey! What about me?” Ha-eun protested.

Jungkook cocked an eyebrow. “Who?"

   Ha-eun stomped her foot thoroughly annoyed. "Me. Ha-eun! Your favorite person."

   You snorted. Ha-eun certainly didn't like anyone taking her Kookie's attention, but her. Hopefully it didn't develop into a thing when she got older. Maybe you spoiled her too much.

   "Aish...I haven't forgotten about you, kiddo. " he chuckled, pulling out a packet of butterfly hair clips from his pocket. "These are actually from Jimin. He wanted to say sorry for his potty mouth."

  She glanced over the packet, brows furrowed as they always did when Ha-eun made decisions. Jungkook and you shared a look, both you trying not to laugh. After a minute of contemplation Ha-eun hugged the packet to her chest. "I forgive him, but next time tell him I take cash-"

   "Ha-eun!" You said as Jungkook howled with laughter. Your cheeks burned bright red. Really? Where did this girl come up with these things? "The correct response is apology accepted and thank you. "

   "I don't know, Noona. I think I like hers better. "

  "Don't encourage her. She needs to learn manners. "

  "I hate manners." Ha-eun chimed.

"Well, you need them soooo you're stuck." You said, rolling your eyes. You definitely needed to stop spoiling that girl - Jungkook too.  "Now why don't you two wash up, while I set the table?"

  "Okay, come on Kookie, race you to the bathroom!" Ha-eun challenged taking off.

  Jungkook ran after her. "Hey you cheated!"

Once again you smiled listening to the two argue as you set the table. In the very center of it sat the crumpled flowers looking prettier than any bouquet you've seen before.

    Thankfully the rest of the night went smoothly. Any and all awkwardness between you and Jungkook seemingly vanished. Ha-eun even managed to convince you two to watch a movie afterwards, despite her usual eight O' clock bedtime. Overall the night ended well with Jungkook carrying a sleepy Ha-eun to bed as you cleaned.

 //

   “I swear if you don’t fuck him, I will.”  

A groan escaped you at your best friend’s declaration. Hyuna was definitely the female version of Jimin if the blonde hair, cat-like appearance and salacious appetites said anything about them. Though unlike Jimin, you knew  Hyuna meant every word said.  

  “What does that have to do with anything I said?” You questioned, eyebrow raised.

 Hyuna  gave you a look. It was the same look Ha-eun often did whenever she thought you were stupid. “The boy’s best friend suggest you two should fuck. What more is there, (Y/N)? I mean I know it’s been a while, but it’s not like you’re virgin naive to all things sex.”

     “He was joking. You know being stupid. Jungkook said-”

“Jungkook lied. Men lie. Especially when they don’t think they have a chance.” Hyuna said. “Besides he brought you flowers, (Y/N)! Flowers! No uninterested man brings a woman flowers. What more of a hint do you need?”

     “Right, because it’s not social etiquette to bring some to dinner.” You pointed out, steadying the tray of drinks in your hand. As giddy as the thought of Jungkook actually liking you was you couldn’t allow yourself such hope. After all it was only a matter of time before Jungkook met someone through work or friends and moved on with his life.

   Hyuna smacked your head nearly causing you to drop the tray. “What the fuck-”

     “That’s for being stupid. First about the flowers, then about whatever stupid shit is running through your brain right now.”  

  You shot her a glare, but said nothing. Sometimes it scared you how easily Hyuna could read your thoughts. Honestly you weren’t entirely sure she wasn’t a mind reader. “Look, I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Jungkook is young, he has a lot going on for himself. I don’t-”

    Hyuna raised her hand. “Keep talking shit about yourself, I dare you.”

 This time you smiled shaking your head. Hyuna was the best friend you could have ever asked for. "Fine. Have it your way but I'm telling you now Jungkook is merely a kind guy. "

   "And I'm a natural blonde. " Hyuna snorted, but left it be. "Anyway if not Jungkook, then what about Seokjin? He's hot, our age, and you are totally his favorite employee."

   "You did not just tell me to fuck our boss!"

   Hyuna giggled, walking off with her tray. "Come on (Y/N). You got to get it somewhere. Why not let the owner of Eat Jin eat you? "

  You stared at her, mouth slightly ajar. That's it. Hyuna wasn't the best friend ever, she was the worst. "I swear she's more concerned about my sex life than I am."

 Hours passed with the breakfast rush ending pretty well. Tips were slightly above average, the customers managed to be bearable, time seemed to go by fast and now you were folding silverware waiting for lunch to start. Overall, the day was going to be a good one.

 "(Y/N), you got a phone call. " your boss Seokjin said, holding the phone out. "It's your neighbor, Jungkook. Something about Ha-eun. "

   You brow furrowed as you grabbed the phone. It was a Thursday afternoon. Ha-eun was at school. So why would Jungkook call you about Ha-eun at work nonetheless?

 “Hello?”

    “(Y/N), thank god. I tried calling your cell phone, but you weren’t answering so I called your work-” Jungkook’s panicked voice came over the phone. “Listen, I need you not to panic, but Ha-eun had an accident at school. She hit her head falling off the jungle gym. The school said she was alright, but they took her to the hospital just in case.”

     “Wait what? No. No. Ha-eun can’t be in the hospital, I would know if she was. They would’ve called me-”

    “(Y/N), they tried reaching you on your cell phone, but couldn’t so they called me next. Look, I just left work I can pick you in fifteen minutes and take you to the hospital.”

   You barely heard his words, your mind racing with horrid images of Ha-eun hurt. How bad was it? Was she crying for you? Did she need stitches? Why weren’t you there right now?

    “No. I need you to go straight to the hospital.” You spoke without thinking. “It’ll take too long if you get me, and Ha-eun needs someone right now. Even if I leave right away, you’ll still be closer. Please Jungkook, you’re the only one I trust with Ha-eun.”

      “...I understand. I’ll go straight to Ha-eun.”

  You sighed, feeling a little of your panic dissipate. “Thank you. I’ll be right there. I’m going to catch a cab right now.”

   “Don’t. Ask Jin-Hyung for a ride instead. He’ll bring you here in one piece, if not I’ll kick his ass .” Jungkook said, growling the last bit. “And (Y/N), don’t worry I’ll take good care of our Ha-eun until you get here.”  

  He hung up leaving you with questions, thoughts, and more importantly ⁸a feeling of reassurance.

//

  Jungkook had forgotten he was on Ha-eun's emergency contact list. You had placed him on it last winter when Ha-eun gotten the flu. It was only supposed to be a temporary thing until you found a more suitable contact, and seeing how Jungkok never received a call he figured you eventually did find someone else ...never had he been more glad to be wrong in his life.

  “Ha-eun! I’m here for Ha-eun (L/N), her school called me.” Jungkook said as he burst through the emergency room. His heart raced against his chest as if he ran a marathon. He must’ve looked like a mad man, but Jungkook didn’t care, he needed to find Ha-eun.

  “Sir, can you please calm down. I’ll be more than happy to direct you." The woman at the front said.

  Jungkook clenched his fists. "Calm down? My kid is in the hospital. Don't tell me to calm down!"

 "I understand. There are a lot of people here with someone they love in the hospital. That doesn't mean you can freak out-”

    “I swear to god if you don’t tell me where Ha-eun (L/N) is…” Jungkook growled, not bothering to finish his sentence. Never before in his life did Jungkook think about threatening a woman, but in this moment all he was beyond tempted too.

   The receptionist glared at him. She looked ready to argue, when her co-worker intervened. “For God’s sake Haneul tell him where his daughter is.”

     Hanuel frowned her dark eyes boring holes into him. “Room 23. It’s down the hall on the right.”

   Jungkook let out a sigh of relief. He murmured a quick ‘thank you’ aimed at Hanuel’s co-worker who waved him off, then spun in the direction told. Thankfully it wasn't long before he saw Ha-eun's teacher Ms. Kim sitting outside a room.  "Mr. Jeon. I'm glad you're here!" she greeted. "Ha-eun's inside. Everything is alright for the most part-"

   Jungkook barely spared her a glance as he opened the door to Ha-eun's room. Instantly he was greeted by the sight of Ha-eun trembling on the hospital bed , her little hands gripping the blanket tightly as a doctor leaned over inspecting the nasty gash on her forehead. "Told you already Ms. Kim,  family only." the doctor paused staring at him. "You're not Ms. Kim. Who are you?"

   "I am-"

"Kookie!" Ha-eun cried, arms outstretched towards him.  "Kooookie!"

  Jungkook scooped her up in his arms, ignoring the doctor's protest. She buried her head  in his chest, tiny fingers tangled themselves in his shirt as she sobbed. "It's okay, Ha-eun. I'm here now. Your Kookie's here. "

  "Sir, if you don't tell me who you are I'll have to call security. " the doctor, a balding middle aged man, warned.

 Jungkook shot him a glare. Barely a minute had passed and already he can't stand this guy's guts.  What was with this hospital and its staff? "If you don't tell me what's wrong with my kid, you'll need to. "

  The doctor relaxed not even questioning Jungkook's words. "Your daughter fell off the playground and hit her head. She has a minor gash that'll need stitches and we have some tests to run for safety, but as of now there are no complications. "

  "Thank God. " Jungkook sighed, holding her closer. Never has he felt so scared or relieved as he did today. Even now it felt like Ha-eun could slip through his arms at any moment.

  "Thank God indeed. Now if you don't mind Mr.."

  "Jeon."

 "Jeon? Must be divorced. " the doctor muttered. Again Jungkook's dislike for the man grew.  "Anyway as I said previously Mr. Jeon, your daughter needs stitches. We'll numb the area around the wound to prevent any pain, but I'm sure Ha-eun would like her dad around when it happens. "

  "Of course. " The words slipped out of his mouth before Jungkook could stop himself. Deep down he knew he should probably insist on waiting until you came. You were Ha-eun's actual parent after all. He was simply the next door neighbor who occasionally watched Ha-eun.

  The thought didn't last long as the doctor approached with a syringe. Ha-eun let out a terrified sob turning into further into his chest shutting up any doubts he had.   "Noo...I don't want a shot. No shots please!" Ha-eun begged.

Gently Jungkook stroked her head, wary of the cut above her forehead. "Ha-eum. You need it to get better. "

  "But I don't want a shot, Kookie. Shots scare me. " Ha-eun cried, clinging tighter to him.

  Jungkook felt his heart squeeze from terror in her voice. It pained him so much to see Ha-eun like this.  He honestly didn't know how you could handle taking her to the doctor, especially to get a shot. If it were up to him, Ha-eun would never get one.

   "Ha-eun, sweetie, look at me." Jungkook said, guiding her gaze to him. "I know shots are scary, but I need you to be for me. I know you can do it, because you're my tough girl right?"

  "Uh huh. " Ha-eun nodded, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "You won't leave though Kookie? Promise you'll stay?"

     Jungkook smiled. "I'm not going anywhere. You can even squeeze my hand if it makes you feel better, okay?"

Ha-eun nodded placing her tiny hand into his larger one. "Kookie? Can we get ice cream after this? Mommy always takes me for icecream after shots."

    "Ha-eun, we'll go anywhere you want once the doctor is done. " Jungkook swore. She could ask to go to Disneyworld for all he cared. Whatever Ha-eun wanted she would get.

  The doctor loomed over her hand raised like the villain in some horror movie. "You'll feel a  little pinch but that's all."

    Ha-eun whimpered clutching onto Jungkook who gently rubbed her back. Thankfully the doctor was quick in his work only taking a few seconds to numb the cut. When he finished Jungkook let go a breathe he didn't know he was holding. The doctor smiled. "There. Not too bad, huh? Now onto the stitches!"

///

 Kim Seokjin knew Jungkook since the boy was ten years old. They grew up in the same neighborhood together and Jungkook often tagged along with Jin wherever he went. In college,  Jin acted as Jungkook's mentor/ big brother in their fraternity. Overall Jungkook was a little brother to Jin.

  Which was why he could not believe his eyes upon seeing Jungkook act so grown up around you and your daughter. Jin didn't mean to be nosy. It just kind of happened. After dropping you off at the front entrance,  Jin decided to make sure you and your daughter were alright. He expected to find Jungkook out in the waiting room not protectively hovering over Ha-eun and you. His arm wrapped around your waist in a half hug comforting you as the doctor performed stitches on Ha-eun.

  If possible Jin's heart exploded in pride. His little Jungkookie all grown up. "She's okay. No signs of concussion, but they need to do some tests. " Jungkook murmured.

   You shook a little but no tears or cries came out.  Undoubtedly if not for Ha-eun's sake. "Thank God. When you called I was so scared. I immediately thought the worst. "

    Jungkook rubbed your back soothingly. "I promise she's okay, (Y/N).  She might have a mean cut but our Ha-eun is strong, she'll bounce back quick."

    Our Ha-eun. Jin snorted at this. Out of everyone in their friend group Jungkook was one of the last they suspected to have kids. It wasn't that he didn't like them. More like there were other more kid oriented people like Taehyung or Jin himself. In fact they used to picture Jungkook as a permanent bachelor especially given his fear of women. However it appeared they guessed wrong. Ha-eun had Jungkook wrapped around her little finger.

   "Thank you, Jungkook, for everything. If you hadn't picked up when the school called or called my work I don't know what I'd do." You said looking down. "You even came here when you didn't have to. "

    "You thank me too much. I  did what anyone else would do. " Jungkook replied.

   You shook your head. "No you did not. I'm going to repay this time, Jeon Jungkook, I swear. "

   Unfortunately Jungkook's response got muddled under a sharp cry from Ha-eun. Both of your attention turned on the young girl conversation forgotten as you two comforted her. From the outside looking in, the three of you looked like a real family, but then again you weren't you?

     A few hours passed since the familial scene and Jin waited patiently for the doctor to release Ha-eun. He knew there was no real reason to wait. Neither you nor Jungkook knew about him waiting after all. If anything you probably thought he drove back to the restaurant already. Still Jin couldn't help but wait if only to talk to Jungkook for a little bit.

"I didn't know that the (Y/N) you always talked about was my (Y/N)." Jin hummed, leaning back against the plastic chair.    

   Ha-eun's scans thankfully showed no complications. She did have a slight concussion but after a couple hours of observation the doctor deemed it okay to go home. The only thing left now was some paperwork.

   "She's not your (Y/N), hyung." Jungkook grouched pushing his hair back.. "Besides I told you plenty of times you just forget because of your old age. "

   He was surprised by Jin's presence thinking he simply dropped (Y/N). However given his Hyung's kind nature it wasn't too shocking. Undoubtedly the older man worried about his best employee.

Jin sighed dramatically. "The disrespect I get after all those years of raising you on my back. How did you end up so poorly?"

   Jungkook rolled his eyes. "Throwing a tantrum isn't going to help your cause, hyungnim."

   "No, but maybe telling (Y/N) about the time you passed out naked will." Jin threatened silencing him.  

   Three years ago Jungkook passed out drunk at a fraternity party. When he woke up the next day Jungkook found himself tied to the house's flagpole naked. A lesson from his brothers for being so stupid.  It was the last time he ever got wasted. "You wouldn't dare." Jungkook growled.

  Jin grinned challenging the maknae to try him. "Would you rather I tell her about how you jumped out a window to avoid a love confession?"

  "You weren't even there, hyung! How can you tell her a second hand story." Jungkook frowned, nose wrinkling.

  Jin laughed. "Jimin recanted the story very well. I feel like I was there when it happened. Besides you were always so scared around girls, it's not hard picturing it."

  Jungkook rolled his eyes ignoring the embarrassment welling up in him. In general Jungkook fell shy around new people, hence his habit to hide behind his hyung as a teen. However women were the worst. "I've grown up hyung. I'm not the scared little kid I used to be. "

     "I know. " Jin replied staring fondly at the boy. "You've grown up so much Jungkookie. I see it in the way you care for (Y/N) and her daughter. You're an adult now which is why I think you should admit your feelings to (Y/N). You both deserve it."

Your writing is too amazing !! Your hq at hogwarts series is my favorite fanfic. I wish i had more people to recommend it to😭 oikawa seems to really have it bad this time around (poor oikawa, he can never catch a break) and hinata’s kind of scaring me in this fic, he really seems like he’s about to snap😂 The crows are ofc acting crazy as usual, and I love how they can’t seem to find out that the other is lying. I wonder why Oikawa was chosen for the tournament🤔

Were there were any major things you changed in the plot and changed your mind about after you began writing, or was everything set before you began?

Thank you! Ahhhhh, I’m so glad you’re enjoying the series. And, lol, you’re right. Oikawa will never get a break and Hinata is rightfully terrifying, the little monster. I can guarantee the Crows will always be a little bit paranoid about their friends, it’s in their nature....and about to get worse for them/ probably better for those reading.

For major things changed, there is what I think of as my like four big regrets that if I was going back to write this again, I’d definitely change. (Regrets in a minor sense, they don’t bother me that much but I will reserve my right to complain about them).

So, as a small explanation before I get to them, I’ll say that I don’t really change anything in this series once it’s published (other than spelling and grammar mistakes I find later). This is mainly because I know some people go back and look for clues in the past book and, well, there ARE clues so it feels like a cop out to change things later. So, I can promise (with one exception I’ll mention at the end) all clues/ details are exactly the same as the time they were published. Also with that....the regrets, lol....

1.) I often bemoan the fact that I chose to use Western name order (Given Name, Family Name) instead of Japanese name order in the series. It was a minor decision in like chapter one of the first story; but, it’s such a pain to remember that this story has the name order reversed unlike my other Haikyuu fics.

2.) For the minor OCs I chose to add, all of them have Japanesse style names....except for one (Ms. Snuck the orphanage caretaker). It was chapter one and, after that chapter, I decided that English style names looked too jarring compared to the others and made them look like obvious OCs so I started doing Japanese but I still shudder whenever I have to mention Ms. Snuck’s name so I try to avoid it.

3.) Dueling Club was meant to be a much bigger part of the plot when I started writing this and is supposed to have minor tournament competitions every year. But, then, I kinda didn’t have time for it with everything else going on and I really didn’t want to spend time on a plot thread that didn’t have anything to do with the main plot so Dueling Club always got kicked to the side. They technically do still have tournaments and everything (except this year with extracurricular cancelled) but it’s just not in the chapters. When I first planned this there were going to be a lot more dueling tournament scenes and things about main characters becoming captains and vice captains. Oh well, I’m mainly getting to get my dueling theory ideas out for the Triwizard Tournament.

4.) So, I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned this one; but, I did make a minor mistake in Chapter 2 of the first story. I don’t think I’m saying anything that’s a spoiler because these details have been strongly hinted at; but, everyone found out about the Giant’s “death” one of two ways: (1) Headmaster Ukai (who was the Light’s top general) informed the Ministry that the Giant had died or (2) one of the Ghosts informed the rest of the Ghosts that the Giant had died. After both sides heard the news, it led to the Battle of Spinners End which was the last battle of the war. .....Anyway, the small mistake I made is that Takeda actually mentions to Hinata the Ghost’s side of things rather than the Headmaster-Ministry side. Oops. My explanation for that is Takeda (who would have been a young, new Hogwart’s grad at the time) has family that were Giants. Takeda rebelled away from his family (because I can promise of all people, Takeda is DEFINITELY not a dark wizard); but, he still heard it mainly from the Ghost’s side first.

5.) Here’s also a few minor things that were cut: The IC was originally supposed to start learning Legilimency/Occulemency from Kuroo in the third story but I figured they had too much to do already. Bokuto was originally supposed to start his crush on Akaashi in the third story instead of fourth but I moved it back. Iwaizumi originally played Quidditch in my planning doc (he had too much already so I cut it). Speaking of, there used to be a plotline with Oikawa and the Slytherin Quidditch team to explain why Oikawa didn’t play Quidditch but I cut it because, really, Oikawa gets enough angst already and I figured it was fine if he just didn’t care about Quidditch much for non-angst related reasons. Suga’s anxieties in the second story were originally darker. Actually, there’s been a few plotlines I intentionally made lighter.There were originally coins or something that Daichi and Suga gave each other for Christmas that functioned like the IC coins. 

BONUS: The one thing I actually did go back and edit is fairly minor. Originally, in the first story, Iwaizumi references Oikawa and Kageyama’s fight happening in the summer after first year. I went back and edited it to happen in winter break of first year so that I could cover it in the flashbacks during the fourth story.

Thanks for the ask!

A Kingdom of Isolation

Blake sniffled, rubbing at her nose with the back of her glove. The further up the mountain they went, the colder it got, snow and ice clinging to every surface as the sudden winter caused wood to snap and previously verdant trees to become frozen sculptures. Were it not for the sleigh and her reindeer, she’d advise turning back as the treacherous journey was to the mountain’s peak too difficult and too long to make on foot.

“Go ahead and ask.”

Her brow furrowed, turning to look at her… customer? Passenger? Surprise travelmate? The Faunus couldn’t quite decide how to describe the Princess who’d essentially bullied her into going up the mountain. At least, not in a flattering way. “Ask what?”

“Come now, you don’t have to be coy.” Princess Weiss huffed, arms crossed over her chest. “I’m sure you’re dying to know. ‘What’s it like living in a castle, what’s it like being a princess, what’s it like’- I’ve heard them all before, so let’s just get it over with and move on with our journey.”

Blake turned towards the woman and raised a quizzical brow, waiting for a beat to see if there would be any indication that her words were meant in jest. When nothing came, the Faunus shrugged and turned her attention back to the reins. “No thanks.”

“What?”

“No thanks.” She tried to sound thoroughly uninterested in the topic to cover the truth: she didn’t need to ask about all that. The specifics of a day in the life of royalty were well known to her. Part of why she’d come to the remote kingdom of Atlas was to escape… well, not quite that, but certain other things related to it. “I’m not that curious.”

“Oh… well, suit yourself… but I’d better not hear any questions after this about it!” The princess wagged a finger in her direction. “This is your only chance.”

“Noted.”

They continued on for a while in silence, Gambol and Shroud pulling the sleigh along at a brisk pace. Not their fastest but certainly better than a walk, as they shared her mentality; one didn’t want to be traveling the mountain after the sun set, as the shadows thrown at night could be either shallow shadows or deep drops. Best not to find out which.

“I suppose you don’t get asked about your own life much, do you?”

“Come again?” Although she hadn’t been thrilled about the job offer, she distinctly recalled Princess Weiss’ demand included only getting her up the mountain, not conversation.

“I’m just saying.” The woman obviously tried to act nonchalant, but there was something hiding just beneath her tone. “You probably don’t talk about yourself much. Not much to talk about outside of ice for an ice harvester.”

“There’s plenty to talk about,” she replied defensively before trying to focus back on the reins. “I don’t just harvest ice.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I live in a cottage just past the outpost where we met. One I built myself, mind you, and keeping it repaired takes up a lot of time.” She shot the princess a smug smirk. “I don’t have a legion of servants to do things for me.”

“Legion of servants?” Princess Weiss scoffed. “Clearly, you have little idea of what happens in the royal palace.”

As much as she didn’t want to admit it, that piqued her interest. “So, you don’t have anyone seeing to your every whim?”

“I had Klein, my caretaker. Outside of him and my brother, I had no one else.”

“What about your sister?” She gestured towards the top of the mountain. “You had her, didn’t you?”

“I did… when I was younger.” Then, her expression fell into something akin to despair as she unconsciously brushed her bangs away from her clouded and scarred left eye. “But, then, she had to learn how to be a queen, and she didn’t have time to play with me. I understood, of course. It’s an enormous responsibility.”

“Yeah, she’s handling it real well.” Blake dryly remarked, receiving a light punch to her shoulder. “What was that for?”

“It’s not her fault! You have no right criticizing her for- for a moment’s misstep!”

“She plunged the kingdom into the dead of winter when we’re supposed to be in the middle of summer! I think that’s more than ‘a moment’s misstep’, don’t you?”

“Listen, it’s- it’s not-“ The words seemed to catch in the woman’s throat as her expression twisted, guilt and pain flashing in her good eye before she turned to look away. “It’s my fault, alright? I- I shouldn’t have upset her, but I was excited.”

A frown touched Blake’s lips as she glanced towards Princess Weiss. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“I’m not so confident.”

A solemn silence settled over them and the Faunus didn’t know what to do with it. On the one hand, she shouldn’t feel obliged to comfort someone who’d forced her way into her life. On the other, though, she wasn’t so heartless that she could let someone suffer in silence and not try to help.

“I… don’t know what that’s like. Having siblings.” Blake shifted in her seat. “I had parents- have parents, I guess, since they aren’t dead, we just don’t… talk.” She winced, realizing too late that bringing up the possibility of dead parents may not be the best conversation topic to broach with the somewhat recently bereaved princess. “I… was an only child is my point.”

“Did you… run away from home to become an ice harvester?” The princess turned back towards her and Blake could feel a blush beginning to rise in her cheeks.

“Well, no, I just kinda… ended up becoming one.” Another shrug as she continued, her voice taking on a low, somber tone. “I… made some bad choices when I was younger. Ones I thought my parents wouldn’t be able to forgive me for… so I ran away and ended up in Atlas. Got adopted by some ice harvesters, learned the trade, and… that’s been my life ever since. I… don’t think I could bear what going back would mean.”

“I can understand the mentality,” Princess Weiss replied, her voice soft. “When I did something foolish, Father would… punish me quite severely. Even worse if I cried. I can sympathize with wanting to avoid a beating like that.”

Beneath her beanie, Blake’s ears stood up, her expression turning to one of pure shock and horror. “I- what? No! My father would never lay a hand on me! I meant that I know my parents would be disappointed in me, not that they’d hurt me!”

“Disappointment? That is the fate you fear?” For a moment, the Faunus thought she’d revert to her previous haughty, holier-than-thou attitude but instead found barefaced confusion for a moment before understanding dawned. “I… can see how that would be equally daunting.”

“… really?”

“Yes.” Her head tilted, obviously looking towards the mountain’s summit. “I spent years trying to impress my sister, hoping that if I proved myself worthy, I’d be able to spend time with her. It never worked. I became very familiar with disappointment.” Then, Princess Weiss turned to look at her. “Though, frankly, the experience taught me that the disappointment others express towards us cuts even deeper when we’re disappointed in ourselves as well. When I eventually stopped trying to gain Winter’s attention, it was because I couldn’t bear the weight of my own disappointment any longer… so better not to try.”

Her grip on the reins tightened and she had to consciously force herself to relax as both Gambol and Shroud momentarily picked up the pace, sensing her tension. “Yeah… you have a point…”

Silence settled over them, the crunch of snow and periodic snapping of wood unable to bear the weight of snow and ice alike preceding a branch crashing to the ground.

“What’s it like living this far from the royal city?” Princess Weiss eventually broke the silence, tone wavering slightly, as if she didn’t know how the Faunus might react.

“It’s nice, most of the time. Pristine and beautiful in the winter, and full of life just about every other season. It’s relaxing, being so isolated and away from people.”

“I’m afraid I can’t relate.”

Again, Blake winced, mentally cursing herself for managing to say all the wrong things. “Well, that’s because… you didn’t choose it.”

“Excuse you?”

“I mean… you have a point. What keeps me from going back home is that… I am the one scared to do it. So living out here, away from people… it’s by choice. And since it’s my choice, I don’t regret it.” She made a vague gesture with her hand, dropping one of the reins to do so. “Being away from people, not having to worry about maybe making the same bad choices again… I… I chose to believe and follow someone who made me regret it. Avoiding that happening again… means a lot to me. Maybe it’s not the right answer, but it’s the one I chose. It sounds like… you didn’t choose the way I did.”

“Well, you certainly have a point there.” For a moment, it looked as though she might continue before stopping, her good eye squinting as she twisted around in her seat. “And, unfortunately, it sounds like I’ll be making you regret breaking that isolation sooner rather than later.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Even if you’re a bit… much at times, I’m starting to see there’s a real person beneath the title and the attitude.” She reached up, readjusting her beanie cap. “I’m not going to regret meeting you just because it means interacting with someone when I’ve tried not to; that’s not how it works. And. Well. I don’t. Regret meeting you, I mean.”

The woman turned back to her with a deadpan expression. “While I’m glad you’re starting to recognize me as a person, I was actually referring to the wolves now following us and how that’s likely to present a problem that we’re going to regret running into soon.”

Blake tilted her head to the side, then twisted in her seat to find several pairs of golden eyes reflecting the weak light of the rear lantern on the sleigh, their shadowy forms beginning to gain ground on them. “Uh oh.” Turning back around, she picked up the rein and snapped her wrists, sending Gambol and Shroud into a gallop. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

“You drive, I’ll fend them off,” Princess Weiss said, somehow producing a rapier from the bag she’d been carrying the whole while- a slightly impractical weapon considering the occasion, but a weapon nonetheless- and put a hand on the Faunus’ shoulder while moving into the back row of the sleigh. “And, for the record, I don’t regret meeting you, either. Even if your version of a compliment can be rather… blunt and backhanded.”

Again, she winced. “See, this is why I don’t talk to people; it’s too easy to say the wrong thing!”

“Yes, because talking to reindeer is clearly the more sane option.”

“Reindeer and cats!”

“I should’ve known you’d be a cat person.”

Blake couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “You don’t know the half of it.”

--- The joke here is that, at this point in the story, Weiss doesn’t know Blake’s a Faunus, because ~canon parallels~.

Also, y’all: “Tex, isn’t this, like, your third continuity of a Frozen AU-“ Me: “LET. ME. LIVE. DAMNIT.”

Shots and Guilt

First, Previous(Chap. 23), Ao3

Word count: 3610

Warnings: Gun, Blood and Injury, (kinda) Torture, Knives, Bloodlust, Smoking, Underage Drinking, Drinking and Driving, Gore, Skipping a Meal, Alcohol (even more of it), Guilt, Choking, Mention of Past Murder, Panic Attack, Self Harm

This really isn't a nice chapter. If anyone needs it I can make a summary of it. Just leave a comment or send me an ask if that's the case. Stay safe.

Virgil listened to the sound of the rain pattering against the car and the radio woman report what had happened in Aunt Lian's block earlier this night.

Glitch monsters.

He dug around the glove compartment until he found Uncle Remy's cigarettes, hidden under the ammunition, lit one and took a drag. He watched the smoke curl and opened the window just by an inch to release it into the night.

Destroyed street lights.

He glanced at the Seven11 Remy had disappeared in about half an hour ago and lit his lighter again, watching the tiny flame dance in the stale light of the car lamp.

Messed up electronics.

A shadowy figure stood next to his window and Virgil glanced over at them. They were holding a knife. Good for them.

"Fuck off," Virgil mumbled tiredly and took another drag.

"Open the car door if you know what's good for you, kid," the guy demanded.

Virgil couldn't help but chuckle at that. He took his feet off the headboard and sat up slowly.

"If I know what's good for myself? If you know what's good for yourself you're going to fucking piss off now!"

"Kid-!" he thrust the knife at the window gap and Virgil kicked open the door hitting them square on the chest. They stumbled back and growled. "I'm going to fucking kill you, brat!"

Vigil stepped out of the car, taking the butterfly knife and the colt from the glove compartment with him.

"No, you're not," he stepped on his cigarette to put it out.

The robber was big. About twice as tall and five times as wide as Virgil, all muscles and heavy bones.

But at the sight of the gun, he froze. An uneasy smile took the place of the angry grimace.

They were in a lonely and dark parking lot. Nobody would look out of the window if they heard a gunshot or scream.

"Kid, don't do anything you're gonna regret. I'm part of the Trulow family. They're gonna hunt you down if you shoot me. No ones gonna find you're body! I bet yer mother's gonna get worried sick if her kid doesn't come home!"

Again Virgil laughed humourlessly.

The rain was cold on his skin and his hair stuck to his face and neck but he couldn't care less. There was that feeling in his chest again that he knew Papa knew well, even if he never wanted to talk about it, the feeling he couldn't imagine living without even after being told a thousand times that it wasn't normal, that he wasn't supposed to talk about with people outside of the family. That intoxicating feeling - better than any liquor, pills or joint but no less dangerous. "It's what makes our kind what we are," Uncle Emile had once said. The man across from him knew it too. Virgil could tell. Otherwise, he wouldn't flinch back. Wouldn't be able to see it in Virgil's smile and his every movement like a bloody red threat.

The bloodlust felt like a promise in his lungs.

"Jokes on you," he slowly walked towards the man. "My mothers dead. And if you're really a Trulow, how come I've never seen you on the Christmas card? I'm sure I'd remember a face as ugly as yours."

"What-?" the man stumbled backwards.

"If you want to make it in this city you really ought to learn who to threaten and who's out of your league. You're just another sewer rat. I'm like a motherfucking prince to you."

The man fell back on his ass, crawling backwards.

"Run along now, rat. Wouldn't want mommy to worry, would we?"

The man scrambled to his feet and turned to run.

Virgil raised the gun, aimed and fired.

A scream cut through the air as the man crashed into the concrete.

He sobbed and whimpered, staring at the blood sprayed over the ground as if he couldn't believe it was his. As if the realisation that there was now a hole where his foot connected to his leg hadn't quite made its way into his thick head yet.

"Sorry," Virgil said as he got closer and knelt down next to him. "Couldn't resist. You better not tell my Pa about this."

He dug his hand into the wound until his fingers found the bullet, ignoring the pained screams.

"He hates when I use guns. Which I honestly don't get. I mean, he uses them all the time! Bloody double standards," he inspected the bloody bullet in his hand.

"Who- Who the fuck are you?" the man sobbed.

Virgil grinned. "Have you ever heard those rumours? About Professor Logic having a child?"

The man's eyes widened in terror.

Virgil heard the doors of the Seven11 slide open and stood up.

Remy raised an eyebrow as he got closer.

"Jesus, can't I leave you alone for five minutes?" he asked.

"That was half an hour. And he started it. He wanted to rob the car or something. I only used one bullet if that's what you're worried about," Virgil tossed the gun over to him and Remy caught it in his free hand.

"Whatever. Just get in the car, hon. I got slushies and alcohol. We can stop at Crispy Creme if you want to."

"Sure," Virgil picked up the knife the would-be robber had dropped and jogged back to the car. "I hope they have warm doughnuts."

"They better. Oh, and there should be some baby wipes in the glove compartment. I'm not letting you eat with that guy's blood on your hands. Who knows what's been in that-? Wait, did you steal one of my cigs?"

"...No," Virgil claimed and was suddenly very interested in cleaning every crevice of his hand.

"Don't fucking lie to me. Just don't smoke in the car next time and ask before you take one. Emile doesn't like when the car smells," Remy handed him one of the slushies.

"Sorry," Virgil took a long sip until the pain of bain freeze bloomed behind his forehead before digging around in Remy's bag until he found the alcohol..

"Pour me some in too, would ya?"

"Sure," Virgil unscrewed the cap and poured some in his own then a bit more in Remy's cup. "More or is this good?"

Remy glanced over at him.

"Who the fuck do you think I am?"

"More it is."

"Exactly."

"I swear you're that "Two shots of vodka" vine," Virgil shook his head.

Remy chuckled. "I take zero offence to that. Also, I gotta make sure you don't drink too much. You have school tomorrow."

"You're literally drinking and driving. And I'm going to school trollied tomorrow whether you like it or not."

"I think this is why your father hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He can't. You and Uncle Emile are like his only friends."

"Doesn't he also have that flower boy?" Remy pulled into the Crispy Creme's parking lot.

"That's his boyfriend," Virgil corrected and took another sip. Slowly he felt the alcohol kick in.

"You mean your new father, then?"

"I guess. Not officially yet but hopefully soon. He's nice. On the other hand, if he moves in I'll have to hide my skull collection."

Virgil followed Remy out of the car and into the shop.

The sugary sweet smell of warm doughnuts filled the air.

Remy bought a box, tipped a twenty and pulled Virgil back out with him.

"I'm not letting you drink any more," he decided. "You're not going to school drunk, kid."

"Yes, I am. Fuck off and give me a doughnut."

"Either you stop drinking or you don't get any doughnuts."

Virgil glared at him and took a doughnut.

"Fine."

---

He still had a headache when he went to math class later.

He wasn't sure if it was just the hungover or also something else.

Not that it mattered. He had already learned the shit, the man, whose name he couldn't remember, was explaining incredibly badly at the blackboard.

Instead of paying attention he stared blankly out of the window.

Slowly the sleep deprivation was also starting to catch up with him, making his eyes heavy.

Janus had texted him that they wouldn't be coming to school for the day, which made it even more dull than usual.

He should have stayed drunk.

Then it at least would've been somewhat interesting.

Virgil woke up again to the sound of the school bell. He blinked a few times, trying to reorient himself and sighed.

At least math was over.

His next lesson was English, then Chemistry.

Or maybe he should just skip.

It wouldn't make a difference.

Maybe he could find a nice spot for the graffiti design he'd come up with based on the last body he'd found in the sewers.

The rats had eaten the fuckers stomach out and Virgil had set the eyebrows or rather what had been left of the eyebrows, on fire before taking a few pictures for reference.

He'd just have to come up with something for when Janus asked where he'd gotten the idea.

Virgil left the classroom and ducked into the nearest bathroom, locking the stall door behind himself before climbing out of the window. He wondered briefly how long it'd stay locked before someone noticed that it wasn't occupied at all. Probably at least until the toilets were cleaned. Whenever that'd be.

A sports teacher was preparing a lesson by the tracks but she was too focused on the task at hand to notice Virgil sneak to the fence and climb over it. He gave the school a middle finger over his shoulder as he walked away. For all he cared, every single person in there could go fuck themselves. Especially the principal.

Papa was working - at the university today - so Virgil went home to drop off his backpack and picked up his graffiti bag, headphones and the sketchbook he'd drawn the design in..

He strolled through the streets of downtown, avoided a few coppers and took an underground to take him wherever. As long as there were big empty walls there he didn't care.

He got out at the sixth stop.

Virgil didn't make a habit of spending time uptown.

Occasionally maybe, for family celebrations or when he and Janus planned heists but other than that he stayed in the part of town he had been raised in.

But that didn't mean that he didn't know the streets and alleyways, the shops, public buildings and skyscrapers made of glass, like towers out of a fairy tale. Papa was of the firm opinion that knowledge was power and he'd made sure that Virgil knew everything he needed about Woethough.

It didn't take him long to find a good wall.

The back of the main police station was just painfully boring.

Virgil pulled the half mask he used for vigilante business over his face, partly to avoid someone seeing his face and partly because of the fumes. Then he opened the sketch book and pulled two spray cans out of his bag, shaking them.

This'd be fun.

He worked far slower than usual, the anxiety over being spotted by the damned pigs making him pack up the cans he wasn't using immediately, so he'd be able to make a quick escape, and check for witnesses every five minutes.

By some miracle no one came by. For a while, he had the insistent feeling of being watched but couldn't find anyone.

He watched the flames, body and rats take shape with every colour he added until he got to the point where more would only make it worse.

Virgil took a few steps back and grinned. He signed it with his usual spider and took a photo to send Janus. They weren't online so he didn't bother waiting for a reply and packed up his stuff.

It was around noon now and he was getting hungry but ignored the feeling. He could eat later.

Instead he walked around some more, pickpocketed a businessman he recognized from TV - Mr Grimm or something like that - and bought a few new markers from the stolen money, before climbing onto the roof of a library to test them out.

At eight he took a train back to downtown.

It was already dark thanks to autumn finally taking over properly and most other teens were probably either suicidal, gang members or at home.

This was the beauty of the city.

As soon as the sun went down the few laws that were actually followed became meaningless.

Now the city belonged to the street rats and the lawless. They were all animals. From the racoons and possums, over the henchmen and thieves up to the mafia and his family.

All animals.

Hungry for blood.

Greedy and destructive.

Virgil absolutely loved it.

He passed a few of Uncle Jeremy's men beating up a cop with a crowbar in an alleyway, greeting him as he passed, watched a woman smash a chair over the head some guy who had tried to grope her, dishevelled and angry, and grinned at the raven and racoon, which were fighting viciously over some small animal one of them had killed.

There was a light burning in the living room when he got home. Not the ceiling light - it was far too muted for that.

He unlocked the front door and shut it behind himself. It was warm in here.

"I'm home!" he called, taking off his shoes and jacket.

No reply.

"Papa?"

Still no reply.

Virgil frowned, waiting for a moment longer and went into the living room.

Papa was slumped on the couch, fingers tracing an empty glass. Next to it on the table was an empty bottle of whiskey, that Virgil knew had been more than half full just this morning. He'd opened it after all.

Slowly Papa looked up as if only noticing him standing in the doorway now.

"...V'gil," he slurred.

"How much did you drink?" Virgil asked with a frown. He couldn't remember ever having seen Papa drunk.

He blinked at the bottle and gestured vaguely with one hand. "J'st a little."

Virgil sighed.

"Well, you clearly had enough. You're fucking trollied. Let's get you to bed, shall we? You'll hate yourself for this tomorrow, you know?"

"Already do," Papa mumbled as Virgil put his arm over his shoulder to support him.

Papa leaned on him heavily and Virgil staggered under the weight slightly but managed to bring him to the stairs, where Papa could also hold onto the bannister, taking some of the weight of his shoulders.

"You look so much like your mother," Papa suddenly said, just as they reached the second floor and Virgil almost let him fall in surprise.

Papa didn't talk about her.

He never did.

"She had her hair like that for a while too," Papa continued. "Then she grew it out longer. She looked so beautiful. Like an angel."

Virgil kicked open the door to Papa's room.

He didn't say anything, almost forgetting how to breathe. Papa was actually talking about her.

Carefully Virgil let him slide onto the bed and ducked to take off his shoes.

"I didn't mean to kill her," Papa said, anguish in his voice as he began combing through Virgil's hair with one hand. "I really didn't. I  just- I just wanted to scare her."

His hand slid over Virgil's cheek slowly and even though Papa was looking at him Virgil had the feeling that he wasn't seeing him.

No.

Papa was seeing her.

"I didn't think it'd be that fragile," Papa's hand slid down further and settled on Virgil's neck. A jolt of panic shot through him. "I didn't think it'd break that easily."

Papa began to squeeze.

"I just grabbed her and pressed down."

His grip began to hurt and Virgil tried to gasp for breath, clawing at the hand on his throat.

"And then she was dead. Just like that."

Blackspots appeared in Virgil's vision and he swung out wildly.

His fist hit Papa on the temple and he collapsed onto the bed.

Virgil gasped and coughed, stumbling back towards the door and slammed it as soon as he was on the hallway.

He still couldn't breathe.

Why the fuck couldn't he breathe?!

His vision swam, from tears this time instead of lack of oxygen.

Was this how she had felt?

In her last moments, getting choked by the man she had loved and trusted?

He didn't want this. This panic in his chest keeping him from breathing and making the world around him blur. At least not because of Papa. Not him. Never because of Papa. Papa was supposed to be safe. Papa protected him. Papa helped him calm down.

Papa had just tried to kill him.

Virgil sobbed.

Papa had tried to kill him the same way he'd killed her.

Virgil barely remembered to grab his jacket as he ran out, slamming the front door and running down the dark street.

He stopped at the North Bridge and collapsed against the railing.

The air was now so cold it almost burned in his lungs as he finally managed to take a breath. His throat hurt. He carefully wrapped his hand around it. It'd bruise.

 "You look so much like your mother."

Virgil stumbled on through the streets. His reflection in a dark shop window caught his attention and made him stop.

His cheeks were streaked with black.  His eyes were covered almost completely by messy black hair.

So she had had shoulder-long hair at one point.

Virgil grabbed a hand full of hair and pulled at it until a few strands ripped off.

He stared down at them.

He didn't want Papa to see her in his place.

The lights of another store, also reflecting in the shop window he was standing in front of caught his attention.

Did they have bleach there?

He crossed the street.

The shop was empty and Virgil was barely aware of the song playing over the speakers, so quiet that it was drowned out by his mind.

He grabbed two cartons.

Bleach and the first hair dye his hand touched. He didn't care. He had no idea what colour her hair had been. He just didn't want black.

He didn't bother to wait for his change as he handed the cashier a twenty and fled the store.

Back at home, Virgil locked himself in the bathroom and ripped open the bleach carton, barely skimming the instructions.

The chemical smell filled the room as he spread it over his hair and when he was done he had to open a window to breathe.

He set a timer on his phone and busied himself with washing off his make up while he let it set.

Once he was done with that he began pulling at the skin of his arms and digging his nails into the scars to keep his thoughts from spiralling again.

The timer went off and he rinsed his hair out.

It was almost white now.

He ripped open the secong carton.

Purple.

For fucks sake.

He spread it over his hair, careful to get it everywhere.

If he was going to look stupid he might as well make sure it wasn't splotchy.

He wasn't hungry anymore but he still went into the kitchen and warmed up some soup, forcing himself to eat, despite the gag reflex that kicked in a few times.

Then he washed his hair again.

He didn't bother looking at the result before he grabbed the razor and scissors. Once he was done he pulled on a turtle neck to hide the forming bruise, poured a glass of water and grabbed an aspirin.

For a few minutes he stood in front of Papa's door, frozen until he managed to go in, put both items on the nightstand and immediately flee again.

Then he once again grabbed his jacket and left, locking the door behind himself.

He wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. At least not if he stayed here.

---

A knock on the window snapped Janus out of the half-asleep half-awake state they'd been in for hours.

Slowly they stood up, the floor cold against their bare feet, and frowned at the figure in the window.

They grabbed a glass water bottle as a weapon and cautiously opened it.

The figure slid inside.

"Virgil?" Janus frowned and set down the bottle. "The fuck are you doing here?!"

"You owe me," Virgil rasped. "Five nights. From that bet."

Janus blinked, their brain catching up slowly.

"The one we made for my parent's wedding?"

Virgil nodded.

He was upset. Even in the dark Janus could tell.

They closed the window, cutting off the cold draft, and Virgil took off his shoes.

For a moment they contemplated what to say.

They were sure that something had happened.

They just didn't know what.

"I won't ask," they finally said, "but if you want to talk... I'm here for you, okay?"

Virgil nodded.

"Thanks."

He didn't say anything else. His voice was hoarse.

Janus led him over to their bed and climbed in, letting him follow.

He'd cut his hair.

It also looked lighter than usual, though they couldn't be sure in the bad lighting.

Janus had almost fallen asleep again when they hear a muffled sob.

They looked over at Virgil again.

He was crying.

So something bad had happened.

For a moment they hesitated before they wrapped their arms around Virgil and pulled him against their chest.

"It'll be okay," they promised.

Virgil just latched onto them and buried his face in their shirt.

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake , @isabelle-stars

Survey #303

“if i can’t be loved, then i’ll be hated”

What color are your glasses, if applicable? Black. Candy corn or conversation hearts? They're both gross, don't make me pick between garbage. Do you own a lot of earrings? Not really after I weeded them out before moving. What did your backpack in high school look like? I dare say I had the dopest backpack of them all. It looked like a massive Ouija board, and the zipper was the planchet (sp?). Have you ever been to a rave? Nah. What is your favorite art medium? I have a particular fondness of oil paintings. They tend to look so smooth, and you can achieve incredible realism with them. How far away is the nearest hospital from you? Not even five minutes, I think. Who was the last person you visited in a hospital? My mom. What is your favorite car color? Pink, duh. How did you learn to type? We actually had a class specifically for typing in middle school. What style of wedding dress do you want? I don't have that set in stone yet, but I really do love ballgown dresses with long trains as well as a-lines with a moderate train. I love a lot, except really for mermaid dresses. Do you fit into any stereotype, or are you non-stereotypical? I don't know if I fit perfectly into any and really don't care. Would you want your first child to have your hair color? ???? I don't care about their hair lol?????? It would depend on the hypothetical father, in which case I'd probably find it cute, but this is so, so unimportant. Do you enjoy writing in cursive? Yeah, it just feels good and flowy to me. What is your favorite hair color? Natural? Probably blonde with natural darker undertones throughout. I like blonde hair because it's far easier to dye, haha. Now, if we're including DYED hair, rose gold or pastel pink is *chefs kiss* What is your favorite eye color? Sapphire blue, probz. Would you put your birthday on a different day if you could? Nah, it's fine where it is. What holiday is your birthday closest to? Valentine's. Do you vent on social media a lot? NOOOOOOOO. I barely post ANYTHING about myself on social media because I feel like I'm being annoying, self-absorbed, find anything I do actually interesting, or don't want people to think I'm a whiner. All I ever really do on social media is share or reblog funny shit, things I love, stuff I find relatable or inspirational, educational, important for whatever reason, etc... Do you have abusive parents? I am very thankful to say no. Is your house haunted? Doesn't seem like it. What's your favorite thing to watch on YouTube? I'm in a real WoW-related phase lately... Watching my favorite streamers, gold farming guides, and other various aspects of the game. What are five health problems that you have? I talk about the mental issues enough, so I guess I'll talk about physical stuff here. Uhhh I have very low blood pressure (it's a med side effect), I have extremely weak legs following muscle atrophy, I have bad tremors, especially in my hands (amplified by medication once again), maybe TMI but we're adults here and it's a legit issue that I have chronic and severe conspitation, aaaand then of course I have hyperhidrosis (excessive sweating) to a fucking outrageous and also humiliating degree. Ooooonce again as a prescription side effect. This answer made meds sound kinda bad, I know, but really, I'd rather have the will to live and just have to deal with these than want to die everyday and not. Do you have surgery coming up? No, let's keep it that way until I lose enough weight and when I am 110% getting loose skin removal. Which family member(s) do you look the most like? My sisters, ig. People say my mom also, but I honestly don't see it. Have you ever cried while watching a YouTube video? Yeah, usually just in let's plays, but it's happened for other reasons. Are you missing a website that just shut down? Nah, none that I know of. NO. FUCKING WAIT. So, when my laptop was fixed, a LOT of shit was wiped from it, and that included all of my goddamn Lightroom editing presets. The site they were from no longer exists, so I had to use a different, pretty sub-par one to install at least a few because it helps me get a start on editing the photograph and leaning towards the "vibe" I want before spending like 15+ minutes tuning it myself. Would you be a barefoot bride? No. Which would you rather name your daughter: Eliana, Echo, Emerald, or Ellery? Ohhh, I like these. I think I prefer "Eliana," but "Echo" is a close second. "Ellery" is nice, but it sounds too much like "celery" to name my kid that lmao. Which would you rather name your son: Maverick, Matthew, or Moses? Ugh, none, honestly. But "Matthew" wins. When was the last time you gave a speech? Like a *legit" speech? Probably not since uhhh... I guess when I argued my disability case at court? Does that even count? Have you ever been in a stampede? Well, never seen this'n in a survey before, so good job, lol. No. If you were a fairy, what color would you like your wings to be? It would depend on what I wore, really. And my hair. But probably light pink. Would you rather name your son Storm, Skylar, Sorin, or Solomon? "Sorin." "Skylar" is SO Southern, and "Solomon" sounds like the creepy kid all his classmates avoid and I ain't putting my kid through that. Did you read a devotional this morning? Not my jam. Would you rather be named Arizona, Alaska, Cali, or Georgia? Hm... "Alaska" is actually kinda cool???? And I'm white as fuck so lol????? I wouldn't mind to nickname of "Ally," anyway. Are you repulsed by ugly reptiles? lololol bro get out Did all your friends know about your first crush or was it a secret? I was definitely secretive and shy about it when I first started getting crushes. Do you ever feel insecure about going out without makeup? I feel insecure either way, so... How many different natural hair colors are there in your immediate family? So, this is a hard question to answer. My mom was born with brown hair, but it darkened to almost black; only her daughter Katie inherited that. By some genetic magic, Dad had blond hair as a kid, but it also turned black. Like... how?????? I was born with dirty blonde hair like him, and mine turned an average brown with age. My immediate sisters have always had brown hair. What is your favorite online game? World of Warcraft is ballin'. Would you ever want to be famous and sign autographs? Ha, the idea of signing autographs is awful... I can't physically write very long without my carpal tunnel flaring up. Do you like your shirt to be loose or tight? LOOSE. Especially as a bigger person, tight shirts are just really uncomfortable. What is your favorite Spanish name? I don't know nearly enough to answer this. Would you rather visit Asia or Europe? I think Asia is, in general, more interesting and prettier as a whole, but I guess I'm drawn to European culture being more like my own and there are specific locations I'm interested in, like Germany or Scotland. So to answer the question, I guess Europe wins. Are there any Asians in your family? I don't believe so. Have you ever had colored braces? Haha yeah, I did that when I had them. Do you take birth control pills? Yes, just for period cramps. Without them, they can be immobilizing for me. If you live in the USA: do you feel free and safe? Ha, no. Well, not *entirely*. Have you ever been sick on your birthday? I was recovering from the stomach virus, if that counts. As in I still got sick the day before and felt iffy on my actual bday. 17th, I think? Is talking about your past painful for you? Yes. Are you a member of any support groups online? I'm a member of The Mighty site, if that counts. When I'm feeling very, very sound of mind and helpful without all the negativity being a detriment to myself, I do like going on there and trying to help or comfort people. Have you ever called a suicide hotline? Yes, and the line was busy, and that's when I decided I was a goner. Do you ever fantasize about revenge? I uhhhhh... sometimes. What's a movie you would recommend to someone who never watches movies? Ohhh, that's hard. I don't really watch movies either, and I'm trying to think of one that essentially anyone would like, so hm. Oh, Coco is absolutely a possibility. That movie touched me so, so deeply and is high on my favorites list. It's impossible to not feel the emotions. Do you want to have grandkids? Hell, I don't want kids. Do you want to be an aunt or uncle? I already am one, and I love being an aunt. Who was your favorite Spice Girl? I don't remember their names or characters in general. Did you make a lot of home videos growing up? I mean *I* didn't, but Mom filmed quite a few. Do you enjoy babysitting? NO. What's an unpopular opinion that you have? Avoiding some political ones, uhhhh. OH. HERE'S ONE. THE SCENE AESTHETIC IS FUCKING CUTE AND NOT CRINGEY AND YOU CAN FIGHT ME ABOUT IT. Are you attracted to the opposite gender, same gender, or both? Both are A+. Was your first crush on someone of the same gender or opposite? Opposite. As a kid, I didn't even fathom the concept that women could date women. What is something you'll never eat again? Why? Brussel sprouts. Fucking disgusting. What is currently happening that is scaring you? Besides the very obvious answer of "Covid," I worry about my mom a lot. She's so weakened after all the chemo and meds and can do literally less than I can without heavily breathing and sweating. I just worry a lot that cancer will return sooner than we hope; I don't want it to EVER come back, but doctors say it is very, very likely at one point or another because she was so very close to Stage 4. What would be your personal hell? Being completely and entirely isolated forever while somewhere hot and humid, lol. And play one of my trigger songs on repeat eternally. What made the "weird kid" at your school weird? There was this poor guy named Alfred that was VERY clearly depressed out of his mind, and I heard him speak maybe once through all of high school, and the entire class couldn't believe it. He always sat way in the back and never smiled. I wonder how he is nowadays. What is a word you personally find offensive? "Retarded" personally offends me the most when misused and spoken as an insult. What instantly puts you to sleep? Now that is HARD to do; I have a ridiculously hard time going to sleep. The easiest way though would probably be me being drained from an emotional breakdown. That is so exhausting that I'm capable of crashing pretty fast and hard. What song is in a language you don't speak, but you love it anyway? I adore Rammstein, so there's plenty. I'll probably say "Donaukinder" is their best. What is something you would like to do if you weren’t judged for doing it? I keep that I RP a complete secret in my "real" life for this reason unless it's like, pried out of me. What's a movie you think everyone should watch? Why that one? Johnny Got His Gun. See how goddamn disgusting war is. What was the most unexpected good thing that's ever happened to you? Ha, realizing I was bisexual after once being homophobic. What is the funniest fact you know? Oh man, I know a lot of random trivia shit, really, so it's hard to say. Maybe that quokkas throw their offspring at predators to distract and escape from them... As awful as that is, c'mon, you gotta admit it's funny and shocking with just how adorable they are. What was your 'mic drop' moment? Oh, I don't know. Possibly when I publicly came out as bi on Facebook and made it abundantly clear that I gave no shits about some homophobic friends and family & I was beyond willing to let anyone's ass go over it. What's the kindest way a stranger has treated you? I remember as a kid at McDonald's, the woman in front of our car paid for our food; apparently seeing a mom, dad, and three kids in a van was enough that she wanted to just be kind and give us a smile. We have no idea who she was, never saw her face or anything, she was just a sweet woman. What is the biggest design flaw of your body? Okay, I'm going to let go of all hatred for my body weight-wise and just think of this as from a strictly natural design perspective, in which case I'd say my toes are too small. What age are you afraid of turning and why? 30, because I'm terrified of getting there and seeing I've possibly gone nowhere. What is the strangest thing you have ever felt? I'm keeping this question in just because I think there could be some interesting answers for others, but I'm witholding my answer because nobody wants or needs to know lmao. What makes someone immediately unlikable? Acting better than others and belittling. Who's a villain you sympathize with and why? D A R K I P L I E R because of his origins and overall purpose and just simply existing. What is something you regret to NOT have done? I have this oddly weird regret of not going like, all-all the way with He Who Shall Not Be Named????? Idk why though????? Considering I loved him way too much and I was a reckless and impulsive person who probably at some point would have wound up accidentally pregs????? What a fuckin trip that woulda been. What movie changed your life for the better? None have really "changed my life." What book you think should be directed as a film? Oh, idk. Most I can think of have been. Of all the decades you've lived in, which one have you liked best? The 2000s, probably. A carefree kid. How are you doing today? I'm exhausted. While out with Mom and my sisters yesterday, we got behind a van whose driver was obviously drunk or high off his goddamn ass, and he was swerving EVERYWHERE, nearly shoving so many cars off the road. Mom called 911 to get in contact with highway patrol to report his dumb fucking ass in. I was having an absolute panic attack and cried quietly like the entire 45 or so minute drive home. I was just so, so upset because this is why I don't fucking drive, and I felt like I'd made my sister (who was driving) mad because she had to firmly tell me I had to calm down (I was hyperventilating and talking to myself to try to calm down) if she was going to focus and keep us safe. She later ensured me she wasn't mad, but I still wasn't the same the entire rest of the day. Anyway, I slept hard last night but had two nightmares, so I'm still really tired today. I'm trying to keep myself really distracted. What's something your relatives don't know about you? A whole lot really, considering beyond my very immediate family, I see almost nobody because they live many states away. What's something your parents did, which you have sworn never to do? Mom would spank us or slap an arm pretty hard if my sisters or I misbehaved or "disrespected" her by "talking back." I'm not having kids, but I would never, ever, ever, put my hands on them in any way that isn't loving. You do not teach children via inflicting fear. I also have this probably overly strong aversion to beer because that's what Dad always drank as an alcoholic. I'll probably never try it, not that I really want to because it smells awful. What's the most annoying thing your pet does? I feel like "annoying" is the wrong word for this, but Roman (my cat) can be incredibly demanding of attention and to lie on me when I'm on the laptop in bed, and sometimes I just want space and be able to clearly see the screen, haha. He will legit meow like a baby and gently swat my arm sometimes if I try to keep him back. Heeee usually gets his way. As for Venus (snek), she does nothing "annoying" either, but rather a bit concerning to a snake mom: she is usually very slow to find and strike her food. I feed her frozen/thawed mice, and she will first slither around her entire cage, tongue flicking and clearly looking for her food, even though I always place it atop the same spot on her hide, and she can have her head RIGHT beside it and still do nothing. She ultimately generally eats (as a ball python though, she's a picky eater and will occasionally reject a meal), but I of course wonder why she's odd about dinnertime... As a champagne, she does have the notorious "spider gene" in her, which can cause neurological issues, but idk if something like this could be related.

Tell Me Where It Hurts || Morgan & Deirdre

Deirdre finally tells Morgan what’s wrong.

@deathduty

Contains: discussions of past abuse

It was strange to think a medical drama could become so interwoven in her routine, but there was hardly anything else Deirdre would rather have playing as she held Morgan tight against her (she was getting used to the added force, though she never would forget the way her arms had once held her gently). The show worked as an even better backdrop to their sporadic making-out (she was acclimating better to the pressure here, urged by her ceaseless want). If she focused entirely on the sensation, she could almost convince herself that things were as they once were. But as her body pulsed, her heart tugged towards Morgan, she was cursed with a permanent bitter-sweet reminder of what had happened--a banshee could not escape death or its calling. The vision of Morgan’s death curled around Deirdre’s mind and foisted by the urging feeling, Deirdre drew her lips back and smiled speciously; a deceptive act she had done countless times before, learning quickly how best to hide her aches under mundane actions. “Morgue,” she breathed, raising a hand to roughly thumb along Morgan’s jaw up slowly to her cheek. “You didn’t tell me what Remmy taught you.” She found Morgan’s hand with ease, taking it in her own and pressing a firm kiss to her knuckles, taking flesh between her teeth as she pulled back to grin widely. For all her pain, mischief hadn’t yet found a way to work itself out of her brown eyes. “It’s not anything you can use with me, is it? Who’s to say thirty-two is too late to discover I enjoy being punched with the proper form in bed.” Deirdre laced her fingers with Morgan’s, leaning in to press another kiss. “How are you feeling?”

It was easy to ‘be here’ when Morgan’s main concerns were how many episodes they were away from the plane crash at the end of season six and how gently she was touching Deirdre back while she was held. She was getting used to the ghost-fuzzy feeling of her banshee’s skin on her fingertip, skating them over the trails of freckles down her arms, curling them through her long hair. The alchemy of accessing her heart flutters, once instant with the cold brick of Deirdre’s hands, was becoming easier to find with the ample practice they allowed themselves. Morgan leaned into her firm touch, smiling languid with appreciation. “Yes, my love,” she said. She gave a small smile at the proposition, chuckling. “Oh, you don’t want to see what my form looks like right now. As if I’d ever dent your beautiful face even if I did know how to.” She kissed her back, clinging to her lip as she parted. “Today I’m doing pretty okay,” she said. “I always feel better with you. But in general, still pretty okay. Good, comparatively speaking.” She kissed her again, running her fingers up to her scalp and combing back her hair. “How about you? You’ve kinda been hitting the stomach soothe tea more than usual.” She quirked a brow, inviting Deirdre to open up.

“Are you sure?” Deirdre lingered by Morgan, leaning into her touch. “I think I’d like to see all sorts of forms…” Her voice dripped with suggestion, following along as Morgan went on to describe her mood. Okay was good. Good comparatively speaking was great. All of this was strides from laying down at the bottom of the pool, or talking to taxidermy animals--and for that Deirdre couldn’t be happier. But it wasn’t perfect, and she had been told repeatedly that there was no point unless things were perfect. She was happy enough to move along though, focusing on what was good instead of what wasn’t. Deirdre opened her mouth to retort--something vaguely funny and half suggestive, she imagined--when Morgan brought up the tea. The tensing of her body could not be hidden, but it could be played off with the quirk of her head and a soft smile. “Have I?” She started, but quickly sighed the thought away. She never enjoyed lying to Morgan, even if the act didn’t make her sick. “It’s just---” She sighed again, pulling away. There was no easy way to explain how often she’d been tossing around lies, the startling ease some of them came to her with--or even that some of these lies had been offered to Morgan. Days of saying she was doing okay, or was feeling fine, had begun stacking up. Not to mention, of course, the bizarre cycle of lying she’d picked up when talking to her family. “Nothing, really.” She decided, tensing through a sharp stab through her abdomen. “I mean, it’s--” she sighed, “I like the flavor of the tea.” And that part, at least, wasn’t a lie.    

“You have,” Morgan said gently. She didn’t need her human senses to feel Deirdre tense in her arms, or to notice how she pulled away, averting her attention. And now that her attention was alert, she noticed it again, as she said it was nothing. “Hey--” She followed Deirdre across the bed, brushing back her hair again. “Hey,” she crooned, softer still. “Don’t make yourself sick. You can tell me. I’m good. And I wanna be here for you. Even if it’s something hard--” she thought back to the pained look on Deirdre’s face when they were on the floor the morning after she’d trashed the house. Could Deirdre have really been sitting on something for that long? (She could, she had, but it had always been awful, lasting things that weren’t just necessarily to do with Morgan.) “It might be better to try. I just don’t want you to have to pretend, you know?”

She had wanted to believe that, nice as it was, that she could lean on Morgan a little more, a little longer. But what kind of a person would that make her? How could she sit here and subject Morgan to more pain? Deirdre’s face fell into a deep frown, brows furrowed together as she considered trying to find the words to explain. In her pit, the words swirled darkly, but they would not solidify. In some other part, she remembered that pain was hers alone to bear--and that if she suffered, she should fix it by herself. Her lips parted to offer explanation, but her mind rejected it. In the end, nothing but garbled noises of frustration left her. “You are here for me,” she explained though a mostly clenched jaw, “by the simple act of being here. Let’s not---” Her mouth slammed shut. She groaned, trying to pick her words carefully. “I’m not---I don’t feel sick. It’s not--” She didn’t know what to say or how to say it, if she even wanted to summon the daunting task of trying in the first place. “I’m fine. I’m okay. I’m just tired.” Her body, however, rejected each assertion--flinching as she continued. Bile burned the back of her throat. She rolled away from Morgan, looking through the ruffled sheets to find where the remote had gotten lost. If Grey’s Anatomy could start again, Morgan would ask less questions and thus less lying she’d have to struggle her way through. Unfortunately, the remote remained hidden.

“Babe,” Morgan called, chastising her with the kind of annoyance that drove her to use the moniker in the first place. I love you, but I wish you would stop. She knew this move, and she knew it wasn’t meant with any malice. There was only so much upset she could muster for something that wasn’t truly aimed at her. But dammit, this wasn’t how she wanted to spend her day. Whatever the trouble, it had to be bad for Deirdre to resort to the kinds of tricks she hadn’t pulled out in...stars, at least since Morgan started staying here after the hospital. She sat back, reaching out to tug gently on her arm, just enough to show her what she wanted. “How does this look like ‘okay’?” The remote had fallen on the floor, Morgan could see it from her seat on the bed, but Deirdre was too frazzled, too intent on hiding or avoiding to see it. “Please, babe, look at me, at least,” she said. “It’s okay if it’s hard. We have time for that. But you’re… I wanna do more for you. And being bottled up like this doesn’t seem like it’s doing any good. You don’t have to hurt by yourself, my love. Let me in, please.”

And how could she not, when Morgan said it like that? But wanting to and following through were two different actions. Deirdre looked over at Morgan with an expression that she hoped could illustrate at least half of how much she was trying to, but simply couldn't get the words to leave. Where did she start? What did she say? Was it really okay to saddle Morgan with more? To be selfish enough to ask her, in her own pain, to listen to Deirdre's? "It's nothing," she assured again, sighing and moving back to her. She was halfway into her lap, halfway into pulling her girlfriend into her arms and halfway through trying to think of the best way to push this conversation away when her phone's ringing cut between her concentration. Deirdre pressed a quick kiss to Morgan's cheek as she leaned over her, grabbing the damn thing off the nightstand. She stared at it. 'Mother' was plastered across the top, the ringing like an alarm that begged for her attention. She stared at it. Her grip on her phone had turned from casual to white-knuckled. Her hand shook. She stared at it. She normally spoke to her family frequently, but the differing timezones meant she never had to answer a call around Morgan—which she preferred, Morgan was something she couldn't stomach through lying about. But this was strange, as though her mother knew just when to taunt her. Deirdre turned, at once throwing her phone, with great accuracy, out the door and against the stair railings, where it tumbled down with loud clunks until it shattered against the marble tiling below. Finally, the ringing ceased. Or perhaps it had sometime between Deirdre staring and the phone flying out of her hands.

She glanced back at Morgan, for a moment considering how she could explain that that too, was nothing. Instead, she crumpled, pressing her forehead into Morgan's shoulder. "I'm sorry," she began, knowing what she was about to do—what emotions she had to reveal despite her best efforts to hide. "I really do want to help you, and I want to make this good, and as easy as it can be but—" she swallowed thickly. "Nothing has been easier, harder, than love." She shivered, her body fought against each word and unlike her confession of love, this was different. This she didn't need to share. This she should know better than to dare bring forth into words. She opened her mouth and imagined she had something beautiful to say about how long and how terribly things had been brewing inside of her, and how she would fix it and it was okay and all Morgan had to worry about was herself—that she would be constant, secure and steady and without her own complications. Or something instead about how much she wanted that, how hard she was trying for it, how tired she was of trying and failing and trying and failing and how all she'd ever known to value in life was acceptance and now she had none. No one. And she couldn't ask Morgan for this too. Instead, she slumped further against her, her tense body dissolved with defeat. "Do I help?" She asked pleadingly. "Is it enough?"

Morgan caught Deirdre as she crumpled, scooping her into her arms and holding her close. She pressed a hard, lingering kiss to the top of her head, remembering how the gesture had once calmed her from her distress on Valentine’s Day. “Hey, don’t be sorry. You don’t have to be sorry,” she whispered. It was strange, hearing her own words offered back to her, just as anguished as she imagined they sounded when she spoke them. But she couldn’t understand how Deirdre could be uncertain. How could she not know that she was the reason Morgan made it out of bed at all? Did she really not understand how much even her touch pulled Morgan out of her death-pit? How much seeing her face gave Morgan the courage to shut away her darkest impulses? Of course nothing was easy. Even in death, nothing could come easy for Morgan. But stars, she couldn’t imagine how hard it would be if she were on her own. How much longer she would stay on the ground, how easily she might slip into something worse. “Oh, Deirdre,” Morgan spoke her name softly, bringing a hand to brush her cheek. Gentle, like she had when she was alive. “You help me so much. I can’t imagine how you have the energy for all the help you give me sometimes. Getting me out of bed, getting me brains, telling me I’m okay, holding me, staying patient with me when I’m barely saying anything. You keep me going in so many ways. Even just seeing you--” she kissed her head again. “It’s more than enough. It’s not even a question of enough, Deirdre. And I know it’s been hard. All of this has been so hard for us. But whatever you have to give, it’s always enough. I mean that.”

"But it's not hard. Taking care of you, it's not—" Deirdre lifted her head, something between confusion and desperation played between her features. This had been the easy: loving Morgan. Taking care of her, finding it within herself to hold her, feed her, help her along her routine and asking about her day. But this did not feel like help. "My mother broke my hands," she explained, seemingly unrelated, "repeatedly. I learned how to use them despite pain, I learned how my body would heal, I learned how to fight. She was helping me." And she had hoped the message was clear; this was what she knew of help. She knew help to come with horror, confusion, pain. Help was the humans who begged for their lives, when she let them, despite how often she explained the fate she was saving them from. Help was people fighting against her, shunning her. Help was her knowing the gift she provided, while others balked. If she was helping Morgan, why didn't she hate it? If she was helping, where were the bloodied knives and dead bodies? It was easy, it shouldn't have been easy. Deirdre barely noticed she spent her breaks finding brains for Morgan until she found herself driving back to the office with a car full of them. "It helped," she assured desperately, unaware of who was right or wrong now—a division that had been so clear to her once. "It means I can do this." She laced her fingers with Morgan's, squeezing tightly. Her hand knew pain, it knew how to handle pain, how to brace itself for it and how to function despite it. Her pain had taught her care, provided her with the facility to hold Morgan tighter and to be held back just as tight, all unflinchingly.

"It's not hard to take care of you. If it's help, shouldn't it be hard?" What was hard instead was being loved. While loving came easy, the reverse was met with resistance. And while she wanted to believe Morgan, while she trusted her far more than she did the broiling other feelings inside of her, she couldn't tell right from wrong anymore. She closed her eyes, imagining the ringing of her phone, now a ghost. She figured she could just say thank you and move along, they could turn back to Grey's Anatomy and pretend they'd had some conversation about this. The rest, Deirdre would be better at swallowing. They wouldn't talk about the phone she'd flung out of the room and she'd call her mother back and brace herself through more lying. "And is it really help if this is what I'm doing now?" Leaning on her, selfishly wondering if her pain could be fixed too—if she could learn love better, and if Morgan could teach her. Was any of it enough if this was what she was giving? She opened her eyes and searched Morgan's for any sign that she might start kicking and screaming and fighting her and then Deirdre could say that she had helped. She squeezed her hand harder, dulled from pain after having been broken so many times. "I love you and that makes sense. The rest makes sense." But nothing else did.

“Okay, maybe that part’s not hard,” Morgan said, finally coming around to the idea. Something in her still rebelled, flailing with confusion at the implausibility of it all. She had done practically nothing to earn this. She wasn’t even cashing in on her looks on days when even the shower was too complicated and depressing to consider. She whined and she was quiet and she asked for more and more. Hold me. Kiss me. Carry me. Stay with me. Harder. More. Please. Every day there was another thing. The only way Deirdre could take it so readily, eagerly in some cases, is if she was driven by the same compulsion that was driving Morgan. She was on a good day, which helped, but she felt as though she could take any number of asks. More than that, she wanted to, if it would help. If it would soothe even some of Deirdre’s hurt, she’d haul ass late into the night. So, balanced yet or not, maybe it was true. “But our situation, what we’re adjusting through--” Morgan went quiet along with Deirdre, sensing her deep in thought. Despite the horrific things she’d heard about her childhood, she wasn’t braced for what Deirdre said next.

She was careful, at least, not to say anything at first. Her face was out of sight, so there wasn’t any need to reign in how her eyes widened, how her mouth dropped. She was always breathless, so maybe even the shuddering inhale she drew went without notice. She pressed another kiss to Deirdre’s temples, tenderly now, so careful she wasn’t even sure if they were touching at all.

“Hey,” she said softly, prodding Deirdre’s fingers to loosen from her hand. “You don’t have to do that, okay? You don’t have to prove anything to me. But listen--” She nuzzled her way down to her ear, lips grazing the skin as she spoke soft. “Help doesn’t have to be hard. As long as it makes things a little better, it’s help. It doesn’t even have to be much. You could hold my hand gently--” She re-threaded their fingers loosely, then squeezed, just a little, a far cry from how Deirdre had squeezed a moment ago. “And as long as I can see it, I know how much I like it, when you hold my hand. And how good it is. And it helps. And doing this--oh, my love, can’t you imagine what a relief it is to hold you back, to give you something back, to support you for even a fraction of the ways you support me in? I never want you to suffer, but I am so relieved to be here, holding you through this moment if nothing else. Helping me doesn’t mean you never get help in return. I don’t want anything to do with an idea like that. It’s even its own kind of help, knowing I can do this. Getting to. Being trusted enough to. Help does not have to mean hurting, or struggling Deirdre. I don’t want that for us if we can help it. Help is just making things a little better. Of course it’s something we give back and forth. Of course it can feel good. It can be soft. It can feel like love.” She looked down at Deirdre, gentle and certain. “And I do love you, Deirdre. So very much. And it’s so much better, that your help just feels like you loving me back.”

If she wasn’t proving anything, then what was she doing? If this was help, then what was everything else? Deirdre listened, her face twisted completely with confusion. She could hear what Morgan was saying, surely she understood the individual meanings of each word, but strung together the sentences made no sense. She could understand being loved back--barely, the notion was still fantastical to her. She could understand Morgan’s desire to help her back, to want to navigate through whatever strange feeling Deirdre was having. Morgan had turned her grip from firm to gentle and Deirdre opened her mouth to argue that there was no point to that---that if she couldn’t feel it, then what did it matter? How cared if Deirdre could? Gentleness was an offering she did not need. But her sentence caught in the back of her throat, her gaze dropped to their hands. It was nice, as much as she wanted to argue, it was nice. And she had missed the feeling. Since her great-great-grandmother’s passing, the only person who had held her hand with such care was Morgan. Since her death, motions and sensations became firm and rough and while she didn’t mind them in the slightest---she hadn’t thought about how she missed this softness. Morgan had tried to be gentle before, but Deirdre had never considered it was an act done purposefully, she assumed Morgan was simply figuring out how much pressure and energy to spend. And if this was help, if this gentleness could be felt and appreciated, what exactly did she have her hands broken for? If this was help, what had she been doing all those years and months and weeks prior to this?

Deirdre closed her eyes. She waited until Morgan’s words would fall over her like revelation and suddenly she would understand completely and all would be right and turmoil could be replaced with something productive. The moment did not come. She opened her eyes, shocked to find them wet. She raised her free hand to her face, surprised to find herself crying. “What’s my life been for then? All of it? I mean, if this is---” She swallowed. She turned and gestured to the small scar on the side of her forearm. So tiny and inconsequential and yet it had been the most painful thing she’d gone through. “Iron burn. So my mother could show me how it hurt. So I would know to avoid it, or handle it better.” And when a warden got her years later, another small and unimportant scar, she understood that pain well enough to manage to scream through it. It had helped. It had saved her life. She knew that, she understood that, that made sense. She explained this straight forward, but when she turned her attention back to Morgan’s words, her face screwed up with confusion again. “Shouldn’t it be more, Morgan? Shouldn’t everything be--” More? Better? Make more sense? How could help be this gentle? How could love be this kind to her? “If this is---what was everything else for then? If this---if what you said before is true, if I really was born for more than---” She swallowed, the question too hard to form. “I don’t understand. I want to understand but I don’t---I don’t understand.”

“Hey--” Morgan crooned softly. She let go of Deirdre’s hand to wipe some of the tears from her cheeks. “You’re safe right now, I’ve got you. Okay?” Deirdre seemed on the verge of bursting, and as much as she stammered through her thoughts, Morgan knew what she was asking for. She knew the awful revelation Deirdre was approaching about her mother, her childhood, all the bullshit that had poisoned and drowned her for so long. Morgan wasn’t sure if she could say it for her, if it was kind or right to. She drew Deirdre up and closer to her so their faces touched. She kissed her cheek, the lightest of touches, just a flutter. Her skin was so light against her lips, soft as a breath. “I don’t know what it was for, if that’s something for me to say, my love. But I do know, with all my heart, that you were born for more than hurt. You didn’t deserve to be hurt like that by anyone. Help doesn’t have to hurt to be real. Even if I didn’t know that before, I would’ve learned it from you these past few weeks. Your help doesn’t hurt one bit, and it’s done everything to help me get to my good days. And everything else is true too. I don’t know why it took so long to find you. It’s not fair, it’s not one bit fair to you. But it’s true and it’s yours now. All gentleness, all the help.” She pulled away enough to get a good look at her banshee, coming up to the edge. She hoped her look conveyed that she could jump. That she would not break if she took this into her. “Sometimes it's harder to understand that something can be true for ourselves, and not just for other people.Tell me what’s hard and I’ll try,” she murmured. “Anything, Deirdre. I’ve got you.”

Deirdre listened quietly, holding her breath as if even the softest exhale would blow down this straw-house of a moment. As though she could break it, just the way she’d been taught to destroy. Morgan’s words felt no more true than they had moments before, but she held them close to her--unable to understand yet but so sure she would eventually. Some realization slithered around the front of her mind, slipping through her fingers. Is it mine, she mouthed the words, though sound did not form. Was it hers? Could it be? If Morgan’s impending death was what pulled Deirdre to the other woman--if even this had been sullied by fate’s cruel hand? “It’s not...like that,” she breathed finally. “I was raised to do one thing. Born to. And I learned the best way I could. And that’s not---” Not wrong. It couldn’t be wrong. Except, Morgan was explaining the exact opposite to what her mother had drilled in. One of them had to be wrong, in some way. Deirdre was too afraid to make that judgement. “I am sworn to servitude. It’s just that this is--” Better, almost. This makes her happy. She had realized, with great pain, that sacrifice did not bring her much joy. Deirdre tensed again, watching Morgan pull back and look at her like--- “No,” she swallowed, her eyes betrayed the frailty of her heart. “I mean, I don’t---” she swallowed again. “I don’t know what do---how do I say it? How do I--” She stiffened. For so long she had grown learning emotion was wrong, she had walked through her life with the assumption she could not feel at all--even if she wanted to. She could not begin how to fathom summoning thoughts and feelings on purpose, enough to share them. By all accounts, this was taboo. “Why do you---you make this face sometimes when I talk about my family, or my childhood. Why do you do that? What does that--I don’t know what that expression means.” She assumed it meant she didn’t like those stories, and so Deirdre never shared them, even if she wanted to. “Is it bad?” Did Morgan not want to hear them--hear this?

“Having a duty, even yours, doesn’t mean people are entitled to--” To torture you, Morgan wanted to say. She wasn’t certain if that was the thing to say. Deirdre seemed almost frightened, like she might shatter or run if the wind changed and made her feel unsafe. She petted Deirdre’s hair, searching her face for a sign that would tell her what to say, that would help her banshee get across this thought. But she could only watch as Deirdre fumbled along, finally taking a turn that made Morgan lower her gaze, thrown off the course she thought they were headed on. “I don’t mean to--” To what, exactly? To look horrified at every new childhood trauma she accidentally uncovered? “I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her again. “But it’s not...bad. You aren’t bad for telling me. I want you to. I want to know everything I can about you, Deirdre.” This much was straightforward and true. Deirdre could believe in that much from her. “If anything my mom did had left a mark, wouldn’t it make you sad? If she had done some of those things to me--you wouldn’t blame me or want me to stop telling you. If I told you...someone hurt me. That…” She hadn’t really been hurt before, not the way Deirdre had. People had been cruel, but not like what she told her. And it hadn’t been her family. Not like that. It wasn’t close to comparable. “...In high school, I did, once--some kids did decide to hurt me. You wouldn’t want me to keep that to myself if I wanted to share it, right? But you would feel something. You would maybe wish you could do something even if there wasn’t any point...” Maybe she was going about this all wrong. Not everything turned around neatly and she was keeping the simple heart of Deirdre’s question at a distance. She sighed, gesturing to forget what she’d just said.

She cupped Deirdre’s face gently in her hands. “I just hurt for you, when I realize how much you’ve been made to suffer. No one has to suffer like that, no matter how important. And I love you, so of course I wish kindness for you. I wish gentleness and understanding for you. And sometimes the person who hurt you in your stories--” Maybe more like all the time. “Was someone who should’ve been finding the balance between making you feel loved and showing you how to live. I don’t...I can’t know how that balance would have been struck. But from here, imperfect as my understanding is, I just see that past you hurting when she didn’t have to and I hate that no one did anything to make it better for her.” Was this making any sense? She asked silently. Was this helping? “Did anyone...was there ever a time, Deirdre, when anyone tried to make it better for you? Tell you that it should be at least a little different? At least once, that you remember?” Someone must have, she thought. Even once, someone must have seen how wrong this was and tried.

Deirdre had begun to suspect, with growing clarity, that there was something Morgan wasn’t saying--just as there was something stuck at the back of her throat. “No, I...wouldn’t.” She answered cautiously. That much she knew for certain, she’d want Morgan to feel comfortable enough to share any story she wanted to. But senseless violence in high school, the cruelty that humans committed to each other, was different from the methods that had been used to train her. She paused for a second, waiting for Morgan’s explanation to follow. It did not. Her eyes grew wider, and a confusion free of accusation rested on her features. “You don’t think--It’s not--” she swallowed. “But it’s not---it’s not like that. It’s just...the best way to learn. Most banshees achieve mastery in a much longer time, but with certain techniques, that result can be achieved faster. And it needed to be, because I was so young.” That was her mother’s simple explanation, at least. Her grandmother never paid much attention to it, and her great-grandmother seemed to agree. It was her great-great-grandmother that appeared to take issue, though the teachings between a mother and her daughter were sacred. “It wasn’t suffering. It--” She tensed again, feeling Morgan’s hands on her face. There was something she wasn’t saying, exactly, and Deirdre feared asking what it was.

“My great-great-grandmother called the teachings archaic,” Deirdre said after a moment. “She was raised that way, but she claimed there was no point in trying to do it so young, or even with such frequency. She was…” Deirdre closed her eyes. “..it doesn’t matter. We were all raised more or less the same. Every teaching has been passed down.” Then opened them slowly. “It’s normal, for us. Does it make you--do you not like it? I am loved simply because I am family, all my mother had to do was teach me how to serve--and she did just that. I don’t see the issue.” Except that there were...several. And if she ever were to think any of Morgan’s words were true, she first had to believe her mother was wrong, a task she felt incapable of doing. “I think I...understand what this must sound like to you. But I assure you, it is not that. I achieved mastery at 15, in order for that to be, I had to learn to conquer pain; to hold my breath, to burn my skin, to rid myself of emotion. Perfection is the only way to be…” she trailed off, “or it was, I suppose. I don’t know anymore. To be with you, to be doing any of this, violates a number of the things I was taught. And I can’t help but think…” That something would come along and take it away. Or that it was wrong (and if it wasn’t wrong, then something else, something much worse, was).

Morgan’s heart sank. She did not let go of Deirdre, she did not break her gaze. She wasn’t certain if she could break Deirdre from her past. It was so monstrous to her, coming out would hurt just as much as being shut in must have been. She wanted to ask if Deirdre hadn’t cried or wondered if it wasn’t fair, sometime early, before she was numbed and broken into believing it had to be for her own good. “I don’t ever want to hurt you, Deirdre,” she said quietly, searching for something to say, lest the silence drag on too long. “For any reason. And I would never stop you from doing what you have to do. But you’re here, and you want me. And it...it still works. You’re still you and you’re incredible. They can exist together, you letting me love you, and you being all that you are. And maybe...maybe they always could have. I can’t know that the way you might, but it’s what I wonder sometimes.” But there was something else that needled at her, something she hoped might be safer to touch than whether or not some part of Deirdre had always known, safer than whether or not Morgan was ruining her banshee life by loving her. “Your great-great-grandmother, Clíodhna? What did she think? You...you mentioned her for a second. Did she ever tell you anything else?”

“Can it?” Deirdre asked in a whisper, reaching a hand up to lay over Morgan’s. In her darkest hours, she had hoped that was true. She had wanted it to be. She wanted the world where she could have both, but she doubted the possibility of its existence. “My…” Deirdre tilted her head, “why do you want to hear about her?” She had spoken of her fondly, once or twice, but never dared to venture through a more personal tale. “She said a lot of things.” Many of them confusing like Morgan’s words, though she understood better the importance of her being raised the way she was--or, so Deirdre assumed. They hadn’t spoken much towards the end of her life, and each conversation typically ended tensely. “I’m not sure I understood much of what she was trying to say…” She pursed her lips, lost in memory. Her fond childhood memories of her were coloured by their harsh later interactions--but despite it, there was something Clíodhna said without fail. “She did love me. I remember that. The last thing she said to me was....that I was raised wrong, and that she was happy she wouldn’t live to see me ruin my life.” She paused. “I don’t know if she meant this, exactly. But I imagine she’s happy she can’t see it anyway.” She omitted the fact they’d argued prior, or her words about the stars and the nature of love. She had tried harder than the rest of her family to impart her wisdom to Deirdre, but she’d never listened the way she should’ve. “My mother didn’t like her much, and I don’t think she liked my mother. I never knew why. I was told not to ask. Why do you ask?”

“It can. I still believe that. I mean, it already does and, if Clíodhna tried to love you too, she must have known...that it could be, right? She would’ve known if you could have both, maybe…” Morgan couldn’t tell if this had been the right question to ask. Deirdre seemed to close up more at the mention, rather than opening up. She dropped her hands to link them loosely with Deirdre’s, skating her thumbs carefully over the little bones. She couldn’t imagine how cruel someone had to be, to know Deirdre, to know any little girl that needed you, and to break her hands and make her work through the pain. She shivered, trying to make the pieces connect and failing helplessly. “You said she thought the teachings were archaic,” which was honestly a relief, even if it just confirmed a suspicion Morgan had worried at in her head. “And...in your nice stories, she’s in them a lot. When you were jarring pears while the sun was setting, and how she said the shadows look like monsters, and that’s when it’s time to come home, and her books--she was the one who liked Jane Austen. You gave me her books. And...if she was good to you, I mean, if she treated you differently, maybe she said something else. Um...less angry than ruining your life. Just...something that can help you with these questions. I don’t know…” Morgan sighed, still tenderly brushing Deirdre’s hands. “I do know that you don’t have to be perfect. I know that...you don’t have to do anything to be enough. Not for me, at least. You just are. And all the little things you do, that you think are just a matter of course, are so much help. I don’t even know how to explain how much. I know I love you because you’re Deirdre. I think it might be true for other people, other couples who aren’t us, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be, but I know...I do know that it’s like that for me. And with all that you are, and how easy it is to love you, it just can’t be wrong.”

“She did….mention that….” Deirdre swallowed, “...living solely for our duty was...not ideal.” She struggled through the admission, remembering how betrayed she was to hear the matriarch of their family say it. She had not reacted kindly to the sentiment then. She shivered against Morgan’s touch, nearly flinching away--her body remembered the pain it had faced, even if her mind knew Morgan would never willingly hurt her in that way. The topic had only served to bring those feelings back from the corners Deirdre had shrunk them into. “She was. She did. When I had nightmares as a child, she held me until I slept. But she...I don’t think she liked the woman I grew to be. She was kinder to me when I was a child, she just seemed...tired when we spoke.” Like she’d given up, but Deirdre didn’t like to think about that. She preferred to remember the woman as she used to be, the gentleness that she offered against her mother’s harsh hand. “Maybe she did...I don’t---I don’t like thinking about it much.” Unknowingly, somehow, she had failed her. And then she had died before Deirdre could learn how to make it right. The terms of her approval were elusive, she seemed to like Deirdre best when she did nothing at all---when she was a child. In that way, she was often reminded of her when Morgan extended kindness. “Yeah?” She brought her hand up, brushing back Morgan’s hair and leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips, humming blissfully against her. So much seemed uncertain, but in the span of hearing Morgan speak, the confusion had quelled. She could believe then, with great simplicity, that Morgan was right. “I love you too, because you’re Morgan. Even now, my love. If you say it, I’ll believe it then. That this isn’t wrong. I’m not sure...what that means for the rest, but I’ll figure it out in time.” She paused, leaning in to press another quick kiss. “But she was good to me; what little I know of taking care of things, I learned from her. She taught me how to soothe the animals, or find certain landmarks in the sky. She celebrated my birthday in secret with me, when it wasn’t a custom worth observing. I--I miss her. She would’ve liked to meet you, I think.” Deirdre sighed, “was there...something else you wanted to say?”  

Morgan swept her arms around Deirdre as she kissed her. They were fleeting, a brush of a moth’s wing against her lips, but Morgan pressed them together with a burst of fierceness from all the pent up helplessness. She squeezed her, face buried in her shoulder. “You should tell me more about her sometime. You said that’s how you honor her, right? You can tell me more stories about her.” She loosened her hold on Deirdre’s body, sacrificing the pressure of hard, clinging touches for the ghost-tickle of soft circles on her back and gentle fingers through her hair. “I don’t think so, no,” she said, lifting her head to kiss her cheek. There might have been more on her mind, but she didn’t have in her to condemn Deirdre’s mother for treating her the way she had aloud. That wasn’t a revelation she could argue out of her, and she wasn’t sure if she had the energy for it in the first place. And Deirdre, in all her distress, already seemed to suspect the truth. How much would she really be helping if she dragged it out of her, kicking and screaming? Morgan shifted and brushed her lips against hers. “Just...maybe, given what she said...maybe learning to live for other things besides your duty is something that she would’ve been happy about. You would know, but from what you’ve told me, I think she would.” Kissed her again. “Do you want to ask me anything? I’m yours, you know. Whatever you want.”

Deirdre hummed, she couldn’t feel where this conversation had led, or if there was any goal to it, but something inside of her lifted---some manner of pain became easier to carry. “I did say that,” she shivered with each soft touch, having grown used to the more firm pressure they used. She hadn’t offered many stories of her family on account of Morgan’s seemingly adverse reaction, though she saw no reason to keep them to herself now, having cleared the response up. “It’ll be a year since her death in July. I assume my family will ask for me back in Ireland for that but…” She sighed. “...I don’t think I’ll go.” There was a lot she didn’t know how to say to them, and she didn’t want to figure it out. “If she’s happy for me, she would be wrong to be. I think she’d know that.” Deirdre sighed into the next kiss, no more convinced of any kindness she was supposedly due. At the very least, she could say she knew now that she did help Morgan--and if it was true that she helped nothing else, she was happy enough saying she had done this one thing. But her great-great-grandmother was not the thing she wanted to talk about with her girlfriend in bed. “Actually, there was--” Deirdre untangled herself from Morgan, kissing her quick and firm as she pulled away and tried to get off the bed. “--something I wanted to give you.” She finished, moving into the closet. “If I can just---” She paused her rummaging to pop her head out, looking into the room. “Stay there,” she smiled, teasing, before turning back to her pillaging.  

Morgan couldn’t tell whether or not she should feel guilty over being this relieved that Deirdre was backing away from the ledge of that revelation. She had come closer than she had yet, and Morgan hoped she wasn’t kidding herself by thinking that some of the bars Deirdre’s mother had put around her heart had come loose. “I didn’t know she passed that recently. You could go, if you wanted,” she said. “Whatever you want to do, I’m with you in it.” In the woods Deirdre had made it seem like meeting the family wouldn’t be such a traumatic mess as it might have been when she was alive. Well, with everyone but her mother. Morgan didn’t know what to hope for there either. She could barely see into the next day, much less two months. And Deirdre being in her mother’s clutches again terrified her in a way little else did. Much as she wanted to see inside the rest of Deirdre’s past, she also felt safer with an ocean between the two banshees. She took the change in subject eagerly, inching only as far as the edge of the bed before Deirdre popped out to scold her into staying put. She was glowing again, teasing again. When was the last time that had happened? “I’ll be good,” she called back. “I’ll even cover my eyes!”

Deirdre suddenly regretted burying her present so deep behind her clutter, but she was half-afraid Anya would dig it out somehow and ruin the surprise. It was also where she kept most presents she thought to give Morgan, but wasn't sure exactly if they'd be liked—that necklace she'd bought days ago, that mug she got when they first started dating simply because it reminded her of Morgan. But among them, was something she had procured recently, and had been excited to share. It had taken a great deal of effort, and some manner of trading to obtain, but the moment she saw it, she knew she wanted it for Morgan. There was no better time to share than now. She pulled the small dark velvet box out, shoving away the rest of the mess back and striding to the closet door. She leaned against the frame, head tilted. "You're a sight, you know." She smiled softly, though the expression was lost to the woman who had, endearingly, chosen to cover her eyes. But the statement was no less true, and Deirdre had always found Morgan beautiful, especially when she took a moment to admire her from afar—and even with her tousled hair and newly pale skin, perhaps more so, in a strange way. She would explain that later, she decided. She was spent for words, and even as she thought to ask Morgan about Ireland and if she'd come, Deirdre was consumed by her excitement instead. She moved back to the bed, sitting on the edge with her body turned to Morgan. "You didn't need to close your eyes," she said softly, creaking open the velvet box.

There, cushioned in the middle of dark silk, was a drop of gleaming amber, no larger than her thumb. And in its center, perfectly preserved for some million years, was a small flower. As far as fossils went, amber had to be the most beautiful. Its bright orange color was perfectly polished, and once held to the light, the flower would reveal clearly each vein and fold. "You can look," she smiled. "You destroyed your things, and I wanted to give you something more to keep instead. Something to build back what was lost. Admittedly, I've been looking at the perfect fossil to get you for...a while now." Because those were rocks and remains and it seemed like the best of both worlds. "I saw this and I knew I wanted you to have it." Because it was beautiful and simple and rare and so much more than anything Deirdre could say with words. "It should be a little harder to shatter if you ever get mad but…" she smiled, "death can be beautiful, and you can build what was taken."

Morgan lifted her hand from her eyes, cracking a real smile with anticipation as she heard Deirdre’s voice lilt musically in that sweet way it did when she was feeling fond, even happy. Was she happy, really happy? Morgan almost asked, but that was the kind of question that would deflate the balloon before it’d had time to rise. “I wanted to be thorough,” she said. She beamed up at her banshee. She really did seem delighted, not just with herself, but with Morgan, despite her not having done too much that she could reckon. But hadn’t she just said it was the little things that helped the most? She looked down at the box in Deirdre’s hands. The amber was the brightest, richest honey yellow. The little petals had frozen peeled backwards, welcoming. There was a stem and leaves, and flakes of pollen seeming to blow into eternity. Morgan lifted it carefully, cradling the drop in her palm. It was so light, you wouldn’t have thought it could hold so much. Morgan brought it up to her eye and peered through it, giving the smallest, most breathless laugh as the world turned golden and warm for a moment. She nearly reached out to Deirdre right then, but stopped herself to put it back into the box for safe-keeping.

Then, as soon as she set it aside on the nightstand, she threw herself against Deirdre’s body, wrapping her up snug. “Don’t ever let me shatter it. Don’t even let me try. I want to be able to hang onto it forever. I want it to stay with us. It’s...it’s good bones, you know? It’s small and extraordinary even though it’s just one little flower, but it’s…” Surviving, in its own way. Living and not. Blocked away from the rest of the world, and treasured. Morgan could understand what she was supposed to see in it, and even if she couldn’t bring herself over that metaphor bridge into magically accepting everything, she felt something in her warm at knowing this was how Deirdre saw her, in spite of everything. “It’s beautiful, is what it is. It’s really so beautiful. Thank you.” She let herself squeeze her tight, as hard as she wanted her, as fiercely as she ached to try for her. Then, when she had drawn in all the pressure that she dared, she loosened her hold and situated herself more gently in her lap and lifted her head to brush their lips together in a gentle kiss. “Thank you, my love.” She moved her lips to the curve of her jaw, just as deliberately soft. “You know, the remote was on the floor the whole time, but I’m thinking…” She kissed her way down her neck, brushing her hands over her breasts and the dip of her waist with great care. She strained against the urge to take all of her firmly into her hands but she wanted to give her this. This gentleness, this softness Deirdre’d had so little of in her life and missed enough to shiver for it--she could give this to her in return, for starters. She paused in her movements to look at her meaningfully. She didn’t know how to explain how badly she wanted to give this without touching wounds on each of their insides. Yes, it was to do with what Deirdre had told her and how helpless Morgan felt. Yes, it was because she wanted to do something for her while she was still feeling good, something just for Deirdre. No, she wouldn’t be able to feel it, and if she thought about that too much, she might start to slip back into the dark. But she could be a selfless dead girl for a little bit. “...Maybe we should let Seattle Grace fend for itself a while, and I can thank you in a little more than just words.”

Deirdre watched Morgan pick the amber up, smiling fondly as she regarded it the way Deirdre hoped she might—the way she had when it finally was delivered to her house. There was something unspeakably magical about seeing the world colored warm through the amber, through watching something so beautifully preserved for eternity in one single moment. It was better, she decided, than the assortment of other things she bought Morgan but assumed the better of giving. Though if she enjoyed presents so much, Deirdre figured she could share those too; lead Morgan through each moment that had prompted the mostly inconsequential purchase. There was so much she wanted to give Morgan, most things seemed to fall so horribly short of what she wanted to say. "Yeah?" She smiled, watching understanding play through Morgan's features. She smiled a little wider, knowing she didn't have to explain—all the better, she lacked the energy to summon anything profound for the moment.

She paused on the threshold between pressing them harder together, stunned by gentleness extended to her. She opened her mouth to argue, unable to summon words against the brush of Morgan's lips against her skin. There was no way Morgan could feel any of this, and Deirdre moved to argue, moved to tell her that she could apply more pressure if she wanted, when she was stopped by the expression offered to her. Her concern melted as she understood. And though she'd never enjoyed being doted on, it was always better if it was Morgan—most things were. She leaned into her touch, finding that perhaps no words were needed at all to bring forth the profound. Her guilt washed away with the rest of the unpleasantness that sat inside her. If just for the moment, for what Morgan wanted to give, she surrendered. Deirdre's fingers unfurled from where they were poised to apply pressure. She leaned against her softly, exhaling finally. "I'm yours."

cruller

My favorite type of donut is a cruller. Pity the man that begins his own love story with a monologue about his favorite pastry, but I feel like there’s something to be said here. It’s not like your traditional cake or long john or eclair. A cruller is in an avenue all its own. For one, it just looks cooler. Who doesn’t like a twisty donut? The dough is shaped into this endless spiral that flakes beautifully in the oven. Furthermore, the consequent increase in surface area also leads to the creation of these little pockets that are the perfect space for the outer glaze to nestle into. Top the whole affair off with a flawlessly reduced jelly filling and it’s like eating ambrosia. This opinion definitely isn’t mitigated by the fact that a literal goddess is the one to serve me these treats every morning, yet I still face opposition.

“You’re just a fucking weirdo, Jason.”

These are the words of my donut-apathetic comrade, Malachi. He’s a bit of an old-head, if you were to ask me, but sometimes the bluntness of his responses are in my best interest. As of late, he has been the staunchest--and sole--opponent of my onset infatuation with the owner of our newly discovered cafe destination.

“These twists taste like garbage. Admit it, you just have a thing for Donut Girl.” A key indicator of his disdain is the fact he continues to call her “Donut Girl,” even though her name-tag would lead me to believe that she actually goes by Sadie. Then again, given my previous history with “Pizza Chick” and “Gas Station Lady,” it’s fair to say that I haven’t necessarily made the best name for myself when choosing my romantic interests in the wholesale industry.

“Unsubstantiated opinions on Sadie aside, you can’t tell me that this isn’t a damn good donut.” I mean, he could, but he’d just be a liar. I take another bite in between sentences. “Plus, I don’t think you saw the way she looked at me this time. That was definitely some sort of signal.”

I can’t say that I’m not offended by Malachi’s responding scoff. “Yeah, a signal to round up all the idiots. I can’t believe you’re twenty-three years old and you still crush after women like you’re in a teen drama.” He scowls at me as I finish off the last of the half-dozen with a smile on my face. “Those donuts literally taste like sugar-coated metal.”

“Oh, heaven forbid they contain the slightest hint of high fructose corn syrup.” In traditional old-head fashion, Malachi is the type to complain about foods nowadays being too sugary; he gets a headache from eating a rope of black licorice. “Gather ‘round, folks, Old Man Malachi is mounting the soapbox again to preach about the dangers of processed foods--”

“Oh, fuck you, I’m leaving.” He, rather dramatically, snatches the coat off the back of his chair and storms out of the bakery. I can’t wipe the grin off my face when I remember that we literally work at the same office and will see each other again within the next ten minutes. What I find to be less amusing is the fact that he left me the entire bill, including his cinnamon-free cinnamon twists and extra-large black coffee. In lieu of my irritation, I take the situation as just a form of preparation: true love isn’t cheap.

“Here’s your bill.” A slip of paper slides across the table and then I’m blindsided by the sight of an immaculate Sadie smile. Now that’s priceless. I can’t describe it in words, but it’s just so… damn. By the time I’ve regained my senses, she’s gone off to help the next customer. I glance over the receipt, fishing through my wallet to produce the proper total and a hefty tip. My eyes widen when I catch something hastily scrawled at the bottom of the slip: a phone number. Next to a poorly-drawn smiley face, but that’s beside the point; the Sadie of Sadie’s Bakery just gave me her phone number. As I get up to leave, I even catch a glimpse of her smiling softly in my direction. I more than happily return the gesture. Malachi will come around eventually, but this train is definitely already in motion.

***

I have to hand it to Malachi because the first few weeks of my relationship with Sadie did actually feel like a teen drama. Our initial correspondence was nothing to write home about. I’d pick up a cruller every morning at the bakery and we’d chat for as long as it took for Malachi to spitefully gulp down his coffee and claim that we were running late for work. In between breaks at the office, I curated a myriad of internet bakery memes. Then, at night, I would bombard our text conversations with dancing donuts and cake icing videos and pretend to not absolutely lose my mind whenever she responded with a laughing face emoji. This continued for a while until I had to stage a self-intervention from giving myself diabetes. Sadie was surprisingly understanding and even offered to make me a sugar-free batch; had Malachi not physically taken my phone and responded with “no and goodbye,” I would have accepted.

In spite of his continued opposition, the train kept on moving. Sadie was actually the one who asked me out; I know, the misogynists are quaking in their boots. After she made the first move at the bakery, I wasn’t super surprised that she proposed the idea of dating one morning when I stopped by to pick up an office order. That being said, her delivery did not keep me from turning completely red and whooping at the top of my lungs in the otherwise moderately quiet cafe. I honestly still don’t know why Sadie got so embarrassed; she literally owns the place. All that being said, Sadie and I were officially a couple. Now, I just have to let Malachi in on it so he can be a supportive best friend and help guide me through my new--

“Jason, I love you, man, but this seems like a terrible idea.” Okay, ouch. This hadn’t been the first time he’d ever said these exact words to me, but for some reason, they hurt more this time around. “This is so sudden! I seriously worry that you’re getting ahead of yourself. What do you even know about this Sadie girl anyways?”

“Uh, well, for one, she runs the best bakery in town.”

“Debatable. Dinah’s Breakfast Cafe has killer pastries.”

“Unlike Dinah, Sadie’s smart and funny.”

“And you learned this from your 2 A.M. meme conversations?”

“Okay, either way, look me in the eyes and tell me she’s not beautiful.”

“Do you really want me to call your girlfriend hot?”

I throw a straw wrapper in his face and pout, genuinely upset. “That’s not the point and you know it.”

“Look, dude, I can understand that your initial feelings may be strong, but I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again. Physically or emotionally.” Malachi fixes me with a serious look and I suddenly feel like sinking back into my chair. “Especially after Gas Station Lady, I was hoping you’d make a little bit of a better assessment of things. I mean, like, do you even know how old she is? Friends? Family? Does she have any past relationships? Who’s to say that she isn’t hanging out with one of her ex-boyfriends right now?”

That last comment was a low blow and more than a little melodramatic, but I suddenly feel like I don’t know enough about Sadie to defend her. Now that I think about it, maybe everything is moving too fast.

“Just… be careful, man. Maybe reconsider. Again, the last thing I’d want is for you to get hurt.” Malachi shoots me one last sympathetic smile before walking out of the breakroom. Maybe there’s some truth to Old Man Malachi’s words. I stare at the cruller in my hand for a moment. When I finally move to take a bite, something inside leaves a sour taste in my mouth. The jelly filling doesn’t taste quite the same as before.

***

After that awful conversation, I decide it's best to have a heart-to-heart with Sadie. Our text conversations dry up for a couple of nights and I try to avoid the bakery as much as possible to give myself more time to think. However, as it turns out, the inevitable conversation didn’t end up being as painful as I thought it would be. Sadie actually laughs when I tell her that I don’t know anything about her; she says the same could be said about me. We spend the rest of the evening making donuts together and giving each other a basic autobiographical rundown.

Sadie Marissa Jenkins II is a first-generation British--it was at this point in our month-long relationship that I finally noticed the accent--immigrant who’d moved here in order to pursue her studies in culinary arts at the local university. She lives with her older sister, and her dog named Muffin, and she prefers riding her bike to taking the metro. She spoke of no past relationships and is in fact not currently cheating on me with another man. I was quite happy, and a little smug, when reporting my findings to Malachi.

“If you think she’s the one, then knock yourself out.” He’s speaking very nonchalantly for a man who’s wrestling with a stapler. “She actually gave me a free coffee this morning, so maybe she’s worth keeping around.”

“So free coffee is all it takes to get Old Man Malachi’s blessing?”

“Hardy-har-har.” He flicks a loose staple at my forehead. “This better work out, because I’m not picking your ass up again when you get dumped out of a pizza delivery car in the middle of town.”

“At least she didn’t run out of gas.” I jokingly shoot finger guns in his direction, snorting when he feigns a shot to the chest as he exits the breakroom. There are still a couple of crullers left over in the Sadie’s Bakery box on the counter so I help myself to one--and immediately gag. Okay, they actually do kinda taste like metal. They’re probably just stale from sitting out all afternoon. Yeah, that’s probably it.

***

I decide to lay off the crullers for a while and instead take the time to learn more about Sadie. What I learn instead is that both of us have pretty uninteresting lives, but I think it’s the thought that counts. Plus, her accent is precious and I can barely pay attention when we have midnight baking lessons at the bakery. These lessons are always followed by her getting into my car, me offering to drive her home, and us making out in the backseat instead. This goes on for several nights and I have never once complained about it. That is, until tonight, when she decides to take a chomp out of the side of my neck.

“What the--!” I instinctively push away from her and inspect the injury with my hand. My fingers come away smeared red.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Her hands hover over me as I frantically press the sleeve of my jacket to my neck to stop the bleeding. “I got carried away. Did I hurt you?” I mean, judging by the fact that I’m literally bleeding, I think it would be fair to assume that she did, in fact, hurt me. Nonetheless, I manage a smile.

“It’s fine, Sades.” Probably. The bleeding has stopped, anyways. “Honestly. I mean, it’s not like you said some other guy’s name, or something weird like that.”

“What? What other guy? When was there ever another guy?” Sadie jolts away from me like I’m made of fire. “What do you know about another guy?”

“Uh, nothing! It was just a joke.” A bad joke. “An American joke.”

“Oh. I see.” She nervously picks at the leather of the car seat, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip.

“Really, the biting thing was fine.” Probably. I lean forward and place a small kiss on her ear. “In fact, dare I say that it was kinda hot.” I don’t know what response I was expecting, but I was not physically prepared for the look that she gave me when I pulled away. Then, we were back at it again. From that point in the night on, it was just so… damn. Maybe I was just hallucinating before; I think the crullers taste just fine.

***

“You look tired.” Malachi inquires with a wink as he takes another sip of his morning coffee. To be quite honest, I probably feel worse than I look; after the whole biting incident and my subsequent flirtatious response, Sadie kinda took things into her own hands. I think it’s fair to say that what happened in that car stays in that car. Probably.

“I was just busy last night.”

“Busy?” Malachi snorts into his cup. “With Sadie?”

“Oh, shut up,” I tiredly flip him the bird, “don’t say it like that. We’re literally adults. It’s not like teenagers kissing behind the bleachers, or something.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot when you got so mature. Just eat your damn cruller.” He shoves the half-dozen towards me and I nibble at one for a bit before taking a bite… which still tastes awful. Did she change the recipe for the filling? I need to talk to her about that. “Then again, maybe you’re right. I don’t remember them wearing scarves in August in teen dramas.”

I literally choke on the bite of cruller in my mouth. Okay, so maybe the biting incident wasn’t fine. You live and you learn.

***

“Uh, hey there, Sades.” I make my way into the sparsely lit kitchen of the bakery. “Whatcha’ up to?” My real question is, why does the kitchen look like a literal crime scene? There’s donut filling smeared all over the counters; there’s even some on the wall.

“Oh! Uh, nothing, just washing my hands. Cleaning up.”

“Did you cook something?” I look around the kitchen a bit. No pots or pans. Not even a baked good. “I don’t see anything.”

“N-No, not really. I was just preparing something for a batch I was going to bake tomorrow.” For a baker, that’s a totally normal thing to do. Probably.

“Alrighty, then. Should we head out now?”

Sadie smiles, but her face still seems tight. “Lovely.”

***

“Something’s off about Sadie, man. I’ve been getting these weird vibes lately.”

“Oh, so now you see it.” Malachi rolls his eyes, taking a bite into a fresh-baked, sugar-free twist. “Did you two have a fight? Does she not like it when you burp halfway through your sentences?”

“What? No, to both.” Well, actually, that’s a hard maybe on the latter. “Nothing specifically happened, per se, but, like, the vibes were off. She was acting really strange last night.”

“What’d she do, exactly?”

“Well, she…” Washed her hands? What exactly am I supposed to say in this situation? “...actually, never mind.”

“Good. Because, if you were about to say some kinky shit, I literally would’ve punched you in the face.” He chortles as I push hard against his arm. “Look, man, relationships are weird. Whatever’s on your mind, just work it out with her. Better now than later. Regret hurts like a bitch, dude.”

I stare down at the cruller in front of me and swallow thickly. “I think you’re right, man. I should just talk things out with her.”

***

Oh, god, I was wrong. I was so wrong. Screw talking things out. Malachi was right. Regret does hurt like a bitch. I should’ve listened to him, the first time. I wish I could go back and listen to him. I should’ve known something was wrong from the random nighttime hand washing. Or from the biting incident. Or from when any human woman found me to be conventionally attractive. Maybe that’s it. Maybe she’s just not human. She probably isn’t, given that she’s pulling this shit. She’s literally crazy, and I fell for it.

You wanna know what was in those crullers? The jelly filling: it wasn’t cherry or strawberry or whatever other random red fruit we thought it was. It’s straight-up human remains. ...Plus a shit ton of sugar and preservatives, but that’s beside the point. That’s why Malachi thought they tasted like metal. There’s iron and calcium in blood and bones; she was just feeding us metal. People. And I ate them! Almost every day! For two months! Oh my god, what’s wrong with her? What’s wrong with me?

Malachi, or Mom, or Gas Station Lady, if you’re reading this, just know that I love you all. Actually, this is an inner monologue; you’ll never see this. Poetic cruller bullshit aside, this is absolutely crazy. Oh god, she’s back. Oh god, she has a meat grinder. Why would she have a meat grinder? This is the worst day of my life. Oh god, this is the last day of my life. I’m about to die. She’s about to grind me into bits and make me into donut filling. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god. I should’ve known better, I should’ve--

Fuck, Malachi, please, don’t eat the crullers. Don’t eat the--

***

“I knew there was something up with you!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh god, he even told me that you were acting strange recently--”

“Malachi, please, calm down. What’s the matter?”

“Cut the bullshit, Donut Girl. What did you do to Jason?”

A pause. Then, she smiles. “Welcome to Sadie’s Bakery, the best baked goods in town. Could I interest you in a cruller?”

Stop Trying To Make Fetch Happen

(First of all, let me offer my deepest apologies for the title. It was just too good to pass up on. Second, if you haven’t seen the video of Boston Dynamics robot, SpotMini, you should, especially since the robot in this is a direct ripoff of it. Third, set very loosely in the au of my fic sliding towards chaos, but absolutely no context is needed…it’s really just because of the bits with the Machine). Last, did I say sorry about the title yet?)

Reese turned around from getting a beer out of the fridge in the subway to find himself face to face with pure nightmare fuel in the form of 65lbs of robotics. The robot…dog (for lack of a better term) might only have come up to just below his waist, but it’s extendable neck allowed it to raise its mechanical head and “stare” him right in the eyes.

“Root,” he called softly but urgently. “Root, it’s staring at me again.”

While the mechanical monstrosity didn’t technically have eyes, Root had drawn some on with a sharpie. It did, however, very much have a mouth, or rather a jaw, with which it could pick things up or possibly rip someone’s arm off.

“Don’t be silly, John.” Root watched him from the table across the room, a slightly sadistic smile on her lips. “It’s just being playful.”

The robot tilted its head back and forth as if examining him and all he could think of were the creepy, death dinosaurs from Jurassic Park. What were the called again? Oh right, raptors. Root had built a giant robot dog-raptor probably with the sole purpose of terrorizing him.

He could easily imagine a pack of the things hunting him down and ripping him to pieces in the most painful way possible.

Reese wasn’t sure what exactly set off Root’s obsession with building the damn thing. Shaw kept claiming it was her latest attempt to get out of doing chores since the first thing Root had done was teach it to do the dishes.

(Taking out the trash was still off limits since even New Yorkers might get a bit worried if a giant robot burst out of a basement carrying a trash bag).

“Good robot,” he said and cautiously ducked past it. It turned to watch him go, but didn’t follow.

Shaw watched it with narrowed eyes from where she sat on the floor next to Bear’s bed. Bear had spent the first few days of the robot’s existence barking at it and howling in distress from a safe distance. Shaw had been furious and Root had attempted to make peace by programming the thing to exhibit playful dog behavior.

Or what she thought was playful dog behavior. The robot was now capable of swaying back and forth an bouncing up and down while its head remained in the exact same location in space. It looked completely unnatural to Reese and sent a shiver down his spine every time.

Bear must have agreed because he now wouldn’t approach it at all and sometimes hid when it was bouncing around on its alarmingly mobile legs.

Shaw had retaliated by leaving things in the middle of the floor for it to trip on which had only prompted Root to improve its sensors and give it the capability to right itself after a fall.

Shaw had not been amused.

Reese came over to sit next to Shaw on the floor.

“She hasn’t given it any offensive capabilities, has she? Like attack protocols?” he asked.

Shaw didn’t look up from scratching Bear’s head. “Not that I know of, but this is Root we’re talking about. Only a matter of time.”

A sudden horrifying thought occurred to him. “Can the Machine control it?”

Shaw shrugged. “Probably. Seems like something Root would do, though I think it’s supposed to be autonomous.”

“This is how the robot apocalypse starts, Shaw.”

Shaw snorted. “I actually trust the Machine more than Root’s programming on this one. Only one of them hates most people and it’s not the AI.”

A fair point, Reese conceded.

He joined Root at the table a few minutes later. It was weirdly uncomfortable here with both of them lately. The weren’t fighting, per se, but the robot was a point of contention and Shaw pointedly avoided Root when she was working on its programming.

“What are you doing this time?” he asked as he sat down.

Root was busy at her laptop as always, no doubt upgrading the thing with new, creepy powers.

“Hmmm, I’m trying to find the best way to teach it the general concept of a refrigerator.”

“How about ‘human food box’?”

Root’s smile was deeply patronizing. “It’s cute that you’re trying to help, John, but that’s the worst suggestion you’ve ever given me. You’re thinking like a human.”

Not the first time she’d accused him of that, but the intended insult was one he was proud to claim.

He refocused on the important matters.

“You haven’t taught it to…attack or anything right?”

Root’s wide, toothy smile made his blood run cold.

“We’re working on “fetch” at the moment,” Root said. “Things like “attack” and “kill” can come later.”

Reese laughed weakly. She was joking right? Right?

“Root.”

They both turned at Shaw’s tense voice. The robot had gone over to Bear’s bed and had its front legs bent, the back of it shaking back and forth. It bounced playfully on its front legs as if asking to play.

Shaw had her gun pointed at it and Bear was hiding behind her.

“It’s just being friendly,” Root protested.

“It’s about to get real friendly with a bullet.”

Root sighed and called the robot back over to her. Not an improvement in Reese’s opinion since that put it right near him again.

“It’s okay,” Root told the robot, patting it on the head in a reassuring manner. “She’ll come around eventually.”

But eventually didn’t seem like it was going to come any time soon.

The entire mess came to a head while Reese was out on a mission one day. The subway was empty when he returned, but the robot dog was lying, inactive, in the middle of the floor. Several pieces of it had been ripped off, and one of its legs was broken.

Reese examined it for a few minutes and then headed to consult the only one besides Root or Shaw who was likely to know what had gone down.

“Hello?” he said as he entered the subway car.

One of the monitors was already on and words appeared in the screen almost at once.

Hello, John Reese.

He was proud of the fact she finally called him by his name.

“What, uh, what happened out there? With the robot.”

You are aware that Root has been teaching her creation to fetch?

“Yeah, she said she thought she finally had it down.”

She attempted to have it fetch Shaw. Shaw did not wish to be fetched. A brief struggle ensued and it would be accurate to say that Shaw emerged the victor.

“Oh god.” He could imagine that almost too well. “Why fetch Shaw?”

Root was in bed and wished Shaw to join her. She sent the robot to gently encourage her to hurry up. Unfortunately the fetch protocol is still a little buggy and the robot got overenthusiastic.

“Bad idea.”

It was perhaps not Root’s best plan.

Reese looked out at the pitiful remains of Root’s pet project. “I can’t imagine Root was pleased.”

She was very distraught, though slightly distracted by Shaw’s display of upper body strength during the struggle.

Neither of these things surprised him in the slightest.

Shaw was unapologetic, but did take Root home after. Presumably to cheer her up.

Reese had a good idea what that entailed and no desire for details. He decided to change the subject slightly to head that off.

“Do you know why Root never named it?” He’d been shocked she hadn’t.

She wished me to select a name for it. I did not.

“Why you? And why not?”

Her original intent in building it was a misguided notion that I might like a pet. I did not name it because it’s not truly self-aware. It is a fancy toy.

Reese wondered if the Machine could get jealous. Probably best not to think about that for too long.

“Sort of a shame, though,” he said. “I hate the thing, but I’d kind of gotten used to seeing it around here. And Root seemed to really enjoy working on it.”

Perhaps you are correct. Would you like to help me remedy the situation?

“Uh, I don’t know the first thing about robotics.”

Unnecessary for this task. Several pieces were badly damaged by Shaw’s impressive attacks against it. You can help me acquire replacement parts.

He decided not to notice the fact that the Machine seemed kinda…into Shaw beating up the robot.

“Does it require breaking and entering?”

Not necessarily, but I’m sure I could arrange it to.

Reese nodded in satisfaction. Now they were talking.

It took Root two weeks to fully rebuild the robot, partly because she kept getting very upset about its broken state and Shaw kept having to ‘cheer her up’. Reese started spending more time hanging out with Fusco until the repairs were complete.

“I think he’s starting to like it,” Root said, watching Bear cautiously sniff Spot.

The Machine had finally agreed to name the robot, though he suspected that was mostly to humour Root.

And Bear was doing a little better with it now that Root had taught it another way to play fetch: throwing Bear’s chew toy for him.

“Hmph.” Shaw kept an eye on Bear and Spot as she cleaned her weapon at the table. She was sitting next to Root now and Reese was working hard not to notice the way Shaw twitched every so often and Root looked smug. But it was nice to see they’d made up.

Shaw hadn’t warmed up to Spot much, but since its resurrection the robot seemed very nervous around her and went out of its way to avoid her. Reese wasn’t sure if this was something Root had added to its programming or if one of the fancy learning algorithms it ran on had concluded that she was a threat. Shaw seemed quite pleased with the situation.

“I think it’s almost ready to try out in our apartment,” Root said.

“Oh, hell no.” Shaw looked indignant. “No evil robot dogs in the house. That’s Bear’s territory.”

“But Sameen, think of all the dishes it could do.”

“Think of all the dishes you could do it you put in one tenth of the effort you spent on that thing.”

He tuned out their friendly squabbling to watch Spot attempt to chase the robot tail Root had given it. It was almost endearing.

Especially with the little top hat on that he’d bought for it. Root had been absolutely delighted about that.

Later, after Root and Shaw had left for the night, he found Spot in rest mode, folded up in the dog bed Root had insisted on buying and placing next to the Machine’s servers.

“How’s pet ownership treating you?” he asked the monitors.

It is not really a pet.

“True, but pretending it is isn’t the worst thing ever.”

That is possible, I suppose.

“If you really dislike it that much I’m sure Root will deactivate it for you.” Probably, anyway. There’d be a lot of sulking.

I am not deactivating Spot.

Reese’s lips twitched as he held back a smile. “You like it, don’t you? Something in your code thinks it’s cute.” Probably the wagging tail. Even an AI couldn’t resist that.

I believe you have plans tonight, Primary Asset Reese. You will be late if you do not leave soon.

A dismissal and he was back to being ‘Primary Asset’. He must have struck a nerve. Or circuit.

In the dark of the subway later that night, Spot switched back on and unfolded itself. It trotted over to the monitor display and cocked its head to one side, focused on one of the little computer speakers on the desk.

“Good Dog.”

Spot wagged its tail.

OK hopefully this will be the last sketchy post about Boku No Hero Academia / My Hero Academia Em’s background and information 

Also like help me decide who to ship her with and like idk @doodlingclown @baileythebailer am I too much? Yea? Ok I’ll bury myself k bye 

Name: Em Hyde Saiaihime  Aliases: Zentai Sato (as UA student) Pre Mo (Previous Villain before All Might injury)  Eyes: Blue (green/brown) hazel Height: 5′6″  Weight: 130 lbs  Age: 27 

Short backgrounds on her Aliases

Pre Mo:

A villain given a Premonition Qurik [functions by being able to predict one move forward of the opponent that they are looking at and can look at up to five people’s next moves] 

The villains thought the reason he didn’t get negative affects was perhaps he had special DNA that allowed it to bond without draw backs to the new quirk

His job with the “league of villains” was to gather information about heroes, rogue villains, or anyone of interest who would not be easy to fend of if they caught you following them. 

History goes that he attacked a hero (the hero ended up making up this story but most people believe the hero over rumors) 

He did kill a few people: but they were intense situations one of the people he did kill was a hero who Pre Mo tried to help but they refused and backed up into more villains who killed him but he took the blame. The others were people he was stalking and the cards were not in his or his prey’s hands because he tried to save them but still failed. 

Faked his own death shortly after the supposed death of All Might’s foe because he didn’t want to be under the rule of the villains any more. 

His death basically annihilated his body so investigations didn’t think it was strange when they couldn’t find a body. But because most of his body was annihilated the dna with the quirk was gone. 

Villains did not know his true identity, no one was ever able to tie him with the Em Saiaihime. They also thought Pre Mo was quirkless before given the quirk which he gave himself the villain name from. So no one had a second thought when he died because a blast like that, even if he saw it coming he probably couldn’t avoid it. 

It took a while over 6 months for Em’s body to regain it’s complete functionality after basically destroying it. 

Zentai Sato: 

Applied for UA saying they had an “invincibility” quirk and was put into one of the other classes (and transferred to class 1-A *see 6) 

The school did find it strange that Sato didn’t have much educational history but it was explained away by him being an orphan and it getting lost because it was viewed as unimportant. 

Even if she had solid answers for everything while she was hiding in plain sight she was so anxious and seemed pretty aloof until people started opening up with Zentai first. 

Though one of the things that made other’s more comfortable was when someone pointed out his name was basically Hentai, and seeing his react as not some scary dark dude made the other students feel like they weren’t a threat. 

Some of the teachers found him suspicious, but they thought it would be easiest to keep a watch on him at school so they let it slide. 

They were only transferred to the class due to recommendation 

The transfer date was one day before the USJ attacks 

Reasons for going to UA were to honestly try and start over, because she knew what she did was wrong, though not all of the deaths were her fault the blame was put on her and she’d take the downfall for it even if it wasn’t true. I’d say she’s kinda a glutton for punishment because of how lowly she views herself, but she just wants to do something right. 

Reveal of Em Hyde Saiaihime: 

When Nomu was crushing Aizawa Shouta Em’s instincts were screaming at her to do something but she was trying to help the other students with the villains at hand but as soon as Tomura reached for Sue’s face she snapped [ and example it would look like is this . 3:00 to 3:15 ] 

She didn’t care if she had to reveal herself and her back story she couldn’t let people die, not again, that’s the whole reason she came to this school. To do better, to do good things. 

The students were obviously probably confused, like “dude why is one of our class mates trying to fight that thing and his boss when it just crushed sensei?” And Thirteen had a bad feeling, also where did he get that power? Like he’s just invincible not super strong? 

Continuity: When Shigaraki is talking to All Might how it’s not fair that hero’s can be violent and how Midoriya was going to kill him but to Em hopefully All Might wouldn’t get involved in this weird AU way of looking at it.  Em would be the one he’s talking to and she just snarls and tells him he’s wrong. “Because I’m not some kid who is trying to be a hero who went to attack, I went to make you go down, because you’re trying to hurt the people I want to protect.” 

She’d have to go all out to beat Nomu and get the villains to retreat as the pro heroes are on the way and man is she hurt but her [quirk makes wounds heal / time and energy build up too] body had healed enough on the outside to where when the heroes came in to help clear up the other villains and help the students she ran away. 

A note about her quirk:  She’s indeed invincible / indestructible (to a point I mean) but her quirk is more so time/space so her body still takes the damage but it heals quickly. The pain does not, so sometimes the pain is enough to make her black out and half the time its just determination that keeps her up. She’s usually in so much pain and especially in battles where she get’s banged up like that, the pain only stacks, but she has to stay conscious to keep fighting. If she even relaxes for a moment she basically passes out again. Her wounds can reopen too, so like a stab wound, while it will go away in a few moments she’d still cough up blood. It’s not a fun time and she’s not really built for endurance fighting but that’s still what she does.  The extent of her physical attacks would be that in the above clip, like strong, could kill a person but not that strong that someone who is trained to fight cannot stand their own against her. 

Reveal Part 2: 

She makes it back into the school, her id still worked to get her in because they suspected she’d try to come back and play it off like Zentai. 

Instead she came back as herself and sat in the class room before class started and formally apologized to the students for deceiving them and explaining that it’s what she thought was the right thing to do for herself and that she’s going to accept any form of punishment that the school will go through with. All this before Aizawa makes it into class. 

She doesn’t resist at all when the students are asked to get help, she doesn’t want to fight. As a few students are standing off as defense and others get help from other pro heroes and teachers she apologizes to Shouta [there are tears but she doesn’t even notice she’s crying] 

Could she easily get out of being captured? Very well, like escape artist hero is something she could very well be but she looks so down on herself she’d not even try to fight to defend herself against the heroes who she looked up to and care about. 

She offers herself up to go on a trial (ok now here’s a head cannon / idea for someone to take as an OC if they want to like hit me up) by the quirk of someone else.  Their quirk is like a lie detector but rather it makes you tell the truth about what ever question is asked [also think Truth or Punishment Star Vs the Forces of Evil] but like even if you tell the truth it’s still really painful and dangerous like #bitch you could die from your injuries. And if you try to fight the truth it’s like your body being torn apart. So it’s not a fun time but she assure them that it’s the quickest way to prove she’s not lying about certain past events. And the only reason they agree is because she says that being indestructible it won’t do much damage. 

When in all reality it hurts a whole lot, like she’s coughing up blood because she doesn’t want to say anything about her past and try and excuse herself like “yeah my mother, the one person in the world who is supposed to care, hated me.” She refuses to let them know that, she doesn’t deserve their sympathy right. So she’s crying and bleeding and in a hell of a lot of pain but the trail started and she “tricked them into it” (They probably wouldn’t have agreed seeing as how inhumane it is). 

After the trial it turns out that, yeah she’s done bad things, and she’s still got a lot to learn but she’s not a villain, I mean, not really? 

She has to spend like a week in Recovery Girl’s office, the first two days she’s still occasionally spitting up blood and in so much pain that she’s crying and doesn’t notice (because the trail happens after she fights the Nomu too so she’d still be healing from that too because her quirk doesn’t make the pain heal any faster than it would for most people so she’d probably be in that pain for a month or two the most severe being then) 

Another note on her quirk:     Certain physical wounds/injuries don’t get undone (physically erased like when she gets a cut and such her skin will heal and the bleeding will stop but still holds the pain). Like a burn doesn’t threaten your life so she’d retain it like any other normal human. Same goes with if she loses an eye, her eye will probably not come back unless it’s a fatal wound. She can scar, bleed, break bones, and such as long as it’s not fatal her quirk won’t fix it.     Then again if the limb with the scar get’s cut off, and it comes back (through basically regeneration due to space rewinding/loop/worm holes) then the scars that would have been on it are gone because it’s a new limb basically.     I’m not sure if her quirk makes sense, the only reason it would be time/space correlated is like a the pause in a game or a save point would be her healthy body parts. So like if she gets an injury it’s like you reload the save but the codes still have the idea that the body is in pain. So she’s back to physical standards if she has to “recall” to it, but the pain doesn’t change and can stack. That’s why wounds that aren’t severe won’t activate her quirk to go to the “Save” because she can’t just control her quirk like that. The one thing about it she can control is ignoring the pain with her determination to protect those she cares about but her body will eventually have to face the pain and actually heal.  An Angsty Idea:     There is a point where the Villains get her, they cut her head off (it comes back, but the pain would be something kind of unimaginable, she might not be able to feel her body/ be kind of paralyzed. Her motor skills will be like a new born, trying to relearn and stuff. It might not take as long as other wounds to heal but it will be an awkward couple weeks for her and her pain would probably come in waves and make her pass out /spinal injury ya know?). They probably torture her, and end up brain washing her, she becomes a puppet, and loses her eye somehow (but not being such a deadly wound her eye would just reform and she’d have to tend the wound).     The heroes probably won’t have a choice other than killing her at some point. Or maybe the refuse to kill her but the small part of sanity she has finds a way to make them kill her. (Like someone pulls a sword away and she’d just follow through and kill herself either way, she does this in the Bleach AU). Either way, she somehow manages to get her head re-cut off. Her eye would be normal because again, “a new limb” kinda of deal, and the same goes for her brain. So she wouldn’t be brain washed anymore. But I mean, just imagine the toll of injuring your nervous system like that twice in the span of maybe a month. She’d need a lot of help, rehabilitation will probably be a must if the heroes got her back.     There’s an old myth that your birthmark is how you died in your past life, mine and hers is on the back of the neck under the duck tail part of hair. So like neck injuries scare me, but what scares me the most is like, the myth doesn’t say it would take the shape of the wound. If it did, then I’d say it was a shot to the back of the head, but if not, it could be any neck injury, like getting it cut through by a sword in the Bleach AU. 

Jan. 29: “Good Samaritan”

Day 2: Good Samaritan

Warning for seizures? That’s it. Also a bit of a warning that the world this is in deals in magic and monsters. Find more about that on my OC blog, @the-entire-monster-kingdom, and find more of my I&I writing at @tokyoemeto!

___________

Ajax felt fine when he’d left the house earlier.

But that was earlier.

He felt fine the whole time, really. It was a nice day, even. He got to spend time in the older neighborhood and pet the outdoor cats and even help some of the locals in the garden. He’d gotten a few things in return to take home, and after a short detour, he was back out in town. It was, for once, a great day— Until he blacked out. No matter what one might expect, it wasn’t so easy to get used to having seizures. As much as Ajax had grown used to the idea of it, every time he found himself coming to while laying on the ground or snapping back into reality, it was jarring, especially when it was something that could even be less than a couple of minutes long, but ruin an entire day.

Everything seemed muffled at first. Far away, distant. Hazy. Warm, gentle hands touched him, moving him carefully. Everything seemed to dissipate once more before he finally came to, staring up at the person touching him dazedly. He wore white… Was that a cloak? He didn’t think many people outside of the old neighborhood wore those. He was probably an adventurer. He pushed his hand under Ajax, pulling him up gently after having laid him on his side. Ajax couldn’t help the groan that left him, supporting himself with a hand on the ground and running a hand through dark locks of hair. Though it seemed to hurt the stranger, he kneeled next to Ajax. “Hey, are you feeling okay?” His voice was gentle, as if they were out for a walk in the park, “You know where we are, right?” Ajax nodded. He felt like he couldn’t find his voice for a moment, finally finding words after coughing for a moment. “We're… We’re in the middle circle, right? Near the cafe?” The stranger stopped for a moment, looking around. He knew where they were, but he didn’t know there was a cafe. The kid was right, though. Maybe he should be questioning the stranger, and not the other way around. He flicked his hood back, looking the kid over with attentive eyes before touching his wrist carefully, like a glass doll as he tried to get a look at the bracelet, clearly a medical ID, that he wore. This was probably a common occurrence, then. Name. He needed a name. “Ajax… Right?” The human nodded, smiling sheepishly up at the stranger. He had tan skin, too, dotted with freckles all over his cheeks. “Uh… My name’s Noah. I'm… I’m not a doctor, but I know how to deal with a seizure… I’m, uh… I’m epileptic, too.” He gave him a bit of an awkward, crooked smile. It was an odd thing to bring up, or bond over, but it was nice to know that whoever was taking care of you knew what was happening from experience, he supposed. Ajax nodded, his eyes shifting down to his lap, then back up to Noah. Catlike ears sat atop his head. He was one of the inhuman. A Nexonian. They were the kind that… well… owned the place, really. It was their city. Noah let go of Ajax’s wrist, resting his hands on the ground in preparation to push himself up. “Hey, do you think you’re okay to move? We should get you… Home, I guess? You live right around here, yeah?” Ajax nodded again. Noah smiled. “Alright… Lemme get myself up. Last thing I want to do is fall on top of you because I got down on the ground.” He chuckled sheepishly, pushing himself up with his arms and rising slowly, wincing at the painful cracking in his knees. Once he was sure he was steady, he held a hand out to Ajax, bending forward a little. He really should have gone about it a different way, but thank the gods, Ajax was light. Pulling him to his feet, Noah took a few steps back, then came to his side as he rose, wrapping an arm around his back. He still seemed unsteady, but it was perhaps too much to carry him.

Taking a slow step forward, Ajax followed suit, and soon they had begun their short walk to Ajax’s apartment. It took some directions from the human, but someone who could figure out robots had no issue taking directions on how to get to a place maybe a block or two away. The hardest part were the stairs— The bane of Noah’s existence and the most difficult thing to try and deal with when you had only just come out of a seizure… At least, that didn’t involve machines. Taking extremely cautious steps, Noah held onto Ajax almost like his life depended on it as the human descended just after him. It was only a small set of stairs, just a few feet before they were in the hall in front of his apartment. Ajax gingerly tapped Noah’s hand with his lanyard, letting the inhuman take the keys and unlock the door before handing them back. Noah surveyed the room before he decided to settle on the couch as a good place to set Ajax down. Guiding him over, he set him down, looking around. It was a nice apartment. Clearly, someone else lived with him, but they didn’t seem to be here. Noah could easily sniff out their presence, but his first hint, more apparent to even humans, was the fact that… Well, Ajax didn’t seem to be the kind to play video games. Or watch horror movies. Noah didn’t take Ajax for the kind to watch many movies at all, but… Perhaps he’d have to find out later. “Hey, uh… Do you want a drink or something? Or something to eat? I don’t know what you have, but… Stay there, I’ll get something.” He finally let his hand leave Ajax’s shoulder as he shifted his attention to the kitchen, deciding to fill a glass with water and grab something light. A pack of crackers. Good enough. He returned to the living room with both in hand, sitting next to Ajax and handing over the glass first. He watched as Ajax took only a few sips of it before handing it back, Noah setting it on the coffee table in a spot not covered in papers and computers. By the looks of it, Ajax… or at least his roommate, Noah assumed, was a college student. Handing over the crackers, Noah decided to make small talk. “So… Uh… Do you go to college around here?” Ajax nodded, biting into a cracker. “Yeah, how’d you know?” Noah chuckled sheepishly. “It’s all over the papers on the table. What are you studying?” Ajax smiled a little. He seemed to like being asked so many questions. “Graphic design. I can’t really do normal work, but… Uh… I was thinking I could do something like that, I guess? And, it's… Uh… It’s kinda nice to go to class, I think. If I can’t really work normally, it’s fun to still do something.” Noah nodded. He wasn’t one to judge a book by its cover, but he didn’t think Ajax was that sick, upon first glance. “What do you do?” He smiled up at Noah. There was a good foot and a half difference between the two in height. “Me? Oh, uh…” Noah paused. He could say many things, but he didn’t want to just start with “I’m royalty”. He coughed. “I… I’m an engineer. I build and design stuff like robots and computers, and… I go out adventuring with my friend sometimes… Mercenary work.” He smiled. Ajax smiled, too, though with a hint of sadness. “That sounds like fun. I wanted to learn fire magic and be a mercenary, but… I don’t think it’ll happen.” He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly. Noah couldn’t help but feel a bit of sympathy. If it weren’t for the gods and their magic… He wouldn’t even be alive, let alone running about and swinging swords around. He shrugged. “It's… It’s fun. It’s exhausting, but… It’s fun. I honestly wouldn’t be able to do it without magic to help me.” He looked down to Ajax. His ear twitched, the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the steps outside of the door. Was Ajax’s roommate an elephant or was that a neighbor? Ajax smiled again. “You know magic? How’d you learn it?” Noah gave another sheepish smile. He probably sounded like a complete lunatic. “I learned it from the gods. My family’s patron is the wind god, he… Uh… He made sure I stayed alive, and he taught me some magic, starting when I was… Eight? Ten? Old enough that I was out of the hospital most of the time.” He smiles a little. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t automatically afraid for him or trying to pity him when he mentioned how he’d been in the hospital. His ears twitched again, turning as the door opened.

The heavy footsteps were from a very clearly heavy person. Ajax’s roommate was another inhuman. She clearly had to be some form of demon, standing at eight feet tall, Noah guessed, and clearly made of mostly muscle. Her skin was a frosty blue color and her hair many different colors, ivory horns poking out from the rather fluffy mess. She looked at Ajax, then Noah, hanging her keys on a hook next to the door. “Jax, who’s this?” She laid her backpack by the door, standing on the other side of the table. Noah would have been terrified if he were any normal person. Ajax smiled, leaning forward. “Oh, this is Noah! He… Uh…” He smiled sheepishly. “He helped me get back after I had a seizure…” Her expression, harsh before, softened, now concerned. “You had a seizure? When? You should have called me.” She ducked into the kitchen for a moment, getting herself a glass of water, too. Ajax’s eyes sank to the table, trying to avoid her look. He didn’t like to worry her. “Uh… I got up..  ten minutes ago?” Noah nodded. “Yeah, it’s been… Twenty minutes at the most.” She nodded, sighing and looking between the two. She didn’t like strangers in the house, but damnit, Ajax clearly already liked the guy. “Mh… Uh…” She let her gaze rest upon Noah. “ Thanks, I guess. I don’t think either of us expected Ajax to have a seizure.” Ajax nodded, silent as he pushed another cracker into his mouth. Noah smiled. “Yeah, of course… I’d want someone to do the same for me.” He cleared his throat. “Uh… I should get back soon, but… Here,” Noah pulled a pen from his pocket, scribbling his number onto a scrap of paper. “Give me a call later and tell me how you’re feeling, okay? It was… It was nice talking to you, Ajax.” He handed over then paper with a smile. Ajax grinned, his expression much like a puppy. “You, too! I’ll make sure to call you later.” He kept the paper in his hand. “Uh… I guess I’ll see you around?” He watched as Noah stood up. He didn’t want him to go, but he didn’t want Kho to be uncomfortable with someone she didn’t know in the house. Noah nodded. “Yeah, I’ll see you around. I live around here,too, so… We’ll probably run into each other.” He smiled, approaching the door and giving a slight wave. Ajax waved back at him, watching as he shut the door and disappeared. Even if a seizure could ruin a day, maybe this was the rare occasion where it made the day instead? He definitely thought so, but in either case, he still desperately needed to get some sleep after that.

From Tessa,

Threesomes with married couples and an extra don’t normally go so well.

They are better when you are all strangers.

I’ve been in three threesomes with married couples and they were all a bit awkward.

First one, the first approached me as she knew I was into them and asked me to join her and her husband for his birthday present as ‘two women had always been his fantasy.'  It went well at first, but then when the wife said it as her husband’s 'birthday present’ I think that might have been a bit misleading. I think she was more the one who was missing being with another woman and was more into it them him, it was good,  but at the end, he left early to make us coffee.

Second one, I don’t think the woman was bi at all . All her attention was on her husband. She wasn’t jealous, or anything. She was nice. But it was easy to tell while I was attracted to her and him and he was attached to me as well as his wife, the wife didn’t feel the same way. She thought she was b-curious, but not really.  It wasn’t really a threesome. He and I had sex, she and he had sex, and we just kind of took turns.  It was kinda boring and by the end of it I wasn’t needed at all and just became a third wheel.

Third one was the worst.  The husband talked his wife into it (this one was bi, and had been in long term relationships with women because and so it wasn’t the same problem as the straight girl from the second story). But while she was bi, she was very possessive and didn’t really seem to notice how jealous she would get seeing her husband with another woman until it happened.  At one point, she pulled me off her husband, pushed me off the bed and bit me. She said sorry later, she didn’t realize how jealous she would get as they hadn’t done anything like that before. We stopped half way through though.

So if the Doctor and Harry somehow ever got into a threesome with Jack, would it go well? Or end in disaster?

Harry and Jack aren’t new to threesomes, so they could teach Doctor the ropes. So that could work.

Or would it separate into a twosome and would someone become the third wheel?

Would it be Jack becoming the third wheel?   Would he end up feeling awkward and leaving?

Who would most likely be the third wheel? Harry as he is the most obviously jealous?

Haha, talking people into a threesome is the easier part.  Having a successful threesome once the actual sex begins in the tricky bit.

Also, do you guys have threesomes? Or are you monogamous? (Don’t feel compelled to answer this personal question if you don’t want to.)

Dear Tessa,

I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t end well. The Doctor just wouldn’t be able to do it without getting jealous or upset, even if it wasn’t until after everything was done. Plus, he would also be the most likely to end up a third wheel because he would likely be uncomfortable. It’s just not his kind of thing. Harry would probably be okay with it, actually, if it was Jack (likely not someone else though). Most likely, Harry and Jack would both realize that the Doctor wasn’t comfortable and they’d decide to stop.

As for myself (TMI warning here), we are a monogamous couple but we have had threesomes. I had an old friend of mine from high school who had been attracted to me since the day I met her. It was well understood that I wasn’t interested in her romantically but we had a pretty strong friendship and I was comfortable with her. My boyfriend and I had been talking a bit about trying it out and then one day it just sort of happened rather spontaneously. The first time (because it was spontaneous), she happened to be on her period so we were a bit limited. It was okay--not great but we had some fun. We decided we wanted to give it another try later on and it really wasn’t very good lol It turned out that her stories of sexual experience and prowess were really just stories. She didn’t really know how to perform orally for either gender and she frightened us both a bit because she was trying to show enthusiasm (I think?) but sounded like she was in pain--she was tiny and petite and my boyfriend is *ahem* rather large, so he got a bit scared that he was really hurting her. And then there was a bit of an issue because she smoked an absurd amount of marijuana--I mean, she’s one of those people who spends hours a day smoking--so her saliva was this super thick, slimy gunk that tasted like regurgitated pot and felt like frog spawn. It was really disgusting. After experiencing that, I was kind of out lol I continued participating for my boyfriend and just tried to avoid her mouth but, like I said, she didn’t really know how to perform oral which meant that I still got to experience the swamp spit so that I could take over for her. It was genuinely one of the grossest things I’ve ever done and one of the worst sexual experiences I’ve ever had. Then, to top it all off, it turned out that when we discussed infections with her beforehand and she assured us that she had recently been tested and was clear, that she didn’t think yeast infections counted and that, even if they did, that it wouldn’t matter because she had taken the antibiotic (but had not passed the time period it takes for the infection to be fully cleared). Turns out yeast infections can be passed to other people, including guys, so that was a really fun thing to learn. And yes, we used condoms but it happened anyway.

I think my boyfriend enjoyed the experience a lot more than I did--probably because he didn’t get a mouth full of pot mucus and it’s easier to find a dick than it is to find a clitoris XD--and he likes being able to brag to his friends about it, but even he agrees that it was pretty bad. So, yeah, I’d agree that the hard part of a threesome is making it successful. There have been absolutely no issues of jealousy so we’ve talked about trying with other people a couple of times since but I don’t know if it’ll really happen. We have a petty damn good time with just the two of us so I don’t know how much more a third person could really offer, and I don’t know if I want to risk another slime lollipop or another (and possibly worse!) infection for an experience that might suck anyway. But maybe one day, who knows?