#I want deeper connections but lately I feel like I’m just not built for friendship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

for you and i

Pairings: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Warnings: honestly just pure fluff, mild swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, implied smut (nothing graphic) Word Count: 2.2k Summary: A small collection of moments throughout reader’s and Spencer’s evolving relationship that features their song. A/N: this symbol ~~ signifies a time jump.

A/N: i finished my rewatch of bones last night (im hella emotional), and one of my favourite “running gags” from the show is hot blooded being booths and brennans song, and how the writers reminded us of that from season to season. it definitely definitely inspired me to write this. also i did this instead of working on my assignment as a birthday gift from me to me lmao ENJOY

The plane trip back home was completely silent.

Morgan and JJ were catching up on much needed sleep. Emily, lost in thought, observed the night sky through the small window. Rossi was reading, as Hotch worked his way through some case files.

Spencer sat next to you at the far end of the jet. You were listening to music while his nose was buried in a book. Although you could tell he couldn't really concentrate on the words as the page remained unturned for the last fifteen minutes.

“Why don’t you let your eyes rest for a minute?” You suggested, carefully taking out one earphone. “A short nap could be good for you. It doesn’t look like you’re retaining any information anyway.”

Spencer nodded slowly, agreeing with you. He shut the novel in his lap and tilted his head to look at you, his lips pursed into a thin shy smile. “You should get some sleep too Y/N.”

“I’m okay.” You replied. “Plus someone has to keep watch in case the jet gets abducted by aliens or something.” A sly grin appeared on your face as Spencer chuckled softly. He rested his head against the chair and gradually closed his eyes.

You watched him for a moment. Examining his perfect features. Your innocent crush growing by the second - something you would never admit out loud in fear it would ruin your friendship.

When you were about to place the earpiece back in your ear, his eyes shot back open. He sighed heavily.

"I actually don’t think I can.” Spencer said quietly and once again turned his attention to you. His gaze briefly landed on the phone in your hands before travelling up to your face. “Did you know that in addition to aiding relaxation and helping with falling asleep quicker as well as improving sleep quality, playing music before bed can improve sleep efficiency? Which means more time you are in bed is actually spent sleeping.” You raised a curious brow waiting for him to continue, but he just asked: “Can I ask what you are listening to?”.

Instead of answering his question, you wiped the dangling earphone against your blouse and handed it to him. He took it, a little hesitantly, and placed it in his ear - the two of you unconsciously shifting closer to one another.

You could tell by the expression on his face that he didn't know the song currently playing, nor did he particularly like it, but he didn't protest or ask you to skip it. In his eyes, you were kind enough to share your source of entertainment therefore he would never push to change what you were clearly enjoying.

The song ended, another began, and another, and another. Eventually Spencer closed his eyes again. The two of you continued to silently listen to the various songs on your playlist - a wild mix of different artists and genres, definitely showcasing your weird music taste.

Touch Me by The Doors began to play.

“I like this one.” Spencer muttered, eyes still closed. “I didn't peg you to be a rock fan.” You stated curiously. Spencer chuckled softly. “I wouldn't call myself a fan per se, this is just a very good song.” “This is actually my favourite song of theirs.” You proclaimed.

Sinking deeper in your seat, you quietly sang along. “What was that promise that you made?” To your pleasant surprise, the young doctor joined in. “Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?”

Lost in the pure bliss of the moment, you gently rested your head against Spencer’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered open. He glanced down at you and smiled to himself. Yes. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.

“Watch it!!!” You shouted and rudely gestured after the vehicle that overtook you out of nowhere, almost sliding right into your car. Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair before placing them on the wheel again. A deep sigh escaping your lips in the process.

Spencer chuckled next to you. “Maybe next time I’ll drive.”

“Sorry.” You muttered, tone of your voice changing completely for a moment. “People are just so fucking stupid.” The groan was full of annoyance, and it only made the young doctor snicker louder.

“How about we turn on the radio?” Spencer suggested. “Cool you down a little since we have another hour drive ahead of us, and I would preferably like to get there in one piece.” He teased. You rolled your eyes at his comment, but didn’t protest.

Taking your silence as a yes, Spencer fumbled with the car radio.

‘Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe’

Voice of Jim Morrison blared through the speakers. Instantly, your whole body loosened up. No longer feeling annoyed or angry. Driver’s rage dissipated. The frown circling your features was replaced by a happy smile.

‘Can't you see that I am not afraid?’

Stopping at a red light, you looked at Spencer who was lightly bopping his head to the beat of the music. His gentle curls bouncing with his every move.

“You know, the universe is telling us that this is our song now.” You noted. The young doctor met your gaze, and the grin present on his face made your heart skip a beat. A faint hit of nerves cascaded through your body as you anxiously waited for his response.

Spencer shrugged his shoulders slightly. “It’s a good song. The universe could have wished us a lot worse.”

As the light ahead turned green, and you were driving once again, the two of you burst into the chorus as loud as you possibly could: “Now, I'm going to love you! Till the heavens stop the rain!”.

The bar was filled to the brim with people wanting to unwind after a long week of work. That included the BAU team.

“One more for the road!” Morgan exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. He motioned to Hotch for assistance and the two of them briskly walked off in the direction of the bar. “While they’re gone, I’m gonna hop to the loo.” Penelope chimed. “I’ll join you.” JJ spoke up and they hurried off.

Spencer sat beside you, shoulder pressed lightly to yours. He was sipping on the remainder of his drink and you were about to open your mouth to say something, engage him in conversation, when you heard it. The song. Your song.

Your head instantly snapped up at him and a mischievous grin spread on your face. By the time Spencer realised what was going on, you were up on your feet grabbing him by the arm, and pulling him onto the self-made dance floor.

You began to sway along to the music. The alcohol currently flowing through your veins definitely made you that much braver. It also gave Spencer the confidence boost he needed to join you with no objections.

Despite the questionable looks you were undoubtedly receiving, the two of you jumped around like kids. Singing the song out loud to one another. It was as if the world around you disappeared. Like you and Spencer were the only people left in the bar.

‘Till the stars fall from the sky’

And when the night concluded, when everyone said their goodbyes, Spencer continued to hum the melody of your song as he waited with you for the taxi. It was then you chose to make the first move - colliding your lips with his in a carefree kiss.

They were softer than you ever imagined.

All at once, the attraction between you two and the tension that built up over the years burst. You grabbed onto his jacket pulling him even closer. Suddenly, the cold night air didn’t feel so cold anymore. It was hot, burning like a flame. Your body was on fire and so was his.

Spencer’s long arms wrapped around you, trapping you in the fire. One of his hands moved lower down your back, while the other tightly gripped your hair. The sensation that he felt was unimaginable. He always imagined what you would taste like, although he never expected anything would happen. He imagined how your body would feel against his. How your lips taste. But this, this exceeded all expectations.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He said in a smoky voice after pulling away, his hands now holding your face. “That’s what I was going to say.” You managed to whisper before his lips landed on yours again. Your heart pounding hard inside your chest, it felt as if it was about to explode.

Spencer huffed as he placed a heavy cardboard box down on the ground. He straightened himself, flattened down his crinkly t-shirt, and turned to you with a smile. “That’s the last of it.” He stated proudly, placing his hands on his hips.

“My hero.” You ambled towards him and pecked his lips. “Thank you.” His arms made their way around your waist, pulling you in close. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead before glancing around the room.

“I can’t believe we’re officially moved in together.”

“It’s been a longtime coming.”

“That it definitely has.” Spencer smiled kissing you. He let his arms fall and shuffled around to start unpacking.

Having planned ahead, you removed a speaker from your handbag. You quickly set it up, connecting it to your phone, and pressed play to ease the process that would carry on into the night.

Starting with the kitchen, and the more fragile items, the two of you made your way through the new apartment.

Hours passed. It was getting quite late as tiny yawns continuously escaped your lips. However, the hard work was paying off because space started to feel more and more like home.

You decided to finish up for the night - tomorrow was another day. Yawning, you leaned into the arms of your boyfriend. Spencer kissed the top of your head and began to sway you slowly from side to side.

Right on queue, the guitar intro you both recognised well began to play through the speakers. You smiled into his chest before breaking free from his embrace.

‘Yeah! Come on, come on, come on, come on Now touch me, babe Can't you see that I am not afraid’

Sharing a knowing look, you both started to dance. Not wanting to disrupt any neighbours you both chose not to sing along like you usually did. Instead, you mouthed the words in sync as if you were competing in a lip-sync battle.

‘What was that promise that you made? Why won't you tell me what she said? What was that promise that you made?’

The two of you circled happily around one another. It wasn't long before the air guitars came into play.

And as the song concluded, Spencer cupped your cheeks. “I love you.” He muttered, gazing deep into your eyes. “I love you too.” You replied smiling.

Without another word, Spencer’s lips crashed against yours. Both your heads tilting hungrily from side to side to vary pressure. Hearts hammering loudly. Your hands made their way up his muscled back as his hands traveled down your neck, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Why don’t we move this party to the bedroom?” He suggested, his face still only inches away from yours. You lifted your hand, and brushed some of his light curls away behind his ear. “I do believe I read somewhere that it is considered bad luck not to christen the bed on the first night of living together.” You stated giggling.

Spencer raised an interested brow. “What else does the article say?”

“How about I just show you.” And like that, your lips were on his once again as he blindly led you to the bed.

“And now ladies and gentlemen we would like to bring out our newlyweds, Dr. & Mrs. Reid, to dance their first dance as husband and wife. Let’s give them a hand.”

Spencer turned to you, that warm kindhearted smile you loved so much circling his lips. He offered you his hand. “Mrs. Reid.” You took it gladly. “Dr. Reid.”

He led you to the middle of the dance floor and swiftly wrapped one arm around your waist, holding you close, while the other hand intertwined itself with yours. Music started to play and the two of you swayed elegantly from side to side.

“I have a surprise for you.” Spencer whispered in your ear before briefly pulling apart and twirling you around.

Suddenly the music stopped. Sounds of disappointment echoed through the watching crowd as you shot your husband a quizzical look.

A melody you knew all too well filled the space.

Your mouth parted slightly in shock as Spencer let his arm fall from your waist. He spun you around once again and began rhythmically banging his head to the beat of the song. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight before joining in.

Excited screams echoed through the crowd as they cheered on. Even though you heard them, you knew people were watching and documenting this moment, you felt as if there was no-one else around - déjà vu.

Spencer pressed his forehead lightly to yours, his hands cupping your cheeks. His lips twirled into a smile. A big smile that you reciprocated. Feeling as if you were on cloud nine, you looked deep into each others eyes and whole heartedly sang along with the song. Your song.

‘I'm going to love you Till the heavens stop the rain I'm going to love you Till the stars fall from the sky For you and I’

masterlist

521 notes · View notes

sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Chapter 1

Hearts on Three (Satan x Reader)

The athlete and the nerd. The rich kid and the scholarship student. The girl who will constantly joke about breaking your knee caps and the boy who will actually do it. There are so many ways to describe your relationship with Satan. Too many, if you’re being honest. He’s your best friend. The smartest tutor you’ve ever had. He also spends thousands of dollars for you at the drop of a hat and holds your hand when you’re feeling down. And in the beginning, that's okay. Neither of you let yourselves get bogged down by labels, both of you content to just savor this newfound friendship. But deeper feelings always have a way of complicating things. And for better or for worse, you and Satan are no exception.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

MASTERLIST

Volleyball is far from a quiet sport.

No matter what's happening, there's always noise: the sound of a hand colliding with a ball during a serve, the sound of shoes squeaking against the floor in preparation for a receive, the sound of hoarse shouts and strained calls whenever someone is open, ready to take the next touch.

The sport is built out of the fabric of communication, players constantly shouting to claim balls, ask for a toss, ready the team for defense.

Add in the cheers of the audience, and then it's as if the noise never stops.

"Game point, girls!" Your coach's words are almost inaudible, hovering under the roars of the audience who are still cheering for the last point. "Keep it up and we end this here!"

You echo similar words of encouragement to your team before finding your position, staring straight ahead as someone serves the ball over.

Your feet move the moment you hear the slap of the serve, darting to your defense position as you bend your knees and crouch low. You can tell that the ball is going to soar back onto your side of the court as soon as you see the way the opposing team's libero has positioned her arms—the limbs perfectly parallel but far too deep for the ball to go anywhere but back to you after one touch.

"Freeball!" You shout, stepping away from defense to back into your approach line, but by the time you're ready to call for the ball, your setter has already tossed to the right-side hitter.

Inwardly, you can't help but feel a pang of jealousy at that. You know it's stupid, that you're the one person on the team who's probably touched the ball more than anyone else, but your fingers ache for more. Adrenaline runs through your veins thicker than blood at this point, and all you know is that you want it to be you who ends this match.

"Back, back!" The team's libero calls the ball as she positions herself under it. This time, it bounces off her arms and sails straight into the hands of the setter, who tosses it to the outside hitter.

But then, the team sends the ball flying straight toward your defense specialist.

It's the worst mistake they can make, with match point weighing against them.

You lock eyes with your team's setter the second you sense the trajectory of the ball, mirth coloring both your expressions as you collectively realize that the match is as good as won. As expected, the ball arches into the setter's hands within seconds, and then you've begun your approach, your feet tracing the familiar left-right-left pattern before you jump up, flying high.

You don't bother calling for the ball, seeing no need to alert the setter of your readiness. You already expect her to toss to you—the look in her eyes earlier was practically screaming it.

What you don't expect is for your silence to reward you with an empty defense, the entire court diving to block the other hitter as the girl on the other side of the court calls for the ball at the top of her lungs, none of them realizing that the ball is being delivered to you until it's too late.

Another mistake.

The last one they'll make in this game.

The ball connects with your hand at the peak of your jump, when you're so impossibly high above the net that you can see the disbelief on your opponents' faces even as you jerk your arm down and slam the ball into the ground, letting it fall with enough force to make every one of them flinch.

The cheers begin before your feet have even landed on the ground.

You don't hear the referee when he blows the whistle, the sound of it drowned out by the whooping and hollering of your school in the bleachers, all of them screaming in support for what was definitely one of the most intense matches you've had thus far.

A grin spreads across your face, proud and confident.

Your team lines up behind you within seconds, all of them eager to shake hands with the team and then break off to continue celebrating. It's all over so fast, and you don't even have time to begin shifting impatiently from foot to foot before the girls are done, arms thrown up in celebration as they dive into a celebratory huddle in the center of the court.

You waste no time in running to join them, literally throwing yourself at the heap of girls and landing with your weight balanced on a poor sophomore as you high five everyone on the team.

"That was amazing, guys!" You don't bother jumping off the sophomore's back, making yourself comfortable as you begin going over everything you guys did right, and how proud you are of the team.

At least, that's what you would do.

A cough from behind you stops you in the middle of a sentence, and you turn around, already knowing who to expect.

"Hi, Headmaster Barbie!" You give an enthusiastic wave to the man in front of you.

"Please," He begins, his expression mortified as usual when you address him so casually. "Do not call me that. We have had this conversation before."

"Yeah, yeah," You mumble, hopping off the girl you'd been piggybacking on. "What can I do for you, Big B?"

The man sighs. He should have known better than to expect you to call him by his proper name. You've called him 'Headmaster Barbatos' precisely once in your life, back when you first met him. Never again.

"We discussed over the summer that you would be needing a tutor should your grades fall to a certain point—"

A small part of you cringes, having taken that memory and burnt it to a crisp. But now you remember that Barbatos did tell you that if you wanted to stay on the volleyball team, you couldn't fail any classes.

And you're currently failing all of them but one.

"Gosh, Big B, I'd love to stay and chat, but I actually think I should go talk with my team for now. We just won, you know? I should be with them. Plus, I can't let them get too cocky. It's captain's responsibility to go over the things that went wrong, and I should head over—"

"Your co-captain appears to be fulfilling those duties just fine for you."

You can already hear your team's setter chastising one of the girls for calling a few balls at the beginning of the game that she should have left to the libero, and you bite your lip. As usual, Barbatos is one step ahead of you.

"Okay, but there are more than a few recruiters here today. I'm sure they want to speak with me. That last hit of mine was really flashy, y'know? Anyways, I should probably go. If you think about it, it's technically my future at stake. Wouldn't want to compromise that, so I'll just—"

Barbatos steps in front of you before you can slide out of the situation, sealing off your escape route.

"You spoke to four recruiters before the match began."

You want to correct him, want to tell him that you were actually approached by five, but you feel like that won't help your situation.

"Moving on, you have either ignored all the letters sent to your mailbox telling you to improve your grades, or you have attempted to fix them and have still failed. In light of this, the school has decided to assign you a tutor."

"You mean you decided to assign me a tutor." You throw a pout at Barbatos, making it obvious that you hate the idea of spending any more time with studies than you have to.

"Yes, I made the decision to assign you a tutor. The alternative was allowing you to fail all your finals this trimester, whereupon you would be kicked from the volleyball team, lose your scholarship, be removed from the school, and be forced to repeat your senior year elsewhere."

You say nothing, merely opting to frown at Barbatos's shoes. Stupid leather loafers. What business do they have looking so pristine?

"Anyway, I managed to find a suitable student willing to be your tutor, and—"

"A student?"

Your ears perk up at that. You were expecting that you'd have to sit for three hours a day with some old fart who doesn't know the first thing about volleyball. But if it's a kid your age, then…

"Yes." Barbatos gestures to the student next to him, whom you only now realize has been standing here the whole time. "This is Satan. He's going to be responsible for making sure you pass your midterm and final exams."

"A pleasure to meet you." The boy forces a curt smile to his face, nodding at you.

You stare at him.

Tall. Blonde. Green eyes. Attractive in the stereotypical sense, the kind of prettyboy one of your teammates might date. Looks like he might be athletically inclined, but his manicured nails make you doubt he's played any intense sports within the past three weeks.

"Hi!" You blurt, extending a hand out for Satan to shake. You internally cringe, wishing that Barbatos hadn't chosen to introduce you to your tutor immediately after a match. There's sweat dripping down the back of your neck, and you haven't even had time to drop your knee pads to your ankles. You can feel hair sticking to your forehead.

I look like a mess.

Satan is enough of a gentleman not to comment on it, shaking your hand politely.

"Have we…" You study Satan's face, wondering if it's just your imagination. "Have we met? I feel like I've seen you before."

Satan arches an eyebrow, glancing at Barbatos. You might be reading their expressions wrong, but you swear they seem to be asking each other a silent question: Is she serious?

"You…" Barbatos shakes his head, sighing. "Satan is your student president. Your class elected him."

"Hm," You mumble, skeptical. "I don't think that's how I know him. I had a tournament during elections and all, so I didn't see any of this year's candidates."

The edge of Satan's lips quirks up in amusement.

"Satan has been your student president," Barbatos informs you. He's practically hissing, his voice taking on the tone of a parent embarrassed over their child. "He's one of our best and most prolific students. Your class has elected him all four years. How have you not noticed?"

You frown, tapping your chin.

Now that Barbatos mentions it, you are pretty sure you've heard of Satan before. But that doesn't explain why you recognize his face. Your life has been centered around athletics from the day you found volleyball—and Satan might judge you for it, but you've never paid attention to the school executive board. Anyone who isn't an athlete gets lost in the sea of faces, and...oh!

"Freshman year!" You exclaim, eyes lighting up. "I saw you when we were in our freshman year! You were on the Varsity winter track team—and—and—and your mile time was 5:11.02! I remember because it was even faster than mine!"

You can see Satan's eyes widen the second you rattle that number off, definitely having forgotten it but recognizing it as correct the moment you mention it to him.

"How do you remember that?" He asks incredulously, looking almost mortified that you know him not for any of his academic achievements but for something he clearly attaches no significance to.

"How could I have forgotten?!" You ask in response, eyes wide in wonder at the realization that this absolute legend is going to be your tutor.

"See?" Barbatos smiles. "She has a good memory for things that she cares about. Your work is already cut out for you, Satan."

The man flashes you his usual cryptic smile, though you swear you detect a hint of pride in his gaze.

"Regardless, I'll leave you two to acquaint yourselves. Satan, I trust you'll be able to find your dorm. And you," Barbatos's expression morphs into one of warning, though the amusement beneath the mask is easy to find in his eyes. "Stay out of trouble."

"Thank you, Barbatos."

"Later, Big B!"

"That's Headmaster Barbatos to you both," He mumbles under his breath, shaking his head as he leaves you and Satan to go speak with your coach, likely to inform the man of your poor academic state.

Next to you, Satan laughs.

"I've never seen someone actually make that man express emotion." Satan flashes you an approving glance, impressed. "You really must be something special."

"I totally am!" You don't bother pretending to be humble. "Did you see my hit at the end of the game? It was perfect! I can't remember the last time I got to spike down on empty defense!"

You continue to chatter animatedly, waving your hands around wildly as you describe all your favorite plays from the game.

"Oh, oh, and did you see that feint my co-captain did in the first set? The other team was so confident when they went to block me—even I was surprised when she just set it over! She's such a great girl, you know? You should come to more of our matches! Maybe we could even set up a day where I go to one of your track meets and you come to one of my matches, and—"

For the first time since you began rambling, Satan interrupts you.

"I don't do track anymore."

You blink.

"Wait, really?" A momentary stupor washes over your senses as you try to recall everyone on the Varsity track team. Sure enough, Satan's face doesn't come to mind—probably the reason why it took you so long to remember him in the first place. "Why'd you quit?"

Satan grins at you.

"I'll tell you when you get your first A."

Satan is utterly unsurprised to learn that his dorm is in the same building as yours. It's exactly the type of thing Barbatos would do—that slimy bastard—force the two of you together so that Satan has no choice but to tutor you, bringing your grades up so that the school doesn't have to lose its oh so precious star athlete.

Yeah, Satan isn't too excited at the prospect of having to tutor you.

And in truth, who would be?

An athlete like you screams trouble. Sure, you seem like the nicest person Satan has ever met and yeah, there's a certain quality about you that makes you impossible to dislike. But the blonde is too familiar with the world of jocks to fall for appearances.

He eyes the corner of your hand, studying the various envelopes that you balance between your fingers.

Some of them are letters from recruiters, he knows, and others are random brochures. He sees a sheet of notes your coach had handed to you, telling you to go over it so that you could run it by the girls tomorrow at practice, but most prominent is the variety of colorful envelopes that are wedged between your index and middle fingers.

Confession letters.

Three of them, to be precise.

And this wasn't even one of your biggest games.

Those letters are probably the single biggest reason why Satan is eyeing you so warily. He doesn't know a single person in the world who can accept love letters on a regular basis and not let it get to their head. Hell, Satan used to receive love letters on a regular basis, and he let it get to his head.

It was almost strange, Satan remembers, watching you accept all three confession letters with such a sweet smile—your bright eyes never once taking on a tint of condescension even as suitors readily set you up for it.

The boy frowns to himself, shaking his head.

Satan knows what people are like. He knows what you're going to be like. Too much of the spotlight will burn anyone in the long run, and Satan's been hearing about your volleyball skills from his friends long enough to know that you've been under the spotlight longer than anyone should be. That kindness you wear so naturally has to be nothing more than a facade, a mask of lies to make people like you. You look sincere enough, but you're obviously just a brilliant actress. A wizard at hiding your true expressions. Dumb when it comes to school, but secretly a mastermind of manipulation.

"Wait!" You blurt, eyes wide. "We have to go back!"

"Oh?" Satan arches an eyebrow, not particularly bothered by the idea. "Why?"

"I left my kneepads in the gym!"

Satan blinks.

Okay, he takes all of that back.

There's no way you're a mastermind of anything. Except volleyball, maybe. And if your head is this empty, it's a wonder you're even able to be that good at that.

"The kneepads," Satan begins, impossibly slow, hoping that you'll come to the realization on your own. "That you left in the gym," He continues, eyes round in disbelief as you nod your head ardently. "That are currently on your knees?"

You blink. Once, then twice. And then you slowly drop your head to your knees, eyes widening as an impossibly quiet "oh" escapes your lips.

Satan snorts.

"I thought you had a good memory for the things you cared about," The blonde says, arching an amused eyebrow your way. It's probably the first time tonight where he's seeing you genuinely embarrassed and not just recklessly optimistic.

"I—I do!" You defend indignantly, hiking your duffel bag higher around your shoulder as you awkwardly try to find your balance under the weight of it. "It's just that I normally put my knee pads around my ankles after a game, and so I assumed that I left them behind when I couldn't feel them there!"

A pretty decent excuse, the blonde knows. Heck, even he was a bit thrown off today when Barbatos approached him and told him that this was the day he would get to meet his tutoring student. But Satan finds mirth in your momentary fluster, so he doesn't let you know any of this, his grin only widening as he nods disbelievingly.

"I'm sure," He says with enough dismissal in his voice for you to know he doesn't believe you.

"Hey!" You protest. "I'm being serious! I'm not stupid!"

"A debatable subject, based on recent evidence."

Satan can't even get another step in before you've slung your duffel bag off of your shoulder, whacking Satan straight in the chest with it. The blonde stumbles at the force of it, abruptly realizing that the muscles on your arms are no joke, but he regains his balance soon enough.

"Is that seriously any way to be treating your new tutor?" His words are serious but his voice betrays him, amusement sliding in when he was hoping to tease you some more.

"If anything, you should be treating me better," You argue back. "Aren't you, like, supposed to be getting me hyped about learning or something?"

"All in due time," He responds with a sigh, heart deflating at the prospect. Again, you seem like a nice enough person. But Satan's intuition is screaming at him that you're going to be a nightmare of a student—no matter how fun you seem to be.

"Is this our building?" He asks, trying to read the sign in front of the dorm in the darkness, to no avail.

"Yup. Haven't you been here before?

"Only once," Satan mumbles as he holds the door open for you. "Barbatos had me move in today. He probably wanted me here to keep you in line."

You roll your eyes at that, not dignifying Satan with a response as you pass the sign-in log to him, waiting so that the two of you can walk to the elevator together.

"What's your room number?" He asks, only when he's trying to figure out which button to press.

"665. Top floor."

Ah, Satan thinks, amusement flooding his veins as he presses the neon six. So not only are the two of you in the same building, but your rooms are literally across from each other.

Definitely something Barbatos would do.

Satan feels like he should be annoyed at that, because it certainly wasn't a part of the bargain he struck with Lucifer and it should have been mentioned to him at the start, back when he first agreed to become a tutor.

And yet, he can't bring himself to give in to the familiar simmer of wrath, not with you standing so close next to him, wiggling your eyebrows and making silly expressions in the mirror that Satan can only pretend he isn't enjoying.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | ✎

Word count: 3.7k

Notes: okay what up so this series is going to be different from everything i’ve done before because (1) there won’t be an update schedule, ima try my best to update at least weekly (maybe even twice per week :3) but college will definitely be taking priority (2) i usually try to avoid referring to gender, even in my fics where mc isn’t gender neutral, but because this is an mc on a girl’s vball team, her gender will be referenced a lot (3) this isn’t going to be plot driven like most of my works, it’s honestly just an indulgent slow burn fic and that is the driver (4) yeah you might have already figured this one out but the mc in this fic has personality. she is confident, spirited, and full of life in every way - and although most of my reader inserts normally have some semblance of a personality, i’m rlly not holding back with this one. i totally totally understand if any of these reasons make you not want to read this story. if that’s the case, i thank you for even giving it a chance - but if you’re down to stick around, buckle up bc this series is going to be a LONG ride and i can’t wait to go on it with you all <3

Comment & Like

Thank you for reading <3

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

142 notes · View notes

darkhalo4321 · 3 years

Text

Literally me rambling about my emotions, it’s long-

I have been learning a lot about myself this past year, and as dumb as it might sound a recent personality test kind of opened up a lot about how I handle things??? Like-

On the enneagram test I am a type 6, the loyalist. I'm responsible, a team player, suspicious, but a problem solver. It basically boiled a lot of things down to trusting people, safety, and security. It's probably why I'm pretty quiet and observant and also a lurker in new groups because I'm evaluating whether people are trustworthy people or not. It's also why if a bad thing happens, the trust that was built is immediately BROKEN and I have to step back and reevaluate. Like, I have amazing bosses who go above and beyond for their employees so when an employee leaves without notice they are dead to me. They hurt my company and upset my people, no mercy or compassion exists for them from me. A coworker said things in anger that were aimed at me and instead of just rolling those feelings off I cried about how it actually hurt because it made me wonder if what she said was true and if she thought that do other people think that- And I could tell I was separating her from friend to foe- like, i caught myself doing it. It was a very “AHA!” moment. Normally I compartmentalize my feelings- >_> Because it's easier to just set the feelings aside and shove them under the bed than it is to potentially face rejection etc... My boss is the one that had us all take the test and it’s changed the way he has approached me when I’m upset and it has helped a lot. Still don’t handle compliments well- Well- I mean. I LOVE getting compliments, but I don’t like people waiting for a response because all I know are generic statements to respond with and I feel so awkward replying. I also hate silence because silence was a sort of punishment in my house when I was little so when someone was quiet it was the passive aggressive way of saying “I’m mad at you” so when things are too quiet I assume people are angry with me? SO things being so quiet is... very hard- My mother is a type 8 which is the challenger so when she is upset she does shut down and her emotions go bye bye so her being quiet was probably a lot better than her getting off the wall angry- but it still was very hard for me because I’m very extroverted and if things are TOO quiet I just keep talking because it makes my anxiety flare up and I try and lighten the mood but dig a deeper hole. - (also, I’m not like trying to toss my mom under the bus or anything. Growing up there were times life wasn’t perfect and things could have been handled better, but I had a decent childhood for the most part? I myself turned out okay-) ALSO- the enneagram sort of helped me make sense of why it takes me longer to form friendships that are like, the best friend status? I’m good at connecting with others quickly- but like connecting with people further than that? Gotta earn that spot- Gotta show up and be there when I really need you or like idk, check in on me, not just me checking in on you? (I feel like I check in with a LOT of people and do not receive the same sort of care in return so I get tired of checking in.) Anyways, not a lot of people read my blog posts, but yeah, I feel like I've been forgotten lately because things are... VERY quiet in the groups I'm a part of. I'm not asking for pity or a solution (also if you do read this don’t... start being active for my sake? If you aren’t wanting to be active it just feels more like a slap than anything. I appreciate the sentiment but like, I want people to want to be present not force it IDK I’m a contradiction. ANOTHER TYPE 6 TRAIT we want the things but we also don’t want them- ) I just want to VOICE how I feel because it's BOTHERING ME to the real ones that made it this far- thanks. I’ve had a lot on my mind the past 3 months. anyways, been really enjoying my irl friends because they have been contacting me wanting to do things and it makes me feel very included <3

#long rant #venting frustrations and emotions #check in with your friends and don't wait for them to check in with you #for fucks sake #type 6s are testing you #show up

5 notes · View notes

plush-rabbit · 4 years

Text

Can I Ask You Something?

Friendships are an odd thing. It starts off as an unexpected meeting between two strangers, where you later begin to learn more about this person who was just a stranger a few moments ago, to trusting that person wholeheartedly; to do whatever you can to make them happy. It’s a wonderful thing where you’re in love with said person, willing to hold their hand in public, kiss their cheek, go to them first when you have news of any kind. Where a mere memory of them is enough to make you smile, where after not seeing each other for a moment is enough to make you want to hug them, where you can feel safe in their arms. You meet a person by chance and they end up becoming one of the most important people in your life. Friendships are built on trust. Built on sharing snacks. Built on inside jokes. Built on love.

Your friendship with Tomura, however, isn’t any of that. It’s different than friendships you’ve had before. It was a meeting that you forced and that he complied with. Where you have doubts about the friendship- or whatever you can call this relationship when the word feels to sour on your tongue- and you don’t know what he’s thinking or what he looks like. Where you lay awake after late night talks and can feel a storm brew in your mind as you lay under the covers and think about him. It’s a relationship built on messages and the occasional phone calls. You don’t know if you can trust this person. You want to and sometimes when you hear his laughter, you think that you know him- you can trick yourself that you know who he is. You’re okay with sharing snacks with anybody- you like to share, you like to eat a cake and leave your friends the piece with the most frosting. There are jokes that you’ve two shared- ones where you snort and call him a dork and ones where he laughs- it’s shrill and a bit creepy if you were to be honest- and he calls you a dumbass and you can hear the faint sound of people yelling in the background that you never comment on.

When you were lonely, you reached out and he reluctantly let you grab onto him. You held tight and now you’re afraid to let go. You’re afraid that he’ll let go and a part of you that won’t remain silent no matter how many times you smother it, never wants him to let go of you. You’ve become oddly attached to the faceless man.

Tomura is crass, curses as if it were his first language, secretive as if he were protecting himself, curious as a cat, prying into you with delicacy and cunningness, never realize what he’s doing until you’re halfway through a story. He’s rough around the edges, making sure to bare his canines when you begin to pry. But no matter how many times he barks, no matter the little insults that leave his mouth, insults that longer hold the same sting as they used to be before, you inch closer to him. You always feel a second away from offering another video chat- this time where you can see who he is. You want to see who he is behind the screen.

However, at the same time, you’re scared who you’ll see. You’re scared that perhaps he’s a ghost from your past, someone who you wanted to leave behind that you’ve forgotten their voice and they’ve found a new name to use as a mask. You worry with dread creeping at your ankles on the good nights that the person who you can joke with is someone with cruel intentions. Other nights, you drown in panic and wish to grasp at him like a lifeline, only for the worry to drag you deeper, his face always muddled and hand always out of reach.

You wonder what he thinks of you. What his true thoughts are behind the jabbing insults and hissed out curses but you’re always too afraid to ask, too afraid what the truth will reveal.

Within the next week, there’s idle chatter in between the early mornings and late nights. Chatter where it fills the room with such ease. Chatter that dies and fills the room with silence, noises from the house are the only indicators that you both are still on the call. Chatter where it gets cut off due to your own responsibilities or his. A promise from you that you’ll try to message him later if time allows it and a click of his tongue as he tells you he’ll talk later.

The relationship gets easier day by day. Sometimes the word friend rolls of your tongue without you even realizing it- it feels natural to call him that. Other days, you’re hesitant to even say the word- to even think of what it truly means. It catches and sticks in your throat, suffocates you and leaves you feeling odd all over. Days where his name is light and sweet on your tongue, days where it’s bitter and uneasy. It’s easier to say a nickname those times; it doesn’t hold as much power as his actual name.

Talking to him gets easier- even if his name makes you unable to breathe. There are more phone calls, even if they’re short. You get to hear him talk about his day, talk about what he’s currently doing and most of the time he’s playing a game and he’ll entertain you with the plot, with the lore and the graphics. You do your own research on the side, your gasps telltale signs that you looked up what happens in the end and him snapping at you immediately not to spoil anything. You never do, always giving a vague hint to look behind a box if he wants an achievement or extra ammo. But you never give him tips. You offered once and he denied, saying that he wanted a true victory and not a false one where he had to rely on an external source. The ways he says it, with a heavy voice that takes a darker tone, makes it feel as if you’re missing out on something. You lay off, telling him that you’ll be there if he ever needs help, hoping that your own tone will hold the same hidden meaning that his held.

“Okay, so what I’m hearing is that not only do you play video games like twenty four-seven—”

“Not twenty four-seven,” he growls but the sound of guns in the background does nothing to help prove his point.

“—and you watch anime and you basically like never leave your home? You’re like a total NEET,” you giggle into the phone, phone pressed between your shoulder and ear. You tighten your hand around the bar when the subway wobbles and around your bag of takeout when someone shuffles in the corner of your eyes.

“Not a ‘NEET’,” Tomura says, hissing into the receiver and you can hear the scene restart. “Look, if I’m a NEET then so are you.” He curses loudly into the phone and you wince, eyebrows furrowing and mouth pulling into a wince that he can’t see.

“You know,” you voice takes on a sing-song tune, “if you need help, I’m more than happy to give you a hint.” Your eyes flicker upwards, reading the poster taped on the wall and flickering down to a baby bouncing on their father’s lap. “If you descri—”

“It’s fine,” he drones. “Besides, you aren’t even home yet… Are you?” On your side of the phone you hear him slurp on something and a clatter of glass.

“No, not yet,” you confirm, “I’m like a stop away.” You lick your lips and glance out the window, sighing when the outside world still blurs by. “And I like totally fu-messed up too,” you pull a face at your almost swear, glancing at the baby who remains unbothered and father who checks his watch. “I forgot I had my headphones with me so like instead of talking to you through the mic, I have the phone pressed up against my ear and shoulder.” You stumble when the train comes to a slow, jostling people awake and others slipping their phones into their pockets. “My phone is gonna be all greasy and gross Tomu,” you whine, bouncing your leg and clutching the plastic bag tighter in your hand.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just have it delivered,” he grumbles.

“Because I was already—sorry, sorry,” you mumble with your head bowed as you weave out of the subway, wincing each time the plastic bag nudges at your leg, “I wasn’t thinking and I was already in the neighborhood.” You stand next to a wall, hands searching in your bag for your pair of headphones.

“Dumbass,” he snickers into the phone.

“Yes, yes. I’m very dumb,” you mumble, tongue sticking out as you untangle the wires, careful not to pull too harshly. “Now give me a sec, lemme connect my headphones.” You let out a sigh and begin your trek to your apartment. You smooth and the wires and speak into the mic. “Okay, I’m back. I miss anything? Finally beat that level?” You tease, a skip in your step as you wait for his reply to come. It’s silent for a moment too long. “Toma? You there, bud?” Still no answer. You step to the side of the sidewalk and see that call is still going on. “If you were gonna step out, should’ve at least waited to tell me,” you mumble to yourself, a frown tugging on your lips.

You disconnect the call and send a quick message to Tomura to call you later when he had the chance. You keep your headphones in your ear for the rest of your walk home, humming a soft tune and hoping that no one would stop you.

Shigaraki comes back to his phone with a reflection that stares back at him, a hand covering most of his face and a red eye that glares back at him. The screen is black and he pulls the hand off with a sigh, letting it hover over his chest before placing it delicately on the desk.

He frowns when the call has ended, the contact screen staring at him and a message icon is on his notifications. He reads your message with a neutral expression and checks the time. Thirty minutes until they go on a mission.

Your phone rings twice before you pick up with a cheery, muffled hello.

“Why’d you hang up?” He asks, getting straight to the point, fingertips drumming on the desk, eyes looking into the computer screen where he last paused. He hears the clinking of glass and wonders if you’ve already arrived home.

“Because I was on the call for like a minute or two until I figured I hit bad cell reception or you like had to do something,” you pause for a moment. “Was I wrong?” Your voice is muffled and he suspects that you are home and you’re eating. “What happened?”

A mission brief. One that went on long enough for you to hang up and be in the middle of your meal when he called. A pale hand reaches over to grab Father, placing it back on his face, instant relief and sickness coming to him all at once. “I had things to do,” he answers.

“Right. Things,” you say sarcastically and he can hear the smile in your voice. “Could’ve sent me a message or something. You don’t have to like just disappear on me,” you chuckle.

He hums and nods to himself. “Are you going out tonight?” He asks, closing his eyes, a hand twisting the shirt into his palm.

“Nah, why? Did you want to have a long call this time?” He stares at the cracked ceiling with disinterest. “I wouldn’t mind but—”

“I have something to do soon.” He flexes his hand in front of him and runs his thumb through his fingertips.

“Oh.” He hears you hum. “Why did you ask if I was going out then?”

His eyes shoot open and he stands straight. Why did he ask? He knows why. He can feel his breathing grow heavier, breaths ragged and throat tight. There’s a mission later tonight. Without thought, his hand wraps around his neck and nails drag across his skin, he lets out a low whine in response, pinpricks of scarlet bead out.

“Tomu?” You sound genuinely concerned. “Are you all right?” Fuck. “Did you hit yourself?” Fuck. “Tomura if you don’t say anything, I’m gonna think you’re dead. So like, can you please respond?” With a mind of its own, his hand pulls away, nails and fingertips shining with his blood. “Tomura if you left again without telling me I’m gonna be like,” you pause for a second, “annoyed.”

“What do you want?” He hisses out, hand dripped in blood curls into a claw.

“Oh thank god.” He hears you sigh. “I was worried you like fell or someone had broken into your place. Are you okay?”

“Why do you care?” His lip curls in disgust and the hand on his face makes him feel sick, stomach churning and bile rising in his throat.

“Because you’re my friend.” You make it sound like it’s the most obvious thing. “All I hear from you is like silence for a while followed by a whine. I thought you were hurt,” you mumble, your tone is small, like a child who is being scolded.

He’s silent for a long time and his mouth burns, warm liquid seeps out and trickles down his neck. He feels sick.

“Hey,” your voice is soft, “if you’re not feeling good, we can talk tomorrow if you want? Sound good Tomu-”

He hangs up without a goodbye. The little finger that doesn’t touch the phone shakes. His heart is beating rapidly against his chest and it hurts. He wants to throw the phone at the wall and stomp on it until it’s broken in millions of pieces. He wants to decay the phone in his hands. He wants to- He takes in a sharp breath and closes his eyes, his anger still rising and threatening to boil over and cloud his mind. The phone is tossed on his bed and the door shuts behind him with a loud crack.

You don’t hear from him for few days. All your messages are unseen and unanswered. You dialed him the day after, left a few messages asking if he was all right and any other variation that you could think of. You’re too scared to actually dial him now; a sick feeling in your stomach when you think back to the last conversation that you had with him.

He cut you off so quickly. You were sure that this friendship was on the better half than it was when you both initially had met. Heck! He had even begun to talk about his days unprompted and would answer you when you would call to talk about nothing. But then he was silent and made a noise like he had gotten surprised at best or hurt at worst. You didn’t want him to be hurt. But with the way he wasn’t answering your messages and not even looking at them was making you feel sick every day. And it wasn’t like you could send someone of authority over since you didn’t even know his address or full name.

“God, this sucks,” you grumbled, running a hand over your face and gritting your teeth. Your fingers tap nervously on the side of your thigh, something to keep you in rhythm. “Maybe I’m overthinking this,” you tried to reason to yourself but the pit inside kept growing. “He’s always been secretive maybe he had a surprised vacation planned or like a family emergency.” You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears burn. You bring your hands up, your fingers tracing over the shell, noise muffled for a brief second. “He’s fine,” you tell yourself, voice firm and hands in fists, “I’m being silly.” You nod as if giving clarification to a statement said into the air will make it that much more true. “Plus, it’s not like I can do anything except for wait for him to message me back.” You don’t want to think about the “or” part of that sentence. Anything could be added after “or” and none of the options were good.

It’s silent in your room; your face is illuminated by the dim glow from your laptop. It burns hot on your blanket and provides you with additional warmth that soothes your nerves. Your eyes burn with sleep and head begins to hurt, fatigued by sleep and light that shines directly on your face. Your body grows heavy, eyelids begin to droop and your phone is fully charged, the green light shines bright and is unblinking as you stare at it. Your eyes glance down to the corner of the screen, the time blinks at you, flipping quickly into a minute in the future. Your eyes are back to the phone. You can feel the bags beneath your eyes droop, feeling that if you stay awake for any longer your own body will pull you into the bed until you’re a mess of limps entangled in a plush blanket.

Your phone remains silent and unmoved and you can feel you heart actually hurt. It feels as if it’s being squeezed; it’s a soft squeeze that leaves you taking in a bigger gulps of air, but the nails that dig in, that peel away at it the top layer and leave it exposed, is what truly makes it ache.

There’s been no contact from him in the past few days. The first day went by without worry, he’s done it before where you wouldn’t hear from him for hours and you assumed that perhaps he had been busy all day and fallen asleep afterwards. Messages were left unopened and you were disappointed but it was nothing to fret over. The second day, messages were still unanswered and the call you sent had gone straight to voicemail. The worry had dugs its claws into you at that point. One the third day, the first few messages were left unseen. The phones calls afterwards would ring for too long, making you sick with worry and a bottom lip that was bitten and stained your mouth in bright red. On the fourth day, you hadn’t bothered to send a message, reasoning that he would message you when he was ready. If he was ever was. The day bleeds into the night, your mind distracted by trips to stores for house necessities.

It’s late, the moon high in the sky surrounded by clouds and stars as you lay in bed, consumed by an online video. The screen dims, a notification popping in the corner to alert you that the battery in running low. With a click of your tongue, you put your laptop to sleep, the screen loading into your lock screen before going dark, the power light grows dim and you’re staring at your reflection in darkness. Your eyes adjust quickly and you close it softly, sucking in air through closed teeth when the bottom heats the pad of your fingers. It’s shoved off to the side, and you’re alone in the darkness. Hands search for the cord, fingers tracing a line down until it reaches the plug and it’s pulled out, tucked into the handle of your dresser with a soft clink of metal against wood. In the darkness, your thoughts begin to creep up, hands that grip at every part of your body and send both a mixture of chills and heat, it freezes you, makes you clammy and all at the same time makes you uncomfortably hot and twitchy. Dull nails are dragged across the blanket in an attempt to calm your nerves, the little moment of relief is well received. You repeat the motion, letting yourself indulge in the noise.

Your mind grows foggy and soon the repetitive motions become sluggish until your fingers twitch, once, then twice before coming to a still. You’re asleep for a wonderful thirty minutes where the promises of dreams start to lure you in. And then your phone buzzes to life. It’s a shrill ring that you set to make sure if anything had happened while you were unawake, the noise will wake you up and you’d respond to whoever it was on the other side.

It comes to an abrupt stop, the other person on the line having given up but then it rings again. Your body wakes first, hands searching blindly until the phone is pushed and falls onto the floor. You wince and search for the lamp, the light making you close your eyes and mouth pulled into a grimace. With a look downwards, you sigh when your phone has landed face up. Your body threatens to fall off the bed as you reach to pick up the still ringing phone. There are no cracks on the screen, still pristine and clear as you analyze the screen and through bleary eyes, you read the caller ID.

Tomura.

Your eyes shoot open and hands reach for the phone, a quick swipe of the green button. “Hello?” Your voice is slurred and heavy with sleep. You clear your throat. “Hello?” Oh god, please let him be okay, please.

“You sound tired.” He sounds forced- as if he had to push the words out of his throat.

You arch your brows and bite back a groan. “…Do you know what time it is?” Without meaning to, a yawn escapes you and you lay back down on your bed, your eyes struggling to stay open as you wait for his reply.

“Right.” He sounds distant and your worry bubbles over.

You lick your lips and glance to the night stand where an empty water bottle lays on its side. “Tomura? Can I ask you something?” You shift in your bed and pull the covers up to your chin.

“Whatever.”

You let out a low sigh. “What happened? You were gone for like a while.” Sleep slowly vanishes from your mind but it remains foggy, unable to filter what’s you’re trying to say. “You don’t have to like tell me, but I was worried that something had happened to you or like I don’t know, that you like just wanted to stop talking to me and,” you push the blankets off you and lean against the wooden bedframe, “I… Are you okay?”

He’s silent on his end. His breathing is the only thing that you can hear, it’s steady and it eases you a bit to know that he’s still on the line. Silence has filled your conversations with him plenty of times. They’ve been awkward, unnerving, but they’ve also been comfortable, reminding you that you’re not alone and that he’s still there. This silent however is just silent. There’s no reassurance that he’s okay; just that he’s still here. Sleep is fading in and out, a gentle tide that nudges you awake for a few seconds longer before receding back and lulling you back to your sleep.

“I’m okay,” he croaks out and in the background you hear a loud creak.

“Promise?” You ask, eyebrows knitting together and hands once again scratching at the blankets that warm you.

“Why do you care?” His voice is small as he speaks to you.

“Because you’re my friend,” you tell him, “I care about my friends Tomu. And you’re my friend so by like definition, I care about you.” You ran a hand through your hair, smoothing out your hair. “I- Am I your friend?” You take in a deep breath and run your thumb across the side of your finger. “You like don’t have to answer that now, I just—”

“Yes.” His voice is tight but clear. “I- You are.” You hear let out a shaky breath.

Your lips curve in a gentle smile. “I’m glad.” Tears still prick at the corner of your eyes and make your vision blur, you’re unsure if it’s from the sleep that still clings onto you or the emotional side of you that always makes itself more apparent in the dead of night.

“You sure you’re okay? You sound… different.” Different is the nice way to put it. He sounds defeated and lost. When he’s silent, you press. “Bad night?” You offer as a way to expand on what he’s feeling, a way to help him.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He says wearily, a loud yawn that confirms his tone.

“You wanna talk about it?” Your mind and body begs for sleep. “If you want of course. I don’t mind staying up.”

“It’s late.” It sounds like he finally realized what time it was, voice suddenly tired and thick with sleep.

“Yeah, Tomura, it’s really late.” You lie on your side, legs curled in and eyes are barely able to stay open. “But like, I’m already awake. The offer still stands, you know.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow?” He asks, his voice returning to that akin to a child, hopeful and nervous all at once.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” You chuckle lightly. “Just like don’t flake out this time, okay?” You joke.

“I uh, yeah. I won’t flake. I promise.” The last words are soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear or even want to acknowledge what he had said himself.

“Okay. I’ll hear from you tomorrow.” With a burst of late night courage, you open your mouth. “Remember, you promised. And you can’t break a promise- especially to a friend.”

You hear him laugh, it’s muffled but it’s genuine. It doesn’t sound creepy to you this time, it sounds pleasant. “Yeah, I won’t.” There’s a brief second of silence. He wishes you goodnight and whispers your name. There’s a skip in your chest when says it and a grin grows on your face, slowly etching itself onto you.

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight Tomura.” A second of peace passes where you can breathe easy and you hang up first; the phone blinks the time that you’ve talked to him before going dark. You slide the phone onto your nightstand and the blanket bunches under hands as you curl in deeper into the bed, eyes closing without resistance and mind clear and chest light.

Tagged:

@rogueofbullshit

@loveableasshole

@yul-is-sparkling

@noonewouldlisten25

@noodlenerd101

@localdisaster

@snackgod

@iikillerkitteh

133 notes · View notes

fmdrorin · 3 years

Text

* 𝖒𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊 𝖆𝖍𝖓 ● THREE WANTED PLOTS— → FAMED RP RESTRUCTURING TASK #003 ♡ POINTS ALLOCATED, + TWO ( 2 ) TO TRACKER !

〈 &. 𝖎’𝖒 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘...

inspired by the song ❝ curious ❞ by hayley kiyoko.

michelle’s always been the type of person that goes with the flow; who allows life to guide her in whatever direction seems fitting in that moment. when she was cast on her instagram page, she decided to take a chance & be an idol. when she’s offered a drink even after she’s already had a few too many, she accepts it happily. so, when your muse showed a modicum of interest in her, she couldn’t help but respond in a positive fashion—maybe even a reaction considered to be all too positive. having never really had any close friendships with girls, she’s never thought to try & experiment with one romantically or sexually, but for some reason, your muse appeals to her in a sense that she’s not familiar with. it’s one of excitement, & in a weird sense, it sort of feels like something she’s always wanted ( or needed ) from someone. while she’s having fun with it & it’s not something serious, she doesn’t know how it’ll grow over time, but she’s not worried about it for the time being. for now, she’s enjoying this new ❝ friendship ❞ — or whatever it is — she has with you.

● genre & rating, friends-with-benefits, 19+. ● open to, a female or female presenting muse, 94 to 01. ● requirements, a 19+ mun / muse; lgbt+ muse. ● potential growth, while i’m not one hundred percent certain that michelle could be involved in a romantic relationship with another woman, i do think having an intimate & overall ❝ deep ❞ connection with a member of the same-sex would be integral to her development in that it’ll be the first time she’s ever felt so comfortable & vulnerable with another girl ( or female presenting individual ) & i don’t know. i just really want that for her.

〈 &. 𝖜𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗...

inspired by the song ❝ bad friend ❞ by rina sawayama.

you were one of the first people that michelle connected with in seoul. the two of you were one another’s other-half & best friend. there wasn’t a time that the two of you weren’t together unless work-related scheduling conflicts got in the way, but even then, you’d text message all day long & things were seemingly perfect. however, there was one night where the two of you went out to a show in hongdae together that altered the friendship forever. it was late, michelle had a little too much to drink, & she left you in a pretty sticky situation because she was a little distracted by a handsome new friend. from that point forward, it’s likely been hard for you to put your trust in her, & she feels so apologetic to you, & while you two have tried to move on from it, things just sadly don’t feel the same anymore, & it still sits heavily on michelle’s heart.

● genre & rating, strained friendship, mixed feelings. ● open to, a muse of any gender identity, 96 to 01. ● requirements, a muse of legal drinking age in kr. ● potential growth, this isn’t the first instance that michelle has done this to someone, & while it’s never intentional, it’s become a habit of her’s that she’s aching to break, so i think having her commit the same mistake will allow me to dive deeper into this part of her & feel it out more. that, & i think it’d make for a really interesting dynamic between two people, & we can see how it goes based on chemistry level & what feels the most right.

〈 &. 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖘 𝖍𝖔𝖜 𝖙𝖔 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗...

inspired by the song ❝ how to disappear ❞ by lana del rey.

dating ban be damned, or well, that’s what michelle said when she met you. she knew that she wasn’t supposed to become entangled with another person so early on in her career, but there you were, & there she was, & somehow, sparks flew without intention. the relationship was hot like fire, & she was so drawn to you, & she thought you were the fucking coolest. however, the two of you weren’t exactly the best at remaining inconspicuous, & after fans noticed the heated glances exchanged between you two on more than one occasion, ( likely at shared events, etc. ) rumors began to fly that the two of you were dating. luckily, these speculations didn’t make it too far into mainstream media, but in order to save yourselves from punishment, you two made the hard decision to call it quits. netizens still ship you, which makes things complicated, & the two of you remain close still as confidants of sorts, but there’s always a small part of michelle that wonders if things could work out between you two again.

● genre & rating, exes, lots of could-be’s, romantic. ● open to, a male or male presenting muse, 95 to 00. ● requirements, a 19+ mun / muse; good chemistry. ● potential growth, michelle has a habit of falling in love with guys too quickly, & while she adores the honeymoon phase of a relationship, she’s quick to leave whenever things start getting serious. however, the muse in question would be someone that she can see herself dating for a long period of time as they’ve built up lots of trust, & she hates that it had to end so soon. i think this plot would help her develop in a sense that she’d start to imagine what it’d be like to remain committed to one person for an extended period of time, & it could assist her in getting over these abandonment issues she has. as this is heavily dependent on chemistry, we’ll have to make sure we fit well as writers & that our muses match well, too, & we can see how it evolves naturally !

#〈 &. TASK.#〈 &. WANTED PLOTS.#FMDRSTASK3

3 notes · View notes

backandimbamon · 4 years

Text

part II

Damon thinks and thinks and obsesses over what happened only an hour ago, with Bonnie now resting peacefully beside him, hair curving to frame her face like a cradle. There’s a little content smile on her lips as if she hadn’t sobbed herself to sleep. Her dorm bed is hardly enough room for their two horizontal bodies so her arms are wrapped around his waist, ear pressing against his chest; she’s warm against him like a furnace.

It is almost as if she never took a bulldozer and plowed through the wall of defense she built for herself throughout the years. Like her breakdown was an illusion. Not a groan of inadequacy or dissatisfaction fell from her lips because she is sleeping now and she’s therefore okay. Mystic Falls is far away and can’t touch her in her dreams.

He never really thought about it so restlessly or even evaluated the effects that his very messy decisions can have on the circle surrounding him.

He never properly pondered the effects that it does have on the person he wears like a shield, Bonnie Shelia Bennett.

The tiny little witch with the huge heart, it is so easy for people like him-narcissists- to manipulate and bait and make expendable without a thought.

And he’s supposed to be her best friend.

Why does she have to be so selfless and caring and, and perfect? The world takes advantage of people like her and feasts on all the loving, generous, kindhearted people it can because there’s not plenty to go around. Damon knows this. Bonnie pours into them like it’s her obligation, like she has to but she doesn’t.

She doesn’t.

How could they have allowed this for so long? Without even asking if she’s okay or... sane? Thoughts of Bonnie and her well-being haunt him and it could be hours or minutes but the swarm of memories and his newfound concern whisk away the time.

He knows it’s later than he thinks when the door opens with a slow creak, announcing Caroline’s return. There’s the sound of tip toeing before she turns on her lamp switch and no, she doesn’t expect to see Damon looking like she has disturbed him or something.

He gives her an accusatory glance, noting her heels in hand the stench of dumb jock on her like an eau de parfum.

“Fun night, Blondie?”

She’s surprised to see him still there, and not pleasantly.

Damon doesn’t understand how she whispers shrilly but she manages to go into an ear-injuring tirade, scolding him about The Real World and how it isn’t the prison world because, for once, everything isn’t about him. The words seem to flow so freely and practiced that he starts to think this is no improvisation and Care Bear has had this thought on her mind for some time. She says he’s holding her best friend back and that Bonnie long left the “Damon Cubicle” when she returned home so he should stop acting like she’s the only person to exist in this world so she can do the same.

Her chest heaves after her rant and she sighs like she just released a burden. It’s not how she pictured this intervention would go, unloading like a floodgate too early or too late in the wee hours of the morning, but not even she can stick to the plan sometimes. She loves her friend too much to allow Damon stagnating her progress, her wellbeing, her life- for any longer.

“What if Bonnie just adores me and my company,” he says, mostly to annoy her.

Dogmatically Caroline replies, “Stockholm Syndrome.”

He feels a sting in there somewhere that mentally makes him go “ouch.”

“You’re just jealous Bon likes me more.” He only replies to have the last word so none of her remarks can sink in too deep. He’s had his fair share of overthinking for the night.

Damon leaves before she can come up with a rebuttal.

——

Bonnie awakens with a hangover and her hair nearly strangling her and it’s the first time that she’s noticed how fast her hair has grown. It gives her a feeling of relief because she can say good riddance to the bob she thought she’d love forever until it almost came to that. Forever.

She fingers a long, dark strand between her long, light nails and feels a quiet satisfaction amidst her pounding head.

Quickly, her memory is back and the feeling of mortification upends her self-admiration.

She spends most the morning trying to hide her moodiness about last night. It lingers in her head all day because she doesn’t do that- it’s not her. Tequila is to blame for her break in character, the sensitivity, the temperament, the peck, the bite. The bite. she violently pushes the flirty advances at Damon into the far recesses of her mind until it’s flimsier than a memory.

Damn that alcohol.

She did want to thank him for everything but he’s gone in the morning and she understands- she does. It’s not like she feels a glimmer of something tug at her heartstrings, it’s not like there’s a smudge of disappointment in the pit of her gut.

She easily loses herself in Caroline’s telling of her sex escapade from the night before, only a tiny bit envious that she doesn’t have one to share with her. But, she tells herself, she would rather have no story than one with Damon.

She laughs on queue at Caroline’s punchline.

When she’s done reliving her adventures, Caroline looks at her with an almost matriarchal love in her eyes because she is so happy to have her best friend back. Her skin is all glow-y and she looks gorgeous, really, with her long lashes and flushed cheeks. She looks alive.

She reminds her of high school Bonnie, right before she discovered her lineage. Her hair was almost as long as it is now, and she has the same fiery look in her green eyes but more complex. Caroline hasn’t seen Bonnie look so light in years- and why did she ever cut her hair to begin with?

“You look amazing, Bon,” she gushes, but there’s something about her that she can’t quite place her finger on.

She knows that look. Bonnie is the only one in their trio that has never worn that look.

It’s the face she herself wore with Klaus, the face Elena wore with Damon. The layered gaze of someone who knows something they won’t share.

She wants to know but she’ll give it some time because, she thinks, the answer may not be as hard as it seems.

——

Bonnie always thought a blind date consisted of meeting someone new; a blank slate of sort so she can decide whether or not this person is a solid addition to her life. If not, she will have her fun, receive another free meal or two, get that itch scratched if she’s brave enough, (she never is.) Beneath it all, a blind date is someone she has never seen.

Caroline’s interpretation greatly differs from hers and Bon thinks next time she asks her friend for help, they’ll communicate effectively. They’ll establish definitions so they’re both on the same page.

Stefan looks almost as shocked as she does to see her, his date, but he gives her a hug anyway and they both laugh and shake their heads in sync.

“Asking Caroline for dating advice?”

“I could say the same for you,” Stefan lifts a heavy brow.

“At first, I was thinking ‘what the hell’ but now...I’m really thinking it.”

“I almost feel insulted.”

They laugh again.

“Geez, Bonnie, am I not up to par?” she knows that he’s joking but she can’t help to think.

Is he not up to par?

Physically, Stefan is handsome in an almost classic way. Almost because something about him is surreal, maybe even sinister, and gives him a bit of an edge to an otherwise generically attractive face.

Could be his height.

Or maybe it’s the quality about him that seems like he’s drawn in smoke. So illusive Bonnie can’t describe him even when looking directly at him. His eyes are green or hazel, his hair blond or brown or somewhere in between.

The sunlight filters in bright and vivid in the Grill yet his features cling to every shadow like a small sign of caution: PRETTY BUT DEADLY. The only thing cemented is the perfect bone structure and the penetrating gaze, the full dark brows, the lips.

Stefan’s the good guy, (compared to Damon anyway.) He does have a crazy side but he’s far better at controlling it than most crazy people she knows. He’s charming. Charismatic but not in a way that’s obvious.

Perhaps she understands Caroline’s logic on this one; they’re both similar in demeanor, more or less the calm ones in most situations, they share a levelheaded nature and a mystery in which it’s hard to guess what they’re thinking.

But a romantic connection? A date? It’s a bit of a reach so she has her doubts. Plus, there’s something that makes her uneasy about the situation because she knows Damon would hate this.

Not that it matters.

The moment is prolonged between them so she tries to recover the banter. “Stefan, be real, how could you not be up to par?”

She needs polishing, she does, because she can’t recall the last time she’s been on a date. Yes, her remark is flirty but maybe it’s too forward. Or maybe she’s just overthinking.

He gives a toothless smile, all stretched lips before raising his glass and making a toast. “To pars,”

“To pars.”

Their glasses clink and the two lock eyes in the moment.

Grey. His eyes are grey.

——

They develop a deeper friendship and Stefan thinks there is something positively different about Bonnie that he can’t quite pinpoint. She even smells sweeter.

It’s remarkable how different she looks and acts because she seems so free and unbothered, and it’s not so much in her speech as it is in her behavior. He’s not even sure if she’s aware of it.

He feels this crush blossoming, the commencement of a stomach-fluttering infatuation. One that will have him journaling like an obsessive school girl. He could deny it, that gut-fluttering feeling, but he’s too self-aware. Stefan is a hopeless romantic, which can be his downfall, so he tries not to project anything on to Bonnie just yet because she could very well be uninterested. That would be devastating for him but he’s experienced worse.

How did Bonnie Bennett sneak up on him like this?

It’s only a week after that first date but this is his third time back on campus. He’s helping her study like a good friend would.

Caroline thinks the couple is a perfect demonstration of her observational skills and how thorough she is in match-making.

Damon is still very much unaware which is good because Stefan knows Damon. He won’t like this when he finds out.

He’s had his head so far away lately, Stefan notices, completely lost in his thoughts which is unlike him. Damon is starting to challenge his title for the brooding brother. Whatever is occupying his thoughts, that he’s already remotely refused to share, must be something serious.

Just as long as it keeps his focus elsewhere to prolong him from finding out about them- this. Their... friendship. Bonnie and Stefan. It has a nice ring to it.

Her nose is buried in a novel by Toni Morrison as Stefan discreetly observes her. His gaze traces the pensive expression on her face, clinging to the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her brows. Lower he drops his eyes to graze those shapely brown legs in the cutoff shorts before he returns to her face. He admires his latest discovery: the cute tension in her mouth that appears when she’s concentrating.

Bonnie is studying literature and the only subject he’s studying is her and he lets himself have this moment while she’s completely unaware so he can drink her in.

The ironic thing is that he has overlooked her so many times, never letting his mind linger on Bonnie for too long because, yes, she’s gorgeous but she’s also Elena’s friend. And Elena used to be his world. But now she isn’t and she hasn’t been for years. His eyes are opened, fully seeing the little witch for who she is, not what she can do or how many ways she can bend.

His cell phone buzzing breaks his concentration, he answers without looking at the caller identification because he knows it’s Damon.

“Yes?”

“Why are you hanging out with Bonnie, brother?” He has an edge in his voice with a tone that is all but condemning.

How could he expect Damon to do anything other than sabotage a perfect moment in its prime?

“Is there a reason I can’t?” Stefan can feel his forehead maze. For the life of him he will never understand why Damon is like this. He knew he would react this way, being jealous and possessive. For centuries his brother makes his biggest insecurity prevalent, poking and prodding to see if the people he loves the most like Stefan more than him. It’s one hell of an inferiority complex.

Bonnie’s eyes are on him now. They remind him of lily pads, offset by her golden brown skin and dark brown hair. Put a Venetian red background behind her and she’s a walking Renaissance portrait. Her eyes shift to a distance behind him and he hears steps approaching.

“Well when you’re making googly eyes at my best friend, it makes me a little sick in the stomach.”

The sound is magnified, once through the receiver, and again in real life as Damon adds himself to the study session, putting a chair between him and Bonnie like a proper third wheel.

Stefan internally groans.

He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and dark jeans that he dusts off before actually seating himself. “What’s on the agenda today, folks?” He gives a tight smile, sending a quick death glare to Stefan. “I knew when I couldn’t get in touch with Bon Bon that she must be preoccupied.”

“Funny how you didn’t take the hint,” Bonnie jokes.

“You know I’ve never been one to listen, bestie. What’s he doing here?” He gestures to Stefan like he’s just a minor inconvenience and not a living, breathing, being.

“...Really?” Stefan lets out a grave sigh.

He goes unaddressed as Damon keeps his eyes on Bonnie.

“I’m studying, and Stefan is assisting.”

“Sure about that?”

“We’re not in the mood for games, Damon. If you want to be involved, stop the interrogation and, i don’t know, be normal for once? I know it’s a bit of stretch.”

“Oh it’s a lot more than a ‘bit of a stretch’, Bon. I’m so far from normal it’s not even funny.” He props his arms behind his head and leans back in his seat.

“Damon. Why are you here?” he wants to extract him like a bad tooth.

“No, Stefan, the real question is why are you here? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gets to visit Bon Bon unannounced. That’s what friends are for. But you, you’re easily an acquaintance. Has something... changed?” There’s a peppering of accusation as he threads an eye line between Bonnie and Stefan.

She doesn’t even hear Stefan’s retort from the wave of thoughts that washes over her.

Everything about this moment is surreal. Having the first-hand experience of this ordeal feels like astral projection in which some godly thing snatched her mid-voyage and squeezed her into a shell of Elena. Only after a few minutes of bickering, Bonnie now sort of knows what it’s like to be put on a pedestal by the Salvatore brothers and she gets it. She finally understands why her sleeping friend would die for a power like this- to be loved like this.

And even angry, even at odds, the boys really are beautiful.

Elena must have felt like the world was in her palm, with two scarily attractive wrecking balls willing to destroy everything if it meant a smile on her face. She must have felt a little less human surrounded by unearthly handsome brothers who would fight for her and over her, changing everyone surrounding them for her namesake.

However, Bonnie doesn’t truly think she wants to be the host that this parasitical Salvatore thing attaches to next- simply being a bystander while it was directed to Elena left her life in ruins. She’s only just put the pieces back together, and god there were a lot.

The boys though.

They’re beautiful.

Stefan in all his chivalry, she can sense his embarrassment to be related to such a hard ass, a slight fluster in his cheek is the one indication that he’s annoyed and frustrated. His Adam’s Apple bobs when he speaks, his jaw clenches a little too forcefully when he’s quiet, defense in those stony eyes; she’s never seen tension look so good. He’s the one you conjure when you think of the perfect knight for your fairytale ending because he fits. He’s what you were dreaming for since you were six and you realized, like your dolly, you need a prince. He’s the reward the heroes get in every story, the American Dream on legs. The fight, the struggle, the blood, sweat, and tears, you trudge through it all for a taste of goodness because it’s worth it. Stefan makes it worth it.

And then there’s Damon, the pain, the asshole who really grew on her because she never thought he could have a heart until he placed her in it. He knows just how to annoy Stefan, taunting him to break character so he isn’t in this word war alone. He always gets what he wants. The one who makes everyone uncomfortable with how effortlessly he flaunts his sex appeal, how carelessly he can trap you in fantasies of him. He awakens an insatiable ache between the legs that leaves you dripping, thinking of all the things you’re forbidden to do because someone like Damon is never yours. He’s the husband of, boyfriend of, best friend of, and it’s never you. A wink from those baby blue eyes is so promising but trying to catch him is like grasping air- he’s everywhere and nowhere at all but you fucking need him.

And she’s Bonnie. Not Elena, just Bonnie.

She would be a fool to think them fighting over her is the same as them fighting over Elena because it just isn’t. With Elena, it was different. They were caught in an intricate web of love, lust, and infatuation which was undoubtedly the recipe for disaster.

With Bonnie, they aren’t in love, they’re only bickering over her friendship.

And the thing about friendship, friendship is manageable, friendship is controllable, friendship she can handle.

Elena must have felt like the god of her own world with two hellish men devoting their lives to her safety and her harm, both the protector and danger rolled into one. How it must have felt to have friends and lovers die over her to come back and die again. To have people care for her like that without doing anything harder than existing.

Her sleeping Lena had heaven on earth while she had hell on wheels and Bonnie knows a friend she made in the underworld would tell her to live it up before she died again and no one bothered to bring her back.

In a truly twisted, ironic way, she misses that friend.

What if it’s time for the scales to rebalance and the things that fell apart must unite again?

Maybe the universe has handed her the baton and it’s time to start running.

#bamonff #bamon fan fic #bonnie bennett #damon salvatore #damon x bonnie #bonnie x damon #tvd ff #tvd fanfic #tvd #tvd fanfiction #bamon fanfiction #bamon

50 notes · View notes

agustdomain · 4 years

Text

A Slideshow of Road Lines {3}

Synopsis: They say oil and water don’t mix. What about oil paint and engines? He’s an artist reaching toward his dream while the girl with an engine heart is too busy trying to get her hands on the wheel. Is there a way for them to hold onto each other?

Word Count: 7k words

Pairing: Chris x Reader

Genre: college!au, artist!Chris, angst

Warnings: Language, Mentions of sickness (OC’s dad)

Author’s Note: You ready to meet Chris? (; He’s officially in the next part. Or is he? She won’t face him in the present for the while, but her past is filled with Chris. I’m really excited for you to get to know him!

! IMPORTANT NOTE ! This story is taking place in TWO DIFFERENT TIMES. When you see these flowers ❁, the story is shifting from present to past. There will also be a “Then” next to the day in order to further indicate that. If you have any questions, let me know!

> Part Two <

DAY 8

Every time she steps foot in this sacred oasis, guilt floods her vision. Every single time, the guilt’s almost enough to make her turn around and head back downstairs. Almost.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s been a while.”

She’s startled at the familiar voice, having not seen him when she first came up the steps. Once pinpointing where he’s crouched behind the bar, she takes her time as she trudges over. It’s been too long since the last time she’s been here. What, three or four months? It isn’t anyone’s fault but her own that she got herself in a predicament like this one.

It’s her fault she’s feeling guilty, and it’s her fault for having gotten attached to this rooftop that once held all the answers.

“Sorry, I’ve just been busy,” is her vague explanation. He isn’t the type to push.

Seungmin finally rises from behind the bar, box of tall wine glasses in his arms.

Placing them on the bar, he offers a sweet smile. Any other time, it may have eased her pain. Now, it slams her with unwanted memories.

“It’s all good- hey. You okay?”

She gives herself a moment. With each breath, she hopes to rein in her uneven breathing, for the tears and memories to subside, and for the memories she built here that are heavily stained with Chris to disappear.

“Everyone’s asking me that. To be honest, There’s not enough time to even pinpoint what’s wrong with me.” Yes, there is. It’s just one word. “So, instead. I’m going to sit at this bar. Hopefully, you don’t have any prior obligations. Maybe, just maybe you can make me your delicious ass Shirley Temple. And maybe I can just hear about how you’ve been.”

Seungmin studies her for a moment, continuing to wipe down the glasses one by one. Nodding in understanding, her shoulders sag, although she already knew he would agree. These past few months, in some twisted declaration of fate, she had forged a connection with the man whom Chris adored. In her memory, when Seungmin was just a foggy face in the background of some of her most intense moments with Chris, she never would’ve guessed he’d be her friend now. Life is funny that way.

At the sound of his throat clearing, her ease fades, aware he’s never been a pushover.

“I can get behind that. First, let me finish up all the closing procedures. While I’m putting these up, maybe you can grab a broom?”

A smile she isn’t expecting finds her lips. “That’s fair.”

“Your Shirley Temple will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

Rebel Corner has stood the test of time as one of the most beautiful places Y/N’s ever had the honor of witnessing with her own eyes. It’s a family-owned, "underground” rooftop restaurant. Not many know about it, mostly because it’s exclusive and important to the owners, and she had the honor of being one of the lucky few who was welcomed.

Even after all these years, it still drew her in like the scent of homemade cookies.

As she sweeps the wooden floors, her eyes do what they always do on their own accord. Trailing across the floor. Left, left, left, up. To the very table that sometimes finds its way in her dreams. If she listens hard enough, she can still hear Chris’ giddy laughter.

She forces herself to look away as the tightness in her chest returns.

When she finishes up, she slowly makes her way over to Seungmin. He’s in the midst of wiping down the bar counter, humming a tune underneath his breath.

An escape from her life, a confidant she never would have expected. After all, she already has enough mutual friends with Chris. Seungmin is another story.

Several months ago, her heartbreak had snuck up on her when she had least expected it. It was a night where she had entertained Minnie’s and Yeji’s terrible advice, agreeing to being set up on a date with a stranger.

She didn’t even remember the poor guy’s name anymore, barely even remembered what he had said to set her off. Maybe it was because she wasn’t ready, or how his eyes kind of resembled Chris’ beneath the restaurant light. Who was she kidding? No one could ever compare to the stardust in his irises.

One sentence had sent her running back to this place, her favorite spot prior to everything falling apart.

To be honest, she figured they wouldn’t let her up here. Seungmin had an impeccable memory, seeing the past her caved in on herself and allowing her roof access without so much as a glance.

Their friendship was unlikely, but it was born after many nights of her sorrowful solo dinners. He was a sweetheart in disguise, distracting her with trivial problems. He was a breath of fresh air from her otherwise stifling life.

“... And I told him, ‘Look. If you don’t start using your own bar of soap, you really aren’t going to like what I have planned for you’.”

Y/N bursts into ugly laughter, almost spilling her drink all over herself. “Are you serious? You know that sounds so wrong, right?”

Seungmin feigns nonchalance as he shrugs, throwing his rag across his shoulder as he declares, “That’s why you don’t fuck with me.”

The curse word sounds wrong on his lips, not suiting him at all. They share a look before settling on a mutual distaste for his tough guy act.

“What did you really tell him?”

Seungmin rubs the back of his neck shyly. “Well. I just started buying two soaps. He leaves mine alone now.”

“Seungmin! You can’t just let him take advantage of you like that.”

“What am I supposed to do? You know I hate confronting people!”

Y/N shakes her head, finishing off her Shirley Temple and slamming it down dramatically. “Do you want me to kick Felix’s ass?”

“No.”

“Come on. I have fighting experience!”

“Yelling at your phone screen when it freezes doesn’t count.”

“You’re insufferable,” She points a finger at him, making him giggle like a child. Silence finds them then, the kind she had been aching for since the moment her past came showing up at her door.

Tipping her cup back, she welcomes the rough ice cube stinging her tongue as she settles into her frigid thoughts. Now that she’s calm, she figures it’s time to face her demons.

She laughs at herself. If this is how she melted down when hearing he was back, she couldn’t imagine what it would be like when she came face to face with him.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?” Something about Seungmin’s tone quickly snatches her attention, her composure dissipating at the scared look frozen in his features. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

In slow motion, he looks up from his phone in his hands, swallowing heavily. “It’s… it’s Chris. He said he’s here.”

Oddly, a memory finds her then, one she hadn’t thought of in over two years. A memory of her and Chris running down the street late at night, hands clasped tight and road lines a blur, his dimpled smile brighter than the street lamps guiding their path. She can’t remember what they were doing that night, likely goofing off, she just recalls the bliss he brought her when life was too terrifying to face.

All she felt now was dread at the sound of his name- to the point of vomiting all of the cherry 7-up churning in her stomach.

“What do I do?” Her body moves into action, rushing to her feet and knocking the bar stool onto its side. The crash makes him wince, but he’s just as panicked as she is. “Where is he?”

“I-I don’t know. He’s probably on his way up the stairs-”

She never would have pictured the sound of a rooftop door opening being the sound to freeze her blood. The last sight she sees before dropping to the floor and crawling around the bar is Seungmin’s eyes wide with fear.

“Chris! W-wow! I almost can’t believe my eyes!” If she could, she’d kick Seungmin for his lack of acting skills.

“Is this a bad time?”

If she were an artist, this would be the point in the process where her hand slips and makes an irredeemable mistake across the canvas. She supposes that’s why Chris is the artist, not her. The sound of his voice is a dent in her plans, a deeper pothole in the road than she realized. No, not a pothole. A ditch. And her car is heading for it at 120 mph.

“No! That’s silly. What makes you think it’s a bad time? We’re closed, man! I’m the only one here! Don’t be ridiculous! I’m alone!”

Squeezing her eyes shut, nausea bubbles in her stomach and toward her throat. If Seungmin blows this- no, Chris couldn’t possibly know she’s here. She’s not ready. And how is she going to explain this to him if he sees her? He probably doesn’t even know her and Seungmin are friends.

“Okay,” Chris drags it out, sounding a distance away even though there are mere feet separating them. The tense atmosphere spills into the floor and snakes around her ankles as the boys greet each other normally, sounds of reunion and happiness filling the air. How is this possible? Y/N really went and dug the ditch herself. “How’ve you been, man?”

“I’ve been… well, the same. Rebel has been booming with the usual guests. Boss hired a new hostess though and she’s a pain in my ass.”

The second worst sound-the song of her lover’s laugh- fills the night air. The same night air that offered her answers moments ago now closed in on her. “I’ll never get over seeing you mad. It’s like watching a baby throw a tantrum. Precious.”

“I see you’re your usual chirpy self.”

“I try.” There’s a pause, one that makes Y/N start sweating. As if she hasn’t made too many, she makes another mistake. She can’t help herself. Chris is here in the flesh, and it’s been two and a half years since she was last near him. Before she knows it, she’s peeking around the corner of the bar.

Her heart nearly gives out at the sight of him looking in her direction, throwing herself back behind the bar. Her back’s painfully pressed into the wood behind her, praying silently and heart slamming. Pleading that he didn’t see her, she sighs in relief when he says, “Hey, Seung? Why is there a stool knocked over?”

“Oh. That.” Her eyes widen, sweat gathering all over her body. Clenching her teeth, she mentally spews out all of her anger at Seungmin. “Well, what do you think? You think I snuck a girl up here or something? That when you told me you were here, I told her to scram and she knocked that stool over in a rush?”

Silence.

Her heart’s beating so loud, Chris must hear it. Instead, his laughter plays like the piano chords it is. “You’re something else.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You should.” Chair scraping. Like a child and an electrical outlet, she can’t help tempting the danger as she peeks out again, promising herself it’s the last time. How stupid can she get? Seungmin’s blocking her vision, her heart yelling at him to move out the way and her brain telling her not to look. “I just wanted to drop by. I’ve missed you. And, well, I’ve been visiting all the people I haven’t seen. It’s been a minute. Too long of one”

“It really has. Are you back for good?”

“I am,” It’s a mistake, peeking to see him that second time. Once Seungmin moves, unveiling the man that took her heart hostage, she can’t submerge from the tsunami anymore. She’s lost at sea.

His hair’s the color of the marshmallow cake he made for her birthday once. Cut short on the sides, bangs framing his forehead. He used to complain about having bangs.

And she always used to tell him how effortless he made beauty look. He would only laugh it off, never one to dwell on appraisal.

His style hadn’t changed, a dark red dress shirt with a couple buttons undone off the top. The Venus chain necklace he had never taken off still hanging around his neck and glimmering beneath the rooftop’s fairy lights. Even from here, she can recognize that necklace anywhere.

Eyes welling with tears, she scoots back to her previous spot. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she claws at the knot around her heart, threatening her. In the span of his absence, she somehow managed to fool herself into believing she’s fine.

“Well, that’s good to hear. I imagine you’ll be dropping by to get your usual dinner one of these days.”

“Yeah…” A stifling pause, “Shame the food won’t be perfect anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Food only tastes perfect when the perfect person is with you to share it.”

Y/N slowly raises her head, a storm spilling on her cheeks, wondering if it muddled her hearing somehow. Did she hear him right?

“Ah. I see.” Ask him, Seungmin. Ask him what he means. Ask him about it.

Ask him anything.

“Sorry, man. I don’t mean to dump anything on you. I just got caught up for a moment. This place brings up a lot of buried memories, you know.” A clap, likely on a shoulder. “I’ll be going now. Have some other stops to make before I call it a night.”

“Alright. Don’t stay away too long. I need to hear all about what you’ve been up to. I remember how excited you were about the expedition.”

She doesn’t. All she remembers is the despair raw on his face, his pain on display like a true tortured artist.

“Definitely. I’ll catch you later.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Even after hearing the rooftop door slam closed, she doesn’t move. It’s almost unreal, being so close to him with the distance of two years between. She wonders what it would be like if they had somehow made it work all this time. Would she have been the one to pick him up from the airport? She would have been the one to plan the party for him that she’d missed yesterday.

She needs to move on.

Chris Bang is her past, and even if he chooses to reappear in her present, there’s no future for them.

“Hey.”

She looks up, Seungmin kneeling in front of her with a hand outstretched. It’s a humiliating moment when she realizes she’s been lying to herself all this time. Now’s the time for her lovely friend logic to return home, gone for so long she barely remembers its voice. It’s a shame, because without logic, all of the improvements she’s made in the last couple of years go out the window.

Without logic, how will she protect her heart?

With a watery smile, she ignores the look of sympathy on his face as she shakily grabs his hand. She answers the question in his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

~~~~

Closing the front door chases off the small ounce of energy left. Sighing heavily, she stays facing the door for a moment. She had spent most of the ride with Seungmin in silence, thankful for his offer and taking it in her vulnerable state of mind. Just like Chuu, he always knows when not to prod, unbothered by her distance and silence.

Hearing a bag zip up, her gaze trails to the living room where Chuu’s in the middle of shouldering her backpack. Without acknowledging Y/N, she moves to walk past her and to the stairs. Odd, even for Chuu.

“Hey,” Slides from Y/N’s mouth awkwardly, confused.

Startled at the greeting, Chuu looks at her wide-eyed before blurting, “I forgot I have to call my mom! I’m headed up to my room.”

“O-kay,” Y/N mutters, eyes following her as she rushes up the stairs. Before dwelling on it any further, Minnie comes down the stairs past Chuu, her gaze clouded and filled with warning.

“Is Chuu okay?” Y/N treads carefully, walking over to the couch and throwing herself across it, all of her efforts in trying not to think about Chris. Trying to block his voice out, his face, him. She’s completely drained.

“She’s fine,” Minnie’s voice is clipped, cold. Y/N doesn’t bother to figure out what she’s upset about this time. She’s surprised when Minnie hovers over her from the back of the couch, cup in hand and eyes staring down at her.

“What?” Y/N says, utterly defeated.

“Are you okay?”

“It seems like that’s everyone's favorite question these days.”

Minnie keeps on staring at her. Taking a sip of her drink, she takes her time before speaking again. “Yeji told me about Chris. Makes a lot more sense now why you got wasted and embarrassed me last weekend. I’m sorry I… haven’t been around to be there for you.”

Y/N doesn’t know what to say. Truth be told, she wouldn’t have expected this type of response from her. Ever. “It’s… fine.”

“I mean it,” Minnie walks around the couch and takes a seat near Y/N’s head. She stares at her roommate at an awkward upside-down angle, noticing her voice is uncharacteristically soft.“I haven’t really been myself. I never thought I would be one of those girls that changes when she’s in a relationship. It’s no excuse, but ever since I met Hongseok, he’s all that fills my mind.”

Sitting up, Y/N’s hand gently squeezes Minnie’s shoulder. “You haven’t done anything wrong. That’s normal. You’re in love.”

“Yeji would disagree with that. She always has something to say.” Sometimes Y/N wonders how the two of them haven’t killed each other.

“You know her. It’s not hard to make her shit list.”

“True,” Minnie stares forward, sipping from her cup every few moments. The longer Y/N sits with her, she realizes how nice it is to be around someone who’s unafraid to be themselves. Minnie can be overbearing more often than not, but on the flip side she’s as honest as they come. She doesn’t tiptoe around Y/N or make her feel like she’s a ticking time bomb.

“It’s just been a lot to process. I feel like since I’m on the go with school and work, with all of these things on my mind, I can’t even begin to process that he’s back. It’s hard to describe. The last time I saw him was… well, it’s stained in my head like a bad tattoo. And I thought the wound had healed. I’m such an idiot. I thought I’d react well if I ever saw him again. That’s… definitely not the case,” Strangled laughter bubbles past her lips.

Minnie peers at her for a couple seconds before lying her head on the back of the sofa. “I’ve never been in your shoes before. I’ve never dated anyone like you have, never had a bond like the one you had with him. I mean, it’s so rare these days for there to be guys like Chris…” Quickly, she continues, “I don’t mean to make it worse. I’m just bringing it all up because why are you being so hard on yourself? Everyone moves on at different paces. Even if you moved on, it doesn’t make it any easier when you see someone you loved for the first time in a long time. You’re human, Y/N. He used to be the guy that had power over your heart. It’s not something you can just bury.”

“I just wish… I don’t know.” Y/N hates that she feels the urge to cry again.

“You’re not going to figure everything out in one night. Go easy on yourself. Just promise me that.”

Easier said than done. Regardless, she knows Minnie’s intentions are pure. “Okay.”

Minnie stands up, hand finding Y/N’s thigh and squeezing comfortingly before rising to her feet. She takes her time heading for the stairs, pausing at the bottom before looking over her shoulder. “It’s not your fault that he left.”

Those words haunt Y/N long after their conversation, repeating in her head like a jammed radio.

As she lay in bed that night, a blanket protecting her from the smiles of her ghosts, Minnie’s words replay.

She understands the sentiment, even recognizes the sincerity.

Only problem is, she doesn’t agree at all.

After all, it’s her fault everything fell apart. If it wasn’t for her, she and Chris would still be together.

That’s what’s poking at her, why it’s so hard to imagine facing him. How can she face him when she can’t even face herself? How can she confront the reality that she’s the reason he’s left with a scar, one she imagines have darkened his hands and his paintings?

His muse? Please. She must be his worst nightmare.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

Day 10, Then

The pop music flowing from different stores contrasted with the gloomy weather overhead. Glancing up at the rumbling clouds in dismay, she found herself wondering why anyone in their right mind thought it was a good idea to build an outdoor mall.

Looking around at the passersby, it would seem like they didn’t care if it was moments from raining. Bundles of teenagers gathered, filming videos on their phone and talking way too loud. Older couples were the only ones rushing for cover, complaints falling in the space between her and them as they rushed past.

The longer she spent wandering aimlessly, the more close she was to giving up. Yes, her dad insisted on her going out and spoiling herself. The thought only filled her with guilt. Even when he was far from being healthy, he still wanted to take care of her. He worried about her, when he should’ve only worried about getting better.

At the thought of her dad, weights built up and suffocated her chest. She couldn’t do this, not now. Sighing heavily, she turned on her heel and headed back the way she came. If she rushed, she could make the next bus back to campus.

Right as the edge of the mall came into view, a large neon sign snagged her attention, pausing in her footsteps.

Painters. A soft neon pink sign, more inviting than any other sign she’d seen so far. Its soft letters reminded her of pink lemonade. Unlike the name, it appeared to be a shoe store rather than an art supplies store, which is what she expected.

Shaking her head, the rain began its gentle dance on the concrete around her. Not long after, gentle kisses found her exposed skin. Y/N moved to walk past the store, but her legs came to a stop without much thought. Glancing at the bright array of shoes in the window, she realized that maybe she might find something in there she’d like. That, and it would make her dad insanely happy when she called home tonight, telling him she already bought something for herself.

Stepping in, she recognized the sad serenade of a Post Malone song playing overhead. The shoe shop was smaller than the more popular brand stores, colorful paper maché lights hanging low from the ceiling. The longer she studied the shop, the more she appreciated it for its individuality. Even the shoes weren’t all the same, offering varieties and brands she never even heard of.

When she first entered, the first thing to catch any customer’s eye was the big chalkboard in unnecessarily bold letters that read FIRST COME FIRST SERVE FOR EACH PAIR. ONE SIZE ONLY PER PAIR.

“That makes things more difficult,” Y/N uttered to herself.

Wandering down the nearest aisle, an uncontrollable smile tugged her lips at the kids section. Reading the sign above the shelf, her heart tugged in fondness at the realization of just how different Painters was.

Children designed the collection of kids shoes before being placed out in the store to be sold. More intrigued, she turned the corner and stumbled upon the next section titled Kollege Kids. Their designs were more professional but had just as much character. Personally, she preferred the kids’ designs.

She scoffed in disbelief. Prior to this moment, she had no idea stores like this even existed. Her eyes trailed to the top right corner of the shelves in front of her. A pair of high top converse, all white save for the drawings of the milky way galaxy in blue and orange ink.

Taking them off the shelf, she was launched back into her conversation with her dad a couple nights ago, a younger version of her racing down the road holding her daddy’s hand wearing her favorite orange and blue sneakers.

Staring down at the sneakers, she realized how important it was for her to get them now, the uncanny nostalgia from them pressuring her into the purchase. Just then, she was reminded of the obnoxious sign at the front of the shop about how each pair had one size only.

Closing her eyes, she willed the sneakers to be her size before pushing the tongue back to see. Deflating, all hopes of having these special shoes washed away as she slammed them back down on their designated spot.

“I understand the frustration.”

She turned then, eyes finding the guy who was staring at her from the end of the aisle. Her eyes washed over him quickly, eyebrows rising in curiosity at his button up pushed to the forearms and an art apron tied loosely around his hips. She connected the dots a beat too late that he was an employee.

Noticing her confusion, he smiled slightly as he grasped the apron with two fingers. “This? Yeah, it’s an… interesting choice of uniform. My boss is an eccentric gal. It fits the theme, don’t you think?”

Y/N nodded, unsure of what to say. Turning back to face the shoes, all sense of desire to buy anything was completely gone. Those sneakers were it, and since they weren’t her size, there was no use. The eccentricity of the store was fresh and amazing until a person realizes the shoes they love don’t come in their size.

The employee stepped closer, putting up a pair of sneakers near her. Stepping aside a bit, she found her eyes found his again as he continued to observe her. What was this guy’s deal?

“I was just looking around. I’m not going to buy anything,” Y/N decided on, hoping it was enough to get him to leave her alone. It wasn’t.

“Really?” He sounded unconvinced. Nodding at her- well, the pair of shoes- he crossed his arms as if he were all-knowing. “Seems like your heart was pretty set on those. I can see why. They’re pretty kick-ass. I’m assuming they weren’t your size?”

“Yeah, they weren’t,” She said wistfully, ready to go back to her dorm and never come to this shop again.

“Hate when that happens.”

Turning to him, ready to snap, her mouth shut on its own as her eyes found his face. There were no ill intentions behind his gaze, only empathy. Her eyes wandered on their own, his dark hair short and neat but his eyes suggesting a more wild existence. Even the way he wore his uniform suggested he was barely following the rules.

Her eyes trailed to his shoes, dark maroon boots with doodles drawn on it with- was that brown sharpie? Feeling his eyes on her, they quickly jumped back to his face. Dimples appeared and softened his presence even further, catching her in the act.

Mouth parting, trying to justify what probably looked like she was checking him out, she didn’t need to say anything as he headed back the way he came.

“There’s plenty of magnificent shoes in here. I hope you find another pair that makes you feel the way those did,” He called over his shoulder. Stopping at the end of the aisle, he turned back and gave her a look she didn’t quite understand. “It might be hard, but some shoes just aren’t the right fit. And it’s because the ones that are will own your heart more than you realize.”

Her heart was racing after he disappeared from view and she couldn’t figure out the cause. Was it the guy? No it couldn’t have been. Was it the shoes? Definitely not. His words… how could someone be so wise when they were just talking about shoes?

Afraid to be seen by him again, she peeked from behind the aisle she was in, and once the coast was clear she made a beeline for the door. Just as her hand pushed open the door, she felt the strong urge to look back. So she did.

The guy from before was in the middle of placing another pair of shoes on a nearby rack, arm outstretched above his head. Instead of his attention on the task at hand, his eyes were watching her as she left.

Heart jumping, she caught the edge of his smile before she rushed out the store.

Day 14

Another day, another night of drowning in assignments.There were points where thoughts of her dad crept in, but she buried it as the stress of her work washed over. Sometimes, she craved a break.

She didn’t have the time for that.

The break would be possible if she didn’t have a job interview in two hours with the bakery down the street. Gogo’s was its name, and she had been looking for a part-time position that had flexible hours and leniency. Since it was nearby, she hoped she was set for the school year. To keep herself from panicking, she put all of her energy into trying to finish some homework beforehand.

For once, she was grateful for the distraction when Yeji called her. As she typed away at her laptop, she put her on speaker.

“Y/N! Come out with us!”

“I can’t today. Sorry.”

“Hold on.” There was the usual sound of crinkling and she shook her head, knowing what was coming. Like clockwork, there was Hyunjin’s signature confused sounds before he greeted her.

“Hey.”

“Sorry, the answer’s still no.”

“Why, though? It’s been ages since we hung out.”

“I feel like I experience déjà vu whenever I talk to you these days. College has made you two really clingy,” She held back a smile at Hyunjin’s sound of disbelief.

“And college has made you really crabby and mean!”

“I’m flattered,” Y/N said, coming off a lot more colder than she intended. She hoped he understood. Being an engineering major was kicking her ass. The silence made her feel guilty, so she added, “I probably would but I have a job interview in a bit.”

“Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because if I told Yeji that, she’d want me to skip it. You know her tendency to think everything’s a game.”

“True.”

The two of them chatted for a few more minutes before she hung up, signalling it was time for her to get ready. Her stomach was a bundle of nerves as she attempted to mentally prepare herself for the interview, heading for the shower.

When she got out, Chuu was on her own bed scrolling through her phone. Every now and then, she would glance over at Y/N as she shuffled back and forth throughout the room.

“You seem nervous,” Chuu quietly noted.

“I am. But things will be okay. Whatever happens, happens.”

“Right.” As Y/N did a onceover of her hair, Chuu came up behind her in the mirror. Her head tilted up, nodding firmly at her.

“You got this.”

Somehow, in the short time she had gotten to know the girl, she had the uncanny ability of making things feel okay- even if for a moment. With one gesture, with brief exchanges- Chuu’s strength filtered through her veins.

“Thank you.”

~~~~

By the time Y/N made it back to her dorm, Chuu was nowhere to be found. Knowing her, she was probably holed up in the nearby library- she was the type that couldn’t get work done anywhere else.

She weighed her options, knowing she should probably work on her homework. For once, she allowed herself some time to relax. Changing into her favorite pajamas, she grabbed her keys and left her dorm, heading for the convenience store downstairs. It really was handy to live on campus.

After she grabbed her favorite Jalapeño chips and an orange juice, she got in line. Her thoughts wandered, not really paying attention to her surroundings. That was, until she heard two very familiar voices. Before she could even look for the source, an arm wrapped around her shoulders as Hyunjin’s citrus lip balm filled her nose.

“I thought that was you.”

“Hey, Honey,” she said, pushing him off of her. Looking dejected, his attention was snatched by something nearby, disappearing as quick as he came. Yeji sidled up next to her in line, shooting a dirty look to the person behind Y/N. As if the person waiting in line was the one in the wrong.

“How was your interview?” She asked, smacking the gum in her mouth.

“It was good,” It really was. Y/N didn’t want to jinx it, but she was confident she got the job.

“You probably got it. It’s you,” Yeji sighed, stretching her arms out. Little comments like that always reminded Y/N that as loud and aggressive she could be, Yeji tried her hardest to show her affection in other ways.

“Thanks,” Y/N coughed out, reaching the front of the line. As she paid, Yeji filled her in on her night. At first, she wasn’t paying too much attention to her words, expecting her to complain about Jisung again. When she realized that wasn’t her friend’s topic of choice at all, she tuned in.

“...And I’m actually surprised. I really did have fun. I think I won’t mind if I have to spend time around Jisung, after all.”

“Glad you had fun,” Y/N deadpanned, leading the way out of the line and trailing over to Hyunjin. He was at the dessert aisle and having trouble deciding between a Twinkie and an Oatmeal Cookie.

“You weren’t listening, were you?” Yeji accused.

“I was!” She responded, but Yeji didn’t believe her.

“It’s kinda weird, though. I thought Jinnie here was being dramatic when he said Chris makes everything better. The guy actually does.”

Y/N nodded her head at her words, wondering what Chris could’ve possibly done to get in Yeji’s good graces. It was hard to please her.

Hyunjin grabbed both desserts in one hand before turning to Y/N and placing a hand on her shoulder. “Bummer you couldn’t meet him tonight.”

“Come on, he can’t be that great. You’re hyping him up like he’s Tom Holland or something.”

“Okay, don’t take it that far,” Yeji gasped.

Hyunjin shook his head at her before hitting them both with, “Well, I-” slamming down the sweets in front of the clerk- “think he’s better than Spidey boy.”

Yeji blew a breath out. “I’ll admit he’s cool but no one tops Tom.”

“Not even Tobey? Give me a break.”

“I’ll break your arm and we’ll call it a day.”

The clerk watched the two, wide-eyed, and Y/N could only pretend she wasn’t their friend as she headed for the door. As they all headed for her dorm, she listened to them continue to rave about this guy. It was almost ridiculous how much they idolized him.

There couldn’t be anyone better than Hyunjin, at least in her book. Though she didn’t like him like that, her best friend had set the bar high for her in how she expected good guys to be. Hyunjin was kind, selfless, and did the best he could to make anyone feel like they belonged. He was the lantern that everyone was drawn to in the dark.

So, yeah, maybe this Chris guy was cool. But to Y/N? It seemed like they were just buzzed about getting along with someone new.

“...You’ll like him, Y/N. I know you will,” Hyunjin gave a firm nod, stuffing his entire cookie in his mouth, “Swell guy,” he added, crumbs flying out and toward the girls. Yeji shrieked, hands reaching out and slapping him hard on his arm.

Y/N scolded him, but not before she laughed at his puppy dog face, hands up to block Yeji’s hits as he still continued to mumble with a full mouth. She laughed, “You’re so gross.”

“And so are you! Don’t forget I have dirt on you,” He pointed at Y/N before moving over to Yeji, “And you, too.”

“Whatever,” She sighed, leading the way off of the elevator. She wasn’t surprised at all when they followed her. “Anyways, I’ll meet him next time.”

As she unlocked the door, Yeji leaned in and tried to be quiet as she whispered, “He’s so fine, Y/N. He’s going to be the man of your dreams, watch. I’m going to be dreaming of him tonight.”

Hyunjin choked on his twinkie, shoving Yeji right into the doorway. As she yelped, he shouted, “Ew! You’re so thirsty! Go find someone else to fantasize about. You’re not allowed to like my friends.”

“Why not? You gotta admit he’s hot!”

“And? You’re my cousin. I’m trying to save him from your crazy ass.”

“You’re such a brat. I don’t even want him like that. But finally you have a fine ass friend. Thought having a family member my age meant more hot friends. Guess not.”

“Both of you relax. Didn’t expect a guy to come between the two of you,” Y/N grinned at her own joke as the two of them proceeded to aim their fire at her. After a while, the fire went out on its own as they lounged lazily on her small bed, chatting about random things that came to mind.

Even though they drove Y/N crazy sometimes, she knew that without them, her life would’ve taken a completely different path otherwise.

“Hey, I forgot to mention! Not sure if you remember, but we made plans with the guys on Saturday to go to Kev’s. It’s for Chris’ birthday. I really want you there,” Hyunjin announced out of the blue, Y/N’s eyes leaving her computer.

Kev’s was an entertainment place that had blown up over the past couple of years. It was a mix of an arcade, sports bar and bowling alley- talk about indecisive. She had only been there once back in high school for a birthday party.

Tilting her head back and forth in thought, she eventually nodded. “I think I can make it. I don’t have much due this weekend, surprisingly.”

“Nice! Okay, I’ll ask CB if he can scoop you up.”

“Why can’t you pick me up?” She asked, not liking the sound of riding with a guy she barely met.

Hyunjin avoided eye contact, which led to Yeji answering for him.

“He’s picking up his new girlfriend, that’s why. He’s ditching us and handing us over to his weird friend,” Yeji blurted, before gasping and exclaiming, “I need to think of what to wear.”

“Wait, you have a new girlfriend?” Y/N asked, spinning in her desk chair to face him.

Hyunjin gave his cousin a look before he sighed and said, “No, I don’t. Not yet, at least. I’m just seeing where things go.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well-” Hyunjin looked ashamed- “I don’t know if it’s anything serious yet. I just want to test the waters, you know. And I didn’t tell Yeji, she’s just nosy and happened to overhear me talking to Jisung about it.”

Y/N nodded in understanding, turning back to her desk. It was weird, not because Hyunjin didn’t date, but because it was unlike him to not tell her these things. For the sake of her homework, she decided to let it go.

“I think I’m going to head to bed,” Yeji yawned, “But maybe I’ll see you before Saturday.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll head out too,” Hyunjin added, and Y/N rose to her feet to walk them to the door.

As they said their goodbyes, Hyunjin lingered as Yeji slowly walked down the hall without noticing. Just as Y/N was about to close the door, Hyunjin caught it.

“What’s up?” Her voice came out slow, noting his nervousness.

Licking his lips, he took a deep breath as he searched her face. “I really am sorry I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t like I was hiding it from you I just… yeah, we’ve all had things to do and I just didn’t want to stress you out. You know, with all your schoolwork and… and your dad.”

Up until his last words, Y/N was pretty understanding. At the mention of her dad, she shut down. Hyunjin noticed, too, trying to backtrack.

“W-what I meant by that is-”

“It’s fine, Hyunjin. I’m not even sweating it,” She said, and even to herself she sounded cold.

“Wait, that was insensitive of me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. I just didn’t want to put anything else on your plate.”

“Telling me about a girl you like is something to add on my plate?”

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, before saying, “Yeah.” Even he must’ve known how ridiculous that sounded.

Wanting to be irritated, she realized he was only being considerate of her feelings, right? Even if this was the first time he had kept something from her, it wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t possibly mean anything else. So, she decided to truly let it go.

“Don’t worry, Honey. It’s all good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

23 notes · View notes

cryptidqueerr · 4 years

Text

hey what’s up I’m writing fanfiction now I guess

y’all said “I used to be team jacob in 2006 but now I’m a giant lesbian” and I said “what about.....lesbian jacob black? and what about no imprinting? and also pepper in some more involved parents and more queer folks?” and you said “sure sounds good”

(x-posted to ao3 which is also where more chapters will be posted)

This story begins with an ending.

For six months, I followed the deepest drive of my human heart and loved Edward Cullen. For six months, he bent his nature to love me in return. But that which bends will inevitably break, and the stories warning young girls to stay away from the glittering eyes of vampires exist for a reason.

He abandoned me in the woods. He had thrown open the gates of heaven and then declared me too sinful to stand in its light. He told me that he loved me for my humanity and then told me that in my humanity, I was a liability. He left me to crash onto the ground alone. I couldn't think without him. I couldn't breathe without him. He had so fully inhabited my soul that my body did not remember how it moved before him. For hours, I curled up, the dark outside pressing against my skin to meet the darkness inside. Sam Uley carried me out of the woods, my father carried me into the house, and I carried me through the unending agony that came after.

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

Weeks pass. My thin body, growing thinner by the day, feels as though it will crack under the weight of my sorrow. I don't sleep at all - then I do nothing but sleep. I barely eat. Offering smiles to soothe my father's worry feels like carving gashes into my face. I fumble for the right answers to give to the therapist my parents insist I see. She prescribes me a handful of pills that I flush down the drain.

I send texts that return undeliverable. I don't dare try his number - just the thought of the confirmation that his number is dead, that my last connection to him could be severed, drives me into an hours-long breakdown. Instead I text Alice: losing her friendship is an added pain, but a bearable one. Dozens a day, then less. Then more again. Then just one, every night.

I'm waiting. I'll always be waiting. I love him.

I think this must be what praying feels like.

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

I am ruins

covered in vines

my temple long lost to age.

the darkness here is deep

shadowed corners whispering ancient

sadness

but still

the air here is holy.

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

"Julie Black's coming by later."

I lift my head from my bowl of cereal. Charlie stands at the sink, in front of the coffee pot from 1997. Frost covers the kitchen window, the late November chill pressing its face against the glass. "What?" I say, seconds before my brain processes the words.

"Julie Black. She's swinging by to pick up some of her dad's stuff that he left here a while ago," Charlie says, his hands methodically adding nine sugars to his coffee. He doesn't look up.

He doesn't look directly at me very often anymore. I catch him watching me when he thinks I don't notice, his worried eyes following me from the couch to the fridge to the kitchen table and back again. He likes that I stay downstairs, I think. I don't bother to tell him that my bedroom is filled with Edward, that sleeping on my bed is like sleeping on his grave. My promise to stop saying things like that was my ticket out of weekly therapy appointments and back into my sophomore year of classes at Peninsula College, the community college in Forks. When I'd moved in with Charlie last August, I'd hoped to be moved to Seattle for a four-year college by the fall. Now, I barely manage to pass the few classes I had remembered to sign up for.

I search the blankness in my head for a response. I come up with nothing, save a vague sense of a tall, smiling girl. What does this have to do with me?

"I thought..." Charlie hesitates, then tries again. "I thought maybe you girls could catch up. Billy says she gets pretty lonely down there on the rez, with her sisters gone. She'd wanted to start taking classes over at Peninsula this semester, but it didn't work out. I bet she'd appreciate a friend."

Ah. I nod, returning my attention to the mush of Frosted Flakes. "Okay."

I sense Charlie's stillness: he hadn't expected me to agree. He doesn't answer, just mutters a wordless affirmation. But he finally shuffles into the living room, carrying his coffee and a little less tension.

I bump a cluster of soggy cornflakes, watching as it sets on a spinning path through the off-white milk. I push through the gray fog that fills my skull to idly thumb through my memories, carefully avoiding the ones I don't want to see, like navigating a dark room without barking your shins on furniture. The memory from before (before what? before Ed...no, before, before just before) comes to mind: Julie Black, Billy Black's youngest daughter, had come with him to drop off the truck Charlie had gotten from his old friend for me, right after I'd moved to Forks. I hadn't even started classes when I met her. She had shown me the trick to the clutch. I remember her height - towering over my 5' 4", probably even with Charlie's 5' 10" - and her broad shoulders, built more for soccer than basketball. I remember a bright smile, crinkling her dark eyes, so much like Emmett-

My brain throws the emergency brake before the thought reaches my heart. My head clears out completely: I think of nothing but Frosted Flakes.

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

I join Charlie on the couch after breakfast. There's a game on TV. I stare at it for a full half-hour before I realize that it's football and not baseball, though that doesn't really help me understand it any better. Charlie alternatively groans in annoyance and punches the arm of his recliner in celebration. I give him another half hour of pretending to join in before I give up and grab the battered paperback I left on the coffee table the night before. It's one of the 80's-era high fantasy novels that I loved when I was thirteen, filled with knights and princesses and sexism. It's engaging enough, even though I've read it before.

My stomach has just started to rumble into hunger when there's a knock on the door. Charlie glances at me, then makes to get out of his chair.

"I'll get it," I offer. I try not to be offended by the look of surprise and excitement on Charlie's face. I'm depressed, not an invalid, I want to snap. But sniping at Charlie doesn't make me feel any better: I already tried.

When I open the door, my brain immediately scrambles to update my memories. The Julie I remember as tall-for-a-girl is now whoa-did-you-see-how-tall-that-girl-is, grinning down at me from at least six feet. Her long black hair hangs damp over her shoulders, trailing down her bare arms. There's ice pelting down with the fine rain, but she's only wearing a black tank top and jeans stuffed into muddy motorcycle boots, a dark red flannel shirt tied around her hips. Her eyes, dark as sweet coffee, are the same. They crinkle at the corners with her wide smile.

"Hey!" she says brightly. "Long time no see."

"Hi," I say.

"Hey there, Julie. Come on in, you must be freezing." Charlie appears at my shoulder, just in time for us to move out of the way for Julie and shut the door against the cold.

"It's not so bad." She stomps the mud from her feet onto the doormat, carefully shaking the rain from her hair. She's telling the truth: she doesn't even have goosebumps on her leanly muscled arms. I, on the other hand, have to cross my arms over my chest to block out the rush of chill, burrowing myself deeper into my sweater. "How've you been, Charlie?" she asks politely, sliding her hands into her pockets.

"Can't complain," he answers, but he's glancing at me. Julie, seemingly unaware of the simmering awkwardness, looks down at me again.

"Did you shrink, Swan? Weren't you at least five foot the last time I saw you?" she teases.

I feel Charlie tense slightly behind me, but for a moment my old instincts return and I roll my eyes. "I haven't changed. You're the one who looks like she's been putting Miracle-Gro on her Wheaties."

Julie grins again, running one hand through her damp hair. "I blend it into protein shakes, actually," she retorts.

Something that feels like a smile tugs at my mouth. I'm surprised by how little it hurts.

"Let me, uh, go grab that stuff for you." The words have barely left Charlie's mouth before he vanishes upstairs.

For a moment, I panic - I can't sustain small talk with my mom on the phone anymore, much less a girl I barely know. I shift from one foot to the other. The fog in my head won't clear. I can't think of anything to ask her.

If Julie notices my empty nervousness, she doesn't seem affected by it. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe, looking down at me with a crooked smile.

"So what do you pale-faces do for fun up here?" she says, a teasing roughness to her voice.

I lift one shoulder in a shrug. I hadn't done anything fun since -

My brain slammed the door shut before I could count the days.

"That's fair," she says, as though I answered. "There's not much to do around here, if you don't go in for some variety on going out in the woods to bring a bunch of dead animals back with you."

"I heard that!" Charlie yells from upstairs. Something bangs on the floor: I spare a small prayer that he doesn't break anything in his charade.

Julie's smile widens easily to a full grin. I've never seen anyone like her: when she smiles, her entire body lifts, like she's seconds from bursting into light. She runs one hand through her long hair. "Can't get mad if it's true," she calls back at him. "Not that the rez is much better. Oh, you don't want to hear the tribe's histories again? You don't want to go to the same stretch of beach and stare at the ocean? How about drinking a bunch of cheap beer in the woods? No? Guess you're out of luck."

My old instincts take over again and I snort out a laugh. "I thought the Forks kids invented standing around drinking Natty Light in silence."

"Nah. That's an old Quileute tradition." Julie rolls her shoulders, wincing slightly as she flexes her muscles. The rain is starting to evaporate off her skin already. The only moisture left clings to the hollow at the base of her neck, the dip in her collarbones, the curve of her elbow. I wonder briefly how she manages to dry off so quickly. My hands are still damp with melting flecks of ice.

"We really do steal everything." The words come out of my mouth automatically; I'm not really paying attention. The part of my brain that keeps me alive is nearly smoking at the effort of keeping the thought of cold hands and icy lips from crashing to the forefront of my mind.

"Which is why they send me up here to steal away the hearts of your women," Julie says with a wink. She isn't acknowledging the monumental effort it's taking me to stay functional. But the quick sweep of her eyes across my face, the practiced ease of her smile, are all a little too careful - she's noticed, but she isn't commenting. From anyone else it would seem like discomfort: from her, it's a kindness.

"From what I hear, you don't have any problems with that on the rez, either." Charlie reappears with a few fishing poles and a jacket that I'm sure is his. I was there when Mom bought it for him one Christmas.

Julie lifts one shoulder in an acquiescing shrug. "It's in the Black genes. We're a long, proud line of very attractive people."

"Just what every father wants to hear." Charlie grins and hands over the poles and jacket. "You, uh, heading back to the rez?"

"Yeah, I've got some work to do on the Rabbit. I'm not saying I heard Dad on the phone trying to talk Hawkins into finding me a new transmission, but I am saying Christmas is coming up and she is nowhere near close to transmission transplant ready." That broad, easy smile softens Julie's face again.

"Don't suppose you'd feel like trying to teach Bella here a thing or two about engines, would you? Every time she has to call me to change a tire I feel like I've failed as a dad." Charlie's casual almost-joke doesn't fool either of us, by the look on Julie's face. I feel Charlie's eyes dart over to me, but I stare out the window past Julie's arm. I feel myself sliding - out of the conversation, out of the kitchen, out of the entire morning. I don't make plans anymore. I don't go places anymore. What the hell is Charlie doing?

"Thinking about taking shop as an elective next semester?" Julie tosses the question back to me. I don't look at her, but I shake my head. Like before, she takes my silence as a response, letting it slip into the flow of conversation as easily as if I'd spoken. "I didn't really take you for a mechanic type."

"I don't really know what type I am," I say. I see Charlie's face fall slightly, and my stomach with it. He thought he was doing good. He thought I was getting better. He tried so hard. "But I could give mechanic-type a shot." An uncharacteristically broad smile lifts Charlie's face before I even register the words that came out of my mouth.

What the fuck, Swan.

Julie laughs and stretches her arms over her head. It feels like she takes up the entire kitchen, though I can't decide if it's her physical size or just her energy, if she'd fill up a room the same way if she was the same size as Al-

"I can probably teach her how to at least change a tire," Julie interrupts the dangerous thought before my self-preservation can get to it, like she saw the pain coming.

"Great!" Charlie's almost beaming now. My face flushes slightly: I didn't think I had the capacity to be embarrassed anymore, but when your dad is practically wriggling like a puppy over the thought of you leaving the house, embarrassment manages to find its way back in. "You girls have fun. Just bring her home before midnight, huh?"

"I always do," Julie says and tosses her hair over her shoulder. I feel the flush on my face warm a little more. I don't bother trying to understand why.

#twilight #twilight is gay now #lesbian jacob black #college au #fanfiction #fanfic #twilight fanfic #I'm just occupying my time writing sad gay shit #text

9 notes · View notes

the-bounce-back · 3 years

Text

5 STEPS TO EMOTIONAL DETACHMENT FROM TOXIC AND USELESS SOMEBODIES

Well, hello there. It’s been a slightly long minute… but I’m back with another banger for your headtops. A lot has happened since my (four month late) birthday post in which I said I was going to write more regularly… but you know what? I refuse to feel bad about it. We’re really in a whole pandemic, life is hurling curveballs at all of us at very disrespectful rates, and now the year is coming to an end very swiftly - like say it wasn’t June just a couple weeks ago. Yes, I’ve been feeling extremely unmotivated to come on here and give everyone a pEpTaLk about how ~*great*~ life is once you let go of everything that’s been holding you back - and that’s okay. I’ve decided to give myself a break instead of beating myself up over it, and can’t lie… I needed it. Besides - posting this post in particular now coincides nicely with releasing and purging all the drama that has been happening during this year before 2021 arrives, so let’s just pretend that the delay was intentional. Okay? Okay!

All jokes aside, I have been struggling a little with writing about this topic, because I really wanted to make sure I did it properly. If you read my never-ending birthday post (if not, read it here), you might remember that one of the points was that learning how to detach yourself from toxic people and situations is pretty much crucial for you to be able to fully let go of the past, to be able to move forward in life without any remorse or guilt, and to never revisit what used to be very painful situations ever again. As much as my own detachment jOuRnEy has been going relatively well, to say that the whole “letting things go and never revisiting them again” thing has proven to be quite the challenge would be the understatement of the century.

By quite the challenge, I mean a f*cking nightmare.

I’m sure many of you can relate when I say that having all this forced time off/downtime throughout the past year has made introspection, reflection and self-analysis pretty much inevitable. Even when you’re just trying to chill and binge watch your favourite box set for the gazillionth time as a distraction, eventually your thoughts catch up with you - forcing you to face certain things that were so easily ignored and avoidable when the outside was still open.

When you spend so much time of a day in your thoughts (trying not to lose your mind from the boredom), it’s only natural to start evaluating your situation, relationships and state of mind. I can only speak for myself, but going from constantly being able to avoid certain thoughts and feelings to suddenly being brutally forced to sit with them ended up being the catalyst I needed to want to find a way to finally strip myself of all the painful baggage, situations and people that have been holding me back from moving forward in life. Aaaand cue the inevitable - but extremely necessary - discomfort that the detachment process brings.

Hella revelations. Hella difficult conversations. Hella growing pains. Hella tears. Hella ended relationships/friendships. The list goes on.

I realise that I’m not exactly selling the whole detachment thing very well, but let’s be very real - it is painful, and you definitely need to be in the correct headspace to even be able to admit to yourself that you’ve allowed a certain situation to go on for so long. I can’t even lie, living in denial and turning a blind eye to former fRiEnDs’ behaviours and how they treated me was a hell of a lot easier. I accidentally got into the habit of justifying and defending other peoples’ mistakes and sh*tty behaviours, no matter how much it hurt me in the process… all because I saw pOtEntIaL in them.

Bruh. Typing it out like this and reading it out to myself is even annoying me. Ya girl is pissed for letting this sh*t run because where was my logic? My critical thinking skills? Common sense? InTuItIoN that I claim to have?! Was my third eye asleep?!

Sigh. Let me relax. It is well… no point in beating myself up over it now. But still.

However - with that being said - I definitely feel like I had to put myself through a lot of that sh*t, because if I hadn’t I’d definitely still be clinging on to expired/toxic friendships and connections. Going through it really had me in a place of suspecting that everyone wanted to hurt me and/or take advantage of my kindness. Luckily, I met some amazing people along the way that reminded me that not everyone is trash, that I am deserving of genuine and real connections, and that I need to learn how to let go of people once they start moving all kinds of mad… enter the concept of detachment.

As you can probably tell from the ever so slightly passive-aggressive title - no, I haven’t fully mastered the art of detachment… yet. I definitely have a long way to go before I can commit to the last couple of steps of the process, because as a chronic overthinker that looooves to analyse past situations and an eMpAtH that hates giving up on people, simply ~*letting go*~ is infinitely more easier said than done… but definitely not impossible. It really is an ongoing process, and I can tell you from now that you will revert back into the toxic mindsets that lead you to your current situation at least 1000 times along the way… but what’s important is learning how to g-check yourself, remind yourself why you are doing this and to keep it pushing no matter what.

Anyways. Without further ado, keep on reading to find out how to leave your d*ckhead exes, fake-ass friends and painful memories in 2020, so you can move forward into 2021 with love, light, a clean slate, peace of mind and all that other corny and cringe sh*t that we all crave - and never look back. Enjoy!

1. Set a very concrete reason why you want to start the detachment process.

Usually, this is a no-brainer. Most likely, the person you’ve decided you want to detach from has just done or said something unforgivable that makes you feel sick for ever even being associated with them. Or, you’ve clocked a series of minor violations that have built up over time… and one more tiny violation pushes you over the edge and makes you lose your head. Either way, it works as a catalyst to make you finally realise just how little respect they have for you, your feelings or your mental health.

However, there are certain situations where the reason may not be as clear as “she f*cked my ex” or “he stole £5k from my account” - sometimes, it’s literally just a gut feeling that someone doesn’t have your best interests at heart the way you have for them. Regardless, it is important to remember that any and all reasons to want to let someone go are valid, and you don’t owe anybody an explanation. This is your healing process and journey, and you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with the pain of it - so anyone that has any remarks on how/why/when you do it can choke, because what’s their own?

With that being said, it is imperative to make sure that the reason is strong enough for you to be able to stick to the process - because believe me when I say that there will be times where you’ll start asking yourself if you’re overreacting, if it’s really that deep, you’re being too sEnSiTiVe or being too radical. These thoughts are either a way for our mind to avoid having to process a lot of sh*t that will probably be very emotionally painful to work through, or a result of being gaslighted and being told that it’s nothing serious. In those cases, a strong reason should be enough to keep you reminded of why you are putting yourself through this process. It should keep you going, and help you find yourself on your darkest days when you just want to give up.

For me, determining a good reason that I know I will stick to became easier over time, because I realised that really delving deep into the root cause of the issue makes everything so much clearer. For example - yes, while Lucy shagging your ex and then meeting up with you for drinks is violation enough, chances are that if you dig deeper, you’ll realise that there’s been repeated pattern of her not respecting you as a friend, disregarding your feelings and not caring about how her actions affect you. In instances like this, it becomes easier to commit to cutting them out of your life, because it’s not just a “one-off” violation, if that makes sense.

The bottom line is that regardless of what the reason is, it should be a clear indication that you are choosing you. Your mental health, your sanity, your energy, your present and your future - and why would you want to jeopardize any of these for someone that clearly doesn’t appreciate your worth?

2. Find healthy coping methods to release your emotions.

I’ll be honest with you - the beginning of the detachment process is definitely the most difficult part, emotionally speaking. Yes, the whole journey is hard, but it’s in the beginning where you have to adapt to not speaking to this person anymore, not seeing them anymore, and having to force yourself to establish heavy boundaries with them… which will most likely be met with reactions that will make you want to respond in some way. Just because you know someone isn’t good for you anymore, doesn’t mean that your old feelings for the person just magically evaporate into nothing.

As much as you may hate to admit it to others and even yourself, you’re going to be hurting. And pain has a way of pushing us to find coping methods to release these emotions - or not have to deal with them at all.

Trust me, as much as I understand and can personally attest to that coping methods that numb your senses may feel like the best option at the time, the truth is that they do nothing for your personal growth. Sure, sometimes you just don’t want to feel - but what happens when you’re sober again? The feelings come right back - and now you’re really playing a dangerous game that can lead to spiralling, health problems and addiction. In the long run, you rarely end up feeling any better.

Healthy coping mechanisms look different for everyone, but there are definitely a few that are universal and can be good for pretty much anyone regardless of the specifics of the situation.

Talking to someone you trust (or a therapist). Working out. Indulging (heavily) in self-care. Doing things that bring you joy. Finding a creative outlet that you can pour all your feelings into… like a mental health blog(!). The possibilities are endless if you stay open minded and genuinely want to get better.

For those that may be stuck in that dark place where literally nothing will make you feel better (except maybe the person you’re trying to detach from… gets like that sometimes), or you feel like your energy is extremely limited - try to set one goal for the day. Just the one. Even if it is just tidying your room, taking a shower or doing the dishes. Setting minor goals that you realistically feel are achievable - and achieving them - are very helpful in gradually building up the confidence in yourself that you will get past this part of your life. And that goes for all situations in life that are heavy - not just the detachment process.

3. Find ways to keep your mind in the present and on the future.

So, you’ve started to begrudgingly get used to the fact that the person isn’t going to be around in your life anymore. You might even have started to realise how much your stress-levels have reduced, and begun to realise that this whole process was an excellent idea. However… not quite enough time has passed for you to be fully immersed in your journey, and you still think about them pretty much all the time. You’re feeling like a nitty trying to cope without crack for the first time in years, and that’s okay.

While it is important to allow yourself to fully acknowledge your feelings and mourn the loss of what used to be a very strong connection, you definitely owe it to yourself to try your best to remain present during this time. As tempting as dramatically starting out the window while it rains and thinking about them - like you’re in a music video - may sound, doing this is guaranteed to keep you firmly lodged in the past, and very stagnant in life… and we don’t want that.

Just do a couple songs to get the dramatics out of your system, then get ready to boss the f*ck up.

Now might feel like the worst possible time to start something new, especially since your emotions are probably all over the place and you’re finding it hard to focus on little else. But trust me when I say that this is exactly why you need to do it - you need to reclaim your life by putting yourself back into the main focus of it. And what better way to do it than starting a project you’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t because of insecurities and/or self-doubt?

Regardless of if it’s pursuing a new hobby or even starting your own business, having an activity that brings you joy, challenges you and pushes you to set and exceed goals for yourself is imperative at this kind of time in your life. While a lot of the detachment process is pretty much trying to force yourself not to think about someone - thus making you want to think about them even more - having a passion project is a healthy way of willingly keeping your mind in the present and on your future. This, because you’ll constantly be looking for ways to improve your skills for yourself and your success in life.

Personally speaking, this blog was the perfect passion project for me back when I started my own detachment process. It still is - despite my inconsistency in writing, there actually isn’t a day that goes by without me thinking about future posts and what messages I want to share with whoever ends up reading it. However, since my writing does involve a lot of reflecting on past situations, I’ve decided to expand my creativity and start selling my art (check it out here, we love a cheeky and shameless self plug!). Focusing mostly on drawing, getting more involved in the art community, investing in art supplies and researching drawing methods lately has definitely made me more present and motivated… and I’ll even go as far as saying that I’ve forgotten about the people I’m detaching from at times.

The point I’m trying to make is that doing something you enjoy for your own mental wellbeing is one of the most rewarding parts of this whole detachment palaver. When you fully deep how much of your time that used to be spent worrying and stressing yourself out over someone trash, and focus that time on something creative that actually benefits you and makes you feel better about yourself, you’ll soon find yourself asking yourself why you didn’t start earlier.

Of course, it is important to remember that while feeling passionate and motivated in your creative/business ventures after feeling like sh*t for so long is a great thing, you should still make room for sitting with your feelings from time to time. Especially in the beginning. There’s a very, very fine line between using a hobby to empower and uplift yourself, and using it as a distraction to not think or feel at all. At the end of the day, it’s all about finding a good balance that takes into account where you currently are in your healing process - over time you’ll realise that you won’t need as many “days off” to be in your feelings, and trust me… that realisation and feeling is phenomenal.

4. Forgive and heal.

I just love how I’ve bunched these two together into one cute little step like they’re not the hardest part of the process. In theory, forgiving someone for yourself (not for their benefit) makes a lot of sense, but let’s be honest… a lot of us lie to both others and ourselves when we say we’ve moved on and forgiven them.

I, for one, can confidently say that most people I’ve claimed to have fOrGiVeN still live in the deepest parts of my mind rent free. They might not be present all the time in the way that they used to since I started the detachment process, but once I get in my feelings their presence is often there as strong as ever… and this is okay. Of course you’re not going to magically forget how someone treated you just because you’re committed to moving on, but there comes a certain point where you realise that all you’re doing is going round and round in circles in your mind, while time is just passing you by. Think about it - how many hours of your life do you reckon you have spent in bed, staring at the ceiling dramatically while fuming over a situation in which you were done dirty?

If you’re anything like me, the answer is BARE. And don’t even get me started on how the amount of hours increased more than tenfold during the lockdown because I couldn’t even distract myself properly.

Actual footage of me re-deeping a vio at 4 am.

But as much as lamenting to yourself about how much sh*t you’ve let slide and how you’re never going to let yourself be treated like that again is healing in itself, at some point you literally feel yourself losing the plot from replaying the situation in your head so much.

This is a sign that it’s time to heal and truly move on. It’s time to evict them from your mind… because they have millions of pounds in rent arrears at this point… and that can’t run, because what kind of disrespect?! You deserve better than shitty tenants, or worse - squatters.

Ok, enough with the renting comparisons because I can’t concentrate while chuckling to myself. The thing about healing and moving forward is that there is no one size fits all solution that works for everyone, so all I can really do is speak for myself and hopefully provide some tools that you can use to tailor your own healing journey.

This is going to sound very dramatic and depressing - because it is - but I’ve noticed that for me, the past creeps into my mind in the form of happy memories and good times… inevitably making me reminisce about people that used to mean a lot to me. This might not seem like anything harmful - surely there’s nothing wrong with reliving some good times in your head, right?

Wrong. For me, it starts off all cute and positive - but then my mind starts to wander. I start to remember other memories with the person. The bad memories that made me not want to have them in my life anymore. The memories in which I realised exactly how worthless, disrespected and unappreciated they made me feel… and what was meant to be happy reminiscing turns into either sadness or frustration, because now I have to re-open their case to really make sense of how much they had me f*cked up back then. Aaand before I know it, hours upon hours of angry analysing have passed by. Time that I’ll never get back, which will never sit right with me.

The way I’ve managed to combat this is by throwing myself into my own self-growth and self-love journey. In simple terms, placing all my focus on my mental wellbeing, my future goals and personal development makes it gradually easier to leave the past in the past - because the more I evolve, the less I associate myself with past versions of myself where I may not have been as strong, secure and assertive, as reminding myself of my worth has made me now. I can now understand and accept why I chose not to see the disrespect at the time - usually because of my former attachment issues, or because I deluded myself into thinking that the person cared the same way I did. El oh el.

Basically, I realised that a lot of my attachments to these toxic people came from a place of unresolved trauma, lack of validation and low self-worth. Once I identified these issues and started working through them, I noticed that placing my focus on understanding myself instead of someone else made things easier to cope with - because while I’ll never fully understand how someone else's mind works, I can work on understanding mine because I’m literally in it 24/7, 365.

In other words, healing and forgiveness is all about YOU and your development, and has very little to do with the other person in the long run.

Another large part of the forgiveness process for me is dedicating some time to use what I know about the person that I’m trying to detach from to understand the “bigger picture” of why they treated me the way that they did. A vast majority of cases just made me realise that their actions, thought processes and ideas were literally just a series of trauma responses and projections that they weren’t aware of - or were aware of, but refused to address.

Either way, this is where my empathetic nature works in my favour - because I know what it’s like to not be able to swallow your pride and deny certain negative aspects of yourself. Admitting that you’ve been in the wrong and that you need to heal takes a great deal of self-awareness and humility - traits that the people I’ve dealt with definitely do not embody. The unfortunate truth is that a lot of people might even live their whole life deluding themselves that they are okay, that their actions don’t hurt others and that they are not to blame for anything. When I realised this, I noticed that a lot of my anger started to fade - and I started to pity them instead, making forgiveness slightly easier. What’s important to remember here is that while pity can make you want to bE tHeRe for the person and help them heal, it’s actually very much their personal journey. You can’t help someone that doesn’t realise they need it, or that doesn’t want to be helped - so all you can do is leave them to it and focus on your own life.

Another important aspect of forgiveness and healing is remembering that it is inherently an act of self-care, and not a service you’re doing to the other person. You’re not “letting them off easy”, “letting sh*t slide”, or “letting them win” by choosing to not allow the situation poison your thoughts, feelings and present anymore. You’re choosing your mental health, sanity and future - all very valid reasons for jUsT LeTtInG gO, if you ask me.

“But Liv! How do I know that I am truly ready to move forward? And how do I know that these feelings won’t come back and re-trigger me in the future, despite all this effort I’ve put into healing now?”

Excellent questions. I wish I had better answers... but the harsh truth for both is that you don’t. You have no idea what’s going to happen, how people are going to act, what will remind you of the situation or what is going to trigger you. You have zero control over the situation, and you’ll come to the ugly realisation that the world, in fact, doesn’t revolve around you and your comfort and mental health.

I know, right? Imagine my shock, horror and surprise when I realised this.

The truth is that life is going to keep throwing cute little triggering curveballs at you, and the only thing you can truly control is how you react to it. You can choose to let it poison your mind and mood… or you can simply sit with it, allow it to pass without attaching emotions to it, and then keep it pushing when you’re ready to.

I’d definitely argue that this part of the process is the hardest to achieve - especially when you’re an emotional drama Queen like myself. However, once you get to that point where you can let your triggers and memories pass without affecting the present… you’ve pretty much won, because nothing can rattle you anymore. You become truly unf*ckwithable, and I can’t wait until I get to this stage of my process.

In the meantime, it’s all about constantly reminding yourself to stay in the present, because life will keep going on regardless of where your mind is at.

5. Be grateful for the process and do not look back.

I know, I know - feeling gratitude when you’re neck-deep in the sh*t is infinitely easier said than done. When you’re there ugly crying in the mirror, the last thing on your mind is going to be “Aw, look how much I’ve grown! I love that for myself! Well done, me!”. However, when you’re all exhausted, cried out and feel that zen feeling afterwards (you know what I’m on about), take time to acknowledge that while it feels like it’s never going to end now, one day you’ll be able to make your peace with what happened and that it will never happen again.

Be grateful to yourself over your resilience, how much you’ve learnt and how highly you must regard yourself for pushing yourself through this whole experience - because as you know by now, it is extremely hard.

When you can learn to see past the pain and emotional distress this whole process has caused you and find silver linings that you can be grateful for, it’s finally time to start looking towards never looking back on the situation ever again. Or, at the very least, being able to think about it without attaching any emotion to it, and just letting the thoughts pass by without any judgement before gently bringing yourself back to the present and getting on with your happier, stress-free life. Sometimes it can be easy to romanticize an old connection when a lot of time has passed, and you start to forget why you were so angry and hurt in the first place. In these cases, it’s important to remind yourself of why letting go and keeping it pushing is so important for your growth. Here are some things I like to consider when I feel myself spending too much time on memory lane, reminiscing and lowkey wishing I hadn’t been emotionally intelligent enough to recognise I needed to move forward:

Where would I be - emotionally and mentally - right now if I hadn’t decided to put myself first?

If I met someone new that reminds me of the person I’m detaching from, how would I react?

How have my current friendships and other relationships changed since deciding to focus on detachment and healing?

When comparing my past state of mind to my current one, what has changed in regard to how I view myself? How I view relationships/friendships?

How has pushing myself being the best version of myself set me up for future relationships, friendships and generations (if I end up having kids)?

Spoiler alert: I can tell you now that you will realise that you have grown so much without even realising it. Seemingly behind your own back, you’ve become a self-aware, self-loving, no-sh*t-taking, confident powerhouse that would rather have all your toenails slowly extracted before even considering letting someone get away with disrespecting you ever again. You will realise that everyone currently in your life is there because you want them to be - not because you need them in any way. They’re there because they love and support you the way you deserve to be - but you know that if anyone was to act up, it’s curtains… because now you know that anyone that doesn’t consider your mental health and happiness important has no place in your life. And that’s on Tampax Compak Super Plus.

I want to end this post with a personal story from my own detachment process. As those of you that have been reading my blog for a long time know, one of the biggest reasons why I even started this blog in the first place was to have an outlet for my emotions and to help myself to heal after a bad breakup.

When I say I thought I was going to die, I’m not even being dramatic or exaggerating. I legit thought that I would never be able to move past it, or get over him. Back then - despite having a decent background in psychology and understanding the importance of expressing my emotions - I chose to bottle things up (except for in therapy) and turned to unhealthy coping methods so I didn’t have to feel so much. I can’t lie… life was very sh*t, and I honestly struggled to see the point of even being alive anymore.

Fast forward about a year - I made the conscious decision to take responsibility for my healing and detachment, because I realised that holding on to someone that hurt me so badly wasn’t healthy. Deciding to let go of all the promises we made to each other, the memories and good times is hands down one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but I realised that just clinging onto the past just because of familiarity was not the one. Plus, at this point I had started to be able to admit to myself that the relationship was never as perfect as I had made it out to be in my head - making it easier and easier to gradually let go. I begrudgingly continued the healing and detachment process, winging it and hoping for the best.

Major time skip to just a few months ago - I’m literally just at home, chilling, minding my business. All of that. I went on the calendar app on my phone to check something, when it suddenly hit me that what would’ve been our seven year anniversary had passed a few days before… and I hadn’t even noticed. A date that used to mean so much to me and get me in my feelings just a year before, had now completely slipped my mind.

What’s more is that when I clocked it… I felt nothing. Nada. Zilch. And that’s when I fully realised how oblivious I had been to the bigger picture of my healing journey, because the sudden apathy towards a situation that really had me considering if life was even worth it anymore really came as a surprise. Even now, as I’m writing this and am clearly thinking about how dirty I got done… I feel nothing besides how proud I am of myself, and I love that for myself.

If I - THEE most sentimental, dramatic and emotional woman on the planet - can get there, trust me… you definitely can too. I had to figure out the “formula” for myself, but now that I’ve given it to you, you literally have no excuse for not letting that toxic and useless somebody hurt you anymore. Get to it!

With that being said, I wish you a happy, stress-free, peaceful and self-loving 2021, because you deserve it. I can’t wait to share my new ideas with you in the new year, so I’ll see you on the oThEr SiDe.

Love,

Liv

#selfhelp #selflove #Empowerment #opinions #detachment

1 note · View note

ryanmaleck · 4 years

Photo

* vestahqs TASK #001 _ get to know the muse *

psst! you can find her full biography by clicking on this sentence!

GENERAL STATS

BASIC INFO

Name: Karyanne Indira Vidia Maleck

Pronunciation: Kah-ree-ah-nn In-dee-rah Vee-dee-ah Mah-l-eh-k

Nickname(s): Ryan (prefers to go by this nickname), Ree, Anne (very occasional Kari from family and childhood acquaintances)

Age: 34

Date and place of birth: February 14th, Los Angeles, California.

Astrological sign: Aquarius

Gender: Cis female

Pronouns: She/Her

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Indian

Occupation: Former actress (generally) entrepreneure (but precisely: owner of her own beauty salon where she can work occasionally as a beautician & manager of Vesta’s Animal Shelter where she volunteers while also being on the managing team of Magdalena’s Theatre in Vesta)

Education: Bachelor degree in Film and medias at Columbia University , professional formation as a beautician

Religious beliefs: Raised Hindu, is agnostic.

THE PHYSICAL

Height: 5′9 feet.

Body Type: Hourglass

Hair: Dark brown (with natural highlights)

Eyes: Black

Clothing Preferences: Business Casual, white shirt & jeans with louboutins.

Defining Features: Multiple tattoos including a sunflower on her right ankle, this henna inspired pattern on her right wrist, this small saturn planet on her right side bood and this small doodle on her left thumb.

Voice Tone: Honeyed.

Blood-Type: A+

Allergies: None

ROMANCE

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual (preference towards women)

Romantic Orientation: (Most probably) Homoromantic

Do they have a type: Absolutely not!

Pet peeves: Cheating, loud chewers, people with no ambition

PERSONALITY

Likes: Her mother’s food, Orange crush soda, Jewelry (especially rubies), Unplanned trips around the world, Soft scented perfumes, Red lacey lingerie and Black nail polish.

Dislikes: Waiting at the airport, know-it-all types of clients, questions about her past, blue eyeliner.

Ambivert, introvert or extrovert?: Extrovert

FAMILY

Siblings: None

Birth order: -

Parents: Amara-Jayne & Sewa “Sam” Maleck

Children: None (had one abortion in 2014)

Do they want kids: Not biologically, but the door is not closed to fostering or adopting

SKILLS

What language(s) do they speak: English and conversational French

What are they talented at: Singing, dancing

What is a hidden talent no one knows of: Sewing

What are they worst at: Cooking

A DEEPER LOOK

a little disclaimer is mandatory! she is somewhat similar to clémentine, if clémentine was money oriented and addicted to investing in a ton of projects. they are both workaholics, but in different ways. minnie likes to be in charge and know every details about her business and projects while ryan prefers to delegate. she loves to get involved and she’s a much better time manager than minnie. personality wise, i’d say ryan is way less annoying than minnie. ps! i’m whiter than snow white so i apologize for the stereotypes and the heavily “americanized” backstory. i’ve done some research, but i will keep on reading more about indian-american history before i feel comfortable using more of it in her biography!

WHAT IS THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR FAMILY LIKE?:

it’s very complicated. although ryan benefits from it now, she hated the way she grew up. she never had a place to call home. she was moving almost every year, if not mulitple times, to follow her parents’ contracts. her father is a script writer and her mother a costume designer and they traveled according to their job or the projects they were working for, most of them being international. she would have liked to have a real home & long lasting friendships, but she never had access to that sort of luxury. she was also a very tough kid, very strong-minded and opinionated. she would never miss an opportunity to fight with her parents on all sorts of topics, especially their parenting skills. ryan has the feeling she failed them along the way, by not fitting in the mold they had built for her while they feel the same, that they failed to adapt to their daughter’s free spirit.

DESCRIBE THEIR PERSONALITY:

kind of all over the place? she has multiple facades. ryan refuses to open up about her past (how she so easily got a part in a huge bollywood production, how she blew her chance to become a real star in the industry, how her abortion happened, how she categorically refuses to be called by her full name). she pretends to be very emysterious and secretive while, in reality, she has the feeling that no one cares enough to bother and listen to her crazy life stories. he is extremely passionate. she layers the projects and the investments because she has faith in the success of everything she joins. she is a true multitasker, a busy bee. ryan is also a huge softie. she is charmed by the sight of any cute things, whether it’s a cute piece of clothing, a pen, an animal, a baby... she’s a turtle. she has a shield, but deep down she’s just very sweet and vulnerable.

ARE THEY HAPPY WHERE THEY ARE IN LIFE:

she’s never satisfied. she always wants more, wants to dream bigger, reach higher grounds. hence why trying out in the bollywood universe was a very in character project, although it failed to bring her the joy and pride she imagined. she drowns herself in work to feel like she has a purpose in life while, really, she’s only existing. she also wishes she could fix the broken pieces with her parents, before it’s too late, so she won’t ever be truly happy until this happens.

WHAT IS THEIR DREAM:

professionally, she wants her beauty line to be in as many countries as possible, à la kardashian but with actually great products. she wants to be famous, but make it right, with good intentions and not just empowered by her pride.

personally, she wants to connect with people, make friends, meaningful friendships. she wants to discover other sides of her personality, but, most importantly, she wants to see the good in humanity.

#tasks.#vestatask #biography.

3 notes · View notes

system-of-a-feather · 4 years

Note

I want to asked questions about being married to a singlet. Im with my partner for almost 14 years now. Atm we (system) struggle a lot with having alters and feeling not understood by him. Idk what I want him to do tho. And I wonder how other couples manage their relationships and expectations of their partner who doesn't experience life the same. Sorry if this is too vague. It's so late and I'm too tired to come up with a more specific question.

“[2/2] Btw, I feel like we might have talked before. Or I/we have send you an ask some other time. I'm just bad with remembering stuff. Our daily amnesia is strong. And if i/we don't talk to people on the regular, esp. Online it's just - gone. I may be mistaken and we'd never spoken before and the feeling of seeing your name on my dash comes just from seeing it and remembering that we follow you. Idk. Just. Felt a connection and wasn't sure if it's based on something or not 🙈🙈🙈”

Okay so this has been sitting in my mail box and I don’t remember when or where we did interact, but I do remember a while ago when I did see this I went “Oh yeah we did” so I don’t currently know, but I remember knowing so... Lets just take that as a good guess?? #JustDissociativeAmnesiaThings jkjk

Honestly though regarding your relationship situation, I can’t be too sure knowing the exact details, but we have struggled with a similar issue. Currently, I think our fiance and Lucille are still dealing with that considering both are considerably different in how they interact with the world and all.

Personally when we get to this issue, I find that it is often best to have open communication about it and to leave doors open for new experiences and seeing what might be able to be built. Sometimes it helps to try to establish a friendship / a casual acquaintance-ship before trying to get further in it since sometimes I find it isn’t as easy for some alters to be understood not even necessarily on a DID sense but just a lack of a natural clicking of differing personalities.

We’ve found a bit that kind of bringing both parties (alters that don’t feel really understood and the partner) into each other’s worlds a little more to perhaps start building a more genuine understanding before going too far deeper.

That is at least if the issue is more on a relationship-based issue. If it is about emotions, trauma responses, corebeliefs established from childhood or stuff like that, well that is a large topic that I am honestly not really qualified to give throughout advice on. I would say that it might help to have other alters help mediate discussion and understanding, but this is something I would talk to a professional about since I don’t have enough information nor am I a professional.

Anyways, best of luck with your relationship!

-Riku (Host)

#ask #asks #did #osdd #dissociative identity disorder #alter: riku

4 notes · View notes

iloveyouthree-thousand · 5 years

Text

Stark: An American Musical

So this is an idea I dreamed up a while ago: a series of loosely connected one-shots based on the songs from Hamilton. I have no explanation for it other than, like, it sounded fun? And I kinda want to rip your hearts out with It's Quiet Uptown. Pre-Endgame. Post CACW.

Track #1 // Anthony Stark

"Holy mother of—you bastard, orphan, son of a—good God that hurts," Rhodes hissed through through his teeth as Tony tightened the metal device around his leg.

"I thought cripples weren't supposed to feel pain," Tony said, feeling Rhodey's nails sink into his skin, "and didn't you go through special ops training? Shouldn't this feel like nothing to you?"

"You want to try it on and see how it feels?"

"If it means I get to be the one digging my ridiculously long fingernails into your arm, then maybe. Seriously buddy, when's the last time you trimmed these talons?"

Rhodes dug his nails in deeper.

"Fu—okay, that was uncalled for," he winced as he rubbed his arm, "and you know what else was uncalled for? The orphan comment. Little soon, don't you think?"

"It's been over thirty years."

Tony frowned, now working on tightening the device on the other leg.

"God I'm old. Which means you're even older. FRIDAY, remind me to look at nursing homes for my geriatric pal here later this week." He grinned as Rhodey narrowed his eyes and smacked him across the chest.

"Just because I'm a paraplegic doesn't mean I won't kick your ass Tony."

He just laughed. "Alright buddy, all done. How does that feel?"

His friend stood up and took a hesitant walk down the hallway.

"You know, I feel like I should write down the date, maybe put it in a scrapbook. Rhodey's first steps. This is such a proud father moment for me. It's exciting for you, too, of course, but mostly for me."

Rhodes rolled his eyes. The injury was still fresh, and he was still coming to terms with his decreased mobility. It was hard, for both of them, but they had hope.

Tony had been working on the contraption, forgetting to sleep at times, designing and creating in a guilt-ridden, coffee-driven haze. A smirk never failed to light up Tony's eyes, but Rhodey would never not notice the dark circles drooping just below. He knew better.

He also knew better than to try and tear Tony away from a project, especially one driven by the overwhelming sense of responsibility he never seemed to shake.

"Save the proud father moments for your protégé. Don't think I haven't seen the new models of his suit lying all over this complex while mine, I might add, is still parachute-less. Traitorous bastard."

Rhodes had slid carefully onto the floor, the act of walking taking a lot more energy now that his limbs were rather uncooperative. It killed Tony a little bit, to see his best friend drained from a task that had once been so menial. At least it was progress.

He wordlessly joined him on the ground.

"Actually, I think it was bastard, orphan, son-of-a-bitch," he corrected. "I think that'd be a good title for my autobiography. Maybe I'll write it on my headstone... actually, that's definitely what I want. Make a note of that for my funeral plans. And as long as we're making plans, I want you to give the eulogy."

If there was a look for 'you've finally crossed the threshold to insanity', it was emanating off of Rhodes right now.

"You must be out of your damn mind."

Tony feigned hurt, pressing his hand over the spot where his arc reactor used to rest.

"Why? Because you think you'll die first? Come on, I've got a death wish and, like, zero regard for danger. You live ten years longer than I do, minimum."

"I don't have a parachute."

"Exactly! You didn't even have a parachute and you're still a living, whining, pain in the ass."

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Can't Pepper give the damn eulogy?"

Tony's face twisted exaggeratedly, like that was the most absurd comment he'd heard in his entire life.

"What, and put her through even more than she'd already have gone through? We both know I'm going to go out in spectacular, gut-wrenching fashion, don't tell me you'd actually make her get up there and give a whole speech after that. She'll have enough on her plate."

"Oh, so she'll be too emotionally vulnerable but, sure, let's make your best friend get up there and do it instead."

Tony's mouth pulled to the side of his face. "Careful, pal. I never fully committed to you being my best friend. I do live with Pepper, tell her all my dark, dirty secrets. You're easily a close second, though."

His eyes narrowed in a glare.

"You say something stupid like that again and I'll be the reason you're having a funeral."

"Rhodey, you know I love you both—just in different ways." A smirk was practically eating his face, but his friend was having none of it.

"Oh yeah? Who'd you give a suit to, Tony? I don't see Pepper up there kicking ass next to you."

"One—if I recall correctly, you stole the suit. Two—I'm pretty sure Pepper has killed at least half of the guys I've gone up against. And three—if we're basing friendships off of suits, as you mentioned earlier, then Peter Parker is my best friend... speaking of, he should be here any minute."

Tony lifted his watch to his face, the screen lighting up as he checked the time.

"Remind me again why the fifteen-year-old is always over here now?"

"He's helpful. He helped me design that," he pointed at the metal device Tony had been painfully tightening onto Rhodey's leg a few minutes earlier. "It's much more ergonomic than the last one."

Rhodes raised an eyebrow. "The kid helped you design this?"

"Don't doubt him, he's practically a genius—probably smarter than you."

He punched Tony in the arm.

"I went to M.I.T. too, remember? Degree in Aerospace Engineering? Give me some credit, man."

"Huh. See, I have vague memories of that, but I was busy having fun in college—,"

"You were busy destroying your liver."

"I was living out my glory days."

"Oh, trust me, there was nothing glorious about puking all over our bathroom every other weekend."

Tony pressed his lips together. "Yea... let's maybe not bring that up in front of Pete."

A look that Tony couldn't decipher passed Rhodey's face. "What exactly is the deal with you and this kid? Did some of that fun in college have some permanent, teenaged consequences?"

His friend had noticed several different trials of red and blue Spider-Man suits lying around for a few weeks now, but he hadn't questioned it because Tony had always outfitted the team and, well, the team was pretty sparse as of late.

Of course, Tony still had a new prototype for Captain America's shield in the works and some upgraded arrows for Clint lying around on a workbench somewhere, among other things.

He could only work on them for so long, though, before the gadgets just became glaring reminders of the faces that were now absent from the Compound.

Making suits for Spider-Man kept Tony busy. It made him feel productive. Worthwhile. He wasn't left with such an empty feeling in his chest.

Tony scoffed. "Jesus, Rhodey, he isn't mine. Thank God. I've already screwed with his life enough." He took his tinted glasses off and fiddled with them in his hands. "I just found the kid online, but no one was going to take him seriously in his homemade Halloween costume, so I gave him a little upgrade."

Rhodey might've believed that, if it weren't for the Midtown High sweatshirt draped across one of the couches or the newspaper clippings of the spandex-wearing superhero clandestinely taped to Tony's desk.

"That still doesn't explain why he's over here all the time."

"I was just going to give him the suit and let him go back to doing his own thing... but he managed to break all the security locks I set in a little over a week and then decided to single-handedly take on Sam Wilson's evil alter-ego."

"You gave a child genius a million-dollar toy and you didn't think he'd play with it?"

Tony turned to face him before deadpanning, "I don't have a lot of experience with teenagers, okay? It was stupid, I know, but I'm trying to make up for that by having him over here—letting him have a say in the design process and actually teaching him how to use it—because he has little regard for my built-in training protocols. And he's good help."

Rhodey was about to ask if Peter's more frequent visits had anything to do with the quiet silence that now haunted the compound whenever he or Pepper were out, but he was interrupted by one-hundred and forty-one pounds of pure excitement practically bounding out of the elevator.

"Mr. Stark! So there was this guy on the subway today who tried to swipe a phone from this other guy, and I saw the whole thing happen but I couldn't do anything about it because he was too far away and I couldn't squeeze through all the people, but—oh, h-hey Mr.—Mr. Col. Rhodes, Sir."

Tony looked amused.

"Pete, I'd like you to my best pal Mr. Col. Rhodes, also known as Rhodey, also known as War Machine... it is War Machine, right? We're officially over the Iron Patriot thing?"

He ignored Tony, pushing against his shoulder to stand up, before reaching out to shake Peter's hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter." He shot his attention over to the other man in the room. "And what happened to 'Pepper's my best friend', huh, Tony?"

Tony held out a hand to Peter, who obligingly helped him up to his feet, while maintaining eye contact with Rhodes.

"I mean, you are the one giving my eulogy."

"Am not."

"Rhodey, come on, you give the best speeches. Remember that one you gave in like 2009? At the White House? FRIDAY, play the speech."

"No. FRI—,"

"Playing Colonel Rhodes' Presidential Medal of Honor Introduction Speech."

Peter stood awkwardly in front of the two men, terribly confused, as a familiar voice rang out over the speakers in the compound.

"I've been asked over and over again if I ever suspected my best friend was a superhero. The answer to that is—I've always known that he was different, and not just because he's a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. He grew up in the legacy of Howard Stark. No one was surprised when he turned out to be a genius—at fifteen, they placed him in advanced classes at M.I.T-,"

"FRIDAY, mute."

"FRIDAY, override."

"...but there's more to Tony than just brilliance. He's a self-starter. The only thing standing between him and what he wants is himself. When he saw his future dripping down the drain in Afghanistan, brought to his knees by weapons his company he'd created, left with nothing but ruined pride—something new inside broke through. Anyone else might've been dead in a week but Tony—he wouldn't let himself go out like that."

"FRIDAY, stop."

"FRIDAY, don't even think about it."

"...he put a pencil to paper and with nothing more than some scrap metal and the help of a new friend he plotted his way out of hell. He overcame certain death in a cave, but he didn't stop with self-preservation. He rewrote the game in the defense private sector. He saved his own life and then he saved countless others, and because of him, the world will never be the same."

"FRIDAY—," Rhodes threatened.

Tony cut him off. "Oh, come on, this is the best part." The recording kept playing.

"I know you already know his name, but it is my honor to present the medal of honor to my best friend, Tony Stark... Or, as many of you may know him: Iron Man."

"FRIDAY, off," Rhodes said, and Tony finally didn't protest. "Tell me you don't keep that around just to boost your ego. You know I only did that because the President asked me to. It wasn't for you."

"You keep telling yourself that."

The two men kept bantering, but throughout it all, Peter was eerily quiet. It only took a few seconds of his silence for Tony to realize something was up.

"Hey Pete, you look like you swallowed a frog. Everything all right up there?" he asked, raising his hand to gently pat him on the head.

The kid shook as if coming out of a trance. "Yea—yea, everything... everything's fine, it's just... aren't eulogies, like, the things you say at funerals?"

Rhodey answered, "Yes, they are. See, Tony, he thinks it's weird too."

Peter still looked like he had gotten kicked in the shins.

"No... I mean yeah, kinda, but that's not—Mr. Stark... are you dying?"

Tony looked confused for a second before... oh.

"God, kid, no—I'm not dying. I was just trying to mess with Rhodey here, I didn't mean to—."

"Oh thank God," Peter said, visibly relaxing, "don't scare me like that."

Then, he did something that made Rhodey nearly slide to the floor. Again.

His deceptively small arms wrapped around Tony's torso, and Tony hesitated for half of a second before tentatively and quickly returning the gesture.

For a second, it was a picture-worthy moment. But the second passed and the moment came to an end as both parties seemed to realize instantaneously that they were crossing boundaries.

"Right," Tony coughed, "Peter, why don't you show Rhodey some of the new features you dreamed up. I'm going to go get... some coffee. Try not to talk his ear off, he's the only one who still sometimes listens to me around here."

James Rhodes had known Tony for what felt like an eternity. He fought with him. Trusted him. And if the situation ever arose, he would die for the damn fool.

But the man who exited the room as if the soles of his shoes had caught fire, a wisp of crimson warmth on his cheeks, looked like a new man entirely.

There were a million things he suddenly wanted to ask Tony, a million places to prod, and he couldn't wait to do exactly that after the boy returned to his apartment in Queens for the night.

Right now, though, the kid was showing him the new thrusters Tony had built into the heels of the devices.

"...and if you do this, then the repulsors activate—,"

Peter pressed a button, and the chorus of T.N.T. came blaring through the room as the repulsors sent Rhodey crashing into the wall behind him.

Tony sauntered back into the room, a cup of coffee in hand and a snort on his face as he surveyed the scene. A flustered Peter Parker tried to hold back a laugh as he attempted to help a cussing, high-ranking military official up from a muddled heap on the floor.

"Oh yea. There's a bit of a learning curve. You'll figure it out," he garbled, mouth stuffed with a muffin that he had hidden in his other hand, "For now... consider this recompense for the orphan comment." He clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder, ushering him toward the shop, his friend still lying in an annoyed mess on the ground.

He'd help him later, of course, but the look on Rhodey's face gave him a pure, childlike joy that few things could. If Rhodes kicked his ass later—paraplegia and all—it would have been worth it a hundred times over.

So he led a mildly concerned Peter Parker away, chuckling as his best friend's voice faded into the background.

"Don't you even think about walking away without teaching me how to use these things. Tony... Tony Stark you better not be walking away from me. Don't be a dick. Come back here, you heartless, pompous, snowflake... I know you know I'll get you back for this... quit acting like a teenaged punk... Anthony Stark!"

Tony laughed under his breath and kept walking. Rhodes always came up with the nicest things to call him.

#irondad #tony stark #peter parker #james rhodes #hamilton

37 notes · View notes

jokerrenwriting · 5 years

Text

Off the Books - Drabble

I pulled my pajama shorts on after my shower, already in my oversized T-shirt and damp hair brushed out, getting ready for bed.

Knock-knock!

“Huh?” I wondered, leaving my room to go get the door. It was 9:30PM in September and getting dark out. Who would be visiting this late---much less on a weeknight? I supposed an adult who didn’t have school as early in the morning as I did, but... adults still had jobs...

I crept down the stairs as quietly as I could so I could get a glance through the peephole. If the visitor was someone I didn’t know, I just wouldn’t answer the door.

Unfortunately, I recognized him. So I opened the door, despite being in my pajamas. “Detective Akechi,” I greeted, going for polite and quite possibly failing miserably. I probably sounded irritable and tired. Oh well. It was his fault for visiting so late. “To what do I owe this visit?” I gave him my most saccharine smile, saturating it with sarcastic sweetness. A test to see if he was as observant as people thought.

“I’m here on business,” he said. “I have some questions for you.”

I leaned against the doorframe and folded my arms. “Oh?”

“It’s about your boyfriend.”

“I beg your pardon?” I demanded, affronted. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I thought that young man with the glasses and messy hair was romantically involved with you.”

“No!” My protest was a little shrieky---it was embarrassing but less so than being accused of dating Ren. “He and me---I mean, Ren and I... we’re not like that. He’s just a friend. I don’t... I don’t date.”

“My apologies, in that case. Still. I’d like to discuss him with you.”

“What about him?” My tone was definitely hostile but Akechi didn’t seem interested in acknowledging it.

I didn’t let Akechi into the house. I wasn’t going to trust him like that---especially when my parents weren’t home for the week.

Akechi didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t ask me to let him in and didn’t seem uncomfortable standing on the porch. “He is on a year’s probation for assault, is he not?”

I clenched my jaw and fists. “Legally, yes. But he’s not who and what you think he is. Before you go judging him for getting slapped with a criminal record he doesn’t deserve, maybe you should hear his side of the story.”

“And you believe it?” Akechi asked innocently, likely feigning the tone.

“Ren has no reason to lie to me.”

“Unless he wanted to win your heart over to his side.”

I scoffed. “Pfft. You really do believe the worst in people, don’t you? I’m surprised you’re as popular as you are, with an attitude like that,” I snapped. “Ren told me his side of the story when I was a perfect stranger. We didn’t know each other. We had no intention of knowing each other. It’s easy to talk to someone you don’t know because who cares what they think of you, right? He had no reason to lie to me. Then or now. The fact that we later became friends was unrelated to his record or trying to sway me to his side.” I took a deep breath. “So, yes, he is legally on probation for an assault he didn’t commit. Happy?”

“Intrigued, more like. I tend not to let emotional reactions like ‘happy’ interfere with my work.”

“That’s such bull-crap.” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You’ve just convinced yourself that your emotional reactions are logical ones.” Akechi opened his mouth as though to protest, but I cut him off. “Now. What else do you want to know about Ren?”

“How would you describe your relationship with him?”

“I already told you. We’re just friends.”

“As I recall. However, that wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

“Then be more specific when you ask open-ended questions.”

“If you insist. In the case of your friendship, how honest with you is he?” Akechi asked. Warning bells went off in my head. Maybe it was just my anxiety, but I had a feeling I knew where this line of questioning was going.

Still, I was an honest girl, and half-truths were still truths in a way. “Extremely. Ren is an honorable young man with an open heart who isn’t guarded enough to lie.”

“Would he tell you if he’d ever associated with the Phantom Thieves?”

“Yes.”

“Has he told you?”

Whoop there it is. Called it, I thought.

“The phrasing of that question makes it difficult to answer without ambiguity,” I chided. “If I simply say ‘yes’ it’s possible to imply that I meant he has confirmed an association, though the question actually refers to whether or not he has told me about any possible associations. So allow me to answer unambiguously: he has told me that he has no connection with the Phantom Thieves. And again: he has no reason to lie to me. Our friendship is built on a strong foundation of honesty I have no reason not to believe him---and neither do you.”

At this point in the conversation I was getting really annoyed and downright ready to slam the door in his face, but I didn’t want to put Ren in “danger.” I didn’t want to make Akechi suspicious of him.

Akechi regarded me curiously. “You have quite the intellect,” he said.

“So do you. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, I do,” Akechi said. “It’s not often I meet someone who can keep up with me. Your friend Ren and yourself are a refreshing breath of fresh air.” He smiled.

I didn’t trust him or his smile. I didn’t care that the media loved him. That didn’t mean I had to. I wasn’t interested in pandering to him. As long as I did my part to keep him off the scent of the Phantom Thieves and our true identities, I didn’t have to play nice.

“Happy to hear it,” I said flatly. “May I ask why you’re visiting and interrogating me this late at night?”

Akechi chuckled awkwardly. “Well, truth be told, this line of questioning is... off the books. I was merely curious about Ren and thought you would be my best bet on getting a third-party opinion. I thought a third-party would be... most likely to be honest. Ren himself could lie to me about himself. You were less likely to do so.”

Less likely but I’m still doing it, I thought. “Why did you want to know about Ren?”

“It’s just... I wanted to make sure his information was trustworthy. But if what you say is true, he is a rather honest person.”

I nodded. “He is,” I confirmed. “He’s a good young man---with a good heart. It’s everyone else around him and society in general who labelled him as ‘bad’ and ‘a criminal’ based on his actions from someone else’s point-of-view.”

“You speak about him as though your feelings run deeper than you let on.”

I flared my nostrils but controlled my temper. “If you’re quite finished with your baseless accusations, detective, I’d like to get to bed,” I said.

“I’m sorry for taking so much of your time. Have a good evening.”

“Goodnight,” I said. I shut and locked the door.

Once I’d run back upstairs, I pulled my phone out, immediately texting the PT groupchat.

Me: Guys, Akechi came to my HOUSE asking about Ren.

Ryuji: Seriously?!

Me: Yeah.

Makoto: What did he ask and what did you tell him?

Me: He asked about Ren’s crim record and any possible association with the Phantom Thieves.

Ann: What’d you say?

Me: I told him Ren was a good person and snapped at him not to jump to conclusions. I also said that yes, Ren told me there was no association with the PTs.

Yusuke: And he believed you?

Me: I think so.

Futaba: That’s a relief.

Me: He also...

Me: He also “accused” me of DATING Ren, in a roundabout way.

Ren: ??? Really?

Ryuji: FOR REAL?! XD XD XD HAHAHAHA!

Me: -_- Watch yourself, Ryuji. I’m better with my daggers than you are with that bat.

Ryuji: Lighten up. I’m just astounded that he thinks Ren is good enough for you!

Ren: HEY!

Futaba: XD

Yusuke: An amusing idea to entertain certainly. I never thought the two of you were the other’s type.

Me: Uh... Thank you?

Makoto: Back on track here, guys?

Me: Yes. Please.

Me: Anyway.

Me: I think we should discuss it in person. I don’t think he’s onto us being onto him. Anyone too busy to drop by LeBlanc tomorrow after school?

Ann: I have a modeling gig...

Makoto: We’ll catch you up to speed after it. I really want to at least get what Star’s got.

Ryuji: Hey, no codenames in the groupchat!

Ann: Shut up, Ryuji. Okay! Just make sure you catch me up, Makoto!

Makoto: I will.

Me: So, tomorrow, LeBlanc, after school

Ren: You got it.

Ryuji: We’ll be there!

Futaba: I do want to hear in greater detail Akechi “accusing” you of dating Ren.

Me: That was a bad word to use. It’s really not that dramatic.

Yusuke: Only a proper, in-person explanation will tell.

Me: Whatever you say. Night guys.

I turned my phone off and got in bed for the night.

#Goro Akechi #Akechi #Persona 5 #Akira Kurusu Imagine #Goro Akechi Imagine #Akira Kurusu #Ren Amamiya Imagine #Ren Amamiya #Persona 5 Imagine #Writer Parker

21 notes · View notes

rainy-rose · 5 years

Text

Silver Serpent: Takeru and Vincent

Hullo, I needed to work a bit on Vincent and Takeru and their friendship before the plot and this snipped happened. I am not entirely pleased with it, but it id help me find out more about my boys. Enjoy! ^_^

TW: vague implication of a past suicide attempt

Waves came crashing on the rocks and shore. The air was thick with the smell of sea salt. The wind was lifting the sand and constantly moving it around, displeased with its position and frustrated that it could not dislocate larger chunks. On the horizon dark grey clouds were slowly making their way towards Rockcliffe Beach.

On a flat, light grey boulder, Takeru was laying on his side with his back to the water, a half-finished cigarette in the corner of his lips, and a black backpack with a small flashlight hanging from one of the zippers at the base of the rock. The rising gale was playing in his hair, long, thick, dark strands going all over the place, especially in his mouth and eyes. He shook his head. There were two black hairbands around his left wrist, but the intention of using them was nowhere to be found. Bored, seemingly uninterested dark brown, almost black eyes were slowly following the animals. Running around on his long slim legs, Schilo, the greyhound mix was snapping playfully at the peregrine falcon which was flying just a few inches above his muzzle. Hiei’s strong beak was open, short high pitched calls alternating with longer variously pitched ones. The dog was barking in response, an inviting delighted sound sometimes turning into a low, nonthreatening growl. They were fun to watch, their friendship always blooming despite their differences.

A short distance away, shoes and socks in hand, water lapping at his feet and ankles, Vincent was making his way towards the boulder. He had been walking for a while, listening to the calming sound of the waves. The last few weeks had been tiring, work piled up, urgent foreign requests for help keeping him up late into the night. He had been tired, stressed, sloppy and aggressive in conducting the training of his disciples. When his friend had suggested the quick getaway he was so quick to accept that he bumped his knees on the desk, cursing.

‘I’m going for a swim!’ he said in a monotone reaching the stone and taking off his light coat and shirt. It was cold, barely April, but Vincent did not feel it, his body temperature running higher than everybody else’s, his blood hot as the fires that were bending to his every whim and will. ‘I won’t be long!’ he added taking off the silver necklace he always wore and handing it over.

‘Careful!’ Takeru’s soft baritone rose slightly over the noise all around them. The cold metal of the zippo touched hardly touched the scrapped skin of his palm before long slender fingers closed around it and he was putting it around his neck for safe keeping.

And like that Vincent was gone, running into the water. Growing up next to the sea in a small Romanian town, swimming came natural to him. The waves were getting higher, the clouds closer, a storm imminent. He did not care! With every stroke he was getting deeper and deeper, farther and farther his body welcoming the exercise, the resistance of the current. Holding his breath, he dived in. The water was murky, impossible to see through. Less than twenty seconds passed before he rose to the surface and in another ten he was going under again. Getting used to the temperature was easy, by the fifth dive, the water around him was warming up a little, steam spiraling from the surface. Relief washed all over him. Closing his eyes he floated on his back, arms moving lazily from time to time. The temptation of staying there for hours was growing with every minute. It was so pleasant! He had not done this in almost a year and he missed it greatly!

Diving again, he searched blindly for the bottom, arms outstretched, legs and feet moving in a precise rhythm. Despite having enough air, his lungs started to hurt a bit after a short while. The pressure and tiredness were taking a toll on him. He ignored them and kept going deeper and deeper. The bottom was nowhere to find, but the water was getting colder, the air running out. He ignored the sensation, putting more force towards his goal. A small ray of light breached the darkness over his shoulder. He blinked confused, dizziness creeping in on him.

Something strong and slim coiled around his middle pulling him upwards. Looking around, the light was dancing in a strange pattern. Instincts kicked it. Increasing the heat in his hands he grabbed the thing, trying to free himself. It didn’t bulge. He tried again, higher and higher. It was an arm connected to a body. Shit!

Two heads emerged from the restless waves. Both had slightly tanned skin, one’s hair was cut short, the other’s was long and flowing. One was freezing, teeth chattering, the other was caught between confusion and remorse. Bright blue eyes met black.

‘I- id – a - aho!’ Takeru grumble stuttered, swimming towards the beach. His moves were difficult and slow, pain was running up and down his body. Teeth sank into cold numbed lips. The salt water was making everything worse. With every move of his hands the flashlight was nowhere to be seen. ‘W- What were you t - thinking?’ he asked as soon as they were back on the dry sand and in warm trousers. The pain subsided a little, the burns not deep enough to bleed. ‘What w- were you thinking?’ he asked again, throwing him the lighter. His tone was flat, anger hidden under layers and layers of indifference. Cold was chipping away at his control.

Vincent stared at him, not giving an answer. Not immediately anyway. He finished getting dressed, put the harness on Schilo and handed Takeru his own shirt and coat together with the leather glove for Hiei. ‘I was swimming, trying to reach the bottom’ he shrugged touching his friend’s arm, a green, heeling glow at the tip of his fingers.

Takeru looked at him, analyzing, running the words through his head, sniffing out for lies. Power coated the words, searching, separating, extracting the tone in which they were spoken and the emotions behind it, deconstructing that even further, until the truth stood out clear in his mind, Vince’s truth.

They had been here before, a few times, and afterwards he had spent hours upon hours in an uncomfortable plastic or wooden chair in a hospital’s waiting room. ‘You’re not lying’ he sighed, a small twinge of relief in his voice.

‘No, I’m not.’

Their eyes met, unspoken apologies, reassurances, admissions and fears passing between them. Neither needed to hear them to know they existed. Vincent broke the contact first by moving his head towards the hotel. As he was walking the sand stuck to his feet bringing back childhood memories of long summer days. They walked in comfortable silence. Neither was a talker. They had Ingrid for that. When the older woman was not there they made do snuggling in the other’s quietness.

In their room, Takeru went first to shower, leaving Vincent to clean the animals and open the two windows, welcoming the storm. As he came out of his own, brief shower he found his friend sitting on the bed, dressed in oversized gray pajamas, damp hair pulled up in a bun, a jar of soothing muscle reliever in hand. It was almost dark outside, lightning, thunder and wind chasing each other.

‘The gods are having fun?’ Vincent asked, rubbing the water out of his short black hair.

Belief in the Shinto gods had been a part of the Matsuda family for countless generations. Takeru was not as devoted as the rest of his relatives, but he did hold the god of wind, Fujin and the thunder and lightning god Raiden in high regard. Few people outside his family knew about this aspect of his life, labeling his fascination with storms as just another quirk. Another strange thing to look at and gossip about.

‘Or sex’ he shrugged, vaguely amused, breathing in the clean humid air coming through the window.

‘Or both.’ There was a knowing smile on his face, blue eyes glinting. The invitation was missing however. They’d had their own fun, from time to time along the years.

Vincent took the jar reading the label. It was one of those ointments that heated up after application. It felt nice, smelled pleasant and made him sleepy. He took off his sleeping T-shirt, laying on the clean white sheets. Two red wrapping towels were stacked next to the pillow.

Takeru straddled his legs. Vincent was well built, his back muscles beautifully defined. This white scars took over most of the skin, the worst ones on the nape. That area was out of boundaries. The cream was think between his palms, but it was absorbed quickly, Vincent visibly relaxing under his touch. His breathing slower, more stable. He was working in precise sections, coating everything in an even, thin layer. It took quite some time, and he had to bend forward more than once to care for his upper arms as well. By the time he reached his lower back, Vincent had fallen asleep, light snores escaping thin parted lips. Takeru kept working, fingers playing over the skin as if it was they keys of a well-tuned piano.

The towels were soft and thick. Putting them around the sleeping man without waking him up was not easy. Vincent was a light sleeper, but Takeru had a lot of practice. He knew where to press, to guide his body. Vincent feeling comfortable around him helped a lot. The covers were left unused, unneeded. He settled beside him with a manga, not actually paying attention to the black and white panels or the strings of kanji that formed the dialogue. Instead he kept watch over his friend, ready to intervene in case of a nightmare or worse a night terrors.

Taglist: @inexorableblob

Please tell me if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

#violetvineyard #writing #amwriting #my writing #my ocs #writing community #fantasy #snippet #matsuda takeru #vincent morgan

10 notes · View notes

remnantoforario · 6 years

Text

The Road Not Travelled AKA Fairy Tail’s Lack of Motivation

I know. I know. Another long-winded post about why Fairy Tail isn’t good, but before you fire up the reblog button calling me a hater, I just wanted to say my peace about something that has been bothering me about the series, almost since it started. That is (as the title clearly states) Fairy Tail (and by extension Hiro Mashima’s) lack of motivation when it comes to its characters.

Warning: This post is going to be very messy. This is mostly a rant/scattered thoughts about a variety of different things in the series. If you’re looking for more cohesive breakdowns of the series faults, I suggest looking at posts from @thegreatrhapsode, @ac-fairytail, and a few others since they would be much better at this than I am. Let’s get started.

So what do I mean by “A lack of motivation”? It’s simple really. None of the main characters in Fairy Tail have anything to do and thus aren’t motivated to do anything other than what they have been doing. I’ll break them down.

Natsu: When he is first introduced in the series it was established immediately that his one goal in the series was to find Igneel. It was this goal that lead him to Hargeon where he met Lucy, and it was also what spurned him to go find Macao for Romeo. It is also one of the first things Mirajane tells Lucy about Natsu after she joins the guild. He forms a connection to Gajeel over their missing parents, and it is also one of the first thing Jellal says about him when he bursts into Erza’s mock trial.

Natsu’s singular focus in the story should be investigating any lead he can on Igneel...but after Phantom Lord he seems to lose motivation (there’s that word again) in favor of just doing whatever at the guild. Now I’m not saying every single arc Natsu should be out looking, but the fact that after Phantom Lord, Igneel isn’t really mentioned again until Eclipse poses a very large problem for Natsu as a character and the story as a whole.

Even when given a new goal (that of killing Acnologia) he still meanders around until the final fight to put the guild back together.

With a goal so concrete in his mind, it would only make sense for the story to form around this idea and have arcs centered on it, but it doesn’t so Natsu is left dicking around with nothing to do. But he’s not the only one with this problem.

Lucy: Arguably the best developed character in the series, she suffers from a lack of motivation very early on. It was established not long into the story that her goal after joining FT was to gather all the Zodiac Keys (and finish her novel but that was never all that important and more of a character quirk). It wasn’t as pronounced as Natsu’s goal was, but it was progressing further than his. She already had Aquarius, Cancer, and Taurus before the story began, she acquired Sagittarius as early as the second storyline after the Everlue job, helping Loke gained her his Leo key, beating Angel during the Oracion Seis arc granted her the Gemini Twins and Scorpio, and Loke defeating Caprico helped Lucy regain her mother’s Capricorn key (which she was originally supposed to have anyway).

Her goal seemed attainable...until the GMG (This arc was responsible for A LOT of FT’s problems, but that’s a post for another day). Yukino presents Lucy the chance to complete her goal by offering the remaining zodiac keys, but Lucy refuses.

Now her reasoning is sound enough, being a CS wizard herself she knows how important the bond between a spirit and their wizard is and wouldn’t feel right breaking that up. That is fine and speaks to Lucy’s character, but the problem arises in that there is nothing for her to do after this moment. You could argue that her new goal is finding Aquarius’ new key but that is established so late into the story that it’s pretty much moot (even the sequel hasn’t done much with it at this point).

Happy: Never really had any long lasting motivation outside of what Natsu wanted. Moving on.

Gray: Probably one of the biggest wastes of potential in the series when it comes to rival/best friend characters, Gray almost immediately stagnated after Galuna Island. His mission of “killing” Deliora done. He was aimless until literally Tartaros when he met Silver, after which his motivation became “Kill END” and we all know how that ended.

Erza: Has pretty much the same problem as Gray, but worse. After her issues in the Tower of Heaven were solved, she was pretty much done for the rest of the series. Any significant change that could have been brought to her character was swiftly tossed aside in order to keep the status quo and she became a shell of herself as early as Tenrou Island. A mere two arcs later.

Wendy: Probably the most developed character after Lucy (in my opinion) she was both blessed and cursed by having her issues resolved in the same arc she was introduced. After that, she pretty much integrates into the guild immediately and seems to have no goals other than “get stronger” and “be less clumsy”. Both are admirable, but nothing worthy enough to justify her being a main character.

Compare FT’s main cast to that of One Piece or My Hero Academia’s. Now you can argue that a lot of the characters in both these series aren’t well developed, but the one thing both Oda and Horikoshi excel at over Mashima is that their main characters have goals that can be carried throughout the series and, characters with less broad goals don’t overstay their welcome. They do what they are introduced to do and leave soon after.

In OP, the main goal of the story has always been finding the titular treasure. It’s a defined goal, but also broad enough to carry the characters throughout the entire series.

Luffy’s goal is to find the One Piece, but not only is the story framed around this idea, Luffy’s crew is as well. Zoro wants to become the world’s strongest swordsman, an easy way to do that is travelling the world and defeating strong opponents. Nami wants to map the entire world, best way to do that is travelling it. Usopp wants to be a “brave warrior of the sea”. He does that by doing various feats across the world and building his legend. Sanji wants to find the All Blue, Chopper wants to be the world’s best doctor, Robin wants to find the Poneglyphs and learn the world’s dark history, Franky wants to create the world’s best ship, Brook wants to reunite with Laboon after travelling the world, and Jinbei wants peaceful coexistence between Fishmen and humans.

With the possible exception of Jinbei, everyone’s goals (while vastly different) center around and are bolstered by Luffy’s search for One Piece. Helping him in turns helps them, its mutually beneficial and thus creates a group of characters who are together because they want to be, not because they have to. They want to see each other succeed and feel like actual friends (instead of yelling about friendship every five minutes while being massive dicks to each other)

Other characters who have arcs that are resolved leave before overstaying their welcome. Vivi is a prime example. She stayed with the straw hats long enough to reclaim her country from Crocodile, and then she was gone. Her arc was done, so there was no real reason for her to stay. She would only stagnate.

In MHA, all of Class 1-A share the same goal of wanting to be pro heroes, but all have their own motivations that go a bit deeper than that. Both Deku and Bakugou want to be as great as All Might, Todoroki wants to spite his father, Uraraka wants to make enough money as a pro for her family to live comfortably, and Iida wants to live up to his brother’s example just to name a few.

Since Deku is the main character the story focuses a lot on his personal journey to the top, but other notable characters get their shine when needed.

Even Naruto built its story about Naruto becoming Hokage from the very first chapter.

Bringing all of this back to FT. None of the main characters have any established motivation, and if they do the story either isn’t structured around it (Natsu), Drops it entirely (Lucy), or finishes it and proceeds to do nothing else with the character (Gray, Erza, and Wendy).

It’s not like Mashima is incapable of writing motivated characters. Rave Master’s main cast had various different motivations that either carried them through the series, or evolved over the course of time.

People called FT a ripoff of OP in its early stages (a comparison I still don’t quite understand), but maybe Mashima could have leaned a bit on Oda’s story structure.

Have the story actually center around Natsu’s main goal of searching for Igneel. Have him ask questions and going on jobs based on leads he had found, taking him (and his team) on various locales across the world. Build up the continent and its history with the dragons.

He could even leave the story for an arc or two, giving a side character (like Levy, Cana, Juvia, Mirajane, Lisanna or Elfman) a bit of time in the spotlight to develop their own stories along with the main cast.

Change him over time to be a more single minded character post-Tartaros. Have him ignore bringing the guild back together in order to find Acnologia, which would cause tension between him and his friends and add more weight to the END turn as his obsession grows.

If Lucy no longer wants the Zodiac keys, why not have her new goal be earning enough money to buy back her family’s home and land? Its a lofty goal to be sure, but it would add a little more weight to her desperation to go on a job other than “I need to pay rent”. It still amazes me that Lucy is supposedly came from a very influential family in terms of industry in Fiore, but no one recognized her name. They have a railroad named after them for God’s sake. Do something with that. Does she not have an inheritance?

Gray is a little harder to pin down since most of his character is tied to Deliora and with him gone there isn’t much for him to do. SO if you don’t want to phase him out, you could evolve his motivation from killing Deliora, to finding Ultear. Have Lyon or someone (possibly even Jellal in Tower of Heaven) mention that Ultear is still alive. Gray’s mission would be looking for her in order to make amends, which would lead to their fight on Tenrou, to which after his goal could once again evolve into defeating Zeref for creating Deliora in the first place, leading to the fight with Natsu.

Erza is simple enough. She is heralded as Fairy Tail’s strongest woman, so why not have her actually lean into that and try to become a wizard saint? The near death experience would have spurned her choice, leading to an arc explaining the saints and how to become one. Erza could fail to be accepted (something she never seems to do post-Tenrou) and the rest of the story could be her working up towards that goal, and in a change of pace you could KEEP HER AS GUILD MASTER.

One of Fairy Tail’s biggest problems is its unwillingness to change. Everything and everyone just sticks to the status quo and the story suffers all the more for it.

Keeping Erza as master changes the entire dynamic of the team because the story would have to phase Erza out and put someone else in (again either Juvia, Cana, Elfman, or some other notable side character).

Wendy’s motivations could be the same as Natsu’s, finding her dragon. Her relationship with Grandeeney is arguably as strong as Natsu’s with Igneel so her joining him on his jobs wouldn’t be much a stretch. You could even add Gajeel for an arc if you wanted. Three dragonslayers and three exceeds.

I say all that to say that one of Fairy Tail’s most frustrating aspects is its refusal to realize the potential of its characters. There is so much to do in this world, so much lore and information imparted onto the audience, but the characters (and the author) seem to not care the least bit about it. They say they will do something, but don’t and that to me is worse than doing nothing at all.

#Fairy Tail #rant #natsu dragneel #erza scarlet #Wendy Marvell #lucy heartfilia #gray fullbuster #One Piece #My Hero Academia #very long winded #said it wouldn't be pretty

76 notes · View notes