#but banana is the only one that like causes me physical pain when I eat one
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JJ Maybank x Reader
Warnings: angst, swearing, talk about anxiety, depression, and mental illness, talk about self harm, almost self harming, physical and mental abuse, mature themes
Mature readers ONLY. 18+. I will check profiles periodically and will block minors bc this post is MA!
John B was mad. He was mad at JJ and he was mad at you. When he agreed to his baby sister (by 2 minutes) dating his person, he never thought it would result in fights this alarming. Sarah stood next to him, your best friend. Your person. While Sarah was yours, JJ was his. And it was awful to watch their favorite people be in this much pain. They were watching the fight like a tennis match.
“Would you just admit that you have a hero complex and the need to save everybody?” You screamed at him. They were standing in the kitchen, arguing again about JJ taking the bike and being reckless again.
“I’m trying to save you! And John B! And Kie, Sarah, Pope. Don’t you get that?” JJ screamed back at you. “And if that means getting hurt, or even killed, I’ll do that! I’ll do that for you guys because I love you.”
Tears streamed out of your eyes, running fast down your cheeks. “But what about me?” You demanded. “What do I do when you get wrapped up in something that so messed up that you can’t come back from it? That John B and I can’t fix for you. What if you do? What do I do then?” You yelled at him.
JJ and John B stared at you as you screamed. “Huh?” You screamed after a minute. “Answer me!” You screamed, shoving JJ back. JJ, mind going quickly into fight or flight mode, shoved your hands away, causing your wrist to twist and crack. John B quickly stepped in between you guys, preventing anything from happening further.
“Don’t do this guys!” John B yelled at you both, eyes ablaze.
You froze for two seconds. You shoved JJ. You’re sweet JJ, who loved you so much he was willing to sacrifice himself so that you would be okay. The JJ who’s dad was a dick to him, beat the crap out of him every chance he got; verbally abused him because he did have anybody else to take his crap out on. You shoved him. Instinctively you pulled your wrist to your chest.
“I - I -” You stumbled over your words. Trying to find the right ones to apologize, but JJ ran out the back door of the house before you could say anything.
“I have to go after him, make sure that he doesn’t -”
You nodded. Sarah coming up next to you as you fell into her arms sobbing as you tried to wrap your mind around what had happened.
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You spent the whole day in your room. Once you stopped sobbing, Sarah took you to your room and you climbed into your bed, holding the stuffed animal JJ had won for you when you were 10 and staring at the wall. Sarah didn’t try to talk to you, she just sat with you until John B got back. You heard mumblings of their conversation but didn’t try to understand what you couldn’t hear. Your mind was reeling.
Sarah made you eat a banana and drink water. She said the potassium would be needed and that you couldn’t get dehydrated.
Later that evening, John B came into your room and sat down on your bed. “We’re having a fire tonight, just our people. Kie, Sarah, Pope, me.” He didn’t say JJ. “JJ’s at work, said he has a car to fix up, he’ll probably show up late.” He continued on. “You need to get out of this room.” He deadpanned. “I’ll carry you out if I have to.”
You knew he was right. So after five minutes, you got out of bed, threw your hair in a very messy bun and an old maroon sweatshirt of JJ’s and grey sweatpants.
You walked into the living room and saw Sarah talking quietly with John B. When you entered room, they quickly turned their conversation to you.
“You look like shit,” she told you, scanning you from head to toe.
You rolled your eyes. “She definitely knows how to charm you, Big Bear.”
“She sure does.” You had been calling John B Big Bear for your whole life, and he in return called you Baby Bear.
“You need tequila,” Sarah decided after a minute.
“Yes I do.” You nodded in agreement. John B rolled his eyes and sighed. Tequila and you had never been good friends unless you were sad, and in which case, meant that you tried to drown your sorrows with tequila.
You had grabbed your bottle of tequila, favorite blanket, phone, and crocs before heading out to join the rest of the gang. Once you got there, you settled yourself on the long that you usually shared with JJ.
Kie and Pope were together and so we’re John B and Sarah. They were talking about a double date they were going on tomorrow, which left you to look out at the water and your mind wander.
After everybody had gotten a little buzzed and or a little high, you went into your dark and twisty place. How could you have shoved JJ? After everything that his father had done to him, you did that? How could you guys come back from this? What if he left you?
You always knew you weren’t good enough for JJ. You thought it all the time. Even when JJ tried to reassure you, there was still the nagging thought in the back of your mind, telling you that you weren’t enough. JJ was so much better than you, and he could have anybody he wanted, so why did he settle on you? You weren’t special. You weren’t smart and kind like Pope, you weren’t chill and relaxed like Kiara, you weren’t overly ambitious and hopeful like John B, you weren’t witty or gentle like Sarah, you weren’t feisty or adventurous like JJ. There wasn’t anything that made you special, you thought.
The grounding exercises that your therapist gave you hardly worked anymore. You were too out of touch with your body to understand what you needed. You teared up. You blinked ferociously, refusing to cry. You had done enough of that today.
“Hey,” Sarah said plopping down next you and stealing half your blanket. You leaned in to her, sighing deeply. “You’re not allowed to go dark and twisty on me and not tell me.” You rolled your eyes. Sarah knew you better than pretty much anybody did, besides maybe JJ. She knew your thoughts were eating you alive.
“Do you think he’ll show?” You ask quietly, picking at your phone case anxiously.
“If he doesn’t, then he’ll have to deal with the wrath of me, and I don’t think he wants that.
“Sarah,” I whispered. “I was - I mean - I -” You stumbled over your words again, blinking faster than before as a few tears betrayed you. You’re breathing quickened. You were spiraling.
“Hey, hey, hey,” she kneeled in front of you as you let out a sob. “It’s JJ, Y/N/N. It’s not like it’s some dumb turon or Kook, it’s JJ.” She smiled at you, keeping her voice gentle, trying to calm you down.
You put your head in your hands and continued to cry, trying hard to catch your breath, but nothing worked. Sarah’s words weren’t registering in your brain. You could barely making out John B calling JJ and telling him to come over because of your anxiety, but you couldn’t find it in you to tell him to stop. You shook Sarah off you before you took off running towards the house. You needed to be alone.
You shut the door to the bathroom, hand over your mouth trying to stifle the sobs. You glanced around the bathroom trying to focus on something solid when your eyes landed on the razor.
You zeroed in. You hadn’t done anything in months. Before you and JJ were together. Sarah had caught you and made you start therapy. JJ and John B knew, and so did Pope but you didn’t talk about it a lot. There were bigger problems to worry about.
But the therapy wasn’t working. You weren’t going anymore. The pain was still there. Deep, caught in your chest. The numbness of cutting would take away the pain. It would stop. You inched towards the razor. Just one cut, you thought. It wouldn’t affect much and it would take away the pain, even if it was just for a few seconds. Nobody would ever know. You grabbed the razor. You didn’t hear the knocking on the door. You inched the razor towards your wrist and screamed when the door banged open and JJ caught you.
Both your eyes widened. You opened and closed your mouth repeatedly. Trying to make words, but for the third time today, the English language failed you.
“Y/N,” JJ said sternly. “Give it to me.”
You shook your head rapidly. “I need it to stop, JJ.” You said fast and quietly. “I just need to turn everything off.” JJ stepped forward. You gripped the razor tighter. “I just need it to all stop. Just for a minute.” You cried, chest starting to heave again.
“Sweetheart, this is not how you make it stop. If it stops, it doesn’t start again. It’s an addiction to you. And it’s not going to make it better, it’s only going to get worse. It may seem like a short term solution, but long term you know it will only cause you more pain.” You knew he was right. JJ was always right when it came to stuff like this. “Baby, I’m going to grab it now.” He took it gently from your hand and threw it into the sink. He grabbed you just in time as your legs gave out. You let out guy wrenching sobs.
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Once you had calmed down from your episode, you lied back down on your bed staring at the wall. JJ was back in the living room talking with John B and Sarah. After a little while, he slipped back into the bedroom and slid in next to you.
“We need to talk.” Those four words made you shoot up. You knew those words. You had used them on JJ when you had made the decision to split up for a few months a year ago.
“JJ,” you croaked. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t handle him leaving you right now.
“Just listen to me, okay?” He grabbed your hand. “We’re not in the same place right now.” He said gently, his whole gut, heart, and brain hating this, but he knew it was right. For both of you. “You’re so anxious, all the time. Anytime JB and I go to do something you panic until we’re back. If you go with, you panic until it’s done. You pushed me today babe. I’m not saying I didn’t deserve it, because I did. I needed a reality check, but babe, we need help.” He took a deep breath, his heart breaking. “And we need to do that apart, I need to do that apart.”
Tears welded up in your eyes again. This wasn’t happening. This could not be happening.
“JJ, please.”
“I’m not saying we break up, I’m saying let’s take a few months and -”
“Months?” You cried out. You didn’t want to be apart from him for more than a day, let alone months.
“Y/N. We need this okay? You need time to figure stuff out, I need time to figure stuff out. I’m not saying we break up -”
“It sounds like we are!”
“We just need time, okay? Talk to your therapist, work on you. We’ll go from there, okay? But for now, we need space.”
And with that, JJ left, taking your heart with him as he made his was to the couch, where he’d be spending most of his nights.
Pt. 2 coming!!!
#jjmaybankimagine#jjmaybankimagineangst#JJ maybank#outerbanks#imagines#jj maybank x routledge!reader#JJ imagine#outerbanks imagine#JJ maybank imagine#JJ maybank imagine angst#JJ x reader#JJ maybank x reader
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Battle Nexus R US Part 2
"Well, Here we go"
"It's ok guys. We got this. As long as the Mad Dogs are together we can teamwork through anything." Raph says sporting a power stance pointing at the hologram of Big Mama.
She giggles, snapping her fingers each of us gets placed at different locations and is chained with one of our enemies having to fight one of Big Mama's Battle Nexus Champions.
Raph with Ghost Bear fighting Troll
Mikey with Meatsweats cooking for Amphisbaena
Leo and one of the Sando brothers trying to get the STATUE OF LIBERTY that's controlled by Sprite to laugh
Donnie and Hypno playing a chess game with Cortex and Donnie gets turned into the chess piece.
Me with Repo Mantis in his junkyard fighting a Spasmosaur. (If you're an OG TMNT fan give this a like)
"If any of you somehow win your battley-bings, come to my hotel and set your people free. Do be a good sport and put on a fantasmic show for us. My subscribers are paying me a fortune to watch you all suffer. Now on with 'Battle Nexus: New York'!" Big Mama says confidently
Raph and Ghost Bear are having trouble working together and they fall from the bridge they were on to the water below. All that was left was their masks which was very odd.
We all collectively gasp and shout "RAPH!"
Leo and the Sando brothers are busy bickering and fighting each other. Leo slips on a banana and it causes the Statue to chuckle.
"Oh, that's it. Physical comedy. Pain is always funny. Carl follow my lead." Leo says
"Never," Carl says defiantly
"Then hit me right in the old peepers with your pointy pinchers. I was already gonna do that before you even said it!" Carl shouts
Leo begins his painful comedy assault on Carl and I gotta admit it was pretty funny to watch. He successfully knocks Carl unconscious and gets the Sprite/Statue of Liberty to laugh.
Mikey and Meatsweats are cooking up a storm.
"Feed the monster before it eats us! Oh no, I'm out" Meatsweats says nervously.
"We need to work together and satisfy their appetite! Trust me! One satisfying dish is all we need to win this challenge!" Mikey says while expertly cooking until he forgets how to season the dish and asks for Meatsweat's help.
"A sprinkle of paprika should unleash the flavors," Meatsweats says while sprinkling some onto the fish.
"Genius" Mikey grunts and tosses the fish dish at the Amphisbaena they start to fight over it by biting each other one head eats the other until it disappears out of existence.
Hypno and Donnie are still playing their chess game but....Hypno hasn't made one single move and it looks like it's starting to get to Cortex.
"No, come on!" Cortex exclaims
"You've slain your king! You surrender! We are victorious, Hypno!" Donnie says excitedly.
"I am the king of checkers!" Hypno shouts
My eye twitches slightly and I facepalm. Getting back to my fight I sweat a bit and look around at what we could use to fight this horrible creature.
"How are we gonna stop this thing? Repo Mantis asks scared
It starts to try to hit us with its tentacles, and as we try to run out of its grasp we go in two different directions, the chain snaps us back into each other with a thud and the Spasmosaur knocks us to the back of the Repo junkyard.
I groan and dust myself off. "Right this will not do, we have to work together to dodge its attacks. Now you have to do exactly as I say when I say it. Ok?" I say determined
"Fine, only cuz I don't want that thing destroying my baby," Repo Mantis says
I roll my eyes and we charge towards it, I shout out commands on when to jump, dodge, and tumble. We evade its attacks but start getting tired, I rest up against the school bus. Then it hit me Donnie told me about the time they were looking for a piece of the armor artifact and found out that it was located in the junkyard and how Raph and Leo unleashed Mr Nubbins.
"That's it, do you have the key for the bus?" I ask quickly
"Of course I do, why-" Repo Mantis asks then it clicks
We get onto the bus and back it up while I distract the Spasmosaur by honking the horn. Soon out runs Mr. Nubbins and Repo Mantis hands me a cat toy which I take and ring the little bell that's attached to the toy. It piques the cats' interest and it starts to run towards us. I end up tying the toy to one of the tentacles of the Spasmosaur and we move out of the way. Mr. Nubbins starts attacking the monster attempting to get the toy. We jump onto Mr. Nubbins's back and hold on tight. Soon the Spasmosaur gets worn out and scratched up pretty badly, it knocks out in defeat. Repo Mantis and I celebrate as we get teleported to the front of Big Mama's hotel.
"Guys we made it!" Mikey says happily
We all hug and fall to the ground from the force of the hug. Donnie and I awkwardly let go and looked away from each other.
"Hello, victorious binglebeets!" Congratulations on defeating my champions. Or four of them, at least." Big Mama says
"Raph's Hibernator move," Mikey says Sadly
"We played your dum-dum game. Now give us your dum-dum orb so we can go back to our dum-dum lives. Wait that last part was right. Sorry from the top--we player your dum-dum--" he's cute if by Big Mama shooting a web onto his mouth
"Silence!" She demands and changes out of her glimmering spell
"The thing is I don't like how clever you've all been, so I'm altering the terms at the last second. I only visited your home to play my little game, but I rather like this place and think I'll be keeping it. New York City will be my new Battle Nexus arena and its people, my expendable contestants." She laughs evilly while holding the prison orb
"Ugh finally your evil monologue is over," I say annoyed
"Think again Big Mama, New York is our house, and we got you outnumbered six to one!" Leo says but I already turned around to see the villains scampering away.
"You four could never defeat me. This will be easy-weazy" She says
"Yeah see the thing is us five work together even when we're apart."
Leo explains that Raph will come and take her down with his signature move and we all say "Hibernator!"
Raph's red ninpo arms crash through the hotel walls, grab Big Mama, and perform his move flinging her inside. She lets go of the orb and it flies upward.
"Like a boss" Raph shouts
"Oh yeah!" I shout and we all rush forward to grab the orb while it's making its descent.
"I will have this city! Shadow Fiend" She shouts
Something falls from the sky and lands on the asphalt the landing causes a huge gust of wind to push us back.
"So after I faked my defeat and Ghostbear ditched me--I swam to the lair and grabbed your stuff."
Our weapons clang onto the floor, and we each grab ours, I look down at my metal fans and smile.
"Hello old friends," I open them and they make that sword coming out of a sheath sound
"Now let's show Big Mama why you don't mess with New York City" Raph points at Big Mama and says confidently
"You'll never get the orb from my champion. But I'll enjoy watching you try." She says
Just then purple tentacles emerge from the orb going in all directions breaking the orb and out fall Splinter, April, Cass, and Draxum.
"The people of New York are still in there" Splinter shouts while kicking through champion away and Mikey hits it with a bus.
"Grab the orb so I may release the people," Draxum says
Cass scrambles to grab it while Big Mama shoots a web grabbing onto it, Leo cuts to the web and April catches it, Draxum uses his tentacles to push Big Mama away and April tosses it to Draxum.
"Buy me some time!" Draxum says as the champion comes in for the attack.
The champion tries to punch him and misses thanks to Splinter belonging Draxum dodges ut. But the force of the punch causes mass destruction of the nearby buildings.
"Go, well cover you"
Each of us took turns attacking the champion.
"Cherry blossom slicer" I shout while using one of my ultimate moves which us pink colored sharp attacks that hit the champion.
But our attacks do nothing to hurt nor detour the champion. Big Mama orders it to follow Draxum into the hotel. It ends up hitting Draxum and sending him up several floors of the hotel. Draxum continues to unlock the orb aa the champion goes in for another hit Raphs nimpo appears with a punch of his own but assists with our weapons to make it more powerful.
"Hey ShadowFiend, you messed with the wrong family!" Raph growls as Mikey Kusari-fundo, Donnie Battle shells, and my Cherry Blossom Slicer.
"Mystic Hot Soup Hibernator" We all shout as the fist makes contact and sends the champion flying out through the wall.
"You think you won!" Big Mama says while panting
"Uh yea isn't it obvious it's over Big Mama!" Raph says
From the corner of my eye, I see Cass sneak off somewhere. Big Mama realizes that the ring is gone and Cass starts to laugh. I see the ring and I yell at her as tears fill my eyes.
"Cass no don't!"
But it's too late she puts the ring on and it's revealed that the champion is The Shredder.
"Go Shredder destroy your enemies" Cass shouts
"Blue, quickly make a portal" Splinter exclaims
Leo wasn't quick enough and Shredder charged us, I hit my head on a pillar and was knocked out for a brief moment.
"Y/N!" Donnie shouts and runs to me grabbing his bo and ready to attack.
Raoh rushes over and uses his body as a shield while it starts to stomp on Raph's shell. Splinter grabs Leo's sword and creates a portal. We all start to go through it and Donnie holds me in his arms tightly, I slowly come to and see Big Mama being pulled by her web toward to portal but she is stopped and the portal closes before she can go through.
"Clever plan. No one would ever look for us in this disgusting sewer hovel." Draxum says unamused
"Well you're free to go to the surface if the accommodations aren't up to par," I say weakly
"Sassy as ever" April giggles
*sigh* Donnie places me on a beanbag and checks my head, he bandages my head and wipes the blood.
"Home sweet home, baby!" Mikey exclaims
We come up with a plan to go into Splinter's memories to figure out how to defeat Shredder which involves us going inside Splinter's mind.
"Woo hoo, road trip," I say
"Oh no you're staying here and recovering," Donnie says putting his hands on my shoulders and looking at me worriedly
"I've been hit with worse, I'm fine..." I say nonchalantly
"Donnie is right, you shouldn't do anything strenuous, right? Recover and well be back" Raph says while giving me his snaggle tooth grin.
"Fine," I say reluctantly and get comfy on the beanbag
The boys sit on these symbols and Draxum puts a sand timer in the middle
"Is it safe?" April questions
"Yes and no. Mostly no. Memories don't like to be tampered with and they may find a way to...fight back." Draxum says the last part a little too slowly for my liking
"Okay, once we're in, we need to find Grandpa Sho. Leave no memory unturned." Donnie says
"What about the memories I want to keep private?" Splinter asks nervously
"Not my problem.Good luck!" Draxum says quickly and starts to process.
Before Donnie goes under we lock eyes and give each other awkward half-smiles. Mine says 'Get back safely' and he acknowledges it 'I will'.
They soon enter the memory world and Donnie starts to struggle. I stumble over to him and sit next to him. Putting a comforting hand over his. The subconscious of Splints is fighting them so Dracum moves them to another memory.
April eventually joins them when things start getting too intense and brings the boys back to their consciousness. Donnie sees my hand on his and I jump away a bit.
"S-sorry Dee" I giggle sheepishly
Raph tells us what he saw, a weapon that can help us, Draxum locates it and we grab onto each other and make ourselves into a chain to help Splints grab it. The vortex starts to pull them in, and I scramble up to grab Draxum and use all the strength to pull them back in. I see a flash of something terrible and we fall onto the ground in a heap.
Everyone shouts cheers of joy, Splints holds the weapon and I look up at them.
"Um, guys I think--" Before I can finish what I was about to say the weapon becomes a person...a woman she ends up passing out and falls hard onto the ground.
The hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand on edge.
"I don't like this, not one bit..." I say quietly as I walk over to the woman.
She regains consciousness and I help her to sit down.
Splinter gasps and says "Rest. You are safe. This is the home of Hamato Yoshi."
"Who?" Leo dumbly asks
"That is me, you dum-dum" Splints retorts
"Hamato Yoshi? I am Hamato Karai." Karai says
We end up finding out that she is his great-grandma times 13. She tells us the story of the origin of the Hamato Clan and how The Shredder is her father which we all are shocked at. Also, Splints didn't prepare the boys with this Ancient Ninpo.
"You haven't trained them?" Karai shouts
The people start to leak out of the orb, so April and Draxum go to fix it.
"Karai I have failed to prepare my sons for this moment. I humbly ask you to teach them how to defeat the Shredder." Splints says while bowing
"I will but first I must rest," Karai says weakly
"Everybody out! Except you!" Splints shout and point at me signaling for me to take her somewhere quiet.
"What? But we want to hang out with Gram Gram..." Leo says and they all get a swift karate chop to the head.
"No Gram-Gram needs her quiet" Splints shouts and apologizes
"It's alright, but I am confused as to why you are a rat and 4 turtles," She says
I guide her to the projector room and have her sit in Splint's comfy chair. Giving her a blanket and calming tea.
"Thank you, you remind me of someone...someone I lost so long ago" She says while looking at me sadly.
"I think I just have that face the people recognize," I say shyly and smile
"Hmm perhaps," Karai says while sipping her tea
I bow respectfully, I sit on the ground a distance from her and I start to meditate while she naps. Not even a few seconds later I sense that Donnie is near, I crack open one of my eyes a little, and seeing him get near I try to signal for Jim to let her rest but he ignores me.
"Ah ah ah, sneeze!" Donnie says quite loudly
I roll my eyes, uncross my legs, and fold my arms while I watch the scene unfold.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Did I wake you? Well now that you're up, may I interest you in a a full tea service?" Donnie says proudly while S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N zooms around
"What dark magic is this?" Karai questions
" Not magic. It's my tech." Donnie says while S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N pours a popping hot cup of tea.
"Oh brilliant," Karai says
"Yes! The approval of a parental figure I've so craved!" Donnie says while fangirling
Karai and I look at each other and giggle quietly. I turn to Donnie to scold him for waking her but before I can get the words out Leo falls from the ceiling and lands on Donnie.
"Hey, Gram-Gram needs her sleep. And to help her, I shall rear from my children's book, I Love Gram-Gram and Gram-Gram Loves Me." Leo says as he scrolls through his touchpad to find his lovely book.
They both start to fight and I walk over to Karai sitting on the arm of the chair. Then Raph adds himself to the mix.
"Hey, Gram-Gram, 'How can a big guy be so nimble', you ask?" Raph says while doing a handstand with one hand
I sigh loudly and groan as all three start to fight for her attention. Then I look to my left and see Mikey handover a painting he made for her. I smile at him and sigh happily.
"I think it captures our togetherness as a family," Mikey says while smiling
"Welcome to your crazy family Karai," I laugh sheepishly
"Boys, what are you doing? My apologies, Gram-Gram. I am so sorry I never taught my sons traditional Hamato discipline. And you, you're supposed to stop them from annoying her" Splints scolds me
"I...what...you...they...I tried my best ok!" I stammer out
"Yeah, it was way too easy to sneak in," Leo says as he chuckles he notices his brothers distance themselves from him slowly
"Where are you guys going?" He asks as my shadow looms over him, he turns around and starts to sweat. "Guys?"
"Wanna repeat that Nardo?" I say menacingly as I reach my hand out like Thor does with his hammer Mjölnir and my fans land into my hands and I start attacking him while he screams like a little Gurkha running about the room.
"From where I sit Yoshi, you have made the Clan proud," Karai says while looking at the family lovingly
"So you think we have a chance in defeating the Shredder?" Splinter asks
"Yes, with Hamato Ninpo, our family's ancient technique that connects us to past generations. It gave me the strength to defeat the Shredder all those years ago. As long as there are Hamato, there is hope." She whimpers the last bit and Splunts and I hold her up.
Once I touch her the hairs on my arms and the back of my head stand up and I get a sense of danger. I start looking around for the danger.
"Aqua what's wrong?" Donnie looks at me worriedly
"Something is coming....and fast..." I say with fear in my voice
"He has found me," Karai says beside me
We all stand in a defense circle with Donnie having me stand protectively behind him. In The Foot Clan bursts from the ceiling.
"Karai, I could sense you were here, Now I will consume your Hamato essence and become truly invincible. Crush anyone that gets in my way." Shredder says
"Attack," Papa Lui says
"Protect Gram-Gram" Raph orders
Leo moves Gram-Gram to another location, Mikey holds Shredder with his kusari-fundo but he breaks free from it and the Shockwave pushes us all into the walls around us.
I quickly get back to the fight and push Cass through a wall.
" Well good thing I know all your tricks sis or this would be a harder fight" Cass chuckles
"I've come a long way since we last fought" My eyes glow and I use my fans shouting. "Cherry Blossom Spindle!" Vines sprout from the ground blooming Cherry blossom and they wrap around her snuggly and trap her to the ground.
She struggles to get out and I back away a few feet looking at her sadly.
"I don't want to fight you"
I start to run towards the main battle with tears running down my face.
"You coward, fight me" she shouts after me
I see the skateboard room is in complete shambles with Karai tapping into her Ninpo. But she is defeated, Raph grabs me and we make our way out of the collapsing sewer.
"KARAI!" I yell tearfully
The boys and I hop into the tank. With great pain we had to leave Splinter behind...oh and Draxum but who cares about him? They give us enough to escape.
I hold Mikey back as he calls out for Splinter, holding him close to my chest and letting him cry onto me, looking over at Donnie seeing my exact emotion mirrored on his face, he hugs us tightly and we speed off to safety.
#rottmnt#rottmnt donatello#rise donatello#rottmnt x reader#rise donnie#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt fanfiction#donnie x reader
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Man, so like... the past year, my sense of hearing, taste, and smell have gone completely banana bonkers. Like, on steroids. It started with smell, last year. I'd gotten really sick because of an infected gallbladder which I had to be hospitalized for and they had to do emergency surgery. They said they were pretty sure the infection hadn't spread to other organs, but gave me antibiotics anyway. After that, I could smell plastic SO STRONGLY. The bags food came in? The whole room smelled like it and it would make me feel physically ill. When I eat bread, the edges of it taste like the plastic bag it was in and the whole loaf just smells like plastic with a hint of bread. Any time I eat out of a plastic bowl, the food touching it tastes like plastic and I can't stand to force myself to swallow it. Somewhat recently I was really ill for three days with a constant migraine and nausea, and it turned out there was a plastic bag next to the bed. When I tossed it out, I stopped being as sick.
Everything's gotten worse over the past few months since I had to go cold-turkey off my meds. My sense of hearing is super weird now. Little sounds that I used to be able to handle now send me into an overstim panic where I want to physically hurt myself to get some kind of outlet from what the sounds make me feel. It's like nails on a chalkboard. I'm becoming nonfunctional in day to day because every little sound has been setting me off so badly.
I did also have multiple heat strokes this summer though, because we don't have AC and it got over 115 a few days and was over 100 all summer long. Only into NOVEMBER did it finally stop being in the 90s here. I don't have a doctor, and I don't have insurance, and I don't have money, so it's not like I can just ask a doc for help on this. I had to go cold-turkey off all of my psych and nerve pain meds because it was literally a choice between medical bills like the dr and meds or getting groceries and paying the water bill.
But like. It could be anything. So much shit has happened the past year and a half. My best guess is some sort of a mouth infection for taste and smell, but that doesn't account for the perception of sounds? Is it a brain thing? I haven't caught covid which can cause some smell/taste/brain issues, I've literally been quarantining since 2020 because I'm not healthy at all and immunocompromised. I've left the house about seven times in two and a half years, one of which was the hospital for the surgery. This is really fucking bizarre and it's only getting worse...
Just... really thinking about this because one of the cats started clawing at a box they turned into a scratching post and the sound sent me into an overstim panic so bad I was almost crying while begging the cat to stop and to come here next to me, and this happens every time... I'm almost in tears or fully sobbing, begging whatever's making the sound to stop, I legitimately can't take it. It's becoming hellish and every day it just gets worse, and this has only been this much of an issue the past few months. It didn't start immediately after I stopped my meds, but it has cropped up only after I stopped my meds... I don't know if it's even related to the taste and smell thing...
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Double Heart | Chapter Fourteen ~ Haldir
|previous part|
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1754
Warnings: TW -- mentions of illness
**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour_rainycity” if you prefer!**
A/n Can I just say, that I TRULY believe I have some of the best readers in the entire world? Each of you is so kind, so encouraging, and you take time out of your day to read this story!! Thank you, each and every one of you, so, so much!
Immediately after leaving Cosima’s room, I seek out Baranor. I don’t want to leave her alone and must find a task to calm my mind. Though Cosima sounded sure of her ailment being non-severe, humans are so fragile. What if she were to sway like she did earlier but didn’t have me there to catch her? She could fall to the stone floor and crack her head open.
I freeze. Should I go back?
No. I stop myself. She said she would be fine, I have to respect that. Besides, I sigh, focusing on the bigger picture. I can check on her tomorrow. In the meantime, Baranor might have insight.
It’s still early, only five o’clock or so, and Baranor is exactly where I expect him to be — the healing wards. Like me, his is not prone to taking an extended period without work.
He sees me coming and greets me with a smile, passing along a small jar to another healer clothed in a robe of pale green. “We’re attempting to develop a new salve for burns,” he explains. “What brings you to the healing wards?”
I sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted under the stress of the last twenty minutes. So much could have gone wrong. “Cosima.”
Baranor’s brow furrows in concern and he directs me to what looks to be an extra office loaned to him — it’s already covered in his belongings and notes. He sits in the oversized chair behind the desk, clasping his hands in front of him. “What happened?”
I practically sink into the chair across from him. “We agreed to meet this evening in her room so I could begin to teach her self-defense. She seemed fine when I arrived — her usual personality, bright eyes, didn’t seem tired. One second she was laughing, and the next, gasping in pain. I-I mean, Baranor, you should have seen it.” I gulp at the memory, reliving the moment Cosima’s condition shifted. “All the life left her face and she swayed like she was going to faint. I caught her and sat her on the couch but she pitched forward and nearly vomited. She said she had a headache. When the sickness and pain faded enough for her to open her eyes, she looked absolutely exhausted. She said she wants to rest so I left her room and came straight here.”
Baranor nods, looking calm. “How long did the episode last?”
I concentrate on the memory, though everything in me wants to shy away. “Maybe three minutes?”
Baranor dips his head as if expecting this. “Humans are much more fragile than elves—you know this. If they do not sleep enough or get proper nutrients, they can become susceptible to headaches and mild sicknesses — even stress can have that effect on them. Sometimes headaches can be severe, in which case they are called migraines and usually come with nausea, dizziness, and more intense pain.”
My eyes widen. That’s terrifying. Such normal things that wouldn’t do much to an elf — stress, inadequate sleep, water, food — can incapacitate a human. How much more vulnerable to serious circumstances they must be — injury, for instance.
But Baranor only looks infuriatingly serene. I have to remind myself that he encounters things like this every day, even if he does typically treat ellyn. Mild fluctuations in health do not alarm him because he knows how they are likely to turn out and how to threat a patient if their health declines further.
“I will check on her in the morning after she’s had time to rest, but do not worry, mellon nîn. This is just something that happens to humans from time to time.”
I take a deep breath, leaning against the back of the chair. “Alright. Thank you. I’m sorry to burst in on your work.”
He waves off my apology. But, after a pause, he grimaces.
My stomach sinks. “What?”
He speaks much too slowly for my liking. “I do not want to alarm you, but there’s a chance Elrond might mention something to you or your brothers, and I’d rather you hear it from me so you are not caught off guard.”
I feel my eyes widening and attempt to reign in my expression. “What, Baranor?”
He sighs. “When we first encountered Cosima, she was as good as dead. Her fæ was so far gone, I had to expend serious energy calling her back. I…I had hoped that because she had actually made the choice to wake up that she would acclimate well—make a full recovery. When I dealt with her arm after the attack, I again used the power in my fæ to heal her. I noticed that there is still something…‘off’ in her own fæ.”
I feel my jaw lock. A roaring rushes through my ears. “Off?”
“Yes,” Baranor nods steadily. “Alex’s is the same way. Both the human spirits seem…torn, almost, or wounded. Like I said, ‘off’. I spoke to Elrond and he has agreed to work with them both. He believes their memory loss could related to the injuries in their fæs and, as we heal their memories, their fæs will repair themselves. Our working theory is that the memory loss is so severe it has caused the fæ to forget, almost like the memories were violently cut out of it. I do not know what that means but I think it likely originated when they arrived in this world, possibly before when they somehow transferred from their world to ours — it’s logical to think that had some impact on their fæs.”
I exhale slowly, taking all this information in.
It is alarming, to say the least.
A fæ should not be damaged…it could cause an elf to fade.
But humans are different, I reason. The health of their spirits isn’t tied to their longevity. Well — I have to correct myself. Maybe it is and humans just don’t live long enough to know for sure. I try to turn my focus back to Baranor — these worrisome thoughts are not helpful. “Do you believe this poses a threat to them?”
Baranor grimaces. “I cannot say for sure, but my instinct is that it’s not as long as they receive proper care — almost a physical therapy of sort, but for their fæs. Again, I would not have bothered you with this if I didn’t think Elrond might bring it up.”
I set him with a stern look. “Any information about the health of those in my care is of concern to me. I ask that you keep me updated.”
He bows his head. “Of course.”
I stand, feeling like I need sleep but knowing my mind is racing too much to do so. I say farewell to my friend and catch an attendant on the way to my room, requesting that dinner be sent to my chambers. I don’t feel like eating in the company of the hall. Part of me wonders if I should have the attendant take food to Cosima, just in case she’s decided she’s hungry, but I remind myself that she is perfectly capable of requesting her own dinner. If she wishes to eat, she can arrange it.
That doesn’t stop me from tucking away a banana and some bread just in case she hasn’t eaten by the time I visit her tomorrow. Proper nutrients, enough rest, sufficient hydration, and low stress.
Right as I cut into dinner, Rumil swaggers in with a plate of his own. He snorts, joining me at the small table. “Great minds, huh?” He leans towards me, furrowing his brow and studying me more intently. “Are you alright? You look pale.”
I roll my eyes, trying to cover my anxiety. “I’m always pale.”
Rumil huffs. “Come on, what’s bothering you?”
I sigh. Rumil is probably going to hear it from Elrond or Baranor anyway, so I may as well tell him. I start from the beginning. “I visited Cosima this evening.” Rumil sits back in his chair, a strange look in his eye. Could he already know? How? “I meant to teach her to defend herself, but not long after I arrived, she—she just got sick. Within a moment’s difference, she was nearly collapsed on the floor.” I shake my head against the memories but dutifully recount the full story to my brother, including Baranor’s observations and theory.
By the end, Rumil slumps in his seat, staring over my shoulder with a distant look in his eye. He’s silent for a long time.
“Haldir I…I owe you an apology. Cosima, too, though I don’t think she’d understand why.”
I furrow my eyebrows. What could he be sorry for?
“I’ve been teasing you both lately and have been encouraging your feelings for each other. It was wrong of me — I didn’t consider her mortality and what pursing a relationship with her would mean. I won’t do it anymore, I promise. Can you forgive me?”
I blink. What? “I don’t have feelings for her.”
Rumil sets me with a dubious look. “I’m your brother, you can be honest with me.”
“I don’t have feelings for her,” I repeat, more forcefully this time. Rumil’s being ridiculous. And the youngest of my brothers — his age is showing.
He huffs, looking to the ceiling as if to request strength from the Valar. “Are you really so unaware of yourself? Of her?” At my look of annoyance, he groans, seeming like he wants to push it. I set my shoulders, making it clear that we will be discussing this no further.
Finally, Rumil shakes his head, turning his gaze to his meal. “Fine, I am sorry, I can see I’ve overstepped my bounds. Forget it.”
I return to my food, watching my brother warily. His shoulders sag and he looks almost…scared. His distress is apparent, even if his accusations are baseless. He brings his eyes back to mine and the grief there causes me to freeze. What is going on with my brother?
“But Haldir…Be careful. She will be dead long before this age is done, and that is if she chooses to stay in this world.”
My fork falls to my plate.
A hollow, aching feeling makes my chest feel tight.
I don’t even know what to say to that.
Rumil stands and places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing briefly. Then, he makes for the exit. “I will leave you to your thoughts.”
And then he closes the door behind him and I am indeed alone with these terrifying thoughts.
A/n This one is shorter than the others I’ve posted, but I feel like it’s kinda dense and it was a good place to leave off. Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! Also, if you have any thoughts/theories, I would love to know those! @eru-vande sent me one the other day and it was really fun!
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|masterlist|
Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande
Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist
Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff
#tw mentions of illness#haldir#rumil#orophin#haldir x oc#haldir x ofc#haldir fanfic#haldir fanfiction
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Hello, I talk about being a former dancer a lot here. I love dance and I loved my time at the company I danced for, but I do want to share the darker side of dance that gets swiped under the rug. I've talked to many people who were part of other companies who share similar experiences, so I just want to bring mine to light
*not me, but I love you royal opera house!
Disclaimer: all experiences are different I am just anonymously sharing my personal experience for public benefit. I do not intend to bring harm to the company or brand for which I used to represent.
TRIGGER WARNING:I will be talking about eating disorders, abuse, both mental and physical and just some really dark stuff.
I danced for a ballet company for about 12 years of my life, I'm 18. So from the age of 4-16 I would go to a ballet studio, when I turned 8 I shifted my focus on to a more modern/contemporary themes - that's where I learned baton twirling. I guess my most critically proclaimed roles were playing the lead in swan lake- Odette and Odile, performing at Disney Orlando, and performing in London.
So now that all of the glitz and glam is out of the way let's talk about the hidden parts. I was in the studio 5-6 days a week. During this time some truly horrific things happened. When costumes came in for a show, I couldn't fit into the costume as I had just been given boobs. And I was told "to lose the weight or leave the company" I was 12. At this point in time I already had a interesting relationship with food, I was eating about 700-1000 calories a day when I should of been consuming about 3000. After that comment I cut down to 1000 calories a week and I was able to fit into my costume and stay in the company for another six years.
If you were not flexible enough some of my teachers would force your body down, which is the worst pain I have ever experienced. I have major hip problems because of it. I vividly remember going across the floor doing Cartwheels and I stopped as I would hit a metal bar if I continued, but my dance teacher made. That broke my ankle, then when I came in with only one pointe shoe on for my next class I was publicly shamed for not being able to fit the shoe over my swollen ankle. Instead of going to the doctors to get it examined I instead soaked my ankle in ice water and warm water alternating until the swolling went down so I could attend class the next day.
Of course all of it was traumatizing but specifically the mental aspect of it still hurts the most. Like other than the permit damage to my feet from going on pointe to early, my broken back, bad hips and everything else, nothing is permanent. But when you dance you constantly compare yourself to others, because you are taught to. When you watch other dancers, they tell you to "see what you can improve on" or if you mess something up teachers will make you perform it infront of the class while your peers are forced to boo you, and yell criticism. Or when you would perform in small groups and when the other group gives feedback they are force them to use names. Dance is supposed to be built on trust but frankly it is nearly impossible to have healthy friendships within it. Not to mention giving critism to your peers, but if you don't your teacher would turn on you. Also if you are doing two minute splits and someone comes up causing the time to restart, the pressure and rage that builds inside you isn't healthy.
Because of all of the mental trauma you are always told "if you aren't improving you're getting worse" so on off days, where your body needs to rest I would often practice routines non stop. So after school I would go to dance for 4-9, doing homework in-between short breaks, come home and practice until like midnight and go to sleep at 1. On the weekends, or break days I would eat a banana and drink water between dance breaks. There were times where I went through two pointe shoes a day on my off days.
But I don't hold anything against my old teachers or company, because at the end of they day I am in debt to them. I know I should resent them, and I know I shouldn't miss the abuse but I do believe leaving dance was my worst mistake. Trust me my therapist knows all about it, I know it is like Stockholm syndrome, but being aware of it is the first step. Sorry for the weird rant it's like midnight where I am right now and Neptune and Pluto are in retrograde.
#dance#ballet#dance trauma#dance story#haikyu x dancers#classical ballet#Esmeralda#swan lake#disney orlando#an unnamed company#pointe#fanfiction#anime#feitan
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Without Fear
masterlist | tag | wattpad
hiya! since tomorrow is thanksgiving I thought it would be better for everyone if I posted this week’s chapter today! hope you like!
Chapter Two. February
give me moonlight, and a smile from you that I can // that I can barely believe
— dancing under red skies, dermot kennedy
It comes on slow, the way waves lap up against the shore late at night, when there aren’t many boats out to disrupt them. Over and over, bit by bit, it settles in. The first wave of it bites at Lu’s ankles when her toilet overflows at 6am, leaving her standing in her socks in the bathroom, soaking wet, worrying about the water leaking into the shop below, while Ruairí meows in concern from his spot atop the sink. Frantic, Lu calls her dad, and it goes to voicemail twice before she remembers it’s 1am in New York.
Accompanied only by a YouTube tutorial and the rising sun, Lu manages to fix the mess, shower, and start the day all on her own. Her dad calls back five hours later, and Lu feels like she’s lived a whole lifetime between then and now.
The second wave of it has more venom. She sleeps in on a Sunday—the only day the shop is closed—stirring around 10 because Ruairí is relentless, screeching in her ear, kneading at her belly, desperate for something to eat. Mindless, she feeds him, freshens up his water, makes herself a cup of coffee, pulls out a pastry leftover from Siobhan’s bake the day before, and settles into a spot by the window of her flat, overlooking the sea, all before thinking to take a look at her phone.
Even if she goes 12 hours without looking at her phone, Lu finds she doesn’t miss much these days—she left home on a whim, without a ton of fanfare, and knows full well that she isn’t putting in the effort she should to keep in touch with friends from home. She also knows that’s why she left.
So, most mornings, she wakes up to a few messages in the family group chat, a message or two from her best friend Georgia, and not much else. This morning, it’s different.
208 texts. 12 missed calls.
Lu’s stomach sinks like a stone. Her whole body heats up at once. Her hands start shaking and her heart starts hammering, all before she even manages to swipe open a single notification.
She doesn’t even have the wherewithal to cycle through possibilities. Her brain, hitting overdrive from the start, has no question that it’s bad.
In WhatsApp, Lu finds that her family group chat has 206 messages. She has one separate text from her dad, and a final separate text from her brother. Nothing from her mom.
Shaking, she swipes open her dad’s first. On the counter, Ruairí is sniffing at a banana.
Hi, love, his message says. Figured the number of messages in the group chat is overwhelming. We’re at the hospital with Sam now. All is well, the appendix is out and he’s resting. Mary’s with us, she got back from Honduras yesterday. Good timing. Give us a call when you get a chance.
From her brother, Lu finds a selfie. He’s in a hospital bed, gown around his shoulders. He looks pale, dark circles around his eyes, but he’s okay—he’s smiling, giving the camera a thumbs up. Underneath, the message says I lived, bitch.
Relief coursing through her, Lu lets out a shaky laugh. It’s scarily on-brand for Sam to pull out a meme at a moment like this.
Slowly but surely, Lu’s heartbeat slows to its normal rate. As it does, she scrolls back through the messages from the night before: her brother raising the alarm that he had a pesky pain in his side, their mother, a doctor herself, urging him to get it checked out. There’s a moment where Sam says the doctor is sending him home, and another where their mom urges him to demand an ultrasound, just in case. He does, and they find the appendicitis. Lu shudders to think what would’ve happened had her mother been the one sleeping soundlessly an ocean away.
It’s five am in New York. Lu figures they’re all shattered. Rather than call and risk waking everyone up after what was surely a late, long night, Lu shoots off a text to her dad, asking him to call her when they wake up and sending lots of love. She turns her ringer up all the way so she won’t miss anything else. She feels a million miles away.
####
On February first, Lu wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s still dark outside, but that doesn’t mean much in a place where the sun doesn’t rise until nearly 9am. Still, Lu doesn’t even need to look at a clock to know it must be early: perched on the pillow next to her head, Ruairí is snoring gently, dead to the world, not yet ready to demand breakfast.
Heart hammering, Lu gropes around the bed until her hand closes around her phone, cold. She squints, then sighs, as she checks the time.
4:45am.
Lu is no stranger to waking up mid-panic attack. Sometimes, it feels like choking—like she can’t get a breath down deep enough, to pool in the bottom of her lungs. Other times, it feels like an unavoidable urge to get up, move, get as far away from the space she woke up in as physically possible. Right now, it feels like a stomach ache, period pains, itchy skin, her body trying to tell her that something, somewhere, is going terribly wrong.
Logically, she knows it’s not. She holds her breath, five, four, three, two, one, and checks her phone as her heart jackrabbits away. Nothing out of the ordinary: her mom texted a picture of her glass of wine with dinner to the family group chat, her dad reported the score of a soccer game, her brother sent that he’d managed to run a full two miles today, his furthest since the appendectomy. Everything is fine.
Except for Lu.
There’s no use trying to go back to sleep; Lu knows herself better than that. Heart still working overtime despite reassurance, she slips out of bed as gently as she can, praying that she won’t wake Ruairí. She’s silent as she gets dressed and silent as she tiptoes out of her bedroom, out of the apartment, and down the stairs. The morning is still and dark, but you can hear for miles and miles on Inis Mór, and as she begins her walk the soft, familiar sounds of tractors roaring to life, cows mooing for their breakfast, sheep and goats bleating, remind Lu that she’s not the only one—that others are here too, alive, beginning their day, pushing on. Home. And underneath it all, there is, always, the sound of the waves, constant, crashing against the shore.
####
Lu doesn’t get a chance to nap. She walks, balancing on the edge of the cliffs that overlook the Atlantic, breathing in the sea air and thinking about how the water here, crashing, violent against the cliffs below her is the same water that once lapped up on the shores of Long Island, of Coney Island, of the Rockaways, of home. Seagulls swoop, low and graceful, over her head, over the ocean, and Lu thinks that if she asked her dad to drop a floatie into the Atlantic for her it just might make it—just might wash up here, on the edge of the Earth, the way she has.
She walks and walks—you can walk all the way around Inis Mór and back in under five hours, but she doesn’t have that kind of time. She walks along the cliffs, the white, blinding, otherworldly geology of the Burren, through the grass and the mud and the cow shit, until she’s back at the cafe, windows glowing golden against the rising sun, condensation clinging to them from the inside. Siobhan is pulling pastries out of the oven when she opens the door around 6:30, and Ruairí, curled up on the counter, looks at her, bitter.
Siobhan smiles, “There you are. No worries, pet, I’ve fed him his breakfast.”
She wobbles through the day, exhausted from the panic, the walk, the lack of sleep. She messes up at least two orders—gives Mrs. Duffy whole milk instead of skim, drops Mr. Kennedy’s sandwich on the floor while she’s bringing it over to him—but, as always, no one bats an eye. They touch her arm gently, lull “oh, it’s no bother, darling, we’ll make it right, now,” and the cadence of their laughter carries as she does exactly that. There’s no venom, no rush, nothing to give Lu the adrenaline she so badly needs to make it through the day.
Somehow, she almost forgets that it’s Niall’s first day. But all of a sudden it’s twelve hours later and he’s bustling inside, bringing a rush of cold air with him. The door swings shut behind him and Lu, who had been curled up at the cushioned window seat with Ruairí on top of her in a moment of quiet, jumps. The cat’s only just forgiven her for this morning, and her movement causes him to stalk off in anger. She sighs after him.
“Oh, no,” Niall laughs a little, “sorry, did I interrupt something?” He looks soft and sweet in his dark jeans, his hat pulled low over his forehead. He’s shedding his puffer jacket to reveal a navy blue cable knit sweater and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. His eyes, bright and blue as Lu remembers them, find hers. He smiles.
“Yeah,” Lu just about manages. “He just forgave me, you totally ruined it.”
Niall barks out a laugh, head thrown back, shoulders hunching up. “What did you do?”
“Forgot to feed him breakfast this morning,” Lu sighs. “Siobhan did it, but he held it against me anyway.”
“Ah, well,” Niall shrugs. “I’d be mad too, if I were a cat.”
“S’a good thing you’re not, then,” Lu smiles. “I’m not here to feed you.”
Niall’s still giggling. Lu wonders if he ever stops.
“I’m thinking I might make him pupcakes or something as an apology…” Lu is rambling a bit now, but she’s so tired, and Niall’s so cute, and nothing is real here, anyway. “I know they’re for dogs but I can’t imagine they’re bad for cats? I bet he’ll like those—honestly, I bet he’ll just like knowing I slaved over a hot stove for him. It’s like he can tell, you know?”
It wasn’t meant to be that funny, but Niall is fully cackling, crinkles by his eyes on full display, one hand clutching his tummy. “You’re funny,” he says between laughs. “A bit looney, me da would say—hey, Lu, looney, Looney Tunes. It all makes sense.”
“Isn’t ‘looney’ offensive?” The banter with him comes so easily, Lu doesn’t let herself overthink it. “Think we’re supposed to stop using it.”
“Ah, well,” Niall’s pulling his guitar out to tune, now, “You’re in Ireland now, love. All good nicknames are a little offensive.”
####
The night is mostly quiet, a dozen customers at the most, which Lu thinks is probably good for Niall’s nerves. He’s just as stunning as he was the night Lu first met him, pulling out an arsenal of covers ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Post Malone, somehow making them all work for his voice, for the vibe, for everyone, but he’s shaking—she can see it when he pushes his hair off his forehead, or when he drops his pick on the floor between songs, laughing awkwardly as he bends to grab it. Even with the mistakes, the dropped pick, the few stumbles over lyrics, he’s endearing, engaging, all-consuming. Lu’s meant to be working, but she can’t find it in her to look away.
From her spot at the counter, Lu watches how Niall keeps his eyes trained on the window across from him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone or anything, but Lu suspects it’s easier than looking his audience in the eye—despite the fact that she can see for herself just how captivated they are. It shouldn’t take an hour and a half to drink one coffee and eat one slice of chocolate cake, but that’s how long old Mr. Kane spends in the shop anyway, eyes closed, listening to Niall play.
For two full hours, Niall keeps the shop warm and alive. Everyone is so captivated that Lu barely has to work after all; she leans up against the counter instead, cradling the mug of hot chocolate that Siobhan made her before she left for the night, and taking him in. She barely knows him, and yet.
Lu has seen plenty of nervous first-timers performing in front of apathetic crowds—it was practically her job, after all. She’s also seen more than her fair share of world class performers stunning crowds that want to eat them up, keep them on stage forever, bottle their energy and carry it through the rest of their lives. Working in the music industry, even just as an assistant, for five years turned her hard and jaded, made her feel like she’s seen the seedy, rough, rude underbelly of it all—but she’s never seen anyone perform like Niall before. His unadulterated, all consuming love for music is tangible, even from across the room. This is now Niall communicates. This is how he understands the world. This is how he sees life. Half of Lu feels lucky to hear it—the other half feels sick knowing that his talent is wasted here.
It almost makes her sad to have to close up at 9. Niall’s good about it—he’s designed his set to last exactly two hours, finds a climax in the middle with “Dancing in the Dark” and tapers his song choices toward a slow but steady ending, letting everyone know, without having to say it, that it’s time to head home. Lu doesn’t even have to ask him if he knows how to play “Closing Time.”
Mr. Kane is the last to leave, sticking around a little after nine to shake Niall’s hand and tell him he had no idea how talented Maura’s son is. He talks about Maura—Lu assumes she must be Niall’s mom—while Lu slowly, quietly begins putting dishes away. She likes the routine of this already, Niall’s quiet voice, his booming laugh, his warm presence keeping her company while she settles down for the night. It’s something she could get used to. It’s something, the first thing, she thinks she could miss, if she left.
Niall masterfully leads his conversation with Mr. Kane toward goodbyes, shaking his hand again as he shuts the door behind him. Lu looks up from where she was rinsing a cup to watch as Niall watches through the window to make sure Mr. Kane gets in his car. He waits for the car to start before turning around, leaning his back up against the door, dragging a hand through his hair, and letting out a long sigh.
“Alright?” Lu asks, gentle. Niall’s got his eyes closed, his head back, neck exposed to her. It’s thick and littered with freckles, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. In her chest, Lu’s heart does something funny. She presses her thighs together, tight.
Niall opens his eyes halfway, exhaling a little laugh as he meets Lu’s gaze. She hopes he can’t tell—how could he?
“Yeah,” he says then, standing all the way up and shaking his head. “That was mad.”
“It was amazing,” Lu counters. She gently places the mug back into the sink, bracing her hands against the edge. Part of her is afraid of what she’ll do without something between him and her. “They were so into it. No one could look away from you.”
Her cheeks flush, and Niall catches it. The corner of his mouth pulls up in half a smile as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Ya think so?”
“I know so,” Lu presses her lips together, but it doesn’t do much to prevent her smile. “‘Dancing In The Dark’ was my favorite one; it’s perfect for your voice.”
“Thanks, Looney Tunes,” Niall hums, making his way back over toward her. “Can I help ya clean up? I wash, you dry?”
“Oh,” Lu stills. She’d half forgotten about the dishes still left to clean, the floor to sweep, the leftovers to toss, the counters to wipe down. Her mind stumbles over the best way to go about this: it would be rude to keep him, but, God, she wants his company. She realizes, with a slight swoop in her belly, that she hasn’t felt homesick in two hours. She needs him to stay. “I actually—I have a dishwasher. I just like to rinse everything before I put it in.”
Niall smiles. He comes around the counter to stand next to Lu at the sink, knocking his hip against hers. “Sensible,” he says. It’s quiet. Just for her. “I’ll rinse and put ‘em in. You’ve been stood here all night. What else do you have to do?”
“Uh,” Lu feels like her whole body is vibrating. Her mind turns over itself like an engine that won’t start. “Sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, lock up.”
“Alright,” Niall is so close that Lu can smell his aftershave. Warm, soft, mixed with sweat from his nerves and the smell of his skin. “Let’s do it.”
####
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I haven’t had chemistry since like 2008, and I’m also an idiot who likes to make my friends upset, so I rated the periodic table in order to tilt my friends:
Hydrogen - this is like your childhood friend who has always been with you more or less and always will be down to get a drink and chill even tho you haven’t spoken in years. Solid bro imo 7.5/10
Helium - always down for a good time, even if probably created Alvin and the Chipmunks which in some places is considered a war crime. 4/10
Lithium - Gives me bitchy vibes and is flammable as fuck if I remember. Skinny bitch with an attitude 3/10
Beryllium - idk this sounds like a sailor moon villain lol for that it can have a 6/10
Boron - more like BORONG amirite ha ha wait no seriously I have no idea lol 5/10 clean neutral rating
Carbon - *screaming* 2/10 I will not be taking questions
Nitrogen - cool cool cool tight tight tight 9/10 Nitrogen just is the cool hot chick you wish you were
Oxygen - kid who takes up all the glory for the group project even tho you did all the work, 4/10 for natural charisma
Fluorine - lol what are you knockoff chlorine lmfao bitch 3/10 reminds me of the dentist
Neon - I can vibe with this boy for his contributions to signs which cause my eyes to scream 8/10 modernized Art Deco thanks you
Sodium - 10/10 this is me and I won’t be taking questions next element
Magnesium - magnesium is a close relative of magnificent and therefore I think the case is closed folks 9/10
Aluminum - 10/10 for providing a home to my Diet Coke addiction I’d be dead without you
Silicon - 6.9/10 :smirk:
Phosphorous - This has a very soundly name and it’s welcome to do that but idk, not a fan, seems like he’d be smelly, 2/10
Sulfur - 1/10 pretty sure that dog farts are purely comprised of this and as such if I was leaving negative ratings I would
Chlorine - 7.8/10 for being in pools so we could swim without brain eating amoeba in the south you a champ
Argon - he seems like a nerd jk this guy has a good color 9/10 for just being himself
Potassium - I hate bananas and this word gives me the physical sensation of biting into one but only by thinking of abstract letters and making them into something which we can nutrientise from bananas and to me that shit is bananas, b a n a n a s — 3/10 for making me sing hollaback girl thru adhd word association
Calcium - hm my brain went to mega milk so you get a 2/10 today bud I don’t make the rules
Scandium - pretty sure this is fake lol what’s next faxdium, e-Mailite and copinium? 5/10
Titanium - this song’s a banger and also is the only thing that lets me wear earrings 10/10
Vanadium - if your erection lasts for longer than like idk it’s supposed to then don’t take vanadium wait what do you mean it’s not an ED treatment 4/10
Chromium - decent bloke shame the browser eats all your memory 5/10
Manganese - if a weeb tries to tell me how to pronounce mayonnaise one more time... 1/10
Iron - excellent tool against the fey, in your blood, what a bro, 10/10 this bitch slaps
Cobalt - has a powerful energy; I respect him. 8/10
Nickel - if I had a nickel for every time someone made this joke lol 5/10 he’s doing his best
Copper - taste bad 3/10
Zinc - isn’t that the dude in the green tunic and white tights who saves premcess Lelda or something lol 7/10 those games are good
Gallium - seems like a prick 4/10
Germanium - sounds like a child pronouncing geraniums which are superior 3/10
Arsenic - bad vibes coach 1/10
Selenium - isn’t this just sailor moon lol 10/10 love this bitch
Bromine - farmine wherever you aremine - 9/10 I love a good bro
Krypton - he’s okay I guess 5/10
Rubidium - yet another Steven universe villain who will be redeemed I imagine 4/10 seems a bit dull
Strontium - I feel nothing when I see this lad’s name and that seems like a shame 1/10 I don’t like it
Yttrium - this is an atrium in Yharnam, or something 8/10 would love to sit in one and make contact with higher beings
Zirconium - oh wait THIS is the sailor moon villain from the dead moon circus! 9/10 I enjoyed that arc
Niobium - seems sassy, I like that in an element 7/10
Molybdenum - I hate this one, rancid. 1/10 for making me have flashbacks to difficult Ancient Greek vocabulary there is no fucking way that sound combination is anything but Beta and Delta borking and then Latin being like oh imma steal that
Technetium - 6/10 decent name but seems a bit forced
Ruthenium - 5/10 kindly old lady element I guess lol
Rhodium - 10/10 this ain’t my first rhodium babee this lad has good vibes what a name what a king
Palladium - 10/10 for making me think of paladins
Silver - 12/10 I’m breaking the rules for this silver is the best it is so cool and also it is the other best tool for dealing with supernatural creatures when iron has failed you highly suggest Even if I am extremely allergic to it going into my ears...wait hold on
Cadmium - 2/10 sounds like a total douche
Indium - 8/10, i just think it’s independent and neat
Tin - 10/10 good ear sounds when involving rain and roof shapes and automatically reminds me of Nora Jones’s come away with me album which is also 10/10
Antimony - 7/10 decent protagonist good name all around seems rad
Tellurium - tell ur mom what? That’s so early 2010s league of legends humor bro 2.5/10
Iodine - strikes fear in my soul from having it poured on my wounds but this is why I have more pain tolerance than god 5.3/10
Xenon - I think this is a declension of Xena warrior princess which is a win in my eyes, 8/10
Caesium - kind of has a cunty Latin name, 4.5/10
Barium - yeah boss, bury’im! 7.5/10 I love a good mobster gag
Lanthanum - A bit pretentious on the Tolkien spectrum sorry bud 3/10 sounds like you’d be the dickwad elf everyone hates
Cerium - 6.5/10 I like this one, gives me a clean vibe
Praseodymium - the fuck who sneezed all their alphabet soup onto the paperwork and called it an element Christ we can’t keep doing this 1.5/10
Neodymium - oh my god what did I just say 1/10
Promethium - thank Christ we’re back to greek 9/10 Prometheus was a Chad I could get behind
Samarium - 5/10 gives me boring wizard vibes
Europium - 4.5/10 don’t rename opium chrissake can’t take these nerds anywhere
Gadolinium - 5/10 it’s a starship knockoff but it’s trying to be bold with the G sound
Terbium - 2/10 I don’t vibe with this one
Dysprosium - sounds like an antidepressant that has a lot of shitty side effects 3/10
Holmium - sounds like someone anxious asking their beloved to hold them 8/10 I like hurt/comfort fics
Erbium - you can’t just describe something as herby you daft bastard 2/10
Thulium - sounds like a spell I like it 8.5/10
Ytterbium - macguffin in a shite sci-fi show that gets highly overrated because BBC produced it and superwholock stans emerge and go utterly feral 1/10
Lutetium - bards are an element I agree 10/10
Hafnium - sounds like a river (my dog) sound and has a cute vibe, I’d offer it head pats 7/10
Tantalum - noooo you can’t be sad yuor so sexe haha 6.9/10 tantalizing
Tungsten - 10/10 this is a lad with history
Rhenium - 5.5/10 it’s ok
Osmium - 4/10 I wasn’t a big wizard of oz fan
Iridium - 9/10 sounds like iridescent and that’s in my top 10 favorite words and concepts
Platinum - 10/10 best Pokémon game
Gold - 7.9/10 all that glitters and all but it’s still pretty on some people, silver is better tho
Mercury - yikes 8/10 so it doesn’t kill me
Thallium - sounds like the brother character in a ps4 exclusive western rpg that oddly falls under the radar in terms of reviews and gets shafted at awards for no reason 7/10 I’ll support you tho
Lead - 2/10 that’s gonna be a no from me dawg pretty sure I still have lead in my hands from stabbing myself with my mechanical pencils
Bismuth - 6/10 sounds good in mouth and reminds me of biscuits for some reason, I’ll take it
Polonium - to thine own self be true so stop trying to act like the arts don’t influence science jk pretty sure this is named for Poland but hey that’s where we get the Witcher so you get a pass 6/10
Astatine - 1/10 I don’t even know what you are
Radon - 7/10 this motherfucker knows his shit and how to party, rad is right
Francium - I bring you francium...and I bring you myrdurdium... 7/10 for a good vine
Radium - killed the video star probably 9/10 I can get behind her
Actinium - as opposed to passtinium I prefer actinium in the voice of writing 8/10
Thorium - overrated Norse god 5/10 because lightning is still cool
Protactinum - sounds like some pretentious condom brand 4/10 wouldn’t do it with a dude who bought these
Uranium - I always thought she was a hot sailor scout 10/10
Neptunium - same for her I knew they weren’t cousins you couldn’t lie to me 4kids 10/10
Plutonium - sounds like a macguffin unfortunately 5/10
Americium - I read this with a pivotal letter missing and nearly died, 7/10 for the laugh
Curium - 10/10 gives me Curie vibes and also reminds me of curiosity which reminds me of—[old yellered before the association could set in]
Berkelium - what I shout when I want Burke (fam dog) to slaughter innocents and raze territories 2/10 world was not meant to know his commands
Californium - 1/10 California is cool with geography but probs could stand to chill with the ego sorry to my friends in Cali
Einsteinium - 6/10 it’s alright but we’re really running out of ideas huh
Fermium - 3/10 this one is porny
Mendelevium - 1/10 my brain didn’t like parsing this and I stand by my earlier statement of running out of good names
Nobelium - 0/10 you didn’t name any noble gases this cowards this gas can’t be a noble oh wait it’s NOBEL I take it back 5/10 seems an alright chap
Lawrencium - fear the old blood my sorry dead hunter’s ass I’ll never get back my life from the hours I spent trying to beat this lava shitting bastard 2/10 for being a boss who eats Taco Bell specifically before being challenged to have fresh lava shit with which to punish you for having the audacity to exist in his space
Rutherfordium - my god what a snob 4.2/10 I respect him a little but only because he sounds like a right lad
Dubnium - DROP THE BASS 10/10
Seoborgium - not sure about this one but it can have a 7/10
Bohrium - as an American English speaker this sound combination makes my pathetic throat become a black hole as I try to properly create the sound of it 10/10 I love when my body becomes a massive void in the universe
Hassium - lazy 2/10
Elements 109-118 can go fuck themselves I hate them all, collective 6.66/10 for their general demonic vibe
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A Conundrum of Crimson and Confessions | Part II
A/N: Surprise! I never do anything by halves around here, so part II it is. :) Crosshair X Reader. I intregrated two requests courtesy of @kriffingunlucky for kissing prompts #48 and #50, alongside a request from @leonidas-banana-phone for kissing prompt #7 in reference to this list: https://a-lil-perspective.tumblr.com/post/617485639804469249/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts Feel free to send in your own! [Warnings: Swearing—in-universe terms and out] @shadow-hyder @starflyer-104 @thegoodbatch @obiorbenkenobi @karpasia @everyonehasanindividuality
▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️▪️♦️
You had to stand on the very tips of your toes in order to greet his lips with your own, but Crosshair quickly compensated for the height difference by hoisting you up to brace you against the wall with his torso.
You bit your lip and fisted his blacks to stifle the moan rising in the back of your throat in response to the way his mouth sinfully traced your jawline before dipping into the soft curve of flesh that is your pulsating neck.
A sharp nip following the dragging of his teeth in the crook forced a startled gasp of his name to escape; and Crosshair forced himself to disregard the way your whine of pleasure left him slightly lightheaded. He moved to slip his tongue inside your mouth, relishing in your stupefaction with the way he traced over each tooth in deliberation, as if memorizing the shapes, before sucking the air right from your lungs.
His incisors tugged possessively on your bottom lip before pulling away, drifting a hand down to teasingly hook his deft fingers around your waistband while the other held you in stasis.
All comprehension crumbled under the weight of apprehension, the latter who became your only companion alongside each stroke and grinding; your credence slowly diminishing with each trailing kiss. The sniper was in the midst of the removal of your top before your hand planted firmly to his chest in halting your stupor of drunken arousal, suddenly emerging from your trance.
What was actually happening?
“Y/N—just relax, would you? I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“Not physically, you won’t.” You hated how vulnerable you sounded, voice barely audible and far more exposed than your body currently against the sniper.
Crosshair stiffened, intensely furrowing his brows as a frown tugged the corner of his lips. You became reacquainted with the ground, and he slowly released his grip on the hem of your top. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
You set your jaw, averting his gaze. “Nothing.”
Realization quickly dawned on his features, and he suddenly gripped your chin—a little more forcefully than he intended—tilting your face to acknowledge him. “You think I just want to fuck you? Is that it?”
He looked... downright offended.
“Look at me, Y/N.”
“How else am I supposed to take this, exactly?” You finally spat, the admission spewing like pretty venom and sinking deep into the sniper’s skin.
His eyes narrowed in solemnity as he willed the surface of his most convincing demeanor and inwardly scolded himself for his piss-poor portrayal of emotions. “That’s not the only thing happening here.”
“And because you say so, that somehow makes it true? You show up all of a sudden, prowling around in looking for a release, and expect me to believe there’s actually something more going on? Are you kidding?”
“Stop. Contrary to what you claim; I’m not out to just screw you over. That is the truth.” The sniper grit his teeth, wishing he was equipped with a toothpick to distract from his growing discomfort and spiraling agitation.
“Forgive me if your ‘indifferent demeanor full of lust’ claims anything different—your apathy isn’t fooling anyone, Crosshair. Especially me.”
Your words cut right through the sniper like the bitter cold, a sharp static pushing him over the edge with anything but pleasure.
“Damn it, Y/N. It’s just a facade and you know it—the same facade I keep everyone locked out with, the one that I despise just as much as you do—so don’t even go there with me,” his voice hissed in warning, his finger jabbed menacingly. He was pissed and felt his frustration giving way to a regrettable bout of reaction. “Stop acting like I don’t care about you when you know damn well that I do.”
Deathly silence. It’s thick swirl hung stagnant in the air, pernicious, seeking to blind and destroy. The only suitors who acknowledged the enveloping chaos were the frail emotions between two people, their hearts pounding amidst the fanfare of looming war within the silence.
A stray tear suddenly trickled down to seep between his fingers still cupping your face, silently prodding at the sniper, demanding an apology; a foreign language for the man, but it’s translation long overdue. Crosshair gently brushes the tear’s salty judgement away with full realization of the way he fired off too harshly, recognizing the way he wrongly took advantage of your overwhelmed state.
“Hey... I’m sorry.”
“I’m just tired.” You quiver, shaking your head in fervent dismissal of his apology. You inhale sharply through your nose and find yourself chewing the inside of your cheek to bite down your embarrassment. Your pain was simply a reflection; of the way fatigue weakened your emotional barrier and goaded it into allowing trepidations and deep insecurities to flourish there in the dark; haunting your thoughts, corroding your senses, eating away like acid.
The truth was dangerous.
Inwardly, you knew the man gently embracing you and stroking your back in his attempt at comfort was nothing if not candidly forthright, wholly unabashed in his opinions and predilections.
So would you rather him lie to you, that you receive justification for unnecessarily wallowing in self-pity? Why can’t you just be happy? What is it that you want?
“...I know what you need, Y/N. What you actually need.”
Sleep... Rest...
Any lingering arousal dissipated as Crosshair hunched slightly to tighten his grip around your frame, commanding gently. “Jump.”
You drape your arms around the back of his neck before hesitantly obeying with a slight spring upward, wrapping your legs around his waist as you felt yourself whisked off to... your bed, you realize; your back now enveloped within the soft furniture in being gently laid down.
“Y/N. Please. Don’t give me that look.” Firm contact with his reassuring lips briefly melted your crestfallen expression before Crosshair gently nudged you. “Scoot.”
“...I know damn well you aren’t the cuddle-type.” You sourly muse.
“There are many things you don’t know about me.” He answered coolly and carefully, settling in, pulling you close.
“Ah, there it is—it’s only been five minutes in passing since your last bout of cryptic statements, I was starting to get worried.” Crosshair cast you a sideways glare before rolling his eyes in exasperation.
“Your sarcasm is something else, Y/N.”
“Learned from the best.”
“Under different circumstances, I’d be flattered.” He leaned further back in taking you with him, and your rigid form became splayed atop his own. Your chin rested on his chest as he threaded his fingers through your hair. “But, I miss your smile. And I want to help.”
“Sure that’s the only thing?”
“Karking hell, I‘m not aiming to get in your pants, will you stop being so abrasive for one damn minute?”
You lift your head to meet his gaze. “Not so fun being on the receiving end, is it?”
He wasn’t even allotted time to register your derisive jab before you feign a pout and exaggeratedly roll off of him, your eyes to mimic the act of intense dramatization.
Crosshair clamped down on his inner cheek to quell a misplaced chortle threatening to effervesce at a very inappropriate time. He couldn’t help himself in finding your theatrics rather endearing.
However, in quickly moving to fully straddle you, Crosshair remembered he had far more pressing matters to attend to.
“Crosshair, kindly remove your lightweight ass off of me.”
“No.” To hell with your stubbornness. Crosshair deflected your shove by gently, but firmly, pinning both arms in place to rest on either side of your head. He gently thumbed at your soft forearms.
“Don’t shut me out.” It was both a command and a plea.
“Like you do to everyone else?”
You verbally strip the man, revealing his hypocrisy. He pursed his lips, contemplating, his form still hovering over yours while baffled on the prospect of how to obtain patience and reassure this stubborn, beautiful, resilient woman of his authenticity.
In that instant, his lips became the physical manifestation of his open invitation to you, countering your claims by lovingly radiating softness and warmth, beckoning; sucking out both your breath and the breadth of your insecurities while simultaneously smothering his own. A locked kiss, unabated, reflecting his inner passion for you where words failed to convey; signing silent confessions there within the sheets.
Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty—
He finally pulled away, and your gasping for air following the break of suction became the only sound echoing the ambience of the room.
Melting. That was the only word you could conjure up to describe your hazy state. Your eyes had fluttered closed as the concept of time became foreign, tightly sealed within the kiss itself, ceasing to exist once enveloped in the taste of the man’s lips. A warmth spread through your muscles like fire, coaxing them into a slackened and total state of ease with the way he held you close; yet friction coursed through and caused your nerves to buzz with the mix of adrenaline and a sparked question:
What does it mean?
Crosshair became transfixed on the way your parted lips glistened with his salivated remnants that had dotted the velvet skin. He studied you, as he always did; now coaxing you through your spout of breathlessness by way of caresses to the sides of your face and through your unbound tresses, before a hand settled back to rest against your cheek in anticipation of your pending response.
“Nice way to be suffocated... Very nice.”
Crosshair noted the way your snark became laced with the contrast of words coated in something so soft and welcoming alongside the shift in your demeanor; signifying the way you had successfully decrypted the new weight of elucidation in his kiss. You were more lenient, and dare he say, relaxed.
Mission accomplished.
He shrugged, the corners of his lips twitching before turning upward in a smile. “Isn’t it? Figured it’s only fair, with the way you constantly steal my breath.”
“That was cheesy, and I thought you didn’t play ‘fair’?”
“That was sincere, and only for you.” He paused to mirror your smirk before continuing, his gaze boring into you with emphasis in his admission. “And I don’t kiss anyone that way. That’s the first thing you should know.”
“Next thing?”
“I dream of you.”
Peculiar of him.
“And...?”
“I live for you.”
“So... what are you saying, exactly?” Your quizzical expression disguised your intuition and racing heart. You knew.
Isn’t it obvious?
Three words...
A solidification, an unspoken utterance, a profound declaration indicative of a sacredness that dared not reveal itself. Not yet.
Crosshair wordlessly answered in the form of shifting his weight off of you, finally, before guiding you onto your side and pulling you tightly to his chest. His chin nestled just above your clavicle, perfectly positioned to whisper assurances and devotions into your ear.
“I’m here. With you. Only you.” He planted a light kiss to the shell of your ear; a promise.
“But—”
“Y/N. Trust me?”
You swallowed through thick words, and you pulled your lips into a tight line of pondering before opting for a distinct nod of affirmation.
“Let me hear you say it.” He murmured the encouragement against your temple.
“I trust you, Crosshair.”
“Good girl. Rest.”
In the quietude, Crosshair tangibly discerned the way all was undisturbed: in the atmosphere, amidst the base, within the durasteel walls, and between the two bodies intertwined in the sheets. The soft puffs of your even breath, signaling to Crosshair what he perceived to be your tranquil state of dormancy, effectively eased the sniper into his own; something akin to serenity. His hands wandered, his mind became lost in a haze of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what nexts’.
“Crosshair. Stop stroking me like I’m a damn Loth-Cat.”
His hand, inadvertently trailing down the soft expanse of your thigh in his state of bliss, suddenly gained consciousness at your prodding. He reached up to sweep the hair from your face and mumbled a half-hearted apology; surprisal of your roused state evident in his voice. “Go to sleep, Y/N.”
“What are you, my Superior?” You scoff in good-nature, and a low chuckle suddenly rumbles against the crook of your neck, the vibration and sultry syllables causing your skin to shiver.
“I prefer ‘Daddy’ or ‘Sir’.”
Testing the waters.
You needn’t actually see where the harsh flick of your finger landed; Crosshair’s grunt of surprise was all the confirmation you needed.
“Don’t push your luck, Ram’ser. You won’t be hearing either proceed from my lips.”
“Not tonight, no.” He smoothly agreed while briefly grazing his fingers over his mildly injured nose. “But, for future reference.” The backside of his hand slowly caressed the length of your arm, his addition of underlying suggestiveness leaving no room to argue.
Which was absolutely fine with you.
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Dessert Sounds Good - Bucky Barnes x Reader (1/2)
Request: I see you’re taking requests may I request a Bucky x reader with the prompt “what are you wearing?” Thank you love! 💋
Here you go @amisutcliff, I hope this is okay.
A/N: I think I might turn this one into a mini-series?! If anyone would like another part to this, please let me know.
Warnings: None?
REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN
Ever since they were kids, Steve and Bucky had sworn that their friendship was til’ the end of the line – but so much for that right? They had been inseparable throughout their entire youth, practically joined at the hip. Wherever Bucky was, Steve wasn’t far behind – it was the same vice versa.
But when Steve left, Bucky became a shell of himself again. He kept to himself, hiding away in his room at the compound, only coming out when he knew that everyone else was either asleep or on missions. He ate what he could when he had the chance to grab something from the kitchen, never eating a proper meal since moving in. Self-care was thrown out of the window. Bucky knew that he should be looking after himself more, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
After being alone for over seventy years, you’d think he’d want to be surrounded by people. No. Not after what he’d done. Princess Shuri had taken the programming out of his head but she couldn’t remove the nightmares. The constant regret and pain that he felt. That could never go away.
His room had become somewhat of a sanctuary for him, his safe place. Most of his waking hours were spent within these four, dull grey walls. The first thing his mornings consisted of was a run around Central Park before sunrise; wearing a dark hoodie, and beanie hat, his hair tied back and tucked in. His sleeves always rolled all the way down and a pair of gloves adorning each hand. If anyone recognised him, he’d never leave the compound again. After every run, Bucky returns drenched with sweat, desperately in need of a shower. On his way back to his room, he silently makes his way towards the kitchen and grabs the nearest piece of fruit from the bowl on the countertop. Followed by a quick glance in the refrigerator, not once in the times he has done this, has he taken anything from it.
But this morning is different because there you are.
You had been recruited to the team by Natasha during the time of the snap, but Bucky had only been introduced to you at a team meeting three months prior; Sam had been commending you on your sniper shooting abilities, claiming they could put Bucky’s to shame. You had laughed at that in disagreement and amusement. Stating that “No one is a better sniper that Barnes.” He can’t deny that at your words he had felt a fluttering in his chest.
However, as you stand in front of him, unaware of his presence, you don’t resemble anything of the woman he first saw that day. All confidence and energy gone, and you hold yourself as if your arms are the last thing keeping you physically together. The kettle begins to reach its boil as Bucky tries to sneak past to get to the corridor that leads to the bedrooms.
“Morning, Barnes.” Your voice is quiet, laced with fatigue. If it weren’t for his enhanced hearing, Bucky would have missed it. He pauses for a moment, freezing on the spot. You don’t turn around but reach for an apple that is balancing on a bunch of bananas. With nimble fingers, you take it and then unexpectedly launch it in Bucky’s direction. With his metal hand, he reaches out and grabs it. Staring at the apple in his fist, impressed at your aim and precision, he smirks.
“Morning, L/N.”
You partially turn around, wanting to see the expression on his face, but when you do, you’re alone.
The nightmares plaguing your sleeping mind were enough to warrant no rest for the last two weeks. There was no indication as to why the nightmares were occurring; however, they all seem to have a recurring theme. Your death. Whether it was by falling; physical trauma; or drowning – they all ended the same way. Your only hope was that this wasn’t just some form of premonition to something soon to come. Every morning at exactly six, you leave your bedroom to make yourself a black coffee, no sugar. Quickly realising that the stronger you made the hot drink, the longer it kept you feeling awake.
It was a result of your early morning visits to the kitchen that had caused for you and Bucky to cross paths.
It had been four days since you had seen him last, and honestly, after just that one interaction, you wish for it to happen again.
Aware that Bucky prefers to keep to himself, you resist the urge to approach him, steering clear of his bedroom entirely, knowing he wouldn’t be grateful for the unexpected company. Instead, you make sure that you’re in the kitchen for when he returns from his morning run. However, over the last few days you haven’t even caught a glimpse of the super-soldier. At first you thought it strange of him to break his usual routine but then Sam had told you he was away on a mission. Nothing had prepared you for the tightening in your chest at his words. You’d only spoken to the man once and yet knowing he would be away, possibly in danger, had worry surging through your veins.
He arrives back at the compound late on a Friday night, exhausted and for once, hungry. Needing a shower first, Bucky plans to make himself something to eat once he’s clean. As he silently makes his way towards his room, he notices a soft humming coming from the kitchen, which is accompanied by the delightful smell of cooking bacon. Without hesitating, he follows the calming sound, knowing who he will find there. You were all Bucky could think about while he was away. Usually after a mission, his only thoughts were about returning to the safe, quiet confinement of his bedroom walls and to continue with whatever book he was reading before he left.
The lights in the kitchen are dimmed to low, except for the two spotlights directly above the counter where you stand. Even with your back turned towards him, Bucky knows that you are happy and comfortable like this. Your body is drowning in a T-shirt that is a few sizes too big , the hem just grazing your knees, a pair of fluffy socks that are so out of character for you, adorn your feet. A small mixing bowl balanced in the crook of your left arm, the other being used to stir whatever was in the saucepan on the stove. Bucky can’t help but smile at the sight of you happy like this, clearly in your own little world. Still oblivious to his presence, he leans his shoulder against the wall, watching you work.
You had missed dinner with the rest of the team, which was entirely your fault after getting lost in your training. Although, it would have been nice for at least one person to let you know – you had been in the training room for over three hours, the time just slipping away from you.
So, after you’d caught your breath again, you had returned to your bedroom to shower and dress. After searching through your closet for at least one piece of clean clothing that could be considered casual, you had thrown on a T-shirt that you had once gifted to Steve but at his distaste had stolen back from him soon after.
That all led to now…
You hum along to the song in your head, whisking eggs whilst simultaneously making sure the baked beans on the stove don’t burn.
It doesn’t take you long to realise that you are being observed but there’s only one person within the entire compound that can even remotely sneak up on your unnoticed.
“There’s enough for two, Barnes.” He is stunned by your words, thinking he had been more discreet with his presence, but clearly not. “Go. Shower. It’ll be ready for when you’re done.” Although you still aren’t looking at him, the tone of your voice tells him that you have a smile on your lips. With no further prompting, Bucky takes off down the corridor to shower.
“What are you wearing?”Your tone is serious as you feign shock at Bucky’s attire. He is dressed in a pair of low hanging, grey jogging pants with a tight white t-shirt.
“Clothes?” His face clearly shows his confusion. Since your comment on seconds ago, his heart is beating out of his chest with worry. Had he done something wrong?
“I think I’ve only ever seen you wear black, Barnes.” You chuckle as his facial expression relaxes as the panic eases.
“Well, thought I’d best make a good impression.” As soon as the words leave his lips, he realises what he has said, embarrassment falling across his face. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –“.
“It’s okay.” A blush starts to creep across your cheeks and as Bucky notices he cracks a smile. This is the first time that you have ever seen the super-soldier smile and you know immediately that this man will be the death of you. Your heart flutters in your chest at the sight of him showing such a genuine smile. “Shall,” you clear your throat before you continue, “shall we eat?” The smile doesn’t leave Bucky’s face as he nods in agreement, eager to get some food into his empty stomach.
As they both sit there in silence eating, Bucky’s heart feels just that little bit fuller. He could get used to this – having company. Well, your company at least. It has been so long since he has been in the presence of another human being and sat and ate a whole meal. He thinks for a long time about the last time he had actually done something like this, and his mind takes him back to the 40s, during the war. That was the last time he had eaten a good meal, had been truly happy despite the ongoing danger, the only difference was that there wasn’t a pretty girl there to keep him company.
Finishing up his plate, he gently places his cutlery down, the soft scrape of the metal against ceramic causes you to look up at him.
The soft smile on your face is enough to warm Bucky’s thawing heart. For a moment he is lost for words, his lip twitching into a grin.
“Thank you.” Your smile grows and you nod as a response.
“Room for dessert?” Standing from the table you grab your plate, just as Bucky reaches across to take his. Flesh hand accidentally grazing soft fingers, the both of you freeze, unmoving. That blush begins to filter into your cheeks again as you lower your head, hair hiding the features he has fallen so hard for.
“Dessert sounds good.” Still, neither of you move, trapped in this surprisingly unawkward situation. Biting your lip, you reluctantly move away from him. “Then, how about afterwards, we, uh –“
“Sounds good.”
It is then that Bucky decides that he is going to protect you with his life, no matter what it takes.
#Bucky Barnes x reader#bucky x reader#Bucky Barnes imagines#bucky imagines#marvel imagines#mcu imagines
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The Constant Struggle of Cuteness
I feel like, this morning, I need to talk about body image. Body image, and the constant barrage of conflicting messages around body image that I, as a midsize woman, receive and dissect every day.
First of all: midsize. Was this even a term five years ago? As “plus size” has become more ubiquitous and more accepted in the past decade, “fat” has been reclaimed, and “curvy” is suddenly more of a feeling than a descriptor, the terms I used to identify with as a teenager now, somehow, no longer apply to me anymore. I’m not sure what happened in the past decade; in high school I distinctly remember almost always being the largest woman in the room. Since then, whether it’s due to perception, self-confidence, age, awareness, or just... overall changes in the population, I now find myself distinctly in the middle.
Note: I’ve been a size 12-16 my entire post-adolescent life. For one brief stint after college I could fit into a size 10. But before and since, 14 has been the mainstay numeral in my wardrobe. My steady friend and most accurate guesstimate across brands as to what my body may fit.
14, despite being the most (so I’m told) “common” size amongst women, was for many years infamous for being the most left-out, in-between size in clothing stores. In juniors’ stores (marketed toward teens: your Charlotte Russe’s and Forever 21′s), 14 would translate to the non-existent XXL: with “XL” usually falling in the “12″ range. In Plus Size or Women’s stores, 14 is a 0X; 1X is most commonly measured around a “16″ size.
About 5 years ago I found a fashion youtuber who made a video decrying the variation of a size 12 across different brands. And I’ll agree: sizes vary a lot from brand to brand, despite there being a base similarity in most big brand stores. She, like me, found herself living in this dreaded size 12-14 fashion purgatory, this no-womans-land of sizes. And even here! The numbers can’t be trusted!
She called herself “midsize”. She looked a lot like me. And at last, I had a label I could consistently search and see body types that I could identify with. From what I can tell, midsize is the chosen moniker for fashion influencers sizes 8-16, with of course, varying body shapes and compositions. For example, many of the folks I follow on instagram that claim “midsize” wear a VERY different bra size from me- so to find “fashion inspiration” I can actually act upon from midsize influencers, I also have to bring in a few accounts that allow for more top-heavy-friendly designs.
Despite all of the overwhelming positivity and diversity now available to me as a midsize woman (for example, almost all plus-size brands now start at a size 10-12 (00X-0X), and most “regular” retail brands now extend to a XXL), I can’t help but go back to my first observation: I’m no longer the largest woman in the room. While I don’t consider myself particularly unhealthy, I also know I’m not passing any presidential fitness tests any time soon. I find it difficult to run for extended periods of time. My joint strength isn’t nearly what it should be to support my weight. While muscular, I have a lot of extraneous body fat that adds strain to my daily life, and all my body’s systems: skeletal, endocrine, muscular, cardiovascular. This isn’t good. I’ve worked for years to try to find ways to get stronger, lose weight, and improve my overall health- in fact, the difficulty I faced when trying to lose weight was what led me to discover that I have PCOS and a few hormonal hurdles to maintaining a healthy body weight.
But when I try to research how best to approach health and weight loss with PCOS, the studies are few and far between- and when available are fairly inconclusive and far from thorough. I’m left to follow MORE accounts of personal success stories, all of which are biased toward one product or another, one lifestyle brand or book tour, all of which are antithetical to every other product, book, or brand I’ve seen before.
On the one hand, I’m grateful to see more body types represented in the media. It IS helpful to my self-esteem to normalize the bodies of women both my size and larger than me (even if there’s still a prevalence of too-smooth skin and too-round belly buttons). But I also worry about how we tend to conflate feeling good about ourselves to being healthy. They aren’t the same. And we’re letting commercial forces tell us that it’s okay to be unhealthy even when attempting to BE healthy: mentally or physically.
Time to come clean here: for the past year, I’ve been experimenting on and off with a carnivore lifestyle, which, OBVIOUSLY, many people assume is super unhealthy, much like the stigma around Atkins in the early 2000′s. Honestly, it feels a lot like Atkins did back in the day: lots of bacon, burgers, steak, and eggs. Quite literally “zero-carb”, as opposed to just “low-carb”. While low-carb isn’t really new anymore, and many people can see carnivore as a logical step past the surprisingly universally accepted ketogenic diet, I was amazed to discover just how much the “science” of the trendier diets of the past decade (paleo, keto, whole-30) don’t match up to the scientific, accepted nutritional advice of the actual medical community.
Last year I started going to a weight-loss clinic at the behest of my OB-GYN in an attempt to get my PCOS and weight “under control”. I’m gonna spoil most of the rest of this rant by saying this was a pretty dumb idea for someone like me. This clinic was created around those with extreme weight issues, for whom psychological care and bariatric surgery are the most “effective” forms of treatment (again, according to the health care system that seems determined to sell it, but I’ll talk more about THAT another time). The nutritionist I met with gave me the same spiel I’d read time and time again from every weight-loss specialist book I’d bought, despite me relaying to her my decades-long struggle with traditional diets and fat-loss strategies. A ketogenic diet was never recommended to me, nor any kind of actual dietary changes to help with hormone balance/control: I was prescribed metformin (a drug for insulin resistance most commonly prescribed to type 2 diabetics) and told to eat a low-fat, high-fiber diet.
I didn’t lose any weight. My periods didn’t regulate. I just stopped gaining weight as fast... although I did eventually gain back the 12 pounds I’d lost from my first 2 months on carnivore.
The truth is, that treatment plan, that clinic... it doesn’t exist for someone who is trying to change their body chemistry. It might work for folks that are so obese that literally ANY form of mindful eating will help them lose 200 pounds. But let’s be real: if I lost 200 pounds, I’d weigh 6 pounds. I’m a tall, muscular woman with some fat that has tried all the recommended diets for fat loss. Through them all, I fight cravings and energy loss, mood swings, and all the symptoms that come with PCOS. The ONLY thing I’ve found in the past 10 years that actually helps with my PCOS?
Regular exercise, stress management, and a carnivore diet.
I’ll also point out that when I DID lose a considerable amount of weight after college (due to what I think was a combination of 1. getting enough sleep for once, 2. intermittent fasting, and 3. regular hiking), it was also easier for me to maintain my weight and many of my PCOS symptoms went away. It wasn’t until I switched to a HORMONAL BIRTH CONTROL method that I then gained back all of the weight I lost (and then some) and once again began fighting uncontrolled PCOS symptoms. They compounded on each other, and made it harder and harder to get back to any kind of “normal”.
So, I’m back on carnivore. In addition to more stable energy, noticeable reduction of PCOS symptoms, and slight weight loss, I also just... hurt a lot less on carnivore. Along this journey I’ve finally realized that I do in fact have a chronic pain problem. Whether it’s due to chronic inflammation, past injuries, or food sensitivities, I’m not really sure: but I know when I eat carnivore, my chronic pain all but goes away. Recently, I’ve been recovering from a back injury, so there was of course some pain associated with that (as well as a break from regular exercise, which I plan to get back to once I’m cleared by my chiropractor), but the daily body aches, numbness, and discomfort?
Gone.
I’ve got regular periods when I eat this way- like, ACTUALLY one a month like I’m supposed to have. My facial hair growth slows down, even thins out. My focus improves. I sleep better, and actually follow a normal circadian rhythm. What’s total bananas is that I’m not the only one who experiences this: MANY folks who’ve tried this way of eating report daily quality of life improvements.
I’m not going to say everyone should eat this way; I’m not even going to suggest that everyone with PCOS should eat this way. But I WOULD love to see some actual RESEARCH done on this way of eating- or even better research on a ketogenic diet! I’m so frustrated by the lack of medical research on nutrition, and in particular the lack of action to curb the universally-accepted-to-be-unhealthy nutrition standards in America. While I won’t say it’s hard to eat carnivore (cause like, all diets are hard), I have noticed over the years that NO ONE IN OUR COUNTRY IS HEALTHY anymore- except for those whose JOB it is to be healthy. And this isn’t a coincidence!! Almost all cultures that have adopted American corporatized food structures are chronically unhealthy, and much, much more fat than they used to be.
I agree that being fat isn’t always a personal failing, and I’m so, SO glad that more and more figures in our media diets are representing the diverse catalogue of body shapes and sizes reflected in our world. I’m happy that my future daughter won’t be fat-shamed the same way I was as a little girl, and that she likely won’t be told (like I was) that she’s too fat to be what she wants to be when she grows up, despite not actually being all that fat.
BUT. Fat representation is not the hill I want to literally die on. I’m not willing to throw my health, my comfort, my ability to be active, away for my “right” to eat ice cream every day. I’m sick of being marketed to constantly as a garbage disposal. I’m not just here to eat and diet and wear clothes.
I’m here to LIVE. I’m here to plant gardens and make art and take walks and enjoy the seasons. And I can’t do a lot of those things if I’m constantly sick and in pain. And it’s way harder to enjoy not being sick and not being in pain when all we know to do as a society when spending time together is... eat food.
What frustrates me is, I think so much of this really comes down to marketing, corporate profit-mongering, and the way our political system is set up to make laws for companies instead of people. I think capitalism is making us fat and unhealthy, to sell us sugar and diets and medicine and surgeries in an endless cycle of crap. I don’t really have much more to say on that, I don’t have sources, except like... well, look around you. Look at the system we have. Look at what we’re told to do to escape it. And look at how many forces are there to take us right back to the beginning of the roller coaster when we have a little success.
Side note/conspiracy theory time: I actually think liposuction might be a more safe and effective (literally EFFECTIVE not just safe) form of “weight loss surgery” in helping folks with actual, permanent weight loss. Hear me out: while I will fully admit I can’t remember where I read any of this (as I’ve read so many scores of information regarding health and weight loss over my lifetime), I seem to remember body fat working something like this: it’s really easy for your body to make new fat cells, but very difficult for your body to destroy them. So, when you gain fat, it first occurs by your body filling your fat cells with fat, until they can’t hold anymore, and then your body makes new fat cells, which makes it easier for your body to hold onto said fat. The best way to “reset” your body’s fat threshold is to literally destroy or remove the fat cells. And, I assume, if you adopt more healthy habits AFTER having liposuction, your body would be less likely to create more fat cells than it was when you lived an unhealthy lifestyle.
Bariatric surgery is incredibly invasive and dangerous, and almost always ends up reversed by bad habits and your body’s natural ability to STORE FAT AND STRETCH YOUR STOMACH. It’s a temporary solution, and often proves to be ineffective in the long term, and leads to many unfortunate complications over time, not to mention the recovery from that surgery is LONG and TOUGH.
But liposuction (the most COMMON FORM OF PLASTIC SURGERY, I’ll add), is the only “weight loss” procedure (despite not being labeled as such- it’s “cosmetic surgery” even though it most definitely WOULD result in weight loss, right?) that actually removes fat from your body. Literally takes the fat cells away so your body can’t fill them up again, without once again needing to create more.
But bariatric surgery is covered by insurance, and liposuction isn’t... despite the fact that removing weight and fat from the body would be a more instant and potentially effective cure for obesity and its underlying symptoms, and being a simpler procedure overall, as well as extremely common.
So like... why is being fat something poor people are forced to endure dangerous surgery and super long recoveries and lifetime habit changes to overcome, but rich people just get to have their fat vacuumed away? Sounds sus to me.
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Fandom: The Umbrella Academy
Title: What A Fucking Mess
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Word Count: 1965
Summary: Five gets hurt and he decides to be difficult as his siblings try to help him. And oh, yeah, the world’s ending. Again.
oOoOo
Five couldn’t believe his fucking luck. He couldn’t believe how significantly screwed he was, and how everything fell to shit without him running the show for ten — fucking — seconds.
He’d broken a rib. Or two. (He wasn’t really in the mood to count.)
How had it happened?
Some jackass had pushed him out a window. He was bruised, banged up, bloodied; but the ribs, the fucking ribs were the big problem here. He was lying on the pavement in an alley, trying to breathe through the pain, looking up at the bright blue sky and white clouds that seemed to mock him. He wanted to crush them in his fists.
The window guy was gone, but probably not for long. Yet another asshole from the Commission.
I told you this would happen, he berated himself.
But of course… “I didn’t listen.”
The words came out along with wheezing gasps of pain.
He tried to sit up, but that absolutely refused to work. Five had collapsed back down, head banging against the cement. Great, another injury to add to this whole debacle.
“You try to stop the apocalypse…” he muttered.
Five knew what he had to do, and hated doing it, but he rolled onto his uninjured side, biting his lip to hold in a scream. Skin split, blood spilled. And it took all his willpower to not bang his fist on the ground.
His family was in shambles, the world was ending, the Commission was full of a bunch of assholes that needed to know when enough was enough, and god, he was in so much fucking pain.
“Guess the world just wants to end,” he went on, heaving himself up, using his arms as much as possible. Unable to use all his strength, he shuddered.
Oh, quit it, he told himself.
Yeah, like that’ll work.
Five picked himself up off the ground and headed for the abandoned diner he and his siblings were holed up in. Oh, and just perfect. Night was falling.
Five could use that to his advantage. That Commission ass-wipe could still be after him and Five could lose them now that it was growing dark. They could also use it to sneak up on him.
Five gave a darkly amused smile. Ha, they’d have to keep up first.
With no one around, he jumped. And then he ended up twenty feet away, and now he was jumping again, farther, and farther each time. He wanted to run, wanted to do something, but the pain was too much.
Vision going black, just as he was too exhausted to jump, he collapsed outside the diner, and thought he heard his family rushing out to him.
About fucking time.
oOoOo
Five didn’t care what was going on. His right lung wasn’t getting enough air, and it was about damn time someone paid for that.
So he punched the first person he could even before he opened his eyes.
And then when he did open his eyes, he saw Luther collapsing back from him, and the others had jumped away. His sweater vest was off, and his tie and shirt were hanging open. Glaring, doing his best to hide the agony he was in, he violently pulled his shirt closed.
“Touch me again and I’ll staple your tongue to the roof of your mouth,” he shot at Luther.
And then he got off the counter they’d placed him on, shoved stools aside, and nearly fell, stumbling on the tiled floor. Klaus came forward, and Five grabbed onto his fur-lined coat to hold himself up. It pulled Klaus down, and his brother started complaining.
“Hey, this is my best coat! Five! Ow, ow, ow!”
“Baby,” Five muttered, shoving him away once he came to himself… well, as much as he could. Black spots still swirled in his vision, and everything seemed to be tilting. Was it just his imagination or was his right lung going to pop?
“Hey, I was just trying to help,” Luther said.
“Help this.”
Five flipped him off, and everyone groaned, and he heard smatterings of “Of course.”
“Five, what the hell happened?” Diego.
“Oh, wouldn’t Knife Boy like to know?”
Diego put his hands on his shoulders and started pushing Five back to the counter. Five wanted to fight, but realized it wasn’t in him.
“Yeah, he does.”
“Just let us help you,” Allison said.
“Or what,” he snapped, even as he accepted Diego’s help and leaned against the counter, right arm tucked against his side to protect his ribs, “you gonna rumor me?”
“You know I could.”
Five tilted his head in acceptance of this and gave her just the smallest hint of a smile.
Things were shit. Things were always shit, but Allison had a good head on her shoulders.
Vanya finally approached from the other side of the room, and his once-raging breaths calmed as he laid eyes on her. All the urge to fight and ridicule left him, and she said calmly, a request, “Just lie down. We have to check he damage.”
“Two broken ribs,” he told her matter-of-factly. “And I was pushed out a two-story window.” He used his power to make it so he was sitting on the counter, his family only looking slightly shocked from his change of position on the physical plane. Good, so they did have more than two brain cells to rub together, but he wasn’t sure three brain cells a piece was going to cut it. “Think I didn’t break my neck ‘cause I jumped. Changed the fall by enough feet to save me.”
“Who did it?” Diego demanded.
Klaus gave a nervous giggle, and then said, hands spread wide, “You want to know who did it? Who cares! If there’s someone after us, trying to kill a—a kid—”
“Not a kid,” Five argued.
“—we have to get out of here! We’re all in danger.”
“Fine, then leave, Ghostbusters.”
It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it really was, as Klaus started to sing the Ghostbusters theme, swirling around, flowery skirt flowing about his legs. Five resisted rolling his eyes at his brother’s fashion taste. With a coat like that he would’ve picked a solid a-line to—
Five stopped his train of thought. In what fucking world did that matter?
Certainly not this one that was meant for doomsday.
Luther and Diego approached, looking like they wanted to push him back so they could “tend to him.” Yeah, like two monkeys trying to peel a banana while missing their thumbs.
He shot his gaze at the two of them, saying, “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, you want to try me?” Five challenged Luther.
He jumped so that he was behind his massive ape of a brother and then kicked him right in the knees, hard, sending him collapsing. Five was back on the counter, grinning even before Luther finished falling.
“Now shut up, and listen up,” he told his family. “There are people that don’t want us to save this shithole we call Earth. I say we find the son of a bitch they work for and take ‘em out.”
Diego nodded, already having taken out a knife from god knew where and fingering it.
“Now you’re talking.”
Five held out a hand, watching as his siblings helped Luther up, and then actually began to listen to him.
At least their ears worked. As for what was in between them? Questionable.
“Slow down there, B movie Batman. Look, the Commission has a Board of Directors that stays hidden, off the grid, underground, in all places, and at all. Times. Maybe the Handler’s working with them—”
Klaus raised his hand. “Who’s the Handler?”
“My boss, dumbshit. And maybe she’s not. But I know she’s part of it, and lucky for you assholes, I know where she’ll be in fifty-six minutes.”
“Fifty-six minutes!” Luther and Allison exclaimed.
“What, so we’re going to find her, and—and what?” Vanya asked.
Five jumped into the kitchen, and came back out with a pancake he’d rolled up. He took a massive bite of it as he jumped back, and then looked around for the coffee machine. Pain was temporary. The way the world swayed around him was temporary.
The apocalypse was forever.
Either he licked his wounds like a thirteen-year old who didn’t know what was going on, or he acted like the fifty-eight-year old assassin he was. And he was the best.
“Typically I like to kill people who have me pushed out windows,” Five answered as the coffee machine started brewing.
“We can’t just kill someone,” Allison argued.
“Oh yeah? And you haven’t?”
Allison didn’t argue, and seemed to notice the lack of an insulting nickname. Her face turned into a disapproving glare, but she stayed quiet.
“So, Diego, I’ll need your knives, Klaus, your coat, and uh… Vanya, one of the buttons on your shirt.”
“Excuse me?” all his siblings echoed at the same time.
But Five ignored them, continuing to eat his pancake, and watching the coffee, as his plan came to mind.
Of course, he told himself, this version of her thinks we’re chums, pals, two of the four friggin’ Horsemen.
That just means she won’t see it coming.
Don’t be ridiculous. The Handler prepares for everything. If a stampede of rhinos started trampling through the city she wouldn’t even be the least bit shocked.
Five finished up his pancake, and turned to the rest of them, hands in his pockets. “I have a plan.”
“Care to fill us in?” Vanya asked.
Five smiled, took the entire coffee pot, and began to walk around the counter.
“No.”
Arguments filled the air, and he shouted, “Every time I try to fill you in on something, you all screw it up! You want to do that again? Enough screw ups, and bang, that’s it. No more world, no more life. No more delicious black coffee I’d sell one of your right hands for.” As a joke, he added to Luther. “You don’t need yours, do you?”
His brother drew back on pure instinct.
Not caring if the steaming coffee was too hot, Five started to chug. And oh god, it was good. But the fog weighing him down, clouding the reality around him, wasn’t leaving. If coffee couldn’t help him, then this injury was worse than he thought.
Five finished the pot, tossed it aside, some coffee dripping off his chin, smiling maniacally to hide the pain from his family, and slammed back against the wall by the glass double-doors. But he couldn’t keep it up, and he started sliding down to the floor, his chest rising and falling while agonizing soreness pounded through his body. Frowning, the world spun, and next thing Five knew, Diego was in front of him, a hand gently against his injured ribs.
“Five, we’re your family. And you’re hurt. Let us help.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to come along and throw your pretty little knives at people.”
Diego tilted his head. “Yeah, maybe that’s true. But my dumbshit little brother—”
“Older,” Five argued.
“—got himself pretty banged up, and I can’t let him go into a fight like that.”
“Fine, V for Vendetta. I’ll let you all play doctor.”
Klaus sighed in relief. “Oh, thank god, because I do not want another one of my siblings to haunt me as a ghost, and you’d be worse than Ben, no doubt about it. Shut up, Ben! Ha, ha, ha, no you shut up! Oh, I’m childish? I’m childish?! Who’s the one who—?”
Five lost track of the apparent argument with their dead sibling, and he let himself drift off as Diego helped him up and over to the counter.
They were a mess. All of them.
But they were Five’s mess.
#The Umbrella Academy#The Umbrella Academy fanfiction#TUA#TUA fanfiction#Five#Five fanfiction#Five whump#The Umbrella Academy whump#whump#fanfiction#writing#my writing
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recently the mood has just been no thoughts, head empty; just soft SKZ Virgo boys~
okay okay okay. okayokayokay. let’s talk about the virgos.
(this is going to be a long post, so go make yourselves some popcorn or tea or white wine or somethin because i have been wanting to write this from the moment i started this blog and this bitch is long.)
it’s a little impressive, honestly, to have a group of eight people consist of three virgos. considering it’s one of the most underappreciated signs in the zodiac, that’s a lot of earth sign, and that’s a lot of virgo. but i think the interesting thing about the virgos in stray kids is that they are all different versions of the same sign. like one of those pokemon whose evolution is the same creature, just with a different coat color. they play so perfectly off and into each other. it very much feels as if it was meant to be.
let’s start with the baby.
seungmin is almost a cusp. he’s right on the border of libra and virgo, which means he inherited a little bit of both. cusps are often pretty conflicted people, but i think seungmin wears it well. he’s got the steadiness of a virgo—his feet are planted firmly in the soil. he’s got the motivation of a virgo, that self-discipline that verges on cruel. listening to the paranoid ways that he cares for his voice—no a/c, only masks, no shouting—that’s that virgo neurosis. he’s the controlled virgo, the perfectly-aligned virgo. the stereotypical virgo. good with money, level-headed in an argument, prone to fits of contained anger if things don’t go his way or he experiences unanticipated setbacks. he’s the impatient, exasperated, long-suffering virgo mom friend. tough love, rough love. brutal honesty and uncensored opinions. getting his teammates out of bed and into the van, forcing vitamins down their throats, throwing sunscreen at their backs and water bottles at their heads because god fucking damnit, can’t they take care of themselves for once? the advice-giver, the maknae with a head full of barbed wisdom. he’s the knows better kid, because he does. seungmin knows better. he knows what to do, so he’s the one they call. night or day. i’ve messed up, i think i really messed up this time. and he’ll talk them off a ledge, go to the only all-night grocery store, buy some ice cream and some gummy vitamins. show up at jisung’s door and say take a deep breath. you’re going to be okay, peabrain. grow up a little. sharp and a little bit caustic, but his friends have learned that the sting usually means he’s right.
and within that rough love, there are moments of unthinkable sweetness. holding hands under the table to calm nerves at radio interviews, pressure on the back of a neck to hold back a panic attack at an airport, warm arms under the covers the night before a concert. the ability to bring such profound comfort is uniquely virgo--it exists nowhere else in the zodiac. no other sign has the capacity to ground, to center. there is assurance of course in the gentle touch of others, of the i feel you, i am with you, you’re going to be okay. but that’s not how seungmin brings comfort. it’s not gentle, it’s not soft. it’s not treating someone like they’re about to shatter to pieces. it is an unyielding and forceful kind of comfort. you are breathing. your heart is beating. you are alive--now fucking act like it. that’s what seungmin does, he brings his teammates back to the ground and he ties them there, strings a rope between his hand and theirs so that there is no slipping away. it’s a rough love, a tough love, but it works. like splashing your face with cold water, or pinching the back of your hand. a little bit of pain – just a little – to remind you that you are still alive. you’re still feeling. and then seungmin will sit and he will wait and he will keep his teammates together until they’re strong enough to do it themselves. nothing weathers the winds and the waters of time like a virgo’s love.
there are souls in this world who have lived many lives. people that you encounter and can sense, somehow, somewhere, a very immense sort of old. not old like grandparents or textbooks, not old as in dusty attics or love letters, black and white photographs. old as in ancient. like the sea, or the mountains, the canyons. the redwood trees and the milky way. sometimes you encounter people who hold that great vastness of time in them, and yongbok is one of those people. his soul has been around for a very, very long time. it’s seen the oceans rise and the moon go yellow. this is not its first time on earth, nor will it be its last.
yongbok is the old-soul virgo. the contemplative, philosophical one with his head in the clouds. he spends a lot of his time thinking, just like all virgos do. they are the overthinkers, the worriers. worring over things that have happened, are happening, will happen. past, present, and future, worry worry worry. and i know he doesn’t really come across like that at first. i too was fooled into believing that yongbok does not have a brain. plot twist: i actually think yongbok might use his brain the most. not for common sense, or anything. like let’s be real: yongbok has definitely never asked himself whether the thing that he is doing, such as eating a banana peel or gluing googly eyes to all of minho’s possessions, is a good thing to be doing. that thought process has never entered his head, nor will it ever enter his head. this is because wisdom and intelligence are different traits, and while yongbok’s got wisdom coming out the ass, he’d sit on wet paint because he didn’t take the time to read the sign. i think that’s why i’ve always felt like yongbok wasn’t really made to be an idol. like, of course he deserves it and he belongs with stray kids. he’s good enough and he’s brave enough and he’s strong enough. but there’s just something about him that screams i was not made for a life of glass and steel and concrete. i was not made for a camera lens. he was made for a cottage on the edge of the sea where he can sit and contemplate the great unknown unhindered by paparazzi or a world-class act. he’s too soft for that, too gentle. too sincere and genuine and open-hearted.
i think yongbok learning to make peace with the discord within himself though – an inner yearning for a simple life and an unquenchable thirst for success – by finding fulfilment outside of the business end of stray kids and devoting himself instead to his members. i could talk for hours about yongbok and his cooking and his sunshine, but i’ll restrain myself and just say: yongbok isn’t the backbone of the team. he doesn’t have the strength and willpower the way chan or minho do, the physical capacity to endure weight and pressure and carry his teammates to the finish line like changbin. he’s not grounding like seungmin or jeongin, he’s not electrifying like jisung, and he doesn’t bleed humanity like hyunjin. yongbok’s power, his role in stray kids, comes from his softness and his genuine love for them. the way he looks at them like they hung the stars. the gentle, silly, dumb ways he loves them, gives and shows that love just by being present. he’s the sunshine kid, he brings warmth because he brings love, because it comes off of him in waves.
and then there’s jisung. little jisung! a virgo in his own right, although you wouldn’t think it given his propensity for dramatics and conflict and stage-stealing. what makes jisung a virgo is his defiance. i’ve talked about it before, could talk about it until i was blue in the face, but jisung is filled with fire. i don’t know what force made him this way, but whatever it was, it made him with the intention to burn. burn down stages, burn down cities, burn down countries. ashes to ashes and dust to dust, jisung is meant to bring the world to its knees. there is a hurricane in him, a maelstrom. it strains at the seams of his skin to be released, rages against his bones until they crack under the weight of all the life he’s kept contained. there is a light in him that will never go out and every day he fights against it swallowing him whole.
that kind of fire knows no master. cannot be handled, cannot be contained. cannot be scripted or framed or repositioned. there is no politics in jisung’s fury and ocean, it is just sheer energy and flame—human spirit, you could say. virgos are masters of their own fates. they do not let higher powers take their will from them. the backbone of every revolution is a virgo, because they’re unfazed in the face of authority. virgos only believe in power they can see and touch. that means they are not fallible to state or god. no wonder why jyp had such trouble with jisung at first—there’s no way a kid like that, with that much cyanide and gasoline in his veins, fell into line. in fact, we know he didn’t. in a place so constrained and regimented as an entertainment company, someone like jisung must have chafed at every corner. virgos can’t be tricked into believing, there will be no blind faith from them. you have to put your money where your mouth is and prove yourself. not just that you’ve got a cause worth fighting for, but that you’re even worth the time of day to listen to in the first place. i don’t know about you, but i kinda doubt jyp’s menacing management staff and their consumerist rhetoric made the cut. it’s one in a list of a million reasons why chan stands out to me, why i know he’s so much more than he lets on. because for all that jyp entertainment tried to force jisung to his knees, chan only needed to ask.
aside from raging against the machine as all good virgos do, jisung is- how do i put this? jisung’s really fucking smart, in the way only virgos (and scorpios!) ever are. like okay, no lie. the kid’s this close to being a genius. whenever they play games based in deceit or lying, jisung can play them under the table. remember when i said jisung’s got an emotional intelligence that’s off the charts? this is an example of that. he knows his teammates better than they know themselves because he spends every waking hour of his day paying attention to them. i’ve noticed this with most of the “mood-makers” in kpop. their role is to keep the pulse of the group up and racing, and that means they need to know how each one of their teammates is feeling, regardless of whether he’s hiding it or not. jisung needs to have his teammates’ tells so thoroughly intuited that he can read them from the other end of a stage during a black-out between performances. that’s his job. so of course he’s a virgo, because he needs that virgo intuition and logic, the ability to fill in the gaps on the heel of a dime. to know in the hair’s width of time before the commercial break ends and they’re back on the air, if jisung needs to draw the spotlight because hyunjin’s feeling a little bit ganged up on by the hosts or chan’s voice is starting to give a little. to smooth out the edges, hide their rough edges under a veil. because that’s what he does, and that’s what he’ll always do. cover for his teammates. hold them up the only way he knows how.
they make a pretty formidable trio, don’t you think? between seungmin’s brutal honesty, yongbok’s stubbornness, and jisung’s wit, i imagine the three of them get what they want. that’s how virgos are. they expect more and they expect better and they do not take shit from anyone. if a virgo thinks that they’re right, there is a zero percent chance that you will get your way. it will save everyone involved time, energy, and effort to give in and acquiesce. otherwise, you’re facing an uphill battle that you will not win. not with one virgo, and certainly not with three. i honestly pity the rest of stray kids. no one does stubborn quite like an earth sign.
they are also, quite bluntly, essential to the team. stray kids are eight pieces of one whole, and the virgo line take up a pretty considerable fraction of that whole. without their support, be it through seungmin’s fierce and brambled comfort, yongbok’s soft and humble warmth, or jisung’s quick-thinking, stray kids would implode. there’s a reason there are earth signs in every kpop group—they’re the ones with their shit together. they’re the ones that keep everyone else’s shit together, either through nagging or just brute force. they are the grounding weight, the support net. smart, sharp, ever-aware, to show up on top of their game. stray kids’ virgos are nonstop. they’ll keep it together, keep their team together, if it fucking kills them.
you know how it is. different circus, same clowns. - @hexglyphs
#forgive me i know that last pic is the '00 line#but c'mon look at hyunjin's face#he wants to be included too#i love the virgos very very much#skz + the zodiac#anons#replies#this was so much fun to write#earth signs run the world y'all#get over it
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Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs
(Chapter Two; Warnings for: school shooting, violence, language, and heart failure; you can find the first chapter here)
Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.
“It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful” --F. Scott Fitzgerald
She comes back the very next day.
It’s about noon and she’d seen the blonde one-- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven thirty. So, she knows someone’s home over there but when she steps out on her porch she’s not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair.
Idiot-- because she’d seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.
The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there.
Out loud.
So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person.
“Hey,” she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she’s in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn’t sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face.
Of course, she can’t really know that he didn’t sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he’s fighting the clock and he doesn’t want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he’s paying the price. He couldn’t even stand on his own this morning. He’d laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.
Life is slowly becoming unbearable.
“I need...” she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling. “Do you have any bananas?”
Idiot.
Stupid fucking idiot.
But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. “Just go…” he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also the double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.
“Ask Pen,” he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. “She’ll get you one.” He knows there’s bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can’t even stomach the thought.
Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house.
She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They’re pretty brown but she’s smiling. “Actually,” Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, “the recipes Derek’s mom’s. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored.”
Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He’d spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily’s sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan’s flirting.
Reid really hated it.
“She’s making banana bread,” Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him.
Emily blushes, “yeah but…” She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. “I’m not that great of a baker.”
Garcia shakes her head, “don’t be so hard on yourself! I’m sure it’ll be great.” She grins, “besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers.”
Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, “I’m gonna go throw these in. If they’re good, I’ll send you a piece?”
Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house.
The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes.
He’s in a sweatshirt-- Georgetown’s logo slapped on the front and worn with age-- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he’d like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn’t see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn’t look anywhere near his hips.
After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such.
Otherwise, they’d both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he’d have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses.
It’s about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There’s about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn’t want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don’t have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in-- it’s not worth his time.
Besides, he’s feeling grumpy and he’d like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone.
But then the door does bust open.
He’s trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent-- obviously, he hasn’t gotten very far into it if he can’t even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn’t just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He’s not that far gone.
He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly-- her hands are over her eyes for some reason-- trampling through his living room.
“Can I help you?”
At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It’s an awkward little grin but it’s not bad. “Uh,” she motions behind her to the door. “Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you’d be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just--” she grimaces as if she’s just considered how strange this is. “You didn’t answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn’t want something to be wrong…”
She stops talking.
Mercifully.
Hotch grunts, “I do, normally.”
Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he’d done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn’t gone smoothly.
Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children’s books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex.
The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.
Jack goes to his aunts. Haley’s sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she’d been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it’s just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica’s relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron’s divorce.
It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.
Life just gets complicated.
A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch’s heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them.
It’s simple but affected. Daily and boring.
“Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass--”
He’s known Emily Prentiss for all of week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It’s better for his mental health-- which isn’t doing much better than his physical health if he’s being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It’s in an endearing kind of way but still.
Now he’s sitting in her living room. She’d come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He’d had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn’t want to see his junk.
He’s not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch’s life and now Hotch has his neighbor’s phone number. It’s for “emergencies”, of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.
“I mean it, Aaron,” she’s standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. “It’s really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?”
God, she’s crazy but she’s funny and hasn’t passed any judgement on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she’s standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that’s seen better days five years ago.
But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week.
He’d watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she’d put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It’s why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he’d told her he was good and he, mostly, was.
Which is in direct consequence for why he’s here now.
“Nutmeg tastes like Christmas,” he explains because he has no idea how he’s supposed to explain this to a grown woman. “What are you making?” He’s suddenly very worried for whatever dish she’s making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It’s freaking September and, if he’s being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she’s really messed up though.
She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, “apple pie.”
His grimace is too much and if she weren’t so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he’s from the south not to mention he’s got a lot of that southern gentlemen charm.
“How much nutmeg did you use?”
Her face says it all.
He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren’t standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven’t established those boundaries and she can’t flawlessly just know like Dave does.
“Let me see the damage,” he grumbles but she can see that he’s not actually mad; he's just wary of what she’s done. He’s strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he’s got a horrible resting face.
She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It’s only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can’t do this silently watching thing. “Do you--” she offers him her forearm, the same way she’d seen Dave do the other afternoon.
He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It’s surprisingly easy and she doesn’t think much of it. At least he’s not dead weight to lug around. She’s had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn’t even mind this.
“I think I might have used too much nutmeg,” she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetant. It’s a warning.
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetant thing, she decides. He already thinks she’s a moron.
Rightfully so but still…
She’d known he was tall. It’s not that hard to see but as she’s standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he’s still towering over quite a bit. He’s a big man and he smells nice so he’s got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he’s kinda cute.
“That’s all…” she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn’t want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she’d like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital.
And now he’s sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.
“That’s all…” he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he’s slowly processing that it’s all nutmeg.
She grimaces and nods.
He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He’s seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they’re a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
He nods, “definitely.”
Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It’s cooked and it smells okay but if she’s been too generous with the nutmeg there’s no way that’s going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table.
“Well,” she says with a tilt of her head, “christmas apples can’t be that bad, right?”
He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he’s having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite- sized piece. He’s fairly adamant but somehow it’s got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn’t been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It’s going to taste like shit and it’s exciting.
Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. “That was honestly the worst apple pie I’ve ever tasted,” he tells her, honestly.
She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn’t laughed in a long time.
He shrugs, “I’m not gonna lie to you.”
She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.
“How exactly--” he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. “Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?”
Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn’t even look up at him. “Bored,” she mumbles. She’s upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?
“Maybe you should try something else,” Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. “Baking just doesn’t…”
Emily frowns at him, “I like baking, though!”
Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. “Baking doesn’t like you,” he mumbles.
She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles-- this isn’t the first failed attempt of her’s he’s tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he’d only seen but-- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart.
“Maybe I can try cooking,” she proposes.
He shakes his head, “are you gonna make me eat that too?”
She clicks her tongue, faking offense. “What, are you afraid?”
He smiles and it takes her breath away. He’s got high, sharp cheekbones and when he’s not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it’s so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She’s not sure if he knows that though.
“A little,” he admits playfully, “but maybe you’ll be better at cooking than you are baking.”
She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. “I don’t think it’s going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking.”
He makes a soft sound, “you said it, not me.”
She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can’t even be mad. “Maybe I’ll make dinner,” she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. “Are you interested?”
Honestly, no but he doesn’t want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods.
“Six o’clock should be enough time to cook something, right?”
Jesus, she’s going to kill him.
“Why don’t I come over and help?”
Oh, she hadn’t thought of that. She nods, “okay. You wanna come over at three, then?”
It’s dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. “Uh,” he has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”
Except three rolls around he’s a no show. Three turns into three-thirty and she’s not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn’t mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.
“Knock, knock?” She’s already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn’t be that big of a deal but something doesn’t feel right. She can’t shake it and she certainly can’t just… leave. “Hotch?” God, she hopes he’s just in the bathroom.
He isn’t.
“You okay?” she falls to her knees beside him. She’d never been this far into his house. Mostly, she’d never passed the living room but now she’s kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she’d like to evaluate that-- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a clean room was such a perfect green flag--
Right--
He shakes his head.
Oh.
“Should…” she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn’t? But… he’s gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it’s bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. “Do I need to call--”
To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies.
He nods. He’s terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won’t die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down.
The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience.
He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It’s not until he’s on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. “You can come,” he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at hte back fo his throat.
An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. “Easy, buddy.” The EMT pushes on Hotch’s shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn’t strong enough to fight it. “The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down.”
She stays with him and tells herself it’s because she doesn’t want him hurting himself but she really doesn’t want to leave his side until she knows he’s going to be okay. There’s no hand holding because they’re still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they’ve only known one another for a week and-- Emily can’t fathom what she’s supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance.
“Can you--” the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. “Dave?” He can’t keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.
He’s pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.
“You can’t go back there, baby.”
Emily blinks and there’s an older woman stopping Emily’s zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can’t tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest.
Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. “Dave?” she’s breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. “I’m so sorry--” and she’s crying. Why? He’s not her friend? He’s her neighbor who she’s known for a whole freaking week and yet-- And she can’t deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn’t.
The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he’s seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it’s unnerving.
“Do you have any news?” Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. “I’ll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses.”
She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away.
Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She’s thinking about the way he’d smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.
#shattered hearts fractured lungs#aaron hotchner#tw school shooting#emily prentiss#whump#hotchniss#hotly#penelope garcia#spencer reid#derek morgan#david rossi
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Love In The Time of Coronavirus: Chapter Six
Summary: One pandemic, one lake house, and two people who loathe one another. Will they be able to survive the outbreak...and each other?
MASTER LIST
Read on AO3.
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CHAPTER SIX:
It was the end of the week and despite their rocky beginning, both Nesta and Cassian had made it through without causing any physical harm to one another. Much to Nesta’s surprise, they had even fallen into a daily routine with shared breakfasts, cocktails at five on the dot, and even cooking dinner together.
She had enjoyed that part of her days the most—almost looking forward to 6pm when she’d wander into the kitchen to see what they were having for dinner. It was easy to talk to Cassian when most of his attention was elsewhere and with her own small tasks to be done, she could easily ignore him if he was being too…Cassian.
Too Cassian.
Before the quarantine she would have labeled him as irritating—too full of himself and stubborn. Things came easy to Cassian: his smile, his jokes, flirting. He was at ease in every situation because he took nothing seriously whereas Nesta took everything seriously. She didn’t understand how he did it, moved through life without analyzing every minuscule detail of it.
Before the quarantine she would have labeled him as a beautiful idiot, because yes, she couldn’t deny the fact that he was good-looking. Try as she might, even alone in her bedroom with no one else to judge her. She still couldn’t say those words, that looking at Cassian sometimes made her weak in the knees.
But that had been before the quarantine. After spending almost a whole week with him, Nesta had begun to discover other parts of Cassian. That he was an attentive listener and generous with his time. That he smiled at everything, even when it wasn’t funny. That he stuck the tip of his tongue out when he was trying to be flirty, but also subconsciously, when he was concentrating on something.
And in the span of six days, she had caught herself wondering what Cassian looked like shirtless, at least twice. Once, when she saw him lounging outside on one of the deck chairs. The rising sun had painted his face with a golden glow and she had wondered what it would have looked like, spilling across his broad shoulders. And a second time, when he had off-handedly pulled back the collar of his shirt to reveal that yes, he did in fact know what real pain was as marked by the whorls of black ink on his flesh.
Nesta had allowed herself a two second glance that had her stomach doing cartwheels. She had bit her lip hard enough to hurt and avoided his eyes for the rest of the dinner.
Yes, Nesta still thought Cassian was brash and too loud. He didn’t know how to respect personal boundaries and made everything his business. And how on Earth he wasn’t able to sit still or in silence for ten minutes straight would always grate on Nesta’s nerves. But he was also all the other small things that she had began discovering as well, the things that made her reconsider how much she actually despised him.
Which made her flustered for completely other reasons.
Looking around for something to distract her, her eyes fell onto her phone.
Perhaps she should finally give Feyre a call. She was beginning to feel guilty for not reaching out, especially because she hadn’t spoken to her baby sister since before their quarantining began.
Glancing at her watch, she figured now was as good a time as any.
Feyre picked up on the second ring.
“Nesta, hi. How are you?” Her voice was soft, happy.
“I wanted to check up on you. Is this a good time?”
“Yes, of course. I’m glad you called.”
Nesta could hear people talking in the background, but it had quieted down when Feyre spoke again. “How are things going with Cas—“ She cleared her throat. “How are you doing?”
Nesta scrunched her nose. She wasn’t sure why, but she had suddenly became annoyed. “Fine.”
Feyre was quiet, but when Nesta didn’t provide any further detail, she spoke again. “That’s good… all of my classes are online now… how’s work?”
Nesta shrugged even though she knew Feyre couldn’t see her. “Business as usual. Some people can’t do their jobs when they’re at work or at home.”
Feyre gave her a small chuckle. “Not everyone is as brilliant as you.” She paused a moment. “What about Cassian? Are you guys getting along?”
There it was again, that lick of irritation. “He’s fine. We’re fine. I can actually be civil, you know.”
“I know that! I was just asking. Making sure he wasn’t giving you a hard time or anything.”
“No.” Nesta felt just a smidge bit guilty. “I mean, he’s not being any more of a pain in my ass than he usually is.” She didn’t know why she was compelled to add, “We’ve been… making dinner together. We’re also taking turns making breakfast.”
“You’re making breakfast?”
“I know how to scoop yogurt into a bowl!”
Feyre laughed. “Can’t argue with you there. You’re the best at it!”
“Damn right, I am.”
“Do you fan out the bananas and dot the granola with raspberries for Cassian, too?”
“No. He has not proven himself worthy of banana-fanning yet.”
Feyre laughed again. “Good. Only Archerons get fanned bananas.” After a few seconds, she let out a soft sigh and her voice was gentle. “But you’re doing okay?”
Nesta bit the inside of her cheek. It was always like Feyre to try and take care of them. Sweet, gentle, Elain, she understood, but sometimes Nesta hated the implication that she couldn’t take care of herself.
“Yes, yes. I’m fine, Feyre.”
“Good. And Elain? Have you talked to her? I try to call but we keep missing each other.”
“I talked to her last night. She sounds bored out of her mind, but I don’t know what she expected locking herself up in an apartment with Graysen.”
“Nesta.” There was that motherly tone again.
“Tell me you disagree.”
“She loves him.”
Nesta’s only response was a derisive snort.
When Feyre spoke again, the austerity was gone and was replaced with a hint of mischievousness that Nesta had learned to detect years ago. “I’m glad you don’t sound like you’re bored out of your mind.”
“I’ve been busy with work.”
“In a beautiful house with the best scenery?”
“It’s… tolerable.”
Feyre cackled at that. “I’ll make sure to let Rhys know that you think his house is tolerable.”
“Please, don’t. It’ll just make his head bigger. I mean come on, Feyre. Who installs a full-sized sauna in their home?”
Her sister’s giggles were starting to become contagious and Nesta smiled. “I thought that, too, but just give in to the sauna, Nesta. You won’t regret it.”
“Fine, but two Pelotons?”
“Okay. I’ll agree with you on that one, but it’s so much nicer when we don’t have to readjust the seat every time we want to ride.”
“Unbelievable. You know, Elain and I had to share one bike until I was ten.”
“Yes, and I got all your hand-me-downs.”
Nesta smirked to herself.
“Listen, I gotta go. We’re just about to eat dinner.”
The photo of Feyre looking so happy with her new found family flashed in Nesta’s mind, making her chest feel oddly tight. “Okay. Have a good night.”
“You, too. Love ya.”
“Same.”
“Bye bye.” Feyre hung up, leaving Nesta’s room feeling even more quiet than it had before.
Wondering what to do with the rest of her day, she gave the book on her nightstand a dejected glance.
Normally, she would have jumped at the opportunity to spend the whole day reading, but she felt restless and decided that perhaps she should make use of the Peloton and sauna downstairs. It wasn’t as though she had any other plans and it would give her a chance to work out some of her sudden listlessness.
Silently thanking Elain for making her pack gym clothes, she changed into a matching set of stormy blue high-waisted tights and sports bra and gave herself a once over in the full-length mirror as she pulled her hair into a high pony-tail. Out of habit, she swiped her lips with her favorite mint balm before leaving the room.
The house was quiet and for a brief second, Nesta wondered were Cassian was. Again, his bedroom door was ajar and the room empty and she hadn’t heard him in the kitchen either.
She wondered if he was stretched out on the lawn as she’d seen him before, during her work days—no doubt spying on her or more likely, trying to get on her nerves and distract her from important emails and conference calls. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he had chosen to reposition the outdoor furniture to sit perfectly framed in the view from the office window.
Nesta was debating whether or not she should call him out on it the next time she saw him when she entered the gym and stopped dead in her tracks.
Standing in the middle of the room, toweling off his brow was Cassian. His t-shirt was loose and the V of the collar hung low, revealing the sculpted hardness of his chest. Muscles defined and taut in a deep bronze, glistened with sweat. The dark curling ends of his tattoo rippled as he moved—like ink gliding over water—and Nesta’s fingertips tingled.
Looking up, his finally saw her standing in the doorway. Their eyes locked for what felt like an eternity and then he spoke, breaking the spell.
“Morning, sweetheart.” He grinned, slinging his towel over his shoulder.
Nesta crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
Cassian chuckled, making it sound like she’d just told a joke instead of sending a death glare his way.
“I’d ask if you were lost, but judging from your outfit, it doesn’t look like you’re on your way to the ball.”
Nesta watched as Cassian’s eyes dragged from her sneakers up her legs, then torso, and then…
She turned, walking over to the stationary bikes, hoping he hadn’t caught the flush that was beginning to bloom across her chest.
Looking at the Peloton, Nesta began to question her decision. Thinking she should switch over to the treadmill, she felt Cassian’s breath against the shell of her ear.
“Here, let me help.”
How he had managed to sneak up behind her without her noticing was a surprise, but not as big of one as how close he had gotten. She could feel the heat radiating off of him and if she took a half-step back, there was a strong chance she wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from melting into him.
Instead, she straightened her back and at the sudden lost of heat, knew that Cassian had widened the distance between them. Chancing a glance behind her, she saw him leaning against the treadmill. His hand gently—casually—rubbing the back of his neck.
“You need special shoes for that,” he said, jutting his chin towards the pedals. “Feyre’s are in the cabinet. You wear the same size, right?”
Nesta took her time retrieving the shoes and putting them on, anything to give her a moment to even out her breathing and collect herself. It was only the surprise of running into him that had thrown her off.
Focus, Nesta. You’ve seen a muscled man before.
When she got back to the bikes, Cassian was already tinkering with the levers and bolts.
“You’re taller than Feyre. We’ll have to adjust the seat.” He held out his hand.
Nesta swallowed, but did not let her hand slip into his. Instead, she nudged him away with her elbow to give herself some space.
Cassian chuckled. He remained standing where Nesta had pushed him, but he was still close enough for her to feel the rumble of his laughter on her skin—close enough for her to smell the salt and sweat on him.
She scowled.
Cassian moved behind her to tug at the seat, adjusting it to align with her hip before leaning over to tighten the screw, fixing it into place. She watched as his arms flexed, the tight chords of his muscles shifting easily beneath that deep copper skin.
She realized she had never stood this close to him before, so close that she could see a bead of sweat glide down the chiseled stone column of his neck and she hated the tightness she was feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she also couldn’t look away.
When Cassian straightened, Nesta bristled.
“I need you to hold your arm out so I can adjust the seat distance. Elbow at the seat front.”
This time, Nesta did finally allow Cassian to guide her and the gentle brush of his hand at her elbow, her arm, felt oddly intimate. His palm was calloused and the scrape of it against her skin made her spine tingle.
His hands were so big.
Nesta was reminded of where she was when Cassian told her she could get onto the bike. Eager for the distraction, she locked her shoe into the pedal and swung her leg around to the other side. Again, she felt the heat of Cassian’s body close to her skin, this time from the hand hovering just above the small of her back.
“I can handle it from here,” she said, dismissing him.
Clearing her throat, she began scrolling through the classes on the screen, not chancing a look at him.
She had already felt too vulnerable in the five minutes standing next to him and now that she was sitting on a bike, her feet locked into place, she couldn’t allow herself the possibility of toppling over, or worse, not being able to escape if he fixed her with one of his looks.
Cassian didn’t say anything until he got to the door. Not turning back, he said, “Have fun,” before leaving.
It wasn’t until Nesta heard the door click shut that she let her shoulders sag. Expelling a deep breath, she shook out the tension in her arms, her neck.
Scrolling through the classes, she decided a ninety minute power ride was exactly what she needed to shake the unfamiliar jitteriness that had suddenly seized her entire body.
---------------
Cassian let his forehead rest against the wall as he released a shuttering breath. He had made it to the end of the hallway before having to stop to collect himself. Slinging his towel across the back of his neck, he grabbed both ends and tugged firmly.
God.
He had barely made it out of there. Had surprised himself when he was able to say something that wasn’t a declaration of how much he wanted to kiss her, touch her.
He hadn’t been expecting it, her showing up at the gym like that and in those clothes…
He had always thought she was gorgeous. She had taken his breath away the first time he had laid eyes on her and in their subsequent meetings, she’d only proven herself more and more beautiful. But today… with that thin material matching the exact color of her eyes and clinging to each and every one of her curves, he couldn’t help himself. He just had to be near her.
And so he moved—stalked in three long strides—close enough to touch her, but not daring to.
He had half-expected her to turn around and snap at him. To claw at him with her nails and her words. And when she didn’t, and he saw the blush against the shell of her ear, exactly where his breath had been, he thought that maybe…
But her back had stiffened and so he backed away, tried to plaster on that cool exterior he could easily hide behind, not wanting to make her more uncomfortable than she had been. Of course, he was only human and when she walked off to find Feyre’s shoes, Cassian’s eyes had followed her. Followed those long legs, the curve of her backside, and the swell of her hips as they swayed.
He had had to muster every bit of strength in his body to remain calm. And for a moment, he had considered leaving the room to escape the torture.
But as soon as she’d come back within arm’s reach of him, he couldn’t walk away. And she had let him touch her arm.
It had been the most chaste of touches. A past Cassian would have laughed at himself for being so modest, but it had set his hand on fire. Her skin was so soft, and for a heartbeat, he had let himself wonder if she’d let him touch her anywhere else. Her shoulder? Her neck? Those pouty lips?
If she’d let him, he’d trace his fingertips across that delicate skin to mark her—let her know where his mouth would follow.
Cassian groaned.
He felt foolish, like a giddy teenager touching a girl for the first time, instead of the grown man he was. One who had taken many lovers, all of whom had let him do much more than touch their elbow.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
They had let him—wanted him to, begged him, in fact. But Nesta… all she did was push him away and brush him off. She had glared at him and bristled at his closeness. And when he was done being useful, she had dismissed him wholly.
Cassian had thought that she was finally beginning to thaw against him. Their interactions had become cordial, almost friendly at times. But again, she had managed to prove him wrong.
He raked a hand through his hair, tugging hard. Then pushed himself off the wall, and headed upstairs, looking to take a very, very cold shower.
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An Ordinary Morning (Banana Fish Fanfic)
Pairing: Ash x Eiji
Summary: All Eiji wishes was to be with Ash and live an ordinary life together... Or was that too much to ask for?
Warning: Contains angst and spoilers for the end of the anime/manga.
A/N: I would like to thank KingSirahk, who helped me with so much more than just proofreading! Thank you!
The gentle aroma of miso soup drifted in the quiet morning air.
“Ash.”
Eiji poked his head around the door and saw no signs of response in the bed. Walking over, he gently shook the person buried under the duvet.
“Ash?”
Eiji grabbed the edge of the duvet and flung it into the air, before walking over to the window and opening the curtains. The bright summer sun greeted him, casting its warm rays onto the person curled on the bed.
“Wake up, Ash.”
The young man emitted a groan as the sunlight hit his face. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, reaching his hand out to grab the duvet and proceeded to pull it over his head.
“That’s what you said ten minutes ago.” Eiji crossed his arms, trying to sound stern, yet he could not help but let a smile slip onto his face. “Breakfast is already ready, so hurry and get up. Otherwise you won’t be getting any food.”
Eiji returned to the kitchen. He was finishing spooning two bowls of rice when he felt a presence lean against him. Ash rested his chin on Eiji’s shoulder and sniffed. His breath tickled Eiji’s ear.
“Why’s there no meat?”
“I made salmon.”
Ash pulled a face. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Salmon is good for you. Here,” He said as he hands Ash a plate topped with a piece of grilled fish and smiled wryly when he saw the skeptical frown directed at the fish. “Fine, I’ll make steak for lunch.” Hearing this, Ash’s expression immediately brightened and a small laugh escaped from Eiji’s lips. Seeing Eiji laughing at him, Ash pouted, a slight pink dusted his cheeks, and he poked at Eiji’s cheeks. “Don’t laugh, I’m still growing. It’s no wonder that you are so short if this is what you eat.”
It became a routine for them: Eiji making breakfast, waking Ash up, eating breakfast, then going for a stroll afterwards, if the weather permits. It was these short, precious, everyday moments that Eiji treasures so much, with nothing coming in between them.
Ash stood by the front porch, waiting for Eiji to finish locking the doors. In the summer air, Ash’s hair danced in the gentle breeze, shining all the more brightly in the morning light. When Eiji turned around, he reached for Eiji’s hand and naturally entwined their fingers together and gave Eiji a bright smile that made even the sun pale in comparison.
“Let’s go, Eiji.”
They walked along the beach, leaving behind a trail of footprints imprinted on the white crystal sands. Two pairs side by side. The sound of the waves gently breaking against the sand, washing ashore a thin line of white mist, before rolling calmly back into the sea. Seagulls flew overhead, crying out, their white wings spread against the cloudless blue sky, freedom etched to the tip of their wings.
They stopped right at the edge of the sea, feeling the waves softly washing over the tip of their toes before receding.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ash murmured. Eiji brought a hand up to his eyes and gazed at the ocean. He didn’t realise Ash was looking at him.
Endless blues of bright azure, deep sapphire, and rich aquamarine dance underneath the sun, causing thousands of white, glittering light across the surface to shimmer like jewels against the bright blue sky. This beauty could take one's breath away and yet in Eiji’s eyes, nothing could be compared to the beauty of the man standing next to him.
It was so peaceful standing here with the salty sea aroma enveloping all around them. The cool water washing all their worries away and the calming sound of waves hiding the noise of any human activities. It was as if they were in a world that only consisted of
themselves and the deep blue sea. Eiji closed his eyes and breathed in the ocean; tasting the salt on his tongue and feeling it seep into his lungs. Ash watched him with a tender look in his green eyes.
“The sea reminds me of Japan. When I went to my grandparents’ house in the summer, I could see the ocean from the window in my room.” A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he squinted at the water and the memory brought a smile upon his face.
Emerald eyes become troubled for a moment. “Do you miss Japan?”
Eiji shook his head. How could he feel homesick, when the person standing next to him embodies the very meaning of home?
It was bliss to be able to wake up every morning and hear the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore, and most importantly, with Ash by his side. If this could last for eternity...
Ash suddenly dropped Eiji’s hand.
“Sorry, I gotta go to the library.” His voice was cold, suddenly devoid of any emotion, his expression faraway.
...The library?
The sudden shift in topic jarred Eiji in his tracks.
Was there even a library around here?
A library...
Somehow, the word sets off a warning bell inside his brain and dread begins to spread in his chest as he hurriedly goes to grab Ash’s hand with a shout, “Wait!”
But Ash had already turned around, his back now facing Eiji, and walked forward, away from him. Panicking, Eiji tried to grab Ash’s hand, but missed, his fingers grasping nothing but the empty air.
Without realising, a deathly stillness had settled over. The waves stood still, the birds hung unmoving in the sky and the heat of the sun was gone, replaced by a cold chill. Then, the scene around them cracks like a mirror before shattering and falling away, revealing an expanse of darkness that surrounds them. It was impossible to tell which way was forward or which way was back. The only thing that Eiji could see was Ash, slowly getting smaller and smaller as he walked steadily further into the blackness.
“Ash, wait!” Eiji’s horrified cry echoed eerily in the gloom, as he hurriedly ran after Ash. But no matter how hard he ran, Ash kept on getting further and further away.
He shouldn’t have let go of the hand.
The darkness was suffocating, slithering into his lungs, choking him, until Eiji was gasping for breath. His legs started to cramp, his mind deprived of oxygen, but still, he pressed forward, forcing himself to work harder, faster. Keep running, keeping running.
Run.
Run!
RUN!
Out of nowhere a solitary snowflake fell. Then, another one descended, then another one, and another one, until it turned into a blizzard. The wind whipped mercilessly around him, causing the icy air to pierce like a thousand swords into his bones, freezing him from the inside out. With every breath the white clouded his vision, yet nevertheless his eyes never left the back in front of his eyes.
“ASH!”
His strangled yells were drowned out by the fierce, howling of the wind. But then, Ash paused and turned back towards Eiji with a small smile.
Hope spreads through Eiji, giving him a sudden burst of energy as he runs towards Ash. He was so close, Ash was just within his reach. Eiji extends his hand-
Ash’s mouth moved slightly but the wind swallowed his words.
In the next moment, another gust of strong gale blew around Ash, shrouding him in white. From within the darkness beneath the storm of ice, a skeletal hand extended. It curled its bony fingers around Ash’s shoulder, and with one, finally angry shriek of the wind, Ash was gone.
Within a blink of an eye, the storm had vanished as quickly as it came.
“Ash?”
His trembling voice dissipated into the void around him that had once again reappeared.
“Ash?” Only silence echoed back.
“Ash?” He called again, desperation seeping into his voice.
Eiji cried out, “Ash! Where are you?!”
The desperate hoarse voice screamed on, again and again. No, he must have not ran hard enough. Ash must be here somewhere. He HAD to be...
As he took a step forward, a crackling noise sounded below his foot.
He looked down and saw several sheets of paper, scrawled with familiar handwriting.
Because it was his writing.
Eiji’s chest becomes constricted as invisible chains appear out of nowhere, shackling him down and forcing him to watch as the scene unfolds in front of his eyes.
Small splashed of red slowly seeped inwards from the edge of the pages, dissolving the black ink until it became a darker, murky red.
Like blood.
Eiji wanted to turn his head away, to close his eyes, but his body won’t obey, frozen in terror.
The words slowly blurred as the red creeped inwards, until it finally reached the last untainted sentence in the middle. Eiji had just enough time to register the words in his brain before the red engulfed the black ink, curling around it.
The pieces of paper stained with a dark blood red stared at him accusingly. From the darkness, it felt like a thousand eyes were glaring at him, blaming him, with whispers chanting over and over again that it’s all his fault.
It’sallhisfaulit’sallhisfaultit’sallhisfaultIt’sallhisfaulit’sallhisfaultit’sallhisfault-
“AHHHHHHHH!!!”
He clutched his head between his hands and fell onto his knees, giving out a broken scream as if his soul had been ripped from his body. The pain in his heart took a physical form, threatening to tear him apart. He threw his head back and screamed towards the heavens that had abandoned Ash, towards the vicissitude of life, and most of all, towards himself, who shouldn’t have left Ash-
A blurry ceiling came into view.
At first, confusion clouded his brain. It took him a while before his disoriented mind could re-piece back reality. He blinked as the remnants of the tears rolled silently down his cheeks, leaving two damp trails, side by side.
The sound of people bustling in the busy street and traffic below sound muffled to his ears as if he was underwater; unconnected to reality.
He tightened the blanket around him and laid there; simply waiting for sleep to come.
It was morning, the sun in the grey sky had risen, but his sun was forever gone. Only in his dreams could he be with Ash again…
Before he drifted off, the words from the letter echoed inside his mind...
“ My soul is always with you.”
#Banana Fish#Banana Fish Fanfic#Fanfic#Banana Fish Ash#Banana Fish Eiji#Ash x Eiji#Ash x Eiji fanfic#Ash and Eiji#Ash Lynx#Ash Lynx fanfic#Eiji Okumura#Eiji Okumura fanfic#Banana Fish Angst#Banana Fish Fanfiction#BF#yaoi#yaoi fanfic#beautifulotomehell fanfic
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Fox Mulder’s Guide to Building a Pool: part 1
A/N This is in answer to an anon prompt: Mulder builds a pool in the yard. It ran away from me so I’ll post it in two parts.
This is set post IWTB and assumes Season 10 didn’t happen. Because it shouldn’t have, am I right? Angsty to start with.
Summer
He started one night, when the moon hung low and the stars were pegged out haphazardly in the midnight sky. His mind and his heart hadn’t stopped racing for hours, as though he were filled with cosmic energy. Outside, in flannel and old jeans, scuffed and muddied boots, he picked up the old shovel propped against the side of the rickety shed and dug until his fingers froze around the splintered handle, until the blisters on his palms burst, until the disquiet in his gut diffused.
It was supposed to be a vegetable patch but by the time the dawn broke through, he realised it was in the wrong spot – shaded by the house and in the area of the land where the ground was rubbly and dry. The fertile patch was on the other side of the property, where the trees shed their leaves and mulched the earth naturally.
If there was anything Mulder was known for, it was his tenacity. Scully once told him he’d use a backhoe to dig for the truth. Well now he’d dug a ditch with a shovel and he was going to make something of it. As he massaged the pain from each knuckle he surveyed his night’s work. The sun’s rays hit the turned earth like laser beams, and he had an epiphany. A swimming pool. He was building a swimming pool. A white whale, the truth or a swimming pool. What did it matter as long as it was something he believed in? And just for a moment, in that warm spotlight, the dried out flower of hope bloomed in his chest.
The summer was long, dry and hot. So hot the tarmac melted on the roads, his tomato plants frizzled to brown and he lost his appetite for everything bar an ice-cold beer on the verandah after a day of digging. His routine was solid, despite the meteorological obstructions. He rose early, napped during the day, and worked through mosquito-filled twilights. In his downtime, he googled construction methods, materials, liners, water collection, filtration. On most days, he imagined himself ploughing through the water on warm evenings and chilly mornings, muscles burning, lungs protesting, body thrumming. On good days, he imagined Scully sitting under a shade umbrella sipping lemonade and reluctantly agreeing to take a dip with him, her lithe body pressed against his as they waltzed through the water together. On really good days, he imagined William paddling about in water wings, and squealing as daddy jumped in too close and made a big splish-splosh.
Scully arrived one afternoon, late. She hadn’t visited in a while, he hadn’t made his customary Sunday night call for…he couldn’t actually remember and when he saw the thunderous look on her face, he realised he hadn’t charged his phone for days.
“Didn’t you check your messages, Mulder? I lost count of how many I left. Your machine probably reached its limit.”
Rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, he looked over at the flashing red light and a pang of guilt twinged under his ribs. “I’ve been busy, Scully.”
He thought she’d be pleased. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? To get him out of his office and back into the real world. Whatever that meant. They’d both seen the real world with its edges peeled back and its slimy, slithering insides exposed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to prod that beast anymore. She’d already turned away from that darkness and found her shining light under the fluorescent gaze of God in Our Lady of Sorrows.
She looked him up and down with doctor’s eyes. The cold blue gaze causing a shiver to creep down his spine and he had to look away. Her ability to see right through him, past his calloused skin and into the sinewy mass of his body always unsteadied him. She was appraising his physical health and his mental wellbeing. He straightened his shoulders, brushed a clump of mud from his sleeve and offered her a drink.
“Chilled water will be fine,” she said. “I’m driving.”
Well, he knew that. How else would she get here? But more importantly, where else did she have to be. She was dressed sharply, not for the hospital. Something about the lower neckline and the softer palette made his brain wander places he didn’t want to go.
“I’m sorry if I’ve put you out,” he said, emptying ice into the glass and wondering where he put that lemon.
“It’s no bother, Mulder, to come here. You should know that. It’s just that I get…”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said, and not so long ago he would have laid a hand over her shoulder or collected her hand in his. Instead, he looked at her and smiled, trying to soften that cool scrutiny. “I’m doing okay.” He didn’t add despite you leaving.
She looked down at her shoes – shiny beige courts with a high heel. He could see her reflection in them. The mouth closing in relief, or maybe irritation. She chuffed. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a big boy, Mulder…”
Palms up in surrender, he shook his head, cracked open a soda.
“Mulder, you shouldn’t drink…”
“I know about the dangers of too much sugar, Scully, I’m a big boy.”
He showed her his work. She trod carefully over the dry earth, held her cross as she surveyed. He had a sudden longing to see her in a white vest dampened with sweat, cuffed denim shorts, heavy work boots, digging alongside him.
“And this is going to be a pool?”
“Can’t you see it? Long lazy evenings dipping our toes, sipping gin cocktails as we swat away bugs, brisk morning swims to shuck off those pains au chocolat?” He saw her then, zinc strips over her cheeks and shoulders, straw hat pulled over a lazy ponytail, sunglasses perched on her nose, lowering herself in.
“Mulder, I don’t…”
His chest burnt, like his lungs had crumpled in the storm of a wildfire. He took the handle of the shovel and chopped at the edge of the hole.
“It’s a nice spot,” she said, after a moment gazing out to the horizon. “It’ll be quite something.”
“When I finish,” he added.
Fall
Amber leaves danced on a shimmying breeze, some floating to the ground in theatrical zig-zags. On the other side of the house, the digging was complete. He’d hired an excavator in the end, his knees and back creaking for weeks to remind him of his advancing years and his inability to do everything alone. He’d hired a contractor to remove the dirt and ordered the steel bars for the frame. Scully came by more of
en, intrigued, as she put it, to see how the pool project was coming along.
She called to say she was coming Sunday afternoon and would he mind if she stayed a bit longer? He spent all Friday in a mania of dusting and filing and wiping down surfaces. Nesting, they called it. He patted his belly and shook his head. He was becoming quite ridiculous; DIYing and getting giddy when his ex promised to drop by.
In the cupboard next to the stove, he found a stack of old cookbooks, dogeared pages and horrific images of antiquated dishes like jellied salads and ham and banana hollandaise that viewed more like one of Scully’s X-Files autopsies. Amongst them was a treasured find. Betty Crocker’s New Picture Cookbook – a book his mother had used religiously. Grease marks and flour crusted over the pages of cakes. He zipped out to the supermarket and picked up the ingredients he would need and set about baking.
His cake was a simple vanilla sponge but he enjoyed the science of the task, the weights and measures, the timing, the temperature control – the very precision of it all. As he watched it rise, he recalled childhood birthdays, where his mother toiled away for hours icing, sculpting edges, piping, creating dreams. There were castles and race-cars and trains and poodles. Parties were ended with the ceremonial cutting and handing out of slices to guests. He had always felt special those days. But after Samantha’s abduction, she stopped the tradition. She bought shop-baked cakes, refused him parties, spent his birthday barely tolerating the day and Samantha’s sipping brandy.
By the time Scully arrived, tea was steeping, the table was set with tea-cups and saucers, side plates, and the iced cake stood on an elegant glass platter that held it above the timber surface.
“What’s all this?” she asked, hanging her bag off the back of the chair. “Is the Queen coming over?”
He poured her tea. The colour of it in the white porcelain cup reminded him of her hair against the pillow slip of their bed. “I hope not. She only likes Black Forest Gateau and you didn’t leave any jars of maraschinos.” She laughed softly, just like she would laugh with him during cosy evenings on the couch, rolling her fingers over his bicep, planting sweet kisses along his jawline. Back when it was just them against the world. Not them against the world and then each other.
“The colour is like those Caribbean island beaches,” she said, dotting her finger into the icing on her slice. “Azure.”
Her tongue licked at the sweet blue paste and he wanted to say he chose it because it was like her eyes, that that was what he missed so hard, so deeply, he wanted to say that he was sorry. He couldn’t tear his gaze from her, this simple act of eating that had him enthralled. God, he loved having her over from him, setting her plate just right, pouring the exact amount of granola, spooning whatever yoghurt she was into over the cereal, slicing banana while reading the newspaper. He couldn’t say anything though. All the best words lumped in his throat, as though they were overbeaten and curdled.
Instead, he said, “When Samantha was six, mom made her this cake with blue jello on the top that was supposed to be a swimming pool. I don’t know, I just had this mad rush of nostalgia, finding all those cookbooks and remembering how good it used to be.” He looked up and she was staring at him. “Back then, back home.”
“How’s it going?” she replied, changing the mood in three words. “The pool?”
It was windy again and leaves tumbled across the yard, collected in the gutter, in the drains, against the fences.
“It’s protected from the wind on that side, so I won’t have to keep cleaning out the foliage. The pump should be in soon. Then I’ll organise for the concrete pour, before the weather really turns.”
Her hands were stuffed in her jacket pockets, and she’d hunched her shoulders against the chill. He should phone the concreters tomorrow. Get it done. The tip of her nose turned pink.
“Let’s go back inside,” he said.
“Why concrete, Mulder? Why not fibre glass or a vinyl liner?”
He shrugged as she walked past him and his eyes settled on her hair, falling down her back, unkempt from the wind. She smoothed it down, rubbed her hands together, sat back at her seat and took another slice of cake.
“With a more solid foundation,” he said, “it should last longer.”
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