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firebrands · 4 years

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chances are | steve/tony

1.9k, T, unconscious acts of affection as told through the avengers’ POVs + fluff and getting together | “stony bingo prompt fill: unconsciousness | on ao3

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1. Acts of Service

Clint’s halfway through his cereal when Tony walks in, suit jacket in hand. His sleeves are rolled up and his tie loose around his neck. He takes one look at Clint and sighs dramatically.

“I hate being alive,” he says, slumping over the coffee machine and mournfully pressing buttons to make himself a drink.

Clint snorts in response, used to the melodrama of Morning Tony.

As if on cue, Steve enters, carrying a box of donuts and a cup of coffee.

“Tony!” He says, grinning brightly. He sets the donuts down. “Glad I caught you before your next meeting.”

Tony remains slumped over the coffee machine, making a sad sound as it slowly whirs to life.

“I got you coffee,” Steve says gently. He places it on the counter in front of Tony, and from where he’s seated, Clint can see that his smile has faltered, a little.

Huh, Clint thinks to himself.

“God answered my prayers!” Tony says, jumping to life and taking the cup. He takes a sip, then turns to Steve, surprised.

“You know my order?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, coloring slightly. Clint only notices because he’s watching them closely. “I remembered you had a big meeting today and figured you’d need a pick me up.”

Tony looks down at his coffee, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“Thanks,” he says.

The kitchen goes quiet, save for the coffee percolating.

“Well what about me,” Clint cuts in, because it’s just too much.

Steve laughs, and looks a bit grateful for Clint’s interference. “I got the team donuts.”

“Well, I’m off,” Tony says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for the coffee, Cap.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tony hesitates at the door, and he turns to say something else, but Steve beats him to it.

“And don’t worry about your report from yesterday, I got it covered,” Steve says in a rush.

“Oh,” Tony says. He blushes a little, and Clint briefly considers stabbing himself with his spoon. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Steve waves Tony off. “Go on, you might be late.”

“They can wait,” Tony says, smirking at Steve. “But okay. Thanks, really.”

Once a few moments have passed and Clint is sure Tony’s out of earshot, he turns to Steve with a raised brow.

“Never expected you to play favorites,” he teases.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Go eat your donut.”

2. Quality Time

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday afternoon. That in itself should have been warning enough, but Bruce is sitting comfortably beside Tony on the couch, and he figures that he ought to make the most of the silence. Tony hums absently to himself as he adjusts calculations on his tablet. He’d come up from the workshop earlier to ask for Bruce’s help, and elected to stay upstairs in case he needed Bruce’s input again to save him the trip.

Then Steve steps out of the elevator, evidently freshly showered.

“Hello,” he says, smiling at them. Bruce nods in response, then goes back to reading.

“Hey,” Tony looks up from his tablet and stands up. “How was the mission?”

“Fine.” Bruce tries not to eavesdrop, but can’t seem to focus—he’s read the same sentence thrice now.

“Wanna get a snack?” Tony asks. “It’s been a minute.”

“Yeah?” Bruce looks up just in time to see Steve scratch the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed and a bit flushed. “I’d like that. If you’re not too busy.”

“Of course not,” Tony says, smirking. “Come on, there’s an apple pie in this cafe I found that has your name on it.”

Bruce frowns back at his book. Tony had mentioned earlier that he was working on something urgent, hence the need for Bruce’s support.

Evidently, it wasn’t as important as getting pie with Steve.

He hears the doors to the elevator slide open.

“Oh, shit,” he hears Tony hiss. “Bruce?” He shouts, across the living room.

“I’ll pass,” Bruce says, waving his book at them. “Enjoy the pie.”

He bites back a smile when he sees both of them blush at the same time, then look away from each other. If he were a more scheming man, he’d discuss this with the rest of the team. But he isn’t, and he goes back to reading.

3. Words of Affirmation

Thor slumps down on one of the seats in the quinjet and lets out a sigh of relief. The battle earlier was exhilarating, but he hadn’t gotten any rest the night before.

He’s about to nod off when Steve speaks. Thor cracks an eye open to look at Steve talking to Tony.

“The new suit you made,” Steve says, patting his side as if to make his point, “it fits like a glove. I have a much better range of motion.”

“Great.”

“Seriously Tony, thank you. It means a lot that you keep working on upgrades for us.”

Thor watches as Tony turns an amusing shade of pink.

“Yeah, it’s—it’s whatever.” Tony turns away.

Thor sits up a little straighter. “Indeed, Anthony,” he says. Tony stops in his tracks. “Even I, for all I’ve seen, am amazed at your abilities.”

“Oh,” Tony says, looking shocked. “Thanks.”

Steve beams up at Thor. “See. Like I said, you’re amazing.”

Tony’s blush deepens, and Thor laughs.

They arrive in the Tower soon enough, and it’s still early in the day that Tony can still make it to meetings. Steve and Thor are eating their second breakfast in front of the TV when Tony steps out of the elevator, looking immaculate despite the frown on his face.

“You okay?” Steve asks. He shifts forward, as if to get up, but stays seated.

Thor quirks an eyebrow at the movement, but Steve doesn’t notice.

“Yeah I just.” Tony waves his hand around, not finishing the rest of his sentence. “I think I need a coffee, or fifty.”

“Sure, let me,” Steve says, apparently deciding to finally get up.

“No I—I was just saying,” Tony sputters, following Steve into the kitchen.

Thor huffs, brings his bowl of cereal, and goes into the kitchen as well.

“It’s the least I can do,” Steve says, already pouring some beans into the grinder. “Seriously, Tony. You’re already doing so much, it’s honestly kinda amazing how much you juggle every day.” He turns to Tony, looking a bit embarrassed before he finishes by saying, “Well, I guess my point is, you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were a genius, huh?”

At the compliment, Tony turns to Thor with a look of disbelief.

Thor scoops a large amount of Froot Loops into his mouth. From behind Tony, Steve gives Thor a look.

“Indeed,” Thor says, chewing a little before adding. “You are a marvel.”

Tony makes a few strangled sounds, accepts the cup of coffee from Steve, and turns to walk out.

Thor is sure that both he and Steve notice that Tony stands a little straighter, despite his sputtering.

4. Physical Touch

Natasha notices it first over dinner. Tony touches Steve almost incessantly, first to get his attention to pass the salt, then a pat on the back to say thanks for cooking, then ruffling Steve’s hair when he makes a joke.

She decides, as Steve and Tony jostle over who does the dishes, that this is for further observation.

Then, as it is, the world’s on fire.

Still, on the quinjet, Natasha turns to Clint and tilts her head toward Tony and Steve’s general area, her eyebrows raised.

Clint looks, then snorts. “Maybe we should put up posters.”

They don’t have time to say anything else, arriving at the scene of the AIM attack. Natasha’s too focused on staying alive, listening on the comms for the next move, when she notices that a line has gone silent just as the battle winds down.

She finds them first; surrounded by rubble and quiet. The tenderness of the scene almost takes her breath away. “Is he—” she starts. Tony looks up, startled, his hand stopping mid-motion from stroking Steve’s hair away from his face.

“Yeah, I. Medical’s on the way.” Natasha breathes out, and fully takes everything in now that she’s adjusted to the threat level.

Tony’s helmet is on the ground, right beside Steve’s. She picks them up as she walks toward them, watching the way Tony cradles Steve’s head to his chest, keeping his head elevated. With his other hand, the one not carding through Steve’s hair, he’s pressing down on a hole in Steve’s stomach. He keeps touching Steve, his hand moving erratically from Steve’s hair, to his face, to his shoulder, his neck. When Natasha finally gets close enough, she can barely hear Tony whispering.

“Stay awake, I got you,” Tony says, and Steve is looking up at him, probably too exhausted to speak, but his eyes are open. There’s a bit of blood on the side of Steve’s mouth, and Natasha only notices it because she was wondering why Steve was smiling.

5. Giving Gifts

Steve takes a deep breath before he punches in his code for the workshop. As he enters, the volume of Tony’s music goes down considerably.

“Ah, Steve,” Tony says, lifting goggles up and off his face before turning to smile at him. “C’mere.”

Steve keeps his hands behind his back as he walks, his fingers flexing around the book he’d brought along. He takes another deep breath.

“Before you,” Steve pauses. “I mean, I was out this afternoon and.” He pulls the book out from behind him—a first edition copy of Tolkien’s Unfinished Tales. “You mentioned it was the only one missing from your collection,” he finishes.

Tony looks down at the book, taking it gingerly in his hands before looking back up at Steve. “You remembered,” he says, sounding shocked. “I mean, thanks. Wow. You remembered?”

“Yeah,” Steve tries to smile. He’s not sure if he actually achieves it. “Anyway. You said you wanted to talk?”

“Oh,” Tony says, looking away. If Steve wasn’t so focused on his own shyness, he’d say Tony looked a bit timid, too. “Well, this is perfect, really, because I got you something too.”

He turns around and pushes things around his workbench, then turns to Steve with a flourish. “A few weeks ago you talked about how you never got to see Europe during peacetime, and well…” Tony pauses and licks his lips. “I figured you’d never gone on vacation, either. After everything. So.”

He hands Steve a piece of paper, and when Steve glances down at it, he sees a printed ticket and an itinerary.

“I have a bunch of places there anyway, so you can stay wherever you want, JARVIS can set you up,” Tony says in a rush.

Steve holds the paper, then looks up at Tony, smiling a little.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well,” Steve stops himself from fidgeting, and swallows hard when he meets Tony’s gaze.

“Maybe you’d like to take some time off so you can read.” he gestures to the book in Tony’s hand, only to notice Tony's white-knuckled tony’s grip on it.

It gives Steve a sorely needed boost in confidence. “I was thinking we could go on vacation together.”

Tony makes a soft, choked sound. “Huh?” Then he holds up his hand. “Wait. Really?”

Steve bites his lip and looks away. “I mean, if you have the time.”

“If I have the time,” Tony repeats to himself, sounding disbelieving. “Steve.” He steps in front of Steve, forcing him to meet Tony’s gaze. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

A laugh bubbles out of Steve, joyful and unbidden, and a little bit shocked. “Good,” he says, reaching out and holding Tony’s hand, which is as disgustingly sweaty as his own. “Good.”

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve/tony #steve rogers #tony stark #mcu #clint barton #thor #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #things i write #fluff

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psychemeanscure · 3 years

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PART 20 {After two consecutive parts with full Jang Taeyoung, yeah I do need a Sung Eunyoung indeed. Enjoy y’all}

That was the last thing she can remember before she went blackout. Approached by a couple of men after a newly ended meeting. She tried. Tossing her leader bag sling from own shoulder, running after their chase over her, pulling out the only pepper spray weapon she had. Yet, none of that paid way other than her being smelled by a chloroform in handkerchief, then history happened. They successfully taken her.

Regaining consciousness, she learned that her head was actually cloth with garbage bag. Peeking a possible person, she can see but failed as the bag was pure black for her to take chances. Hands tied tightly from behind, both ankles wrapped by metal ropes. Much the duct tape plastered on her lips isn’t helping, useless screaming as only muffled sound is heard. She gave up, as only heavy breaths left.

Until someone finally take it off the bag on her. Meeting the eyes of the person she expected it to be. ‘Veeros Alcaziar.’ Her raging mention in mind. It innocently looks at her surprised as if no idea as well. “It was you?” its disbelieving words even.

‘Cut the act, old hag’ a retort from her mind once again. She may can’t blurt it out yet her blazing glare says it so. “I never thought you’ll be the co-partner of that industrial company director who wasted my money. You see señorita, I invested a sum from that Xi industry knowing that it could profit my business carefully. They promised, I trusted them, and they just flee. I had no choice but to look for the other proprietor hoping to bring back mine. If only I knew you were the other person, I could have just settle to you properly. I’m sorry.”

Sensing another of her muffling sound, the latter takes away the duct tape without care for she need to whimper in no time. “F*ck you.” Her convicting reply as the old Alcaziar only awed in snigger, revealing its true colors. Sighing as if disappointed on its own action. “Is my acting really that bad to notice easily?” it even snaps his own forehead as if remembering where he slips a word. “Ah! Right. Flee. Tsk, how can I say that when you just met him with your last meeting? What a bad actor I am.”

“Shut the crap out, Señor Alcaziar.”

Her cold stone response, as its evil grimace slowly showed up. “So you knew.” Does, the retaliating laugh resonate the illuminating room. The only hanged fluorescent bulb swaying from the ceiling makes it more irritating. “I thought I have to work too much threat with you but damn my dear Amilia--- oh scratch that, my little Sung Eunyoung-ie… You wholeheartedly offer yourself instead. So proud of you. So like your mother, just as wise as her.”

And it stilled her. For she admits she starts to get nervous by his presence. Given the mere mention of her mother, she knew a glimpse of Pandora’s box will reopen. “W-what do you mean?” her urging eccentricity. Responded by the clicking of its shoes, arms crossed with ascendency, fully welcoming her awaiting answer. “Hm. Alright, let us put it this way.” Removing its usual cowboy hat he’s wearing by a near table, lighting up own tobacco while pulling out something on its shirt pocket, she acknowledged it. Strands of hair tailed neatly as she can only think of one person. ‘Eomma.’

She never expected the extent of obsession the geezer has, until today. Possessing a part from a deceased is too much considering years had passed already. Inhaling like he has been familiar for such a long time, he reminisces. “God, your mom’s smell lingers my senses over the years still. Such my favorite scent.” Its interleaved remark before turning back at her with the original answer she needed.

“Have you ever wonder of your mom’s death was actually?”

Blowing the smoke of its tobacco close to her while she remained unwavering, he continued. “Cancer?” his questioning stance after proceeding with another as he shakes his head and takes her chin, up to level his gape.

“She was killed.”

Firm and self-assertive statement before letting go of its hold, opposite to how she’s already clenching her fist tightly from behind. Observant stares from the latter but just a stern look she does. Hot fire ready to explode into her, a little more and she won’t be surprised if she blasts out any time soon.

With a tilting of its head, the old Alcaziar continues. “Brave.” A compliment she did not bother. “You being jeopardize and all, I must say you applaud me with your calmness.” Him, leaning its face closely to her, “Now listen, my sweet little pea…” he speaks. And just like that, she spits him while it’s also too fast for his countered slap.

It was a hard one. Hard enough to leave a reddened mark on her face. It hurts her, yes but she holds it in. Letting herself satisfy with her work instead. Her contoured saliva which successfully spread all over the latter’s face gives her pride for she thought it was her chance to fight back just to shiver by his touch after fiercely wiping its own face, cupping her face tracing every part of it like his own.

“You only had me realize a while ago that you resemble so much of your mother that I keep stopping myself on hitting you, but just looking by your behavior right now you left me with no choice. The next time you will then I, your father won’t let it slide anymore.”

“You aren’t one to begin with, geezer!”

Dodging her cheeks from his hold, she retorted. “Father! Call me father!” as his domineering affirmation came after an irate throwing of its own tobacco. Eyes of obsession starts to ponder, jaws clenching with delusion. “Your mother died… Isn’t because of the unexplainable rapid of her cancer but rather she stopped it on purpose.”

A series of sham speech begins to create. “All of it. Each reason, is always because of that Sung Chanhyung! The f*cking coño stole the love of my life from me! You understand that?”

“You have no right!” she countered.

“I met your mother first! And that alone, gives me a right. That crazy s*cker killed her!”

“No, it’s not for you are the crazy one who killed them!!!”

She can’t attain anymore. That with the mere mention of his father being accused, she exploded. Finally, as it’s too fast for another heavy slap to earn a cut on her lips this time. Yet, none of it matters for she’s occupied with one thought and only. As her brows furrows, connecting its illusive stories to reality. Half-truths or not, she can only sum up the emotions her parents felt back then.

Threatened, deceived, betrayed. Just three things but left a large impact for their blissful family to fall apart. “Is that how the bastardo taught you?! That puto! Why am I surprised, even? He had brainwashed my wife what more with you.”

“She had never been yours!”

“She loved me! And that you should put in mind. We were in love until he came she became unwise, giving her all as sacrifice from that foolish man!”

“Wake up with your f*cking illusion now Señor Alcaziar!”

He’s insane! A very factual word that best describes the man in front of her. That’s for sure. How can she believe him even when she herself was the witness of the unconditional love her parents had for each other? She, who begged for the both of them to share their love story during bedtimes. She, who always wonder about how lovesick they are just by staring gazes. She maybe still a little kid then but for a young age she had once known what true love is. Her parents, was undeniably each other’s first love.

“Eh. You, stubborn child. You’re being hard to persuade still, huh?” Hair being clutched by the senseless old man, she yelps. By its menacing impatience, she’s cornered. “You better kill me instead, Señor Alcaziar. You will never hear anything from me. Besides, I’m all that you need anyway. What stopping you?”

Her spoken counter finally. But yet until a deafening laughing mockery from the latter. “Oh! No, no, no. You can’t always be exact my kid. I guess I did, at first. I had only asked for you alone, but learning about you further I got to think twice after. Then at second, I thought. Why not a little gratification, right?”

Seconds later, the once darkened room she’s in, becomes brighter. It relieved her somehow, little not knowing that it would fade away too fast as her eyes begins to go round in shock. She was frightened.

The sight of her foster parents, seen from the monitors of the LCD TV, tied up on a chair unconscious. And to the person whom she never expected to get harmed. Being kneeled helplessly across her, appearance being tormented from its usual dominancy. A bleeding cut from the eyes streaming on its face, swollen lips that had break its original luscious form, but most specially… the part which worried her too much.

Its wounded stomach.

“No…”

“No, no, no.”

‘This can’t be real.’ Her disbelieving pushing of her own thoughts as she shakes her head hoping that is was all a dream. But it’s not. Her shuddered eyes never left the figure in front of her. Twisting herself trying to get away from her own situation even if it means failing. “There you are, Mi niña.”

Not even the voice of the crazy Spaniard bothered her for all she could think of is him.

And like a sinking lioness, she bawled.

Into what just the hell happened?!

“Jang Taeyoung!”

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ciarawritesmarvel · 5 years

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first impressions - steve rogers x reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: The reader in this universe just does swear a lot and she doesn't apologise for it (but I do a little bit), some arguing but it only serves the sexual tension ;)

A/N: Yes, this is another oneshot belonging to the Number Five Universe, which now has its own post with all the oneshots I’ve planned in chronological order. That does not mean that is the order I’ll post them. You can VERY EASILY read this on its own. but this is the meeting of the Y/N and Steve we know and love. I love you all, and thank you for all the participation in my 3.5k celebration - more to come on that in 12 followers time! :)

masterlist is in my bio, tags are in a reblog... please drop an ask to be tagged in steve/number five/all works! <3

---

“Adjustment Officer? Really Fury? You even have a name for it?” you said exasperatedly as you spun in his chair. Every time he thought you had stopped, you pushed off with your toes against his desk again, spinning more furiously than before and eventually he grabbed the armrest and stopped you dead in your tracks with a sigh.

“Could I have my chair back please, Agent?”

“You can have your chair back if I can have my real job back,” you retorted and when there was no answer you carefully kicked his hand away from the chair and resumed your spinning.

“Stop being a damn child, Y/N,” he said, leaning against his own desk and folding his arms across his chest, “I need somebody that I trust to do this. You know that list isn’t very long.”

“What about Maria?”

“She’s busy.”

“So am I, Nick!” you threw your arms up in the air, still spinning but with most of your momentum lost, “I’m fucking busy too! I do not have the time - or the patience - to babysit your latest pet project.”

You finally stood from his chair and crossed the floor to stand beside the floor to ceiling windows that lined one of the walls. You looked out across the city. Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America himself, born in 1918, was out there somewhere, defrosting as you spoke and you were supposed to be looking after him? Showing him the ropes of the 21st century? Teaching him how to use a computer mouse and taking him for ice cream on a Friday evening for being such a good boy. Not happening.

“I’m not asking you, Agent. You know that.”

And yet apparently, it was happening.

All too soon, you found yourself walking into a room with a certain supersoldier - not that you’d ever be caught calling him that - opposite you and sat at a table that he seemed to be handcuffed to.

“Who did that?” you nodded to his trapped hands and he looked up at you warily, regarding you with an apprehension which could only have come from so many SHIELD agents sedating you and taking you to a strange room that you weren’t allowed to leave in a time seventy years after your own. It was a strain to remember this man had lived through WWII.

“They did,” he eventually answered, glancing to the two guards posted at the doorway, guns in hand, eyes staring straight ahead without a falter. You rolled your eyes.

You took a pin from your hair and straightened it with your teeth, smiling apologetically at him as you picked the lock of his handcuffs and let them clatter down onto the tabletop.

“Ma’am? We’re under orders-”

“New orders,” you interrupted, turning to them with hands firmly planted on your hips, “Go to Starbucks and get yourselves something fancy. I’ve got this.”

“Ma’am-”

“I’ve got this,” you assured them, a twinkle in your eye that went hand in hand with the steely glare and was just enough to get them to nod at your demand and make their way out of the room, leaving just you and the Captain in the empty room.

“Was that a tactic to get me on side?” he asked when you’d sat down opposite him and leaned over the table, elbows resting on either side of you, face studying him lightly. Taking him in.

“No,” you shrugged, leaning back and placing your feet on the table, one after another, ankles crossed and posture completely relaxed, “I just find them annoying. And I’m almost positive I don’t need protection from Captain America.”

“Almost?”

“Well, we don’t know what seventy years under ice has done to you yet, do we?” you joked but his face fell and you inwardly cursed yourself. Bad timing.

“It’s Steve,” he said suddenly, tone harsh and you looked at him quizzically, “Not Captain America. Just Steve.”

“Okay ‘Just Steve’,” you addressed him, finally seeing just the hint of a smile twitching at the right corner of his mouth, “You understand what’s happened now? I believe somebody came and filled you in?”

“Vaguely.”

“Okay. Well, I’ve been assigned as your-” you shuddered, “-Adjustment Officer. My sole job is to help you in your transition, answer any and all questions you might have and to eventually ensure that you become one of our best assets.”

“What did you do wrong to get this job?” Steve asked, a dark and hollow chuckle escaping him and you frowned.

“More like what did I do right. This is an important job, Cap- Steve. Our director needed somebody he could trust.”

“Great. That’s just great,” Steve retorted, his eyes flashing with an anger that you’d never seen on the numerous posters of him you’d seen, “I’ve been assigned a glorified babysitter but at least it’s someone trustworthy according to the guy with the eyepatch.”

You took a deep breath.

“I know this must be a difficult adjustment for you. That’s why I’m-”

“No, Agent, the reason you’re here is because you have to be. You don’t want to be, or you wouldn’t have physically shuddered when you talked about it just now. You’d rather be in the field, with a reason to use that gun you’ve got hidden in your boot, but instead you’ve been stuck with the old man and his retirement plan,” his voice was getting louder and louder until eventually he was leaning over the table, palms pressed into the metal as he dropped his voice low and hissed, “Well sorry sweetheart, but I don’t want a babysitter and I certainly don’t want you.”

You stayed in your position. Unfazed. Steve wasn’t a threat to you. But your jaw was clenched and your body rigid. Because it was now clear that he was going to be annoying as all hell.

“You listen here, sweetheart,” you spat out the word as if it tasted bad on your tongue as you stood from your chair to gain the height advantage, “You’re damn right. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to have to look after you. You’re a burden. You’re too emotional. You’re a liability. But I’ve been given an assignment. So we are stuck with each other and unless you get your head out of your ass and decide to play along, being stuck with me will be worse than being frozen in time. Do we understand each other, ‘Just Steve’?”

He gaped up at you, jaw slackened and eyes slightly wider. Then he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and dropped his eye contact.

“We do,” he muttered and then, with a renewed fire, “Just don’t expect me to like it.”

You scoffed.

“You and me both, old man.”

---

You were sat on a park bench. Steve Rogers was sat beside you.

Well beside you wasn’t quite the right term. He was actually sat well away from you, in a position that could only be described as hunched. It was quiet. Peaceful, even. Until-

“So these phones…” Steve was glancing from person to person around them, watching them tapping away at tiny screens, “They’re all connected.”

“In a way,” you replied, “They’re all on a network which connects them which is how they communicate with each other. Electromagnetic waves and stuff such as that.”

Steve nodded. Took it in. In all fairness, he was a very quick learner.

A lot of that came from the fact that he actually listened to you.

“Thank you.”

He always said it. Meant it. You could tell. You knew liars, hundreds upon thousands of liars. Rogers wasn’t one. He told the truth, even if sometimes you wished he didn’t.

Three weeks into this arrangement and you felt like sharing some truth of your own.

“Hey Steve,” you said calmly and he turned to face you, “I never said - I really admire you. Everything you did. It was a big inspiration, you know, when I was training.”

He looked utterly taken aback. As if that was the absolute last thing he expected to come out of your mouth at that moment. You tried not to be too offended at the fact that he thought you incapable of giving him a compliment.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he smiled, his small little genuine smile you’d only seem twice so far. You resolved to see it more often, “I appreciate that. You have a lot of…”

He paused. You got antsy.

“A lot of…?”

“Definitely not patience,” he joked and you huffed and turned away from him, prompting him to answer seriously, “A lot of heart. You’re impatient and you swear too much and you’re generally quite insufferable. But you have a lot of heart.”

When you glanced back at him in surprise, he was back at his people watching, refusing to meet your eye. Despite everything, you felt your heart grow a tinge warmer along with the back of your neck.

“Yeah well you’re stubborn and far too serious and generally intolerable but you have a lot of heart too, Spangles.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed softly and then, as an afterthought, “But in case it wasn’t clear enough - you’re still an ass.”

He laughed, shaking his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep out the chill in the air. You folded yours into your armpits. Tapped your toes against the grass.

“And you’re still a glorified babysitter so who’s the real loser here?” he asked smugly, sitting back into the bench in a rare moment of comfort. You leaned back too and enjoyed the brief relaxation.

“The grown man who needs the babysitter - duh.”

He grumbled a little at that and the sound made you smile despite yourself. That, and the fact you had a lot of heart was still replaying in your quickly fraying mind.

“Anyway, nanny, I believe I was promised ice cream?”

“It’s freezing,” you deadpanned, blinking at him but he simply pulled himself from his seat and looked at you expectantly.

“And?”

You muttered expletives to yourself as you swatted the hand he’d held out to help you up away and pulled yourself up on your own instead.

“Come on then, you child.”

Steve followed behind you with little complaint.

---

Six weeks into the arrangement. Things were not smooth sailing, but there were never going to be. There was still this same understanding though, one that just managed to keep things at a simmering tension, just stopped things from boiling over.

Most of the time.

“Honestly, if you don’t get out of my apartment right now I swear I will call Fury and tell him to find me a new babysitter,” you gaped at Steve as he spoke, eyes wide but he merely shrugged, “I’m not kidding.”

“Steve, I am not having chinese again. That is final.”

“And that is why I’m telling you to get out.”

Admittedly, things ‘boiling over’ no longer meant biting matches where you’d try your best to truly cut into each other and instead had changed into what could only be described as ‘comfortable bickering’. Your life had been many things, but you couldn’t remember for the life of you a time when any aspect of it could be called comfortable.

“Fine, we can have chinese. But four times in one week isn’t healthy, Spangles.”

“I’m a super soldier, I eat what I want to.”

“And what about me?” you ask and when he shrugs in response you mumble, “Fuckin’ bastard.”

“That’s 36 minutes. A new record.”

“What?”

“36 minutes without swearing. That’s the longest ever!” Steve says, sarcastically proud of you in just the worst way and you sink into the couch cushions in response, folding your arms.

“Why do you always have to be so fu-“

Your phone rang and interrupted you. You answer. Maria is on the other end, tone clinical, explaining a situation that was all too familiar. A threatened terrorist attack, many people in danger. You were needed. You gave her a rough ETA and hung up.

“I’m coming,” Steve was already up off the sofa and you knew he’d heard your phone call. You sighed as you stood too, brushing down your jeans and pocketing your phone.

“We’ve been over this Steve, you’ve not been cleared for-“

“I’m coming.”

He was persistent. You took the silent opportunity to glance at him and saw the man that you’d always seen on the posters. The determination. The steel. The...concern? Well that was new.

“I can handle myself, Steve.”

“Oh I’m well aware,” he said, with just the slightest shiver as he remembered the time you’d punched him in the gut for one of his comments in the first week, “But I’m coming. You and I? We protect people. Let me do what I do best.”

There was an unspoken extra word, please, that you didn’t even need to hear to have your pulse pick up by four beats per minute. But only four, which wasn’t too bad, you reasoned. And in your mind, there wasn’t a choice.

Because you did protect people. And so did he. So who were you to stop him?

“Okay.”

You readied yourselves and stepped out of the door, taking the stairs down two at a time and you hopped into the driver’s seat without a second thought. He didn’t question it.

You seemed to understand yours and Steve’s understanding more and more every day.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #captain america x reader #captain america #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers oneshot #captain america imagine #captain america fluff #captain america oneshot #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel oneshot #marvel fanfiction #first impressions #univer5e

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toothlessturtle21 · 5 years

Text

Ninjago Pride Week Day Four: Allies

"Hey Kai?" Nya said as she applied makeup to her cheekbones, glancing up at her brother, who was sitting around on her bed just to give her some company.

"Yeah?" He said, scrolling through his phone, checking out the latest trending hashtags and memes.

"I know you and Zane are together."

Kai physically startled, juggling his phone for a second before catching it with his palms, gaping at his sister in awe.

"Wh- What?"

"I said that I know you and Zane are dating," She put down her brush and turned away from her vanity to look at her brother, who was still shell-shocked.

"Wait, how? I thought we were doing pretty good with this whole secret thing," He mumbled, and Nya smirked back at him.

"I don't know how long you've been dating for, but I went to ask you a question and you two were both asleep together on your bed. I would've just walked away, but you two were practically wrapped around each other. Speaking of that, you mind bringing him in here?" She asked sweetly, turning back to sharpen her highlighter. Kai nodded nervously and slipped out, heart beating a million times with each footstep he took towards the kitchen. To his relief, Zane was the only one there, a simple white apron tied around his neck as opposed to his pink frilly one, spatula in hand as he readied the first batch of pancakes.

"Morning," The Fire Ninja greeted, sauntering as casually as he could over to his boyfriend, as not to alarm him.

"Good morning. How did you sleep?" Zane glanced around before planting a peck on Kai's cheek, not noticing the unsteady glances being cast his way.

"Fine, fine. But uh," Kai dropped his voice to a whisper. "Nya just told me she found out about us. Remember when you were telling me stories about your dad and then we fell asleep? Turns out someone did see us."

Zane had set the down the spatula, both hands on the countertop with his head hung between his arms.

"Hey, it's ok. She's not upset," Kai soothed, patting the Ice Ninja's back as he tugged on his sleeve. "She wanted to talk to you. That's all. It'll be fine."

Kai had absolutely no way of knowing it was all fine, and Zane thought this with a bitter expression as he was led down the hall after the stove was shut off and his apron was put away. Kai took one last deep breath before opening her door, where she had just finished applying her last bit of mascara. She stood after setting her brush down, and approached the Ninja of Ice, his expression steeling as he expected threats of violence to be hurled his way.

He hadn't anticipated a hug.

Just like that, Nya's arms were wrapped around him, and he was hugging back, not quite sure what all of this meant.

"Thank you," She said as she pulled away, and Zane's confusion must have been evident on his face. "For loving him. I don't need to worry about him finding someone nice when he has you. If you're worried about me disapproving because you're a dude, I honestly couldn't care less. Really."

Zane was fairly sure he had never felt so relieved as Kai hugged his sister, tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

"I love you sis," He contended, and she smiled.

"Right back at you bro."

"Nya... thank you," Zane exhaled, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Telling Nya would have been the largest obstacle in making their relationship public, as she deserved to know before they dropped the bomb on the rest of the crew.

"Kai, can you leave us alone for a second?" The Samurai asked politely, and Kai agreed, no longer worried for his boyfriend's life.

Once alone, Nya sat down on her bed, and pat the sheets beside her. Zane took the invitation, and folded his hands gently in his lap once he was seated.

"I'm not going to give you the good ol' protective sibling talk, I just want to reiterate how happy I am that Kai has you. You are seriously the only person on this ship with a sensible head on your shoulders, and I think you balance out Kai's impulsiveness. Also, you're the only one who can properly cook spicy food," She smirked, but her voice faltered for a second when she saw Zane's face. His eyes were so wide that his irises were completely surrounded by white, lips gently parted. "Zane, are you-"

She was cut off by Zane wrapping his arms around her, much more personal than her quick squeeze earlier.

"Thank you, Nya," He said into her shoulder. "I don't think you understand how much this means to me."

"No problem, buddy."

Later, Kai and Nya were washing dishes together, standing side by side as they scrubbed.

"Hey sis? Thanks for what you said to Zane earlier. I don't think he's stopped smiling since," He set a plate down on the counter, and Nya snickered.

"I didn't even say anything revolutionary. Maybe you should compliment him more. Probably needs the self esteem boost."

"I'm nice to him," Kai scoffed playfully, "He wouldn't be dating me if I wasn't. It's just... he's happy to have some validation. He was worried about you since we started dating."

"And how long ago was that?"

"About six months," Kai shrugged, and Nya nodded, impressed.

"Congrats. As far as I know, everyone else has no idea."

"And we intend to keep it that way," Kai unintentionally glared at the dish in his hand for a second before setting it down, and Nya raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"What if someone is homophobic? We're not willing to break up the team or with each other because we made the mistake of trusting our teammates. And I know that sounds stupid and selfish, but I couldn't stand to lose him. I can't."

"Well, you need to."

Kai had picked up a dish at the start of his small rant, and on that note, it slipped out of his hand and came crashing to the ground, shattering on impact.

Nya scrambled back as though a snake had lunged itself at her, and Kai could only stare in shock as a few ceramic pieces slashed into his feet. Quick footsteps approached the room, and soon Zane was scooping a protesting Kai into his arms to remove shards of plate from his feet.

"Zane, I can walk, I'll be fine," The Fire Ninja resisted, but only slightly, as Zane's look sent a very clear message of shut up and let me help you.

Nya volunteered to sweep up the mess, so Zane took Kai to the bathroom, where all of the bandages were. He set Kai down on the sink, where he could kneel and easily access his feet.

"What happened?" Zane asked as he grabbed a pair of tweezers to inspect for any remaining shards.

"I just dropped a plate," Kai huffed, and Zane bit his lip, wanting to pry but knowing Kai was not in the mood to talk.

"This might sting a little," The Ice Ninja warned as he removed a piece from a larger gash, Kai hissing in response. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about me, keep doing your job," Kai said through gritted teeth, and Zane apologetically rubbed his leg as he stood, wetting a cotton ball with water before dabbing at the wounds with care, as not to upset the Fire Ninja even more.

"I don't know what has made you irritable, but I won't press. I am sorry if I did anything to upset you," Zane said as a safety measure as he cleaned the cuts, and Kai reached down to rest a hand on Zane's head.

"Stop. You know you didn't do anything. It's just... Nya asked why we haven't told the team, and I got upset and dropped the plate."

"Did you tell her the truth?" Zane asked, knowing this topic was very volatile between them, even though they both held similar mindsets. Kai hummed in affirmation, giving Zane's hair a quick ruffle before retracting his hand.

"She said that we needed to," Kai fidgeted his fingers in his lap, and Zane hesitated in his cleaning.

"And why is that?"

"I don't know. I didn't get the chance to ask."

"I trust we are still on the same page on this issue?" Zane grabbed a new wet cotton ball, and Kai sighed.

"Actually, Zane, I think we should," Kai steeled himself for his boyfriend's retaliation, but Zane merely faltered in his movements, looking up at his beau with the same blue eyes Kai could get lost in for hours.

"Why? I thought we both had agreed that telling our teammates could potentially shatter our dynamic as a crew. We could ruin friendships and relationships with each other, they might be closeted homophobes, we don't know," Zane's voice cracked on the last three words, and Kai chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"I think we can trust them. I know you're scared," The Fire Ninja couldn't stand to see Zane so distressed, but he knew he had to get his point out there, "but we can't stay silent forever. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. We can lounge on the couch without fearing someone's going to walk in on us, or you could lean your head on my shoulder when we're watching movies with the crew."

Zane shut his eyes, running numbers through his head, equations that he had explained to Kai when they had first begun dating. When his eyes fluttered open, hands reaching for the bandages, he nodded.

"Alright. We can inform the others of our relationship."

#ninjagoprideweek2019 #oppositeshipping #Ninjago Kai #Ninjago Zane #Zane Julien #Ninjago

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cmonkillmonger · 6 years

Note

“You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” with Erik 💕💕

How We Do Us

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x Black!Reader

Warnings: Language, Scarification, Violence

Prompt: “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.”

Word Count: 1861

Music: How We Do Us x Kehlani & Kyle Dion

There was something about the quote that made me immediately think of this song, so boom here it is.

“Go grab the box cutter, I got the bags.”

Manic expressions were exchanged as you entered into the apartment, Erik shadowing close behind with two duffel bags in tow. Excitement and adrenaline coursed through your veins with every step you made towards the bathroom. Erik had an exchange to make with some arms dealer, and as usual you accompanied him. The dealer made the mistake of thinking he could swindle Erik out of his weapons and the money, unfortunate for him. All that meant to you was that you had to get your hands dirty, which always made for a fun time with Erik. By the end of the night, the two of you walked out with the weapons, the money, and two more bodies under your belts.

Sauntering into the living area with the box cutter, your eyes landed on Erik hunched over the table as he peered through some documents. You made your way over to him, caressing his back as you spoke softly, “Do you want to go first or should I?”

“Whatever you want, my love,” Erik turned his head to look back towards you, his fiendish, chocolate-colored eyes enticing you. You gave him a nod of affirmation, lowering your hand down to the hem of his shirt and lifting it up slightly. Erik followed your lead and removed his shirt, laying it out on the kitchen table before he pulled out a chair and sat down.

You bit your bottom lip, fingers running over the rugged markings that adorned his body. Even after being with Erik for a year, your eyes still filled with amazement as you looked over his collection of keloids. You found them to be ironic; how was it possible for something so chaotic and heinous in meaning to appear in such a meticulous arrangement?

Your fingers scaled across his back in search of a vacant spot, soon finding two in the upper right region. In order to keep the blood loss at a minimum, you carefully angled the cutter and placed the blade along his skin, applying pressure as you dragged it about a centimeter in length. You repeated this process in the second location, Erik staying still throughout the whole process. After you finished up, you placed a kiss on each mark, making your way to his neck. Your lips lingered on his jawline, planting small kisses until he made an effort to turn his head towards yours, allowing for you to fully kiss him.

Erik broke the kiss, a dark smirk on his face as you handed over the box cutter. Now it was your turn. The first few scars were a bit painful, but now you took them like a champ and pleasured in the pain. You moved around to face Erik, stripping down your pants and lifting up your shirt in front of him. You definitely did not have as many scars as Erik, but you had your own growing collection and was proud of it.

Although you had much more room to choose from, Erik relatively chose the same area every time. There was something about scarring your abdomen that appealed to Erik, probably the fact that your breasts were left slightly unexposed with your shirt up. Either way, you were sure that Erik’s first choice would be the stomach and once again he proved you correct. His hand glided over your scars, his pointer finger tapping a spot underneath your right breast signaling that he was about to begin.

Unlike him, you had the pleasure of being able to watch him mark your body. This brought a wicked grin to your face when the blade made contact with your skin, a small trail of blood forming as Erik dragged it down. Once again, Erik’s fingers maneuvered around your stomach in search of the next target, deciding to repeat the process underneath your left breast. After he finished, Erik placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer to him. In turn, your hands held his face as you leaned down and gave him a peck on the lips. Depraved behavior such as this would have the average person running for the hills, but for you it was just another successful date night with your love.

Neither of you bothered to put your clothes back on, even as you went off to do your own thing in the kitchen. What was the point? They were going to end up back on the floor eventually. You shrugged at the thought, taking a sip of juice from as you walked away from the kitchen.

“What is it with you and letting them run off?”

Your question was in reference to your trip with Erik hours before. When the deal went sour, the arms dealer and his assistant quickly separated, one focused on the bag of money and the other focused on their life. The assistant was most likely an unwilling participant, but that didn’t change the fact that he posed as a potential threat to you and Erik. It didn’t take long to handle the dealer, so Erik decided to play a little game with the assistant. Taking a page from his previous partner’s book, Erik led the assistant to believe he could walk away as long as kept quiet about the night’s events. You even joined in on the fun and encouraged him to go before Erik changed his mind, and before you knew it he ran like his life depended on it. Erik wasted no time, shooting him twice in the back before he reached the door.

Erik let out a chuckle, “It’s funny. They get all relieved ‘nd shit, you can just see it in their face.” He motioned with his hands up in defense, circling around you in a joking manner, “Like ‘Oh no, today’s my anniversary! My girlfriend is gonna kill me!’ Lame ass, she ain’t the one ‘bout to kill you.”

You snorted in response, “Oh! Oh! And then the girls get to begging. ‘Please please, I didn’t mean it like that. I’ll do anything you want, sir. Anything.’” You wildly pressed yourself up against Erik, clutching onto his muscular arms as you pretended to plead for your life. You looked up at him with longing eyes, batting your lashes as you poked your bottom lip out.

“Anything, huh?” A dark chuckle escaped Erik’s lips as he grabbed you by the waist and quickly turned you around, pinning you down between his body and the table. Erik brought himself closer and you could feel his hard-on pressing against the thin material of your panties. His lips brushed against your ear as he uttered a low growl, “You sure about that?”

If there was one thing you loved, it was Erik’s voice when he was aroused. All of the animalistic growls and grunts he emitted excited you in an instant. Your response came out breathy, “Yes, yes.. Just please, don’t kill me.” You tilted your head slightly to look back at Erik, the lustful expression in your eyes matched by his crazed and impure appearance.

It was as if the two of you were under the influence of something, but not a drug. It was something natural, impossible to manufacture or create. Sure, part of it could be attributed to the adrenaline rush from the mission, but there was more to it. Deep down, both of you contained something that could only be brought out by the other. You fed off of his energy and him off of yours, creating a bond that could not be broken.

Erik turned you around and hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting you up onto the table and shoving things out of the way. He wore a wild grin on his face, his golden fangs gleaming in contrast to the dark aura exuding from him, “No promises.”

One thing was for sure, he was going to kill something tonight.

Four rounds. Four fucking rounds. Erik wore you out in just about every position you knew to be possible. After the last round, you put on his shirt and laid on top of him, listening to the smooth rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest. Unfortunately, a phone rang out from the kitchen and interrupted your peaceful silence. My Main by Mila J was playing from your phone, which could only mean one thing. Your best friend was calling, making it now three times in the past 24 hours.

“Gladys keeps calling me, thinks I’m in some sort of trouble with you.” You rolled your eyes a little, sitting up on his lap, “Like damn, I love her but girl get some dick and hop off mine.”

Erik chuckled softly as he rested his hands on your hips, “And what do you think?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to. I think being with you feels right.” You noticed a dried smudge of blood on Erik’s cheek, probably from the deal earlier. You licked your thumb and wiped it off, showing him with a smile, “Plus, I think we make a pretty good team.”

“Good looking out,” Erik hands moved along your sides, caressing your back and lifting up your shirt in the process. He glanced at the small area of scars on your stomach, smiling faintly, “You’ve shown me what love can feel like.” His eyes were now a warm and enchanting shade of brown as they met yours, waiting for a response.

You couldn’t help but pause and give him a look of confusion, “I.. huh. Really?” That was definitely not the way you wanted to respond but you were thrown for a loop. Sentimental moments with Erik came once in a blue moon, being a huge contrast to his usual manic behavior.

“I’ve always felt so lost and alone in the world, like no one could completely understand me. Not until you.”

“You remember when you went off at that guy in the grocery store?” You and Erik met under an odd set of circumstances. After a man made some crude comments and unwanted advances towards you and Gladys, Erik happened to step in. You watched as he chewed the man out through statements laced with forceful warnings and threats, and you were absolutely smitten. “I knew then and there you were the one for me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought. It was almost as if you and Erik were purposefully brought together, like it was written in the stars. You two complimented each other well, understanding the unusual quirks and tendencies you both possessed.

“And I know I can be,” you pretended to get emotional, fanning your eyes while you exaggerated your voice, “like super emotional and annoying but like, I just love you so much.” You faked some tears with your face covered, occasionally peeking to see if Erik was watching.

All he did was shake his head and laugh, “You crazy, you know that?” He pecked your lips, “But that’s why I’m in love with you.”

#erik killmonger fanfiction #erik killmonger x reader #erik killmonger x you #erik killmonger #erik stevens x you #erik stevens x reader #black panther fanfiction #killmonger fanfiction #mywritingnshit

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shalebridge-cradle · 6 years

Text

The Big Night Chapter 3 (Party Night)

(I just think they’re neat.)

Ugh.

Veronica hides with her head under the covers, unwilling and unable to face the world. She doesn’t have the words to describe how she’s feeling – maybe ‘cold’ or ‘weak’ would do, but it all sort of boils down to a generalized sort of… ‘ugh’.

The only useful thing she’s managed to do today (and calling it ‘useful’ is a stretch) is that she’s managed to turn off her blaring alarm and get some peace for a few minutes.

Shame she can’t do anything about the car horn, currently being used to its fullest extent outside her window.

“Goddammit, Heather,” Veronica groans into her pillow. Her parents should be well and truly up by now – why aren’t they putting their foot down? Why aren’t they going outside and doing something, anything, to let them know they heard her? Of course, the last time either of them demonstrated any sort of courage was when the paperboy broke the window in the front room, and that was five years ago.

Mercifully, the aria of impatience ceases when Chandler gets tired of laying on the horn. Veronica hears a car door slam, the clicking of heels on asphalt, then concrete. A muted “Veronica!” sounds from outside. It’s a lot nicer than the alternative.

Veronica shuffles over to her bedroom window, still wrapped in the five blankets forming her cocoon, and opens it just a crack.

“Keep going, Heather. I’m staying home.”

Heather doesn’t skip a beat. “Window open. Get out of the way.”

Veronica obeys. One perfectly polished shoe comes flying through the window, the other knocks over Veronica’s desk lamp. After a bit of scraping and scrabbling, Chandler climbs through to examine her girlfriend.

“You look like shit.”

Ah, yes. Heather Chandler, well-known for her bedside manner.

“Aren’t you just the fucking romantic?” Veronica grumbles.

“That’s a compliment.” Is it? “You’re still beautiful. You at your lowest is still miles ahead of everyone else’s. Now…”

An arm on her shoulder, one behind her knees. Veronica squeaks as she’s lifted up off the ground and deposited back in her bed.

“You stay there,” Chandler commands, “I’ll make you soup. Don’t. Move.”

That last part is fine with Veronica – staying upright was overrated, anyway. Provided adjusting the blankets doesn’t count as moving (Christ, she’s freezing), she’s completely content in following Heather’s orders this time.

She snuggles back down into her bed, dozing off again, until she smells the scent of chicken soup placed on her bedside table, and feels a warm weight on her legs.

Okay. The soup, she expected. Not the other part.

With almost all of her remaining energy, Veronica sits up just enough to see what that is. It’s Heather, of course (Veronica should stop being surprised about this), lying down on the end of the bed, keeping Veronica’s calves pinned down.

“What are you doing?”

Heather doesn’t look over. “I’m helping.”

“How?”

“Keeping you in bed.”

There were many ways that could be a problem. Veronica focuses on just the one, though. “You need to get to school.”

“No. You’re sick.”

“Your education is more important.”

“Bullshit. You’re a better use of my time, and you know that.”

Veronica sighs. “That’s sweet, Heather, but I promise you I’m not dying. You can come back after school, and I’ll still be here.”

Chandler groans, but at least she bothers to think about it for a moment. Maybe she’s considering Duke and McNamara – while they certainly won’t be lost without her, Heather always thinks they will be.

“If you do die,” she says, looking pointedly at Veronica, “I’ll be hunting your ghost down for eternity. Got it?”

“Aye-aye, captain.”

Two hands on her shoulders, and Veronica lets herself fall back onto the pillow. Heather presses a kiss against her jaw. Veronica lets her eyes flutter close again.

“Good girl,” she mumbles.

She hears Heather pause at the window, trying to hold in a squeal. “… Just eat your soup before it gets cold.”

“You sure about this?”

This might be the first time ever that Heather hasn’t wanted Veronica at a party. They’re in Heather’s car, doing some last-minute checks on their makeup, when Heather turns off the lights and asks the question.

“I promise you, Heather,” Veronica just manage, “I’m fine. It looks like it was just… food poisoning, or something.”

At the very least, that’s what she thinks it is. She and her parents were sick as a… well, sick as a dog for three days, then up and about like nothing was ever wrong. As much as Heather worries, Veronica is telling the truth about this.

Besides, she likes parties. Once you got past the social status benchmark to be invited in the first place, they’re great. People laugh with each other, not at each other, and there’s always something wild to talk about in the days to follow. Just avoid the members of the football team who were complete jackasses, and you were golden.

Heather searches Veronica’s face for a sign of dishonesty that isn’t there. “You really sure?”

“Positive.”

Heather frowns, considering, then she leans in.

It’s a slow, languid kiss, Heather’s red velvet lips soft, undemanding. Veronica isn’t sure why this is happening, but she’s eager to reciprocate. While it seems like it could go on forever, Heather pulls back and the moment ends.

“If I get sick in the next few days,” she warns, “I’ll know you’re lying.”

“Maybe you should try again. Y’know, to make sure I’m telling the truth.”

Heather hums. “Tempting, but we’re already late. We need to get in there while we can still be fashionable about it.”

Unsurprisingly, the place is packed when Veronica and Heather walk in. Whose house is this again? Might be Dan’s, Veronica vaguely remembers, from the Junior State of America. Generally a good host, but not destined for Congress.

She watches the sea of faces turn towards them, and it’s like a switch is flicked – the chatter, previously murmurs that came in waves, rises into a surge of sound as every single person’s decision to come is validated by Heather Chandler’s presence.

Veronica still doesn’t understand why Chandler has so much power, but goddamn does it feel good to be caught in that aura of awe.

Let’s see, who’s here tonight… ugh, Kurt Kelly is, and from the blush on his face, probably drunk already. Dennis, surprising. Some hipster dork, a dude in a trenchcoat, Country Club Kids, yeah, that made sense, but Veronica couldn’t trust herself to have a conversation with them without sarcasm …

Betty?

“So she accepted my bribe,” Heather mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Veronica guesses that McNamara pounced on the chance to do a makeover once again – at the very least, she’s sure Betty wouldn’t have bought that silver dress. The makeup’s subtle, a bit of blush and a touch of eyeshadow, and the glasses were gone. Hopefully she has contacts, Veronica thinks to herself, Betty’s super short-sighted. Maybe that’s why Duke is with her. Being her guide dog that can also hold a conversation.

Just as that thought is about to go further, Veronica almost gets tackled to the floor by flying display of affection.

“You came!” McNamara exclaims as she releases her hold around Veronica’s waist. “You’re alive, and you’re here, and you came!”

“Yes, yes, and yes. So is Betty, if my eyes don’t deceive me. Your handiwork?”

McNamara grins, an affirmation. “She’s having a lot of fun! She even had Heather’s drinks for her, what with Heather driving and all. It’s a two-drink minimum, Betty said, but that doesn’t mean Heather has to have them herself.”

“And Heather let her?”

“Uh-huh. Besides, it’s Betty first popular kid party. She should celebrate!”

Oh, Christ. Betty’s going all out for this – Veronica’s ninety-nine percent sure her old friend hasn’t even touched alcohol before tonight, then four shots all at once? Good little Betty Finn?

She glances over to Betty’s corner again. She doesn’t look drunk at all. Maybe her tolerance is higher than expected.

“Hm. Maybe I should have your drinks for you, too,” Veronica smirks.

“You know I need at least one to get through this shit,” Chandler shoots back. “Besides, you shouldn’t be having that much. It’ll… slow down your recovery, or something.”

“Whatever, Mom. I won’t drink too much if you don’t. Deal?”

Chandler sighs. “Deal, I guess. Go. Be free. I have to socialize - go spare yourself the agony.”

Veronica’s totally fine with that.

She has a thirst she needs to sate.

“So, since none of us were stupid enough to drink water out of a pawprint, there had to be another reason. Then I think back – that goth kid was making some pretty vague threats a few weeks ago, mumbling something when we walked past. Maybe that was more than just posturing to the other witch wannabes.”

Betty listens with a polite smile. Before tonight, she hadn’t even considered what type of drunk she was. Well, maybe ‘drunk’ isn’t the right word – she thinks she’s mildly tipsy, nothing more, but ‘Zen Drunk’ had a nice ring to it. She finds she does not care when she really, really should. Anyone could overhear this conversation, and yet Betty cannot bring herself to worry about anyone out of the loop catching on.

Besides, she likes seeing Duke this comfortable. Whenever Betty sees her at school, she always looks as nervous as Betty feels. Now she’s in her element, eyes bright as she goes on about something she’s confident about, and neither of them could be any happier.

Of course, that’s when they get interrupted.

Heather Chandler stands over the two of them, the dim lighting making the glare more intimidating than it has to be.

“I need to speak with you,” she says to Betty, “the designated driver can stay here.”

Duke opens her mouth, about to speak, but Betty cuts her off. “Sure. Where to?”

“Follow me.”

They clamber up the stairs, and Betty has a little time to think. She was sure she saw Veronica earlier. Good to know she was getting over her illness, but Betty can’t help but feel a twinge of hurt that she didn’t come over to chat. Later, she supposes. She’ll track Veronica down before the party’s end.

Chandler leads her to an alcove near the stairs. Again, Betty should be at least slightly concerned that this werewolf (and yes, Duke told her it’s Chandler as well) has her almost up against a wall. Cornered by a predator, not a single care given.

“What do you know about Veronica?”

Betty blinks. “A lot of things, as it happens. Why?”

“I think she’s hiding something from me. It might be a politeness thing, but there’s been something wrong with her lately, and I need to find out what it is.”

Now, Betty’s nowhere near an expert on how popular people conduct things, but this feels like a breach of privacy. Veronica seems to like Chandler, but Betty’s not so sure if it’s really reciprocated. What if Chandler’s trying to get dirt on her for some nefarious purpose? Not that she wouldn’t mind seeing Veronica more, but not at the cost of Veronica’s social life.

“You’ve apparently known her since before either of you could walk,” Chandler goes on, “and like hell I’m gonna ask her parents, I don’t wanna look at her baby pictures or anything…”

Someone, too tall and broad-shouldered to be the topic of conversation, appears at the top of the stairs.

“Heather, there’s -”

“I’m talking. How many drinks did Heather give you for you to forget the one thing you have going for you-”

Too late. Kurt Kelly, Quarterback, wraps his arms around Chandler’s waist. Chandler goes still – not tense, not like she’s afraid (Betty’s pretty sure Heather Chandler knows no fear) - almost like she’s waiting.

“Red,” he begins, full of confidence he shouldn’t have, “red is the color of… passion. ‘S the color of fire, an’… an’ heat, an’ other things that are hot. Red is the sex color, an’ you, Heather Chandler, are all those things. Yeah.” Kurt looks down at her expectantly, a lopsided grin on his face. “You into it yet? Poems are s’posed to work.”

Chandler keeps staring straight ahead. “Betty, is there anyone else behind me right now?”

Betty checks over Kurt’s shoulder, then shakes her head.

Chandler nods in understanding, face blank. Then, she whips around, shoulders hunched over in decidedly unladylike fashion, and her voice is so low and guttural that Betty can barely make out the words.

“FUCK OFF, DEADBEAT!”

Betty doesn’t know what Kurt sees, but from his expression it might have made his heart stop for a second. He forces a pathetic little scream from his mouth as he tears his arms away, before running as fast as his wobbly legs can carry him.

Chandler turns back to Betty, face as perfectly made-up as expected and with a similar air of nonchalance. “Anyway, I don’t want anything to come between us. Is there any huge life-changing secret that Veronica’s hiding from me?”

“I don’t think so,” Betty replies. “Even if I did know something, it’s a secret for a reason. If she thought it’d be a problem, she’d tell you herself.”

Chandler narrows her eyes, but manages not to tear Betty to shreds for that little slight. Then she sighs.

“I just want to do this right.”

Betty raises her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

“Being… I won’t say nice. Open with people,” Chandler mutters, almost lost over the voices coming from downstairs, “and since I’m not, Veronica isn’t, I think. I want her to be okay.”

“And you don’t think she is.”

Chandler nods.

Al-righty then.

There are a lot of directions this conversation could go. There’s also the problem of missing context – is this a friend thing, or something else? From this admission, it’s clear Chandler likes Veronica, but does she like-like her?

“I can’t answer those questions for you,” Betty admits, “and if Veronica isn’t telling you, it’s probably personal. She’s kind of private, I’m sure you’ve noticed. Maybe let her know how it makes you feel if it’s causing you that much pain.”

Chandler considers this for a moment, then nods again. “Thank you.”

Betty is uncertain how to feel about getting gratitude from this particular person. Luckily, she doesn’t have to respond – Duke and McNamara are coming up the stairs, walking slowly, carefully. Duke catches Betty’s eye, and Betty can see the relief wash over her.

“Hello Heather, Heather,” Betty begins, and there’s a sharp inhale as all three Heathers are caught in the act, “as you can see, I’m still in one piece. Thanks for checking up on me.”

“Why does everyone think I’m gonna murder someone?” Chandler complains.

“Are you okay?” McNamara asks, “Kurt said your face was all freaky.”

“I am physically perfect at all times, Heather, you know that. We need to find Veronica. We need to talk.”

A gasp. “Are you breaking up? No, wait, are you getting married?!”

“No, of course not. We’re gonna have a heart-to-heart.”

“Emotional vulnerability? You? So you are getting married,” Duke quips.

“Shut up!” Duke cowers at the sound of Chandler’s snarl, but she’s still got that grin on her face. “We move. Now.”

Veronica honestly thought she was better. Now she’s not so sure – not that Chandler cares about that distinction. Maybe it’s the heat in the air, the sting of alcohol and the oppressive B.O. whenever some dudebro with no concept of personal hygiene wanders too close. It’s weird, not worrying that Chandler will be mad. Veronica’s more worried she’ll be disappointed – Veronica isn’t sure why Heather doesn’t use that tactic more often, it’s way more devastating than any scream of rage.

The bathroom’s a welcome break, though. Veronica splashes some water on her face, careful to avoid her eyes, and takes a long hard look at herself in the mirror above the sink. She supposes she’s a little pale. Just a little. Hard to tell with the makeup and all. It’s more how she feels, really, sort of… empty…

Her eyes flick to the closed door, just for a moment.

Well. That’s only half-right. Her reflection’s eyes flick to the door, Veronica herself just stared in horror.

Mirror Veronica uses her head to gesture towards the door again, raising her eyebrows in a silent request for Real Veronica to turn around.

… You know what? Fine. This might as well happen. Veronica turns, and it’s only then she notices the faint knocking at the door. With slightly shaking hands, she turns the knob and opens the door a crack.

Round, colored shades and a military jacket. Oh, yeah. Tracey, the, uh, young entrepreneur. Not a person usually seen among the popular kids, but nonetheless provides a service that gets her a place at the table. At least it’s not Heather.

Veronica opens the door all the way. “Sorry, I was just on my way out. Go on in.”

“Um, actually, could you help me for a sec? I don’t have both hands available, but I need to put a bandage on.”

“Sure thing,” Veronica says without thinking, “did Dan tell you where they were?”

“The cloth ones? Yeah.”

Tracey holds out her hand.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Honestly, Betty expected werewolves to be better at hunting.

It might be because they’re human-shaped, at the moment, sauntering down the corridor like Betty’s seen them do so many times before. Certainly not acting like there’s any urgency, can’t let people know they care about things.

Oh, wait. McNamara has stopped in front over a half-open door, eyes wide.

“I don’t think it’s anything,” she says, like a liar. “Do you smell that?”

All three of her followers sniff the air. Chandler’s brow furrows further, but Duke shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she says, “then again, not the full moon.”

“That’d be a whole other set of problems,” Chandler grumbles.

“It’s… well…”

In the bathtub, with Veronica’s jacket over her like a blanket, lies Tracey, grey and lifeless.

There’s a moment of tense, fearful silence.

“Welp, Tracey’s dead,” Chandler says, suddenly and strangely professional, “Heather, help me hide the body.”

Duke stares, alarmed. The way Heather Chandler says it, a casual tone marred by the quick, snappy way the words come out is jarring.

“This. This is why people think you murdered someone,” Betty deadpans.

Chandler ignores her. “Well? The longer we wait, the more likely someone else finds out. Move.”

McNamara steps up to the plate. Slowly. Eventually.

When Tracey’s body is about six inches off the floor, she groans. McNamara drops her, startled, and suddenly Tracey’s definitely awake and… well? No, Betty decides, that’s a reach – but she’s alive, if somewhat pale.

“Now a lotta things hurt,” she whines.

“Heather, get her a towel,” Chandler commands, “if Tracey leaves the room like this, people are gonna think she’s murdered someone.”

Betty isn’t sure who Chandler is referring to with that last bit.

“What happened?” she asks.

Tracey screws up her face, wiping off the semi-dried blood on her arms. “I remember this part. I was talking to Rachel about this party I went to, where one dude jumped from the balcony into the pool, and when I said it, I did-” she mimes slamming down, hitting her bandaged palm down onto the edge of the tub, and just manages to stop herself from screaming in pain. “There was a shot glass there. It broke when I slammed my hand onto the table.”

“Why do you have to be so violent when you tell stories?” Duke queries.

“I just get really into them, okay?! Anyway, Dan said there were bandages in the upstairs bathroom, so I went up, and Veronica was in there.”

“And she helped you.” Chandler doesn’t phrase it like a question. To be fair, it’s probably a given.

“No, she was acting all freaky. When she saw my hand, her eyes just…” Tracey places two fists on either side of her face, then spreads her fingers wide with a little ‘pchoo’ noise.

“Her eyes exploded?!”

“No! The black part, they got all wide all of a sudden. Then… I dunno. Can’t remember.”

That’s the second least encouraging thing that could possibly be said. The first would be that Veronica did something terrible to Tracey, and that she did remember. Ignorance is bliss.

“Okay,” Chandler responds after a moment, “leave, then.”

“…This room?”

“No, the state. Yes, I mean this room. Go. Git.”

Tracey looks pleadingly at Betty, hoping for someone to explain… pretty much everything at this point. But Betty doesn’t know where this is going, either, so she shrugs, and Tracey stumbles out without another word.

Silence, again.

Betty examines the three Heathers. Duke looks like she’s trying to figure something out, McNamara hasn’t had any idea what’s going on since they got into the bathroom, and Betty’s never seen Chandler look so devastated.

“So,” Duke says slowly, “vampire.”

“Vampire,” Betty echoes. Werewolves existed, she knew that. It’d be narrow-minded to presume there weren’t other supernatural creatures as well.

…How did she come to that conclusion so quickly? ‘Oh, well, my best friend’s a vampire now, I guess’ shouldn’t be Betty’s first thought on the matter, and certainly not the last.

“How?” she adds, weakly.

“Well, that depends. Has she rejected the Orthodox faith lately? Apparently that’s a trigger.”

Chandler breaks out of her funk long enough to snap, “Ninety percent of world would be vampires if that were right, Heather. Pick a reason that isn’t mind-numbingly dumb.”

“Let me think…” Duke pauses, the counts out the reasons on her hand. “Practiced sorcery, born out of wedlock, pretty much anything jumping over her open grave, eating the meat of a sheep killed by a wolf, or being a natural redhead. Any of those work for you?”

Chandler touches her hair for a moment, then shakes her head. “No. Doesn’t change my plan, really. I still have to find her, to get answers. Heather?”

McNamara perks up. Chandler grabs the jacket, throws it a lot more gently than the last time Betty saw her do so.

“Track her.”

“What?”

Chandler sighs. “Like those bloodhounds do in cop shows. You’ve got the best nose, and time is short.”

McNamara stares.

“Sniff it, then see if you can follow the smell,” Duke explains.

“I know that part. It just feels weird. Sniffing people’s clothes. It feels wrong.”

“It’s fine if you do it for a good cause,” Betty reasons, “this is a good cause, isn’t it?”

McNamara thinks for a moment, then nods. “This a good thing. I’m good, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you’re a very good girl. Now, off you go.”

Why are they looking at her like that?

Okay.

That explains a lot.

Yeah, it’s kind of out-there as an answer, but Veronica should have never been skeptical about it. She knows there are stranger things than this out there.

Oh, fuck her sideways. What’s gonna happen to that relationship now? Don’t werewolves have this thing going on with vampires? Are they gonna hate each other now because of instinctual speciesism?

Veronica groans. She has to hide, let everything calm down a little before she jumps that hurdle. She knows Tracey was still alive when she left, but she’ll have to go back at some point to get her coat. Not now, though.

Veronica tests the handle on the first door she finds. Open. She presses her ear to the door. No noise from inside.

She opens the door. Some sort of guest bedroom, bereft of any signs of life (though someone has been in here before, the sheets are all fucked up). Bonus, some sort of closet on the far side. Perfect.

Well, if she’s… like this, now, maybe she can hide a little better.

Veronica closes her eyes, concentrates for just a moment - oh fuck this is the wrong choice -

No, no it’s fine (it’s not, none of it is, but she needs to focus more than ever). If – if she just gets on the ceiling, all of her on the ceiling…

How the fuck does this work?

Apparently, the trail leaves to what looks like a guest bedroom – at least, if the complete lack of character is any indication. The only sign the place has been used at all are the bedsheets, all twisted, hanging off the edge of the mattress like a rope. Betty wonders which one of the former occupants was trying to escape.

McNamara does a quick sweep of the room, checking under the bed, behind the curtains, in the closet.

“Not here.”

“She was in here, though. You smell her.”

McNamara nods. “She isn’t here now, though. Now it’s just bats.”

Duke stiffens.

“Bats.” Chandler repeats.

“Yep. In the closet. Bats.”

“Plural?”

“That’s why she added the ‘s’ at the end, yeah,” Duke mutters. Chandler opens her mouth, but slowly closes it again, waiting.

McNamara opens the closet door again, and points.

…Yeah, those are bats. Hundreds of the little guys, hanging off the walls, on the ceiling, chilling on the empty clothes hangers. A thousand beady black eyes watch them intently, fearfully.

“I mean, it makes sense,” Duke murmurs beside her, “conservation of mass, and all. It’s either this, or one huge bat, and that’d be worse.”

McNamara considers it for a moment, then nods. “Yeah, that’d be scary. These are cute.” She pauses. “Wait, what?”

“It’s Veronica,” Chandler says, voice hollow. Betty almost feels bad for her.

“…No, don’t like it. Too many eyes. How do we put her back together?”

“How do we get her out without anyone noticing?” Duke adds.

Both good questions. Even the heavily inebriated knew a colony of chiroptera don’t belong in some dude’s guest room. Maybe - they’re small enough that a few could go in a handbag, maybe if they take a few trips they could get her to the car… but what happens if Veronica wants to go back to normal, and half of her is outside and the other half’s in here?

Ever so slowly, Chandler reaches out and gingerly pries one of the bats off the closet wall and holds it in her palm. It gives a timid squeak, barely audible.

Chandler stares.

Then, with one careful finger, she gently pats it on the head.

Betty lets out a soft ‘oh!’ at the same time the bat squeaks in surprise.

“You’re still cute. Just in a different way,” Chandler murmurs to it, then looks up, eyes sharp. “The pillowcases. Take them off, we’ll use those.”

So many questions answered in so little time. Veronica has terrible taste in women.

Betty jumps into action – for Veronica’s sake.

Veronica comes to consciousness tucked up in a bed. Two eyes. Hands. Legs.

Something’s on her legs. That’s fine. That means they’re there.

“Heather?”

Chandler’s voice is soft, and sounds like it’s from her usual position. “Yeah?”

“Am I in your house, or Dan’s?”

“Mine. That’s what we agreed to. Heather and Heather took Betty home. They’re safe.”

Okay. That’s good. It’s all okay. Heather’s here, and everyone’s where they’re supposed to be.

“Heather, I think I had too much last night.”

Heather makes a noise Veronica’s tired mind can’t describe. It sounds nervous.

“I think… I dunno, maybe someone slipped something into my drink. I imagined some weird shit. I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“…No. We… we, uh, smuggled you out of there.”

Oh. Wow. Heather Chandler, stumbling over her words. Has that ever happened before?

Veronica swings herself up, opening her eyes and regretting it when the sunlight stings her face. Heather is watching her, fidgeting with the hem of her robe.

“Veronica, I know a lot of things happened last night. Some life… life? Yeah, life-changing stuff got shoved your way. I just want you to know I still love you, and I’ll be here no matter what you are.” She goes to take both of Veronica’s hands, but decides against it after getting a glance at the left one. “No, that-that’s fine. This is fine, you’re fine.”

Veronica follows the gaze down, to the limb that Chandler’s lying about. Well, where the hand should be, anyway. Like, some of it’s there, but two of her fingers and part of her palm are just… not. There’s just a little bit of black fog keeping Veronica from seeing the inside of her hand.

Huh. So it wasn’t a bad trip. That’s a shame.

…

……

………

WHAT IN THE FLIPPITY FLAPPITY FUCK IS GOING ON WHY CAN THE TURN INTO MULTIPLE ANIMALS DOES TEN PERCENT OF HER HAVE RABIES NOW IS SHE DEAD OR UNDEAD OR WHATEVER WHAT’S GONNA HAPPEN TO HER AND –

Heather grabs something off the end of the bed, shakes it. Something falls out, and she grabs it and shoves it onto Veronica’s hand. The missing digits return to their rightful place.

“I missed one,” she pants, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just they’re very small, I thought it was a crease in the pillowcase-”

Veronica cuts her off with a wordless, questioning scream.

“Yeah. Yeah, I feel that. Few questions – you can nod or shake your head if you can’t talk. Okay?”

Veronica needs a second to rein in her panic, but manages to nod.

“Okay. Thank you.” Heather clears her throat. “Are you a natural redhead?”

What? Heather knows that isn’t true, though it makes Veronica forget about her existential crisis for a moment. She shakes her head.

“And you haven’t been in a grave… were your parents married when they had you?”

Veronica nods.

“Do you feel particularly strongly about the Orthodox church?”

Shakes her head.

“Are you a sorcerer?”

“Where are you going with this, Heather?”

“We’re doing some diagnosing,” Heather explains. “Are you, though?”

“No.”

“Okay, I think this is that last one… have you eaten sheep recently?”

Veronica thinks for a moment. “We did have some lamb pâté about a week ago. It’s usually made of beef, and Mom wanted something different, but not too different. I think that’s what gave us…”

Ohhhhh. She gets it now.

Heather sets her jaw.

“The pâté,” she growls. The way that sentence is said almost demands “my mortal enemy” be tacked onto the end.

“It’s bullshit, but it makes the most sense of the options you gave me.”

“You should sue.”

“What? For vampirism? Don’t think that’ll hold up in a court of law.”

Chandler scowls, but submits to Veronica’s superior logic. Then, her face goes blank.

“Veronica?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you hate me?”

This has been a rollercoaster of a morning. It goes from calm, to panic, to jokes, to this – and Heather Chandler has looked so very worried this whole time. It’s not a face she should wear, in Veronica’s opinion.

“Of course not,” she coos, reaching out to take Heather’s hand (Heather lets it happen). “I still feel the same way about you, I promise. Do you hate me?”

“No!”

“Then it’s all okay. Well… no. Everything’s okay between us. I still have a lot to figure out about everything else.”

“I’ll help with that.”

Veronica smiles. “Thanks, Heather. For everything.”

“Expect nothing less than perfection from me. C’mere, Countess Chocula.”

Veronica lets herself be pulled forward into Heather’s arms, relaxing into the touch. The nickname would definitely need to go sooner rather than later, but they’re gonna take this whole thing slow.

One night at a time, and they’ll figure it out.

#the cradle will write #the big night

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allthephils · 6 years

Text

Repose

Word count: 2677 Rated M (mentions of sex, adult themes, sleeping beauty au)

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Chapter 6

What are you willing to do?

What was he willing to do? Phil sat down on the closest pew and folded his hands under his chin. He didn’t know how to answer that question. There seemed to be an assumption that Phil was the key to all of this, that he and Dan were destined to be together and that only their love would satisfy the curse. Phil found it a little harder to breathe under all that pressure. Of course he loved Dan, he would always love Dan, but the truth was, he had moved on. He had loved again, more than once, if not totally successfully. He still felt that Dan was the person he would later describe as the love of his life, once he had lived enough life to say that sort of thing. The threat of losing him, not just romantically, but truly losing Dan, had brought buried feelings to the surface and Phil wasn’t sure if he could trust his own heart right now. Dan had made the choice, he didn’t want Phil. So why then, almost 5 years later, was Dan’s family so convinced that Phil was the one?

“Your highness.” Phil kept his eyes to the floor in front of him.

“Please, call me Danielle. This situation is too important for all of that nonsense.”

He lifted his eyes to meet hers and smiled slightly. “Danielle, I’m at a bit of a loss here. Dan and I haven’t spent any time together in years. I moved on and judging by what I saw in the tabloids so did he.”

Danielle huffed quietly and waved a dismissive hand. Adrian reached up from where he sat to take his mother’s hand and encouraged her to join him. She sat stiffly on the edge of the wooden seat.

“I’m just not sure if what Dan and I had is going to cut it, curse wise, I mean.” Phil considered the account of Dan’s health from his meeting with Prince Walter. “However, if my presence had even a small positive effect on Dan, I think it makes sense to try.”

“So you’ll kiss him?” Her voice was so hopeful, so frightened, it broke Phil’s heart to respond.

“No.” Phil took a deep breath as he watched her face fall. He wasn’t going to budge on this. “And I’m not signing anything. But what if I spend some more time with him and we see what happens? I was only in there for 3 minutes. What if I sit with him? Talk to him. For an hour or two or all day. They say that sort of thing helps coma patients.”

“This isn’t a coma.” Danielle snapped at Phil.

“I know.” He spoke softly. “I know. But it helped before, maybe more time with me will bring more change. I want the same thing you want, Danielle. I want Dan to come back to us. Let’s just take it one day at a time.”

Danielle nodded a small affirmation and Adrian breathed a sigh of relief, wrapping an arm around her.

“Can we start now?” Adrian asked.

“What about the suitors?” Phil had almost forgotten about all that.

“We haven’t let anyone in since yesterday. They’re still lined up, people camped out.” Adrian stood and kissed his mum on her head. “We should be able to get you in without anyone seeing.”

“Ok.” Phil stood. “Let’s go see Dan then.”

He followed Adrian back outside. The walk to the guest apartments, where Dan was being kept, was fairly long. Adrian’s hands were in his pockets as he shuffled along. Phil wanted so badly to ask about Dan. How had he been these last few years? How was uni? Did he mention Phil often? What had he said? How did they get here? Instead he stayed quiet, understanding that it wasn’t time for his needs to be met right now. He could ask Dan all those questions himself and soon as he woke up so he resolved to focus on that and that alone. They entered a side door not unlike the one from the morning, walked down several hallways, and came to set of double doors. It was the interior entrance to the operating theatre, as it was known. Adrian and Phil stopped and stared at one another until Phil broke the silence.

“Would you like to spend some time with him first? I don’t know how much you’ve been able to see him, with all of this going on.”

“Nah, he doesn’t even know I’m there.” Adrian kept his eyes down.

“Don’t say that. Of course he knows when you’re there, you’re his brother.” Phil put a hand on his arm.

“We weren’t close. I was such a dick to him. I’m the last thing he needs right now.” Adrian’s lip quivered.

“None of that matters, Adrian. You’re brothers. All brothers are dicks to each other sometimes. God, I used to torment Martyn at your age, but he means the world to me. Dan loves you so much. He told me. He talked about you and your future and he worried. He loves you.”

“Well,” Adrian looked at Phil. “he loves you more. So please just help him.”

Phil felt the weight of his role in this again, heavier this time. He wasn’t sure he could move. He tried to convey sympathy and compassion in the look he gave to this kid standing with him, this kid with so much to lose. Phil swallowed and heaved a deep, full breath. He squared his shoulders and stepped forward, opening the door.

The sun streamed in through Phil’s window, seeping through his closed eyelids and warming his cheeks. He arched his back, stretching under the covers, then curled around onto his side and buried his face in the pillow. He wasn’t ready to admit he was awake despite the assault of daylight. As he snuggled the duvet tighter around himself, it occurred to him that he was shirtless, in just his pants. His half asleep brain began to remember; Dan had been in his room, Dan had gotten him a glass of water, Dan had seen him shirtless! He had only moments to be mortified because his next memory was the feel of Dan’s lips on his cheek and his fingers in Dan’s hair. His heart fluttered and he stretched his legs, feeling the warmth of desire spread through him. Maybe it was silly to to feel anything but romantic about a kiss like that but Phil had long ago filed Dan in the 18+ part of his brain and there was no fighting it. Dan just breathing was sexy to Phil and the thought of him caring so sweetly for him, then kissing him so tenderly was, well, really fucking hot. He ran his finger over his chest and slowly began to move his hand lower on his body, eyes still closed softly. Just before things got really good, his phone rang out on the nightstand. He rolled toward the sound, grabbed his glasses and squinted at the bright screen.

Dan: I had a great time last night.

Phil blushed. He felt like he’d been caught in the act and he laughed at himself as he formulated his response. Eyeing Dan’s last message, Phil typed.

Phil: The most fun you’ve ever had?

Dan: I stand by that statement.

Phil: Thanks for taking care of me last night. No one’s ever done that for me.

Dan: You have a funny effect on me, Phil Lester.

Phil. :) I had a great time too. At least, the parts I remember were great.

Dan: Hmm. Do you remember stealing me away from Iris Spencer?

Phil: Yep

Dan: Do you remember laying your head on my shoulder on the balcony?

Phil: I do.

Dan: Do you remember biting me?

Phil: I’m sorry, what?

Dan: After we’d been on the balcony a while. We were talking about the stars, finding shapes. You bit my shoulder. You kinda clawed at me too.

Phil: Oh god. I’m just gonna go jump out the window now. Bye forever.

Dan: No! Don’t do that. I was planning on keeping you around for a while. Don’t worry, it was cute. I took it as a compliment.

...

Dan: When can I see you again?

Phil considered playing it cool, pretending to be busy again, but Dan had literally tucked him in last night. Maybe they were already past that.

Phil: Literally anytime.

Dan: Yay! Wednesday?

Phil: Sure. You wanna get dinner somewhere?

Dan: I’m kinda not allowed to go anywhere that’s open.

Dan: Sorry I’m not normal.

Phil: Normal is boring. You wanna come over here? I’m a terrible cook but we can order in.

Dan: I would kill for real life delivery pizza.

Phil: Hopefully, it won’t come to that.

Phil: 7?

Dan: 7 it is. I can’t wait. xo

3 days is a long time to wait for a date with someone you’ve crushed on from afar for months. It’s a long time to wait when you aren’t totally convinced this isn’t all a dream. Phil tried his best to stay busy. He made a video and put it up. He filmed a gaming video. He did a live show and spent the whole time talking about Stephen King but thinking about Dan and he had lunch with Louise twice. He cleaned his apartment to a level that he had never attained before. Dan grew up at Windsor castle and is currently staying at Buckingham palace, so yeah, no pressure. Every little thing that happened, every cute dog, every strange encounter on the tube, he wanted to tell Dan. He mostly resisted that urge. Unfortunately, day drinking margaritas with Louise loosened him up a bit and he sent a selfie cradling his giant burrito in his arms like it was a baby. To be fair, it was a really big burrito, and Louise was egging him on mercilessly. Dan responded with a photo of himself, pouting, bottom lip sticking out, looking down at a plate of very dignified but very sad looking finger sandwiches.

“Gah, he’s so cute!” Phil held the photo up for Louise to see.

“Told you you should text him. I can’t believe you’re gonna do it with Prince Daniel. You’re so lucky.” Louise began reapplying her lipstick in a tiny compact mirror.

“Louise!”

“What? Aren’t you?” Louise said.

Phil felt flushed. “Louise, stop. I don’t know. I mean, maybe eventually. It’s only our second date.”

“You’re a stronger man than I, friend. I don’t like to wait too long. What if you really get to like him and the sex is rubbish. Anyway, He. Is. Fit. I’d get on that if I were you.” Louise snapped her compact closed.

Phil fanned himself with a menu. “Is it hot in here?”

Louise grinned, “So what are you guys doing on your date?”

“He wants pizza.” Phil slurped the last of his margarita.

“Cheap date!” Louise said impishly, “Where are you gonna go?”

Phil popped a chip into his mouth, trying to muffle his words. “My place.”

“Wait. What was that? Your place?”

Phil just kept shoveling guacamole into his face, trying to eat his embarrassment.

“Your place?! Oh yeah, you're gonna do it. You are gonna do the deed with the prince!” She put her hand up for a high five but Phil just glared at her.

Wednesday finally came and Phil stayed in bed as long as he could muster. At 2 pm, he was truly starving and very much awake so he dragged himself up and into the kitchen for coffee and cereal. By 4, he was showered and texting photos of potential outfits to Louise. He spent way too much time straightening his hair and perfecting his fringe so he looked edgy but not too edgy, cool but adult, like he used to be emo but has definitely grown out of that phase. By 5:30, he was ready and just sitting on the sofa, tapping his foot, alight with nervous energy and anticipation. He stared down at his phone, debating whether to text Dan. Maybe he should confirm? Just in case Dan got called away on important royal business. Was that a thing? He needed a bridge, he was never gonna make it to 7. They’d been way too casual the last three days. Phil just wanted Dan here in his apartment. He wanted to hear every detail of Dan’s week. What projects did he work on? Were those tiny sandwiches any good? Had he been thinking of Phil? Then it struck him, pizza! He couldn’t order pizza without asking Dan how he liked it. Just then he felt the phone vibrate in his hand and he jumped a little. Dan had beaten him to it.

Dan: Hey we still on for 7? Or did you come to your senses?

The butterflies in Phil’s stomach began to flutter about.

Phil: Looking for an out? Not a chance. My apartment has never been this clean and there is no way I did all that for nothing. I’m glad you texted though, what do you like on your pizza?

...

Phil: Don’t say pineapple

Dan: Pineapple

Phil: Oh dear, something has just come up.

Dan: Ok, Ok, I take it back. I like veggies, maybe pepperoni. Whatever you like is cool as long as it’s greasy and bad for me. You didn’t have to clean for me.

Phil: Um I actually did. You live in a castle.

Dan: It’s a very old castle.

Phil: Well my little apartment is noisy and dusty and small so lower your expectations, K?

Dan: Will do. I just wanna be where you are, Phil.

Phil laid his head back on the sofa and sighed.

Dan: See you soon

Phil: Can’t wait

I just wanna be where you are. That might have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to Phil. I just wanna be where you are. Phil got the sudden urge to change his clothes or redo his hair or clean something else. Problem was, he’d already tried every shirt he owned and his apartment didn’t get any cleaner than this. He checked the time, 5:45. He abruptly jumped up, grabbed his jacket, and raced out the door and down the stairs. The bakery was just a few doors down but they’d be closed at 6. In minutes, he was standing in front of Leo, who was carefully pulling cakes from the case. “Hey Phil, just closing up, what can I get you?”

Phil had to catch his breath from the hurry. “Hey.” He eyed what was left. No pigs, no pandas, just a sad, crooked faced bear. “Uh, I need dessert for me and a friend. Something special but also like, ready right now.”

“You have a date?” Phil shifted and chewed his lip, cheeks pinking up, eyes smiling against his will. Leo raised an eyebrow and smiled widely. “Aw, she’s special isn’t she? I’ve got you, Phil. Let’s see. What’s her favorite color?”

“I don’t know actually, it’s only our second date. He wears a lot of black.” Phil’s eyes darted around the case.

Leo turned and took two small cakes from the back counter. They were purple and black and blue, covered in flecks of silvery white and they shined like glass.

“Oh my god space cakes! These are amazing, I’ve never seen these before!”

“Just learned how. These were going to go out in the morning but they’re all yours. I’ll box them up.”

“Leo this is so perfect, you have no idea.” Phil pulled out his wallet but Leo held up his hand.

“These are on me Phil. Just invite me to the wedding.” Leo winked. “I hope he likes them.”

Phil’s pink cheeks went red and he took the small white boxes from Leo, rambling thank yous as he he backed out of the bakery. He walked home carefully and set the cakes on the kitchen counter. At 6:45, there was a knock at the door. He’s early, thank god.

#phanfic #phanfiction #phan #sleeping beauty au #wip

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topicprinter · 6 years

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Research has shown that the fastest way to increase happiness is by becoming more grateful. This post will give you three scientific experiments to prove the importance of gratitude, then explain to you exactly how to become grateful, which will make you healthier and happier.All you need are these: certainty of judgment in the present moment; action for the common good in the present moment; and an attitude of gratitude in the present moment for anything that comes your way. — Marcus AureliusWhat Is Gratitude?When I think of gratitude I think of it as a way of living. It has been proven to benefit many (and some unexpected) areas of our lives - from health to happiness to the way we interact with others. I think because of its origin in Buddhism, I automatically associate it with mindfulness. Gratitude and mindfulness are very similar: focus on the present moment as well as appreciation for what we have now instead of always wanting more.Feeling and expressing gratitude shifts our focus onto the positive things in life, compensating for our brain's natural inclination to focus on threats and worries.Image.Because of this, gratitude creates positive emotions like joy, love, fulfilment which all undo the grip of negative emotions like anger, anxiety and sadness.The ProofThe world’s leading expert on gratitude is Dr. Robert Emmons, a professor of psychology at the University of California. Dr Emmons examined the effects of writing gratitude diaries on almost 200 college undergraduates. Students were divided into three groups, and each group wrote 10 weekly diaries focusing on gratitude (blessings), hassles and annoyances, or neutral events. Those in the gratitude group were told:“There are many things in our lives, both large and small, that we might be grateful about. Think back over the past week and write down … up to five things in your life that you are grateful or thankful for.”At the end of 10 weeks, those in the gratitude group were feeling more positive about their lives as a whole, more optimistic about the upcoming week and spending more time exercising. Yet the gratitude group did not lead to a more positive mood, as the researchers had anticipated.Perhaps focusing on gratitude only once a week was not frequent enough to change mood. Therefore, the researchers conducted a second study which increased the frequency of the diaries to once daily (for two weeks).Results showed that, as the researchers had predicted, those in the gratitude condition experienced a more positive mood during the two-week period than those in the other groups, and they were also more likely to report doing acts of service, such as helping someone solve a problem or offering emotional support to others.The researchers then wanted to test the effect of gratitude on long term health. The third study asked 65 adults with neuromuscular disease either to write gratitude diaries for a 21-day period or to just fill in the assessments of mood, well-being, and health without actually having an intervention (control condition). Those in the gratitude condition also had their partners rate their mood and life satisfaction.Results showed that the gratitude group had more positive views of their life as a whole than control participants. They also reported a more positive mood and less negative mood on a daily basis during the study period. Their partners also reported that the gratitude participants had a more positive mood and greater satisfaction with life. With respect to health, the gratitude condition actually improved participants’ sleep — both amount and quality. Perhaps focusing on life’s blessings reduced the worry and angst that keep people awake at night.In summary, writing gratitude diaries seems to be beneficial no matter what. Just two or three weeks of filling out gratitude diaries each evening seems to improve mood, optimistic outlook, and life satisfaction, as well as making you more likely to help others. If you want to gain a health benefit from gratitude, you may need to persist with the diaries for two or three months. This practice takes only five or 10 minutes a day, but when done repetitively, reorients your mental compass towards focusing on the positive.How To Be More GratefulWhen I was researching for this, almost everything I read had a list something like "12 ways to become grateful". Just look at this Google search. It is now more clear to me than ever that writers don't care whether their readers actually implement the advice given: no one is going to pick one out of twelve and actually execute repetitively.So I told myself I wouldn't stop looking until I found the best way to become more grateful, and after using this method for a month I think I've found it.The five minute journal.Now, you don't have to purchase, you can do it all at home, but you should include all six features of the five-minute journal. The journal that Tim Ferris uses.This is my whole routine (includes gratitude practice).1. Inspiring QuotesYou can get inspiring quotes for free on Chrome, your Facebook timeline, or on your iPhone.2. Be GratefulQuality questions create a quality life. That's why I love questions like "What am I grateful for?". Write down, every day three things that you're grateful for. Then spend 2 minutes dwelling on these things, you see, you've gotta feel grateful not just logically grateful.This is a really important point so I'll elaborate a bit more. All that I've talked about, this whole "being grateful" thing is not a logical thing. You can't reason with your mind by saying "I'm better off that 99% of the world so I'm grateful" or "I have a nicer car than my brother so I'm grateful". You must feel grateful. I know this is weird, especially if you pride yourself on being a "logical man". But in this case, you've got to give that up and let yourself feel. So keep looking for things that you're grateful for until you feel it in your core.3. What Would Make Today Great?Now, I'm kind of going on a tangent away from Gratitude, but the five minute journal is such an incredible part of any morning routine that I'll just say exactly what I do every morning.Have you ever heard of the Reticular Activating System?It's the thing responsible for determining the lens through which you perceive reality.It's why anorexic people ignore all the evidence that says they're overweight and focus on the evidence that says they're overweight.When you ask yourself "What would make today great?" you are influencing your RAS to point out and engage in activities that will improve your wellbeing; you're building new pathways in your brain that allow you to "see" what you can do to improve your happiness every day.4. AffirmationUh oh, if I didn't scare you manly man away with the poem I've definitely scared you away now. Hear me out.Imagine for a moment you want to build more self-confidence.So, every day, you wake up and write down, “I’m confident and comfortable in my own skin.”On your way to work, you pass a beautiful stranger. Your eyes meet. They smile, flirtatiously. You return the favor.As you continue to about your day—and take note of more reference experiences that further your new belief—you comment to yourself, “Ah, this must be happening because I’m confident and comfortable in my own skin.”This isn’t fantasy; this is how you prime your brain to accept new beliefs.The Daily Affirmation is for this very purpose: to commit to writing the person you’re committed to becoming.Do this often enough, and in time, you become the very person you once wrote about.**5. (Evening) 3 Amazing Things Happened TodayThrough rigorous analysis of nearly 12,000 diary entries provided by 238 employees in 7 companies, Teresa Amabile and Steven Kramer discovered a remarkable discovery:Employees who experienced consistently positive emotions, strong motivation and favorable perceptions of their organization were those who celebrated their small-wins.In their own words,"Our research inside companies revealed that the best way to motivate people, day in and day out, is by facilitating progress—even small wins."The best time to celebrate small-wins?In the evening before bed.A book recommendation from a friend. A beautiful walk in the park. The barista remembering how you like your cappuccino … there are countless small-wins in your life each day.Are you taking note of them?6. What Could I have done to make today better?Every evening, after putting his things in their place and enjoying a meal with friends, Benjamin Franklin would examine his day by asking an important question:“What good have I done today?”Similarly, in the Five-Minute Journal, you’re invited to ask yourself, “How could I have made today even better?”Here’s why:Let’s imagine, returning to the previous example of building more self-confidence, you wanted to approach the beautiful stranger you passed on your way to work, but couldn’t muster the courage.Maybe you didn’t know what to say. Or, you did, but your existing habit of shyness prevented you from doing so.In response to, “How could I have made today even better?”, you might write down, “I could have complimented them,” or, “I could have asked them their name.”Over time, completing exercises like the above shift how you look at obstacles and help you automatically take the action you actually want to take.FinTry this out - see the results. They only take a couple weeks to roll in.

#/r/entrepreneur #reddit

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praesidioest · 6 years

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Gladnis Week - Day 2

for @gladnisweek

Day 2 - Wearing each other’s clothes

Chapters: 2/7 Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, gladnis Additional Tags: Canon Divergent AU, fluff, domestic, slice of life, domestic angst, jfc can they kiss already (no never), slow burn, iono man Summary: An argument about clothes becomes an examination into the nature of their relationship.

AO3 link: here!

He’d been talking about the baseball game all week. Not just talking. Enthusing. Lineup changes and last minute trades, spouting off a litany of statistics about cumulative ERAs and some philosophical diatribe about the Designated Hitting rule that went on for probably far longer than it should have, encouraged by lips loosened with a few beers and Ignis’s bemused epistemological inquiries.

Ignis had done his best to support Gladio’s interests by researching appropriate sports fan fare for such an occasion, taste-tested and kid-approved by none other than the resident ‘plebeian,’ Prompto: sourdough soft pretzels, buffalo chicken mini pizzas, the ubiquitous hot dog dressed with some ungodly topping of sauerkraut and onions that sounded so unappetizing that he'd insisted on making it himself from scratch, to ensure it wasn't imported from the bowels of hell. He’d even made a point to research enough for at least a cursory knowledge of the game, but he found he preferred hearing Gladio speak of it himself, listening to the lilt and candor in his voice as he did so.

“So are you saying you’re for or against the Designated Hitter?” he asked, reaching for a serving tray at the top of Gladio’s cabinet. “I can’t be sure, they way you enumerate your pros and cons. You’re a fan of the Crown City Crests, aren’t you? They’re in the Caelum League, which does, if I remember correctly, allow for the DH within the lineup? Though I have heard you speak highly of the Lestallum Lights, who are in the Lucis League, and do not. Statistically speaking, don’t teams belonging to the Caelum League boast higher RBIs than those of Lucis? So why would anyone be against it? It seems only beneficial.”

“First of all, that’s just unfair of you, talking baseball while wearing my Crests jersey,” Gladio said with a shake of his head, pointing his beer bottle at him like an erstwhile threat. “One or the other, but those in tandem is sort of ruining me right now, if I’m perfectly honest.”

From the open counter of the kitchen, Ignis smiled as he arranged some pigs-in-a-blanket on the serving platter. A little smugly, if Gladio surmised correctly. “Prompto assured me I looked quite dashing,” he informed him.

“Shit on the Six, yeah, you do,” Gladio agreed, raising his beer in toast to the fact, and taking a generous swig of it for good measure. “But. Returning to your question: I can see both sides of the coin here. DHs make for a more dynamic game, overall. I mean, who wants to see a pitcher struggling through the bottom of an inning, when he was posturing like a goddamn hero at the top of it? At the same time, I like the cohesion of the same nine men on the field. It feels like a real team that way, not like you’re bringing in a ringer. Which is exactly what a DH is.”

“Ah,” Ignis replied, in that sage way of his, espousing that exaggerated interest with which one might indulge a child.

“Am I boring you?” Gladio asked, half joking and a little nervous he’d hear that he was. “I know baseball isn’t your thing.”

“On the contrary, I find your passion for it quite interesting,” Ignis assured him smoothly, walking a plate of food over, along with two longneck bottles of craft beer. Even if I don’t quite understand the particulars of your argument fully.”

He’d almost memorized Gladio’s apartment to a tee. Forty-five degree angle from the kitchen counter, six steps towards the lamp light before he’d hit the coffee table, and then it was just a matter of finding the corner of it to round and take his seat beside Gladio.

“I never did get into baseball,” Ignis continued, settling himself beside Gladio and letting his heavy arm drape over his slender shoulders and pull him close. “Though, I did enjoy football for a time.”

“Football,” Gladio repeated, and the disbelief was apparent, even in the flat of his delivery. “What, seriously?”

“Mm,” he affirmed wordlessly, swallowing down a mouthful of the bitter brew. “I think it was expected that I would find the systematicity of statistics interesting. But there’s a fair amount of strategy involved in football that I prefer. I believe someone once referred to it as the thinking man’s game. It appealed to me.”

Gladio nodded pensively. “I mean, it’s true. For all your lineup plans and pitching changes and whatever else, there’s no strategy that can be implemented until you hit that ball. And then it’s a team effort to see you home. Or keep the other team from it. A lot is luck, some of it chance. I can see football appealing to you. It’s like chess. But with people. Large people.” Gladio squinted. “You don’t have a type, do you?”

Ignis laughed, ducking his head to ignore the question with another sip of his beer. “I don’t think I’ve enough practical experience for you to deduce any pattern of behavior concerning what my type is. But yes. It did appeal to me. I used to sit in the library and read stratagem manuals thicker than phone books. Sometimes, when I rented them out, I’d fall asleep with them on my chest and wake up in the middle of the night thinking I was suffering some asthma attack.”

Gladio laughed and kissed him indulgently on the cheek. It was then that he happened to notice a bright red spot of sauerkraut on his chest. “Here,” he said, grabbing a handful of napkins and daubing it at the stain. “You’ve got red on you.”

“Do I?” Ignis asked, at once worried and touching his chest to discern the worst of it.

“Right here,” Gladio replied, still working the stain. “I think I’ve got all of it.”

“My apologies,” Ignis said soberly—more soberly than the occasion demanded— putting down his plate and standing to brush the crumbs of hot dog buns from the front of his shirt. “I should change before I stain it further.”

“I don't have any more jerseys for you to look cute in,” Gladio called as he watched Ignis shuffle away towards his bedroom, staring with unabashed appreciation of his backside.

And though Ignis could not see, he was well-aware of the certainty of those eyes trained on him. “Then I shall have to go naked,” he announced grandly as he went to root through his dresser anyways, a pleased grin hidden with the turn of his head.

Ordinarily, Gladio wouldn’t have hesitated to say something suggestive, something along the lines of complimenting his stellar ass or just wordlessly hooting his approval, like the neanderthal everyone purported him to be. But the subject had awoken a particularly sore spot for him that had been nagging at him for weeks. “Or you could just …. keep a change of clothes over here,” he offered, a little quietly, maybe a little sullenly.

Within Gladio’s room, Ignis had the momentous benefit of obscurity during which Gladio could not see his face, could not watch the growing degree of disconcert that knit his brow with every passing second.

Ignis paused, and outside, for Gladio, the silence loomed. “Nonsense,” Ignis said with a hollow, counterfeit ease. “I wouldn’t dream of impinging upon your personal space.”

“Impinging— what?” Gladio almost spluttered, setting down his beer as he leaned forward to plant his elbows onto his knees, straining to see within his room to glean some sort of understanding of Ignis’s enigmatic statement. “What are you talking about? We’ve been dating for a month now. I think that warrants some latitude into my life.”

“Dating?” Ignis asked archly, the repetition buying him a moment of reprieve in which he might weigh his answers in spite of the harrowing tide of his racing heartbeat drowning the sound of his own thoughts. He was on tenuous ground here, and he knew it. He emerged from his bedroom in a soft, worn T-shirt that hung loose over his frame.

“Yeah,” Gladio replied sourly.

“Is that what this is?” As if the concept was a foreign one to him.

It was incontestably clear how Ignis’ attempts at lightheartedness were not as easily received as he’d hoped they would be. Gladio’s voice dropped to a low menace, belying the cold misery that twisted in his stomach at the way Ignis wanted to dismiss … whatever it was they had together. “Generally, when you spend as much time as possible with each other and sometimes sleep together— yeah, that’s what dating is,” Gladio pointed out, bitterness edging his tone. “Though, dating would would imply we’d go out. On dates. In public.” A beat. “Like we’re not afraid. Or ashamed, maybe.”

He’d expected Ignis’s hesitancy. It had taken him this long just to convince him to date him, it would stand to reason that he wouldn’t exactly jump headfirst into things. But what he hadn’t expected was his resistance.

“We don’t sleep together,” Ignis corrected, ignoring the rest of what Gladio had said, and the latter was near beside himself with hurt.

Gladio wasn’t a stranger to bullshit said in the heat of the moment—he’d gotten himself in trouble on more occasions than he’d cared to count in his younger, reckless years— and tried to slow the maddening pace of his heart, the bile on his tongue that threatened barbed words meant to sting and singe. “No, we don’t, not in any sense of the word,” Gladio agreed, his tone clipped.

And it was true. They hadn’t. Every night that Ignis deigned to spend at his had been spent in hours of furious communion of mouths employed in drawing dizzying ecliptics down the line of each other’s throats, feverish hands that mapped expanses of silken skin and twisted sinew, sought desperately for Ignis’s release as Gladio spoke words meant with the sweetest of intentions, delivered in poesy awkward upon his lips. But Gladio had been careful never to broach the topic of sex proper. “I thought it was important,” Gladio went on, his voice pitched low to preclude the waver of hurt in his voice. “That you knew that I was serious about you. I know your reservations. I know you don’t want to rush things. I don’t want to rush things either. But I didn’t expect to feel like I’m the only one in this.”

Ignis said nothing, leaning a little helplessly against the doorframe, haunting the threshold of the room in which they’d only just untangled themselves from last nights chaste lovemaking. The sigh of displeasure he let out had translated into one of irritation to Gladio’s ears, and in the latter’s oversensitive state, it rang hollow in his chest, echoed by the full, desperate thrum of a heartbeat racing to stave off the surely-advancing ache portended in the charged air.

“Can’t even deny it a little, huh?” Gladio asked, and the plaintiveness of the question was unmistakeable.

Ignis made a point not to sigh again, not to utter any sound or word that Gladio might take ill, quietly padding over on bare feet to slip into easily into his wide lap. “Do you really think I don’t care about this?” he asked, his fingers threading affectionately through the wisps of hair at his temple, stroking the shorn stubble there.

Gladio welcomed the weight of him there, quietly losing his mind over the rare display of audacious affection, but his stubbornness still heavy in his chest, clinging to the fine filaments of bitterness that purled around his ribs. “Hard to say.”

Ignis nodded his understanding, considered, and then spoke. “There are things I love about you, as you are. There are things I have always loved about you. We’ve known each other for so long. But there are things I love about you now that are difficult for me not to lose myself over.

I love that you look at me like a dock worker might eye a woman of ill repute. Don’t laugh, I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever been desired the way you desire me. I don’t think I’ve felt desired before. I’ve always been aware of your eyes on me, Gladio, don’t think you’re subtle. I can tell— even blind— the expressions you wear: the sound of a grin pulling at your mouth, the way your voice turns a little dark when you frown. I can see every expression, cataloged in the back of my mind, and recalled sometimes startling clarity from so many years of marking your every whim and whimsy. Perhaps I regret it a little now, that I’ve waited too long, that I can no longer witness them, now that I might appreciate them with a different awareness.”

The silence that fell between them felt weighted, and Ignis tipped forward to touch their foreheads together, the points of their noses brushing affectionately. “I love that no matter how boldly you look at me, that in that room, you touch me like a consecrated thing, like I’m whole and holy, and I have never felt so adored in all my life.”

Ignis breathed a sigh as soft as a kiss against his Gladio’s lips. “I’ve never wanted anything for myself, you see. And I do now. Selfishly. I’ve never thought of myself as separate from the duty of my office. I’ve always lived like some tintype of a real person, vacant of any consideration of myself. And now, here I am, exploring what it means to want for the first time in all my life. And so I am, as you could understand, a little wary. Of myself, not of you.”

Gladio seemed to relax at that, the taut of his shoulders loosening under Ignis’ smoothing hands. “I don’t want to fall in love with the way you make me feel. I don’t want to fall in love with pretty words or sensations or sex. This is new to me, all of this, in ways it’s not so new to you. And therein lies my hesitancy. I want to be sure that when I tell you that I love you, I mean it. Without equivocation.” He kissed him softly, daring at last to do so with his final words. “I’m sorry, Gladio.”

Gladio let himself be kissed without making a move to reciprocate, but his arms circled Ignis’s waist the moment he broke heedfully from the kiss, crushing him to his chest as he buried his nose into the curve of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of his skin intermingled with the bloom of his freshly-laundered shirt, and wondered if that was what home smelled like. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled meaningfully into the fabric of his shirt. “I’m sorry I want too much of you. I’m sorry I want everything, everything, and that I’m impatient. I’m trying not to be, I am. I don’t want to overwhelm you, really I don’t—”

Ignis stopped his mouth with a kiss, followed by another that graced the peak of his cheekbone. “I know,” he assured him quietly. “I know. But I was remiss in not letting you know my mind. That was a fault of mine I readily admit to. One of those considerations I have yet to learn that comes with understanding someone else’s feelings, in veins heretofore unfamiliar to me. Be patient with me, I beg you. I’ll never intend to harm you, I can promise you at least that.”

“Nothing worth having ever comes easy,” Gladio said, turning his head press a kiss to the delicate hollow of his cheek. “I’ll be patient. I’ll wait, of course I will. I’ve waited decades for you, I’d wait decades more if you told me to.” He refrained from the declaration of vows Ignis was not ready to reciprocate, nodding as he repeated, “I’ll wait.”

Ignis kissed him, a light, quick thing laid upon his cheek, as he took up Gladio’s heavy hand and led him to the room, to the eruption of sonorous cheers from the baseball game on the television, already forgotten. “One of these days, you should spend the night at mine,” Ignis mused, falling back on Gladio’s plush bed and pulling him by the shirtfront down to follow.

“Yeah? Invite me over,” Gladio countered, settling easily between his thighs, his hands finding Ignis’ to twine their fingers as close as vines, his mouth already latched to the curve of his shoulder.

Ignis arched to meet the press of his broad chest, his arms draped easily around his neck as he tilted his chin up to offer more of his throat to be kissed. “I could dress you, then,” he went on, his breath hitching with flick of Gladio’s tongue against his skin. “Outfit you in something pristine and proper, like a gentleman. Have you ever worn formal attire? I don’t think I recall you in anything outside untidy school uniforms and hooded sweaters when we were younger. It would be a fascinating prospect, I think.”

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” Gladio laughed, unoffended. “And I used to wear a uniform for guard duties, remember?”

“That’s right!” Ignis exclaimed, grinning wide at the memory of Gladio in his staid uniform. “Those were nothing so sartorially impressive.” He grinned wickedly. “Or perhaps it was you who was the unimpressive one.”

“Hey—” Gladio objected, and Ignis ameliorated his offense with his a kiss.

“You do dress as though you’re allergic to shirts,” Ignis pointed out, and Gladio bit his shoulder. “That was uncalled for, you brute.”

“Unfortunately, you’ve discovered my devastating affliction.” Gladio admitted through a long, theatrical sigh. “I’m allergic to shirts. How did you know. But that also means—” He plucked at Ignis’s shirt. “Off.”

Ignis gave a little insincere groan of protest and pulled the shirt up over his head before settling back down with a brow quirked in defiant question. “Better?”

Gladio had been hovering over him, now slipping to press himself to Ignis’ side, a hand laid heavy just below his navel. “I’m allergic to these, too,” Gladio informed him, tugging lightly at his belt loops and giving a few paltry coughs in demonstration of his newfound affliction, to Ignis’s deepening frown.

“I’ll wait on the doctor’s note on that one,” Ignis decided, and Gladio fell upon him with a low, rumbling laugh.

“That’s fine,” Gladio said, settling on his chest, his head tucked beneath Ignis’s chin, his arms circling his waist. “I’ll wait.”

Ignis kissed the crown of his dark hair, his hands resting the broad bow of his back. “I know you will.”

#gladnis week #gladnis #day 2 #wearing each other's clothes #catch me still devastated about these two #ALL BY MYSELF

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tipsycad147 · 4 years

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Serving as Herbalists During a Pandemic

There is a lot of need in the world right now.

As an herbalist, serving our communities during times of pandemic can look a lot like what we already do - supporting folks in cultivating longevity and peace of spirit in a sustainable way. For many herbalists I know and certainly in the philosophy I was taught by my teachers, herbalism is slow and steady medicine. Of course, there are always moments of quick relief and insight, but plant medicine is strongest when it is integrated into our lives as an ongoing practice. While relationships with plants is one of the defining features of any herbalist, many of us bring a myriad of other techniques and tools and ways of seeing the world that inform and compliment our relationship with plants (who else is having regular dream visitations from their ancestors who lived through previous periods of pandemic?). All of these skills are needed now as we live through times of great sorrow and uncertainty, strangeness and joy, and begin to dream of how we might emerge in a way that continues to bring us together.

While this post will not be about herbal treatments or recommended protocols during times of pandemic, what I hope to do here is to highlight practices many herbalists and holistic healers will be familiar with, but can be especially useful during periods of heightened and widespread trauma. For some herbalists serving communities that are under constant threat these suggestions may be more familiar than to others - may they serve as an affirmation of the needful and powerful work you're already doing. The work of emergence continues and what follows are some of the ways you might find useful in serving your community.

Encourage your clients to feel their feelings as they arise (or as soon as they can after the fact).

There are numerous powerful and effective therapies to help folks manage trauma after the fact, but one of the tools we can use during or shortly after a traumatic incident (including the prolonged trauma and disruption of pandemic) is to encourage those we serve to feel their feelings as they arise. One of the things that makes traumatic incidents so traumatic is that all too often we don't feel like we have the space or are afraid to or are unable to connect with the depth of our feelings. It's ok to grieve right now - the world has turned upside down and will not be the same again for better or for worse. It's ok to get angry, to get sad, to get happy - just get to where your feelings are.

Now, it's also important to acknowledge that sometimes our feelings do feel too big - that's when it's especially important to reach out to friends and family for support or to a therapist. There are so many great therapeutic models out there and while it can be hard for folks of colour and queer and trans folks to find adequate care you're still worth being cared for. Services like Crisis Text Line can be very helpful for in-the-moment situations of difficulty and it is easy to use. And if you're someone who is looking to support others during a pandemic and beyond in a very real and needed way, consider becoming a volunteer.

Anxiety is growing - share simple tools for managing it.

Here's a great guide talking about anxiety during times of pandemic (for those of you who serve earth-based spirituality and Pagan populations there's a great connection to made between the decision tree and holy trees in so many of our spiritual cosmology). I teach my clients and students breathwork techniques that I've found very useful over the years for all types of feelings and experiences as well as learning how to connect with plants. I have a sliding scale course on breathwork aimed at folks with a magickal practice but here's a free video resource on square breathing which I think is one of the most useful techniques out there for helping us to pause and expand our emotional possibilities beyond anxiety.

One of my favorite tools for managing anxiety is writing and journaling, so here's some of my tips for writing in your journal especially when you feel too anxious to do so.

You don't have to start by writing about yourself or your feelings. When I'm feeling especially overwhelmed I start by writing super mundane things - I describe something on my bedside table or what the weather is like outside. It can be helpful to ease into what you think you want to write about by not writing about it at all.

Establish a set length of time or paper that you're going to write. Depending on my journal size I usually write the front and back of a single page. If I want to write more I do, but my goal is to fill up the space of that single page. What this does is limit any feelings of how much one should write and sets a parameter for how long you should be writing. Sometimes I sit there for quite a while not knowing what to put on paper and that's alright. It makes me think and reflect, even get a bit bored. I've found this practice to be really helpful not only during times of heightened anxiety, but in maintaining a regular journal practice.

Prompts can be really useful. There are all sorts of journal prompts out there - I have one for each New Moon - and you can choose to use different prompts every time you journal or stick with the same one(s) for every journaling session. When things are feeling hard for me I tend to stick with similar prompts again and again such as What am I feeling right now? What am I needing right now? Additionally, I’ll set a five minute timer and let myself right down, free flow style, everything I am feeling anxious, confused, or just big about. At the end of those five minutes I move on to my next suggestion.

Practice gratitude. I feel fortunate that early on I was introduced to the importance of gratitude in one’s magickal practice. Whether it was gratitude to the Ancestors, Gods, Spirits of the Land and Waters, and my fellow magickal folk to gratitude for candles to light, for shelter, and food. Taking time to be in our gratitude helps to give us context, pause anxious cycles, and shift perspective. Gratitude doesn’t dismiss the seriousness or severity of a feeling or situation, but when we are faced with what can feel like oversimplified and intense emotions (i.e. everything is awful), gratitude can help us acknowledges complexity and expand what is possible (i.e. some things are awful right now, but there is still beauty and hope).

Connect your clients with resources on emotional and mental health.

It's important to remember, especially when the needs in our communities can feel so big and overwhelming, that you are not the sole source of care for those that you are serving. You should be referring folks to additional care practitioners, especially mental health providers, as necessary throughout your interactions with your clients. Crisis Text Line is an inclusive and immediate point of support that you can send folks to. Sometimes the need in our community is so big that we can be mistaken in our compassion to think that we are the one to answer it all. I think it is a beautiful and healing practice to share with our clients all of the options and opportunities they have for community support by making sure we have appropriate references available for them.

Know when to step back and take a break. The world is changing and even when the immediate crisis of pandemic is over there will be work to do. But that's always been true - we're just experiencing everything on more directly global terms than ever before. Be sure to pace yourself, take breaks, and engage in the relaxing activities that allow your mind and body to rest. Teach your clients how to do the same by modelling this behaviour to your community. Reassure your community that it's ok to have fun, celebrate joyful moments, and zone out when they need to. Ask for help, participate in the multitude of mutual aid and kindness groups that are growing and have been here for generations, and when you're able, offer aid in return.

Humble yourselves in the arms of the wild. Those are the first words of a beautiful Pagan chant by Beverly Frederick that I've found myself singing again and again these days. The wild can mean many things from our plant allies to humbling ourselves to the spectacular wild uncertainty of our times. Remember to connect with the plants who have taught you, the ancestors who dreamed you, the living beloveds surrounding you in your life right now. We do not know where we are going or how we're going to get there but we can choose to know ourselves and each other through the process.

I hope that these suggestions have offered inspiration, affirmation, and reassurance. All of you deserve support and care during and I hope that you're receiving both.

http://www.wortsandcunning.com/blog?offset=1588187304400

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rinusagitora · 7 years

Text

The headrest for my soul.

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Karin Kurosaki, Toushirou Hitsugaya, Jinta Hanakari, Ururu Tsumugiya, Yuzu Kurosaki

Pairings: HitsuKarin-centric, platonic JinKarinUru, mentioned familial HitsuHina, implied RenShuuKiraHina

Words: 9600+

Summary: Canon divergent, post TYBW ARC. For HitsuKarin Week 2017, mainly using the prompt “with you I am home.” WARNINGS-- suicidal ideation, explicit description of suicide by drug overdose, depression, codependency. Yuzu is her reason to live. Ururu and Jinta are her sanity. But Toushirou? Toushirou is her home. Without him, she is naught but empty hole.

FFN | AO3

Her nights, even when her sleep was segmented by half hours or hours of wakefulness because of hollow presences, came to a close with sweet dreams.

At one time, she preferred to say her day started with her dreams-- of her mother still alive and always with a smile, of the roar of the crowd after her team’s victory at internationals, of her peaceful death and her centuries-long career as a shinigami-- but she turned twelve and then decided it was easier to deal with the next day, days of inaction against the monster that was the junior high rumor mill, when the one prior ended on a good note.

When her dreams ended, she awoke on her own, two or sometimes three minutes before her alarm. That morning was not such was not a morning.

Her twin’s voice floated through her dreams. She blinked herself free of them and smiled at her twin above her.

“Mornin’,” she yawned. It was hard to be angry at Yuzu on schoolless Sunday and even harder to when she felt her twin’s loneliness. Who was she to turn away such a lonely girl, even at seven in the morning on their only day off?

“I’m making waffles. Do you want any?”

She hummed affirmative as she rubbed away the crust in the corners of her eyes. “Yeah. Lemme brush my teeth and I’ll be down.” She said. For some reason, she wasn’t really awake until after she brushed her teeth and got a cup of coffee in her. The later, though a premature habit, was mostly a consequence of her midnight escapades with Jinta and Ururu after Ichi-nii lost his powers. Her habit continued mostly out of addiction.

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand, sent Ururu and Jinta a quick good morning text, and made her way into the washroom. Her phone was an extension of herself, in many ways, her closest link to the Shouten kids when she was away from them. Like Yuzu was her reason to live, those two were her sanity. They stayed in touch after Ichi-nii regained his powers. Even if they couldn’t slay hollows anymore between Ichi-nii’s iron thumb and his posse’s unwillingness to keep their adventures on the down-low after her brother’s reinstatement. They only people who understood her tribulations, she couldn’t lose them.

She sat at the table when her teeth were finally clean. Yuzu had already set her food out; a pile of chocolate chip waffles, drizzled with syrup and butter and blueberries on top. Her twin’s were plain waffles with whipped cream, strawberry sauce, sliced bananas. She couldn’t help but note how it reflected them as people in many ways. Yuzu’s was fluffy and colorful, while her’s was muted with the addition of an ingredient that gave her’s a very different taste.

Her powers were her addition. She only wished they made her sweet like chocolate chips.

It was stupid how that difference seemed to rule her life.

Her phone buzzed twice in her shorts, and just a moment later, she felt his presence.

Your boy’s here, Jinta’s text read, he’s coming to you.

“What’s got you grinning all the sudden?” Yuzu chirped.

“Toushirou just texted me. He should be here in a couple of minutes.” It was only half a lie, she thought. It was sort of hard to explain why a friend gave her a heads up since Toushirou’s phone couldn’t call her own because he came from a different dimension.

“Ask him what he wants with his waffles.” Yuzu told her as she slipped out of her chair.

“Uh… he’s boring, so just make for him what you made me.”

“Alright,” Yuzu stood and made her way to the stove. “I wonder if you two are married, with how much you know about each other. I mean, I dunno how you finagle it out of him. He's so quiet….”

She laughed as her cheeks warmed. “My womanly wiles, I guess.” Her sister laughed too.

His every footstep seemed to pass longer than the last, like he dragged himself through a deep molasses lake, and everything she did to occupy her time-- ate her breakfast as slowly as possible, rinsed her plate, brushed her teeth again, brushed her hair, dressed, simply didn’t quicken time’s pace.

But he arrived, alas. She hopped down the stairs, rather slipped halfway down and fell the rest of the way, as he jogged up the walk and threw open the door just as he knocked.

“Toushirou…” she beamed as he blinked at her. “Good to see you here.”

“I would compliment your appearance, but you look a little bedraggled.” He replied as he brushed past her. “Tsumugiya told me your team will be going to regionals, though. Congratulations.”

She laughed sheepishly as her cheeks warmed. Like Yuzu was her reason to life, and the Shouten kids were her sanity, Toushirou was her joy. He so easily made her chest bubble with some elation, so easily made her cheeks warm, so easily made her feel welcome. She loved him because of that.

“How’ve you been? I hope you haven’t been overworking yourself.” She said after they had seated themselves on the sofa.

“I’ve been alright.” Toushirou replied.

“That’s so vague.” She chided him.

“I happen to be fine with alright. I did just come out of the worst period of my life, so this normalcy is welcome.”

She smiled at him. The Great War had been hard on many shinigami, it was good to hear that, even though he had lost many men, he still fared alright. “That’s the sort of answer I wanted, you know.” She said then. “For a captain, you’re sure bad at being thorough. I hope your reports don’t suffer.”

“Hey, that was uncalled for.” He scoffed.

Yuzu delivered his waffles. He thanked her twin. There was only a moment of resentment towards Yuzu, because she had wanted to talk a little more, but it only lasted that moment after she remembered that Toushirou was still there and they had the entire day together.

“How’ve you been, Karin?” Toushirou asked as he pulled apart his waffled with his fork.

“You already know that my team’s going to regionals, so there’s not much else to say.” She replied. “I’m still having a hard time in school. I’m eeking by, but...” but she would rather be dead. She would rather use the powers that rushed through her veins. And Toushirou knew that, it just wasn’t something she could discuss in her twin’s presence. He had already scolded her for it, anyways, told her that she still had purpose in the World of the Living. Obligations to her team, because without her they wouldn’t go anywhere let alone regionals. Obligations to Yuzu, because her sister couldn’t take yet another loss. Obligations to Ururu and Jinta, because without her they would be virtually alone.

“You’d be doing much better if you just got a tutor.” Yuzu chirped. She leaned back and glared at her twin past Toushirou’s hair. Yuzu stuck tongue out at her.

“Will you be staying the night?” She asked.

“No, I have to leave after supper.”

“Take me for a walk then.”

“I can do that.”

“And then lunch.”

“Doable,”

“And ice cream,”

“Also doable.” He said. “Would you like to join us, Kurosaki?”

She briefed a sigh of relief as Yuzu shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ve got homework and some shopping to do for supper. You guys enjoy yourselves, though.”

“We will, thank you.” Toushirou said. She smiled gratefully at her twin over his shoulder, but her twin merely cleared Toushirou’s plate.

Naturally, their walk-lunch-ice cream-not-date became an entire day-not-date. It no longer surprised her, just because it was so easy to lose herself with him-- from time to stress to loathe to that dreadful facade she used. They ended up on the soccer field and their game devolved into a wrestling match which he definitely won after her picked her up and held her over his head, as if a threat that he would throw her to the ground and cackle as she moaned about her broken bones. They picked up pizza and then ice cream, and they ate their ice cream upon a swingset in the same park.

It was date-y and it wasn’t date-y, like most of their outings were. She had learned to ignore her anxiety, his sweetness, and she had learned to hold her tongue before she said something that would’ve ruined their friendship.

“Your sister is going to kill us when we go back and we can’t eat supper.” He snort as he lamely rocked.

“You may not, but I’ve got a hollow leg.” She responded.

“Impressive, I suppose.” He grumbled.

Alas, pure peace was out of their reach. A scream ripped through the air and stomach churned as noxious reiatsu stirred in the air.

A hollow.

She dropped her ice cream and took off. Toushirou cussed as he took chase.

“Karin, stand down!” He bellowed. “I may be off duty, but I cannot stand by and let the living fight against hollows! It’s negligent!”

She swiped at his feet with a kick, but he merely jumped over her leg. He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and pinned her to the wall. He was impervious to her narrow glare and she was too weak to fight against his raw power.

“Do not be so immature. You know very well this isn’t personal.” He snarled.

“And you know how much this means to me. You know this is my purpose.” She growled back. “Nobody has to know. You can lie on your report.”

“That’s not how it works. Since the Winter War, surveillance of the captains when they’re out of the Seireitei has increased. I cannot because we are being watched.” He told her. “Please, I’ll make it up to you, but this isn’t negotiable.”

Her tightened limbs laxed and Toushirou released her. “Let’s go. I want to at least watch.” She groused.

“You can do that.” He replied as he popped a Soul Candy.

They took off again, his gigai’s hand wrapped tightly around her wrist to prevent anything more on her end, and skid to a stop where the hungry energy was most concentrated. The hollow was a big, ugly thing, with a long face and its eye sockets atop tall stalks, and between its slimy tendrils was spotted webbing it used to glide.

Toushirou drew his sword and her anger melted away as he charged. He was majestic as he fought, his every movement controlled, powerful, graceful. He made it look easy. He was a master.

She loved that about him, too. She’s just frustrated by how stuck she was, how weak it made her. Weak was a strange thing to call herself, when her voice was like a lion’s roar and her quads were as hard as packed clay, but it was all bravado. When it came down to it, to the people that mattered, she was weak and helpless and unrespectable.

“Are you alright?” Toushirou asked before he merged with his gigai.

“Not a scratch.”

He sighed as he picked up her wrist. His gigai held her so tightly it left finger-shaped bruises around it. It didn’t hurt much, but it was noticeable. “Your sister is going to kill me when she sees this.” He said. “I’m… really sorry. For this and… and for shoving you, and the rest of that. If I had my own way….” His lips tightened as trailed off. If he had it his own way, she would already be a substitute shinigami.

It still pissed her off.

“I know.” She replied.

“Will you forgive me?”

“I’m not angry.” She replied. Not with him, at least.

Her brow furrowed. “A true apology,” she started, “requires the intent to never repeat one’s mistake. Seeing as this will happen again in the future I can’t forgive you because you’re not really sorry.”

Toushirou’s expression was unreadable, but she could tell she hurt him. It was cruel that she couldn’t bring herself to mend the situation, like the petty child she was.

“... I forgive you.” She said, because no matter how much she hurt she always gravitated back to him. “I was trying to make a point. It’s out of our control, so it doesn’t bother me.”

It didn’t seem to soothe Toushirou, but he continued anyways. “Y-you dropped your ice cream back at the park. Let’s go get you another cup.”

“Okay.” She could do that, if it made him feel any better, because she kind of felt like shit too.

Yuzu, when they finally got home, fetched her a cold compress for her wrist. She didn’t miss the glower her twin shot Toushirou. She wondered what misunderstanding would spawn if she didn’t come up with a story.

“I tripped on my shoelace going down some stairs. He caught me before I killed myself.” She said.

Yuzu hummed, unconvinced, but her twin was used to being stonewalled and wasn’t the type for confrontation.

It was just the three of them at supper. Her father always seemed busy when Toushirou was around and she never really knew where Ichi-nii went. But their absence was fine by her-- she didn’t risk humiliation with just her sister’s presence.

Still, she hated Sunday nights. Toushirou left those nights. He tore part of her away and took it with him every time.

It wasn’t right when Toushirou was gone. She was so lonely, and it was a strange since part of her was afraid of what tragedy commitment would bring, but he seemed to complete her in some way. They clicked. They clicked unlike her classmates, they clicked unlike her teammates, they clicked unlike her very own sister. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried, her friendships just… sputtered out in the span of weeks. She was like a jigsaw piece in the wrong puzzle when she was among the spiritually oblivious. It was only with Toushirou and the Shouten kids that she felt at home.

Sometimes she wondered what was wrong with her, sometimes she wondered if her love for them was a sign that she would be much happier in the Seireitei, but that train of thought last resulted in an emergency skin graft by Urahara. Those things escalated-- from all nighters so maybe she would walk into oncoming traffic on her way to school and not even notice, to toying with scissors with some sick hope that she would gather the bravery to just cut herself open, to dangling her toes off the edge of a bridge.

Sometimes, Ururu and Jinta made it better. Most of the time they just made it hurt more, but she gravitated to them like she gravitated to Toushirou.

Dwelling on it only makes it hurt more, you know. How about you think of his next visit? It’s inevitable by now. Ururu’s message read.

I know but I can’t stop. I hurt all the time when I’m not with you guys. It’s kinda sad how dependent I am, but you guys are the only ones who understand me. She messaged back.

>Your family loves you. Ichigo too, he’s just bad at showing it. You can depend on them.

I love them too, even Ichi-nii, but there’s no trust here. There’s lies, there’s facades, we’re all trying to hide something or everything, mostly how much we hurt. It’s been like this since Mom died. We’re just trying to take care of ourselves so we don’t burden each other but it doesn’t work. I’m not sure how to fix it, though. Part of me plain wants to exceed Ichi-nii so I can spit in his face for lying to me but I just want some honesty.

It’s got to start with someone, don’t you think?

She frowned. My efforts are just as futile as with Toushirou.

Ichigo is your family and he’s not as self-absorbed as you sometimes think. You’ll have a much easier time building rapport with him.

You make it sound like it’s so simple. When has anything been simple with the Kurosaki?

She dumped her phone in her bag, rolled over, and tried to get some sleep.

She knew she had a handful of admirers-- a couple of boys who’d fallen for her talent, a couple more who thought she would’ve made a cute accessory, a couple of curious girls since she was so open about her sexuality.

Even those few hadn’t left her notes in the past.

“Hey, dude, your hands are shaking. Is your blood sugar low or something?”

The letter crinkled as her fists tightened. It was a love letter, she knew it was, and it terrified her for some reason. Fear of rejection was something she suffered too, which was one reason she hadn’t spilled her guts to Toushirou, and as it was something she sympathized with, it would break her heart to turn someone away. But what if it was Toushirou? She pegged him as the sort to just come out with it, but perhaps he wanted to be romantic.

Her heart dropped into her gut as she finally opened it. She didn’t know Toushirou to be a poet.

Jinta’s eyebrow quirked as he peeked over her shoulder. “‘I know you don’t like love letters and empty words, but I’ve fallen hard.’ What the fuck kind of haiku is that? What junior high student even writes haiku? Go outside, like damn.”

She stared dumbly at the penmanship. It didn’t match any of her admirers or her friends, and the anonymity frightened her.

So she crumpled it and tossed it in the wastebin. “It doesn’t matter, Jinta. Let’s just go. I have homework to procrastinate and pizza parlors to patron. Where the fuck is Ururu anyways?

“She caught a cold.” Jinta told her as he stuffed his fists in his jacket pockets. “Y’know, I never thought a bunch of eighth ‘n ninth graders would be so into dating. Isn’t that supposed to be saved for high school or something?”

“Are you throwing shade at me?” She scoffed.

“Nah, you don’t take it as seriously as some others.”

“I dunno, I’ve been so into Toushirou for awhile now.” Nobody liked somebody for two fucking years with barely any contact with them if they weren’t lovesick.

“He’s different though, so you have an excuse.”

She blinked at Jinta. “How so?” She asked dubiously.

“I’m not stupid, Karin. I don’t approve getting so attached to Toushirou like you have since all that is so complicated, but he has the decency to be honest with you and makes you feel less lonely when he’s around, so I can’t really hate him.”

She frowned as they walked. She was a masochist if she loved Toushirou despite how much it hurt to be apart, despite that they may never be together.

Jinta nudged her with his elbow. “You live too much in your head, Karin. Open up a little.” He said.

She laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve got a test tomorrow and taking up a lot of my attention for some reason.

“Sure, a test.” He rolled his eyes.

It was a beautiful Friday afternoon. Too beautiful to be cramped inside, berated with some lecture about agametic reproduction. The sky was clear and impossibly blue, and the sun was above her school and out of her eyes, and the temperature was perfect for t-shirts and shorts and to run around on a soccer field.

Those were the sorts of days she wished to spend with Toushirou….

A chill ran down her spine, then. A grin split her face. That was most definitely his reiatsu she felt. It was almost like magic. He never came on Fridays and especially not when she was in school, but like she willed him to appear, he was there.

Her hand shot up and she asked to be excused to the nurse’s. Before her teacher even asked about her sudden affliction, she was gone. She ran faster than she ever had in the past, ran all the way home and didn’t slow down, not even when her side cramped or when her shoulder slammed into the gate, she didn’t slow down until she was out of her shoes and stumbled down the hall.

“Toushirou!” She gasped.

His eyebrows shot into his hairline. “You look like hell.”

She wheezed as she propped herself on her knees. Toushirou dragged her to the couch where she collapsed and grabbed her a glass of cool, lightly salted water.

“Did you run all the way here?” He asked as he held the glass to her lips. His other hand supported her neck as she chugged. Really, she could’ve done it herself, but his touch was welcome. She got to stare into his beautiful eyes like that.

She pushed the glass away, wiped her lips, and then nodded. Toushirou chuckled for some reason.

“What?”

“You’re just a weirdo.” He said as he watched her prop herself up and sip. “You skipped school and ran something like three and a half kilometers. You’re so stupid it’s actually flattering.”

“Why’re you here so early?” She asked.

Toushirou merely shrugged. “I finished with my work early and decided to spend my weekend with someone I actually like instead of babysitting a bunch of drunks.”

Her face felt hot. She was grateful she could blame her rosy flush on her run. Still, she reached for the remote on the end table. She might kiss him if he complimented her again, and that would lead to a mess….

“How has school been?” Toushirou asked as he climbed onto the couch and pulled her legs over his lap.

A snort ripped from her esophagus. “You know how I am.” She said.

“Karin, you need to keep your grades up. I know you think most of what you learn in school is worthless to your future, and perhaps the material is, but school develops your work ethic now that you will need as a shinigami. The Winter War and the Great War were exceptions to our lives. We’re warriors, but we’re bureaucrats on our regular days.” Toushirou chastised her.

“I have tried, I’m just stupid.” She scoffed.

“Untrue!” He snapped. His sudden severity startled her. “You’re brilliant, resourceful, quick on your toes, down to earth. I know academia doesn’t come easily to you, but you just need a little help. I’d help you if I understood the material, but I’m certain you can find a tutor who can cater to your unique learning style.” He said. “But don’t you ever denigrate yourself like that again, have I made myself clear?”

Her brows furrowed as guilt squeezed her heart. She knew Toushirou just wanted to help, and he was partly correct and she was just mulish, but it all seemed futile when she already knew the path she wanted to take with her life.

But how he, equally stubborn and even more stoic, still put up with her immaturity was the real mystery. She was just grateful he was still there….

“H-how long are you going to stay? The weekend or just tonight?” She asked.

“The weekend, so long as the Seireitei doesn’t fall apart.” He replied. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

“You know you’re always welcome here.” She said.

They stared at each other, oblivious to the children’s show that played on the television that she ought to change. But his eyes were beautiful and he looked at her with care and concern that she couldn’t look away.

“... take a nap, you look like shit.” Toushirou finally said.

She was awfully tired, she thought as her eyes fluttered. But his visit was so out of the norm that an irrational part of her feared that she had finally lost it and he was just a hallucination and she would wake to nothing. So she pushed him onto his back and then laid herself across his front, her ear on his hammering heart. He couldn’t disappear that way.

“H-hey, inappropriate, Karin….” Toushirou stammered.

“Relax,” she giggled, “I just need a pillow.”

Toushirou’s heartbeat was like a hypnotic lullaby. It made her eyelids heavy and put her into some entranced, lucid dream state. She thought how odd it was that he was so warm and supple despite the artificial vessel he was in. But Urahara was a genius. That man made the most persuasive gigai. She wondered how he performed such miracles like gigai and her migraine meds, but she was thankful either way. He made everything she loved so tangible.

Yuzu wasn’t pleased when she was found on top of Toushirou. Her twin’s eyebrows were pinched just slightly as she was jostled awake, and her twin was awfully curt with Toushirou the rest of the night. There were two possibilities for her sister’s displeasement-- Yuzu either thought Toushirou deliberately hurt her and she covered for him the same way she covered for Ichi, or Yuzu had figured out Toushirou was a shinigami or some other force that intended to steal her away. She hoped it was the first. It was much simpler to dispel an abusive situation than something that she partly hoped was true.

The evening was otherwise peaceful. She was restless when she retired, though. Her day didn't end and it didn't begin. She didn't dream that night so when her eyes fluttered open at godforsaken four o’clock in the morning it still felt like the night before. But she was simply too excited to rest any longer.

She quietly made her way to the bathroom to shower, a change of clothes under her arm. Was she truthful, she planned to sluff at the Shouten with Toushirou and Jinta and Ururu, start her weekend early, but Toushirou already reamed her a new asshole through her ears so she figured she ought to at least attend.

There was a knock at the washroom door as she brushed her teeth. It was Toushirou, a little bedraggled with even messier hair with a strap of his tanktop had fallen down his thin shoulder and his pajama shorts ridden up to his waist.

“What the hell are you doing up?” He mumbled as he wet his toothbrush beside her.

She was half-tempted to just tell him she was a morning person, but she couldn’t bring herself to lie to him. “I couldn’t sleep.” She said through her toothpaste. She was amazed she was even articulate before her coffee.

Toushirou hummed. They were silent as they brushed their teeth.

“You’ll be going to school today, won’t you?” Toushirou asked as he combed his hair. “I assume so if you’re dressed like that.”

“Yeah,” she replied as she rolled her stiff shoulders. “Saturdays are half days and I don’t have practice so I’ll be home earlier.”

“I’ll come pick you up in that case. We can go out for burgers or something. I’ve had this ridiculous craving lately….”

She laughed as her cheeks warmed. She used to not peg Toushirou as the sort to suffer from cravings, but he was an early adolescent like any other, in the middle of some awkward transition with body acne and mood swings and crushes and---

That love note returned to the forefront of her mind. He was still a captain, he had the ability to smother his reiatsu beyond what her immature sensors could feel. What if all the exceptions he made for her-- like reference her by her given name, visit her, insistence he paid for her meals when they went out, little objection to her shenanigans, his patience and his support-- was because he returned her feelings and she was just too stupid to realize it until then?

What if she could turn that time into an actual date?

“I’ll bring a change of clothes, then.” She said, and she admired her ability to at least act cool when she was about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You’re fine in your uniform, really.”

“Um, don’t you know jackshit? You don’t go out on the town in your school uniform.” She scoffed.

“You’re, like, fourteen, and it’s not exactly clubbing.”

“No, but I am going to look hot as hell because I want to.”

“Your uniform is already complimentary. At least, Tsumugiya tells me some gentlemen have a fetish for young women in school uniforms.”

“Toushirou… do you have something you’re trying to tell me?”

Toushirou merely rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna start breakfast. Is there anything you want?”

“... French toast, with cinnamon and fruit” she replied, “but Yuzu’s gonna be pissed when she finds you in her kitchen.”

“I’ll just put on some coffee in that case.” He grumbled. “I have no idea what I did to infuriate your sister so much….”

She merely laughed abashedly. She wasn’t sure where to start with her family’s issues.

She sat on the counter as Toushirou prepared their coffee. It was even more delicious than Yuzu’s coffee, and something delicious about the serenity and domesticity of that morning. There was a sort of perfection to that morning, as if it was a taste of happiness with him.

Yes, she thought, that was the day she would tell him, she thought. That was her first step towards happiness.

She had promised her attendance, but her attention was another thing altogether. Concentration on boring numbers and words was impossible when her perfect weekend was so imminent. She daydreamed about her confession, she even wrote an outline in the margins of her workbook so she knew exactly what to say, and then an outline of their entire date. Burgers first, then the arcade, then the park where she would tell him.

The perfect, almost fairy tale-esque feeling lingered. She dreamt of their kiss, of the I-love-yous and the tears that would certainly follow. It would be magical and she would make sure of it.

Her leg bounced as she felt Toushirou’s approach fifteen minutes before the bell. Those prior hours passed quickly, but those minutes seemed to be the longest of her life. Her heart pounded harder against the back of her ribs as the seconds ticked by. They said a watched pot never boiled, and it seemed true, but where else could she direct her attention? The reality of her daydreams which took her breath away? Risk her phone taken if she messaged Jinta and Ururu about her anxiety which would postpone her weekend until her father could come fetch it from faculty?

But those seconds passed, finally, and she bolted out of her homeroom like it was on fire for her locker in the dressing room. She garnered many stares as she raced, and she was certain that was Yuzu that shout her name as she took stairs three at a time. But there wasn't anymore time to waste-- not for homework or hollows or family, not when time already sped towards Toushirou’s departure for the Seireitei again.

Toushirou cocked a brow at her as she approached. She was warm under his gaze and eager for whatever compliment he gave.

“I have so many questions, I don't know where to begin.” He said, and her heart sunk. “I mean, you look very nice, but you didn't need to dress up. Your uniform is just fine.”

“Nonsense, nobody goes to town on a Saturday without looking nice.” She scoffed. But he liked it, and that was all that mattered, she thought as she caught his wrist. “C’mon, now! Pizza can’t eat itself!”

“I-I thought we were going out for burgers---”

“Oh my god, burgers then. We have a totally flexible schedule, you know. We could go play soccer first, and then work up an appetite, and then eat. But I’m hungry so we’re not going to do that.”

Toushirou fell beside her. They slowed to a lazy shuffle, and he took his hand back to fold his arms.

“It nice today.” She remarked, followed by a pleasant sigh. “How long do you think we’ll be out?”

“I’ll get you home before supper. I don’t need your sister on my case even more than she already is….” Toushirou involuntarily shuddered then, as if her sister was some cannibalistic boogeyman that breathed down his neck that very moment.

Still, she couldn’t help but be disappointed that they had only a handful of hours before supper. She would have to make it even more perfect in that case so Toushirou didn’t stand a chance against that princess.

She sent a message to Ururu and Jinta to cover any hollows that Ichi-nii’s friends couldn’t. She wouldn’t let anything jeopardize the perfect night she confessed.

It was a feat in and of itself that she kept her food down. Her belly churned and twisted and spasmed the closer her fated hour loomed. And she convinced herself it was silly, because she was certain Toushirou wrote that letter and she was certain they would be together for years if not the rest of their lives because it was impossible for her to imagine her life without Toushirou.

She had fallen just behind him as they made their way through the throngs of people and labyrinth of streets. She was heavy and her mouth was dry as a sponge. Every step felt like she trudged through a knee-deep landslide instead of air. She swore she would faint if her heart hammered any harder. She had experienced fear in the past, as hollows bowed over her and drooled on her cheeks, but she would’ve rather stuck her head right between its teeth than go on another step. She was half tempted to just scrap her fairy tale and go on as friends, but she was Karin Kurosaki and she didn’t have an ounce of cowardice in her bloodstream.

She caught Toushirou’s wrist. He spun around and the ethereal color of his eyes sent shivers down her spine.

“I love you.” She blurted. His eyes bugged out of his skull. “I love you.” She marvelled at how easily that iteration tumbled out, and then the dam broke. “I’m irrevocably in love with you, Toushirou. I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I love everything about you. You don’t patronize or infantilize me, you treat me as your equal even despite our obvious differences in capability. I-I know you can’t answer all of my questions, but I know you don’t do anything to put me down or keep from me what I can know. I feel so much stronger when I’m with you, like I can make my way through all the impossibilities I’ve been handed.” She laughed then, blissfully. “And you’re so beautiful, you know? Majestic, breathtaking, like a dragon. You’re everything I want to be and everything I’ve wanted in a partner.”

Toushirou’s chest heaved as he panted, as if she had give that speech while he ran for his life. His eyes were so emotive. He looked ecstatic, hurt, regretful, mournful, so many things but many of them filled her with a cold sense of dread.

“Karin,” he croaked in some heartbroken tone. He quickly wiped the tears in from his eyes with the back of his hand and she honestly thought she would puke on the spot. Why did he sound like she had just informed him of someone’s death? He wouldn’t cry if he loved her, right? Whywhywhy did he cry---

“I can’t.” He said. Her grip lost its strength. His hand fell back to his side. Everything from her neck to her knees turned to jelly and she fell to the pavement. She didn’t even feel the impact of her knees on the ground, like the entire world fell out from under her and left her suspended in a vacuum.

“Wh-what do you mean?” She knew she cried with him, by the hoarseness of her voice. Her cheeks felt sticky and she couldn’t breathe through her nose.

“I can’t love you.” He said.

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I can’t love you. I can’t do it.”

Her fists caught his shirt as if he was her only attachment to reality. “I don’t understand. Don’t? Can’t? Won’t? Why? Was it something I did? Is it some rule in the Soul Society?”

“Because you don’t love me!” He sobbed. “You love what I do. You reek of dissatisfaction, Karin, you tell me all the time how bad you are at being human and you're so eager to finesse your skills as a shinigami. You live vicariously through me, I am the closest to death you can achieve without actually going through with it.”

“You misunderstand. That's only a part of it. I love you because we’re alike. I've discovered through knowing you that I'm meant to be a shinigami. I don't love you because you're like my death, I love you because I feel at home with you, and with other shinigami I'll be at home. They're two different things!” She bellowed. “Do you understand what it means for me to feel like I belong, don't you? I don't even feel that with my own flesh and blood.”

“Of course I understand, but this isn't love. You've imprinted on me.”

She screeched and pound her fists against his chest. “Why aren't you listening to me? You always listen to be, what makes this different? Don't you love me? Wasn't it you who left that haiku for me? Isn't that why you keep visiting me? Isn't that why you're so nice to me?”

Toushirou was still as she pounded her weak fists against his ribs. They garnered stares because of her tantrum, but she couldn't bring herself to care. He had torn yet another bone from her body.

“Why? You've been my friend for so long and I know you love me, but why can’t you do it now.” She sobbed as she grabbed his shirt again.

He pried her fingers from his shirt. She couldn't look him in the eye. “I should go.” He spoke softly, like how Ichi-nii spoke when he held back tears. “I'm very sorry, Karin.”

His footfalls faded from earshot and her breath followed. She felt much like a river stone as the crowd dispersed. She couldn't help but think she may eventually be worn away like one.

She knew it to be Jinta and Ururu that found her and carried her home like a dumb pack.

The blood had returned to her legs on the way home, but the ground beneath the soles of her shoes felt like uneasy waves of stormy seas.

She was delivered to her room. She sobbed as the fell back into her mattress and held tightly around her.

“I'll never have anything good, will I?” She lamented as she squeezed her eyes. “I always ruin it, or it’s taken from me.”

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither’s Jinta. You're stuck with is, even after you die.” Ururu told her.

“He's stupid to do that to you.” Jinta said. “He led you on, he left you. It's his fault. He's the sort that gets off on hurting girls.”

She frowned. She was familiar with those sorts, older boys who thought girls were their right and had no problem diddling other girls even if they had girlfriends. Toushirou didn’t seem like the sort to do that. He was noble and chivalrous and kind. It was her who had crossed that line-- her foolishness, avarice, dependency. She had chased him away.

But perhaps they were right. She always cut herself the short end of the straw. She wished she could make sense of it as quickly as she made sense of everything else, but reality hadn’t quite settled in.

“Is it bad that I can’t agree with you?” She whispered. Ururu merely nuzzled her cheek.

There was a knock at her bedroom door, then. The three of them nearly jumped out of the window, skittish by habit, but they relaxed. Yuzu’s reiatsu was behind it, sweet and bitter and concerned. She knew her twin couldn’t tell who was behind there, and even if Yuzu could, she doubt it mattered. Jinta and Ururu had come over in the past, they were just a couple of friends hanging out.

“Karin, I know you’re in there. I won’t come in. I know you grieve privately. But just listen to me, okay?” Yuzu said. “I-I saw Hitsugaya-kun outside of school today, but since you guys aren’t together, I assume something happened and he left. Karin, I know he’s probably hurt you for awhile now but you’re better off without him. And if he ever shows his face again, I’ll bash it in.”

Her features pulled into a silent, painful sob. She wished the world to disappear again, let her gather her thoughts, but it appeared the universe and its puppets were content to be cruel.

She hated how obvious her misery was. Her body felt like it had been stuffed with rags. Her movements were slow and graceless, and her silence prompted many comments. She swore the reverent hush that fell over her class was so she couldn’t hear the gossip. Karin Kurosaki has finally broke, do you think it had anything to do with that boy she was with yesterday? Yeah, I saw her sobbing in the street Saturday after school. You think he dumped her? Her team noticed too, with her lackluster performance. Eventually, she just vomit and she was excused to the nurses.

Of course, She wasn’t one for the nurse’s office. She knew her ailment couldn’t be cured with an antiemetic, because Toushirou was still gone and she hated herself.

A couple of clubs had been released so the entrance wasn’t empty. It didn’t matter though. She just needed her sneakers and then---

She paused as she opened her shoe locker. Another note was laid across her sneakers. Tears immediately welled in her eyes and her hands shook. Its presence made her doubt the other love note was from Toushirou, he didn’t seem like the sort to torment her like that over a virtual breakup, but she just didn’t know him anymore.

She tore it into dozens of pieces regardless. She sobbed as she made her way to the plastic wastebin by the door, and she knew every eye in that place was on her because Karin fucking Kurosaki hadn’t fallen apart ever before.

Fuck them. Fuck him. Fuck everyone. If they wanted a show, she would happily cater she thought as she brandished a lighter from her bag and lit the pieces aflame. They fluttered into the wastebin, she shrieked, and then kicked the flimsy thing across the room where another student narrowly missed collision.

“Fuck. You!” She roared. She crumpled to the floor and held herself as she wailed. She was a pitiful sight, fodder for the rumor mill that would certainly rip to pieces in the future like she had that letter, but she was too empty to care anymore.

Jinta’s arms wound around her shoulders and he squeezed her tightly.

“Fuck off.” He spat. The entrance was void in moments. “And fuck that bitch, too.” He said, more dolefully, as she rocked. “Fuck that stupid, holier-than-thou son of a bitch. He’ll burn eventually. I’ll drag him kicking and screaming into Hell myself.”

Toushirou would burn just like that letter that stunk up the place with the smell of burnt plastic, and her life would return to some mundane routine that wouldn’t even kill her.

She screamed at the top of her lungs.

Days, weeks, months, and then a year, and then two and then four years. Time didn’t feel quite like it used to. It felt like slime-- shapeless, mouldable to her mood. Sometimes she was sad and it passed quickly, and sometimes it dragged like her limbs. But it all felt like one day, like it was still that dreamless weekend.

Even with time to gather her thoughts, she couldn’t say how she felt about Toushirou. As an adolescent, his friendship was something that kept her afloat in a world that seemed against her. He kept her grounded, he reminded her of her purpose, and in some ways, he was a symbol of the inevitability of the fulfillment of her destiny, of company with like-minded people. Though Jinta and Ururu had learned how to remind her of her purpose there in the World of the Living, they never could fill the hole that Toushirou left.

She hated that she needed someone like Toushirou, even after he left, but she was needy and codependent. She eventually came to terms with that.

Yuzu was enthralled to never see him again. She never did explain what their relationship was. Just a friendship she destroyed, nothing abusive.

Like how she gravitated to the river after Masaki’s death, she gravitated to it again because ice was just frozen water. She liked to submerge her legs. They often went numb after a minute or two, but the ache took her mind off the one in her chest. Though the thought to completely submerse herself frequently crossed her mind, she worried that the stubborn, instinctual part of her would crawl out.

It began to reaffirm her place in the universe when college after college refused her. Her high school grades were less than favorable thanks to her shot ambition. It made every day harder and harder. Though her father promised her that there was always a place for her in the Kurosaki clinic, it never sat totally right with her.

Her needs had been torn from her hands and spat on over and over again. First with her mother’s death, and then by Ichi’s savior complex, and then by another boy just like him who thought her isolation kept her safe.

Not anymore. Her destiny, she thought as she flicked the bubbled to the top of the needle and squirt them out, was in her own hands. She didn’t care anymore-- not for Toushirou, even though they would be coworkers in the space of years, not for Ichi, who seemed to think her feelings were his plaything, not for Yuzu, because she often felt like a lead weight or a big wall that kept her from her needs even if her twin was the only one who really gave a damn.

Since the clinic was so small and understaffed, they didn’t have the checks and safeties hospitals did for their access to morphine. She just needed the key to the locked cabinet and that was it.

She briefly considered to inject herself in her carotid since it was virtually a straight trip down to her heart and lungs where the damage needed to be or into her brain, but her hands shook and she feared she would miss so she just settled or her arm. Four vials worth would kill her either way.

She curled up on her side on the gurney. For a handful of moments, there wasn’t anything, but then she felt dizzy and breathless. Her vision when blurry, but when she touched her cheek with her weakened hand, it came back dry. When she blinked, she was beside her clammy and blue-lipped body with a chain connected between their breastbones. She knew as long as that chain was connected to her body, she could be revived. She grabbed the end that connected to her withering vessel and tugged with hope that she could tear it out, but it just yielded more chain. So she pushed that body onto its back, wrapped her fingers around it, and slammed her fifty-two kilos into it. Her trachea collapsed with a crunch, like she had stepped on a styrofoam cup or a pop can, and the chain was freed.

There was a knock sometime later, she couldn’t say exactly when, but she had somehow landed in the plastic chair with her back to the clock. She knew it was Yuzu behind the door, increasingly worried as nobody answered behind a locked door into an examination room during clinic hours. She knew her twin called Ichi because she couldn’t find her fucking key and she needed to open the fucking door because she couldn’t find Karin and he knew what she had been like lately. She knew her brother immediately slammed the door shut and Yuzu fell into hysterics just beyond the wall. But nothing swayed her. Not even Ichi’s broken-hearted, teary gaze, or their father’s palpable grief, or Ururu’s pink eyes and puffy cheeks.

“You’re a fool, you know.” Ururu told her as she leaned her behind against the wall next to the gurney. Jinta stood on her other side, eyes locked on the floor. She told herself it was because her body was still in the room and it didn’t look quite right. Wasn’t Ichi supposed to be on the phone with the coroner’s?

“I know.” She murmured.

Jinta cleared his throat like there was something caught in there. “How’re you feeling?” He asked.

“I dunno. Tired. I can’t take a deep breath, but that’s it.” She answered.

They were interrupted by two middle-aged gentlemen in polyester jackets. They came to collect her body, silent because of Jinta and Ururu’s presence, but their expressions were conversation enough. So young. I have a daughter this age, you know. I can’t imagine….“You realize what the fuck you’ve done, right? Permanently traumatized your family. You know this, don’t you?” Ururu growled as the collectors were finally gone.

She knew Ururu meant her kin, but she couldn’t help but think of them. She wouldn’t have vacation to the World of the Living unless she was a ranked officer. She had forgotten about that. It made her wonder if they could visit her in the Soul Society. But perhaps they wouldn’t. Perhaps they would forget her. Part of her hoped so, part of her wanted to take them with her. What a selfish girl.

Jinta nudged her with his narrow hips. He was taller than her by then, with salmon scruff on his chin and thinner eyes. She almost smiled when she thought about how pretty they had all become.

“Don’t worry. Ururu’s gotta give you a hard time since we’re the only ones you seem to listen to anymore.” He told her, and then he grinned. “You’ll be the greatest fucking shinigami ever. Even better than the Kenpachi.”

“I dunno who or what that is.” She paused. “I’ll learn though, I guess.” She paused again. “How do you think Toushirou’s going to take this?”

“Hell if I know. I don’t even know why you still think about that shitstain after he up and left you like that.”

“I’m going to be working with him someday, maybe even as a captain if my reiatsu pans out.” She reminded Jinta. She shuddered. “Do you think… he could love me this time around? Now that I’m dead?”

Ururu and Jinta glanced between themselves.

Ururu’s eyes turned to her finally. “... he’s on his way.” Her friend whispered. Her heart clenched. “You can ask him. We can stay if you want, or stand guard while you get your affairs together. Or sock him. I'm fine with either.”

She pushed herself to her feet and pulled the two of them into a hug. She loved them, more than she loved herself or anyone else. And that was cruel she knew, because her family loved her too, but those two were time and battle tested and there was no one she would rather have her back.

Her heart came to life as she felt his presence outside the clinic. It pound erratically, as if her heartbreak was fresh. Her scowl deepened with his every step closer, and she wound her arms tighter and tighter around her friends.

“Could you… could you guys give us a little privacy? I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself.” She uttered. Her arms fell to her sides as her friends slipped away. She saw a flash of his hair outside the door, and her heartbeat did that again as she strained to listen to what kept Toushirou a moment longer.

If her lip so much as wobbles, I’ll take your fucking head off. Not so fast, Jinta. I’m itching to blow a hole through him. It made her smile. Those two were ever-protective. And so was she. They were, especially in that moment, all she had. And they were the best she had.

Toushirou entered the examination room she occupied and shut the door behind him. He didn’t look any older and certainly not any taller. It was as if it was just days ago he terminated their friendship. But his hair was longer, his fringe tickled his jaw, a little messier as if he ran his fingers for some hours.

They stared at each other. She didn’t even open her mouth, and neither did he. Admittedly, she had daydreamed several monologues over the years. Some were apologetic and how she wished she wasn’t so foolish, some plead for his return and for his friendship, some were livid because who the fuck wrote her haiku after they effectively dumped her? But they all seemed inappropriate. Strangely enough, nothing seemed appropriate.

The silence was still pregnant with something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Y…” Whatever Toushirou was about to say fizzled out like a sparkler. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I saw your sister on the way in. I don’t think she’s stopped crying.”

“When did you start caring?” She said dryly. It always came down to other people, it seemed. Hadn’t she been miserable long enough? She couldn’t tell if people just forgot that she had feelings too since she didn’t share often, or if shinigami had some philosophy that one must lead one miserable lifetime in order to be obliged to fulfillment. “She never liked you and you never liked her.”

Her animosity surprised her, truthfully.

“It’s true that she didn’t like me, but I never disliked her.”

“Is that how you felt about me? What I someone you just didn’t dislike? Jinta says you just wanted pretty company to take your mind off your work and shit, I think I agree with him.” She spat.

“That’s untrue. I like you.” He said. “I felt the same way as you did at one time. I loved your company because I got to live vicariously through your childhood, and… I loved you.”

Her chest felt a lot of weird things she couldn’t verbalize.

“Then why did you abandon me?” She croaked.

“I was afraid of… this. That you’d grow to miss being apart so much that you’d kill yourself for me.” He smiled sadly. “I supposed my efforts proved futile. Really, all I wanted to do preserve your natural life.”

She scowled. It sounded very Toushirou-like. She wondered just how founded his fears were.

“This wasn't for you. I killed myself because there's no prospects for me here. I have a skillset that's more useful for the Seireitei.” She told him.

“And how much of it was self-sabotage?”

She couldn't say.

“Is that all?” She asked. She was done with that conversation.

“You know it's not.” He thought too highly of her. She thought too lowly of him, it seemed. How time had skewed their perspective of each other.

“Then go on.”

Toushirou’s eyes flicked down to her limbs. “You're so skinny. I swear. When did you get so skinny? You used to have an enormous appetite. Nobody with your appetite can be so skinny.”

“I stopped playing soccer so I stopped working out. I just run now.”

Toushirou’s lips tightened and his eyes watered. “I'm sorry to hear that.” He cleared his throat. It was strange how she couldn't hear her own blood and barely heard her friends, but his voice was so clear and his heartache made her ache as well.

Toushirou shuddered as he sighed. “You're still very beautiful. You've always been so pretty and dignified, you know. I never stopped loving that about you.”

“But do you love me?”

Thus ensued another staring contest.

“At least care about me?” His silence hurt as much her first heartbreak, like a knife between her ribs.

“I'm trying to come up with something that's not going to end up becoming a corny speech. I'm not in the mood for the Shouten kids to find some other sore spot to prod at.”

“Perhaps a better question is if you want to… try again?” She said.

“Do you? You sounded so bitter moments ago, Ka-- Kurosaki. It gave me the impression that you hate my guts, at least as much as Tsumugiya and Hanakari. If I'm totally honest, I expected you to knock my teeth down my throat the second you saw me.” He said.

She dragged her hands down her face. Even in her death, everybody seemed fine to keep things from her. “Toushirou, just answer my fucking question.”

He nodded, as if he feared yet another heartbreak but by her that time.

She had considered it, at one time, but that was reality and those were daydreams.

She cleared the space between them in two strides. They wrapped themselves in each other. He felt like a blanket, like her bed, like the first day home after some long mission abroad.

Toushirou stood on his toes and kissed her like she was air and he was a man who nearly drowned.

“I'll get everything in order for you once we get to the Soul Society. I'll get you into the academy, I'll tutor you if I have to so you can catch up. I-if you don't want to stay with me, my sister would love to have you. Her husbands are a handful but they'd like you too. And you'll make a wonderful shinigami. You're driven and you're brilliant and---”

“Shut up and kiss me.” She sobbed. His lips peppered over her face as she squeezed him.

“Let’s go home first.” He said.

Yes, she thought as his hand slipped into her’s. Home.

#A lil early I Kno #bleach #but I'm supe busy tomorrow #hitsukarin #hitsukarinweek2017 #jinta hanakari #karin kurosaki #toshiro hitsugaya #ururu tsumugiya #yuzu tsumugiya #platonic jinkarinuru

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