#it’s my way of coping with being lonely I like being seen ya know :) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills.

You’re his only solace.

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often.

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns.

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks.

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves.

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings.

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing.

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent.

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight.

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex. It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows.

It’s grim in its predictability.

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone.

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.”

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.)

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen.

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them—

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand.

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was.

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future.

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.)

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted.

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze.

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings.

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming.

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.”

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest.

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face.

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?”

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t.

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa.

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least.

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind.

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively.

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap.

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?”

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do.

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you.

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible.

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words.

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy—

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none.

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments.

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could.

“Do you see now?”

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch.

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky.

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning—

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.”

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side.

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness.

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.”

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do.

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan.

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see.

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection.

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep. The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue.

It bothers him—

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror.

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while.

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can.

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant.

All the same, the trim feels good.

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back—

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!”

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!”

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him.

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.)

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity.

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning.

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much. The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering.

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with.

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach.

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it.

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree.

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was.

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh.

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.”

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet.

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress.

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely.

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone.

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes.

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile.

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up—

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart.

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later.

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard.

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead.

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too—

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement.

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try.

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered.

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks.

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.)

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business.

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat.

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders.

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—”

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough.

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands.

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night.

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?)

But you’re not in the common room.

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath.

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten.

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard.

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him.

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more.

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone—

...

Keigo leaves the next morning.

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn.

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse.

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died.

All disgusting reminders.

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had.

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he.

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time.

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave.

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes.

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter.

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it.

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears—

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some.

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought.

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?”

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe.

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self.

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #hawks fanfic #hawks imagines #my hero academia #mha x reader #anyways tag wall #enjoy loves #smorch

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letstalkaboutfandomsbaby · 2 years

Note

Hey Sunny.........I am having a major burnout.....just full on academic frustration and I want to cry because I did my second and third exam for the sem finals so terribly. I have never ever written an exam this bad.....I was the topper of my class throughout 11th and 12th grade and now I feel like I am being stretched in all directions and I feel so fucking hopeless sometimes. Lots of things happened to me last year and well.....I wasn't given time to process....to grieve or mourn or just fucking cry out loud at all.......I am just feeling so fucking sad and I feel so dejected at myself. As much as I wanna ask for help, I feel weak because the culture that surrounds me bashes a person who dares to ask for help in the first place. I just want someone to hold me and let me cry until I just fall asleep from crying because God knows how long I have been just repressing all sadness in me just so I can be seen as the 'jovial' kid. I am so frustrated and mad at myself because I feel like I will never recover for whatever has happened to me and that I will never get to live my life the way I want......ya know be queer and free and live as such. Sorry for the rant, I just didn't know who to talk to.

- ❤️ anon

Hey bub 💕 first off, you have no reason to apologize. I always love when you show up in mg inbox :) im sorry that you're going through such a rough time rn. It seems like a lot of stuff is happening at once which os making it difficult for you to cope and function, and i am so sorry for that. I'm not the best at giving advice, but hopefully my past experiences can ease your pain:

I was depressed throughout college. I was away from home, i was living in the basement of my conservative aunt and uncle's house, i lived off campus so i didn't make any friends or join any clubs. I was so unbearably lonely and sad that i often cried once i was alone. Ofc there were happy times, but it was a very stressful three years of my life. It's not easy, there's a lot going on that can cause burnout, but it's important for you to prioritize your health over your grades. Ik it's easier said than done but you have to do it. Turn off and put away all school related items. Take some time to breathe and just let yourself meditate and clear your mind. Take a nap if you want to. Your brain is struggling to keep up with everything, you have to let it rest. Make a recipe that reminds you of the past and brings back happy memories. Watch a comfort show. Talk to family or friends that make you feel better. Just gove yourself some time to decompress bc you will not be able to continue studying if you are still overwhelmed.

I'm gonna let you in on a secret: it doesn't matter if you fail. It doesn't matter if you do terribly on your exams and fail a class bc you can always take it again. The funny thing about university is that it feels very important but it's similar to high school in that no one cares about your grades as long as you have a degree. There was one class i took that i got a 1.5 GPA on, and the only reason i passed the 1.0 GPA requirement for it was bc covid made learning remote so i was essentially able to cheat on my last exam sksksk. But i never think about that class a year after graduation. It has no effect on my day to day life. It will never affect me in the future. I have my bachelor's degree and i have a plan for the future. Life moves on.

But maybe you're just scared of the idea of failure in general, but everything happens for a reason. I was devastated when all of my vet school applications wete rejected. I felt like a failure and that i wasn't good enough and never would be good enough, but if that had never happened then i wouldn't have all the experiences i have today. I wouldn't have a new job that i love and i may not have made improvements in my life. Your failures give you opportunities to learn and grow, and you can make more informed decisions with your newfound knowledge. It's still scary bc you still fear failure, but now you have experience to look back on and reference when in a similar situation. Think about what worked and didn't work for you on your exams. Is there any way to talk to your professor about them? Perhaps you could go over your strengths and weaknesses to find out what you need to work on for your next tests. Idk what country you're in but many professors enjoy when students are passionate about improving upon their grades, so it wouldn't hurt to reach out and ask for help.

Ik it's hard, but you need to allow yourself to be weak. You need to allow yourself to cry until you're exhausted. Crying helps the body release excess chemicals, including those that stress you out like cortisol. Ik it's difficult, but you need to let this biological process happen so that your body can rebalance itself and function properly. The longer you push it down, the harder it will be on your brain and body. So just cry. In your pillow, in the shower, in public: wherever you want. Just let it out. Let yourself feel those feelings. Here's a good graphic to help you do that:

If it's any consolation, I've felt the way you have before. I've felt hopeless and awful and i convinced myself i would never be happy. Just last year i believed people who called me a narcissist, manipulative, a psycho, pathetic, a gaslighter, etc etc. I hung onto those words and convinced myself that i would never be happy bc i didn't deserve it.

Well guess fucking what, i am happy skskks. Im lucky enough to be able to attend therapy and i worked on things with a therapist and with this hard work and time gone by, im better. Im happy. I felt hopeless but i kept on living and now im experiencing so many new an wonderful things! I would've never guessed i would've been this happy a year or two ago, but i am. Sometimes it just takes time. Life will continue despite how stuck you feel, and you will move past these life events and you will smile and you will laugh and you will be able to breathe without struggling not to cry. You need to allow yourself time to heal and grow. Be patient with yourself. You are not perfect, you are human, which is much more exciting than perfection in my humble opinion. If i was there i would give you the biggest hug, squeeze you tight and rock you side to side and let you cry. And once you've gotten it out of your system, I'll make you some food. Maybe broccoli cheddar soup with toasted sourdough. Ooo and apple pie for dessert, with vanilla ice cream. Something yummy that's definitely self indulgent sksksk.

I hope you feel better soon bubby. I hope my words help in some way and if not i apologize. If you want to talk in private, my dms are always open 💕

#ask #❤ anon

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teamfreewill2pointo · 3 years

Text

Sam’s Emotional Arc 1/3

I hated the finale immediately, but I’ve spent some time with it and talked to friends who loved it. I can see now what it was about, and I’ve come to appreciate the story they were trying to tell, even if I think it didn’t land right.

I’ve been told that my meta on this has helped other people come to terms with the finale, so I thought I’d compile it in one place from across various discord channels and twitter posts. If you are struggling with the finale, I hope it helps you.

Part of this actually started with a shit post. I was making a joke about Sam being psychic since he was scared of clowns when Dean died by one. I realized that may have been deliberate. I dug into the story more and now I’m convinced it was. Then I came across some excellent meta that fit with the themes I was finding and opened up the series even more for me.

Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it.

Cas said it. Dean accepted it. Sam lived it. First, Sam’s journey.

Clowns pop up in s15 before the barn scene. In 15.01, which was written by Dabb, Sam is injured by a clown. Castiel is able to save Sam and heal his injury. The clown keeps coming after Sam, with Sam having fight scenes with the clown, while others attack the other ghosts. The clown is kicking the shit out of Sam again, and Castiel saves him once more. Sam is unable to fight off the clown on his own both times.

They run until they are able to escape outside a magical barrier. Sam turns to the clown and says, “shut up”.

This is literally Sam running from his fears. On top of that, this isn’t just any clown, but the ghost of John Wayne Gacy, from an episode also written by Dabb.

Dean: A serial killer clown. I mean, this is, like, the best/worst thing that’s ever happened to you, you know, ‘cause you love serial killers, but – but you hate clowns.

Sam gets nervous and struggles with the lighter before he’s able to get rid of the clown, for now.

I believe this is a metaphor for hunting in general: it’s both the best of Sam’s life and also the worst. The clowns symbolize his relationship with Dean.

Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie was co-written by Dabb (see the pattern?). Sam’s fear of clowns was known since season 2. In season 7, Dabb explored where this fear came from.

On the surface, Sam’s fear is just because he found them creepy, but the episode explains that they actually come from Sam’s fear of being left behind by Dean.

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This episode comes directly after an episode where Sam worried that Dean would get himself killed

Sam: Look... Dean, the thing is, tonight... It almost got you killed. Now, I don't care how you deal. I really, really don't. But just don't – don't get killed. Dean: I'll do what I can. Sam: Well, what's that supposed to mean? Dean: It means I'll do what I can. All right? You can shut up about it.

Sam is dealing with Hallucifer at this moment, but Hallucifer doesn’t really scare him. Losing Dean does.

Sam has a conversation with an employee about greatest fears.

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Recognize the actress? She came back for s15 in 15.06. I don’t believe this was a coincidence. 15.06 featured Castiel helping a parent find their lost child in a season that features Castiel worried about losing Jack. Through his experience with her, Castiel confronts his fears and doubts and then returns to join in the fight against God. [I’ll touch on Castiel’s journey more in his chapter]

Sam’s greatest fear is losing Dean. There’s a lot in the series about how Sam felt lonely and abandoned for much of his childhood. A whole episode, Just My Imagination, centers around this. Sam hated when Dean went off on hunts without him.

source In The Chitters, Sam tells Dean how his fear of losing his family paralyzed him as child. It’s a story where an older brother dies and the younger brother never recovers from it until he’s able to lay him to rest (sound familiar???)

Sam: You know, whenever you and Dad used to leave me to go hunting, and I-and I wouldn’t hear from y’all for a while, I, um, I was always sure that some vamp or rugaru, or take your pick, I always figured one of them finally got ya. I tried to think what to do, you know, the next step to take. I was just lost. Dean: We came back, though, every time.

You might naturally think, “Wait a minute! Sam left Dean multiple times!” Honestly, this was something I had a huge issue with when watching through the show the first time. I didn’t understand Sam and hated him leaving Dean in s8. I was completely on Dean’s side at first. But, on multiple rewatches and talking to others, I’ve realized that when Sam left Dean, he was running from his fear. In this TV Guide interview, Jared perfectly sums up why Sam left in season 1; he couldn’t stand to see his family die. Dabb wrote Dark Side of the Moon along with a comic that explains why Sam left in detail. While the comic isn’t official canon, it shows Dabb’s thought process. In it, Sam sees his family as running towards a horrible end and can’t handle dealing with that.

Dean: So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it? Sam: No. Not normal. Safe.

There are many more points in the series where we learn about Sam’s fear of Dean dying. This would be 3948573945 pages long if I wrote them all out, so I’m going to focus on the key moments that loop back to this ending, but there’s so much more there.

If you are struggling with this and need more, please let me know and I can do a deeper dive into that subject. We first see Sam’s inability to let Dean go in season 1 when Sam refuses to let Dean die in Faith.

Dean: You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you? Sam: I'm not gonna let you die, period. We're going.

Sam’s whole arc in s3 is him being unable to handle Dean dying. He wants to save Dean, but Dean won’t let himself be saved. This was what Gabriel was trying to teach him in Mystery Spot.

Trickster: This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go.

This is how Ruby gets under Sam’s skin and what gets him to start working with her. Everything Sam did was to save Dean. In s4, Sam’s arc is about him sacrificing himself in order to save Dean. He’s gutted from being unable to save Dean. In 4.12, Sam decides to drink demon blood in order to save Dean

Dean: [says that they will die early] Sam: Maybe we'll be different, Dean. Dean: What kind of Kool-Aid you drinking, man? Sammy, it ends bloody or sad. That's just the life. Sam: What if we could win?Dean: "Win"?Sam: If there was a way we could just...put an end to all of it.

When Sam breaks out of the panic room, he’s suicidal. He’s determined to save Dean with his life as the cost he’s willing to pay. He didn’t think he would survive killing Lilith. He was committing suicide in that moment. The reason why Sam is so willing to sacrifice himself in s5 is because he has low self esteem. He blames himself for everything that goes wrong. In Sam, Interrupted 5.11, also by Dabb, Sam has a breakdown under the weight of his guilt. He hates himself and he feels his rage is out of control. In season 6, we see soulless Sam and, unlike souled Sam, he has no rage. Yes, he’ll kill when necessary, but he’s not angry. It was Sam’s fear driving his rage. He felt out of control of his life and let it lead him down a dark path. In season 7, he sees Dean heading down a dark path and he feels helpless to stop it. He worries about dragging Dean down and tells Dean to let him go. But, at the same time, he’s developing coping techniques. He’s starting to face his fears.

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And then Dean disappears and Sam completely falls apart. Sam didn’t have a healthy relationship with Amelia. They were two broken people clinging to each other. Sam and Dean struggle to reconnect after their time apart. There’s a lot of text addressing the horror of a partner dying and people trying to escape from it.

Mrs Holmes: He could see the end of my days were at hand, and... He had lived centuries all alone, but I don't think he could bear the thought of life without me. That's why he drove off that bridge. You must think I'm a monster.

In Hunteri Heroica written by GUESS WHO!?!? Sam finally acknowledges that he was living in a dream world with Amelia. He was running from his past. We see a flash back with Sam pressing on his scar, which he did to help himself distinguish fantasy from reality.

The episode is about a man refusing to engage in reality and harming those around him. Sam has a big confrontation with him

Sam: Look, it can be nice living in a dream world. It can be great. I know that. And you can hide, and you can pretend... all the crap out there doesn't exist, but you can't do it forever because... eventually, whatever it is you're running from – it'll find you. [CASTIEL appears to be taking Sam’s words to heart.] It'll come along, and it'll punch you in the gut. And then... then you got to wake up, because if you don't, then trying to keep that dream alive will destroy you! It'll destroy everything!

Likewise, when Sam was with Jessica, he wasn’t honest about himself. He was hiding from his family and his past. Running to avoid pain. Sam is avoidant in general. Not just in his relationship with Dean. When he talks with Rowena in 13.12 Various & Sundry Villains about his fears of Lucifer, he admits that he could talk about it with Dean, but he can’t bring himself to.

Sam: I’ve seen it too. What he really looks like behind – behind whatever vessel. It… Yeah, still keeps me up at night. Rowena: How do you deal with it? Sam: I guess I don’t deal with it. Not really. I mean, I pushed it down and, um, the world kept almost ending, so I keep pushing it down, and I don’t know. [stammering] I really don’t talk about it, not even with Dean. I mean, I could. You know, he’d listen, but… That’s not something I really know how to share.

In 15.20, Sam’s past is front and center. Literally. I know a lot of people found the Winchester family portrait odd and upsetting, but it symbolizes something I’ll get to in a bit. Instead of trying to avoid his grief, Sam has moments where he lets it wash over him. He goes and sits in the car. He’s no longer avoidant. He’s no longer running away. He’s letting his grief move through him. He’s literally sitting with it.

Soulless Puppy pointed out that the characters emotional arcs is similar to DBT. Please look through their awesome meta here.

Personally, I see them as similar to the therapy I do called ACT. Both are forms of therapy where instead of fighting against them, you accept painful emotions and allow yourself to feel them. If you don’t do that work, then you can’t stop feeling them and your fears/ghosts will always haunt you. In Swan Song, Chuck tells us that “Dean didn't want Cas to save him. Every part of him, every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam back. But he isn't gonna do either. Because he made a promise.” In 15.20, Sam initially didn’t want to let Dean go. He’s been refusing to do this since season 1. When he’s separated from Dean he lives a fake life or destroys himself/the world trying to get Dean back. There’s a moment in 15.20 where Sam looks at Dean’s guns. He wants to commit suicide, but he makes the choice to live. For the time in Sam’s life, he let Dean go and lived with his pain. He no longer ran from it. After Swan Song, Dean was unable to let Sam go. He wanted him back. After Carry On, Sam is able to do what Dean couldn’t do. He lives a life outside of Dean. What’s more, Sam has reconciled himself with his past and his family. It’s clumsy and I wish it were better shown, but having the family portrait and their parents in heaven isn’t meant to excuse the way Sam and Dean were raised. In order to move past the trauma of his relationship with his parents, Sam fully integrates them into his life. In Lebanon, Sam was able to confront and forgive his father. In doing so, he can also forgive himself. Mary asks for forgiveness too, and he grants it to her. He doesn’t forget what happened, but he’s able to move forward and leave the intergenerational cycle of violence. He’s able to raise his son, Dean, the way his brother should have been raised.

Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it.

Cas said it. Dean accepted it. Sam lived it.

I can see why people see Sam’s life after Dean as unhappy. I hated it so much because I saw it as horrible and sad the first time through. I had to sit with myself and my emotions first. I think it’s because we’ve been told by society that we have to get rid of our grief in order to be happy. The finale was showing us that it’s possible to do the opposite. [Personally I think it would’ve been better had they showed more overtly happy memories, but many of my friends saw this straight away] When I began therapy, one of the first things I learned was that there aren’t “negative” emotions. When working with our kids, we call them Big emotions. In DBT/ACT, all emotions are treated as normal and natural. Grief, anger, sadness, etc, these are all normal parts of the human existence. We don’t need to run from them in order to have happiness. We can live with them. As interstitial said in our chats, “you can't change the past, you can only change your relationship to it. To accept that your past contained both love and heartache, to miss it, but also know you can do better; that's actual recovery, as good as it gets.” As Soulless-Puppy explained to me, Sam lived in duality. Dean was dead, but Sam lived. Sam was happy, but he grieved. Dean was with him in the watch and the car and his son, but Dean also waited for him in heaven. I hated the finale the first time I saw it, then next watched it with my boyfriend who loved it. As we were watching together and discussing it, I realized that Dean’s death scene wasn’t just about him, but about the show itself.

Dean promising Sam that he will be with Sam in Sam’s heart is also the show promising us that they will never leave it. That’s why Alex kept posting “The end has no end.” Just as Sam carried Dean with him in his heart, we will carry the show with us. I hope this helps. It’s a terrible thing to feel upset about an ending and thinking of the show this way, recognizing these patterns, is bringing me peace. I still have issues with how it was written, but now that I see what they were doing, I wish all the more that they had the chance to do it right. Please share your thoughts and experiences. I love hearing different opinions. Next up, Dean. Then Castiel.

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btswishes · 3 years

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Love me for who I am now

Bucky x Reader ( Chapter 1 )

Part1 / Next

Summary: You apply for the Stark internship and end up getting it, so now you have 5 months to make a good impression to continue working with the Avengers.

A/N: This is my first Marvel fic and I am taking it as a challenge. It is opposite of what my account was made, but here I go. Sorry for any mistakes made, hope you enjoy it even a tiny bit.

Word count: 3,281

Warmings: fights, harsh language, not part of the original MCU

Y/N- Your name Y/L/N: Your Last Name

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Through sleepless nights and dark circles, books and pens, through months of work you reached your goal. The moment you received the acceptance letter from Stark University you almost flew out the window without a fear in your mind. This was it!

Time had passed since that moment, but it is still engraved in your mind- a memory keeping you strong during the hard midterms and piles of work, even the small glimmers of regret. Trying your best wasn’t an option, you could do only that and no less. It was no easy task, lost social life as much as you tried to keep it. You were really lucky you had good friends that understood and supported you. University wasn’t easy for anyone making this one even tougher. People of all ages, backgrounds and cultures were piled up with you in this building. The best of the best as the slogan said, the ones that proved themselves and emerged victorious.

When you were young ,you used to spend a lot of time with your uncle at his places outside the country. He would introduce you to his work colleagues and things you had never seen before. There was a time where you would spend months on end with him. Not many memories were left from those moments in your head. At one point you spend a few years with him, your mother thought it would be good experience for you and it turned out to be nothing but the truth-at least you hoped so. You learned a lot from him and his friends, it felt like each spend day would offer you more knowledge in areas you never knew of. Computer work, ways of thinking and so much more that had become second nature to you.

The sky was tinted in a wash of oranges, reds and yellows bleeding one into the other, swirling around the sun emitting them. The day was ending, but you found yourself filling up an application in the library, covered by the silence and smell of exam worry.

Sponsored and founded by the one and only Tony Stark, this establishment offered an internship. Being part of the Avengers, Tony didn’t let just anyone from the students attending in, even if they were the best labeled by the school. It had been a year and a half since you started pushing yourself harder to be able to apply and there was nothing that could stop you. Pressing your finger over the enter button was very nerve wrecking yet simple. Even if it didn’t work out this year, you planned to do it again and again ,till he had no other choice but give you a chance.

Usually F.R.I.D.A.Y. went over everything and left only the applications worth going over by Tony himself or Pepper. The next 5 weeks for you were very stressful, but there was nothing more you could do but wait and focus on your own work. The first person you wanted to tell about this was your uncle. He went to work in some distant place where they had no internet so you switched to mail. Not as much paper under his name passed through your hands, as he had stopped answering you. You missed him, but the muddy childhood memories kind of compensated for that.

“Did you send it in?” the phone muffled a bit the sweet voice coming from the speaker

“Yeah, a few days ago actually.” You answered with a gentle sigh

“And no answer yet?” the girl’s pitch rose at the end of the sentence, amazed at that what she just heard

“I know, I know. Think about it though Nea. Who knows how many applications get submitted. Someone has to brush through them after all.” defending the situation was a form of coping for you, made you feel hopeful.

“So you are trying to tell me Tony Stark’s interface or whatever it’s called, can’t sort them out in a couple of hours? Come on Y/N! You and I both know you are trying to make yourself feel better.” The small pause made you anxious over what Nea said “Listen.” A breathy start of the sentence “ I don’t mean to brag, but I think I am one of the people who know exactly how much you deserve this. You were never the studious type, plus that you were gone for years on end with that mysterious uncle of yours. I never expected you to suddenly go for Stark University. Your dream changed you, from this quiet kid to crazy ol’ you right now on the call with me.I ain’t letting you bust yourself up over this just because it didn’t happen the first time around-”

Ding ding

Nea’s deep speech was cut off before she could unleash herself completely, by the slight ring of your phone’s notification.

“Who tf has the audacity to text while the great me is giving this legendary –“

Ding!

The second time the sound sung out made her choke up with anger, you could almost see the fumes coming out of the phone.

“WHO IS IT!” a loud hiss pierced your ear

“Maybe if you gave me a minute I could answer your question.” Pulling the call down, your finger ran over the screen to the email, making your notification lamp blink like a car. Almost instantly it opened before your eyes and you gasped. The action made you swallow suddenly and cough out a bit ,giving poor Nea an idea about the level of shock you were in.

“What?What? You can’t just almost die and not tell me what is going on.” She proceeded with a not so tasteful interrogation.

“I-…they accepted my application…” at the end a small smile flowed over your lips contorting the sound coming out

“Stop!?” she choked up as well “You gotta be fucking with me!? No fucking way this is real!”

“I am honest. It says here that they liked my skill set, my grades and the way of thinking I presented in my essay. I got the spot Nea! I fucking did it!” you threw the phone on the bed letting it bounce as you started dancing.

“Of course you did! I told you! You will be working with THE AVENGERSSSS!” at some point it sounded like your best friend was more excited than you “When do you start?”

“Well…” taking a second to calm down and re-establish contact with your phone, you looked up the schedule that came attached with the email “…ok…so it says here that I will be starting on Monday so~ in 2 days? “

“So soon! Any requirements for the job miss Avenger’s sidekick?” and the teasing begins

“A list, surprisingly.” Rolling onto your back, you held the screen away and above your face, scrolling past “ I guess my first job will be with Dr. Banner in the lab. Apparently I will be given some sort of assignments throughout the 5 months work span. I will be monitored by Dr. Bruce Banner and the grading, I guess if you can call It that ,will be done by Tony Stark himself.”

“Basically Hulk will be your babysitter.” once this girl starts teasing she never stops even in amazing situations such as this one, good thing you loved her “That sounds so cool though! You will be able to meet Captain America and Black Widow~! I am so jelly of you I swear! When you leave work make sure to wait for someone from the group to walk by, omgggg I am fangirling so much right now.What if you go to dinners with them!?AAAAA!”

“Fun thing about that.” Your eyes landed on the last paragraph of the email “It says here that I am supposed to move into the compound and stay there till further notice. The whole idea is that if I do things well I will get a permanent job. Weird…” you hummed

“Weird !? How? That is so cool! Who knows you might even become an Avenger! You will be living with them anyways.” at this point Nea was either not breathing or hyperventilating so fast you couldn’t hear it

“Don’t be ridiculous.” your attention landed once more on the thought process you had a moment ago “I don’t get one thing. They say here that my PE grades combined with my IT and overall studies make me a great candidate, but I don’t remember sports being a requirement at all, or even providing them in the first place. Does it mean that if my grades were low in that department I wouldn’t have gotten the spot?”

“I guess people of science aren’t that flexible. Who cares anyways! You got in, no ifs and buts. I am telling you, at this point you could be an Avenger.” poor girl began thinking of names and suit designs for you “ Hurry up and pack those bags before I drop by with take away, so we can gossip over Steve Rogers’s abs.”

“Um…don’t get me wrong he is super hot, I just see the Cap more like an older brother figure than anything.” It was true, you looked up to him since the first time you studied about the Civil War. Fearless, gave his life in a way for his people, astonishing man over all.

“Hey! Let me drool over him! You were always more of a Winter Soldier fan anyways.” Nea pouted audibly . Her words made some lone memory pop up in your head, but it was as murky as the rest. “I don’t know why I am interested in him. Somehow his look is very nostalgic and rugged. Anyways. ”you shook your head out of the mental image of the soldier “I will go pack up, tell my parents and fix up all my documents. Probably find some stuff from former Stark employees online. I want to have a bit of an idea of what he expects and what I am getting myself into.”

“Fine fine, you could have just said you like troubled guys. You were the one who was happy Loki got a second chance after all. I will be over in like 3 hours.” She informed you

“Hey! He deserved to redeem himself, he was used!” a firm Loki supporter as always “Ok then, see ya.”

Hanging up the call you placed your phone to charge and rolled off your bed. The email gave vague information about what you needed, but clothing wise you would still be able to come home and get stuff if you had to. What was on top of your priorities were papers, documents, all your research materials and tech. Those things had to be organized no matter what ,since they got you this far in the first place.

Nae came over as planned and you two had a nice sleepover talking about you know who. The night came and left, letting the morning find you in your bed at 11am. Your forearm rested on top of your forehead in a relaxed manner, letting enough space for an exhale to linger in the air in front of you. Your mind was going over everything that was about to happen to you. It was one of your dreams, you worked for it nonstop day in day out, so why were you so worried about meeting the rest of the Avengers? Maybe it was just anxiety or fear of the unknown, yeah made sense.

All you did during the day was make lists for every piece of tech you were binging with yourself. Things seemed to be in order, but worry kept nibbling on your bones. The moment of truth finally rolled up and so did your suitcase in front of your house. Nea came to send you off as she promised.

“Sweetie, make sure to call us every day. Eat well, don’t overwork yourself and-“ your mom went off with caution about anything and everything that came to mind

“Mom, you know I am going 3 blocks down from here right? Plus I can come home at any time I want to. I am not moving to Mars or getting arrested.” You smirked the panic away from her, giving them a big hug.

“Call me or text me when you get there.” Nea pulled you in, whispering in your ear as quietly as possible “And don’t forget to sneak me a booty pick of good ol’Cap. You know what they say-”

“That is America’s ass.” Your voice came out in a mocking tone

“That i-…let me at least finish it by myself! Geez!” she pushed you towards the door “Ok ok, go now before you spoil me something else” her arms crossed in front of her chest

The walk wasn’t that long, you were too invested in your own thoughts to notice when the time and distance had passed. The glistening windows of the compound building shined into your eyes. Your lungs filled up with a breath that they kept in for a moment, before releasing it back in the outside world. Pulling out the documents you stepped in. The fresh smelling air hit you making you close one eye for a second.

People were walking around you fast and concentrated. Some looked in a hurry, others were on break with a cup of coffee and a strain-leaving expression.

Your feet, as slightly shaky as they were, took you right up to the front desk were a lady with a dark rich red colored uniform looked at you. She flashed a professional smile, her eyes asking for your purpose.

“Um, hello. My name is Y/N -Y/L/N.” she saw the logo on your papers and gasped

“You must be the new intern Mr. Stark told us about.” She signed something and reached out “Can you give me your hand for a second.” Your fingers didn’t go past the surface of the desk when she pocked your skin. Pulling in your extremity, your palm wrapped around the spot that began to sting a bit “Don’t worry about it. This is your identification pass. Fancy, no?” she smiled winking. Her body stood up as she pointed at the elevator far in the back of the foyer.

Instructions were given with each step of the way, calming your nerves a bit. The moment you found yourself inside the elevator she pulled your hand to the sensor on the wall next to the buttons.

Recognized: Code 2514. Welcome Miss Y/N

Your head shot up when F.R.I.D.Y.’s voice echoed in the small space. The women smiled giving you a small nod and stepped out of the vicinity. Once her body was outside ,the doors slid closed. Over them glowed a protective blue light layering over the material like a soft veil.

It felt like you weren’t moving an inch. Your body flinched when the sun stung at your eyes from the window. Your gaze landed over the view of the city, as you went higher and higher, ascending into the clouds The blues and yellows were covering the inside of the elevator, such vibrant and lovely colors warming your body. For a moment your heart felt heavy- lost memory tugged onto it again. An often occurrence lately, yet you kept brushing off as deja vu.

Floor 134. Welcome to the Avenger’s compound Miss Y/N

“134!?” the numbers cracked out with your voice. The interface made you turn towards the opposite opening doors revealing a room as big as a hall, if not almost a stadium. The ceiling was high being the lid to this round area. Your heart beat increased pumping blood to your body, dilating your pupils at least twice their original size. It look amazing, almost like you had just entered heaven. The walls were white, the furniture was perfectly placed and cream colored. Stepping outside you jumped at the sound of the elevator doors closing behind you.

“Wow” escaped your lips, your hand pulling the suitcase closer. So this was the common room or the shared space. The windows were so big they were practically a wall of their own. The bright rays were making themselves at home giving the white paint a new color with each passing minute. The ceilings were probably the equivalent of 3 floors in height. There was this weird feeling of home inside, a bit of isolation maybe mixed in.

“Miss Y/N?” your head swung to the side when you recognized that shy but bright smile. Throwing the papers on top of your suitcase, you extended your arm at the man.

“Ah.” Good thing your mind automatically responds politely to people without you giving it much thought “Dr. Banner. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.” you shook his hand gently a couple of times and let go ,finding the papers and showing them to him “My name is Y/N-Y/L/N.” gentle bow and a smile followed the words skillfully chosen

“Welcome Welcome. Tony is out right now so I might be the only one actively walking around the compound. Well…”he scratched the back of his neck, lightly hunching over with a sheepish smile “I am one of the people you will be working under anyways, so I guess it is good that I came to get you. I would love to show you the lab, but I am sure you would like to set up your things first.” You nodded and he showed you to your room. The corridor had 3 tall doors scattered on the walls, all looking modern and elegant.

“This is the side where usually we have our female members. Natasha and Wanda will be your nextdoor neighbors. Hope it won’t be any trouble.” Bruce looked at you ,when an aggressive shake took over your neck

“No, no. Not at all sir. I am very grateful to have such amazing heroes next to me. As a matter of fact won’t they be troubled with me here?” and here came the normal anxiety that you had for everything

“I am sure they will like you. Don’t worry about it.” Bruce stepped next to the door and waved you over “You don’t have a key or a door handle as a matter of fact. Tony’s idea, don’t ask. If you got up here on your own I assume he made the girls downstairs give you an identification implant. That is basically your entrance for everything here. Kind of an Avengers thing.” You nodded and him wiggling his fingers like a spell. Placing your hand on the door like he told you activated F.R.I.D.A.Y.

Recognized: Y/N. Access and ownership granted.

The metal frame slid open and you found yourself standing before a big room. It was nicely furnished. The desk was big enough for you to work on it and have everything around. Bookshelves empty and ready to be used on your left and a large bed on your right flush against the wall. The window was once more its own wall right in front of you standing behind the desk. The bathroom door was opening a space before the shelf the same color as the paint in the common room.

“I will let you set up. If you need anything F.R.I.D.A.Y. is always here. The room is interactive, you can ask exactly what works under the interface’s control. The door is one.Take your time.”he was on his way out “Would you like some coffee or tea?”

“I would like some tea, thank you very much.” Bruce flashed you a smile “F.R.I.D.A.Y. the door please.”

Door closed

Done as said and requested, clicking behind you.

Would you like an extensive list of my functions as an assistant?

“Please do.”

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smolanon · 3 years

Text

A Little More Than Tipsy (Wilbur x Reader)

Hey! This fic has technically been in the works for months, I just only got around to doing the final push and finishing it today! This one is gonna have some extremely irresponsible actions in it, so I just wanted to say:

Do not use alcohol as a coping mechanism, drink responsibly, and absolutely DO NOT drink and drive. I do not condone any of the actions in this fic. I have also been around very few drunk people, so I'm sorry if its unrealistic or played up too much. Stay safe, babes!

Type: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort

Word count: 4,018

How did you get to this point? "This point" being sat on your kitchen floor, an empty bottle of an alcoholic beverage in one hand and your phone in the other, crying your eyes out.

It all started a couple hours ago when you were thinking about your ex. You hadn't been with him for about a year, but you still missed him quite s bit. You knew he had moved on, and it hurt like hell. It wasn't like your relationship ended because of a fight or any toxicity, he just fell out of love for you. You'd tried dating around but you didn't really click with anyone. You knew deep down, you still had feelings for him, even though some similar feelings had started to blossom for a friend of yours. These conflicting feelings caused many late nights thinking and being frustrated.

You were feeling particularly lonely, pacing around your kitchen and scrolling through social media. You don't know what came over you, but you soon found yourself on your ex's account. You don't know what you were expecting to find, but it certainly was not the video of him proposing to his now fiancee. All your movement halted as you stared, mouth agape, at the video of him professing his undying love for her. Undying love that he would never feel for you; you began to wonder if he ever did feel that way for you.

You could hardly remember what happened between the fridge and the floor, but all you knew now was that you were sloppy drunk and sobbing. Your mind felt fuzzy as you stumbled to your feet, letting go of the empty bottle as you placed it into the sink. You felt alone, so very alone. You didn't want to be alone. Who could could make you feel better? Who could make you feel not alone? You wracked your brain as you headed out of your house and fumbled with your keys, getting into your car as a person finally popped into your head. The dear friend who gave you butterflies and rested his arm on your head. The guy who ruffled your hair constantly and laughed so sweetly.

"Wilbur." You whispered to yourself, starting up your car.

You felt a little guilty as you drove, trying your very hardest to bring clarity to your clouded mind. You got to his home safely by some miracle, parking as well as you could. You tried getting out of your car to walk to the door, but found it to be more challenging than you'd have liked. You settled for pulling out your phone and texting Wilbur.

Wilbur had just finished editing a video and was getting a drink of water when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

'I'm ougtside com get me plese' the text from you read. His brows furrowed with concern and mild confusion. He walked to the window, peeking behind the curtains to see your messily parked car and very drunk form leaned against said car. His heart dropped a bit at realizing the state you were in and quickly headed out to you.

"(Y/N)?" He said as he approached you. "What are you doing here?"

Your red, tear stained face split with a wide grin. "Wilbur!" He shushed you. "How are you?" You spoke in a slurred stage whisper.

"Did you drive here?" He said, panic evident in his tone.

"You didn't answer my question." You pouted up at him, leaning forward a bit more than you had planned and stumbled into his chest. He caught you, sighing and placing his hands on your shoulders to steady you.

"C'mon, let's get you inside." He walked you into his house, guiding you to sit at the kitchen table. Never before had he seen you so drunk, and you two drank together more than you did alone. He grabbed you a glass and filled it with water. "Drink this and give me your keys."

"Why?" You blinked up at him, staring vacantly with red, puffy eyes.

"So I can park your car, since you did a proper shit job of it." He chuckled a little as you giggled in response.

"Oops." You said as you patted yourself down. "I think I left them in the car."

He sighed and shook his head. "Stay here." He went back outside, relieved to see the drivers door still open. Many worries ran through his head as he parked your car. Why were you so drunk? Had you hit anything with your car? Had you been crying? Why were you crying? Who had done this to you?

When he walked back inside, he saw that you had drank about half the glass and were now running your finger along the lip of it. Your head snapped up when he entered, the grin returning to your face.

"Hey stranger, come here often?" The words did not come out of your mouth as eloquently as you had meant, but it earned you a chuckle that felt like a "good job". It lit up your chest in the way only he could.

"Oh, every now and then." He sat across from you, placing his hands on the table. You reached around your glass to place your hands on top of his, messing with his fingers absentmindedly.

"So...what's wrong?" He spoke up after a moment, a light pink dusting his cheeks.

"Hm?" Your eyes lingered on your conjoined hands as you tilted your face up, not meeting his worried gaze.

"While I wouldn't want you going to anyone else at late-late hours of the night in a drunken stupor," he spoke carefully, "I can tell there's something up. You look like you've been crying."

You stayed quiet for a moment, not tearing your eyes away from your hands. The rings on your fingers clinked together lightly, filling the silence. You considered pressing a kiss to his pretty knuckles for a moment before he enveloped your hands in his.

"Hey," you finally tore your gaze up to meet his, "what happened?" His voice was soft and his dark eyes held concern. His gentle tone, his warm hands, his worried, deep eyes, it was enough to break the thin veil of fineness you had tried to put up. You burst into tears, sobbing and quivering under his touch. He quickly stood up, moving to your side and pulling you into his chest in a warm hug.

You let it all spill out like a shattered tea pot, pouring every feeling, be it the sharp glass of anger and resentment to the bittersweet liquid of being happy to see him happy, but hurt at how he had moved on. Everything. You gripped his soft, yellow sweater in your hands as you held onto him for dear life.

"I-I just feel so alone and I-I dont think anyone-" a hiccup cut off your speech, "will ever love me again!"

"Hey, hey, don't say that." He rubbed your back as he spoke softly. "It's not true at all. You're not alone, and there's plenty of people out there who love you better than he ever did."

"You r-really think so?" You turned your face up to him.

"I know so." He said, an odd smile on his face that was a mix of knowing and sadness. Soon, you calmed down from crying. Somehow, the two of you had ended up sitting on the floor. You were somewhat in his lap, being held tightly to his chest as he combed through your hair with his fingers. It felt so...right. The two of you just felt like two puzzle pieces finally clicking together. Wilbur felt slightly guilty that he felt so content holding you, especially since you were struggling so much emotionally. It was just so nice to hold you in his arms the way he had dreamed of for so long.

You stayed like that for a moment before you looked up at him again. He looked down at you, your eyes meeting, causing his heart to flutter. Your faces were so close, he could smell the alcohol on your breath. Although the scent wasn't all too pleasant or romantic, the moment just felt so right. Then, you pulled yourself up a bit and kissed him.

Fireworks exploded in his chest, and he couldn't help but reciprocate the kiss for a moment, before the guilt from before doubled. He knew this was wrong. He placed his hands on your shoulders, gently forcing you back from him. Your eyes fluttered open, drunken confusion on your face.

"Why'd ya do that?" You spoke, voice slightly rough from all the crying. Wilbur shook his head, his cheeks hot from your previous actions.

"You're so incredibly drunk, (Y/N). You need to go to bed." You pouted at his words, they obviously didn't penetrate much because you pulled him down into another kiss, this one much more passionate. Nothing tore him up more inside than having to tear his lips away from yours once more. You certainly weren't making this easy on him. "(Y/N), no." He put as much force as he could into the word, and you finally released your grip on his shirt. He moved you out of his arms and off his lap, using the table to pull himself to his feet.

"Nnnnooooooo!" You responded, grabbing onto his leg like a fussy child. His heart softened, not being able to stay upset with you for long.

He smiled halfway, chuckling at your actions. "C'mon, you can have my bed." He leaned down, offering you his hands for help to your feet.

"Boo." You pouted, but took his hands anyway. He tugged you to your feet, and your legs collapsed beneath you. "Woah!"

He bent down and scooped you up into his arms, eliciting a giggle from you. He smiled a little as your small form clung to him. He carried you to his room, tucking you into his bed.

"There you are." He patted your head and tried to leave the room. You quickly reached out and grabbed his hand.

"No! Wilbur, please don't go!" You tugged at him, although your touch was all he needed to stop. "Please sleep here with me." You begged, pressing his hand to your cheek.

He swallowed thickly, the offer very tempting, with the bed looking so warm and you looking so scared and him being so tired... He shook his head, both to clear it and signify his answer. "You know I can't, (Y/N). Too much can happen, and I don't know if it's the alcohol or really you talking."

Your lips started to quiver and you started to tear up once more. "Please don't go..." You whispered softly, "at least stay here until I'm asleep, so I don't miss you."

You were really making this difficult for him. He absolutely did not want to see you cry again. He bit his lip, thinking very hard.

He sighed, "Alright," you perked up a little, "I'll stay here until you're asleep." He pulled his hand away and pulled a chair up alongside the bed. Your hand hung out of the blankets and off the side of the bed, blindly grabbing for his hand. He let you grab onto his hand again, touched by the relieved expression it brought to your face. You had rolled onto your side, your other arm tucked to your chest and your cheek pressed to his pillow so that only one of your eyes were open.

He hummed softly to you, rubbing the back of you hand with his thumb. You smiled sweetly and squeezed his hand a bit.

"I've always loved your voice." You mumbled, halfway into the pillow. He smiled down at you lovingly as he continued to hum.

Your eyes shut first, then your breath steadied, and finally, your hand went limp and started to slip out of his. Shortly after, you began to snore softly. He let your hand go, standing up to stare at your now peacefully sleeping form. He gently tucked your arm under the blankets beside the other one and pulled the blankets up on your shoulders. He pushed a few of your stray hairs behind your ear and bent down, placing a soft kiss to your temple.

He tugged the curtains shut, knowing your hangover would probably thank him in the morning, and brought a glass of water and some pain killers to set at the bedside table. He turned off the dim light finally and shut the door behind him, a sigh leaving his lips.

He stared down at the hand you'd held, blush dusting across his face as he headed to the couch, grabbing a couple spare blankets on his way. He thought about your hands gripping his shoulders, handfuls of his sweater in your fists with the ghost of your touch on him as he adjusted the couch into a makeshift bed. Finally, as he laid in the darkened livingroom, his long limbs hanging uncomfortably off the sides of the couch and his head resting on a throw pillow, he reached a hand up to touch his lips. The lips you had pressed your own to.

He didn't regret pushing you away, but he so wished you had been in a different mindset and state when you kissed him. Maybe then he could have pulled you close to his chest, gripping you with every bit of fervor within him. Then he could have kissed you like he always wanted to, stealing your breath and leaving you gasping for air between your swollen lips. Maybe then he could have said what he always wanted to. The big L word. Maybe then you would have said it back. He tried to blink away the tears pricking at his eyes and let a final, shaky sigh leave his chest. You two definitely had to talk in the morning, when you weren't drunk and he wasn't dead tired.

When you awoke the next day, your head felt like someone had taken a meat tenderizer to it. You pulled the blankets over your head, letting out a groan. You touched the sheets, they were not the ones you were used to falling asleep in. Slowly and hesitantly, you lifted the blankets from your head to see a room that was not yours, but was far from unfamiliar. You slapped your forehead, gritting your teeth at the splitting pain that shot through your skull.

"Wilbur." You whispered to yourself, guilt and shame rising up in you. Luckily, you felt your clothes still clinging to your body, so you hopefully hadn't done anything too damaging to your friendship. You took notice to the drawn curtains, glass of water, and pill bottle beside the bed as you sat up. Your heart warmed at his consideration. You reached over, taking a few of the pills and sipping lightly at the water for a bit.

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you knew you were avoiding facing him. Everything between your kitchen floor to Wilbur's bedroom was a blur, and you'd probably said and done some stupid things within that blur. You felt bad for having dumped yourself on him. You felt that you really didn't deserve him.

You huffed out a sigh, emptying the glass and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. "Act like an adult for once in your life and own up to your actions, ya big baby." You scolded yourself, slowly rising to your feet and heading to the door.

You peeked out, wincing at the bright shine of sunlight that finally reached you. You made your way out of the room, heart twisting at the image of Wilbur halfway off the couch, snoring loudly, looking very uncomfortable. You walked over to him, debating on if you should wake him up or not. The guilt that bubbled up was enough to pull you from beside the couch and into the kitchen. The least you could do was make breakfast to repay him. There was a half empty glass of water on the table. You made your way around the kitchen sluggishly, getting ingredients and combining them.

"(Y/N)?" You jumped at the sound of your name at the entrance to the kitchen, nearly dropping the egg in your hand. You turned your head quickly to look at Wilbur, wincing at the piercing pain it caused. You placed a hand over your eyes, groaning at the feeling.

"Good morning." You cleared your throat as you spoke. You heard him chuckle and peeked through your fingers. You could tell he didn't have very restful sleep on the couch. His hair was messy and he had bags under his eyes. His voice was groggy and rough. He looked...extremely cute, all sleepy and disheveled. You blushed and mentally swatted away those thoughts as you turned back to the stove.

"You could have put me on the couch, you know." You spoke up, testing the waters of whatever the hell happened last night.

"Nah, I'm fine." He yawned as he walked up next to you, resting an elbow on your head. Your heart skipped a beat at his closeness, he was still warm with sleep.

"That couch can't be comfortable to sleep on."

"First you drive to my house in a drunken stupor, then you insult my couch, what next, my hair?" He clicked his tongue in a teasing manner.

"I drove here???" You said, mouth falling open. You groaned and hid your face in shame. "That's so reckless and dumb, I'm so sorry."

"Hey, don't sweat it. You can't go back and fix it now."

"I could've hurt someone, all because I can't handle my stupid ex getting engaged." You sighed, dragging your palms down your face and rubbing your temples.

"Well, you certainly shouldn't do it again, but your car looked undamaged so I don't think anything happened. Just...don't do that again. You could have gotten hurt." He put a hand on your shoulder and rubbed comforting circles into it with his thumb.

You nodded quickly. "Of course not! I don't normally drink that much, especially not when I'm alone. You know that." You glanced up at him and he flashed you a small smile, concern still in his eyes. The two of you finished making breakfast, joking back and forth. Soon enough you were sitting at the table, eating and chatting.

"So...I need to talk with you about something that happened last night." He finally spoke up, sliding his empty plate away and propping his head up on his hand.

"Uh oh." You got tense, sliding your plate away as well.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" He asked, tapping nervously at the table.

"Nothing from here." Your spit thickened in your mouth, bouncing your knee in an attempt to get the panicked energy out somewhere.

"Well...something happened, and I can't just pretend it didn't, but I don't know how to say it."

"Oh fuck, please don't tell me I did something embarrassing." You hid your face in your hands once more.

"Y-you didn't! Well, I mean...it depends on a lot." He reached over the table to put a comforting hand on your forearm, but pulled away quite quickly.

"Just tell me what I did." You groaned, just wanting this whole situation to end.

"Well, you..." He cleared his throat, hesitating and stalling, "you kissed me." He spoke each word slowly.

Your jaw went slack again, eyes wide and face hotter than the stove. "I...I kissed you?"

"Yeah. Twice." He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks tinted pink.

"I-I'm so sorry! I'm such an idiot!" You slapped your forehead, regretting your decision to push him to tell you. "Gosh, I really just can't stop fucking up, can I?"

"O-oh...I mean- yeah." His voice sounded almost hurt. You pulled your hand away to see him staring into his hands, jaw tense and lips pressed into a thin line. He looked really upset, and suddenly you realized how bad what you said was.

"W-wait, no- shit, that's not what I- I mean- I didn't- I-" You let out a frustrated groan, dragging your hands down your face. "Is there something you want to know?"

"No, I think you already answered my question." He said, voice tight and strained.

"Ask me anyways, please?" You begged, hoping to salvage the situation. There was a moment of tense silence before he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His eyes were glossy and you automatically felt even guiltier. You moved your hands across the table to cover his, attempting to comfort him, but he tugged his hands away.

"How do you feel about me, (Y/N)?" His gaze burned into yours, making it impossible to tear your eyes away from his. You opened and closed your mouth multiple times, trying to find the words to explain how he made you feel.

"Wilbur, I..." You swallowed the lump in your throat, bringing your hands to your lap. Fuck it. "I don't know if I have ever loved someone as much as I love you."

His cheeks lit up with blush, and the hurt started to leak from his eyes. His lips parted slightly, taken aback by your sudden forwardness.

"I didn't mean k-kissing you was a mistake, I just...wish I didn't do it when I was drunk. I wish I could remember it, because- because I have thought about doing it so many times and the one time I get the guts to do it, I'm too intoxicated to even remember it and I hurt you and-and-" You spiraled into your thoughts, standing up and pacing the kitchen. You ran your fingers through your hair frustratedly, tugging at the strands on occasion.

"(Y/N), hey." he said your name and your heart stopped, along with your feet. He stood and walked over to you, placing his hands on your shoulders. "Calm down, you're going to give yourself a panic attack." He chuckled softly.

You stared at your feet, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I never meant to hurt you, Wilbur...I just, don't want things to be awkward if you...don't feel the same."

"(Y/N)," He gently grabbed your chin and tilted your head up so that your eyes met once again, "you have no clue how long I've wanted to hear you say something like that." His eyes were full of something else, now. He leaned in, your faces nearing eachother.

"Y-you have?" You said, nearly breathless. He nodded, sliding the hand on your chin up to cup your cheek. Your noses we now touching, and you placed your hand over his.

"Are you sure I'm actually what you want, though? Are you really over...y'know...him? I don't want to just be a rebound." His eyes held worry along with longing. You nodded quickly in response.

"Wilbur, I've felt this way about you for a very long time. I just was too scared it would...I dunno, ruin our friendship? It sounds kinda dumb, now, but...I want you, and nothing else." The confession came easier with the heat of his touch. His eyes searched yours, looking for truth in your words.

He must have found it, because the next second he was pressing his lips to yours. You returned the kiss fervently, curling your fingers between his. His lips were soft and warm; they seemed to slot perfectly with yours, like they were made for each other. Fireworks exploded through your bloodstream. It had been ages since you felt so happy with a pair of lips moving against yours. A small sound left his throat and you pulled away to shoot him a grin.

"So, does this mean you'd want to go out on a date with me?" You teased, rubbing your nose against his.

He laughed warmly and pretended to think for a moment as he placed a hand on your hip. "Hmm, I guess so." Then, he leaned in to kiss you again.

#Wlbr #Hurt/comfort #Friends to lovers #CW: alcohol #CW: drunk driving

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loversarcanas · 3 years

Text

Midnight Romeo Ch. 1

Series: The Owl House Pairing: Beta!Luz/Beta!Amity

Luz Noceda finds herself frequenting night clubs to cope with her loneliness. She never expects to find anyone, really, until she’s forced to save a pretty girl from a nasty creep harassing her. Please support the original on Ao3! (trigger warnings for alcohol consumption and minor sexual harassment)

12:35am. The flashing lights and blaring dubstep over massive stereo systems was enough to overwhelm anyone, especially Luz Noceda. She wasn’t really even sure why she kept coming here. For drinks? People-watching? Moping, hoping for a stranger to reach out a hand to her and make a connection? Probably all of the above. Yet, despite how agonizingly crowded the place was and how much it reeked of Mary Jane and sweat, she sat alone at the bar, sipping on her second glass of whiskey and watching wasted hornballs grind on each other. Luz was a pretty lonely person. She didn’t really have friends to spend time with, her mom worked hectic nights at the hospital to the point where they barely saw each other, and she had nothing but shitty breakups with shitty partners who left her feeling more and more closed up. Nobody could envy her right now. Any last shreds of hope that some gorgeous, charming person would approach her and suavely sweep her off her feet, were stomped on by her own cynicism. After all, who would want her ? Slumped over the bar in an unwashed army jacket, uncombed hair and beanie, probably reeking of booze. Hah, yeah. A real catch, huh. Her self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted, however, when a shorter, punky looking girl ran up to her and wrapped arms around her. “Oh my god, hiii! I haven’t seen you in so long , babe!” came a peppy, raspy voice from the girl. Luz froze, completely shocked and incredibly confused at just what was happening right now. As well as a little bit flustered, because this girl was very pretty. Before she had a chance to speak, however, the mysterious girl whispered in her ear “ Just go with it, creepy guy behind me ”. Ah. Luz’s demeanor changed in a heartbeat, cracking a smile and hugging the girl back. “Hey! What are you doing here? It’s been ages!” Pulling away from the hug, she looked passed the girl’s green-dyed hair to see a seething man walking directly towards them. “Hey Amity, who’s this girl? Some friend of yours?” He asked through a fake, gritted smile. Oh, Luz could feel the rotten vibes emanating from him. “Yeah, the name’s Luz. Amity here is one of my friends from college. May I ask who you are?”

The strange man crossed his arms, a smug grin crossing his face. “Yeah, I’m her man of the night. And we’ll be going now, actually.” Venom dripped from each of his words as he tried to grab at Amity’s wrist. The shorter girl struggled and mumbled “Let go” as she tried to pull away, and a new flame entered Luz’s gaze. She stood up and towered half a head over the man, staring at him with an intense anger, reaching into her jacket pocket for her switchblade. “I don’t think she wants to go with you. Now let her go, or I’ll slice that hand clean off your wrist.” Luz scowled, flipping the blade open. The man visibly flinched, but stood his ground for a few moments more before finally letting go. “Whatever, fucking cunt. She’s an ugly bitch anyway.” He mumbled as he walked back into the crowd. Luz closed her switchblade and looked back down at the green haired girl, who was now rubbing the spot where her wrist had been so roughly grabbed. Amity looked up at the taller girl in appreciation. “Thanks, uh.. You said your name was Luz? Thank you. I swear to god, men don’t know how to take fucking ‘no’ for an answer.” Luz sighed, and patted her shoulder. “Yeah, guys can be real creeps sometimes, especially at places like this. I’m just glad he didn’t do worse to you. Are you okay?” Amity grumbled, and hopped up on a bar chair next to the taller girl. “Well, not really. My friends bailed on me and I’ve been trying to ward off these dipshit guys all night. I don’t see how anyone enjoys these places.” Luz stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, I hear ya. But if you hate it so much, why are you here?” Amity let out a heavy sigh. “I came because my friends asked me to. This isn’t usually my deal, but they were insistent. Then they had the gall to fucking leave me here alone. Assholes.” She mumbled, laying her head on the counter. “They don’t really sound like friends if they’re just gonna leave you here.” Luz offered. Amity noticeably shrank when she said that. “Yeah, well, they’re kinda my only option as far as friends go… And they were my ride here too, hah .” She laughed bitterly. The two of them were silent for a few moments, only being enveloped in the sound of the music over loudspeakers. At one point, the bartender asked if Amity wanted a drink. She lifted her head and ordered a long island iced tea, much to Luz’s surprise. When asked if she wanted a refill on her whiskey, Luz declined, and turned back to Amity. “So, you don’t have a ride home then?” Amity shook her head. “It’s probably fine. I’ll just grab an Uber, or beg one of my siblings to pick me up, haha.” Her laugh was tired, and her eyes looked tired as well.

While Amity silently drank, Luz watched her - taking in her appearance. Her eyes were sharp and golden, with thick, black, winged eyeliner and smokey eyeshadow. Her nose was long and pierced through the septum. Her lips were thin, covered in black lipstick and adorned with black metal snake bites. Her hair was messy, tousled and long, reaching halfway down her back. Her ears were covered in black piercings, and she wore a fitted band tee and a pink plaid miniskirt. Truly, this girl was stunning. Luz couldn’t help but wonder if this was the princess charming she had so long been wishing for- ‘Ugh, don’t be stupid’ She thought to herself, and quickly stamped out the idea. Her main concern should be how to get this girl home, anyways. Her friends left her, she’s apparently been dealing with sexual harassment all night, and she’s probably going to be wasted on long island teas before she leaves. “So… Are you gonna text your sibs for a ride?” Amity finished the remains of her glass before slamming it back down on the table. “Yeah I guess I should, probably. They’ll probably make fun of me for getting so wasted, but it’s fine, whatever.” She took out her phone and started quickly typing a message with her thumbs, before setting it down on the bar. She called the bartender back over to order another tea, then slumped back on the counter. “Uh, you sure another one is a good idea chica ? Especially after the night you’ve had?” The green-haired girl rolled her head to look at Luz, with a dead stare. “While I appreciate your concern, I kinda don’t care right now.” Her phone buzzed and she picked it up to look at the new text, before slapping it back down with a loud groan. “UGH, of COURSE they’re too busy to pick me up. Fuckin great.” Luz bit her lip, wondering what the next step should be. I mean, she barely met this girl, But after the night she’d had, she didn’t want to risk this Amity girl having another run off with a creepy guy. And she knew from experience that Ubers and Lyfts weren’t always the safest to ride in as a drunk girl. “Hey… Uh, do you need me to give you a ride home then? I really don’t mind.” She waited in silence for a moment, while Amity turned to look at her. “I’m fine, I’ll be fine. Just need to order an Uber, it’s fine..” She trailed off, pulling up the app on her phone. “Listen, I really don’t mind driving you. I’ve had some… not so fun experiences riding drunk in an Uber. They don’t do background checks on those guys, and especially since you’ve been through so much from creeps tonight...” Luz trailed off. Amity let out a huge sigh. “...Okay, fine. But you better not try anything weird either. I can and will fuck you up, or break your car window open.” Luz internally breathed a sigh of relief. She definitely understood not trusting a stranger to drive her home, but she didn’t want this girl to go through worse than she had already experienced tonight.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1:21am. They walked out of the bar, Luz had mostly sobered up, and supported the shorter girl so she didn’t stumble or trip on the way to her car. Luz’s car wasn’t anything special - it was an old 2002 Honda Accord, silver and a little beat up, but she was sure to keep it clean and in functioning shape. She opened the passenger door for amity with a polite gesture, and made sure she was all the way in before shutting the door and returning to the driver’s side.

“Wow, your car is old.” Amity said bluntly. Luz laughed. “Yeah? Your point? I still keep her running like a dream. Why? Are you not used to old bangups?” Amity crossed her arms, embarrassed. “Well, my parents are all about having the newest thing. They all got brand new shit at home, fancy imported cars and that shit. They got me a brand new Maserati for my birthday this year. So yeah, I’m not used to ‘old bangups’ I guess.” She looked out the window while Luz started up the engine, and popped in a CD. The music started playing on low, Amity tuning in to the song that was playing.

‘You’re the beach on Christmas Eve,’

‘Wrong place, good time, consistently’

‘I feel like a walking love song’

‘When you do me like that, can you tell my brain turns off’ It seemed to fit the atmosphere pretty well, actually. Luz rolled down the window and let her arm hang out, bringing a much-needed cool breeze into the car. Amity could feel herself nodding off, despite trying to fight it. ‘This girl, Luz… can I really trust her? I mean, she seems really cool, and it’s nice of her to drive me home, but… ‘ Amity’s thoughts ran slowly through her head. She raised her head to look over at the girl in the driver’s seat. She really did have a cool aura about her. The army jacket and baggy cargo pants, while normally not Amity’s style, seemed to fit the girl. Her messy hair, red beanie, adorned with a pin Amity couldn’t see in the dark. She noticed Luz was singing along to the song under her breath. It was kind of cute, actually. ‘From 7-11s to California Heavens’

‘I try to hide with my words, but you just find me clever’

‘I found a million places, you’d be worth the chases’

‘To go-oh-oh’

Finally, they pull into a long driveway, protected by overbearing steel gates. Luz stopped the car, and looked up at the massive home behind them. “You live here , Amity? Damn, are you just rich as shit or something?” Amity sighed, clicked off her seatbelt and opened the door. “My family is rich as shit, yes. I try not to think about it.” Luz unblocked her seatbelt and rose to get out of the car, making sure Amity could get in alright. “Oh, wait! Here, hang on a second.” She said, running back to her car to grab something.

Amity stood before the gates for only a few seconds, before Luz came back with a scrap of paper. “Listen, not that you’ll need it, but…” She looked embarrassed, rubbing the nape of her neck anxiously. “If your friends ever bail on you again or you need to get rid of any more creeps, here’s my number.” Luz handed the scrap to Amity, before shoving both hands in her jacket pockets. Amity looked down at the paper, then back up to Luz, with a smile. “Heh, thanks Luz… Maybe I’ll take you up on that. Amity brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and turned toward the gates to her house. “Oh, and… Thank you for all your help tonight. Usually people aren’t so kind.” Those words were her last before opening the gates and walking inside.

Luz slumped back into her car, waiting until the girl was fully inside her house before buckling up and starting up the engine. ‘Well, that’s certainly not how I thought my night would go.’ She felt a buzz in her pocket, and pulled out her phone to find a new message from an unknown number. xxx-xxx-xxxx: Hey, this is Amity. Thanks again for tonight. Luz smiled, and quickly registered the girl in her contacts. As she backed out of the manor driveway, she felt a lightness in her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe going out to clubs wasn't all that bad.

#toh #lumity #beta lumity #they're 21-22 in this btw #figure since its my first fic i'd crosspost it here ahaha

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actress4him · 4 years

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Whumptober 2020 - Day 21

We get to bring in two new characters to the mix today! I won’t say who yet, you’ll just have to read to find out. :)

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 21 - Chronic Pain

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: nudity (non-sexual), foster home mention

It was a bad day. A really bad day.

He had plenty of bad days, those came nearly once a month. Those he could power through.

But this was one of those days that thankfully, didn’t show up too often. He hadn’t had one this bad in probably a year or more. Certainly not since coming to space, which he was more than grateful for.

Curling in tighter on himself, Keith stifled a whimper with his pillow. He was pretty sure his roommates were already long gone, but he still didn’t want to risk anyone hearing him make pathetic noises. He needed to get up. It was getting late in the day, and he was still in the bed, and he was pretty sure he had a mission at some point to report for. If he didn’t get up soon, somebody was going to come looking for him, and then not only would he be in trouble, but he’d have to explain why he was curled up like a kitten with the covers pulled over his head and tear tracks staining his face.

And he didn’t even know. All he knew was that it hurt, and it had been doing so for his entire life.

Okay. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna get up.

Willing his right arm to move, he threw off the thin blanket. The air was cool, just like the other Blade members seemed to like it. Apparently Galra ran warmer than humans. He was generally cold at night, but didn’t want to be a bother by asking for another blanket.

Now he had to force himself out of the fetal position. He started with the left leg, stretching it out slowly, slowly. The ache grew the farther out it went, until he was turning his face over to keen into the pillow again.

The second leg he decided to do fast, just to get it over with. Throwing it out straight, he gasped involuntarily as pain shot through it. For a moment he just lay there, letting the aches settle until they were at a semi-tolerable level, then began the equally painful process of levering himself up.

By the time he was sitting up, he was close to tears again. Breathe, he reminded himself. Keep breathing.

All that was left was to stand up, walk to the shelf to get his suit, walk down the hall to the communal bathing room, get undressed, bathe, get dressed, walk back to his room to put his sleep clothes away, walk to the bridge, then go on a mission.

Yeah. Sure.

Never mind that each of those individual tasks felt like the equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest. He had no choice. He was a Blade, and Blades didn’t just let a little thing like pain stop them from doing their jobs. If he couldn’t do this, if he tried to get out of going out today, then they might decide he wasn’t worthy of being one of them. They would kick him off the base, and then where would he go?

Not back to the Castle. There was no more room for him there, not without kicking someone else more deserving out of their place. And even if he thought he could make it all the way back to Earth, there had never been anything for him there. Just an empty, lonely, rundown shack in the middle of the desert, and the only reason he had lasted so long out there the first time was the Blue Lion. She wasn’t there anymore.

Okay. Getting up.

Standing took three times as long as it should have. Walking felt like the floor was covered in spikes, and like someone was following him around stabbing him with knives all over his legs. His back wouldn’t quite straighten all the way, at least not without adding a few more knives to the mix, so his posture resembled that of a wrinkled old man. He managed to make it all the way down the hall without running into anyone, thankfully, since he was hunched over and moving at a snail’s pace, and also thankfully was late enough that he was alone in the bathing room.

Galra didn’t do showers. He had learned that upon first arriving at the base. Instead, they used large, square tubs that could fill with either water, dust, or some kind of blue goo, depending on the needs of the individual’s skin, scales, or fur. It had taken him a while to figure out all the different settings, and he had accidentally set off the dust and goo a couple of times in the beginning. Right now, he was hoping that some nice, hot water would be what his body needed to cope with the day to come.

It did feel good to start with. Certainly nicer than he had felt the whole day so far. Keith was able to stretch out his legs, arms, and back fully for the first time without excruciating pain...for a few minutes.

Then the cramps started creeping back in, seizing up his muscles, making him whine. Tucking his knees up under his chin, he let the tears come again. He was tired. And so tired of hurting. A normal day, a day where his bones throbbed but he could use exercise or just pure willpower to get past it and ignore it...that he was used to. He should have been used to these days, too. But they never failed to catch him by surprise and completely knock him off his feet, sapping all his energy and will to do anything but stay in bed. These days turned him into a pathetic excuse for a person, and that was to say nothing about being a soldier. He hated feeling so weak and useless.

The timed bath ran out, and the water began draining. Keith was left curled up in yet another ball, shivering, unable to summon the strength to climb out. The cold doubled the intensity of the pain. His jaw was beginning to add itself to the list of aches from clenching it so hard to keep his teeth from chattering, but he couldn’t even make himself reach over for his towel.

You’ve got to get up. Do you really want someone to find you like this?

As if reading his mind, the door swished open. “Keith?” a familiar, accented voice called. “Are you in here?”

Regris. He lifted a trembling arm finally, swallowing a grunt, trying to get himself covered before he was spotted, but had only made it to the top of the tub when his partner rounded the corner.

“There you are!” Regris stopped, taking in the empty tub, the shaking limbs, and the streaks of water down Keith’s cheeks that were probably very obviously not bath water, and frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith gritted out through his teeth. “‘m fine.” He continued trying to reach the towel, but his arm didn’t want to unfurl quite enough to nab it.

“Ya don’t look so fine, mate.” Crossing to the side of the tub, he snatched up the towel himself and threw it over Keith’s shoulders. “Are ya sick?”

“N-no.” Now he had to get up, whether he thought he was capable or not, so he gripped the sides of the tub with sore fingers and began to push, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to ignore the screaming in every inch of his body. “Told you. ‘m fine.”

Regris shook his head with a sigh. “Course you are. That’s why ya can’t even stand up proper.” Leaning down, he grasped Keith’s arm in his clawed hand and hoisted him up. While he did need the help, the sudden movement sent a wave of pain through him and he wasn’t able to hold in his cry.

The young Galra jumped back like he had been shocked, swearing. “What is it, mate? You’re injured, aren’t ya? Why didn’t you go to the med bay?”

“‘m not...injured.” Shakily, he adjusted the towel so it was wrapped around his waist, then gave in and grabbed onto Regris’ shoulder so that he could painstakingly step out onto the cold floor. “Don’t need th’...med bay. Doctor’s never did anything for me before. ‘cept tell me it was...just growing pains.”

Regris’ brow furrowed as he watched Keith slowly collect his clothing. “Well, what is it then, if you’re not injured? Ya look like somebody stabbed ya in the gut.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Feels...kinda like somebody put concrete in all my bones.” He paused, thought about that comparison, then added, “But it’s expanding concrete.”

“I’ve no idea what ‘concrete’ is, but if ya feel that bad then maybe you should be restin’ in your room.”

Keith shook his head. “Got a mission soon. Need to get ready.”

Regris groaned. “Don’t be bone-headed Keith, ya can’t go on a mission like this.”

Turning his back, Keith started shuffling back toward the door. “Pretty sure the...Blade of Marmora doesn’t give...sick days.”

“Pretty sure the Blade of Marmora doesn’t want someone who can barely walk on a stealth mission!” Regris called to him just before the door slid shut.

He was right. He needed to get his act together. If Kolivan saw him like this, he’d kick him off the mission for sure, and then it wouldn’t be long before he was kicked out of the Blade altogether. Especially if he found out that this was a semi-regular occurrence.

Making it back to his room, he sat down on his bed and attempted to put on his uniform. Ten dobashes later, he had managed to get it over his legs and up to his waist, and had then fallen over sideways on the bed to fold up and shake some more. That’s when a knock came on the door. He jolted, thinking to try to sit up, but the door opened before he could.

“Regris informed me that you were feeling ill. I believe that he may have understated the severity of your condition.”

Quiznak. Why did stupid Regris have to go and get Kolivan?

“N-no, no, ‘m fine, I told him I was fine.” He pushed himself up much faster than he thought would be possible, avoiding eye contact with the towering Galra while he tugged his uniform up further. “I’m not sick. Just...a little sore.”

“Keith.” The severity of the tone made him glance up for just a moment, but he couldn’t hold the steady yellow gaze. “We have worked together for quite some time now. I have seen you after the hardest of training sessions, when older, more experienced Blades have thrown you to the floor and against the walls repeatedly. I have seen you after missions when you were shot, cut with a sword, or caught in an explosion. These things would all cause you to be more than ‘a little sore’.” He paused as if for effect. “Yet I have never seen you like this, barely able to leave your own bed. Clearly you are suffering from more than simple sore muscles.”

Keith clenched his jaw again, his arms wrapped tightly around his bare stomach. He wasn’t going to get away with lying. Kolivan would see through any of it, and he couldn’t even think of a believable excuse to give him.

“It’s nothing,” he finally said quietly. “Just this...pain, that I get from time to time. It’s not usually this bad. I can usually work through it.” He lifted his head. “And I can today, too. I know this mission’s important. I’ll make it happen.”

“What kind of pain?” Kolivan asked, his voice almost as soft, uncharacteristically so.

Keith shrugged, though he immediately regretted it. “In my bones...my muscles...feels like...they’re being compressed. Like there’s not enough room in my skin for what’s inside of it.”

Kolivan nodded solemnly, not speaking for a moment. Inwardly, Keith was beating himself up for allowing his secret to be found out, waiting for his leader to break the news that he could no longer be a Blade.

Instead, he crossed the room and sank down gently onto the bed next to Keith. “This has been going on for a long time, has it not?”

Keith nodded slowly, still expecting the worst. “My whole life. Or at least, as long as I can remember.” Countless foster families, social workers, and doctors had dismissed his pain, telling him that he was being overdramatic and exaggerating the intensity. Eventually he had learned not to tell anyone.

Kolivan hummed in thought. “As a full-blood Galra, myself, I do not know much about this phenomenon. But I have heard that it is, indeed, very painful.”

It took a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in, and then Keith was too surprised to do more than stutter, “W-wait, what?”

“Growing pains,” Kolivan stated matter-of-factly, and for a tick Keith thought he was being dismissed again and he wanted to melt. “Many half-blood Galra struggle with it. It is much like you described - likely your bones are more like that of a Galra than a human, and are attempting to grow at the rate that matches. However, the outside of your body is very much human, and is holding them back.”

Keith just stared at him as his brain processed this information. Finally, somebody believed him. That in and of itself was almost too good to be true. And not only did he believe him, but he had answers? He knew why Keith was hurting? He still had so many questions, though, and wasn’t sure whether he could believe this quite yet.

“If...if it’s a half-Galra thing, then why didn’t Regris know what it was?”

“It all depends on not only what the other species is, but also what traits from each species you acquire from your parents. Others may struggle with different types of mixed blood related problems, while some, like Regris, seem to have no conflicts between their two halves. What you are experiencing is quite rare, but not so rare that I have not encountered it before.”

Biting down on his lip, Keith considered this. “Okay, but...I’m eighteen years old. Shouldn’t I be done growing by now?”

He could have sworn that Kolivan almost smiled at that, and kind of almost looked like he wanted to reach out and ruffle Keith’s hair. “In human years, maybe. By Galran standards you are still quite young, and Galra also continue growing well into their young adult years.”

Keith sighed heavily, hunching over himself further. “So in other words, I’ve still got a long time left to deal with this.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kolivan stood. “But if you will accompany me to the med bay, I believe we will be able to find something to help you, at least on these especially hard days.”

Keith grimaced. “Thanks, but pain medication doesn’t work for me. At least not for this.”

Kolivan leveled a knowing stare at him. “Keith, when was the last time that you tried pain medication for this?”

“Um…” He bit his lip, realizing the answer. “Before I found out I was Galra…?”

“As I thought.” Kolivan held out his hand. “Come. I will assist you to the med bay, and once you have taken your medication I want you to come back here and rest.”

“But the mission -”

“Will be handled by others.”

“Kolivan, I -”

“You are ill. We cannot afford to have anyone on a mission who is at less than their best.”

Keith stared down at the floor. “I know,” he whispered.

“There is no shame in taking care of your health. Everyone must do so from time to time.”

A spark of hope replaced his disappointment, and he looked back up. “You’re gonna let me stay?”

Kolivan’s brow furrowed. “Of course. You have yet to give me a reason not to.”

Relief washed over him. Someone believed him, he was getting help, and he wasn’t being kicked out. Maybe today wasn’t such a bad day after all.

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

A/N: And Kolivan managed to make Keith tell him that being cold made it worse, so he gave him a ton of blankets for his bed. The End.

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aroarolibrary · 3 years

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Oh man so, first off: congrats to angel/dean shippers on getting your canon thing in spanish but secondly:

Man this whole thing that’s been happening with this show over the last few weeks has 100% reminded me that this show and Sherlock were the two fandoms that made be super romance repulsed because of all the internalized self-hate and trauma they caused me. Like. I was romance repulsed before but those fandoms?? Jacked it up to 100% for years in which I couldn’t interact with any romantic stories or fandoms at all.

Story time!!!

Tw for: self harm, self hatred, hypersexuality, mental health issues, child neglect.

So imagine you are me: a young person who has just graduated high school and, very suddently, went from being “single mother of your little sister” who you had essentially raised on your own for the last four years when she was 5 to 9 yo to “every day college kid that sees their sibling that they raised for the last four years maybe once a month.

Also imagine that, out of all of your high school friends, none of them are attending the same university as you and so. Well.

You’re feeling pretty lonely and depressed.

Now also imagine: you didn’t really have a chance to consume media I HS because: parent. In fact 90% of what you watched was kids cartoons for your sibling +bonus Inuyasha at 3am as a...Uh....treat.....(that’s the kind way of saying ‘setting an alarm at 3am to check to make sure the parents actually got home from wherever TF they vanished to nearly every night).

But hey! You are free now and can watch/read what you want between classes! Only, well, where to start? You go to a book store and find a Sherlock Holmes book and think “okay ya I’ve always wanted to read these!” And proceed to consume them in one week flat.

They are amazing. The relationship between Sherlock and John reminds you of your and one of your best friends/honorary cousins that you haven’t seen in a while and it brings you comfort to read, but now you are out of stories so, you do what any person this day in ages does: you find fanfiction. Now, Sherlock wasn’t a thing at this point and so nearly all the fanfics were based on the books and, of those, 80-85% you gen. No romance at all. Just relaxing stories about friends and solving mysteries.

Then Sherlock happens and, don’t get me wrong, I was definitely a fan when the show started, but suddenly fanfiction was no longer mostly gen, it was shifting, becoming more and more shipping and romance related and it became harder and harder to find non-romantic stories.

Then a person I was living with suggested supernatural. “It’s a story about brothers and it focuses on them.” They said “very little romance. You would probably like it.”

And so I watched it and, they were right, I did. And ya, that one wasn’t exactly like the early Sherlock Holmes fandom, it had a lot of shipping from the get go, but I could also really easily find gen fics that focused on siblings and familial relationships and ignore the rest since there was a pretty even 50/50 split with a slight favor on the gen side.

(Keep in mind there is a LOT of other irl trauma going on in the BG of this story which I know I’ve talked about before. A lot of which is also feeding into the romance repulsion and my avoidance of romance in fandom spaces along with my “blossoming” hypersexuality)

Anyway, the familial relationship in spn was a comfort. At the point I moved from Sherlock to SPN I was in my second year on university and was doing a bit better mentally (in the “sadness” front at least) but I was still missing seeing my sister a lot and so SPN was a comfort in that sense. It was something to relax with that didn’t have romance or anything of the sort that, at that point, was only driving me further and further into hypersexuality (I was dating my first ‘official’ partner at that point and, while I can recognize it now looking back, romance in shows and movies made me feel inadequate as a partner. Like I was failing and not doing enough. Was not romantic enough. Was not showing affection enough. But physically I also couldn’t bring myself to do those things either. What I could do was sex. And, well, when that’s all you have to offer...)

ANYWAY: spn was the one show I knew of on TV that was low to no romance and that the fandom was also decently low on romance, instead focusing mostly on family and the brothers.

Cut forward a few years, I’m back into a depression, I’ve failed at a relationship again because all I can offer is sex and that’s really not enough for people that are looking for actual romance and:

And supernatural introduces an angel character to the show. It’s interesting but I’m pretty depressed and not really all that interested in the show anyway at this point-

But then the fandom happens and it’s like a flood. The romance pours in from all corners along with the absolute hate for anyone that doesn’t see anything romantic happening. It’s like watching a wild fire go through a fandom, what was once a fandom that mostly was just about siblings all of a sudden became all about this angel character and Dean. So much so that it over shadowed everything and any attempt to just enjoy the show as a gen thing or as a family-centric show became impossible.

It was also around this point that a lot of...idk what to call it really because it wasn’t exactly hate, it was like a “this is the only way to read/be in this fandom and if you aren’t we are going to harass you non-stop until you see things our way”. If you couldn’t see the romance between these two characters it was because you were homophobic. If you preferred gen it was because you were homophobic. If you focused on just the brothers and their relationship it was because you were homophobic. If you couldn’t see that Dean was better off in a romantic relationship then with his brother who he had an ‘unhealthy’ relationship with then you were homophobic.

(Keep in mind at this point I was out as bisexual and had attempted to date a woman at this point. I say attempted because, well, again: aromantic even if I didn’t know it then)

It was intense and, from the POV of an aromantic person struggling with being unable to understand even basic romance: it was traumatizing.

I tried to see it, to understand what these shippers were seeing that I couldn’t. Yes, I could see how Sam and Dean’s relationship could be viewed as unhealthy, but as someone who had lived a similar life to theirs as a kid, and to suddenly be bombarded with this idea that the “healthy” way to cope with that is a “romantic relationship” it was a lot. And by a lot I mean a death spiral.

There was...a lot of one night stands and sex and half-attempted relationships after that, in that desperate attempt to understand. There was also panic, nausea, fear that my own relationship with my sister was unhealthy. Was causing both of us harm. That the only way I could keep from hurting her further was to find a “healthy” romantic relationship instead because siblings aren’t meant to be close, not even those where one raised the other alone for years on end.

I had no context outside of fandom about what a healthy sibling relationship looked like and, hell, most TV shows at the time painted sibling relationships as antagonist 90% of the time and with them only interacting when necessary. My parents both had siblings but my dad talked to his maybe once a month and my mom faught with Hers a lot. I had never faught with my sister. We got along perfectly, mostly because from the ages on 13 - 18 I lived for her alone and so I was used to putting her first no matter what.

But this fandom, that had been a comfort for me for a while, suddenly said that was wrong. That instead romance was the way to go and I...

Well. I am conscious of myself enough now to know that I was purposely hurting myself. A lot. Punishing myself over and over and over again, not just because I couldn’t figure out how to “feel” romance like I was supposed to do but also because I was a terrible sibling. Because I had failed my sister some how and had ended up in an “unhealthy codependent” relationship with her since, if Sam and Dean’s relationship was like that according to fans, then obviously so was ours.

(God and don’t get me started on the spiral that the new Inuyasha Sequel put me into a few months ago. I’m STILL not out of that spiral yet. These last few months have not been good for the “romance isn’t important/is unnecessary” front)

I would like to say that I soon realized how terrible the fandom was for my mental health and that it was causing me to harm myself but that isn’t how this story ends. How it ends is that I Eventually I ended up not being able to watch SPN any more. Every episode was just another dagger in my side. Another failure to press my face into. Another series of interactions where I couldn’t see. Couldn’t understand. Another episode that would let to another desperate one night stand/attempt at understanding how this was better. Healthier. How this was how things were supposed to be. Another night of not talking to my family or friend and another few days of not talking to my sister because talking to her too much was wrong.

So ya. This story doesn’t end nicely. It just slowly fades to black. To a point where I hate myself so much that I can’t bring myself to interact with the fandom or internet at all. Where everything just kind of...goes away and vanished but where the trauma still exists. Where stories that start out about family and, suddenly, introduce love interests leave me nauseous and choked. Where my romance repulsion gets so strong that I can’t sleep because I just keep remembering my failures. The fact that it’s not healthy to focus or care about your family. That there must be romance. There must There must there must. Because with out it all other relationships are bad/wrong/unhealthy and you are bad/wrong/unhealthy for only having those.

Just the endless mantra. All night long.

Bad.

Wrong.

Unhealthy.

Bad.

Wrong.

Unhealthy.

Bad

Wrong.

Unhealthy.

Over and over and over again.

#can you tell what’s been on my mind all night?#ah memories #at least I’m at a point where I can recognize this as self-harm behavior to ‘fix’ myself #and not a healthy ‘but maybe if I have more sex I’ll fall in love’ situation i had going on before

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qrbie · 4 years

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The Masterlist

Hey. I know it’s been ages since my last fic rec, but my motivation is slowly building again and I think I’m going to have a big one coming up soon. Meanwhile, I tossed a ton onto @0nceuponafanfic, so she might have something brewing for y’all. Anyways, I’ve been updating this thing, so if you ever need a pile to fall back on when I’m MIA, here you go!

Please tell me if I’m missing something, like a trigger warning or a link to someone’s Tumblr. Also don’t be afraid to rec me your favorite fics or even your own fics! I wanna see them. If you want to request fic recs, I’m open for those too! Even if you don’t have fics or even a specific purpose, come to my inbox and mess around. I’m bored and want human interaction.

‘allo people! yeah yeah yeah It’s been AGES since the last update so I’mma dump some new fics into here soon. I’m also gonna fix up the organization a bit. so sayonara and see ya later!

As always, stay hydrated!

Happy pride, everyone!

Last updated 6/23

1-Chapter bits of fluff or angst or something else

one hell of a hook | A TodoBaku fic... but don’t let that drive you away! This is an amazing fic, so please give it a try before you judge.

Mafia Au | What if Present Mic was a yakuza boss and Aizawa was a spy? (There’s a lot more to this, including a lot more art, over at @nartothelar‘s blog)

UA Music Conservatory | a series of one-shots in an AU where UA is actually a music school.

Silent Shadow | has the potential to evolve into something bigger. Nomu!Midoriya is Kurogiri’s protege. So cool.

Present Mic’s Awesome Mixtape 2.0 | Aizawa doesn’t like any kind of music. Shocking, right? After discovering this, Yamada has a new goal. Find a type of music Aizawa likes.

cultivating something so divine | Vet!Kiribaku, with so much fluff and animals and mutual pining that even the hardest of hearts can be softened.

The story of how Midoriya Izuku won the Sport Festival | I love a good dose of Crack Treated Seriously, and here’s some.

Trash Goblin Finds Love | “Bakugou. This is the gayest thing I’ve ever seen.”

president of the krbk club | Whenever something exciting happens, what does Midoriya do? Whip out his notebooks, of course. So what happens when Bakugou isn’t pushing Kirishima away?

It's Hard to Get Past Some Things | Whenever Midoriya’s drunk, Todoroki’s his designated caretaker. What happens when drunk Midoriya decides to talk about kids (or pups, whatever)? (A/B/O)

it's just the little things | Bakugou’s interactions over the years (stealing from the official summary here)

The Knock-On Effect | There’s only a couple types of knocks that Bakugou likes. Kirishima’s knocks in the middle of the night are one of them.

Smile for me, would you? | Unlike the rest of us, Present Mics has goals, and actually follows through with them. This goal? Make his neighbor, Shouta Aizawa, smile.

Shadowed Soul, Electric Eyes (We'll Be Okay) | What if Tokoyami and Kaminari, people with completely different quirks, got quirk-swapped?

A Matter of Pride | How everyone in BNHA came out. That’s it. It’s so fluffy, though.

firedancer | Unlike the rest of these, this one has the tiniest bit of angst. So little you’d need a microscope, though. Whenever someone falls in love, romantically, platonically, or any other way, a flower appears on their skin. Kirishima has a ton of flowers, but where are Bakugou’s?

A Mile in New Shoes (and A Mile Too Far) | Artist!Bakugou is invited to his first house party... Luckily he has three guys showing him around.

Boy things | Ashido loves her friends, but sometimes it gets lonely being the only girl in the Bakusquad. Good thing they understand!

come home to me | Kiribaku might’ve gotten a telepathic connection... There’s so much fluff in this one!

one to ten | Kirishima wants to date Bakugou, but he’s gotta climb the ladder of friendship first!

Get Mad! | Bakugou teaches Eri how to cope, and Eri returns the favor.

bakugatsu | Yeah, I know this is 20 chapters long, but it’s basically 20 drabbles compiled together by the amazing wonhaebunny!

a mix of six | Probably my favorite series of all time, no matter the fandom. What happens when Aizawa and Hizashi adopt Bakugou, Todoroki, Shinsou and Eri?

KiriBaku Week 2020 | A series by PoorUnfortunateSoul - full of fluff!

Safety In Numbers | A little bit of fluff and a lot of parental Erasermic.

Multi-chapter Stories

How To Get Adopted Without Letting Your Dad Know He's Adopting You, A Guide By Class 1-A | Good old fashioned school fluff. (WIP)

Dandelion | No masterlist is complete without at least one fic from the legendary Broken Realities, right? So here’s @owlf45‘s fic... (there’s a lot more! Check out the Broken Realities Collection on Ao3 for at least some of them... I bet there’s a lot more floating around.) (WIP)

Phosphenes | A Naruto/BNHA crossover, Mina is reborn from Naruto, and learns to navigate life even with such a big burden on her shoulders. (WIP)

Flour Power | Kirishima and Bakugou are supposed to take care of a sack of flour for a school project. What could go wrong?

Not really a villain, but close enough | “Aizawa didn't expect the raid to go so well. he didn't expect the informant to be so useful and well-mannered. who was hi kidding? Aizawa didn't expect the informant to be a kid. but the green-eyed boy cuffed to the interrogation table was wiling to help, and Aizawa wasn't one to look the gift horse in the mouth“ (WIP)

green haze | Vigilante!Midoriya is known as the Green Haze, a vigilante, Eraserhead’s supposed to capture. Shenanigans happen.

2am Knows All Secrets | One of those classic Kiribaku fics that trickle through the ranks. Lots of fluff, with good ol’ tropes like sharing a bed and mutual pining and Good Friends, and-it’s great.

The life of a hero | Such a good series. It’s so amazing. It gives angst and pain but then soothes it over with fluff, but then it tears you apart... and then it gives you life... a great read.

The Last Resort | This is basically pure angst. It’s so painful, but it’s such a good story... Shinsou was sold as a young child to a yakuza. This yakuza would rent out people for their quirks... This is an amazing read, but don’t expect any fluff from this. (Check the tags! WIP)

¥300 Shampoo | When Aizawa’s working on a book at the cafe, he certainly doesn’t expect someone pulling his hair. He definitely doesn’t expect getting a free haircut out of it, either.

quote love unquote | Take the official summary “When Kirishima Eijirou's band hits the big time, he's not prepared for his newfound fame. He's even less prepared to meet the actor he's been crushing on for years, or to start dating him as a publicity stunt. The closer Kirishima gets to Bakugou Katsuki, the more he realizes he's in over his head. But it's hard to stop, once his heart is in it.”

lovin is easy | Blasty doesn’t get “feelings,” so here’s five times Bakugou doesn’t get love and one time he does. (WIP)

The Empath & The Mind Reader | Bakugou is a mind reader, and Kirishima is a empath. If both of them can literally know what the other person’s feeling/thinking, why are they still dancing around each other? (WIP, Contains smut, Anxiety attacks)

and finally I see the world in color (the violet stands out, thanks to you) | This fic deserves a LOT more than just 76 kudos. Sometimes people miss out on amazing fics just because it’s a femslash. Momojirou, where Yaoyaorozu is a businesslady who is bored with her life and everything else, until she happens upon the rambunctious band Dark Shadow. Seriously, please read this! (WIP)

Behind The Scenes | A KiriBaku actor AU. What happens when you start falling for your co-star - and your on-screen love interest? (WIP, It’s rated E for smut, but there isn’t any yet)

We Didn't Start the Fire | What if Touya decided to make something out of himself instead of becoming a villain? This is amazing, by the way. (WIP)

it seems i'm never letting go | Here’s how I summarized it to myself... “Koi no yokan... will Blasty experience it? (His sister left)” By the way, koi no yokan is basically love at first sight, Japanese-style. (WIP)

Lips Like Blood | What happens when Bakugou, a mage, falls in love with the one person who can’t love him back? (WIP)

Charm Me, Loser | A Hogwarts AU that has no right being that ingenius and amazing. My only problem with it is sorta small... There’s already a wizarding school in Japan... Why aren’t they going there? (WIP)

Gotta Get Away | Tsuyu and Bakugou are out getting some new hero merch together because of the new buddy system at UA. What happens when they’re mistaken for a couple? (WIP)

Opposed to the Typical | A fashion AU. This is ridiculously good. It feels like the author was actually in the Japanese fashion industry! (WIP, smut, past child abuse, mental health issues)

One Day at a Time | Pretty genius idea, actually. Bakugou and Uraraka are trapped in what is essentially a time-speeder-upper. What’s going to be a day for their classmates is going to be a year for them. What will they do in that year together? (WIP, it’s rated Mature but it’s pretty innocent so far)

The UA Quarantine Collection | Basically, a bunch of authors got together and made a ton of one-shots of what Class 1A is doing in quarentine. Technically it isn’t a coherent story, but I’m counting it as one. There’s two versions, a clean version and a version with all the smutty bits. The smutty one’s the second story in the series. This one’s linked to the clean one. (WIP)

Midoriya Fuckin' Izuku | This is an amazing fic! It has a ton of TWs, though. Make sure to read the tags before starting it! (WIP)

Seeing Double | A very good, and very long, fantasy AU. (WIP, smut)

Broken, but Still Good | Bakugou was rescued, after four years, from an illegal alpha fighting ring. Can Kirishima, a beta, help him back to society? Pay attention to the tags. (WIP, A/B/O)

Broken Wings | Kirishima’s a dragon who was rescued from the dragon slave trade by the mysterious Bakugou Katsuki, I don’t know what else to say. (WIP)

The Roast of Class 2-A | Have a crackfic. (WIP)

The Space Between | Midoriya’s a photojournalist who is just starting out. One fateful night, he goes to photograph the Antiheros in concert. (WIP, mild smut)

A Fissile Family | Bakugou’s been kidnapped by the League of Villains again. They’re actually sorta a weird family. (WIP)

Mochi Mochi | Just take the official summary. “Ochako never saw a problem with DM-ing an internationally known actor her grocery lists, absolutely certain that he'd never see them. That is—until he replies. And who the hell does he think he is to tell her mochi isn't real food?”

Green as the Leaves, and Red as a Rose | A TodoDeku flower shop AU. (WIP)

remember my name | Post-UA, Bakugou realizes that some things are for forever.

Blinding Shapes | What happens when soulmates, a blind abstract artist and a burnt out barista meet?

a heart swelled to bursting | Mind the tags, here. Training camp part 2 for Class 2A. (WIP)

manly man falls for manliest man | What happens when businessman!Kirishima meets his idol, and maybe biggest celebrity crush ever, actor!Bakugou? (Smut)

Miscellaneous Stuff From Other Fandoms

I have some Harry Potter fics lying around somewhere, so I’m going to add those later.

Stucco Hearts | One of my absolute favorite soulmate fics ever, from Percy Jackson.

Christmas and Chill | A old series I sorta just came across again from PJO.

The Florist and the Punk | Maybe another old series from PJO.

Hearts Need Love | Keep an eye on the tags! This is my favorite PJO fic of all time.

Our Songs | It’s good if I spent half an hour trying to find it again. It’s a Solangelo songfic.

Some random writers I recommend (A lot more coming along-I’m in the middle of a ton of different fics right now)

aloneintherain | @captainkirkk

wonhaebunny | @wonhaebunny

rosedvst

Sif (Rosae) | @intothedarknessigo

kiritime

sinderellaa

aloera | @aloera

Argentina | @junepixel

KuriKuri | @letaizawarest

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