#Any advice from people who do have either of those conditions is appreciated at this time

[system-splintered]

This might be a surprise but I often don't see most people as equal to me. Not that they aren't people, more that I and the person/people I value are something greater, as the definition of something is defined by the majority of what that thing is, so the majority of people being basically, well, moronic animals, it's a feature of humanity. A select few, my partner, sometimes a few others irl, and some people I know from here and discord, I see as more than that, but most people are just... An obstacle, or a tool, to me. I try not to let that affect how I treat people but that's often difficult for me. I'm nice, even charming on occasion, to most people I meet, particularly when certain parts are in front, or I see the person I'm meeting as potentially useful as an ally, but it's not because I feel like they deserve the kind of respect I maintain for people I truly care about from me. It's because people are nicer to you if you're nice first. Even if it's "fake" nice, as long as you don't tell anyone (that's two-faced, also a crime in the eyes of egotypicals) they genuinely don't seem to notice that it's all an act.

I think most people deserve the maintenance of this veneer of respect, as not doing so is typically offensive, but genuine respect is vulnerability, and I only show my belly to those I both see as my equal, and whom I trust not to bite and tear at my softness.

Sometimes someone will be in this group of equals in my eyes, and they say or do something I resent, and a switch flips in my brain, and I just don't give a fuck about them anymore.

It worries me that one day, my partner is gonna be one of them. So far, she's my longest lasting exception to the rule of generally not liking or respecting or showing vulnerability to anyone.

She's also the only one genuinely in the position of having earned my complete respect and admiration. For everyone else, it's been temporary and negotiable, able to be lost and at its root, incomplete. For her it's been nearly eight years, and a lot of mistakes, and it still hasn't gone away, but every time my symptoms flare and the group of people I see as even worth giving the time of day shrinks, my concern grows that the only person I've ever truly loved unconditionally, will turn out to have some conditions after all.

She's the only one I care about the opinion of. And she knows how I feel about most of humanity and agrees with me.

I think we both may have ASPD.

[thewertsearch]

GG: you said you are asking me permission first and i appreciate that GG: but if you are asking im afraid my answer is no! AT: oKAY, i RESPECT THAT, AT: bUT, i WONDER, GG: what? AT: i WONDER IF A TRULY SELF CONFIDENT GUY, wITH THE BEST SELF ESTEEM THERE IS, wOULD EVEN NEED TO ASK, AT: mAYBE THE BEST GUY WOULD JUST KNOW HE WOULD BE SUCCESSFUL, aND WOULD DO IT ANYWAY BECAUSE IT IS FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, aND EVERYONE ELSE'S,

I don't think Tavros is just emulating Vriska here. This is a very Alternian mindset, and it's one we've seen before.

Alternia is, after all, an empire. It's a society whose idea of success is inexorably tied to violence and domination - so if you're trying to be a better troll, you'll probably gravitate to both, even if you don't realize it.

It's not really about your personality, either. Karkat is, by all accounts, one of the more moral trolls in the party - but as we've seen above, even he's got those imperial instincts. This sort of thing is insidious, and once it worms its way into your brain, it can be hard to shake.

Tavros is a very straightforward example. He's finally gained some 'confidence' - and what's his first impulse?

To seize a useful resource from an alien, and use it against her will.

GG: that would be smug and arrogant and would make you a bully!!! [...] AT: yOU'RE RIGHT ABOUT ALL THAT, i'LL RESPECT YOUR WISHES, AT: oR, AT: wILL i? };) GG: nooooooooo dont dont dont dont dont GG: im serious GG: uuuuggghh i think my headache is coming back AT: i WAS jUST, AT: mAKING A JOKE, AT: sORRY, }:(

This dude cannot read a room. Truly, the anti-Terezi.

Oh, leave off.

AG: Next time you decide to open your heart to an alien girl…….. AG: Make sure her chat client isn't 8eing holographically projected for all to see, ok?

This exploit should apply to chat clients of any size, provided the screen is visible. Maybe John's Pesterchum Glasses were a better investment than I thought.

AG: Jade let you down too easy. She's too nice! Someone's got to tear into you for that appalling display, and once again, guess who's shoulders that falls on? AG: That's right. Vriska's, as usual.

Tavros probably does need someone to explain what he did wrong, but it should be anyone but Vriska. This is obviously just going to be more bullying, and no actual advice.

AT: i THINK SHE HAS THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF NICENESS, pERSONALLY, AT: aN AMOUNT THAT IS SOME, iNSTEAD OF, AT: nONE,

Showing backbone against Vriska, eh? Finally, a constructive use for all that confidence.

Progress is progress, even when it's just a minor clapback.

AG: Hey, I'm nice when it matters, [...]

Nope, I'm calling Vriska's bluff. What nice things has she done so far, exactly?

Sure, she made Tavros the rocket chair, but only after mercilessly tormenting him for his physical condition, which she caused.

Plus, this wasn't even a real apology gift. She kept bullying him after that, and is literally doing so as we speak.

I guess she also made Aradia's soulbot, as an 'apology' for murdering her with her own boyfriend. To be precise, she had Equius make it, with horrific results that she should probably have seen coming.

She also thought that it would be 'nice' to tell Terezi that her blindness 'wasn't that bad'. This conversation was kind of complicated, though, and I'm not sure what her actual intention was.

Anyway, it's pretty clear that Vriska doesn't really grok what 'nice' means. She gives Tavros a rocket chair, continues to torment him, and doesn't understand the contradiction, because she doesn't think his feelings actually matter.

[...] and where it doesn't strangul8te the critical development of people I give a shit a8out, ok?

"After all, no one was ever nice to ME, and look how gr8 I turned out! When you think about it, it's actually a GOOD thing that no one ever showed me kindness! It made me strong! Don't you want to 8e stroooooooong, Pupa? ::::D"

I'm reminded of this exchange from Hivebent. Kanaya recommends that Vriska practice some basic self-care, and Vriska completely flies off the handle, furious at the mere suggestion that she should be kind to herself.

Vriska thinks kindness will harm her. She refuses to accept it, and avoids showing it to anyone, which makes her remarkably consistent in her cruelty. I'm willing to bet that there's nothing she's said to Tavros that she hasn't already said to herself.

[mywitchyblog]

hey! i just wanted to say I love your posts, they have been really insightful. now, I don't really know if you answer these, but I will try anyways: do you have any advice for an "older" shifter? i haven't shifted yet and every single shifter I see is either a teenager or just above the age of 18. i know it's silly, but i can't help but wonder if maybe I'm too old for this, or maybe it's harder for me because I'm older. I'm currently in my mid-20s and i'd really love to experience other realities, but my age makes me really self-conscious.

Hey! First off, thank you so much for your kind words! I’m really glad that my posts have been insightful for you, and I appreciate you reaching out.

Now, to your question—I think this is an incredibly important topic, so I’m glad you brought it up. Honestly, you’re not alone in feeling this way. A lot of older shifters or those who are just starting out later in life express similar concerns, so let's break it down:

"Maybe I'm too old for this."

Absolutely not! You are never too old to shift, and it’s never too late to begin your journey. Shifting is not something bound by age. Whether you're in your mid-20s, 30s, or beyond, the ability to explore other realities doesn’t diminish with time. If anything, life experience and maturity can make your shifting journey richer. It’s a misconception—often perpetuated by younger communities like Shiftok—that shifting is somehow reserved for teens or young adults. But that’s simply not true. Shifting is a deeply personal and timeless practice, and you deserve to explore it fully, without limiting yourself based on age.

"Maybe it's harder for me because I'm older."

It's important to understand that shifting is not intrinsically harder because of your age. However, it can feel more challenging due to the mental and emotional conditioning we've picked up over the years. As we age, we tend to accumulate more doubts, limiting beliefs, and external pressures. These things can sometimes cloud our ability to let go and embrace the shifting process. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible or inherently more difficult—just that it may take some extra work to unlearn those blocks. Shifting is as hard or easy as you allow it to be; don’t let societal or internalized pressures convince you otherwise.

"I'd really love to experience other realities."

Then do it! That desire to explore other realities is valid and worth pursuing, no matter your age. Whether it's to experience new dimensions, timelines, or alternative versions of yourself, your curiosity is a driving force that will help you in the process. Pop off and dive into it with excitement! There’s no age restriction on exploring the multiverse—your potential to shift is as boundless as your imagination.

"But my age makes me really self-conscious."

This is a completely understandable feeling, and it’s something I’ve heard from others too. There’s a certain pressure in the shifting community, especially online, where younger shifters dominate the space, and that can make older individuals feel out of place. But trust me, age should not make you feel self-conscious about shifting. If anything, your age gives you unique perspectives and strengths in the shifting process that younger people might not have.

Now, here's something I feel really strongly about: stick to your age range. And here’s why—if you saw my storytime, "My Hatred of Shiftok," you know I talked about how toxic and hypocritical some teenage shifters can be. Many of them uphold nonsensical double standards and promote an environment where older shifters might feel out of place or judged for being “too old.” There’s this idea that shifting is only for younger people, which is completely false. A lot of these younger shifters are inexperienced and push harmful narratives, making it difficult for older shifters to feel welcome. That's why I strongly recommend staying true to your age and experience level.

There’s no reason to follow the misguided standards set by people who are still figuring out their own shifting journey. You have wisdom and maturity on your side, and that can be a huge asset. I’ve also written extensively about shifting and age, so I’d recommend checking out my posts on the topic. They reflect my personal beliefs, knowledge, and experience, all backed by solid arguments that show why age isn’t, and shouldn’t be, a barrier.

If you're interested in aging yourself down to experience another side of life, that’s also a valid option to explore through shifting. But don’t feel pressured to change your age just because you’re self-conscious about it. You’re not wrong to feel that way, but I want to emphasize that you don’t need to shift your age just to fit in.

In short, don’t let your age hold you back or make you doubt your ability to shift. Your self-consciousness is a valid feeling, but it doesn’t define your journey. Shifting is about exploring your consciousness, your potential, and your desires. You deserve to experience it fully, no matter how old (or young) you are.

At the end of the day, shifting is a personal practice meant to enhance your life and help you grow. Your age doesn’t limit that; only your mindset does.

[disabled-queer-culture-is]

Hello there! Not a culture ask, just needed some advice on something.

So I've had catatonia for a couple years now. And over time, the long term effects of catatonic episodes have greatly impacted my muscles and joints, causing lots of weakness, muscle spasms, and numbness, especially in my legs and arms, and I've recently been saving up some money to get a mobility aid to help me walk.

I was also born with leg length discrepancy and clubfoot, which also affects my ability to walk.

But recently I received a comment from someone telling me that I'm not "disabled enough" and idk it just... it really got to me. It made me feel like I don't belong in disabled spaces. I usually try to brush off comments like that, but given that it came from someone very close to me, it hit hard.

So idk, I guess what I'm trying to say is, do you have any advice for someone like me who's been told they're not "disabled enough" and how to deal with comments like that? I would really appreciate it.

Ah, that’s one I’m still working on, myself. (You know how it gets with imposter syndrome.) Here’s some things I try to keep in mind when faced with those comments!

Those people don’t care about you. They don’t care what evidence you show them, they don’t care whether or not you’re physically disabled or what struggles you might have. They just want to argue and put you down. Call them out for being a jerk and an idiot (if you have the courage to/it won’t put you in danger) and end the conversation. They don’t care about you, so do your best not to care about them.

They don’t know you! Even if they’re a family member you’ve lived with your whole life, they are not you, and they cannot and will not ever fully understand what you’re going through. They don’t know your emotions or the way you struggle and grieve your health behind closed doors. If they don’t know your situation and aren’t trying to understand, how can you trust them to make an accurate judgement about your health?

You don’t owe them your medical history. They just want to fight, don’t play their game. The ONLY people you owe your medical history to are the healthcare professionals you are going to for help. Don’t waste your time and energy trying to give them enough evidence to prove that you are disabled enough. (If it’s a struggle you’re running into with getting necessary accommodations/help, get a trusted ally in your corner and have them fight with you! Threaten to call whatever sort of organization your country has for disability rights/advocacy! Nothing will turn around that attitude like threatening to get the law involved.)

You ARE disabled enough. There’s no mountain you have to climb to count yourself as disabled enough. If you have any sort of long term condition, officially diagnosed or not, that impacts your ability to lead an independent life without any sort of aid, you are disabled.

I’m really sorry to hear that it was someone close to you who said such an awful thing. My recommendation would be to get someone who has proven themselves to be trustworthy with respecting you and your disability, and set a time to bring them along to have a talk with the person who told you that. Tell that person that what they said hurt you, that it was an unreasonable and insulting thing to say to anyone, especially someone they claim to care about. Tell them that they can either sort that attitude out, or you can cut them from your life. (It’s okay to leave the room/turn off your phone after that! They’ll probably want to start a fight. Don’t let them, and keep yourself safe.)

I know it’s hard to cut out someone who you care about. But if they can’t put in the basic effort to not call you a liar about something that affects every single second of your life, or at least apologize after they hurt you, you deserve better than them. You are disabled enough. You deserve people who care about you and want to help you live your life to the fullest. You deserve a community of people who understand your struggles, even if only a little bit. My DMs are open if there’s anything I can do to support you!

[mangodestroyer]

Anyone else starting to think that maybe they don't have a "mental illness" or a "mental condition", but that they're actually just having a normal response to their environment?

I used to really identify with depression. As well as autism. They were things that a couple therapists suggested. And I used to find comfort in them because I thought they described my life experience pretty well.

And also, I used to be one of those people who got super into Psychology and started wondering if there was something very wrong with me. I started getting all "do I have this?" and "do I have that?" I also started getting super obsessed with "toxicity" and "working on myself." Thought that I was horrible and toxic for still being miserable at times and that I needed to "put in the work and sort out my problems" to... whatever magical point determines if you've actually "done the work."

It's because the advice is always about "looking inward" because "you're 100% in control of your emotions and responses to things. You can "do the work" to make things better!" Which isn't a bad thing to be aware of and practice, but this can be pretty dismissive and toxic to say about certain situations. But blaming outside factors is considered "toxic."

Um, yeah. I might actually be prone to feeling down at times. Feeling anxious. Having bad thoughts. And, well, autistic tendencies. But tbh, I think my environment has always greatly aggravated those problems. I mean, that's just a natural side effect of living in such a toxic environment where certain people go out of their way to make you miserable/disrespect you and your belongings. While other people shrug or even encourage them. Or being around people who ACTUALLY struggle with emotional regulation (getting super angry all the time, ALL THE TIME, and making it other people's problem; my mother loved to/still does use me as a therapist but doesn't care about my problems in the slightest, so I think that would be a source of misery for someone).

On top of that, isn't it normal for people to sometimes be awkward or overly analytical? Or to get super upset over dumb shit (i.e. misinterpreting a situation as you being left out and feeling under appreciated)? Or to get envious of others when they have something you've always wanted? Or to get super frustrated when dealing with a difficult individual?

I've been talking to irl people more and they don't actually seem to think I'm that abnormal/weird/toxic. Two people told me it's my environment and I need to get out, or at least, find some way to get away from it now and then. And also, people aren't put off by my "autism" either (seriously, I am diagnosed with a similar condition and ig could be on the spectrum, so I'm not trying to dismiss the diagnosis or anything, but I also don't think it's a social death sentence like I used to). I used to think it was scaring people off/causing bullying behaviors in others, but that's actually not true. Working through my trauma, however, has made me more confident and THAT'S making people approach me more. But being terminally online led me to fall down a weird Psychology rabbit hole where I started believing I was too weird, horrible, and neurotic.

It's also been proven that the way therapy is done, at least here in the U.S., just doesn't work. Keeping things surface level and promoting toxic positivity isn't going to help someone with some heavy problems (which is going to be most people in therapy). I think there's also a shaming factor to it (being considered toxic if you aren't always okay). Or just the extreme push with drugs (seriously, I can't even visit a doctors office these days, as someone who is anxious around medical professionals because of bad experiences, without getting anxiety drugs pushed on me!) I've never touch any of those drugs and I'm glad I stayed firm about not taking them. I was almost tempted to because of pressure (literally thought that I was too neurotic at one point and needed anti-psychotics). They just wouldn't have helped me. They would have just been like putting a band aid on a gaping wound. It's disturbing how many medical professionals and therapists will just jump to them within minutes of talking to you.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Vil x POC reader x Yandere Rook

Small-townsecretcult AU

Vils the mayor

Rooks the sheriff

And your everyone's mama

The town of Pomefiore

It's that typically white town that's definitely dealing with the occult

Picking off travelers or even troublesome citizens judged by the aforementioned

Not too fond of technology

Tight knit community

It's a cult leaders dream

When you show up from the city looking for some more down to Earth living

You get sent to the small town of Pomefiore

And for awhile the conditioned community believes that your the next victim helper in their ritual

Only to be shocked when Vil and Rook call it off

These two as their positions would suggest practically rule the town

So their word is law

With the assurance that they'd keep an eye on you, you are reluctantly accepted

Now whether your vocal and abrasive about being treated differently

Or even quietly taking the discrimination

You'll grow on the people eventually

And sooner than you'll know it

It's like you've always been apart of them

"Oh (Y/n) would you be q dear and watch little Nelson for me? Aw thanks!"

"Great harvest this year eh (Y/n)!"

"You're looking divine, as per usual (Y/n)!"

Sharing your culture with the lot of the town allows for the unusual open mind

As you become the home base for food that they just don't make

Or even discipline because some of these parents just can't or won't reign their children in

Either way everyone relies on you for advice insight and just to be the kind of person you can be friends with

Now about the two men in question

Right off the bat these two stop any all 'helping' sacrificing you could do because they remember you

Back when they were in highschool they had a shared obsession over you

What ever you were doing they had to watch from the sidelines

So popular and praised they knew it would be foolish of them to try and court you then

But now in a town they ruled they'd be stupid not to

So they are the faces of the pomefiore welcome wagon

"Bonsoir, moi layubov! No one gave you any trouble, I hope!"

"I'd personally like to assure you that I can handle any and all issues you have. So please be a good babe and trust me."

Now the actual culture behavior in the town is the matching accessories among family houses

Now it's not so obvious that they are exactly the same but they're matching patterns and colors

If you do notice and ask the people they'll change the topic or make up some excuse about 'being cute'

It's really a calling card for their position in the cult

Like patchwork and green for neckties and hair pieces are average followers

Polka dots and pink for bracelets and socks are specific jobs

Red with stripes for belts and chokers

And solid colors purple and blue accessories with a crown embroidered on it

And guess who are the only two who have that symbol

You are the only one exempt from this rule

It is an unspoken vow that you should be kept completely oblivious to their activities

So when they start meeting up for those "church services" someone's occupying your time

Whether it's little troublemaker Nelson or Old lady Jenson who need babysitting just someone able to keep tabs on you

Speaking of "church services" the all knowing is Epel Fulmeier

Training priest by day

Head of rituals by night

He is much more lucid and regretful about the many lives he's helped take

And when he realizes you aren't going to be one of them he wants to inform you

But your beauty queen hound dog and the hunter are avid in keeping him in his place

"Ohh Father Epel, you seem to have been speeding once again seems like you'll need to have a talk with the mayor."

"I'm only doing what's best for you. And I'd hate to have found you…'a cheater.'"

"I-i'm sorry, just a lapse in judgement. I only wanted to beat you someday."

"Hmm. I appreciate your vigor, but don't think it saves you from punishment."

In their town the word cheater is used quite differently

A cheater in the town of Pomefiore is a traitor

Someone who has broken away from their…beliefs or someone who attempts to hinder in their…practices

You would notice this when you would play with the children

"Hehe he I win!"

"Not fair!"

"Nathan that is cheating."

"A-are y-you c-calling me a cheater? BUT I'M A GOOD BOY! PLEASE DON'T!"

"Okay okay you're not a cheater it's okay shhh shhh!"

It's a heavy word for any who know what's actually going on

You'll ask questions sure

but Vil and Rook are more than happy to answer

"O mi amour I'm so happy your here to stay!"

"Quite obviously fate has brought you to our town. So I expect you to listen."

[shadowywerewolf-main]

Melone Headcanons

Part 1 (Personal Headcanons)

These violent delights have violent ends.

Warning: TW BLOOD/TW TRAUMA

💻 Probably grew up under a toxic mother. The fact that he appreciated Junior's love for his mother despite her repulsion to J's activities may indicate this. Was mostly surrounded by women in his childhood.

💻 An idle brain is devil's workshop. Found reading and learning as a way to escape the reality. Tried engaging himself in reading what laid around his place; magazines, journals, etc. Either this, or overhearing his mother's and her friends' conversations led him to believe in horoscopes.

💻 Had slight interactions with brothels at an young age. His behavior could also be the result of sexual and emotional trauma that he might have had to face in his past. If you are aware about the toxic conditions, you might also be aware of the fact that sometimes workers have to take blood supplies after a particular violent session. Melone's 'blood pseudoscience' might be a result of this. This could also be where his 'sweat analysis' methodology was developed.

💻 He finds himself getting attached to toxic women. For the majority of his life, he had known love to be a mixture of violence and abuse.

💻 Gets confused to genuine affection.

💻 Did not have a formal education. A degree, even though less in demand, generally allows a person to catch up to some job or the other. Lack of one of such achievements despite his intelligence compelled him to join the mafia (could've been one of the 'suggested' candidates, given that someone pointed out the potential within him/probably it was one of the 'regular clients' who had an eye on his behavior, lets not forget, people like that DO exist).

💻 His curiosity and zeal to learn did allowed him to get involved with various science branches; biological sciences being the subject of top interest.

💻 Did not go with the proper sequence of learning process. A student is supposed to take one step at a time during their learning period; clearing the basics and then jumping over the expert level of knowledge. Melone took a different route. He observed the things around him, and connected them with his previous knowledge, or recalled his investigations while he studied something new.

💻 This observation skill went on to help him analyze the 'Mothers' during his missions (drugs and alcohol mentions for instance).

💻 Very interested in Ancient history.

💻 Uses a lot of shampoo. Let's be honest, letting your hair flow a little while you're on a two wheeler does speed up the ruining process. Ofcourse he uses helmet, traffic norms are no jokes.

💻 Has OCD. The way he 'sat' in the field beside the train indicates his repulsion to the idea of getting 'dirty'. Wears gloves to avoid germs.

💻 His eyelid is partially paralyzed. Another manifesto of his trauma; could've suffered a severe punch at his eye. Uses the mask to support it and frequently moisturizes the eyeball (uses eyedrops for instance). The hair growth prevents any foreign particle from entering his eye at a decent level.

💻 BabyFace could be the result of his desire plus his trauma. Genetic engineering was something that might have attracted his attention. At the same time, his trauma that structured many of his habits gave rise to the functioning of BabyFace.

💻 Does not kill the bugs roaming on his bed. He allows them to climb atop a sheet and releases them on the ground.

💻 Has sensitive taste and olfactory receptors. Not in every case, but sometimes those who have sensitive taste buds also possess corresponding olfactory receptors.

💻 Melone is not quite fond of this talent.

💻 Often zones out.

💻 Frequently experiences L'Appel Du Vide. Although he does not have suicidal tendencies, he often finds himself performing something unnatural on impulse.

💻 Gives out genuinely good advice. Ever since he was a child, he developed a habit of reading people.

💻 This trait however proves to be fatal to him sometimes since he doesn't take anything to his heart and forgives those who pass him bitter words or actions (wasn't aggressive after the slap).

💻 The way he set out 'options' to the Mother, could indicate his respect for other's opinions.

💻 Although he acts weirdly around women, he never enforces himself into anyone's personal space (missions being exceptional).

💻 These violent delights have violent ends. Overworks himself sometimes. Oddly, gets a peculiar enjoyment out of the adrenaline rush. Passes out later.

💻 Well-versed in multiple languages. Mostly due to interactions with 'clients'.

💻 Guilty pleasure. Checks the compatibility of the team members. THE RESULTS WILL SHOCK YOU! Will never admit.

💻 Has blood samples of every member, just in case.

💻 "Please switch off the lights and fans before leaving the room. Save the planet."

💻 Has tons of those visual encyclopedias. Carries that 'all in one' book in a slot adjoined to BabyFace's body.

💻 Started using 'Di Molto' to irritate Ghiaccio. Got used to saying it. (Credits to the person who mentioned this somewhere, if I find the source I'll link it).

💻 Has slightly sadistic-like tendencies. A result of 'what if' pattern questions that fuels his curiosity. Although he does not mean any harm, it's the impulse that unknowingly guides him sometimes.

💻 Solves mathematical problems ON THE TEXTBOOK itself. Or any general writing work he has to indulge himself into, he ends up messing with the original copy itself.

💻 Resting bitch face.

💻 Very reserved. Very observant.

💻 Doesn't talk too much. But once he starts talking, he is unable to control himself. La Squadra does not judge him for this nature.

💻 Worrying about things won't help easing them anyway. Carefree. Not careless. Doesn't take stress of anything and goes with the flow. What is ought to happen will happen anyway. Calm mind paves the way. Does get stressed out, that too, very rarely.

💻 Lurks around on deep web only. Dark web is no joke and he understands that. Uses it only in VERY VERY serious cases.

💻 No just because he can perform troubleshooting doesn't mean he can build an entire PC.

💻 Handles squad's accounting. He is also the one who keeps records of every mission. It's his exceptionally extreme honesty and dedication that made Risotto assign this task to him.

💻 "That sock either stays on my foot for 2 days or I'm not wearing it once I take it off."

💻 Aside from Pesci, he was the only one who actually shed tears after Sorbet - Gelato incident.

[polyamorouspunk]

How does one go about telling their partner that they don't feel special enough to them without making it sound like none of their efforts were noticed.

I know he's trying, but it feels like I'm trying leagues more to be perfect for him, or at the very least good enough.

But it doesn't feel like he's giving the same effort, it feels like he's just taking what he can get from me, and assumes things about my mental state of mind.

Guh

1. Don’t wait for a “good time” to bring this up

A lot of times depending on the kind of person you’re talking to you can either

1. Have a conversation that spans over a few days because of sporadic texting so you don’t want to change the subject because you’re already in the middle of a conversation but it’s taking days

2. Have someone who texts often but changes the subject here and there because you do talk so frequently and you feel like you don’t get a chance to start a topic of conversation yourself because of this

Make sure you take the time to say “hey we need to talk” if that’s something that won’t stress the other person out or if it is be like “do you mind if I say something?” Or something along those lines.

2. Be gentle about what you’re saying without minimizing your feelings, but be direct

Be gentle about what you’re saying. Try not to get angry emotional. There’s a good chance you might get sad emotional, but try your best to come across as even-keeled. Don’t minimize your feelings. It’s easy to say “it’s not a big deal” and “I’m sure it’s just me”. Your feelings are valid. Try to be short and concise about how you feel while hitting as many points as you can. If you feel it’s needed, add specific examples to relate to your points. In fact, this might be a very good idea as it can help the other person see exactly what you mean.

3. If this isn’t taken well, you should probably check out

If you’ve started off being gentle and not guilt-trippy or angry, there is no reason for them to get mad at you, so if they do, this is a huge red flag. There’s a good chance they’ll probably apologize while also giving excuses. Weigh the apology against the excuses. Which one has more effort put into it? If they say they’re going to change, do you really believe them? Have you brought this up before, and if so, how many times?

*-*-*-*-*

A lot of people, myself included, feel like they haven’t been appreciated enough by their partner. My ex dumped me because he got tired of feeling like I was seeing other people without talking to him about it first and that I had hurt him one too many times and he needed to let go. I just took a step back from someone I was seeing because while they said we weren’t together they acted like we were and then turned around and shut me out while doing things that directly hurt me. I have someone I talk to every day who I’ve been talking to for months now who started seeing someone and when they developed feelings for this person that person shut down the fwb thing they had going on. I just started talking to someone daily who feels unappreciated by his boyfriend and feels like his boyfriend is paying more attention to their other partner instead of him. You are not alone.

Normally I’m not one to give advice of “if you feel unwanted by someone you should leave them” because I’ve never been good at that and I don’t believe in giving I wouldn’t take, but after just distancing myself from someone who really wasn’t appreciating me enough and then straight-up telling them that I need space from them because they’ve hurt me I feel… good. I’ve always been one who will come crawling back at any cost I feel like and putting my foot down and finally saying “no, as much as I want to be with you, if you can’t treat me right, it’s a no” feels very, very good. It feels better than crawling back and hoping they’ll love me like I deserve. And I’m willing to give them a second chance- but it is NOT going to be right now and it’s going to be VERY conditional.

Different people have different needs and different levels of needs. I’m a very needy person. I need attention, I need to be shown affection, I need to be openly and honestly loved. The person I was seeing doesn’t need that right now, and maybe not ever. Objectively we are not a good match because they’re not affectionate or lovey and I’m the kind of person who craves that. In person, however, they are.

People reflect what they want. If you’re someone who craves love and affection you’re going to naturally give that in hopes someone will return it. If someone doesn’t really want or need that there’s a chance they’re not going to exude that.

You don’t have to cut someone out of your life forever. In fact, none of the people I mentioned above are doing that. Everyone just decided people were better off as friends instead of romantic partners.

Don’t let people assume things about your mental state. That’s a huge red flag. People should ask about how you’re feeling, not assume. One thing I love about the person I was just seeing is that they always asked me about things. I talked about having bpd and all say something like “I’m having an episode” and he’ll ask what that’s like for me. And I’ll say “I feel everything too much, and when I say I’m having an episode what I mean is I can feel myself wanting to lash out or shut down and being upset over something that probably seems trivial to the outside person looking in but in my head I can very clearly connect the dots of why I’m upset.” My ex and I regularly checked in with each other to see how we were feeling, asking at least once a day “how are you?” And knowing what the different levels of “great”, “good”, “okay”, “alright”, “fine”, “not great”, “not well at all”, and “terrible” meant. That was a gauge we had to see how much attention the other person needed. We also asked every once in a while if there was anything that needed to be discussed between the two of us to maintain our relationship. As natural as some relationships might feel they still need work and upkeep. If you feel like you never need to discuss things with your partner because they’re just perfectly intuitive to how you feel all the time and things are just perfect and you never need relationship maintenance… I don’t trust that. Life isn’t a fairytale. That being said, relationships can still be great and even perfect- they just take work. And if someone isn’t working as much as you and you’re feeling the effects you should say something. And I’m glad you are.

[robininthelabyrinth]

What would happen if Jiang Cheng found A-Yuan hiding in the tree stump at the Siege of the Burial Mounds and decided he's going to take in this toddler Wei Wuxian's was raising and raise him, in the memory of what WWX promised to be for JC?

sequel to this aka Delight in Misery (ao3)

--

“Sizhui?!” Jiang Cheng roared as he stormed into Lan Wangji’s room. “You named him Sizhui?”

Lan Wangji had already long ago become inured to Jiang Cheng’s huffing and puffing. Anyway, Jiang Cheng had medicine in his hands when he stormed in, which meant that he wasn’t bothered enough by it to come yell at him outside the usual time - and that meant that whatever it was, it was no big deal.

Accordingly, Lan Wangji didn’t give the yelling any more thought than it required, opting instead to turn onto his stomach in silent invitation.

Sure enough, Jiang Cheng came over to sit on the bed, grumbling the entire time he undid the bandages on Lan Wangji’s back and starting to spread the soothing balm onto the slowly healing wounds.

“I can’t believe you picked ‘Sizhui’ as a courtesy name for A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding thoroughly disgusted and more than a little disgruntled as well. His hands, however, were as gentle as his voice was harsh. “Sizhui. Was carving ‘Lan Wangji loves Wei Wuxian’ into the woodwork too subtle for you?”

Being face down made it easier for Lan Wangji to hide the way his lips twitched.

At first, he had been disturbed at the notion that his grief for Wei Wuxian’s loss – an endless well of despair, an injury that would never heal – might in some ways be balanced with instances of joy, and yet, in time, he had slowly come to accept it. After all, Wei Wuxian himself had never remembered pain for more than a moment; he would not have wanted Lan Wangji to deny himself the pleasures of A-Yuan’s cheerful presence, the peace of being surrounded by Wei Wuxian’s belongings, the amusement of Jiang Cheng’s sarcastic commentary that was so thoroughly ungracious it could only be laughed at.  

The adjustment had not been easy. Lan Wangji was broken in both body and heart, lingering too longer in regrets of the past, while Jiang Cheng had walked a fine line on the verge of true madness, periods of calm interrupted suddenly by grief so intense it manifested as hysterical anger and furious lashing out, his own servants trembling to see it - it was only when Jin Ling had ended up with them, a safe haven for him in his younger years while Lanling Jin sorted out its own internal issues, that Jiang Cheng had started to calm down. His nights were still full of nightmares, brutal soul-shattering screaming ones that Lan Wangji suspected matched his own, but there were now entire days in which the man who kept him company (because apparently “seclusion” wasn’t considered a real word in Yunmeng Jiang, and “alone” was translated to mean “with me”) was a serious, earnest sect leader with a penchant for snide quips rather than the  devastated wreckage of a human being he had met upon the Burial Mounds.

They had not been particularly close, before, and their personalities weren’t exactly compatible. And yet, to his surprise, Lan Wangji found that he didn’t miss the serenity of the Cloud Recesses as much as he thought he would, but rather appreciated the noise and clamor that Jiang Cheng brought into his life.

“ – like two drops of water, both of you,” Jiang Cheng was saying. “Sizhui and Rulan! These are people’s names! They’ll have to bear them their entire lives! Do you think when they’re adults they’re going to enjoy telling people, ‘oh, yes, well, you see, the people who named us had absolutely no sense of dignity or proportion, so –’”

“How is A-Ling?” Lan Wangji asked, feeling his ears go red. He had known about Jin Ling’s courtesy name since long ago, but he hadn’t known until Jiang Cheng had told him that the name had been bestowed by Wei Wuxian, or that Wei Wuxian had praised his sect and maybe even him in the naming – it sometimes made him wonder if his feelings, which he’d long believed to be unrequited, might not have been so hopeless after all.

That didn’t mean he wanted to talk about said feelings with Jiang Cheng, though.

Luckily, Jiang Cheng’s attention was very easy to divert when it came to his precious nephew. “Good! His teeth are finally coming out properly, so we won’t have to deal with all that wailing and gnawing anymore – I thought we’d have to lose A-Yuan’s fingers to all that biting before it ever happened –”

“I thought you told him to stop.”

“Of course I did. Did he listen? No. He just looked sad and obedient whenever I looked at him, and snuck his fingers into the crib whenever I didn’t – I should’ve gotten you to give him the order. He actually listens to you.”

Lan Wangji hummed in response, listening as Jiang Cheng continued in his usual manner to update him about the development of the children they were raising – teething for Jin Ling, Lan Yuan’s rapidly swelling waistline (he was almost recognizable as a child again instead of the pile of bones he’d been after he’d recovered from his fever) and the need to start him on physical conditioning soon, the investment of time and effort that all three of them were putting into trying to convince Jin Ling that his first word should be ‘jiujiu’ – and then, from there, about developments at the Lotus Pier more generally.

At first, Lan Wangji had thought there was a purpose to these updates, that he was meant to give some sort of advice as payment for taking up food and resources, but after a while he realized that Jiang Cheng just wanted someone to listen to him.

He didn’t seem to have anyone else that would.

“– finally finished the full set of docks, so maybe the fishermen will stop beating my ears in about it,” Jiang Cheng was saying. “And yes, damn you, your idea about opening up hotels was both very popular and very profitable – just goes to show that your Lan sect’s reputation for being above it all isn’t in any way justified, you lot make money better than the Jin sect…your brother came by again.”

Lan Wangji tensed.  

“Stop that! Your back’s bad enough without adding knots to it.” Jiang Cheng pressed down on one of them purposefully: it hurt for a moment, and then released, and Lan Wangji involuntarily relaxed as the relief spread through him. Jiang Cheng either had a very good teacher in massage or a natural-born talent for it; Lan Wangji hadn’t yet figured out how to ask which it was. “He’s still looking for you, that’s all, and it’s starting to take a bit of a toll on him; he looks like he hasn’t slept in a while. I’m starting to almost feel bad about it.”

It was very classic Jiang Cheng, Lan Wangji had found, to orchestrate a punishment for someone and feel bad about it almost immediately thereafter. It was no wonder A-Yuan had him so thoroughly wrapped around his little finger.

“You can tell him, if you want,” Lan Wangji said reluctantly. Telling would mean seeing, and while he missed his brother very much, he was still very angry over everything that had happened. “I do not want the Lotus Pier to suffer for having harbored me.”

“Stop being so damned self-sacrificing,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji wasn’t looking but he could hear him rolling his eyes. “I don’t care how much you enjoy it; I for one can’t stand it. Anyway, if my Jiang Sect can’t hold our heads up against another sect’s anger, we don’t deserve to be called a Great Sect. It’s like I told you: the moment he actually admits that you’re missing, rather than being all ambiguous and vague about it, I’ll tell him.”

Lan Wangji was secretly glad, even though he knew it was petty of him.

The thought of how frantic Lan Xichen must be after all these months, the idea of him not sleeping, of him travelling to all the sects to ask again and again if they’d seen him…the thought of it hurt, he didn’t deny it. But it didn’t hurt as much as finding out that Wei Wuxian had died with no one by his side – as finding out that his brother, who knew what Wei Wuxian meant to him, had known and deliberately omitted to tell him.

Just as Jiang Cheng was deliberately omitting to tell Lan Xichen the truth now.

“The sect would lose face,” he finally said, offering up an explanation for his brother’s actions, both then and now.

“Yeah, well, fuck your sect,” Jiang Cheng said. “I picked my sect over my family, too, and where did that leave me? Now it’s all I have left.”

His hands stilled for a moment.

“…except you and kids, I guess,” he said, sounding especially bitter about it in the sort of way that Lan Wangji had learned indicated that Jiang Cheng was having an attack of feelings and not particularly enjoying the experience. “You’re not that annoying.”

That was practically stating that Jiang Cheng would die without them.

“Mn,” Lan Wangji said, and after a moment Jiang Cheng continued rubbing in the salve. There was even a brief moment of silence, probably Jiang Cheng being thankful that Lan Wangji didn’t call him out on those feelings. Normally, Lan Wangji would just enjoy it, but… “You could have children of your own.”

Jiang Cheng choked, his hand slipping as he nearly fell over. “What?”

“Children,” Lan Wangji said. “You could marry.”

Not that marriage was a requirement for children, as Jin Guangshan continuously seemed to demonstrate – according to some of the gossip Jiang Cheng had recently reported, he’d recently brought another bastard son home.

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” Jiang Cheng asked, indignant. “I’ve gone on three matchmaking dates –”

Lan Wangji was well aware. He had been the one to whom Jiang Cheng had exaggeratedly complained after each one of those disastrous dates.

“Deliberate sabotage,” he said, because even without having left the four walls around him in months he could figure that much out. “Why?”

Jiang Cheng hesitated, then snorted. “Well, let’s hope not everyone’s as perceptive as you. It’s the agreement I made with the Jin sect to allow me to raise Jin Ling – no other children.”

Somehow, Lan Wangji hadn’t expected that. 

He swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He knew, of course, that there was nothing Jiang Cheng wouldn’t do for his last living blood relative, even risk having his Jiang sect turned into nothing more than an inheritance to be gobbled up by the Jin sect, but he hadn’t realized – that the Jin sect would take advantage of the grief and trauma that Jiang Cheng suffered, the same grief and trauma that he himself suffered from every day…

It made him taste bile.

“Though you’ve nearly screwed that up, you know,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding suddenly amused. “Back’s done, by the way.”

Lan Wangji sat up and turned his head to look at Jiang Cheng. “How?”

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Well, given your injuries, I’m the one out there teaching Lan Yuan all the basics, aren’t I? The Jiang sect hasn’t started accepting disciples that young yet, so he stands out. Everyone’s starting to say that he’s mine.”

“His surname is Lan.”

“And Wei Wuxian’s was Wei; that never stopped people from talking, did it?” Jiang Cheng scowled a little at the reminder he’d just given himself; as Lan Wangji had found out these past few months, Jiang Cheng was a master of the self-inflicted injury. “The latest I’ve heard is that I fell in love with some lady from the Lan sect who left her child with me when she died – honestly, it’s a bit sad that they can’t think of anything more interesting. Why would I be stupid enough to make the same mistakes as my father?”

Lan Wangji frowned. Jiang Cheng’s voice was shading near to actual pain, rather than his usual bark without a bite – he had let slip enough about his childhood for Lan Wangji to have figured out that the old jokes about the Jiang sect leader’s favoritism for Wei Wuxian were not jokes at all.

More like an old wound ripped open so many times that it would never heal.

It was no surprise, then, that it hurt him to be cast in the same role.

“You could always tell them that the lady still lives,” he said mildly, pretending his words weren’t hurting himself this time. Maybe Jiang Cheng had a point when he said that Lan Wangji enjoyed self-sacrifice. “Only that she’s ill, or in confinement, and cannot be seen.”

“Not a chance! Like I’d ever do something like that,” Jiang Cheng said, and Lan Wangji very briefly loved him for his immediate rejection of the idea. “Besides, if I say that, what do I do when you do come out of here and claim him? Everyone will think we’ve been sleeping together.”

Lan Wangji politely didn’t mention the occasional night that Jiang Cheng spent huddling by his side, wild-eyed, until the nightmares went away, or the way Jiang Cheng would occasionally lend a hand with certain physiological reactions that Lan Wangji could not bear to deal with himself, turning what might have been a trigger for self-hatred and near suicidal despair into a process as mundane as the baths he still needed help taking; neither of those were what was meant.

“No one would fear that you would have children if they thought you cut your sleeve,” he pointed out, not sure why he was pushing the issue. Even if people did say that, it was only rumors, after all, and temporary ones: when Lan Wangji could walk again, even the most pointed would swiftly fade in favor of ones that slandered Lan Wangji’s reputation instead.

“I’m still hoping to get married eventually,” Jiang Cheng said. “Just – after Jin Ling is an adult. Once he’s sect leader, he can release me from the promise I made. No harm done, assuming I don’t die first.”

Lan Wangji nodded. It made sense, though for some reason he felt some dissatisfaction.

“Though,” Jiang Cheng continued, looking thoughtful, “it might not be that bad an idea to spread some rumors. If I never commented on it, people would never know for sure if it was true or just slander by some dissatisfied female cultivator after one of my horrible matchmaking meetings.”

“It would still affect your reputation.”

“Like I care,” Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Let them talk! If anyone is stupid enough to think that the contents of my bed have any impact on my abilities, I still have Zidian to show them the error of their ways. And I will, too; don’t think I won’t!”

Lan Wangji abruptly felt lighter inside. Of course Jiang Cheng wouldn’t care; he hardly ever cared about anything other than his sect and the children – and anyway, just because Lan Wangji had never told Jiang Cheng directly how he felt about Wei Wuxian didn’t mean that he hadn’t guessed. He had given Lan Wangji Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, after all. “I would never be so foolish.”

Jiang Cheng huffed and tossed his head, then turned to say something that he promptly forgot in favor of gaping at him. “Hanguang-jun, what are you doing with your mouth?”

Lan Wangji allowed his smile to widen. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Stop it! It’s creepy! Go back to being humorless and dull this instant!”

“No.”

“This is my sect and you’re my guest; you have to do what I say.”

“No.”

“You’re worse than A-Yuan,” Jiang Cheng complained. “At least he pretends to listen. I’ll have to raise Jin Ling to be properly obedient.”

For some reason, Lan Wangji didn’t think he would have much luck with that.

[mistaeq]

The Jobros: Finding out their s/o is Pregnant with Twins

TW // none

Original Request: Can you do the jojo's reaction to their s/o being pregnant with twins after a long time of trying? You can find this here.

The sweet @serenityblaze44 asked for this same prompt with the Jobros, so... here it is! <3

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

ROBERT E. O. SPEEDWAGON

As soon as you tell him, his eyes widen, like a cat who saw his favourite toy. It's almost as if he was a kid, and you were telling him that Santa was gonna bring him his favourite gift ever. No wonder, he'll be speechless for some seconds. Not only one baby, but two? This sounds all the way like a dream becoming reality. Living in the street like he did years ago, he could only dream about having a family.

You've been trying so hard to have a baby, you both felt ready, and after all the danger he went through along with Jonathan, Robert wants to settle down and have a family, finally starting something serious. But you had a lot of problems with getting pregnant, and he was losing his hope. Until you told him you were expecting a baby. And now, you were telling him they were two, two angels of his growing in your stomach. This feels crazy.

Speedwagon won't force you and won't get angry, if you don't feel like you'd like something like this, but he'd love to name one of the twins Jonathan or William if there's at least a boy and Erina if there's at least a girl. These people mattered so much in his life, and would be the happiest if he could bring these names with him forever. If you don't like the idea, he will respectfully accept it, and he's open and ready to hear your own ideas, too!

He wants everything to be completely organized, when the twins will come to the world. Every parent buys furniture and clothing for their baby, even before the birth, it's a pretty common thing. But Robert more or less behaved like Joseph buying stuff for Shizuka with Josuke's money. Speedwagon almost bought an entire baby store out of happiness and excitement. He's enthusiast and nervous. Bear with this loving gentleman.

"What do you mean I don't have to buy six cribs for the babies? What their two ones break and we need to change it?" he groans, handing you a bag, you looking at him with questioning eyes. "Nevermind... y/n, will you hold these fifty pacifiers for me while I get the twenty pairs of baby shoes out of the car?"

Speedwagon can't keep the news to himself. He'll call Erina before everyone else, and then all his friends, like immediately, to tell them the good news. He looks calm and rational, but he spent most of his life in London's street, and few years won't erase his loud and impulsive attitude. It's probably a good thing, after all. Even gentlemen can be excited. A little sudden, but hearing it makes Erina so happy, she'll be like an aunt for your kids!

He would enjoy reading books to your stomach during your pregnancy. He would have done it even if they weren't twins, but he claims that being them two, he'll need to work twice the amount he did before to teach them stories and literature. Robert is an amazing man, but still a too grown baby, he'll never stop his ideas about how to teach the children something. He just thinks about what he'd like to do or hear if he was a child.

CAESAR ANTONIO ZEPPELI

He stops practicing with his hamon for some seconds as soon as you tell him. Funny, he was so focused on his training that he swore he started hearing things. You didn't just tell him that the baby bubble growing in your stomach are in reality two baby bubbles. He... oh, forget it Caesar, you must have dreamt it. But you're right next to him, and almost immediately repeat what you just told him, making him realize what he heard is true.

It takes a while for the italian boy to realize it, but when he finally does, you can tell he's happy. Mamma mia. The adrenaline and excitemente in his body won't stop flowing, this is why, when Caesar will hug you, pick you up and jump around, hamon bubbles will still be coming out of his fingertips, and you find it the cutest thing ever. It's the physical proof of how happy you make him, there's no way to deny it. Family is all he ever wanted, over his flirting habit. You're the right one for him and he knows.

Prepare your kids and your stomach to get a whole load of opera music during your pregnancy. Caesar is a great lover of opera, and will care about his kids to be as informed on it and respectful of the genre. Either he'll put on some of it, of he'll straight up sing it for you and your future children. His singing voice isn't actually so bad, you notice, and this is how he earns the task of singing them the lullabies when they'll come to the world.

"Hey! What do you mean I get to sing them the lullabies... I'm good at opera... not baby songs..." he whines, almost sounding like a baby himself. "Fine... but at one condition. You change the diapers and I sing the lullabies. Take it or leave it."

He cares a lot about his family's traditions to go on. Being the flamboyant italian he is, Caesar prides himself on the love for his close family and relatives. He doesn't have a huge request for you, but he cares about what he's gonna ask. The father-to-be would be happy, if one of the twins is a boy, to give him Antonio as a second name. Like his own second name, and his grandpa's too. He secretly hopes the twins are a boy and a girl, he's always wanted a baby princess.

The young Zeppeli will grow twice more protective and caring of you. This translates in him not letting Joseph get closer to you than three meters away. This is how you learn to speak even louder to talk with people. Your loving boy will always be in front of you to keep you safe. You appreciate it, but sometimes he's exaggerated.

He'll probably beg you on his knees, for you to allow him to teach the children how to master the hamon technique when they'll grow up. You can't really deny it, sometimes it's useful. During your pregnancy, Caesar and his calming waves helped you coping with pregnancy pains and cramps, massaging your belly and leaving some bubbles around to soothe and distract you. Oh, your caring italian love.

NORIAKI KAKYOIN

When you told him the good news, his heart exploded with happiness and excitement. However, Noriaki is known for being a pretty calm boy, and he tried his best to keep calm after your words, too. You had to tell him to let go and don't worry about wanting to hug you, or pick you up and kiss you, or even cry, if he felt like letting it all out.

Before you even got pregnant, Kakyoin and you had been trying every single way on Earth to have a baby. Take count of your most fertile phase, buy a lot of pregnancy tests, using different positions, praying, making rituals, crying and asking Siri, in tears, why Noriaki couldn't manage to get you pregnant. Did those ways work so well that you got twice more pregnant than you expected? Nevermind, all you know is that you and your loving cherry boy are gonna have two beautiful babies.

"Listen... why do you think I can't get my baby pregnant? We've been trying every single way... do you have any advice?" as soon as Siri answered, Kakyoin's eyes widened, and raised an eyebrow. "Hey, don't give me the 'Sorry, I'm not sure what you said' treatment!"

One of his first thoughts, is that there's a small - but now it's higher because the babies are two - percentage of chances your babies might be stand users. Yes, it's not the highest percentage ever, but it's still there, and Kakyoin is pretty afraid of it. Stand users' lives are never calm and quiet, he had the occasion to prove this himself. They often go towards almost deadly experiences. He's gotta be a good dad and protect his children.

Hierophant Green is overjoyed! Noriaki and his stand worked hard, to create some decorations for the babies' room with emeralds. Green is a neutral color, since you don't know whether the twins will be boys, girls, or both. Still, you don't think colors like pink and blue are gendered, that's some stereotypical bullshit. But you had the luck of having green decorations, perfect for anyone, from Hierophant's power.

Kakyoin secretly hopes that at least one of the babies, no matter whether it's a boy or a girl, will have his hair color or hair noodle. Think about it, wouldn't it be funny, cute and incredibly special to have a small version of your husband/boyfriend walking around the house? Oh god, what if they're identical twins? Three Noriakis? Oh my.

Even if this might embarrass him a little, you'll often get to see his parents during your pregnancy. First of all, to give them the good news about the baby being in reality two babies, and second of all because mrs. Kakyoin would be on cloud nine, getting the chance to give you some parenting advice. That's also how you get to know some interesting information and curiosities about your man's childhood. The cutest things ever. But this... is another story.

NIJIMURA OKUYASU

Okuyasu.exe has stopped working. What do you mean two babies? He thought the shocking news were finished, after the pregnancy announcement. He's gonna ask you a billion times, on the verge of tears, if you're joking or messing with him, knowing how much these news matter to his heart. When he gets you're serious, Okuyasu just lets go and cries. He feels so damn happy.

He learnt to hate your period as much as you, honestly. Because everytime you got it, it meant another month in which he had failed in getting you pregnant had passed, and this made him feel useless and disappointing. You never thought anything like this about him, but making him understand this is pretty difficult, he wouldn't have forgiven himself until he succeeded. You wanted a baby and Okuyasu wanted so too, so he would have given it to you, no matter what.

"Oi... did you... you know, bleed this month already?" Okuyasu asked, with the eyes of someone who was afraid of asking. But you shook your head. "This is good, love... but let's not get our hopes up, shall we, y/n?"

He doesn't really have any special requests or ideas for your babies' names. Or better, he does have one, but will never tell you, as he thinks for sure that you'll never agree with doing it. Okuyasu would have liked the kanji "兆" ("chou": trillion) to be in at least one of your babies' names, to remember his brother. But your boy is pretty sure you'd hate it, and he'd never suggest this. You'll probably feel there's something he's not telling you and find out anyway.

Expecting two babies is tiring, and you'll need to rest a lot. Okuyasu would like to join you and hold you in your sleep, but he also wants to be awake to take care of you, get you something to eat or drink, or put in order his messy house to make it look at least decent for when the babies will come. This is why, while you take your naps, he works around the house and lets The Hand cuddle with you. It's always him, after all. He feels the way you hold his stand.

This leads to the father-to-be being often pretty tired, too. He overworks himself. At night, when he finally joins you in your bed, happens to fall asleep in a matter of seconds, wearing his ordinary clothes instead of his pajamas. You can tell he's gonna be a good dad. Some mornings during your pregnancy, if you happened to wake up before him, you'd quietly turn off his alarm clock for him to rest more.

Okuyasu's dad is on cloud nine too, as his family is going to get larger. Mansaku totally wants to take a photo with you two and his grandchildren, as soon as they'll be born. He accepted you and behaves with you the same caring way he does towards his son. He's changed in a better man, despite his appearance. But the first person Okuyasu told the good news to, was Keicho. He purposely went on his grave, because he knew his brother would have been proud.

BRUNO BUCCIARATI

You tell him the good news while he's working. Not only it'll make his day better, but it'll also hopefully get his mind off of that giant bunch of papers on his desk, for once. The capo suddenly stops, moving his gaze towards your eyes, then your stomach, then your eyes again. You'll have to repeat, or he'll be sure he's imagined what you said because of the too much time spent working. But there's no joke or dream, you're pregnant with twins.

Screw all the papers and all the work that's left. He's gonna get you in a so tight and warm embrace of his, and never let go. Libeccio's for dinner that night? Guaranteed. He's usually a calm man, but whatever is related to his family, gets celebrated. When you announced your pregnancy, you had a dinner with the whole gang at the restaurant, but this time Bruno would rather have something more personal and private with you. Make the dinner romantic.

When you were still trying to have a baby, Bucciarati was the one who managed not to lost his temper when every attempt of yours resulted in a negative pregnancy test. But when you weren't around, I won't say he cried, but was pretty close. He was afraid of not being able to give you what you wanted, and usually ranted about this with Abbacchio. Bruno wanted to be the shoulder you could cry on, and couldn't breakdown too.

You both decided to wait some time before telling the gang about the baby being in reality two babies. They were still excited for your pregnancy itself, Mista and Narancia above everyone, and giving another shocking news would have probably brought the peace to say arrivederci. They still managed to get you confess, the look in Bruno's expressive eyes was too happy not to notice.

Just like Giorno would do, Bruno wouldn't be happy if his two angels ended up being involved in Passione's business. He totally will let the gang around his babies, as he trusts them, but during your pregnancy you both decided that the one of you taking care of the babies on a certain day, wouldn't even think of getting close to Passione's headquarters with the children. And you agreed with Bucciarati, for your little ones' safety.

"You'll agree with me that our children's safety is the most important thing, tesoro mio..." Bruno murmured, caressing your cheek. "Let's not bring them close to this place ever, I beg you. I'm sure you'll understand."

He would enjoy talking and interacting with his babies by laying his head on your stomach, kissing it and listening to them moving in the last weeks of your pregnancy. Sticky Fingers is in love with you too, and Bruno won't ever lose the chance to close you in a cuddle sandwich between his body and his stand's to make you feel protected and let you know how proud of you he is. Bucciarati will be a special dad, indeed.

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 6 Confliction - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I really want to give a huge, huge thank you to @tebdundy on tumblr for editing and dealing with my constant check ups and stuff, you are so amazing for helping me. It means a whole lot. You can find more of me on instragram, wattpad, and AO3 (under the same username). Okay, onto the chapter!

WARNING: a lot of angst, rejection

Your ship was on fire. Every belonging, every single thing you had worked so hard for was gone. Your guns, clothes, even appliances you had never given a second thought, gone. And it hit you like a shot. The moment you took in that your ship was on fire, you shut down. Your mind began to wander. What did I do to deserve this? Why is this happening to me?

The next thing you could remember was Spike shaking your shoulders to snap you back to reality. You struggled to form a response. You tried to open your mouth, give some indication that you could feel and see him. In reality, the only thing you could really feel was a dull ache in your spine, each vertebrae mounting with an odd, uncomfortable pain.

The shock was setting in.

You blinked, eyes glassy as you watched firefighters put your ship out of her misery. There was no noise. You couldn't feel your fingertips, your face. You couldn't feel anything. Just that dull ache creeping up your spine.

Thoughts spiraled through your aching head, moving so quickly you could hardly keep up. It felt like you were at war with yourself, trying to keep yourself conscious and cognizant of the situation, while you sank deeper and deeper into your head.

This is just a small hiccup.

Just an obstacle that needed to be conquered, a hurdle you needed to jump over.

This is all your fault, you’ll never bounce back.

Everything happens for a reason, right?

Maybe if you hadn’t been so stupid.

You always ruin everything for yourself.

You might as well give up now.

There’s no coming back from this one.

You’re a disappointment.

You’ve failed.

It ate you up like a starving monster devouring a poor soul who crossed its path. Dark tendrils of shame, anger, and sadness weaved into your head, wrapping around your mind and tightening with every passing second. You were going to drown.

Push it down. Push it down. Grieve later. Think now. Grieve later. Think now.

You needed to figure out what you were going to do next. You needed to get out of your head. You desperately tried to claw your way out of this state. Taking a deep breath, you tried to make sense of the chaos around you.

You were sitting on the ground, a blanket draped over your shoulders. You felt the cold stone of the dock under your legs, felt the itchiness of the thick wool wrapped around you. You watched as Jet ran over to Spike, shouting over the sounds of panic that had flooded your head just moments before. Spike was staring at you, his face riddled with concern. You heard him call your name. You didn’t respond.

It was usually so hard to read him, to figure out what he was feeling. But now, it was so incredibly clear. You saw the emotions flashing in his eyes as he called for you again. Loss, guilt, despair, mania, heartbreak.

You felt Jet’s strong hand on your shoulder, shaking it gently.

"Hey kid, you okay?" He said, his brows furrowed.

You swallowed. Do not cry. Do not cry. Wait until you're alone. Push it down.

"I think...I think— a glass of water."

-

"How much do you have?"

"About 200,000 woolong."

"Well, that ain't much."

"Well, I wasn’t expecting to lose everything I own."

You sipped your coffee slowly as you, Spike and Jet discussed a solution to your giant, unavoidable problem. No matter how much you told them that you were okay and could take care of yourself, they insisted on helping you. Deep down, you appreciated it, because you definitely weren’t okay and wouldn’t be able to take care of yourself, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself.

You picked at the eggs on your plate, imagining sleeping in your own bed right now. Wearing your favorite shirt. Eating breakfast in your small kitchen. Watching the morning news in your room. Maybe have someone with you, showing him everything you owned like an excited child because you were so proud of how far you came from your first bounty to now. Things you’ll never be able to do again.

You felt silly and materialistic, mourning the loss of your belongings. But when you worked so hard for something you wanted for so long, building it up over the years, and losing it all in seconds? It's very hard to not mourn.

You had tried to pack light, to not become attached to material possessions. That was one of the first things that you were told by other bounty hunters. When you had first considered entering this god-forsaken profession, you sought out the help of any bounty hunter you came across, trying to glean any useful knowledge from those more experienced than you. You got too comfortable and started to ignore that piece of advice, and now you’re crying over some clothes and dishes.

But your keepsakes, your souvenirs. Ties to your troubled past. Memories of old friends, places, and happy times. Gone, burnt to a crisp.

"How much is a night stay here in town?" You spoke up, interrupting Spike and Jet’s bickering.

"You don't even want to know. The further you go into the city, the worse the rates are. I looked at a couple of places, and it does not look good." Jet replied, taking a sip from his mug.

"And staying on the streets isn't too good either," Spike muttered.

"Wasn't planning on it, but thanks for the advice." You snapped back.

The tension was thick in the air between you and Spike. Maybe it was because of your interrupted intimacy from the previous night, or the fact that neither of you had slept for the past 24 hours. But you couldn't understand why he was taking his frustration out on you. You hadn’t planned for your ship to burn to ash. You didn’t want to be a burden.

"I have a suggestion. Well, more of a proposal." Jet said.

You perked up. "And what's that?" Even before Jet could say anything, you already felt guilty about it.

"You can stay with us on the Bebop until you find your feet again."

You breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do what now?!" Spike hissed softly.

"But, "Jet held up his hand to Spike, who sighed loudly, annoyed. "I have a few conditions."

It kind of pissed you off how Spike was reacting to all of this. Actually, kind of was an understatement. It really pissed you off, almost offended you on how he was acting. Just a few hours ago, he was desperate to get into your pants, and now he was throwing a hissy fit at the thought of you living on the Bebop. Isn't this a good thing, you being able to spend more time together?

"Just contribute to the Bebop. Whenever you cash in a bounty, set some aside for fuel, food, all that good jazz. Maybe cook dinner sometimes, or clean the bathroom. Other than that, don’t worry about it." Jet said.

A cloud of suspicion settled across your thoughts.

"That's it?" You asked, “Are you sure?”

Jet chuckled. “There’re other rules, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I have a feeling you know how to respect other people’s spaces and belongings. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

You glanced at Spike, who was leaning back, staring out the window. He met your gaze, eyes unreadable once again. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He felt like an entirely new person, one who just wanted you to piss off and leave him to his business. You tried to shrug off his sudden coldness, but it bothered you. It stung.

-

The walk back to the Bebop wasn't too bad, but trying to initiate a conversation with Spike was difficult. All he did was grunt in response, a few "oh yeah”s and “huh”s thrown in for good measure. You hoped it was because he was tired, and not that he was pissed off that you were going to be invading his space.

The guilt was heavy on your shoulders. You certainly weren’t a freeloader, but you couldn't help but feel like you had already overstayed your welcome. And you haven’t even stepped foot on the ship yet. You didn't want Spike to be distant from you. Even though you had just met him, you wanted him to be closer to you than anyone else. You wanted to reach out to him, hold onto him and never let him go. Instead, he was pushing you away.

You weren’t good with rejection. Rejection defined who you were today and had been a driving factor to almost everything in your life. You had managed to take ahold of those haunting feelings and build them into a hard shell to protect yourself, vowing to never show your vulnerability or true feelings. You had pushed the old version of you so deep down that it would never escape. You had been doing so well, but the last few days had shown you that the hard work you put into being a completely emotionless bitch was all for nothing.

Jet was going into an extensive explanation of the ship, where you could take a shower, where your room was. He explained that the Bebop was once a fishing ship from Ganymede, and how he had fixed it up to be a high-tech, fully functional ship of today (his words, not yours).

"She operates well when treated right. However, some of our crew members would say otherwise." Jet grumbled. "Speaking of, did Faye tell you-"

"I haven't seen Faye since two days ago. Her ship was still gone, the last I saw." Spike muttered, throwing his jacket over his shoulder. "Besides, why do you care?"

Jet held up his hands. "It was just a question. Jeez." Spike muttered something in response.

You suddenly remembered the bounty on Faye’s head, but it didn’t really matter right now. That was all on the back burner for now, seeing as every plan you could think of required a ship that wasn’t the one Faye was living on. And you really didn't want to make enemies of your new crew this early on. All you cared about right now was taking a shower to wash all of last night's events off you and getting some shut-eye.

You wondered whether Jet was aware of your previous intentions of collecting the big bounty on Faye. You had asked him if Faye was joining the group for dinner last night, with no context. There was no answer, but that also could mean he took in what you said and was processing what you really intended to do if Faye did show up at the dinner. Remembering your first meeting with Spike, he told you clearly he doesn't care if she got captured or not. So you have two people who are on opposite ends of the discussion. One is in charge of the Bebop and which bounties to pursue, and the other one likes to smoke and philosophize.

The obvious correct choice was clear, but you decide to choose the latter.

"When you come in, don't be too surprised by some of our unique characters." Jet remarked. "You've already met us two, but there are a few more along the way."

"I like to think I'm also a unique character, so we should get along." You replied happily, a tint of exhaustion underlying in your words. Spike scoffed, walking over to open the small hatch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You snapped, a full night's worth of frustration threatening to overflow in the form of obscenities and insults.

"Are you talking to me?" Spike said over his shoulder, punching in the security numbers on the small pad. The hatch to the side of the Bebop creaked open, landing on the stone pier with a hard thunk. "I’m tired. And when I’m tired, I don’t put my energy into pulling punches and being nice.Got it, (Y/N)?"

You bit down on your tongue. "Never mind. What were you saying, Jet?"

You could hear a quiet, "Yeah that's what I thought." echoing up into the Bebop. Rolling it off your shoulders, you turned your focus to Jet as you both walked into the ship.

Opening a round metal door, you looked up to see a dimming bulb illuminating the cylinder passage. The walls were yellowing, patched with dark, aging metal, and littered with hazard signs. Jet walked over to a ladder bolted on the wall and began to climb.

"I'll tell you, you’ll get a real workout just getting around this ship." Jet laughed, his voice bouncing off the walls.

"Are there a lot of these around the ship?" You said, following.

"Oh yeah, plenty. But if you stay in the living area, you don’t really need to worry about them. I'll show you around anyway, just in case we need you to get something. We wouldn’t want you to get lost." Jet smiled.

He hopped into the center gravity passage, holding out his hand to you. You grabbed it gratefully, not realizing how much of a drop it was to the floor of the tube until you looked back down.

"Oh damn." You exclaimed, looking down. "That's pretty far."

"It’s just 15 feet. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you." Jet chuckled, closing the metal door. "Alright, so this is the lower gravity passage. It leads to the living area, that includes bedrooms, kitchen and living room, and to the storage area."

Spike was nowhere to be seen in the passage. You assumed he was already in the living room, smoking before heading off to bed. Jet opened a sliding metal door marked “Storage”. You peered into the dark room.

"This is where we keep extra ammunition, supplies, and medical boxes.”

Jet pressed a button next to the storage door, one that opened to the living area. The walls were a gradient blue color, illuminated with warm lighting. The staircase was a dark, metallic gold leading to a dark blue platform. On the floor was a yellow couch, and across from it was a single matching seat. In between them sat a knee-level coffee table with a holoTV, a computer, and someone's breakfast. Jet walked in first, stepping down. "This is the living room.” He pointed to the set on top of the table. “You’re welcome to use the holoTV and the computer, everybody shares them.” He chuckled. “I’m not sure whose breakfast that is, but don’t touch it. People are pretty possessive of food on this ship.”

Right as you took a step in, you heard the light pattering of paws bouncing into the living room. From a staircase leading down, two small light brown ears popped up. Then two big brown eyes peered over, searching for the source of commotion in the room.

"You guys have a dog?!" You asked, practically jumping down the stairs. The small Welsh corgi was seemingly just as excited as you were, running and tripping up the stairs to meet you. You extended your hand, letting him sniff you.

Jet chuckled. "Cute little thing, isn't he? His name is Ein."

"Oh, he's adorable. Who’s a good boy?" You cooed, bending down to rub Ein's ears. He stretched his head out, his little stumpy tail going a hundred miles a minute.

"And usually tagging along with Ein is-" Jet was interrupted by the pounding footsteps coming from downstairs.

"They're back, they're back, they're back!" a scrawny red-headed kid rejoiced, waving their arms about. "Ed was worried, but now Jet’s back, and Ed is okay again!"

The kid's smile stretched from ear to ear, clearly more than ecstatic to see Jet back home. They grabbed the plate from on top of the table and plopped down next to a box with a computer on top. They gobbled up what was left of their food, before bending their head back to get a look at you. "Who are you?"

"This is (Y/N), they're going to be staying on the Bebop for a little bit." Jet replied, walking over to the table. He turned back to you. "Ed is a computer genius and a damn good hacker. You ever need someone to work out some malicious malware, Ed’s your girl."

“Hi, it's nice to meet you." You said, giving Ed a small smile and a wave. She scampered over to you on all fours with her behind high in the air, chattering to herself.

“Stranger, changer, danger! Hihi...”

You laughed nervously, glancing back at Jet, who was standing with his arms crossed, looking amused. The girl stopped at your feet. “Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the Fourth,” she said matter of factly. Ed grabbed your hand and sniffed. You had met some oddballs in your time, but this one took the cake. She made a face and jumped back, her hands covering her nose and mouth. "Ed thinks you stink!"

You sucked in air between your teeth. Did you really smell that bad, or was it another talent of this child prodigy? That’s so embarrassing. "Is it that noticeable?"

Jet half-smiled. "Doesn't bother me none. Thought I wouldn’t mention it till you could do somethin about it."

He was just going to let you find out later? No wonder Spike didn't want to be anywhere near you. It wasn’t even your first day of being on the Bebop, and you were not making a great first impression.

"Let me show you the kitchen." Jet motioned for you to follow up a small set of stairs through a large circular door frame leading down a small hallway. You turned into the kitchen, completed with a fridge, stove, oven, and a small countertop. The kitchen was dark, the only light in the room was the dimming orange ashes of Spike's cigarette falling on the floor. He was leaning against the countertop, staring down at his cig.

"There you are, Spike." Jet flipped the lights on, revealing a slightly disorderly kitchen. Spike winced, covering his eyes.

"Jesus, Jet give me a warning next time," Spike mumbled, his voice deep and raspy. Your annoyance and anger at him suddenly disappeared. That voice. You wanted to hear that voice again. You wanted to put your hand on his chest and feel the vibrations of that voice. Every time you tried to find some way to be mad at him again, he just had to stand there, looking cool and intoxicatingly seductive. You craved him like an alcoholic craved whiskey.

"Are you finished with the grand tour?" Spike asked, his heavy-lidded eyes looking away from you and Jet.

"Not yet, but I was hoping you could finish it."

"I’m not in the mood for hospitality right now. I'm going to bed." Spike said, making his way to the door.

"Just show her on the way there. And be nice, she's our guest." Jet warned, sorting the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

"Yeah, show me some respect." You teased. But Spike clearly was not in the mood. Instead, he turned away from you, rolling his eyes, and walked out of the kitchen

Jet patted you on the back. "Give him a minute, he'll come around."

"Thank you for everything, Jet. It means a lot." You smiled.

"Don't sweat it, kid. Go ahead and get some rest. If anything comes up, I'll send the cavalry after you." He said, gesturing to the living room.

You took a deep breath before heading out of the kitchen. Ed was sitting motionless in a trance-like state, her eyes engulfed with giant goggles. Ein lay peacefully on the couch, watching as you followed Spike down the steps into the living room.

This was the first time you and Spike had been alone since last night. Just hours ago, you were definitely not afraid to touch him. Now, you didn't even want to take a step near him.

"Are you coming or what?" Spike called out impatiently, already halfway downstairs to the lower part of the living area. "I don't have all day."

"I'm here." You raced over, gliding your hand down the rail. Spike continued his way down, turning around a corner. The walk down the hallway was quiet, the silence uncomfortable. Neither of you wanted to do small talk. Spike probably didn’t want to talk at all, but you had to know. You had to ask him.

"Spike?” you asked quietly. You wrung your fingers around each other anxiously. Spike stayed silent, his quick pace faltering before coming to a stop in front of a door.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” You finally asked. Spike seemed to tense up, his jaw clenching. Deciding to press on further, you continued.

“I umm,” you mumbled, “I may have been drunk and you probably were too, but why are you so cold to me now when we were literally about f-“

“This is the bathroom. It has a tub and a shower.” Spike interrupted. Your heart dropped to your stomach. So much for answers. “There should be some clean towels. You can wash your clothes upstairs, Jet can show you where the washer is. Your room’s gonna be the first door you see when you reach the top of the stairs. It’ll be all yours till you leave.”

Spike puffed out a cloud of smoke before making his way slowly down the hallway. You looked at him in disbelief. He definitely remembers. And he’s rejecting it. You and him. Cutting it off before it starts, pushing you away.

You stepped into the bathroom, letting the door shut behind you before tears of anger and resentment started to fall down your face. How can you feel so much emotion for someone who shows none? You lost your home and belongings. You didn’t want to lose anything else.

-

After a long hot shower, you stood in front of the mirror, combing your fingers through your hair. You were going to have to get essentials eventually, a comb and a toothbrush would be nice. But that would have to wait. You rubbed circles on your temple, your impending exhaustion headache approaching fast.

After drying yourself off, you slipped your old clothes back on. It felt awful putting dirty clothes on your clean body, but you were not about to walk around the ship in a towel. You had already dug yourself a deep enough hole with Spike, you didn’t want to traumatize Jet, the kid, or the dog.

As you wrapped your hair in a towel, you heard shouting from outside. You combed through who it could be. Spike and Jet. Or Jet and Ed. Or Spike and Ein, or Ein and Ed. There were quite a few combinations.

“First fight on the Bebop.” You muttered to yourself. “So excited.”

This was so ridiculous, you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself. All you had to do was walk past and not get involved. Unless it was about you, then you would at least try to defend yourself. You opened the door, listening intently.

“What the fuck-“ more shouting. “And you bastards decide to tell me now?!” A shrill female voice was yelling. A table got knocked over. You could hear stomping and more shouting. “Well, where the hell are they?!”

Whoop, time to hide.

You shut the door and the latch clicked with a loud cathunk. You hoped they hadn’t heard it. You were down a big hallway, there was no way that they could’ve heard it. You had a pretty good idea of who the screaming was coming from, and you were not ready to meet her right now.

The sounds of stomping grew louder, getting closer to the bathroom door. Your fight-or-flight mode started to set in. With how pissed she sounded, stomping and roaring, this may as well be a life-or-death situation.

You rolled your neck, stretching your arms out. If you needed to defend yourself, you were going to have to do it bare-knuckled. No guns, knives, bars of soap, nothing. You flexed your hands, cracking your knuckles. You planted yourself in front of the door. The footsteps outside stopped. This was it! You were ready for anything.

Bam!

The door slid open. Faye Valentine stood on the other side, hands on her hips. She was panting from her ranting and raving in the other room. She smiled, her eyes a little too wide. You couldn’t tell if she was happy, crazy, or surprised.

“Hi there, you must be our newest crew member! My name is Faye, it’s so nice to meet you, girly!” She beamed, her eyes manic.

Not the response you were expecting. “It’s nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” You held out your hand. She took it, her soft palms gripping your hand a little bit too tight. She shook your hand. She kept shaking. And shaking. You pulled back, trying your best to put on a friendly face.

“Sorry if I’m hogging the bathroom, there was an accident last night and I was so dirty, I just had to have a shower.” You smiled, stepping to the side.

“Oh no! You’re totally fine. I was just looking for the toilet, I guess I got lost.” She replied, waving her hand.

“The toilet’s just across the hall from your room, how long have you been here-“ Jet was cut off by Faye’s elbow jabbing him in the ribs. Jet grabbed his side in pain, giving you a half-smile.

“Well, I’d love to chat, but I’m really tired. I’m going to go get some sleep.” You smiled apologetically and gestured to the stairs.

Jet and Faye’s voices mingled with each other, overlapping into a confusing symphony of hospitality and kindness.

“Yeah, no worries!”

“Call us if you need anything!”

“We’ll be right here!”

Smiling, you gave a small wave, turned around, and basically sprinted down the hallway to the living room. You heard Faye hiss, “You didn’t tell me she was a girl, dumbass.”

“I was going to before you blew up at me. If you had let me finish, I would’ve. Why are you so pissed off about another crew member, anyway?”

“I’m tired of all the men on this ship, I didn’t want another one. And I thought they were going to take my room...”

Their bickering trailed off as you climbed up the two sets of stairs to your new room. Ed was still on the floor with her goggles on, humming to herself, seemingly oblivious to the fight that had just happened. Ein cautiously sniffed the overturned table, before settling onto the floor next to Ed, resting his head on her lap. You would’ve said goodnight, but they seemed to be in their own little world and you were happy to let them stay like that.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw two doors directly across from each other, one on each side of the landing. Spike had said it was “the first door you’d see”, but that wasn’t particularly helpful in this situation. Hoping you were correct, you quietly walked over to the door to your left, pressing the button to open it.

Your breath hitched as the door opened to see Spike fast asleep in his bed. He snored lightly, sleeping so deeply he didn’t hear the hiss and clink of the door opening. His arms were behind his head and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest was hypnotic. Even asleep he was really, really attractive. You fumbled over yourself trying to shut the door. It finally latched, and you let out a breath.

Sighing, you turned towards the door behind you. This one had to be it. You opened it to see a small, sparse room. Closing the door behind you, you flipped on the light. Pushed up against the far wall was a simple bed, and to your right was a small desk built into the wall with an old armchair next to it. There was a closet in the far corner, but the door was locked and some large boxes were stacked in front of it. They must not get many guests, it seemed like this room was mainly used for storage.

Feeling the ache of exhaustion overtaking your body, you flopped onto the bed. It was surprisingly soft, with a pillow and tan comforter neatly folded on top. You didn’t know how to thank Jet for being so kind and accommodating. Next time you cashed in a big bounty, you were going to set aside some woolongs to buy him a thank you gift.

On top of the pillow, you noticed a pair of black shorts and a yellow button-up. Pinned to the shirt was a note, clearly written in a hurry.

Some clean clothes. You smell like shit.

-S

You laughed. He’s straight-talking, that’s for sure. You slipped on the shorts and buttoned the shirt halfway up. Spreading out the comforter, you crawled underneath. You were already half-asleep, and thinking about how breathtakingly attractive Spike looked asleep relaxed you even more. Your mental snapshot of your accidental encounter was glued to your eyelids. It was never going to happen again, but you got to have one taste of beauty while here.

You gently wrapped your arms around your pillow, thoughts of Spike disappearing into clouds of empty dreams. It was so much better to fall asleep to thinking of someone, rather than no one at all.

And even though it was going to hurt, you would do it again and again.

-

[A/N] all I got to say is fasten your seatbelts for the next chapter, slut puppies.

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

[always-on-tatooine]

MaulxReader part 8: The Escape

Finally getting to this part of the story (this has been rolling around in my head since winter break). At the same time, I’m happy I gave this story the time it’s needed to develop. Also, I’m so happy for all the friends I’ve met on here so far. I really appreciate everyone’s support.

Unfortunately, school is really ramping up so big sections like this will be coming out much slowly. I’ll still be working on this story but until break I will probably only be posting small blurbs. Also, I’m thinking of trying some other side projects too. (yes, most of them will consist of our favorite grumpy red Zabrack)

Also thinking of making an ao3 account too. I’ll keep you all updates if I do so.

Warning: Mentions of violence/wounds to reader, action sense, explosions, and strong emotions. As always, let me know if I missed anything

Masterlist link: https://always-on-tatooine.tumblr.com/post/640968824459526144/shooting-stars-maulxreader-masterlist

3.8k word count. Enjoy :)

@justalittlecloud @a-dorin @hornystarwarsbisexual @mother-0f-monsters @lovelyzabrak-meadow @pinkiemme @maulieber @joslynuniverse @dollar-tree-witchcraft @lalalandbutbetter @zabrak-show @secretmaul @jedi-bitch @helloladyvanilla @enchantress666

            Waves of questions and confusion were overwhelming, as (y/n) took in her surroundings. In what was less than a minute of holding her head down, the room once full of mob guards was now littered with dead bodies. The only one left standing held a strange glowing red weapon as it plummeted into the man who almost killed her. Who was the single survivor of this outmatched battle? She knew his name was Maul, and that she had provided housing for him over this past week. Yet here and now, (y/n) realized how little she knew about the man who just saved her life.

             One of the glowing beams of Maul’s weapon retracted, releasing its hold on Lysscol’s body. Leaving the former mob boss motionless on his throne, Maul walked over to (y/n). “Hold still,” his command was soft as one swoop of the remaining end of his weapon cut through her cuffs. Reaching a black gloved hand towards the freed captive he asked, “Are you ok?” (Y/n) did not know how to respond. So many questions ran through her head, yet none were able to find their way out, “What…? How…?”

            Helping her off the ground Maul looked her over, “Are you able to move on your own?” (Y/n) looked deeply into his tattooed face. Who was this man? “Yes, but…”

            Maul retracted the other end of his weapon, “Then we have to hurry. We may have killed their leader, but they will still come for us.” Pulling his hood back over his head, he grabbed (y/n)’s hand and led her out of the throne room.

            In the hallways, more guards laid on the floor. Rushing past them, the farmer was only able to get a glimpse of their condition; large slash wounds had cut though the guards chest plates, inflicting a deadly blow. Before, (y/n) could process the scene, the two were already past the alley way and rushing into the streets.

             The pair moved fast, yet stayed within the crowd, maneuvering through the groups of people as not to be seen. Still holding Maul’s hand, she did her best to keep up with him as he led her though the streets. Finally gaining the nerves, (y/n) asked, “How did you know where to find me?”

            “Only an organized syndicate would be able to push the number of weapons you were selling. So, I looked for their usual hiding places until I found the right one.”

            His remark did not satisfy (y/n)’s scrutiny. Remembering back, Victor Lysscol had seemed so familiar with Maul. As if they knew each other.  “You said you had given them orders. Are you a part of the syndicate?”

            “Something like that…”

            “Then what was that weapon you killed him with? Those blades you were using. I thought those were Jedi swords.” She could feel his hand tighten at the name of the legendary space monks. “Jedi are not the only ones who know how to use a lightsaber…” the words rolled off his lips with anger, yet his unpleasant facial expression would be left to the imagination as it was hidden by his hood.

            “Then how did you…?” (y/n) wanted to continue her interrogations, but Maul cut her off. “I will answer your question later. Right now, we need to get out of this town. You are now marked by the Crymorah’s. That means if they ever see you again, then they will kill you without a second thought.” The tone of urgency in his voice was enough to make her stop.  Taking her saviors advice, she focused on keeping up with him as they headed back to the shop.

            Quick on their feet, the two arrived back to the shop shortly after their conversation ended. Madam Rekstall now stood under the awning of the vegetable stand, as she had agreed to watch the shop while Maul had gone to retrieve (y/n). “Thank the maker you’re ok,” the psychic embraced her old friend in a big embrace, “I told you I foresaw one of your deals going wrong if you kept doing business with those mobsters.” Brushing some hair out of the farmer’s hair, she could see the bruise that was forming, gifted on her cheek by the late Lysscol, “It looks like they did a number on you, but it could have been a lot worse…”

            (Y/n) ignored the pain on her face. Still in shock, she was trying to piece everything together. “Is that how Maul knew to find me? You saw it in one of your visions?” Madam Rekstall shook her head, “Oh no my dear, he was quite capable of sensing your danger without my help. I just simply took over the shop when he ran over to go save you.” (Y/n) looked over at her savior, who was now starting to pack what few vegetable crates were left. He was the once who sensed she was in danger? But how?

            Still holding the farmer in her arms, the psychic began to speak again. Yet her words would fall on deaf ears as (y/n) was still compartmentalizing everything she had just witnessed. She watched as her old friend’s mouth moved, yet she could not hear a sound. Even the sounds of Maul hastily gathering the shop, the bustle coming from the open road beside her, and all the other overwhelming sounds of the city, all became an incoherent hum. Out of all the noses that surrounded her, the only thing she could make out was the sound of a radio. Specifically, a small radio that sat on the counter of another nearby shop stand. Looking over, she could see two men standing under the awning, listening to the broadcast as well.

            ‘We're here to interrupt this program with breaking news. The war is over now! The Separatists have all been defeated by the Republic Army. Counselor Palpatine, who’s leadership has recently been extended under jurisdiction of war, has announced that with the war over, The Council will now declare a new kind of republic. One that will unite the entire galaxy under one Empire.’

            “Did you hear that?” (y/n) hear the man standing behind the shop counter ask, “the war is over now!” “Thank the maker,” the other man chimed in, “maybe this new empire will do something to clean up this slum planet.”

            Watching the scene unfold, (y/n) wanted to join the men in their enthusiasm. The end of this drawn-out war between the Republic and the Separatists should be a good thing, right? Despite how good it sounded, something inside said otherwise. She could feel her insides start to twist as shivers ran down her spine. Something deep inside told her this was wrong. Then she remembered what Victor Lysscol had said in the throne room. ‘New governments mean new business,’ could this have been what he was referring to? Either way, the unsettlement she felt within was enough to tell her the end of this war would not bring anything good…

            (Y/n) was only broken by this strange state she found herself in, by the feeling of Maul’s hand on her shoulder. During her trance-like state, Madam Rekstall must have walked away, as her hooded friend was the only one standing near her now. How long was she out?

             “We can’t stay any longer. If we do not leave this town, it will only be a matter of time until they find us.” The sharpness in his voice reminded her of the paramount of the situation they were in. Grounding back into reality, she realized he was right. Nodding her head in agreement to the Zabrak, (y/n) headed over to the wagon to help pack what was left.

            Madam Rekstall now watched as the two quickly finished gathering their things. Folding one of her sets of arms, she started, “Do you have a plan on how to defend yourselves if they come for you out there on the plains?” (Y/n) was already mounting her jumper, getting ready to make their escape. Shaking off the eerie feeling of what she just experienced, she tried to compose back to her usual self.

            “You know I have one of the best security systems on this planet. Lysscol’s men know it too. If they even have the Reek balls to try to take us on, then they won’t make it back in one peace.” Rekstall rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to Maul who had taken his place among the few crates that were left in the wagon. “Please take care of her out there. I haven’t seen any harm coming your guy’s way. Please don’t prove me wrong.”

            Maul looked over at (y/n) who was now starting the jumper. She would have died if he had not interfered. Yet now that the Crymorah Syndicate knew that she was connected to him, their grievance with the young farmer may only get worse. It was clear to him now, that in his current situation, he would be incapable of controlling the different crime families. If they were willing to betray him and disobey his orders, then his association with (y/n) meant they would stop at nothing to kill them both. ‘It’s her fault for getting herself into this mess,’ he thought to himself. Yet despite how much he tried to pass on the responsibility in his head, he could not deny the fact that she had been the only person to help him since he crashed on this planet. The causation to the state they found themselves seemed irrelevant as he felt it was his duty to protect her now. Over the sounds of the jumper engine starting, he insured, “I promise, no harm will come to her.”

            The farmer pulled the jumper and attached wagon out of their parking space. Looking over at the psychic, (y/n) called over, “Thank you for watching over the shop! I owe you one.” As the jumper began to pull away, Madam Rekstall called back, “Just be safe out there,” she waved an arm, “and may the force be with you!”

            The force? Her bike was already too far away to ask why her old friend had given her such a strange farewell. Weaving through the populated streets, (y/n) made her way out of the city. After some much careful driving between the hordes people, the pair had made it out. As tall clay buildings turned into flat grasslands, (y/n) felt that they had made their getaway. With the city behind them, she was able to pick up some speed on the open road. With fewer crates than they had that morning, they were able to move faster than before. It would not be long until the two would be home, and safe.

            Unknown to (y/n) and Maul, only moments after they left, two men on speeders arrived at the shop stand they had been selling at. They wore mixed armor like the guards in the throne den had, yet more time had been put into their garb to attempt to make it look coherent. They did not say for long; once it was obvious that their targets had escaped, they got back on their bikes and headed toward the city outskirts. Madam Rekstall could only watch the scene unfold without gaining the attention of the armed men. Sitting in her fabricated chair, she smoked her pipe, attempting to not show interest in the guard’s inquisition. Only after the men left, did the psychic feel that it was safe to mutter to herself, “May the force keep them safe.”

**************

            Only when they were out in the fields of grasslands was (y/n) able to gather herself. As long blades of pale blue grass were pushed away from the velocity of her speeder, the last hour that had unfolded replayed in her mind. The farmer understood that arms dealing with the Orkaron Mafia was a dangerous job. Just getting her hands on the various bits of blasters and armor had almost cost her life a few times. Yet out on a small planet such as this one, she could only sell as many vegetables as there were mouths to feed. She was always just one bad growing season from not being able to make a sustainable income.  Her immoral and hazardous situation was not blind to her, but the need to eat and stay warm at night was overwhelming on a planet such as this.

             Glancing over her shoulder, she could see Maul was alert as he sat in the back of the wagon. ‘Strange’ has been a term she had used to describe her new housemate over this past week. Now she was now beginning to see there was much more to him. It felt almost haunting now, to have had someone stay with her for a week and know so little about them. Yet right when she was about to be executed, he came in and took on a whole syndicate base, all by himself.

             Executed… it really was a close call. Too close to (y/n)’s liking. It had been a long time since she had been in a situation where she had so little control. Danger was something she was used to. Yet each encounter she had out on this lawless planet, she always managed to have the upper hand. Yet today she was rendered powerless and was almost put down like an old Fathier. Helpless, it made her feel helpless. Tears that formed in her eyes were pushed to the sides of her face by the air that brushed against her vehicle. She had built this life of independence so that she would not need anyone’s help. Yet she would be dead now if it were not for Maul. It was not that she wasn't grateful to him, she just hated the feeling. ‘Helpless,’ the word repeated in her head again. A dreadful feeling, she had not felt in a long time. Not since she…

             “Incoming,” Maul roared, waking her out of her thoughts. Over her shoulders, (y/n) could see two speeders behind them and getting closer by the second. The wagon was already slowing them down enough as it was, but as the bikes got rapidly closer, it became apparent that their speeders had been altered, allowing them to move even faster for occasions such as this. Once they were in firing distance, blaster shots started flying past the escaping pair, nearly hitting.

            Maul was now standing in the back of the wagon, red sabers in hand he deflected the blasts as they came towards them. His deflections were flawless, yet the riders exhibited their maneuvering abilities; dodging each bullet that flew back. As they moved out of the way of the returning shots, Maul took the opportunity and turned to warn (y/n), “They're gaining on us! If we don’t do something soon, they may get close enough to crash the speeder!”

             (Y/n) looked around the empty lands. There had to be something that could help them. That is when she saw it, off in the distance she could see her farm coming into view. They were almost to safety, she just had to make it there before their new ‘friends’ could catch them. “Hang on!” she called, as she pushed full throttle toward the hut.

             The sounds of an overworked engine filled the space around them. With a slight jerk, the speeder gained speed, using all its power to carry their weight and the wagon with it. Despite their increase in speed, the riders managed to still get closer. Maul kept his balance as he continued to block the basters coming at them. “(Y/n), we need to do something fast! It’s too easy for them to overpower us at this rate!”

             (Y/n) called back to them between shots, “Can your saber cut though the wagon hitch?” “Of course!” Maul called back. “Good, I need you to get on the back of my bake, and when I tell you, cut the wagon.”

             In between the breaks of defecting shots, Maul took a glance towards the front of the speeder. The farm he had come to know was now in view. A few kilometers in front of it, he could see the familiar blinking lights hidden in the grass. (Y/n)’s plan was starting to make sense. Without hesitation he made his way to the speeder.

             If Maul were anything like the legendary Jedi she had heard about, she figured that he would have no problem getting from the wagon to the attached speeder at these speeds. What she did not expect was for Maul to do so while still managing to stand. Just as he did in the wagon, he was now balancing on the back seat of the speeder, waving both ends of his saber around as he continued to block blast as they came their way.

             There was no time to question how he was capable of any of this. The faint blinking posts were coming close at a rapid speed. (Y/n) knuckles grew lighter over the throttle as every bit of energy the engine could handle was headed right to it. It was only a few meters away when she changed her trajectory. Dropping all speed, she took a hard turn to the left. As the speeder spun around, she now faced the riders, who used to be right behind them, coming at them at full speed.

             “Now!” she called. Just as effortless as Maul had cut her cuffs back in the throne room, it only took one sweep to release the wagon from its confines. As (y/n) continued to spin, the velocity sent the wagon flying in off in a distance, away from the chaos. Free from the weight of the wagon, the speeder had almost completed a full spin.

            In sync with (y/n)’s unspoken plan, Maul maneuvered himself to a sitting position for what was about to happen next. With full speed, (y/n) now took off to the right, as the riders were almost in grabbing distance from them. Yet at their speed, they were unable to recorrect in time to follow. As their speeders continued to drive forward, the two grads went straight into the mine fields.

            The last that would be seen of the riders was a series of explosions that only consumed a small section of the vast planes. Dust and flames filled the area where they had detonated one of the many hidden landmines. Even on hovering speeders, the pressure from the anti-gravity converters was enough to set them off. (Y/n) stopped and turned the bike so they could watch the spectacle. Though Maul was used to this kind of excitement, here on this humble planet, it seemed so out of place. As for (y/n), she was just relieved that her home security came in handy when they needed it.

            When the flames died down, (y/n) drove over to the control pad she had used earlier that morning. Stopping the bike, the farmer got off the speeder and hit the switch. Buurrrrr the sound rang around them. Maul took the opportunity to stand up and address the young woman after such an encounter. “Very impressive strategy,” Maul complemented, “these traps really are excellently placed. I can now see how you’ve been able to take on so many…”

            (Y/n) was faced away from him, but Maul could sense something was wrong. “(Y/n)?” The young farmer turned towards him; arms wrapped around herself as she was beginning to cry. Maul was shocked. Usually, she was so composed. So cocky. Yet here in this moment she was… vulnerable. Had today been too much for her?

            Too much it was indeed. Waves of emotions flowed over (y/n) like an overwhelming sea. She did everything in her power to keep herself together, but after everything that had happened today. Being captured, almost dying, Maul saving her, and now this chase; it became too much to contain as tears began to fall from her face.

            She did not want to be seen like this, especially not by Maul. He had already seen her chained to the floor and beaten, and then this? Clenching her eyes shut, she wanted to disappear into the tall grasses. ‘Helpless,’ the words flooded her mind as the dreaded feeling crept in again.

            Yet, before the feeling could travel in her any farther, a warm sensation surrounded her. Opening her eyes, black cloth surrounded her as Maul began to hold her in his arms. His body felt slightly awkward, as if he had never given anyone a hug before. However, his arms around her were enough to make her start to cry even more. Barring herself further into the layers of black fabric, she released the feelings that had been overflowing inside.

            With everything that had happened, one thing in particular came to mind. Something that, for unknown reasons, (y/n) felt crucial to tell Maul. Between sobs she spoke, “In the market… there was a radio broadcast…” Maul pulled his head back a bit so that he could look at (y/n). Her face was a mess, as her (y/hc) was glued to her face and her (y/ec) eyes shimmered behind tears. “On the station. They said the war was over… that the counselor was declaring an empire…”

            Maul’s facial expressions showed how shocked he was by her statement. As much as she wanted to enquiry on his thoughts on the matter, her feelings only continued to come out even more. Crying harder now, she continued, “I don’t know why, but when I heard the news… with everything else happening… it’s supposed to be good news, but all I can feel is fear and dread when…”

            (Y/n)’s words became more incoherent as she began to cry more. ‘The force must be very strong with her,’ Maul though, ‘if she was able to see through Sidiou’s plans; even if she did not understand what she was sensing.’ The young farmer was now uncontrollably weeping in his arms. Maul was honestly a little envious at (y/n). He could feel how difficult this was for her, but to openly cry the way she was, took a kind of strength he felt he did not have.

            Seeing as she was barely able to hold herself up, Maul picked up the smaller woman and carried her in his arms towards the farm. If she wanted to fight him on the matter, but she was too exhausted to do so. As he continued to carry her, (y/n) tears started to subside as she was starting to fall asleep in his arms. “Rest,” Maul gave the gentle command. The sun was beginning to set in the horizon, revealing the two moons that were now hovering over the farm he walked towards. “Close your eyes for now, for there is so much for you to learn.”

[maximumsnow]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Therapy with Dr. Albert Krueger (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Albert Kreuger & Taylor Lee Characters: Albert Kreuger, Taylor Lee Additional Tags: Emphasis on the platonic for that relationship tag btw, Second person POV, Viewpoint character is Albert, Probably an AU since I don't think Taylor specified having a bad relationship with their parents, Actually definitely an AU anyway since it involves messing with what Albert is, Random idea that hit me in the wee hours of the morning have fun

Summary: Taylor's friendship has been an anchor in your life, so when they go missing, you're determined to figure out what happened.

When you couldn’t find their dream, you weren’t worried. Sometimes they wanted privacy, and even though you could barge in, you didn’t want to wear out your welcome or betray their trust.

However, when this continued for over a week, you were… concerned. They usually let you know if they needed an extended break from your visits.

Usually, they enjoyed the talks, and even though you no longer had to pretend to be a therapist, they still liked talking out their issues with you. A lot of them menial, and they only wanted an ear to commiserate with.

It was nice. Having a full conversation with another person, and helping a young person work through their issues with college reminded you of better times. You could speak from experience, and they often appreciated the advice.

It wasn’t all serious either, they would often get you going on topics involving marine life, and even though their expression rarely changed, they never told you to stop. Sometimes they would tell you stories about what their classmates would get up to when the professor wasn’t looking, and you would counter with your own adventures.

They hadn’t said anything in the last visit or in any other method of communication, and after two weeks of no contact, you finally decided to go to their residence. You had the address, but given the convenience of the dream visits, it wasn’t something you used often.

Of course you knocked politely and waited at first.

You waited until one of their neighbors told you the news.

They left with their parents and some other people, and no one had seen them since.

Your heart dropped. One topic you had bonded over was that you both didn’t have the highest of opinions on your respective parents.

They had given you a key. “Just in case I lock mine in.” And hoping that maybe they left a note or something, you used it.

The apartment was a total wreck. Even more than clutter or messiness that comes with a lived in space. It looked like someone had torn the place apart.

There wasn’t a need to keep up the aloof smile, and it had faded the moment you walked in.

You still didn’t want to dig through their belongings like a nosy parent, but the horror of the situation was gripping your chest.

You didn’t find a note from them. But you did find the pamphlet.

NO.

If it wasn’t for the fact that this was their home, you would have let your powers explode. White hot anger wanted to make itself known, and the vague dislike you once held for their parents blossomed into full blown hatred.

After carefully re-locking the door and ensuring the windows were secured, you slipped into the world of dreams. With a better idea of where to look, you wrangled a few of the dream eaters into helping.

They had grown fond of them as well, and the missing presence had given everyone no small amount of worry.

However, despite your lead, they were nowhere to be found.

What you did find disgusted and horrified you even through the veil of dreams and nightmares.

You denied being a demon back when they first asked you, but if they were to ask you now, you weren’t sure how true that was anymore.

The only survivors were others who had been dragged there like you assumed Taylor had been.

But they weren’t there. From the others, you finally managed to get that someone had escaped a few days ago. The name given was not theirs, but the vague physical description sounded about right. Given the nature of the “camp,” you had a feeling that the name had been forced on them.

Hunting a human through the woods would normally be impossible, but you had the benefit of sensing the dreams of those who could possess them. The trail was old, but at least it was still there.

You followed it for a long while. You were impressed by their sheer tenacity before, but seeing it in action was something else entirely.

It didn’t curb your fears, though. They were just one person, and it was very easy for people to die when this far from civilization. Especially since they never mentioned much about enjoying hiking or camping before.

You felt their presence long before you actually found them. They must have fallen asleep.

While you were relieved that they must be alive, there wasn’t any indication of their current condition, and it could go wrong so very fast. Some people never woke up, after all.

You tried to slip into their dream, but you were quickly and violently rebuffed.

What did they do to them? You couldn’t help but wonder. They never reacted this strongly to your presence.

Did they even know it was you?

Deciding that you didn’t want to scare them any more than they probably were, you stopped the attempt and slipped into the material realm again.

They had to be close.

The way you found them was the quiet breathing of a dreamer. You had to admit that the way they were hidden was incredibly clever, and if you weren’t so attuned to dreams, you might not have found them.

You weren’t sure how to wake them. Touching them right now might end poorly, and they clearly didn’t want anyone else in their dreams.

Well, they did say that your voice was calming.

You called their name a few times. Thankfully, no one else was around to hear how desperate you sounded after a few repeats.

After a groan, they opened their eyes, and nearly shot back into the hole they had hidden themselves in. Their eyes were wide with terror as they told you to stay away.

Carefully, like trying to coax a cat, you settled down on the ground and spoke to them quietly. Gently.

After a few seconds of this, they finally woke up enough to recognize you. You certainly stuck out with the bright pink clothing, and the workers at that horrible place didn’t wear anything quite so vibrant.

They called your name instead of the nickname they had settled into.

You didn’t expect them to lunge at you and nearly knock you over.  Normally, they weren’t prone to emotional outbursts. But they were clearly overwhelmed with everything, and a friendly face set them over the edge.

You promised that they were safe, and after a few seconds, you returned the embrace. They needed the comfort of another person, even if they normally kept to themself.

It was amazing how much they reminded you of your old friend, but they were so very, very different on this front.

You promised yourself to not let them suffer alone.

[bandaged-writer]

hcs for ranpo, dazai, akutagawa, and kunikida having a s/o with ptsd and a service dog, please? how would they react to rude / pushy people. Would dazai and aku try to hide their dislike of dogs. (I think watching YouTube videos by people with PTSD and service dogs are good and reliable resources. I like "service dogs & ptsd!" by "it's us" as a reference if you're interested! And you can ditch the ptsd part of you're uncomfortable; they could have a service dog for another reason.) Thank you! ❤️

Here you go, nonnie! <3 I’ve written these headcanons based on research and not actual experience, but please let me know if something is inaccurate or hurts you and I’ll take action immediately. 

Warnings: PTSD

Ranpo Edogawa

➤ He’s the one who has the most fun with your dog. Always cuddles the ball of fur, plays with him and sneaks him some treats whenever you’re not looking. Of course, Ranpo knows that your service dog isn’t there for entertainment purposes and also treats him like some kind of colleague since it’s the dog’s duty to make sure you’re safe and feel at ease.

➤ “You may be good at your job, but you’ll never be as great as me!”

➤ “Ranpo, he’s a dog.”

➤ In conclusion: trusts your dog but not as much as he trusts the safe with his candy in it. After all, a dog can eat your candy while a safe won’t do such a thing.

➤ Your dog adapted to Ranpo relatively fast considering his laid back nature and the self-confidence he radiates. At first, your dog was a bit wary of Ranpo getting too close to you and might have fixed his gaze on the man, but that quickly faded away and your dog loves getting his belly rubbed by the detective. He’s just a dog, after all ok.

➤ Ranpo knows what sets you on edge, makes you anxious or causes you to have flashbacks or relive parts of the trauma you’d rather forget. He tries avoiding places that are too crowded or could have a trigger and informs you about all the meetings you couldn’t attend.

➤ If you go to therapy, Ranpo will go with you, despite his occasional whining. That man could be wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito, whine something like “But [Name], it’s so cozy in here! Just reschedule or tell your therapist to come over!” but always ends up accompanying you if you want him to. 

➤ If you don’t go to therapy, then Ranpo will accept your decision. There’s no point in forcing you to go if you don’t want to. However, he’s always there if you need to talk about what happened and tries offering you some kind of advice on how to deal with situations or certain people.

➤ If someone makes a rude remark about you or your dog, Ranpo will reply with the same energy. “Wow, I didn’t know such stupidity can legally walk around.” He doesn’t take shit from anyone, especially if you’re in a vulnerable state at that very moment.

Dazai Osamu

➤ Dazai isn’t that bewitched by your dog and doesn’t hide his dislike about your companion either, but Dazai understands that you need your dog and learns to live with it. He still teases the dog for shits n giggles whenever you’re not around, though.

➤ Chances are your dog and Dazai kicked it off on bad terms. With Dazai being super clingy, all over you and sometimes a bit hyper, your dog could’ve thought that Dazai could make you uncomfortable or even trigger you at times, but your dog quickly learns that Dazai poses no threat and is actually helping you.

➤ Takes care of your dog when you’re sick, but only does the most necessary things like taking him for a walk, getting food and water ready and the likes. Sometimes, you can hear him arguing with the dog from the bedroom:“What do you mean you don’t wanna eat your food? You ate it when [Name] made it yesteday, you can’t fool me!”

➤ As much as Dazai dislikes dogs, he’s thankful that you got your dog by your side whenever he’s out on a case or the likes. He knows the dog will protect you and make you feel much calmer.

➤ Dazai is aware that PTSD isn’t visible to the human eye like a broken leg, but the switch within him flips whenever someone is rude towards you or drops a snide remark and draws an obvious reaction from you. “You might wanna repeat what you said if you don’t want to witness the next sunrise,” Dazai would say with an empty smile that doesn’t reach his eyes at all. 

➤ Always there for you. You can call him, text him or spill your guts to him whenever you feel the need to and Dazai won’t complain one bit - even if it’s in the middle of the night. That man has also witnessed horrors early on in his life and knows how it affects one’s mental and emotional health, so he doesn’t want you to go through it alone.

➤ Holds you extra tight after a specifically bad nightmare or stays up with you and tells you about the time your dog deadass ran into the door if insomnia is kicking your ass.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

➤ Is also pretty open about his dislike towards dogs. No matter if that dog is merely a pet or a trained service dog - dog is dog.

➤ Akutagawa is very observant and quickly learns what your dog means by certain actions. Such as circling you is signaling others that they’re getting too close or when his snout is nudging your palm, he wants to get you out of tense situations. Maybe that dog does have the brains to take care of you.

➤ The two of them aren’t great friends. Akutagawa doesn’t like the dog and vice versa. It’s like they’re tolerating one another only because you’re always around and ready to scold both. Imagine Akutagawa being scolded by you tho-

➤ God have mercy on anyone who crosses your guys’ path and makes a rude remark. Akutagawa is very protective over you and doesn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone, but it’s even worse when such things are directed towards you who can’t really do anything about their condition. “You’re so disgusting that not even Rashoumon would want to tear you apart.”

➤ As tough as he is on the outside, Akutagawa cares a lot about you. On especially bad days, he will attempt to cook your favorite dish but ends up ordering takeout. Hands down, Aku isn’t one to cook often and when he does, it’s probably something very basic that won’t need a lot of preparation time. You do appreciate the thought and effort nevertheless.

➤ Advice or assurance from him is sometimes a bit harsh, but these are words you very likely need to hear and not want to hear. “Are you at fault that xy happened to you? No, so stop blaming yourself for it.” Akutagawa means well though, and honestly, it’s his actions that show that he doesn’t mean to be harsh towards you.

➤ It’s when he holds your hand when you’re anxious or lets you talk about your nightmares without interrupting you. It’s accepting your dog’s constant presence without kicking the poor thing out or trying to avoid possible triggers. Honestly, Aku is more of a action person than word person.

Kunikida Doppo

➤ You know those dads that say that they didn’t want a dog but end up being friends anyway? Yeah, that’s Kunikida and your dog. At first, Kunikida only sees your dog as a worker of society, but the more time he spends with your companion, the more attached he gets. Kunikida never admits it out loud though.

➤ The thing that really gets on Kunikida’s nerves is the fur. The amount of fur sticking to his clothes and yours sometimes drive him nuts - especially when it’s time for your dog to shed or thicken his fur. “One day, I’ll end up looking like your dog, [Name].”

➤ Since your dog is trained to read your emotions, Kunikida trusts the four-legged creature 100%. After all, it’s similar to a service for blind people, people with anxiety disorders, etc. He leaves for work more peacefully, knowing that your dog guides you through the day and watches out for you when Kunikida can’t.

➤ Has all your triggers written down in his book as well as how to avoid them and ease your anxiety about them. Kunikida has done lots of research on how to support people suffering from PTSD, the causes, symptoms and even directly asked you on how to help you. 

➤ Encourages you to go to therapy if you aren’t doing it already. Kunikida would never force you to see a therapist, but he thinks it’s in your best interest to do so and even offers to accompany you if it helps you in any way.

➤ Doesn’t mind losing a few hours of sleep because you suffer from a nightmare or insomnia. He’ll hear you out for as long as you need him to, but he might actually fall asleep on you, depending on how exhausting the day had been. 

➤ Much like Aku, Kunikida quickly learns the language of your dog and writes it down. Whenever your dog gives off certain signals, Kunikida watches out for the distance people are keeping, possible triggers or you yourself in general. He’s very thankful for your dog picking up your emotional well-being much faster than he ever could.

[liibrii]

Chapter 3: In the light, your name

Ojiro Aran x fem!reader

Series Masterpost || Ch. 1 || Ch. 2

wc: 4.7k

warnings: time skip spoilers, swearing, internalised guilt and shame, intrusive thoughts, self doubt, drinking.

a/n: this only took forever cause I got carried away (what a surprise). if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated! 

A step forward, two steps back. Like a dance, just like his mother taught him, dancing and laughing back home, only this dance holds no joy, only cruel turns and twirls and your hand slipping from his as fate whisks you away.

“One Ace special coming up!“ Osamu places a plate of freshly made onigiris in front of Aran. They look amazing, as if taken directly out of one of those fancy cooking books. The practice had been especially gruelling that day and yet Aran has no appetite. All he wants is to go home and sleep. He would have, if Gao hadn't dragged him to the newly opened Tokyo branch of Onigiri Miya.

More out of politeness than really being hungry he takes a bite. It's good, much better than ones he remembers Osamu bringing to practice. “Woah, this is tasty!“

Osamu practically beams at Aran's praise. Even he has changed, notices Aran. Has he grown a little? The grey of his hair is gone, and he smiles so much more. Aran doesn't remember ever seeing him so talkative.

Has everyone changed so much while he wasn't paying attention?

While chewing he pulls phone from his bag, in some silly hope there'd be a message from you. But the screen is empty and seeing his screensaver is almost a mocking to his hopes. What else did he expect? People don't always mean what they say, but a storm doesn't mean to blow away roofs either.

Lost in his thoughts Aran barely takes notice when Gao says his goodbye and other customers slowly start leaving.

Osamu closes the shop then places two more cans of beer on the counter. Without much enthusiasm Aran opens the can and pours the fizzling liquid into a glass. Which drink was it, third? Fourth? For a moment he considers telling Osamu everything. About you, how he feels and how he screwed up. Just to get it out there. But Aran knows Osamu talks to Atsumu, and Atsumu never learned what keeping a secret means. So he blames his sour mood on practice.

 Even if Aran was a good liar Osamu'd see through his little ticks. They've been the same ever since elementary school and so obvious; the nervous scratching of his nails, rubbing of his neck. Ever since he'd grown a beard he added rubbing it to the list.

“I should probably get goin',“ says Aran before downing half the glass in one long gulp.

“What's a few more minutes?“ Osamu doesn't bother pouring his beer. “I'll clean up later. Don't have any other plans anyway.“

A low chuckle leaves Aran's lips. “Life goin' that good, yeah?”

“Could say that. Could be far worse. How about ya?“

Aran massages his temples. He's getting light headed and still he takes another long sip. “Like ya said, could be far worse. Had a rough couple weeks. Women, ya know?“

Osamu hums and nods, wisely. “Women. Got dumped, did ya?“

“In a way...“

“What happened, did ya forget her birthday or somethin'?“

Aran laughs. Oh no, he knows exactly when your birthday is. “Said somethin' stupid.“

“Just somethin'? If she gets upset so fast then maybe she's trouble.“

“Wasn't like that. She trusted me and I... had a bad day and took it out on her.“

Osamu takes an onigiri Aran hasn't touched yet. “Have ya apologised?“ He asks with his mouth full. “Should start with that,“ he continues after Aran shakes his head, “treat her to dinner. I know some good restaurants if ya want. Or better, cook somethin' yerself.“ He opens the browser on his phone. “What's her favorite food?“

Aran tells him. “Whichever recipe ya find I can tell ya right now I can't cook it.“

“I found a few even Tsumu can make,“ laughs Osamu still scrolling through his phone. “What's she like? More into fancy stuff or more homey? Fried rice's easy but not very fancy, more of a safe bet. Maybe with an omelette. I can show ya how to make it to look like a panda. Success guaranteed!“

“How can omelette look like a panda? It's yellow.“ 

“A yellow bear then,“ Osamu shruggs before putting away his phone. “Does she like bears?“

“Does- I ain't sure...“

“Ya don't know?“

“No! Why would I? Is that what ya ask folk ya take on dates?“

“Usually I ask what they think about apple curry.“

“I don't think she likes apple curry... Or maybe she does...“ He gloomily stares at the empty glass in front of him. “Gimme one more.“

Osamu obliges and pours him one more, deciding this is the last one for him. Aran's eyes are getting glassy and he dreamily observes the white foam before downing half the glass.

“We went down to the Kamakura beach,” he says, scratching at his immaculate fingernails. “She looked s' pretty in the sunset... She likes sunsets... I think. Ain't sure 'bout anythin' these days.“

“Everyone likes sunsets,“ nods Osamu. “Never trust people who don't like seein' sunsets. I'm tellin' ya, buy her some udon. Or bring her here, I'll give ya a special discount.“

Aran bursts into laughter. “He'll know then...“ Osamu leans his head to the side, wondering what his old teammate meant by that. “She's ex of a friend.“

“Ow,“ is all Osamu says. That explains everything. You don't date a friends' ex. “Sorry. She sounds great.“

“Yeah, yeah she is... Kinda almost like a whasit's called again, kotatsu? Warm...“ He's just blabbering now, his mind a hazy labyrinth of disconnected thoughts. He misses you, he misses you so bad, and he fucked up, and he doubts cooking you a dinner would repair the damage he's done. Once it would be pretty easy to bribe you with the right snacks but you've changed. You've changed so much he still fears he doesn't know you at all. “Hey Samu? Hav' I changed?“

“Yea? I doubt the old Aran-kun wouldda come to me for advice.“

Corners of Aran's lips perk up. Why is his glass empty? “Yer a good guy ‘Samu. Can ya call me a taxi? I've got practice t'morrow.“

He has to stop visiting Onigiri Miya on the evenings Aran thinks on another morning after drinking and talking with Osamu till late night hours. The cool breeze of the early morning hours is refreshing but isn't doing anything to ease the hammering in his head. Sky without a cloud promises the day to be sunny and hot. Aran's just glad he found his sunglasses ad that the gym has air conditioning.

There's a distant ringing in his ears. Ringing that doesn't stop and causes other people on the train to send him sideway looks. It's because his phone is ringing but he's too focused on trying not to throw up to notice. He only does so once he's walking the short walk from the train station to the gym. Seeing your name over the 'missed call' almost makes him drop the phone. He calls you back, frantically tapping his fingers on his arm, hoping you'll pick up. You don't.

The sun is too bright. Pouring rain would be more appropriate to his mood. Aran's glad he can hide from the warm rays inside the gym. No matter his mood volleyball always takes his mind off things, and even now he hopes it will help him see things more clearly. The thought of you has become a wind chime, singing at every little thing that makes him think of you. Staying focused on the ball in front of him is harder than expected. But first and foremost he's a professional volleyball player with a new season just around the corner. He can't let his team, his fans down. Since your first year of high school you've been his supporter too. He can't let you down.

When his phone rings again he’s in the middle of receiving drills and this call too goes unanswered. Instead your message waits for him.

           (9. 45) Aran are u free this Sunday? the shrine down the street is holding a festival. wanna come?  

A wide smile spreads over his face. He's more than happy to come he writes back, his smile spreading even wider when only a few moments later you text him place and time.

“Ojiro what are you looking at?“ Gao peers over his shoulder and Aran quickly puts his phone away.

“Nothin'“

“Nothing, ey? Does the nothing have a name?“

Aran rolls his eyes and heads for the showers, ignoring the teasing laughter of his teammates. Honestly, he's too excited to see you to care.

Aran glances on his phone to check the time. Five more minutes and he'll be only ten minutes early. He kicks the small stone form the pavement onto the road. Then he straightens his shirt. Maybe this colour wasn't the right choice after all, maybe you would've liked the red one better. Once in passing Akagi said red looked good on him. He sends you a short message, letting you know he's already here.

Minutes later he catches the sight of your figure manoeuvring between visitors flocking towards the many stands. “Sorry, I got worried all the best mochi'd sell out,“ you apologise, pointing to plate full of different kinds of mochi in your hand. “Samu isn't here yet?“

“No.“ His heart clenches. He didn't even think about the possibility of you inviting anyone else. “He's probably just late,“ he quickly adds, “let me call him.“

“Always late,“ you complain, “tell him I got his mochi but if he doesn't appear soon I'll just eat them myself. Want one?“

He declines the sweet and you shrug. While he waits for Osamu to pick up he avoids looking at you. The call goes unanswered. “I'll send him a message.“

“Tell him every minute he's late is a free onigiri,“ you mumble, your mouth full of delicious mochi. “And he's paying for drinks. I saw a stand with soya smoothies up the street. And a stand with takoyaki.“

“Have ya mapped out all the food stands?“ chuckles Aran.

“Well you know Samu, food is his best motivator. You sure you don't want one?“

He gives in and takes the matcha one. He watches with a fond smile as you stuff an entire mochi in your mouth.

“What?“ you mumble when you catch him staring.

“Ya look like a hamster.“

You roll your eyes in an effort to cover the smile creeping on your face. “Very funny. How's life?“

“It's fine,“ he nods, awkwardly.

“Good.“

“Yeah.“ He rubs his chin. The beard is getting a little long. He glances over at you. He should say something. But what? “I'm really sorry about what I said,“ he finally utters. “I do care. About you.“

“We all say things we don't mean, right?“ The soft look in your eyes makes his throat tighten. He hurt you and yet here you are. Reaching out, again. “It's all water under the bridge. Besides, I really missed hanging out with you. So, where do ya wanna go?“

“Shouldn't we wait for Osamu?“

“Nah. It's his fault for being late, he'll find us. And he better buy us those smoothies. Want one more mochi? You should really try the chocolate one, it's amazing.“

Never again. Aran doesn't want to see you hurt ever again.

The festival is crowded, which is to be expected in Tokyo, and he keeps an eye out for you. The last thing he wants is to lose you somewhere in the sea of people. He stays close, quietly delighting in seeing your excitement over different attractions of the festival. A few times your hand brushes against his, sending a shiver down his spine.

Osamu never shows up, messaging about an hour later he got stuck at work, promising you both as many onigiri as you'd like the next time you come around Onigiri Miya. “A shame. I was hoping to hang out with him while he's still in Tokyo.“

“He'll have time in the future,“ says Aran, doing his best to ignore the pang of jealousy in his chest.

“Probably. But will there be fresh soya smoothie for him to treat me to?“

Aran buys you the smoothie you so crave, grinning upon seeing your excitement. You walk around the festival grounds and from time to time he steals sips of your smoothie. You pout and nag he should buy one for himself but don't stop him. 

As night falls you search for a good place to watch the fireworks from. Just after they start Aran puts his hand on the small of your back to gently push you forward so you'd see better. But you don't budge and he bumps into you, his chest to your back. The sounds of festival fade, as if the crowd disappeared and all that remains is you, looking at him, fireworks reflecting in your eyes. The softness of your gaze causes his heart to do somersaults. You snicker and flick his nose.

Tease, he thinks and tickles you. He wishes he could properly put his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder. He wishes he was here as more than just your friend. He wishes he alone would be enough of a reason for you to always have the same soft look in your eyes.

But if Kita, the perfect Kita Shinsuke, Kita who knew you better than anyone wasn't enough, how could he be?

His hand lingers on your arm for a heartbeat longer. He could try, he could always love you with all he has and hope you'd love him back, hope he could be enough. But if he failed... he'd only hurt you more, wouldn't he? And you've been hurt enough.

During lunch break his phone rings and his hearts jumps, hoping it's you. But instead Osamu's name is written over the screen. A bit disappointed Aran picks up.

“Aran-kun whatcha doin' this Saturday?“ Not even a'hello'. So many years and still so rude.

“Practice till afternoon, then watchin' a movie.“

“Amazin'! Want some company?“

A boys' night out? Why not? It would be nice to spend some time with someone who wasn't his teammate. “'Course.“

Osamu laughs. “Knew ya would. I happen to know someone interested in a blind date. I'll tell her to meet ya at the cinema.“

“What? Osamu I'm not really one for blind dates-“

“The ex of a friend. She's Kita-san' ex, isn't she?“ Aran's silence is an answer enough. “Ya asked me for advice. This is it, go out, try meetin' someone else. Whatever you want to have with her it won't end well.“

Aran knows. He knows all that. He knows you returning his feelings would be the worst case scenario. Sooner or later he'd have to tell Kita. “I know,“ he says. “I know that.“

Osamu doesn't answer immediately, waiting if Aran will add anything else. “Just go on this one date, see how it goes.“

“I'll think about it.“

He does think about it. The entire day in fact. Meeting someone new would be nice and who knows, she might be the one he's waiting for. A part of him, the guilty part that's been way too loud in the past weeks, stays firmly against the idea. Searching for the right one when you're right here. What if this blind date is just a crazy fan who somehow found her way to meeting him? And what about you, it asks? It would be cruel wouldn't it, leading you on while going on dates behind your back.

But he isn't leading you on, Aran argues with the voice inside his head, you're just a friend anyway. He cares about you yes, but only as a really good friend. Osamu is right, you should never be more than that. You're Kita's ex. And you don't date your friend's ex. So why break his heart further?

           (17.48) I'll go on the date. send me time and place.

That's the thing about making plans, the moment you make them something else comes up. Just the following day his phone rings, making his heart flutter when he sees your name.

“Hey.“ Your voice alone makes him smile. “I, uhm, I have a request.“

No beating around the bush. It makes Aran wonder if you've been hanging with Osamu so much you picked up his habits. “Oh, do ya?“

“Yeah. It’s is a bit awkward... Listen, I have a very important exam next week but my roommate's gonna have her boyfriend over for the entire weekend. Let's just say earplugs aren't helping and leave it at that, yeah? So, could I maybe crash at your place till then? I just need a quiet place to study. I can sleep on the couch! Or the floor, I really don't care!“

“'Course ya can,“ says Aran without hesitation.

This is how we finds himself sitting with a bunch of your notes in his lap, you leaning on his back explaining one of the questions. There are at least 4 empty mugs on the desk of his living room. He hopes you've left some coffee for breakfast.

He's amazed by how naturally you fit into his life. Almost like the space beside his shoes in the closet was meant for yours and the jacket hanging beside his was always meant to be there. You've even found your favourite mug already. The bedroll on the floor of the living room is the only reminder you're only crashing at his place for a couple of days. If you asked he'd let you stay longer.

The next morning you wake up the same time as him, sipping your first cup of coffee for the day, half asleep and draped in the hoodie he strategically left on the counter last night. You don't even raise a brow when he takes your phone and asks you to unlock it. “I'll send ya a playlist. Just some classical music. It's good for studyin'.“

“Sure,“ you answer in a groggy voice. “Have fun bouncing the ball around,“ you wave him off when he gets ready to leave.

Your sleepy face makes him smile for the rest of the day. Practice runs longer than usual and he returns late, stepping over two stairs at the time. The lights are still on when he enters but there's no answer when he calls out. He finds you behind the desk, so absorbed in your notes you don't notice his approach. When he places his hands on your shoulders you jump and shriek. “Aran!“ You remove your headphones. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?!“ He laughs and you smack his leg before he sits on the floor beside you.

“Is the material so interestin'?“ He looks over your many notes and pushes an empty mug to the edge of the table.

“I was listening to music,“ you rub your eyes. He notices they look a bit reddish. He takes your phone and clicks the play button and music continues. It only takes him a moment to recognise the piece.

“Dmitri Shostakovich, Waltz number 2. My mom's favourite. Used to dance to it with dad every Thursday.“

“That's sweet.“

He stands up and offers you his hand. “Come, ya need a break.“

You take his hand without question, only raising your brow when he places his left hand on your back. “Ya have to put your hand on my shoulder,“ he grins to your more than apparent confusion.

“Oh, right,“ you mumble. “I can't really dance you know. Not waltz at least.“

He gently holds your right hand in his and gives you a reassuring squeeze. “Don't worry, I'll teach ya. I start with my right foot forward, ya step back with yer left, yep, just like that, then my left foot forward,“ you jump in surprise when he turns you around, “and the first turn, now yer right foot forward, then left, and turn. See, it ain't hard.“

“Easy for you to say,“ you disagree, your eyes fixed on his feet and your mind preoccupied with trying not to step on his toes.

“Just follow my lead,“ grins Aran, gently pulling you a little closer.

He counts the steps and beats in his head and step after another you relax and follow his lead. All those Thursdays when dad wasn't home and mom pulled him into taking his place are finally paying off.

“I didn't know you could dance so well.“

Aran laughs at your words and gently pushes you into a twirl under his arm. “I guess there's a lot ya don't know,“ he says when he pulls you closer again. 

You follow his steps and soon begin catch on the slightest of his moves. Music changes but you don't let go so you dance on through his living room, off beat and saying quiet 'Sorry's,' every time you step on his toes. The way your brows furrow when you mess up is adorable but Aran doesn't give you the time to ponder over the mistake, pulling you into the next turn with ease and certainty of someone who has danced these steps countless times.

When the last song ends Aran leaves his hand on your back. You're so close, your hand in his. Looking and smiling at him. His eyes linger on your lips. It would take so little to close the space between you. So little that would change so much.

He pulls away.“ Do ya want tea?“

“Don't I always?“ you muse and head to put the water on, then open the cupboard but the last cups stand on the highest shelf and even on your tiptoes you can't reach them. Aran gently pushes you to the side and reaches for them. “Here.“

He pours himself a glass of water then pulls his phone out to check the time. Shit. The blind date. That's today! He glances over at you, making your tea, humming the melody of the last song you danced too. His heart drops.

What is he doing? He can't... This is getting out of control. He clenches the glass tighter. You're so close, he wouldn't even have to fully extend his arm to tap your shoulder. If, right here and now, he told you how he feels, how would you react? He lifts the glass to his lips. Probably not in the way he wants you to. A leap of faith, one that could take him anywhere. To the love of his life, he thinks watching you stir, or to the stone to shatter the friendship you both tried so hard to rebuild. A risk he doesn't have the courage to take.

The half empty glass he leaves in the sink draws your attention. You watch Aran head for the bedroom and you don't think much of it. It's his apartment, he can do what he wants. It's only when almost ten minutes pass that you decide to poke your head through the door to see what he's up to. The clothes he's wearing certainly aren't what one would wear for staying at home. “Going somewhere?“ you ask, curious as to why he's wearing a pretty alright polka dotted shirt.

“I have a date.“ He awkwardly fixes his collar. He doesn't want to meet your eyes.

There's a short silence before you answer. “A date? In this shirt?“

Your judgemental tone makes him turn. “What's wrong with this shirt?”

You scrunch up your nose. “It gives you that,“ you wiggle your fingers, “successful businessman in his forties looking for a wife vibes.“

“What's wrong with that?“

“What's wrong with-?! Aran! You're a professional athlete!“ You enter his bedroom and start looking through the closet. “Don't you get invited to fashion shows and stuff? One would expect you'd get some fashion sense purely through osmosis. Ouch!“ you yelp when he playfully smacks your shoulder. “Here, this one.“ You hand him a shirt of dark violet colour.

He takes it from your hands and inspects it. Then he hands it back. “I like this one better. And I'm runnin' late already anyway.“

You shrug and hang it back. “As you wish Mr. CEO. Wait, are you bringing your date back here?! Shit, I need to clean up my stuff.“

“Relax. I'm not bringin' anyone back. It's a blind date anyway. Ya keep studyin' alright? I'll be very disappointed if ya don't get the highest mark.“

“What do you mean a blind date? Damn, I didn't expect that from you player boy,“ you tease and it's a distraction enough for Aran to miss the forced smile.

“Osamu's idea.“

A small “Ah,“ is all you reply at first. “Get going then, being late is the worst you can be on the first date!“ You push him out of the room. “Have fun, don't say anything stupid, and don't only talk about volleyball.“

“It's not my first date y/n, gosh, stop bein' such a mom. Why are ya so excited anyway?“

“Probably too much caffeine.“

When he returns you're still up. You have two cups of tea ready before he even takes his shoes off.

“So, how was it?“ You push the cup across the table. “Come on, come on, no need to be shy,“ you grin, “tell me!“

Aran rolls his eyes at your sudden excitement. “It was nice, but nothin’ special,“ he tells you.

“Just nice?“ You tap your fingers on the table. Aran recognises the rhythm, it's one of your favourite songs. You sent it to him a few days ago. “Dating must be harder now that you're famous,“ you say, absent-mindedly. “Or is it easier?“

Before answering he takes a cracker from the bowl on the table. “Harder,“ is the answer he settles on. “Ya never know if they're attracted to ya or yer status. What about ya?“ He focuses on chewing crackers and taking small sips of tea, anything to keep from glancing at you.

“Ah you know,“ you sigh, “have enough other problems at the moment. College is messing with my head enough already. Why put another person in the mix?“ This time Aran doesn't miss how your voice trembles, and how you rub your forehead. Maybe you just have a light headache. You do look exhausted.

He changes the subject, feeling the talk of dating is quickly approaching dangerous territory. “How are ya feelin'? With studyin' and all?“

You lean on your hand. “Could be much worse. It's just a lot. Probably should have started with studying earlier.“

“But with work ya didn't even have enough time, right? Don't be too hard on yerself.“

“Actually, I quit. I thought it would help me focus on studying,“ you say upon seeing his questioning gaze.

“Ya know what will help ya study better? Some good night's sleep.“ He takes your empty cup. “I'll do the dishes, ya go ready for bed. No talkin' back,“ he points his finger to your face, “ my house, my rules. No stayin' up past midnight.“

“It's one in the morning.“

“Past time for ya to go to bed then young lady.“

After that you don't protest and before he even finishes doing the dishes you're snuggled on your bedroll and half asleep. Seeing you fills him with warmth. He could get used to this, coming home to you every night. He turns the lights off.

When he lays in his bed he wonders what's with the sinking feeling in his chest. There's anger. Why were you so excited for his date in the first place? Why did you look almost disappointed when he said it was nothing special? He hugs his pillow, thinking he'd much rather it was you in his arms. You must be soft. If only you'd be here, his nose filled with the scent of your shampoo. Teeth of shame sink in his heart. Why does he have to feel like this?

He wants you to be jealous. It's so damn childish, he knows that. It's something his teenager self felt when you hugged Kita after a game but only gave him a high five and a head pat.

How long is he going to keep lying to himself? He's in love with you. Not the you he remembers. You here and now. You sipping your fourth cup of coffee, you frantically flipping through notes wearing one of his old hoodies. That at least hasn't changed; you still steal any hoodie you can get your grabby little hands on. Not steal, he corrects himself, borrow. You borrow them. For an undetermined period of time.

He buries his face in the pillow. You're not the always cheerful manager he remembers anymore. But you are still you.

Tag list: @aonenthusiast @rosecaffelatte @kara-grayson04