#But luckily for everyone I still have some shame and dignity left in me

[kyouka-supremacy]

Finally cracked what was going through their minds in these panels

[arcadejohn127-9]

Okay, so I'm really skinny. Underweight tbh. And I'm kinda insecure about that, because I'm literary bones and skin.

Could I request Brothers dealing with some lesser demons who were laughing at MC because how small, skinny and "easy to break" they are?

All body types are valid and wonderful; just like some people can't control how much weight they put on, others can't control how much weight they can't gain. It's not always simple with body types - just look after yourself regardless of your size. Eat your 3 main meals, have small snacks or mini meals every 2-3 hours that are more healthy or if you have healthy main meals let your mini meals/snacks be unhealthy

Though too much of anything can be unhealthy so is there really a different between the types?

Also please everyone drink plenty of water even if you have to give it some flavour for it be more enjoyable!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"are you sure you're a human? You look more like a reaper to me."

Three demons surrounded you, leaning on the table as you tried to ignore them. Keeping your focus on the the worksheet Infront of you but a demon snatched your pencil.

"Hey, doesn't this remind you of Someone?" the demon laughed, pointing the pencil at you.

But they took it another step, they easily snapped the pencil in half with one hand. Throwing it back at you. You flinched away, covering your face but luckily it landed on the table.

They were all snickering. Prodding at your arms and sides. You squirmed away from them and slapped their hands.

"leave me alone..."

A different male demon grabbed your wrist, inspecting your slim wrist.

"hey don't grab them like that, you might break them! I mean look at them, they're bone!" The female demon mocked concern.

"Aw come on~ can't handle a few jokes? Humans really are weak."

Your wrist was thrown from his grasp; it smacked on the table and you hissed. Just before you could do anything the classroom door suddenly opened. The demons all whispered a fearful "oh shit" under their breath.

Lucifer:

"I see you're living up to the title 'lesser demon', how wonderful for you."

His condescending smile immediately drooped

His hands moved swiftly and a whip appeared in them, he glared at them

The three of them gulped, looking at each other

"How many lashing should I give them, perhaps everytime they insulted you? Every snicker or chuckle - how about everytime they breathed?"

he snapped the whip with a snarl

They looked at you for mercy and you considered letting Lucifer having his way

But you felt a sick feeling in your stomach knowing how vicious he could get

"i just want an apology and to be left alone..."

"You heard them, beg for forgiveness and if i find any of you were bothering them again I won't let them decide your fate."

The three demons immediately got on their knees, legs shaking as they apologized repeatedly for their actions

You knew it was fake but apart of you felt happy hearing their apology

"you can leave now."

On that cue they ran out making sure to dodge the quick whip from Lucifer

The last one Getting caught on the butt and practically jumped out of the room

"They're foolish, love, you are absolutely ravishing and I could never ask for a more wonderful partner, let's go get some ice cream - my treat to help your bad day."

Mammon:

"ya wanna repeat that? Don't be going all silent just because I'm here~ go on, keep insulting the human, see what happens."

He chuckled, hands in pockets

The demons weren't sure how to respond

To test what he'll do or play it safe

Mammon twiddled a playing card between his fingers, a smirk on his face as he stood behind you

One of the demons opened their mouth but he just flicked his wrist, the card sticking itself in the wall just missing the demon

"I ain't very forgiving, ya see so it's best you start apologizing now or things could get abit messy."

You was surprised by how fast they all dropped

Apologizing and begging for you to forgive them

"Please leave, you've apologized enough."

They all ran out thanking you for being so kind

"awww but (Y/N), you could of made them your posse!"

"I just wanted them to leave, I know they aren't actually sorry."

"hfmp, they better be or else I'll get 'em - did I look cool?! I was practising that trick for weeks!"

You chuckled, kissing his cheek

He grinned even wider as he grabbed your hand

"you were real cool, you were like a spy."

"does that make you my stunning partner in crime? Your looks lure in the suspects and I get them? You can't convince me otherwise - you're a real beaut."

Levithan:

"LMAO, your faces~! I can't wait for this to go viral, perhaps even Prince Diavolo will see this, wouldn't that be unfortunate."

He kept filming, pointing the camera at their faces

They looked even more Horrified

A powerful demon was already coming to get them but now the prince could get involved?

"should I post it, (Y/N)? You're in it after all."

"I just want them to leave me alone, I don't care."

Levithan hummed, displeased at the demons

"it's pretty rude you're just standing there and not apologizing, they're the one in charge if you get found out or not."

The demons gasped, staring at you and then back at Levithan

They immediately started apologizing, blaming their actions on just jealousy

You shook your head and they began to sweat

Fearing they're going to put on blast for their actions

Surprised by your defeated sigh

"just go....it's not worth it."

Levi was about to argue differently but the demon had already left

"Wha!!!! I felt like an anime protagonist! Did they say anything else to you?! I swear they can't tell what beauty is-"

"it's fine, they weren't wrong."

"HUUUH???!!!!!! don't listen to them, (Y/N), I think you look just fine the way you are and yo-you should see yourself as attractive too-! because you're awesome and Your loo-looks are even more cool!"

He hugged you, hiding his red face in your shoulder

Satan:

"You're brave to think you're in any position to even breathe in their direction, for all our dignities It would be best you apologize and leave."

They were ready to bolt right there and then

They looked at you and started to apologize but Satan clicked his teeth

"be sincere, we can be here for as long as we want until you feel genuine guilt for your actions."

He slammed his hand down on the table

The lesser demons cowered

You just sat there, frowning

You just wanted to be left alone and let your feelings out

The demons apologized again

Making sure to add sincerity in their voice but Satan kept making them repeat themselves

It got to the point you had to cut him off

"It's fine, they've apologized, let them leave."

He hummed, annoyed but nodded

The demons scrambled out of the room, fearing to even look at the two of you

"if you ever need me to go back at them I'll do just that, I couldn't believe they would say something like that to you."

"thanks for helping, just let them leave instead of using your energy."

"I'll try to but I'll make sure there is no next time, you don't deserve to be spoken to like that and you are far more charming than any of them, I for one, adore how you look."

Asmodeus:

"repeat that again~? I hope I didn't hear you three insulting my darling, it's so ugly to shame others for their body."

The demons tried to utter out a response but he just stared at them

Tilting his head as he smiled

He got closer to them, staring into their eyes

Soon enough they were charmed

"why don't you tell me why you thought it was okay to speak to (Y/N) like that."

They all began speaking; expressing their envy for your relationship with asmo and the other demons

One of them just telling him they saw you as fragile and unlikable

Asmo smiled wider before suddenly grabbing one their chins, a snarl on his face now

"do you feel sorry? Are you ashamed of yourself?"

They all said yes, apologizing to you

"thanks asmo, you can let them go now."

He happily did as you said, telling them to leave

He nuzzled into your body, hands wandering over it as he grinned

"They're just jealous demons who can't handle their own Insecurities, you're not like them, everything about you is good looking - inside and out! I couldn't ask for anything more~"

"Seriously...?"

"yes!!! I'm in love with you and your body is marvelous to look at, i can't get enough of you!"

Beezlebub:

"Apologize and leave or I'll make you my next meal."

Straight to the point

And it was effective

His size was already intimidating but his willingness to devour whatever he wanted was scarier

They apologized to you, Getting on their knees and telling you how gorgeous you were

You felt your mood get worse so you waved your hand

"don't bother, a sorry was enough, you can leave now."

They shot up but Beel bite the air Infront of them when they passed him

They shrieked and picked up their speed

"I can't stand people like that.... they're more clueless than mammon."

He sat with you

Clenching his jaw, you held his hand and leaned against him

"Don't listen to them, I think you look really nice, I like the way you look but I know the important thing is that you like the way you look, I don't mind how you look because you'll still always be you."

Belphegor:

"Hey gorgeous, are these idioits bothering you? What a shame, I was hoping lesser demons knew how to keep in their place."

He wrapped an arm around you

Glaring at the lesser demons, they grew more nervous under his hateful eye

They muttered to themselves for not realising he was there but belphie mocked them, asking them to speak up

"what's with the change of energy? You were confident about your opinions before, what changed?"

They couldn't answer without looking weak

Belphegor only grinned at them

He kissed your cheek

"that's what I thought, scram!"

They ran off, not daring to look at you

They couldn't even hiss or glare, knowing the demon behind you would have their throat for it

They were lucky to not get hurt when he found them

"thanks, sorry, did you come here to sleep?"

"I was looking for you, keep me close, okay? Don't listen to those demons - they wouldn't be able to tell what's good or not even if their lives depended on it, you're perfect the way you are."

[calanthemavis]

LEMON - a Renesmee Cullen one-shot, inspired by “Thirteen” (2003)

"Renesmee Cullen!", the teacher barked. I heard snickering behind me, causing me to roll my eyes. Not another day of them laughing at my name. If there was anyone to blame, it was my mother. She could have chosen any other name (well, except for Edward Jacobina or Gertrude), so why had she chosen Renesmee? To honour her mother and my father's adoptive mother. So dumb.

The teacher ignored the laughter of the students and roared at me to read the next poem in the textbook. I was stuck in an English Literature class and we were learning about poetry. I personally thought our teacher made the class even worse and more boring than it was. Neither it was advanced enough for my mind, nor my classmates seemed to cooperate and make things easier with their constant snickering and gossiping.

The material was far too easy. We were preparing for our SAT exams and we were just now learning about poetry?

I let out a small sigh before opening my mouth to read the example on the page of the textbook:

He was crippled but only his bodywas cracked It's not easy, nor is it an easy matter to explain. "Let's just leave it at that," she says and closes The Holy Book of Lies. She covers her eyes, denying to herself what she thought happened.

The class snickered yet again. What the fuck did they find amusing enough to laugh? The poem? The way I had read it?

Having just read the poem, I personally found it relatable. I could easily identify myself with the woman and the man could definitely be Jacob. The way I interpret the poem had to do with the imprinting. Ever since Jacob (in the presence of the rest of my family, of course) had revealed to me the truths of imprinting, I hadn't spoken to him. I had refused to look him in the eyes. I needed time to process this and everyone was making it even harder for me.

My heart ached that there was practically no one on this planet who appreciated me the way I was without some magic being involved. Dozens of vampires had fought to save my life but only because hybrid children (like me) were somehow alluring to everyone (supposedly). If that was the case, then why did my classmates think I was nothing special? Why hadn't they struck a conversation with me during the past couple of years? And before you blame me for being antisocial, here is my defence: every time I'd tried speaking to them, I would be met with snickering, snickering and even more snickering. So much for "Oh, honey! Everyone will love you! You're a hybrid, you attract people the way honey attracts bees!". Well, I had to be some sort of honey that was too sweet to be eaten, the kind of honey people would be repulsed by (did such thing even exist?).

The bell rang before the teacher could even give us homework. I now had to have a lunch break which would be followed by a free period. Only, however, I wasn't going to sit in the cafeteria with everybody else. I had learnt that nobody would ever want to sit by a freakshow like me. Luckily, very few people came outside, especially to the corner where I hid.

When I made sure nobody was watching me, I snuck a hand in the pocket of my jeans to retrieve a lighter and a cigarette. Thank the Lord that my parents never checked what I hid in my clothes. I didn't want to have to resort to sneaking stuff in my bra or panties - that would be gross.

I had learnt to smoke as soon as I had begun attending this school. So far nobody seemed to be aware of that. Covering the smell of cigarettes was not as hard. I could easily lie that I had stood next to smokers after classes. After a long conversation with my mother and a therapy session with one of my uncles, my dad had begun to trust me more and to not snoop on my private thoughts (the biggest mistake ever if you are the parent of a teenager).

Smoking made me feel older. It made me somehow feel connected to my human side. I was aware of the consequences, but truth to be told, I didn't care. So what if I died? Everybody died, even vampires! Fear of death, in my honest opinion, was the most ridiculous fear to ever exist. Yes, death was devastating, but it was part of life.

And when I put the cigarette between my lips, ready to inhale and exhale one more time, I closed my eyes, never allowing myself to rush. I wanted to take my time, to live in the moment. Smoking was a privilege. I could only do it outside and as long as I was out of my father's reach. If my mind was safe, then so were my cigarettes as well. I couldn't exist without them anymore. They were the only thing that still kept me where I was.

My sweet safe heaven.

*

Jacob and I were at his place. One week later, I had forgiven him, alas not so easy. I needed something from him and I had the feeling that he was the only one who could give it to me.

We were sitting on the couch in his living room, as the TV was distracting him. That was when I knew I had to execute my plan. If he had imprinted on me and he would do anything for me, then what was the problem in him being the one to have the key to my virginity? I was sick and tired of being supposedly sixteen and pure. And my father could go and shove his 1910s moral values in his ass. Or my mother's. I wasn't like them. I wanted to be cool. And the cool girls had penetrated vaginas. They thought I couldn't hear them in the toilet? Perks of being a vampire-human hybrid.

Or so I had thought.

At first, it was easy to mimic women from books and television and to begin planting small kisses on his neck, as he was still distracted by some crappy TV series. But when I attempted to straddle him, he pushed me away, knocking me onto the carpeted floor.

"What the fuck was that for?", I exclaimed, trying to hide the fact that I was in pain. My bum was throbbing.

"What is wrong with you?", he raised his voice at me. He had never done that. Not even the previous week when I had shouted in his face and hadn't wanted to see him ever again.

Even trying to play dumb didn't work. He continued screaming about how my parents would freak out and how we weren't even in a relationship. Apparently, he wanted to follow my parents' advice and to wait until marriage. Loser.

I squeezed my lips into a thin line and grabbing all of the dignity I still had left, I rushed out of the small house, seeing red. How could he do this to me? Wasn't I supposed to wear the pants in this relationship?

As soon as I was far enough away from the red house, I began pacing back and forth, feeling humiliated. Fuck Jacob. Fuck my classmates and my teachers. Fuck everyone! Only cigarettes didn't betray me. And they never would, because they were objects, toys to calm people down.

I quickly lit a cigarette to calm myself down. I thought I would be left alone, but, of course, God had another plan for me.

I was smoking, trying to be discreet when I heard footsteps. And who did I see when I looked up? Seth Clearwater. Just my fucking luck.

It was too late. He had seen me with a cigarette in my hand. I quickly dropped it and furiously stepped on it with my foot. Seth's eyes never left mine. They looked as if they were going to pop out of his face at any moment. And I couldn't blame him. If anyone I knew in real life saw me like that, they would be disturbed by the view as well. Besides, no one expected the miracle child of the Cullens to be a smoker. Well, too bad. Expectations never lead to good things anyway.

"Nessie? Was that a cigarette in your hand?", he screeched. If he was even a little bit louder than he already was, the whole reservation would hear us. As if it hadn't been more than enough that Seth had already seen me and was going to do God knew what! Especially since he was studying Medicine. I wasn't in the mood for being lectured about smoking. My body - my choice!

From anger, I pulled him by the collar of his shirt so that our eyes could meet. And then I hissed in his face like a snake:

"If you dare to tell anyone about it, I will never forgive you, got it?"

I had never seen Seth behave like that. He looked as if he had seen a bear and had pooped in his pants from fear.

I knew I had been incredibly rude to Seth. But he was Jacob's best friend. I couldn't let him tattle on me.

*

"Renesmee Carlie Cullen! What is this?", my mother roared as soon as I stepped into the main house. My father had insisted on picking me up from school that day. During the entire journey back home, he hadn't spoken a word to me. One damn word. And I was about to find out why.

Then, when we arrived home, I was taken aback. In the family room, everyone had gathered, looking like they had just witnessed a murder. At first, I was confused. What was going on? Had anyone died? And then I noticed that my mother was holding a bag. But not just any - it was the one where I kept every secret.

My heart was beating rapidly. I could feel sweat forming on my entire body. My face was probably flushed like a tomato. Now I looked like I had seen a bear and had pooped in my pants. Karma was a bitch. And I was about to pay for everything I had done.

My mother poured everything... and I mean everything on the coffee table. My hidden packets of cigarettes, my lighters, my stash of money I had been stealing from my parents for quite a while. How else could I afford my goodies? I had a green little monster inside of me that I had to satisfy!

Aunt Rosalie's gasp was the loudest. Both her palms had covered her mouth and her eyes were even wider than mine or Seth's the previous day. I imagined she was in disbelief that her own niece could do stuff like that. Even uncle Emmett couldn't calm her down.

Something was making my heart feel as if it was being squeezed with bare hands. But what was it? Was it guilt? Or was it the shame? Or was it just because all of my secrets had been exposed in a matter of seconds?

And how had my family found out in the first place?

"Seth," my father loudly confirmed my suspicions. He had to have told Jacob, who had to have informed my family. What else?

I wanted to break everything around me. To burn the whole house, including my whole family and me. Or to at least sink in the ground and to never re-appear.

Instead, when I was asked why I had done all of that shit, my body betrayed me. Cries escaped from my mouth as I dropped on the floor like a puppet without somebody to control it. What was the point to fight back? I was defeated. Outnumbered. All I could do was to allow myself to be taken in somebody's cold arms. I wasn't controlling my mind anymore. My father could now see the treatment I had been receiving from my peers for the past couple of years and how it had contributed to my new unhealthy habits. How the imprinting had deceived me, how I had almost lost all of my dignity the previous day. He could see that I wasn't okay and that I hadn't been for a while.

"It will be alright," I heard cooing in my ear, but I couldn't register whose voice it was. Scratch that. I couldn't register anything except for my own wailing.

That night I wept in my mother's cold embrace until I fell asleep. And when I opened my eyes the next morning, it was a new day.

*

Long three years had passed since that day when my secrets had been revealed to my vampiric family. Long years full of therapy sessions, family time and some dates with Jacob until we broke up. He had decided to stay back in La Push and I wanted to move on. I supposed imprint didn't always end up the way Sam and Emily had - with a happy family after all of the troubles they had endured. On the bright side, Leah (Sam's ex) was now in a relationship with Jacob. They wanted me to bring the rings on their wedding day. Aunt Alice was already sewing me a dress.

It was my first day in a new school. I was starting my second cycle of high school again by myself. I was hoping it would be better than the previous one. If not, then I didn't know what I was going to do. I couldn't be cooped up at home all day long. Despite the fact that I was going to be forever young, that didn't mean I couldn't contribute to society somehow. But that would come later on. I wanted to allow myself to be a teenager first, to gain some experience before University and from there I would decide what job to find.

My mother had driven me to school that morning. She thought it wouldn't be so bad, since I was pretending to be a ninth-grader. Most fourteen-year-olds still spent time with their families, including allowing their mothers to pick their clothes for school and to drive them to school. There was still time for everything. No need to rush. I had grown up in the blink of an eye and had caused trouble for everybody.

And now that I was chronologically almost fourteen, I could let myself behave like one. Fourteen-year-olds, as much as they despised it, still needed the adults in their life. And after years of attempting to be a pseudo-adult, so did I. No matter what, I would always need my family.

On the ride to my new school, I had sat in the front and had chosen the music to allow myself to feel calmer. The previous night, I had had a nightmare for the first time in years. I had woken up at three in the morning, drenched in sweat as if I was a little girl again, scared to death by the Volturi. I had barely slept, allowing my nerves to take over me.

Before I left the car, my mom grasped my hand. She wanted me to look at her and so I did. She made me promise her yet again that I wasn't going to do any foolish stuff anymore. Or else those three years of therapy would be for nothing.

I released a breath I had attempted to hold, "I just hope that this high school experience will be better than my previous one, you know," I wanted to chuckle, to be funny. But I found nothing amusing in my words.

My mother looked at me with a hint of concern in her eyes, "Don't worry about that. You'll do great, okay? And if something is wrong, don't hesitate to come to us. We are here for you."

As soon as she was done with her pep talk, I couldn't help but throw my arms around her, holding back tears. This time, everything would be different.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee: https://ko-fi.com/keepfaithbaby

[aromantic-official]

idk if im aro or not but im 15 and pretty sure ive never had a crush. I think Ive tried to force romantic attraction on myself but have to some extent accepted that im not regular in that way. idk what to do because i feel like unless there is some solid piece of evidence telling me that i'm whatever orientation I am i wont ever identify with anything. the closer i get to coming to terms with the fact that i might be aro the more it scares me. idk what to do i feel like im being left behind

Hi there anon! I was unsure about answering this ask myself at first, as it’s been some time since I’ve been your age. I thought I might leave it to one of the younger mods. I was your age, though, when I realized I was aro, and although at first it was something like a relief, that was just a calm before a storm, like the way the ocean recedes before a tsunami, or the empty space between a lightning strike and the thunder that follows. As I began to come to terms with what being aromantic really meant in the context of my life, and how different I was from my peers, I was scared, for a really long time. Accepting my aromanticism without shame is something I am still working on, but as the years have gone by, things have gotten better.

So, as someone who has been in your shoes before and has come out on the other side, I decided to give you some advice:

First, there’s nothing wrong with being aromantic. I know that you know this, but sometimes it helps to be reminded. It’s okay to be different. Romantic attraction is not a requirement for happiness or for being a person worthy of dignity and respect. You were born as a complete person and being aromantic can never change that. It is just a part of you; however important you decide to make it is up to you and what makes you feel happy and proud of who you are.

Second, it’s okay to be scared. Sometimes, especially when it comes to discovering or questioning a part of our identity, we feel like we have to be proud and embrace who we are, and fast, or else we’re doing something wrong–because we know it’s okay to be who we are, and other people seem so proud of it, so why aren’t we? But it’s normal to be scared. A lot of us who seem so comfortable in our identities now were scared, or still are scared now. Self-discovery can be a very scary personal journey, and that’s okay!

Finally, you will never be left behind. It may feel like when everyone else is getting into romantic relationships and talking about romance all the time, everyone is moving on without you. I felt like that a lot as a teenager, and I still feel that way quite often, worrying about what my life will look like if all my friends get married and I don’t. For me, it’s the fear of being lonely. And there are no magic words I can say that will make the feeling of being left behind go away. But there is no one path forward, and although romance is treated like a rite of passage, it shouldn’t be. Not experiencing romantic attraction doesn’t mean you’re falling behind; your experience of life is just different from those around you, and that’s okay. What we have to try to understand is that because the aromantic experience so often differs heavily from what is considered “normal,” sometimes we have to work a little bit harder than other people to find “our people,” the ones we can count on to accept us and stay by our sides, as well as our place in the world.

I encourage you not to settle for people in your life who don’t honor your feelings, and to try building a new vision of who you want to be that doesn’t depend on what other people are doing, and pursue it proudly. Maybe it’s a career you’d like to have, or a place where you’d like to live one day, or a hobby or skill you want to become good at, or a personal quality you’d like to work at. It may seem unhelpful, especially if you’re someone like me who really needs other people, but it helps to start living your life for you, and not just in the shadow of your alloromantic peers.

This became much longer than I intended, but I guess this is just me being old and wanting to tell younger aros what I needed to hear when I was a kid. Accepting that you may be aromantic is a really personal thing, and I don’t have an easy fix-it for you. It takes time, self-love, and community. Luckily for you, you have all the time in the world and a supportive community here behind you. The rest, anon, is up to you.

- Mod Techno

[fallout-snippets]

Oh my gosh your writing is so good - I'm loving that ask about companions realising they're in love! If it's ok, could I ask for you to expand it with X6 and the robots? If it's not too much trouble 💕

(I assumed the robots in question, if I missed one please let me know. also thank you!!!)

Ada has the capacity to love; so’s she been told. And she can certainly detect a certain favoritism in her programming towards her companions. When they die, she feels empty.

She appriciates the stranger who helps her get revenge and although dissapointed the villain wasn’t as villainous, she remains satisfied that it’s now over. Her future is now unclear and she expects that she might be left behind as Sole seems more than capable to handle things on their own; this quest they were on were for Adas benefit, not theirs.

But they offer her a new home, a new family. They ask her to come with them, because they like her. Like? Her programming IS pretty special and she is designed to be approachable but when Sole says it it feels different. It feels… warm. It’s an unusual feeling and she has to check her cooling system to see if it’s failing. It’s not.

They travel together some more and Ada is more than happy to help carry the scrap Sole spots with eagle eyes. They express gratitude that she doesn’t complain and she doesn’t understand why anyone would complain if they got to travel with Sole.

The warmth she experiences, that apparently has nothing to do with her hardware, grows day by day until one day they’re in a settlement. The settlers don’t mistreat her but she’s nothing but a robot to them. The difference in how Sole approaches her and how everyone else does is vast and she begins to remember her original companions talk to themselves about their feelings.

Sole treats her like a person, like an individual. Not just scraps put together to pull a heavy load, but like a friend. More than friends. Family. Or…?

Ada does have the capacity for love, it was programmed into her, but it was never specified which kind of love.

Codsworth immediately cares for the family he’s been designated to help. And how easy it is to care for them! They’re a picture perfect family and even though he is only a helper, they invite him in to become a part of it. It is such a shame when the bombs fall but luckily the vault is nearby and the family appears to make it. He checks the area afterwards, once the dust settles, so to speak, and doesn’t find them.

Some charred remains are difficult to identify but he takes his time and determines that his precious family must be safe. If he had lungs he’d sigh with relief. Instead he takes it upon himself to clean up the house to the best of his ability until their return.

Years go by but he doesn’t falter. It’s only reasonable to assume that the family would live out their lives in the vault, safe from the radiation outside (though he does begin to loathe his solitude) and perhaps their descendants will instead emerge, ready to resume living.

Instead two centuries pass and he’s hanging on by a thread. The house never gets clean enough, he hasn’t spoken to anyone for too long and he misses them. His family. When a figure finally returns to the house he’s shocked but finally things will return to normal.

Well, as normal as it can get. Their better half is dead and their precious child has been taken but he sees something new in them, a fire in their eyes. He expects them to clean up the world! And in the meantime he’ll make them a new home to come back to but instead they ask him to come along.

“Codsworth, I need you.”

He feels electricity spark inside his chassis and how could he deny? His beloved Sole finally returned to him, he’ll do anything they ask. And they’ll need protection out there! He sees an entirely new person grow from the ruins and yet they remain true to who they’ve been all along. The new radiation-filled world seems to turn people into demons, but not Sole.

They still carry themselves with dignity, still treat him with respect. They grow a reputation in the world as a hero and he agrees but they still come home. To him. It makes him… feel different. Not that he’s supposed to. But it’s hard not to grow excited when he hears them approaching home, when he sees them in one piece. When he sees them smiling at him, as if they were coming back home to their better half.

Nick has been around for a long time. Too long, probably. He’s seen things that makes your skin crawl and heard things that’d make you nauseous. So when this vault-dweller rolls around with an unbelievable story, he believes them. When they ask for his help, he helps them. That’s what he does.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for this unhardened pre-war stranger to turn out to be braver and kinder than anyone else who grew up in this disadvantageous world. You’d think someone who lived comfortably up until now would have a harder time adjusting, of fitting in. You’d think they’d try to find another place to be comfortable in.

But Sole fits in this world like a glove and it’s beautiful to watch them perform. It’s even a pleasure to travel with them, despite all the horrors he has to see them experience for the first time, although they don’t always get discouraged by what you’d think. The first time they saw him they were surprised, to say the least, but immediately accepting. Maybe it was the trauma of having their world turned upside down but not once did Sole ever question his loyalty or integrity.

They even go to him for comfort, leaning on his shoulder and crying into his coat. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bothered to get close to him and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it but he knows what he is. He’s a robot with a human personality, a human past, and he doesn’t dare imagine a future with them.

Until that’s all he does.

It’s an early morning in Diamond City when he hears papers shuffling in his office. It’s too early for Ellie to be there but he isn’t too surprised to find Sole looking through some files.

“I already solved those.” he tells them, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh yeah? Bet the butler did it.” they say with a smirk and he feels the fans kick on, hoping they don’t make too much noise.

He knows then and there that resistance is futile but he also knows that he’s too complicated and he wouldn’t wish that mess on anyone. But Nick has been around for a long time. Maybe it’s time to get some closure on some things.

“Actually, I could use your help on a case. Been working on it for a while. It’s kind of personal, though.”

X6-88 is not supposed to feel anything. It’s not a part of his programming, his training or job description. When he first meets Sole he’s unfazed, although curious, and he can see straight away that they don’t trust him. That’s okay. He doesn’t need their trust.

He escorts them through a mission that’s standard for him but ends up on a different note than what he’d done. That’s also okay, he was not leading the mission. He expects to return to his duties as Sole is a capable survivor topside but they ask him to come with them. He doesn’t question it, because why would he, but his curiousity grows. He smothers it with logic.

They ask him all sorts of things, about the Institute, its people and history, but also about him. There’s nothing to tell about him. He’s a courser designed to retrieve runaway synths. That’s who he is, what he is.

He can tell they’re dissapointed by his answer but there’s really nothing else to say. They ask if he’s really okay with it, to be told what to do and treated like a tool. He tells them it’s not up to him to decide what he’s used for but he is built to be used.

“You’re born.” they correct him, touching his hand.

“I am not human.” he replies and attempts to withdraw but is surprised at how warm they feel. He finds himself unwilling to withdraw despite their current breach of conduct.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“I am… sentient.” he says, unable to smother the whirlpool of confusion. “A Mister Handy is sentient but not human. It does what it’s told.” he says trying to convince himself more than Sole.

He likes the way they look at him, even if their eyes are currently sad. He’s used to people looking at him with fear or anger but Sole looks at him with… affection. Why?

Sole withdraws their hand, assuming the conversation ended nowhere. They sit in silence for a while, taking a break from the burning sun above.

“You don’t owe them anything. They may have created you but they created an individual. They don’t get to control you like this.”

X6-88 feels mostly confusion and turmoil for a long time after that. They treat him like an equal and it’s hard not to revel in it compared to the coldness he faces in the Institute. They ask for his opinion, about his expertise, and they care for him when he’s wounded.

His training tells him to ignore any and all “feelings” but Sole makes him feel appriciated, happy, and he likes how it feels. Why is something that makes him feel good bad? When Sole talks to him he makes more of an effort to reply, when they tells him a story he tries to react appropriately. They smile at his attempts and it causes his gut to drop but not in a terrifying I-have-made-a-huge-mistake kind of way but a pleasant one.

One night back at the Institute where he waits outside Fathers room he hears them arguing. They are clearly disagreeing about something and it’s none of his business but Sole is upset when they leave and he finds himself mad on their behalf. Mad at Father.

It shakes him to his core to realize that he can feel that way but it doesn’t take more than a second for him to decide that Sole is more important than the Institute and Father and if needed he will take their side.

[teggywrites]

A Blind Kind of Love{Mitsuhide}

Mc knew full well the dangers she faced in this time of great distress and war. Her country, Japan, the one she grew up knowing only peace and worrying about if she wanted to eat cheap or get something actually good for dinner. Others here live their lives running off of what the earth provides and trying to stay out of the fighting, not wanting lives lost or pain to fill their hearts with great sorrow. But then there was the brave souls who chose to fight for their lords and country, being promised freedoms, food, and safety for their families. Who wouldn’t choose that? When things were hard and your families were struggling the men had to do what they had to do.

Mc tried her best to stay away from the fighting. Obviously not made or ready to get into any wars or fights after coming from a comfortable life. She wanted to go back home as much as any other person would, and if that meant staying away from danger, she would very well do that. But life with warlords meant she had a target on her back every step of the way. Many times people tried using her against Lord Nobunaga, calling her his concubine and trying their best to get him to come out of hiding so they could kill him, but none of the lords would allow that. It was rather sad that she was seen as an object to be used by others to hurt her friends… But the first incident happened when she first arrived, she was walking in Azuchi feeling some soft fabrics and invisoning kimonos and other things her skillful hands itched to make.

Before long, as the sun began to set and the moon shined down on the light filled streets, Mc felt a warm hand cover her mouth and rip her away into a dark alley. She kicked, screamed, squirmed, and tried her best to get away from the perpetrator, but growing up without the need to fight meant she was weak, and this man was clearly made for war. She continued to fight against, breaking away for a short second after nailing the man in the nose with her elbow, but the little escape was short lived before he hit her across the head with something. Her head spun and went blank, feeling light headed and breathing hurt, before the far away lights of Azuchi’s streets blurred into nothing but darkness.

The moment she woke up, she was in a room she had never seen before. The lights were low and the place reeked of smoke and sake, filling her nose with unpleasant smells. How late was it? She glanced up at the window to see the moon high in the sky as panic began to flood her senses. This was it. She was going to be killed, or raped, or whatever else these sick men wanted to do with her. Should she just roll over and let it happen? No she had enough dignity in her to fight with all she had before giving into to these disgusting men. But the real worry was if anyone knew she was gone.

It seemed like hours before anyone made a move to enter the room. Things had been knocked over, scooted around, and broken from her desperate attempt of finding an escape, but the room was sealed tight with no escape…

“Trying to escape?” One man asked as walked over to her and grabbed her by the hair, laughing. “Your head with fetch for a pretty price after the devil shows himself. Heard he was on his way now, but we’re ready.”

Mc scoffed, did this man really think he could bring down Nobunaga? The man was a beast when it came to fighting and his vessels too. He was clever and powerful, two rare combinations. And his right and left hand men were no different. She didn’t much care for Mitsuhide… Everything about him sent red flags up her head and sirens to going wailing. But Hideyoshi? He was like a mother, or father, to everyone always looking out for everyone and taking great care of Nobunaga. Though she would never say this, Nobunaga was like a child sometimes and Hideyoshi was the mom who would scold him.

The man let her go as sounds from outside caught both their attentions. “So it begins!” He laughed, Mc cringing at the awful smell of his breath. That would be smart. Get drunk before a fight. But anything could happen and before long it did. The door burst open, revealing none other than the white haired kitsune of a man. The last person she wanted to see. Luckily Masumane was beside him, giving a smirk at her, making a smile form of her face. At last she was saved!

Every night after that she refused to go alone into town. Many people attempted to take her even when she had guards. But every time she would be saved by Mitsuhide… Was it he just wasn’t doing anything and everyone else was kinda busy? Or maybe Hideyoshi or Nobunaga told him to go… Thinking about it made her a little sad and disappointed, but she pushed the thought away as fast as they came.

That night something felt off as her fingers weaved the needle into and out of the fabric. The air was filled with something sinister, but she thought it was just her being paranoid. After a few more minutes of sewing she packed up her mess and made her way to bed. But something still didn’t feel right as she tossed and turned under her sheets. Sleep was not coming tonight apparently…

As she stared up at the ceiling above, a shuffling caught her attention. Her face lit up thinking Sasuke had come to her, but the shuffling was to loud… He was always so quiet when sneaking in. She sat up and began cautiously making her way to the door, sliding it open and stepping outside, only to bump into a hard object. The man stared down at her with cold eyes and a malicious aura surrounded him.

“Exactly who I wanted. Seems Lord Kenyo was right about your room,” he spoke quietly. Before Mc could scream the man wrapped his hands around her throat, slamming her to the floor with brute force. The fall cause the wind to get knocked out of her and her desperate clawing at his hands around her throat only worsened the lack of oxygen. Panic was rising along with her heart race, her vision going from black to color to random spots as it changed. How long was this to go on? Till she was dead?! Why did she get the short end of the stick in her life? The faint blurr of something white moved across her vision before she was succumbed by the infinite darkness.

The darkness was not temporary either… Mc woke up from sleeping from who knows how long to nothing but darkness. Was she still asleep? Was this some nightmare? Maybe she was dead and someone decided to not give her vision? The thoughts were endless as she felt around her. The sheets were familiar and the room felt warm, which meant it must have been day time. A sad realization finally sunk in… This wasn’t a dream and she could not see…

The door slid open her head turning towards it and panicking on who it could be. “Why are you staring at the wall?” A familiar sassy tone filled her ears and mind with relief.

“Ieyasu! I-I can’t see!” She said frantically as his movement quickened towards her grabbing her face abruptly and gazing into her eyes. He cursed under his breath as he moved quickly. “Ieyasu, what’s going on? What are you doing?!” She asked before hearing him leave. Her heart was pounding in her ears as she stood up feeling her way to the door before opening it. “You can’t just leave me like that Ieyasu!” She cried out gripping onto his arm. Mitsuhide looked down at her with surprise as she gripped her arm. Something was immediately off about her, she stared at the ground and was touching him. The latter would never happen in this life time.

He said nothing as he lead her back into her room, only humming and making sounds so she couldn’t detect he wasn’t Ieyasu. She rambled on about how scared she was, Mitsuhide staying silent and letting her confide in him. But the moment was short lived as Ieyasu walked in.

“Who is that Ieyasu?” She asked looking to the door only to get an irritated reply.

“What do you mean? I just walked in,” Ieyasu spoke. Then who had she been talking too?! The person didn’t give any signals on who they were or any sounds for that matter. So who?

“Seems I have been discovered… Such a shame, I wish you well.” The deep voice shook every fiber in her body. She had been talking to him?! Mitsuhide of all people! The one person she didn’t want to ever trust or associate with. But he listened to her this whole time… Not saying anything and just listening… Ieyasu would have told her to stop talking cause he needed to work on her so he could hurry home, most likely complaining the whole time. But Mitsuhide stayed and let her confide in him, knowing she didn’t like him. It was honestly really sweet of him. A part in her finally decided that he wasn’t so bad.

And it didn’t stop there. Ieyasu came to the conclusion that when the guy had choked her she lost blood circulation to the eyes and will have temporary blindness for a while. He said for her to rest but how long was a while? An hour? A week? What if she was blind when her three months were up and couldn’t go home? Anxiety was a pain in moments like these… But there was no way she was going to sit around in her room waiting for the magical moment her vision returns.

Mc was not going to let her eyesight stop her from her duties as Chatelaine. She needed to learn to adapt in case it lasted forever. So that morning she got up, dressed her self with the help of a few maids and made her way out of the room. It was the first time in a few days she had been out, her hand on the wall as walked down the halls.

“What are you doing out of your room?” A familiar voice filled her ears as she smiled. Warm hands grabbed her arms and started leading her back to her room. She came this far out she can’t turn back.

“Hideyoshi I’m fine!” Mc exclaimed as she stopped and smiled. “I can’t let this stop me from doing everyday life activities.” She tried to reason, but mama Hide was not having any of it as he pulled her along, a gentle hand on her back.

“Rest makes the healing process quicker. You and Lord Nobunaga need to learn that,” he said firmly making her roll her eyes.

“If you went blind would you just quit being Nobunaga’s vassal?” She asked. Yes she was pulling the cheap Use-Nobunaga-To-Get-Your-Way trick, and it had worked cause he stopped and sighed. It was quiet for a few minutes as he thought to himself before speaking.

“Fine. But I’m assigning someone to help you around. Most likely a maid or something. Your happiness and health are first priorities.” Hideyoshi sighed as he patted her on the head. “Stay here okay?” He asked, Mc nodding in response, as he hurried off to go get the person he knew would best fit the role.

He knocked on the door of Mitsuhide’s room, waiting for the door to open. Mitsuhide and Mc were not as close as everyone else was with her. Others have noticed her anxiety towards him and Hideyoshi wanted them to get along better and hopefully not have her think he is all bad.

The door opened revealing the white haired man himself, who looked clearly surprised Hideyoshi was at his door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mitsuhide spoke in a smooth tone, his eyes narrowing slightly as a smile formed on his face. Deep down he had feeling what Hideyoshi wanted, but he wanted the pleasure of knowing he was right when the man told him.

“Mc is wanting to be useful, I don’t understand why she won’t just listen and rest. She is as bad as Lord Nobunaga!” Hideyoshi stressed as he crossed his arms, shaking his head.

“How dreadful…” Mitsuhide said sarcastically as he smiled even more at the man's frustration.

“I’m asking you to watch over her and help her around.” Hideyoshi’s words shocked him greatly. Him help her? But why was the question. After the first day incident Mc had not spoken to him and he had not spoken to her. But his questions were answered quickly, “You and her need to learn that you are allies, not an enemy. Become friends maybe?”

Mitsuhide simply laughed at the words. They were far from enemies but far from allies. Maybe being ‘friends’ was okay with them. Though he wasn’t to sure about actually being her ‘friend’. He had no use for them. After a short discussion Mitsuhide agreed and was off to the spot Hideyoshi left her.

Mc stood there, greeting people who walked by as she held onto the wall so she didn’t lose her place. “Hideyoshi are you back?” She called out smiling in his direction as another pair of feet walked close by.

“Yep I’m back, I got a cook from the kitchen to help you out. Mc meet Ayato.” Hideyoshi said smiling at the name he came up for Mitsuhide. Though the white haired man didn’t seem to pleased with the name change, but played along nonetheless.

“Hello my lady,” he said in a softer voice. Mc didn’t notice a thing before smiling at him with a clueless face. The day went on after that, her talking to him about anything and everything while he helped her navigate and do her daily chores. The hardest part about being blind was that her feet had no sense of what forward meant… So her arm was around his most of the time when they walked. Mc couldn’t help but notice the muscles he had under the kimono… How could a women not? It was right there and she just couldn’t resist ‘accidentally’ feeling his arm up.

“Enjoying my arm?” Mitsuhide, or Ayato, said chuckling softly. Mc’s face went red when she realized she was caught.

“W-what? No, I can’t see anything right now and was just… Feeling around to get a grasp on things,” she only blushed more as her mind screamed at her to just shut up and stop talking. They both began laughing together, helping her calm down from the embarrassment.

Days went on like this. The two getting closer and closer as they both helped each other out, talking about issues they both had. She even trusted him enough to say she was from the future. It shocked Ayato but he was extremely curious about where she was from. How did she live? What did she do? Where did she live? What was a car? Women do what now? The war ended how? Mitsuhide must say he was taken aback but the future concept, but how else did she mysteriously appear that night?

Mc had made an image of what Ayato looked like in her mind. A tall buff man with blonde hair and blue eyes. Handsome at that too. She never bothered asking what he looked like, feeling it would be rude and his looks didn’t matter much to her. He was sweet and caring and helpful, the looks were nothing compared to it. But after a month she could officially say she was adjusted. Still requesting him to help her around a lot, just to have him near to talk to her.

On the first week of the new month, her eyes had begun to feel weird, maybe it was because she was blind? Or maybe she had an eyelash in there? She didn’t know, but she gripped onto Ayato’s arm as they walked, him saying he wanted to take her to lunch in town. Happily she accepted, getting a tiny bit dressed up for this and walked to her door. The walk wasn’t a long one as they entered the place and he helped her sit down. Mitsuhide whispered something to the waiter, who laughed and nodded. “What was that about?” She asked looking towards him.

“Nothing my dear,” he spoke smiling at her as they ordered some food. It was delicious, even though she couldn’t see it her taste was heightened by the lack of eyesight. They talked and laughed with one another for a while, telling each other jokes and talking about what they wanted in the future. But all good things end eventually, but this time it was a good end. Stuffed with food and tea, they paid and walked back home.

As they walked into the doors Mc smiled, she could see lights! “Ayato I think my vision is returning!” She spoke excitedly as colors morphed to make shapes around her.

“It seems my help is done here,” He said smiling at her as he kissed her hand, “It was a pleasure of being to your service my lady, but I’m afraid I’ve been slacking with work these past few weeks and Hideyoshi and Nobunaga are most disappointed.” He said in his normal voice. Mc frowned, but before she could say anything, a glimpse of golden eyes and white hair, though blurred, caught her attention. Damn snake… she thought but smiled at him anyways. She was going to get him back when she her sight returned.

[tikien]

#OpenLetter

An Open Letter to one of the Immeasurable Secret Mistresses of my begone Big Love:

Feel like Spread the word? Please do.

Share your thoughts? Oh yeah.

But above all, do what you, Yourself want to do with it.

Nothing is as it seems...

Xx Caroline

Hello Milly,

I am a woman of truth, I always favour truth, purity, however cold or cruel or hard the truth will be for me. It means I can then move on without wasting my time of being fooled by lies intended to preserve my feelings.

I do not have any control over your behaviour and I absolutely have no desire to carry that burden.

But I refuse, I will not tolerate, not indulge your disrespect for my children and me, ánd indirectly for all of my dearest ones who I love. (Not to mention your children, your parents, your 'loved' ones, the world where we live in.)

Your rudeness Milly, your dishonour, your inpurity, indelicacy. Your betrayal for all those years, it is dísgusting to me Caroline, a woman you don't know 'Kak' about. But what you dó know, is that you were cocksucking my husband and screwing around with him for years!

You were my backyard neighbour. You lived and sneaked around behind my back, literally backbiting. Twisted story this, but don't worry bearded darnel, to me, you, is only a small piece of my total reality.

The day my husband started cheating on me, by having disgraceful frustrated sex with a forever unenlightened number of women and with you, he started to take home theirs and your sick negative energy. Into my life! Into my home! Affecting my everyone! And affecting my everything.

At first you two met at your secret meeting point, the fishing spot. And while others around you were having real fish pleasure (and getting free performance) you were fishing rotten fish, in my pole.

Not to speak of your pathetic text messages when approaching my husband. Like the code-sign which you two agreed.

Luckily you do not have a partner to hide for.

The secret-code-sign was to use the . (the point), when the initiative was yours. My husband then would always have an excuse like: "Oh that's someone workrelated, it was probably unintentionally."

(Note: I've read my husband named you 'Trackreceipt'-and then mentioned-'the name of a big workrelated company' in his phonecontacts. He also identified you as 'AaaaaFucker', 'Overaged cocksucking whore', 'Assfucker', 'Suckwhore' and so on. Most recent your label was only 'Whore'. Sorry for the awful accurate words, I just read history.)

Well, the pointless points . .

You texted a lot of unintentional ones . .

.

.

.

.

Childish cleverness.

But it must feel exciting right? To have that bond? Oeehhh a little secret-code-sign between just the two of you, between you and my husband?

Later on you got more confident (misplaced). Texted him things like "Fishing game?" and "You have my heart". Or did you mean "My hell is yours"?

You felt secure enough then to get your knees dirty and fooling around with him at your own place.

Just a couple of meters distanced from you, literally behind your back, I was there, at home, waiting my husband to come home late from work. Oftentimes proudly yearning for my 'hardworking dedicated' husband.

If I had only watched my back I could have smelled, heard and seen you two fuck buddies. A perfect Satire!

Eventually you had no dignity at all anymore. You felt entitled to enter and to fuck up My Home!

Do wrong to no one Milly!

And let me be very clear again: Never Ever enter my property, or even put one foot in my garden and in my house ever again!

You watched and spied on my husband our kids and me. For so many times.

I saw you once, watching us getting into our car. Openly spying at us. (secretly eyeballing). Hanging on your balcony while smoking a cigarette and patting your cat. With that smile on your face full of misplaced courage and selfishness and your imprudent bodylanguage. Now it all makes sense to me. It was too risky for him to look back, hein? Ánd you knew, it made you feel excited, powerful, what a sick mind games.

Did it make you feel great to 'have' that power?Did it make you feel happy? Didn't you think of our emotional wellbeing at all? That was totally not in your interest, right?

What do you feel every morning when you wake up? Are you capable of taking a real look into your own eyes in the mirror? To look at your soul, who you are for real? That includes your darkside.

Well, do you love yourself? As a human being? As a mother? Maybe a grandmother? As a daughter? Do you love yourself as a friend? As a secret mistress? Do you?

And do your loved ones know about the pure Milly? How you live your life for real? Or is it all fake what's in your life?

Do they know that your ego, your self-interest is your foundation of morality?

If they don't, they cannot help you and you will always continue to live your life feeling empty and lonely. Loveless loneliness causes addiction and if you can't bond with other people you'll bond with the source of your addiction.

As you know already I unexpectedly caught you in flagrante delicto recently.

Seeing you skilled sneakin' through the bushes, entering my house by the backyard. And flee out of my frontdoor, like a trapped thieve, after I entered my own house by the back, out of the blue.

What the Heck you think you were doing?!

The minute I left my Home with my children, out of necessity, you thought you had a Chinese bucket to enter my property more freely? And enjoy my house more and more?Which still should be the save and peacefull home of my child!

You really thought you had a free ticket to infect the love in my house which was put in by my loved ones and by me?

Enjoying your stolen time and drinking the liquors which I brought into my home? Malibu mixed with orangejuice is what you drink, isn't it.

The sexual slackness you had with my husband has little to do with being conscious, and no love at all.

Sexual intercourse, being intimate with someone should balance each other, sharing tenderness, gentleness, sensitivity, pure vulnerability, trust, acceptance, respect. Grounding an inner connection, strengthening a boundless soul bond, and creating more unrestrained pure extased love energy.

Sex divorced from love is the thief of personal dignity.

Did you really think you had my permission to befilth and pollute my house with your unhealthy body and your unhealthy soul?

You knew better all along, referring to your way of entering my house, pourly dressed and experienced-bush-worming.

Respect other people's feelings Milly, even if it doesn't mean anything to you, it could mean the world to them.

And maybe, maybe you have to speak it out loud. Look at yourself in front of the mirror and say it:

"I am Milly, I am 50+ and I sneak through bushes. I am a practicing christian and I secretly enter and pollute a place where I do not belong at all. I know I hurt others because of my desire for sins, but I do it anyway just to meet up my fuckboy. I am proud to be a secret mistress!"

How does that feel? To be honest with yourself? That's what it is.

You two had real great times hanky-panky in my house, hein! Suck facing, roughhousing, having tear-jerking-fairy-tale-junkfood-dinners-for-2, under my cosy sheltered porch.Drinking some vanish-all-boundaries-booze by heavenly candlelight. Did you take a good look at the light? Did you stare into the flame? And at the picture? The picture shining next to this always burning candle?

The picture of my deceased father, me and your secret fuckboy? How shameless romantic, getting off by that. Disgraceful sickening.

You have serious problems Milly. You're not healthy, and by saying that I mean you have mental issues (and therefore also physical inconveniences). You have no self-respect, no self-esteem, no self-love and no dignity at all.

What about your infantile loveletter you put so brutally in the car of my husband?

Your words, and a red heart with a stethoscope on it, printed on paper.

That's a good advice for you Milly: To listen closely to your heart and maybe you should use the stethoscope. It is often used to listen to heart sounds.

Within the letter you put a golden key with a red ribbon on it.

And your words to him:

"The key is to use to the entrance of my heart, might you ever need it don't hasitate. For a fishing-game on the familiar place. You will always be here, if you'll ever come or not. Think of you. Your secret mistress."

So, it's necessary to use a golden key with a red ribbon, to open your heart? Wow! Amazing!!! My heart Milly, is freely accessible for love, no key needed.

The familiar place? The fishing-you-and-cocksucking-my-husband-in-a car-spot is a well known (read: save and happy) place for you? For a woman of your age, are you happy by that circumstances? Seriously?

Your secret mistress? Uou must be very proud of yourself, hein? Nicknaming yourself his secret mistress to him. Is that what you admire? Or desire? Betrayal and secrecy. Superb Milly, really magnificent. Noteworthy!

You sneaked around my home, putting your hopeless non-attractive-begging-for-the-wrong-attention-love-letter into his car, while we probably were asleep next to each other, only a couple of meters distanced from you. Inglorious humiliating.

How does it feel to walk willingly into a dark path? It seems so unsophisticated to me and without any shame. Rotten and greedy.

What did you feel when you heard of our divorce? You felt delighted? Finally, after all those years? Whoohooeewww. The party is on. And when you noticed our home went for sale? Ohhh yeah!

Does it make you feel blessed?

Knowing that you are partly responsable too, by inflicting your pain on others? Are you happy with the havoc you created? And don't you care about the people whose lives you have shattered?

No guilt? And now? While you read this, does is still make you feel delighted? Satisfied by your desires?

Always be honest with yourself Milly, so you can learn to respect yourself, to love yourself and to have some self-worth, Amour Propre.

For real, you must feel miserable being a fossil fuckgirl. It makes you lose your values, your character, reality and it isn't love at all. You gained lies, deceit and stolen affections which didn't ever belong to you.

Right after the moment I caught you red-handed, skulduggery in my house, I waylaid you at the back. Waiting for you to pass by on your pussyfooting way back home.

And there, after a couple of minutes, I saw you in distance. Walking towards me like a waddling duck and shiffling forward slowly. An insecure piece of human full of guilt, head pointed down and slumbed hunched shoulders of poor confidence, untruthfullness and pain.

'Flawless Miss Piggy on her too highly raised heels off the ground' and ‘Nellie hippo squeezed in 2 floating rings to keep her from drowning', were crossing my mind for a moment. Poor you. I felt your sadness and shame so deeply it overwhelmed me. The extreme sad anger, the negative energy you exposed almost made me puke.

When I stared into your eyes I saw they're coloured rarely and extremely beautiful, but not like a turquoise sea, which could be. There is no peace in your eyes Milly, your eyes didn't look pretty at all. What your eyes exposed to me made me feel godforsaken miserable.

I told you that very moment never to put one step, one foot, ever again in my garden or in my house again. Ever again!

I was very clear to you Milly: I forbid you to ever enter my property again.

You said you understood. Yeah, sure you understood. Shameless you. Leave your own shit in your own shithole and don't drop it in my place.

You do not have any respect for me or others. You dishonour my being because of your own selfish desires. It's embarrassing you're that desperate.

Let me stir up this textmessage, a message from you to my then husband: "Ready soon to fish I hope, I'm waiting my parents to leave".

This is the respect you have for your parents?Being busy with your fuckboy while they're in your presence? And hoping them to leave soon because of your desire for fish? Unbelievable. You actually should have to enjoy the precious moments of reality and be thankfull they're still in your life, for such a long time.

Did they harm you in anyway? Didn't they show you good moral behaviour? That, if you're about to do something and you want to know if it's a bad idea, you should project it on yourself first?

Do the right thing Milly, even when no one is watching, it is called integrity.

The relationship you set with yourself sets the tone for every other relationship in your life, you have with anyone. So, see every problem in your life as a lesson for you to make yourself stronger, more loveable, happier. Thén you'll never have to play the roll of the victim.

That's where you good at right, playing the victim? Hoping that it's giving you the attention you desire for? It's not ever gonna make you happy.

Desire, Lies and Secrets are like a cancer to the soul. It eats away what's good and leaves only destruction behind.

Have you ever really questioned yourself? What you were doing? And what the concequences could be? Also for other people, who don't want to be involved? Which you knew all along, but you left them no choice. My children? Your children? My parents? Your parents? My siblings and their families? Yours? My sincere friends? Your friends? All of my dear ones who are in my heart? Me myself?!

You inflamed love, kindness, temperance, humility, wisdom, respect, diligence, patience, justice, trust, self-temperance, innocence, acceptence, courage, believes, hopes, grace, caritas and so on an on.

People like you Milly are a pain in the arse, a plague, by protecting the purity of children. Children must not be cursed by emotional immature harmful and abusive 'adults' like you. By you poisonned beings. You bedevilled their purity. You sparked off a piece of their childhood. Giving them the inescapable burden of seeing their parents' grieve which they cannot understand at all.

Do you think children have the ability to see the light in the fact that there are people in this world who harm innocent people who they don't know because of their own ego? That these people can even be your own neighbours or your loved ones? Do you think they can cope shit like this?

Sounds really logical hein? Who wouldn't understand?

Lots of 'grown-ups' do not even have the awareness of understanding the poisoning conduct of people like you, people who suffer from mental disorder.

How did you guide your children good moral in life without them seeing any?

Do you realize how much strength it costs? Strugling every day to stay pure, strong, loveable and unconditional? As a mama? As a sister? As a friend? As a daughter? As a human being? To be a happy person? Who loves life? Pulling yourself out of a poisonous situation with someone you loved so deeply? Do you have any idea?

I think you do know the feeling, the feeling of being deeply betrayed yourself. That has happened to you in the past right?

But you never were strong enough to face yourself and no courage to search in your own past, finding out what causes your pain.

Instead of getting better you got bitter. You started to inflict your pain on others, in your selfish pursuit of your own satisfaction of ignorance.

It is a working-your-ass-off-duty, an almost-unbearable-mind-growing-battle, a very-lonely-bewildered-struggle-not-being-able-to-verbalize-properly.

I can tell you that for sure Milly, as an 'experience-expert'.

So, don't ruin other people's happiness just because you can't find your own. And before hurting others, ask yourself what is really hurting you.

I have viewed your social media to see if I could learn. You remember this post you shared with the whole world?

"You can't change the world but you can make a difference."

Is this the difference you want make Milly Making this world a little more rotten?

Practice what you preach or change your speech.

This world would be a better place to live in, if we learn not to play with heads and hearts of others. If we stop hurting peoples' feelings. If we all make ourselfs strong enough never to lie, no matter what the situation is. If only we all would learn to be true.

I read you are a daughter of god, a practicing christian, a pearl in God's hand? “You know that the Father knows you? You know that you are of value? You know that you're a pearl? A pearl in God's hand!"

Do you know the deeper meaning behind this Milly? Read about it. Is that the base of your morality?

Your profilepic and some other recognizable selfies made me wonder.

Why do you share your selfies on social media after sending this exact selfies first to my then husband? With your sweet tooth texts. I mean the ones you made with my husband in your thoughts or in your presence, you know? To show the world how happy you 'seem' just seconds after you went down on him? And to receive compliments (read: get false validation) of how beautiful you 'look' in that state.

Nothing is as it seems right?

Black can appear white when the light is blinding but white loses all luster at the faintest sign of darkness....I know.

And what about all the other things you carry, which cannot bear the daylight and are still hidden in the dark? Waiting to be found by you or to be taken into your grave someday? Your secrets, that are no big deal to anyone but to yourself.

You as a christian should benefit the precious advantage you have versus heathen. The ten commandments: very simple but very valuable fundamental guidelines, to live your life meaningful based on ethics and worship. And the seven Holy virtues, they cure the seven Capital sins, didn't you know?

You should take benefit from it and use this to leg-up properly. Mortal sin, I guess, is a refusal of God's offer to live and love. It's a sign of emotional immaturity, abusive and it should never be excused or tolerated. You are a pathatic lost woman who really needs help.

Everybody makes mistakes, through all of our lifes. And we all do some things sometimes we are ashamed of and regretting afterwards. But mistakes Milly, mistakes are meant for learning not for repeating.

There are going to be very painful moments in your life that will change your entire world in a matter of minutes. These moments will change you. Let these moments change you a stronger, smarter, kinder woman. Not a selfdestructing one who tears herself and others down.

Feel offended Milly? Insulted? Ashamed? Hurt? Humiliated? If so, realize it's your warning indicator showing you where to look within yourself for unresolved issues.

All of this is my perception, my opinion, the truth is whatever you think is true, I can only make you think.

But for you Milly I hope, just for your own sake, that you'll once be brave enough, strong enough and pure enough to change your heart of stone for a heart of flesh.

Love comes in miracles every day, like weakening the strong, challenging the weak, making fools of the wise, and wise ones of fools, favouring passions and obsessions, destroying reason, and in other words Love is turning tables every day.....

My sarcastic mirror of your own rudeness. Provoked to go love yourself. It is my gift to you Milly. A taste of your own medicine.

Wholeheartedly,

Caroline

What’s The point⚫️

#Soul #Food

#Typography

#Vintage #Romantic #FairyTale #Past

#Pure # Life #Humble #Grateful #LOL

#Heart #Art #DIY #Fashion

#Love #All #Initsway

#Truth #Strengthen #Nourish #Reinforce

#Paradox #You #Choose

#Bitter #Better #Lovable

#OneLove #BobMarley

[alo-piss-trancy]

hey idk if you’re still taking drabble requests, but if so how about sakura from dr desperate during a class trial (since she’s always picked to spend the entire investigation time guarding the body she probably wouldn’t have time to go the bathroom beforehand, and the trials can get really long)

((Thank you anon, you knew the girl after my own heart! 💛 I hope you enjoy this! My memory's a bit hazy on the order of the early trials and I didn't want to get bogged down with extra details, so I kept it vague. I enjoyed writing it though! Also once again, it broke my under 1,000 goal. I guess I should have made it 2,000 since that's what all of these keep hitting lmao ))

A body's strength is only half the battle. Strength of the mind is just as important. My mind is strong, and my willpower nearly unmatched. I will get through this.

Yes, this was merely another test of her abilities, and she refused to fail. She wouldn't lose when there was so much more at stake.

When her core was already so tight, so firm, any minor distension was noticeable. The waistband of her skirt was crushing her bladder in its coil, every breath tightening the cinch. She was grateful that the podium hid her abdomen from view, spare the peers on her left and right. Luckily, those few were also too busy to pay her any heed, each focused on the ongoing debate in front of them.

The debate. Yes, she had to focus on that. One of their peers, their friends had died today, and she could not allow her soul to rest without finding out who the killer was. If they didn't choose correctly, they were all doomed. Her swollen abdomen may be screaming at her, but her righteous anger at the injustice of this situation screamed even louder, and she held her stance, peering at Naegi as he kept speaking.

He has been quite skilled in our past debates. Surely this will not take too much time, as long as he has a decent hunch.

She herself had her own hunch, but there was no point in interrupting now. All who stood on this floor deserved an equal chance to speak. Listening calmly was far more productive than shouting over one another and delaying the process.

Another wave of pressure rammed through her, and she felt herself begin to sweat from the strain of remaining in position. Tickling beads of liquid, rolling slowly down her back, or dampening her hairline. Her thighs were still apart in her usual stance, and that distance didn't help ease the desperate throbbing between her legs. Delaying the process. This whole incident today had delayed her...

She had never exactly asked to be appointed bodyguard (in the most literal sense). It had just been the duty expected of her. Yes, she was arguably the most capable, and with her strength and strong moral compass nothing would happen to their fallen comrades, but it...wasn't the most convenient job. Standing in one place for hours at a time, especially when she was called into action suddenly, without any prior warning, could make for some unfortunate circumstances. The fact that she was always stuck next to Mondo as well only made things worse.

Yes, on some levels she respected him, but he was also hot-headed and had far too large of an ego. He loved to tease his peers, especially for needs he considered 'weak.' So she'd had no plans of giving him the satisfaction, even if it would have given her the chance to leave before the trial had started.

Besides, leaving her post, betraying her duty of protecting their fallen comrades, who were often mutilated enough already, would have been a disgrace, spitting on her very honour. If anything had happened to their sacred corpses while she was gone, she couldn't have forgiven herse-

"Hey, why are you pointing at me, Naegi?!? Sakura looks pretty suspicious!"

She'd been too lost in her thoughts to place the voice, but now she was all too aware of the cluster of eyes set on her. She wasn't usually the type to feel flustered under pressure, but in this moment, it was difficult to shrug off the scrutinizing attention.

"Wh-What?" She shouldn't have stuttered. She never stuttered. Fighting to summon a glare, she cast it over everyone in the room. "What exactly are you accusing me of?"

"I said you look suspicious!" Naegi tried to interrupt their peer, but they brushed the puny boy off and continued. "See, look how badly she's sweating! I think she's shaking too! She has to be the killer!"

The same moment that the accusatory finger lunged to point at her, all of the water and protein shakes in her bladder seemed to lunge for the exit, plummeting with such a vicious sensation that she found herself gasping and flinching to press her hands against the podium. Adding pressure against the wood and ducking her head was the only way to ride out the wave without grasping herself, every muscle tensed as tightly as they would go.

I have the strength of a dam. I can hold an ocean back.

That thought didn't ease the throbbing pain, and she had to force herself to straighten back up, even as she moved her legs to finally press together behind the podium. Her accuser was right, her body was trembling. A structure that should have been solid, unshakeable, and she was quivering like cherry blossoms in a storm.

"I'm not...not..." Damn it, she could barely think clearly enough to speak in her own defense, every ounce of her mind occupied with keeping a different kind of defense up. One that was rapidly weakening. Every breath brought fresh, burning waves through her, forcing her to pant. All of those years training, and they hadn't prepared her for this...

"Naegi's right, she's not the killer! Sakura would never do that!" Aoi's voice cut through the chatter for a few seconds, the only sound that could distract her. "Sakura, what's wrong?" It was then that she was aware Aoi had turned her focus directly towards her, and her own face blazed hotter than the sun.

"I..." How could she make such a shameful admission in front of everyone? She would rather d-

No. That is no longer a simple expression here.

It could be a very real consequence of her actions. Not just for her, but for Hina, and the others. With that perspective, it would be even more shameful to hold her pride as of higher importance than their safety...

"Sakura? Come on, work with me here! Naegi and I can't defend your good name if we don't kno-"

"My apologies, dear Hina...I should not be keeping secrets from you, from all of you, during such dire circumstances." It was extremely difficult to keep her voice steady while her body waged a war, but she was determined not to whimper, not to stutter again. If she was going to lose her dignity here, then she would. With dignity. "The truth is...I am in dire need of a restroom." She couldn't bring herself to look anyone else in the eyes, only glancing at Hina with the slightest smile she could muster. It vanished a moment later, when she was forced to grip the podium against another wave.

"I apologize for the interruption. Please continue the debate, Naegi." It was hissed through gritted teeth, and she couldn't see his reaction as her hair fell into her eyes, clinging to her face in sweaty strands.

"Hold on!" Aoi piped up, raising her hand. "Monokuma, if it's this bad, can she take one of those court recesses real quick!?! Just, like, a couple minutes tops!"

The ursine demon only cackled, clapping his paws together. "Hell no! No one leaves this room under any circumstances, no matter how silly! You think I would actually trust you kids with the oldest excuse in the book!?! I'm not that stupid, ho-ho-ho!"

"But-"

"No buts! Those are the rules! And if you break them, you know what happens...~"

The swimmer was too good to her. Much too good, considering they barely knew each other...Fighting back a grimace, she glanced over at Aoi again, hoping she sounded less grim than she felt. "It's alright, Hina. Don't concern yourself with my fate. Our...ah!-priority is finding the killer. Focus on that."

"Hhh...I guess you're right..." Aoi mumbled, tapping her fingers together. "But don't worry! We'll finish this trial super fast, and then you can-"

"No!" She'd meant to object to Hina's statement, but at that very moment, a wave of pain finally broke her control, the first squirt of urine gushing out to wet her underwear. Cringing, she squeezed her thighs together and hunched over, although it barely relieved the pain. "Hina, do not rush this for my sake! The fate that befalls me is nowhere near the risk that will befall you if we get the vote wrong." It was growing even more difficult to speak, every word plagued by the agony overtaking her body. But she had to make the girl understand. She had to be clear.

I will not let my own needs overtake the needs of the class.

There was only one course of action. One that was about to happen any moment anyway. Her control was already slipping further, tiny leaks filling her undergarments no matter how tightly she clenched. Feeling her eyes begin to water from both shame and pain, she closed them, hunching against the podium and slowly parting her legs to gain a more balanced stance. Her body was already weak, and it needed no further coaxing to relax completely, her shoulders slumping as she laid her head against the wooden surface.

It started like the warm summer creeks she used to see in the woods, flowing into her clothes and running along the skirt to caress her legs in slow, meandering paths. But within mere moments, it picked up speed, and soon the very waterfall she used to sit under was gushing between her legs, pattering and splattering onto the floor. The sound was akin to thunder in the otherwise silent room (or perhaps it wasn't silent. She only knew that she was trying to block out her surroundings with meditation). The puddle was surely growing, seeping towards her shoes, and when she opened her eyes to check, Hina was stepping back, trying to avoid the flood reaching her own podium. That inconvenience only made her skin burn hotter, and she glanced away, choosing to stare at the floor as ragged pants choked out any attempt at an apology.

As humbling as this experience was though, she couldn't ignore the blooming relief in her chest. Denial often resulted in the most fulfilling rewards, and this event was no exception. To finally empty her bladder after all of that suffering, even in such an inconvenient place, was nearly a high. Being a beacon of strength all the time was exhausting and tense. The chance to unwind, to revel in weakness for just a moment, was almost relaxing, and she found a long sigh escaped her lips as the stream began slowing down. Without the additional force propelling it, the weakest streams once again chose to cling to her legs, a comforting heat in the cold courtroom.

Like most heat though, the warmth was fleeting, and as she finally finished relieving herself, that chill began to seep into her bones, accompanied by the stunned murmurs around the room. Shock. Open disgust. Judgement. Confusion.

Mocking laughter, barking and loud, from the beast in the chair. A gavel pounding the surface in unbridled glee. "You actually pissed yourself! I thought I'd seen it all, but here we are, fwupupu!!!" More laughter. When the creature spoke again, he was nearly wheezing. "Well, I guess when urine trouble, there's only one way out! Get it! Didj'ya'll get it!?! Ho-ho-ho!!! Hee-hee-hee!!!"

"Sakura..." Hina stepped around the podium and the puddle, navigating until she could put a slender hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay? Don't worry, it's not a big deal! Why, just last year, I was at a swim meet, and the locker rooms were, well, locked! And I totally-"

"HEY!!! GET YOUR BUTT BACK IN YOUR OWN SPOT, OR ALL OF YOU WILL HAVE HELL TO PAY!" Monokuma screeched, bashing the gavel against wood until she could feel a headache begin to form. "JUST BECAUSE THAT ONE AMUSED ME DOESN'T MEAN WE AREN'T STILL IN A TRIAL! DON'T WASTE TIME!!!"

Clenching her fist at the nuisance's words, she forced a thin smile, nodding her head for the girl to leave. "It's alright, dear Hina. Let us finish the debate."

"Okay..."

With Aoi back in her place, and the urgency of their mission back in the forefront of their minds, she took a deep breath, crossing her arms back over her chest. It was difficult not to shudder at the sopping texture clinging to her thighs and bunching up under her skirt, but her focus couldn't be spared right now. She had to give all of her attention to Naegi as he began speaking again, listen carefully to the interruptions from other peers. They had to find the killer, and soon, before Monokuma became bored again.

Aoi was still looking at her, she noticed. Every few minutes, when the girl thought she wasn't paying attention. There was...such pity in those glimmering eyes...

You need not pity me, dear Hina. When it comes to your safety, and everyone else's, I would make any sacrifice necessary. Whatever is needed to protect those kinder and stronger than me...

[blackhatandfriends]

Personal Story, But It's Funny So...

ALRIGHT FRIENDS LET ME TELL YOU A STORY ABOUT THE FIRST TIME I CAME HOME FROM COLLEGE.

So, the adventure began with me waking up approximately 2 hours after I went to sleep, but still almost a full hour after I wanted to wake up.

Why was I up past 4 am on the day I was supposed to be up by 6? Insomnia and winter break dorm expectations.

Anyway! About, I dunno, 5 seconds after I realized what time it was my FHE mom/ ride to the train station texted me asking if I was ready to go. Failure to respond in a cool, put together way would be admitting defeat. Period.

"Yeah man, I'm just putting on my shoes."

Nailed it.

Only problem? I was in my pajamas and still under the covers of a bed I would have to make before I left, and she lives two doors down from me.

So one flash of toothpaste and black skinny jeans later, she nocked on the door and I tripped over ALL 3 of my bags to answer it, looking like hot mess central, but still refusing to admit defeat and bow to my obvious need for a better sleeping schedule as she helped me with my bags and dropped me off at the train station.

Because I am afraid of new things and needed a charger, I decided to take a seat at a table with an outlet on the upper part of the train (the only place I've ever sat). I only had a small suitcase, my backpack, and my alto saxophone, but that was enough for me to take up two seats and most of the legroom for the table all the way up to my stop an hour away.

I occupied myself with a book my friend lent me, because of course, my head phones went missing two days before my masterful departure for home.

Now about two stops in another girl sits next to me and asks for advice on how to get to her desired destination to meet her sister. And I, with my two trips to Salt Lake on the train prior to this one, expertly and with great knowledge instructed her to get off at a station I've never gotten off at and take the TRAX line I'd never been on. But the wonder of the internet backed me up. I don't know if she got there, but I double checked the map twice after telling her what to do.

Finally my stop arrives! And after wrestling my bags out from under the table, totally sure that this is where I had to go...

...my graceful self fell down the stairs.

And this wasn't just a simple little stumble that happens when someone misses one step. This was the catastrophic, slow-motion worthy, life-alert comercial style, human avalanche down the stairs that happens when you miss upwards of FIVE STEPS (exact count unavaliable at this time).

I hit the ground landing on my left knee, and with everyone staring at me, some asking if I was okay, I proclaimed "Don't worry, the ground broke my fall!" And proceeded to hobble away from my shame quickly with the one shred of dignity I had left. The pain in my leg didn't let me get far before I was silently cursing outside the door of the train trying to regain my bearings. A kind woman, the one who one of my bags landed on when I fell down the stairs, told me my glasses were on the back of my head and offered to help me with anything. But, still embarrassed and in complete denial, I quickly thanked her, told her I was fine, and said to have a merry Christmas while I stood there on one foot like some kind of urban flamingo.

Then, the adrenaline brought on from the prospect of missing my plane got me to ignore my problem, hobble up the escalator, and jump on the greenline TRAX to the airport. I avoided the stairs.

Now two of the guys must have seen me fall on the train. Because they were watching me with a look of pity and concern, and both reached out to catch me when the trolley suddenly moved and I looked as if I may fall. Luckily I caught myself.

But fear not! For I did make it to the airport! And while waiting in line for security, I was blessed with the presence of a fun TSA man, a nice guy and his beautiful big dog, and one of the most adorable old men I've ever seen in my life waiting for his wife in a wheelchair to get through the check.

Shortly later, I went to the bathroom to pee and check out my leg, which had a chunk taken out of it and a large bruise developing on my knee. So, with no direct threat to my life I elected to ignore it. I am home now. And my leg hurts, but it's all good and I'm sure I'll be fine!

(Dorians were hurt in the making of this adventure.)

Anyways, I didn't post this on @hiimdorian because I wanted more people to see it and laugh at it with me 😅

Also, as I said in my last post, here is to hoping that I can get some Villanos content out to you guys here in the next few days, because Merry Christmas!!

[crazy-indigo-child]

More Than Enough

After finding out about Kuron the team locks the not-Shiro away in the castle: a threat contained. Keith’s having second thoughts about locking away the man that shared his best friend’s memories. 

Fic for @princess-tentacles

”W-what?! That’s not right… I can’t be a clone, I remember too much!”

Three months. Shiro had been home for three months— had lived with them, trained them, and bonded with them. For three months Keith let himself believe that he’d finally rescued his best friend from the brink of death in a failing fighter ship. How the fuck had he missed the fact that this wasn’t the same goddamn person?!

Keith wept with joy and then with pain when the man that had come back to them was just left of normal, but Shiro had changed the first time they got him back too. There was no way of knowing that all these new truths about Shiro— that he liked his food goo cold instead of hot, that he preferred to leave his hair a bit longer— was actually just… a stranger.

What hurt most was that he looked like the pimple-faced teen that took him out joyriding on his hover bike, the bright-eyed officer who binged on mac and cheese through exams. Though similar to a tee, this was not the Shiro he grew up with.

But he was *a* Shiro.

The not-Shiro wasn’t allowed to sleep in the Black Paladin dorm anymore, forbidden from even being on the same level as the other paladins and the bridge. At least, Allura promised, until they figured out why the Galra had sent them a decoy. Besides the alternative was to lock him up in a holding cell.

Keith stepped out of the elevator feeling the most clear-headed he had in a very long time. It had been a few weeks since they’d found out about clone-Shiro, since they’d locked him away 20 levels above the bridge, and Keith finally scrounged up the courage to visit. How could he bring himself to face the living embodiment of his greatest memories if he was still mourning them?

What a sick universe they lived in. Wasn’t there anything better for it to do than to torture him? Or Shiro. Poor Shiro.

Since finding out Keith had cried and screamed and fought and bled at the injustice of it all… but maybe not-Shiro was too. After all, misery loved company.

Finding not-Shiro was easy when he’d stopped looking for the actual Shiro; real Shiro would have picked one of the 15 rooms with the best view, not-Shiro didn’t care much for space but preferred the boxed-in feeling of a windowless room and dark corners. So naturally the small servants’ quarters off of the kitchen was where he’d camp out.

One thing didn’t change: he never slept through the night. Keith had found him sitting up in bed and poring over the tablet Lance had lent him, full of pictures of them and journal logs over the months. There were a couple games on the tablets, but he doubted this Shiro took the same pleasure in marathoning Candy Crush. “I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you.”

“Didn’t expect you to,” not-Shiro said, peering over the tablet with an almost peevish look. Definitely cold, but not aggressive; Keith invites himself in and ambles up to the bedside. This bed, like the others, was built into the wall like an alcove. Unlike the others this one looked cold and hard, one pillow and a thin blanket. A prisoner in his own home.

“You’re my friend,” he puts simply, “friends visit each other.”

“You’ve made it pretty clear that I’m not your friend.”

Keith flinched. That… actually hurt. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

“Depends. Can I sit?”

It’s ‘red wine on a white carpet’ obvious that not-Shiro isn’t thrilled about Keith being there; unlike the old Shiro this one didn’t see any reason to hide his disdain. In this Shiro’s defence the old Shiro was never locked up in an empty set of rooms while his friends and teammates carried on with their lives under his feet. The Castle of Lions was always a sanctuary; respect and dignity was righted to Shiro by virtue of being the Black Paladin. But without Black’s blessing this Shiro was just… a passerby. Maybe even a monster. Keith took his silence as assent and slumped heavily at the foot of the bed.

He’d had a whole speech he’d rehearsed and forgotten. Luckily not-Shiro filled the silence instead: “I still feel everything. Every memory is so… vivid. Even if they didn’t happen to me I still remember.”

“I-I know it’s been hard on you—“

“You think?!” not-Shiro snapped, the tablet tumbling off his knee and onto the floor when his knees drew up to wall Keith off. It was so juvenile and so unlike his childhood friend that he just… watched. In this time he realized that Shiro’s clone was shirtless, namely he noticed that the skin wasn’t scarred or uneven anymore, that the tattoo splayed over his ribs had vanished without a trace. Shame. Shiro loved it. “Could you imagine waking up one day to find out that your entire existence was a lie? That whenever your best friend looks at you he’s wondering where the better version of you went? This is the craziest existential crisis ever.”

Guilty. Keith stared at the scuff on his shoes. “Yeah that’s… pretty messed up.”

“It’s *fucked*,” not-Shiro agreed. “And the worst part is that I don’t know who’s more upset that I’m not Shiro: you or me?! And I’m the guy who just found out he’s, like, a crappy bootleg of some other guy.”

“You’re not… Look.” Keith called a truce, reaching out to grab clone-Shiro’s natural hand, letting it flinch and holding tighter. “So you’re not the real Shiro. It sucks for everyone that this happened. But you’re still you; you’re still your own person.”

That earned him a look: a look that turned into a stare and then a poorly veiled pout as the older man rested his chin on his knees. “But I’m not enough.”

Keith leans in like he’s telling a secret, letting his hand trail up the smooth, scarless skin of the other’s arm. Up toned muscles that tensed and shivered as he passed, and over a familiar egg-shaped birthmark on the ridge of a collarbone. He cupped a cheek with his palm and not-Shiro surprisingly lets him and made no fuss over the tear Keith wicked away with his thumb. “You’re so much more than enough.”

The light grey of clone-Shiro’s eyes catch in the fluorescent blue lights cutting along the walls and it took Keith everything he had not to throw himself at this poor man, who looked at him so reverently he could have held the world in his hands. “I love you,” he whispered as another tear tracked down the back of Keith’s hand. “I-I mean *we* do. There just wasn’t any time…” he trailed off when the grip on his cheek shifted, replacing Keith’s thumb over the pad of his lips.

Their foreheads drew together in the quiet lull of Keith’s gentle shushing. So this wasn’t Shiro, and maybe he’d never find him again, but the man before him had a history; they shared memories and years of friendship that went deeper than anything Keith had ever known. Keith was never in love with Shiro’s body, but the way he picked Keith up when he fell and carried him when it seemed there was no other choice but to stay down forever. The person he was sitting with now *was* that man. And he loved him for it. “What do I call you now?”

That took a moment; even when they’d found out he was a clone he was still ‘Shiro’. No one thought to differentiate the two or considered what might happen when they found the real Shiro and had a doppelgänger on board. And definitely no one stopped to think that maybe this man deserved a little dignity, not even Keith who’d reduced his whole existence to ‘not-Shiro.’

“…Kuron?” Keith pulled away at that, prodding him with a questioning look. “The Galra would call me that. I guess it’s the first real name I’ve ever really had.”

“You don’t mind it?”

“It’s mine.”

Damn. Well who was he to try and stop Shir— Kuron, from sticking it to the Galra? No one at all.

Kuron shifts, fingers reaching to toy with the hem of his shirt sleeve, and everything goes downhill from there.

Something in him snaps and Keith’s launching himself into a panting mess of skin on skin; what would have been his and Shiro’s first kiss. It’s thrilling, but it’s also tragic and Keith has to close his eyes to keep from breaking his secret promise to Kuron. Kuron isn’t sure but only has a fraction of a second of resistance in him before he’s pressing back, so soft and unsure it almost makes Keith laugh. Instead he pushes Kuron’s knees apart so he can slot between them and herds him to the mattress.

The skin under his fingers run smooth and seamless, muscles taut and firm like he’d always imagined. So he indulged himself and Keith let his touch drift down to the hem of Kuron’s boxers and skirt over the thin fabric. Moans drip from his lips and Keith’s a glutton to drink them all, pushing Kuron down and taking him for everything he had.

Where Shiro was guarded, tentative, meek, Kuron was ripping at Keith’s utility belt and scrabbling at the zipper of his jeans. Frantic to keep up, Keith was tugging at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up until his arms got caught up in the jacket he still wore. “H-help me with these,” he whimpered and crooned at the immediacy of Kuron’s massive hands on his shoulders. The very instant his shirt hit the floor Kuron was pushing at him and upending him on the bed. Bodies rolled and the waist of his jeans and boxers yanked over his thighs. Blunt fingertips dipped into the cleft of his ass on their way by and Keith’s vision bleached.

“Never again,” Kuron hissed and let Keith’s pants bunch a the tops of his boots. Urgency and desperation hardened their kisses and the mouth pressing a prayer down his chest and stomach. “I’m never going to make you wait, Keith.”

Wetting his fingers with a quick lathe of his tongue, Keith pressed them down to his hole, whining while he opened himself under Kuron’s entire attention. “Then you better hurry.” Luckily Kuron took that as his cue to fish his cock out of his boxers while he watched; true to his word he didn’t wait for Keith to ask, his cock quickly replacing slim fingers.

“God, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted this!”

Keith would have second that, but the slow drag and stretch of his body left him breathless and overcome. Not to mention he was adoring the filthy, shameless moaning of his name. When Keith looked up he was back in the Garrison, Shiro toppled on top of him over the sparring mat after Keith had the bright idea to take his ankles out while Shiro had him snagged in a headlock. It was the first time he’d heard Shiro really laugh, and he’d fallen in love.

This was that man, but with a different name and a haircut that would take some getting used to. Keith was nothing if not patient, but already he was getting swept up in the steady build of his orgasm. Between jolting thrusts he managed to reach out and sink his fingers into the meat of Kuron’s shoulder. “I l-love you,” he rasped. Barely two thrusts later the older man came with a wretched sob and a deep, grinding thrust.

Heat bloomed inside of him and it would have been so easy for Keith to get off on the thought of Kuron filling him up alone, but a massive sweaty fist ripped his orgasm right out of him and Keith came hard with a breathless shout.

They caught their breaths in the relative calm of afterglow, Kuron smoothing his hands over Keith’s oversensitive skin and kissing over his neck and collarbone with too much desperation for someone who’d just came. “You mean it?” he rumbled, tongue thick, “When you said I was enough?”

It was just a flash, a longing look in his eye that he’d not seen in Shiro since he’d placed his resume in for the Kerberos mission and never for him. Now it was *all* for him. Shiro always looked up to the stars, Kuron was always looking down at his side where Keith always was. Where he’d always be. “Have I ever lied to you?”

[jikook-love]

Heartwrecker

CHAPTER 13 | finale

Love had always been a literal game to Jeon Jungkook. His targets would be the playing pieces, and their emotions the mere obstacles he had to seduce, manipulate and alter through his acts. Win their hearts? Win the game. But when Taehyung asks Jungkook to deal with the relationship of his childhood best friend Park Jimin, Jungkook quickly discovers that "love" isn't at all as simple as he thought would be...

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“I said I’m sor—”

“Don’t talk to me.”

Jungkook stumbled after a livid Taehyung, who was blazing down the hallway like someone had just lit his shoes on fire. He was mad, for obvious reasons, though some were more selfish than others. 

“Traitor,” Taehyung was grumbling to himself. “Spewing all that crap about trust and bullshit…”

Jungkook tried rambling. “Look, it was in the heat of the moment and he caught me so I had no choice but to—”

“For the last time,” Taehyung said through gritted teeth. He’d burst through the back doors of the building, while Jungkook almost got hit the face. “You didn’t have to throw it in the water—“

“It had a frikken three metre radius, I had no choice!.”

 “—now thanks to you, videos of me twerking to country music are going viral.”

Taehyung glared at him, and for a moment, Jungkook thought he was really going to receive a heavy book bag in the face. Luckily, Taehyung turned around and kept walking towards the familiar trees and benches that was their usual spot.

“Well, I didn’t tell you to do that, did I?” Taehyung huffed, collapsing onto a bench, closing his eyes just so he didn’t have to look at Jungkook.

Jungkook sat down on the bench across from his friend. “I get it. I’m a lost cause,” he admitted guiltily. “I didn’t fully realize up it until…then.”

Taehyung sat up, boring his eyes into Jungkook. Jungkook made a mental note about how much more frequently he was receiving those glares recently.

But to his surprise, the resolve was no longer as strong as it had been last week. Taehyung turned away, no longer able to maintain the rigid eye contact.

“I get it…” he suddenly murmured. “Things happen. I just wish it didn’t have to be at the price of my dignity this time.”

Jungkook was taken aback. He’d expected his best friend to yield eventually, but not quite as easily as this.

“I knew this was going to happen eventually,” Taehyung was still rambling. “Just not like this.”

Jungkook blinked. “What? Me falling for Jimin?”

“No, you falling for a client in general,” Taehyung clarified. “Well…I guess he isn’t a client but still…”

A shudder traveled through Jungkook’s body as he suddenly remembered the words of none other than Kim Namjoon so long ago, vivid in his mind as if it had only been spoken yesterday:

“What if you accidentally fall in love?”

“Relax, hyung. That’ll never happen.”

A sigh exhaled from his lips, the same lips that were still tingling from last night’s sensations.

Of course he’s always the one who’s right.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Taehyung asked. He had a book cracked open and placed over his face. His arms were comfortably tucked behind his head, clearly ready for a nap that would render him forgetful of the present shame he had to deal with.

“About what?” Jungkook asked.

“About Jimin,” Taehyung replied. “Clearly my plan’s not going to work anymore since you have no resistance whatsoever, so what are you going to do about him and his fiancée at this point?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Come clean, I guess.”

Taehyung bolted upwards again, eyes wide awake as he looked at Jungkook. “You’re gonna tell him that you’ve been dating his fiancée and tried to break them up? Sounds like a great plan.”

“Well, maybe not right away but…eventually,” said Jungkook. “In fact, I’ll start with her.”

“Ha. Good luck with that,” Taehyung snorted, retreating back to his sleeping position.

“It’ll be fine!” Jungkook insisted. “I’ll just tell her I’m not really the one for her. I’m not who she thinks I am. And that we should end it.”

“I said: Good. Luck.”

“Maybe I’ll just pick my nose in front of her while talking or something.”

 “…actually, that might work,” came Taehyung’s nonchalant murmur after a lapse of silence.

They sat like that for a while, passive and quiet, Taehyung evidently on the verge of sleeping while Jungkook was smiling, feeling relieved that it was all going to end soon.  

“Come to think of it,” Jungkook spoke suddenly, after a minute’s worth of thoughts. “Why’d you even try so hard to break them up in the first place?”

“You don’t need to know,” came the mumble.

“And the sudden generosity?”

“Only idiots try the same thing over and over again and expect different results,” came the mumble.

Jungkook leered into a smile, and made it evident in his tone because he knew Taehyung couldn’t see it.

“It’s one of those two, isn’t it?” Jungkook asked. “Suddenly feeling relatable, huh, Kim Taehyung? You got butterflies in your stomach too?”

No response. Taehyung was doing a great job of feigning sleep.

Jungkook kicked the bench Taehyung was lying on.

“Tell me which one it is!” Jungkook demanded. “I know it’s one of them but I don’t know which one!”

Long silence. Again.

Jungkook frowned, insistent on a response. “That’s a shame,” he spoke. “I thought they were already taken—by each other.”

“That’s just a rumour,” was the immediate response.

Jungkook smiled, satisfied with the equivalence of a confession, as he heard the barely audible curse word uttered immediately afterwards from beneath the thick pages of the textbook.

  Jungkook hadn’t planned on admitting it to himself, or anyone else so soon.

But it was still so vivid in his mind. The way Jimin’s lips had burned against his, and the pleasure growling deep within his stomach. Though it may have been nothing more than carnal desire, it was a sign that Jungkook could no longer control himself, and that he should get out before he got caught in too deep.

The boy brushed his bangs out of his eyes, a habit he’d picked up from god knows who before checking the watch on his left hand. In his right hand, he clutched a bouquet of pink and violet flowers with small petals. He stood underneath the large tree near the centre of the park, waiting eagerly yet nervously for the person he would eventually give them to.

“I’m going to end it, tonight,” Jungkook had stated firmly to Taehyung. The words felt surreal slipping out of his mouth. Such simple words. So easily uttered.

“Do whatever you want,” Taehyung’s response had been passive-aggressive. “You’re beyond saving anyway. The fact that you haven’t even considered the fact that could Jimin run back to his fiancée any second concerns me a lot.”

“Why would he?”

Taehyung looked him squarely in the eyes.

“He hasn’t said otherwise, has he?”

Jungkook sighed to himself, leaning back against the solid bark of the tree as he clenched the bouquet flowers tighter in his hand. He knew that Jimin hadn’t promised him a thing. Taehyung was right: there was actually quite a large chance of Jimin returning back to his fiancée after this. After all, his connection with Jungkook thus far was nothing more than a short fling—any rational man would see the consequences of fortifying a relationship out of something along the lines of a one (well, two) night stand.

He caught sight of a young family passing by him through the park. There was a mother holding onto her daughter’s hand, and a father dragging his son along while carrying a smaller child on his shoulders. Jungkook watched intently, his heart aching at how happy they looked, practically glowing within one another’s presence.

Jimin’s fiancée offered him riches, stability, comfort and a future family—Jungkook had nothing, besides a lingering infatuation for Jimin, which could also eventually fade over time.

Another long sigh, as Jungkook checked his watch yet again. But in his heart, he knew what this was actually about: he wanted Jimin to be happy. And to go around behind his back dating Jimin’s fiancée after carelessly making out with him at a garden party just didn’t seem like the proper, moralistic thing to do, no matter how one looked at it.

This was about him, and all the regretful decisions he had made.

And he had to fix it.

A sudden, repetitive noise resonated on the pavement. He looked up expectantly and, just as he expected, his date had finally arrived.

The heels clicked faster and faster, and got louder and louder as she got closer to him.

At last, she was in front of him, and he smiled at her with pressed lips as he politely handed her the bouquet of flowers with both hands.

“Here,” he said. “For you.”

 “Why’d you even try so hard in the first place?”

It was already later in the afternoon, and Taehyung trampled onto the fallen leaves, venting out his aggression. Jungkook was probably already on his way to expose himself to the fiancée, and ruin any hopes of salvation.

 He’d messed up, big time. It was embarrassing in a way, how he always went about, acting like he was everyone’s best friend when in the end, he was a helpful friend to no one.

Jungkook probably hated him now. And eventually, so would Jimin.

He’d lost everything now, though it was entirely the fault of his own greed—he just wanted everyone’s love. And as a result of getting the wrong people involved, it almost seemed as if he no longer had anyone left.

But it was true. Why had he tried so hard in the first place?

Sometimes, there just isn’t a finite and discrete nor rational reason as to why people to the things they do.

Perhaps, in Taehyung’s case, it was a culmination of many things. His aggressive spirit and the way he liked to see things though to end, his immaturity and inability to foresee the possible consequences, his guilt of introducing Jimin to someone who he thought would be a good person but turned out to be the worst kind of huntress, and perhaps, his possessiveness when it came to Jimin himself definitely came into play.

Taehyung sighed to himself, collapsing onto a wooden bench by the road side to take a break from his walking. There, he suddenly recollected a conversation he’d had with Jungkook that seemed so long ago—it was after Jungkook saw Jimin for the first time, but much before things had gotten so unnecessarily complicated…

“Why can’t I just date him?” Jungkook had whined.

“Because I said no,” Taehyung asserted.

“That’s what you said at the café,” Jungkook pouted. “And I really don’t get why.”

“Fine,” Taehyung took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not sure you’d get it but…it’s because Jimin’s my best friend, okay? I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he means a lot to me.”

Jungkook blinked. “So?”

“So, I just don’t wanna…give him away you know? Like, how would you feel if I started dating some random dude?”

“I mean, if the random dude’s not a dick I don’t see why I would be against it. Besides, you know I’m not a dick. I wouldn’t hurt him.”

Taehyung sighed. “See. You don’t get it. It’s kind of like…he’s mine, you know?”

“Dude, don’t tell me you like him too?”

“What?! NO! That’s not it!” Taehyung yelped. He sighed again, this time resting his palm on his forehead. “I knew you wouldn’t get it…”

“So explain it so I do get it,” Jungkook insisted. “That way I know I don’t have to fight you.”

“Why would you want to fight m—anyways. I definitely don’t want to fuck him. I mean I’ve definitely considered it, of course. The question: “Would I fuck Park Jimin?” and… I don’t know. It just sounded really wrong, ya know?”

“So?”

“But he’s still more precious to me than a brother. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain—”

For the life of him, Taehyung couldn’t remember what he said next, but it didn’t matter because it was all the same rambling anyhow. But it had all been the truth, and might’ve played a factor as to why he was so resistant towards the idea of his precious best friend Jimin getting together with his equally important best friend Jungkook.

Taehyung exhaled. He had to acknowledge though, that somewhere along the way, they ended up being perfect for each other in some twisted way. From the conversations that he’d overheard, and the little quips and suggestions in their speech, there was one thing he knew for certain—they clearly understood each other. Without even having to speak aloud. Anyone would say they hadn’t known each other for long, at all—yet Jimin could tell Jungkook was lying from the moment he spoke his first sentence, while Jungkook always seemed able to sense exactly what it was that Jimin desired, whether or not he was aware of it himself.

And the way they both looked each other, as if neither of them could really, truly control themselves.

It was still too early to claim that it’s love, and also questionable whether the both of them deserved it. But what existed between them was something that was definitely rare to find, and could easily blossom into something fortified and powerful given the proper circumstances.

Taehyung twiddled his thumbs, looking down at his feet as his eyes flickered with guilt over the chaos that, in a way, he had single-handedly created. Because the real problem now was, he wasn’t so sure the circumstances swung entirely in their favour…if at all.

An abrupt buzz of his phone momentarily interrupted his period of self-pity. He checked the phone screen and despite himself, he broke into a smile upon recognizing the name of the only person who could possibly cheer him up right then.

“What’s up?” he answered into the phone.

“Are you busy?” came the deep voice from the other end. “You want to get something to drink with me?”

Taehyung’s smile widened. That was definitely one way to bring up a downy mood.

“It’s one of those two, isn’t it?” Jungkook had asked.

Taehyung smiled.

“I’d love to see you right about now,” Taehyung replied at once, his tone quite a lot softer than normal.

  The sky had been clear only minutes ago, yet, as if they reflected Jungkook's inner turmoil,  the clouds started to loom ominously above the tree they were standing under. They were thick, grey and drifted slowly, threatening to pour down on them all at any second. Evening was quick approaching, and the park was already starting to empty out. 

“Hydrangeas,” she observed as she took the bouquet from him, giving the flowers a courteous sniff. “A bit inappropriate, don’t you think?”

Jungkook smiled at her consistent keenness, though he no longer had any reason to pretend he was any lesser anymore.

“You never know,” said Jungkook, looking her in the eye.

She seemed surprised by his sudden snarky reply that seemed awfully out of character for him. The two of them stared at each other in silence, quietly attempting to read one another.

“So what’d you call me out for so abruptly today?” she asked. “And why were you so insistent about it, anyway?”

Jungkook took a deep breath. This was it. This was going to be end. He checked his watch for what was to be the last time that night. Reassuring himself that he did indeed have a lot of time left, he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I wasn’t a big fan of how you just ditched me the other night.”

She was completely taken aback, clearly not expecting to be called out and evidently not quite used to it either. Jungkook could tell, she was usually type to get away with these things, and it showed when she recovered much too quickly, her startled expression quickly replaced with a smirk.

“A bit petty of you to point that out, isn’t it?” she taunted, stepping closer and slowly getting into his personal space. “But that’s okay, I’ll forgive you if you go out and play with me.”

She reached up to toy with his jacket, but he quickly grabbed onto her wrist and stopped her before she could. Her eyes widened, clearly not expecting this reaction. 

“I’m not joking around,” Jungkook said. “We’re done. I can’t go out with someone I can’t even trust.”

She blinked several times in disbelief, but then face suddenly broke into an unexpected leer.

“You, Jungkook? You’re the one doubting me because of trust?” she smiled. “You, who insisted on playing around with a woman who you knew was engaged to another man? Give me a break.”

Jungkook’s own steadfastness was a surprise even to himself. “I misjudged some people during this entire…situation.”

“Who? Me?”

“No, me.”

She burst out in laughter, causing Jungkook’s resolve to waver at last. He knew she was good at reading characters…but just how deeply had she read him?

He flinched when she suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Come on now, Jungkook,” she smiled, as innocently as ever. “Stop joking around. Let’s go have some fun again. Just the two of us.”

He snatched his hands back aggressively. “Why are you acting like this? Why do you even want to be with me still? Didn’t you ditch me first?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Cause you’re one of the best. And it'd be too wasteful to see some other unworthy girl on your arm.”

“What? So I’m just a trophy boyfriend for your arm?” It was just as Taehyung had said. Surely Jungkook was pushing her buttons now.

“Perhaps. Though several times in our exchanges I did feel several chills down my spine when you spoke,” she contemplated. “I was simply hoping that it could’ve developed into something more over time.”

“You’re engaged. To a great guy. What more could you possibly find in me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe something as simple as…a spark?”

Jungkook paused at her unexpected answer. A spark? What’s that supposed to mean? A guy like Jimin could probably initiate “sparks” with everyone…

Jungkook shook the thought out of his head. “Well, you should find it in someone else,” he said firmly. “Because I’m done playing around like this. It’s not good for me, or you.”

The look in her eyes could’ve probably burnt a tree down. “Wow, Jungkook, you’ve suddenly become super boring. It’s like your character did a 180.”

He held back a gulp. “Maybe sometimes people just grow up, and it’s about time you do it too.”

“What? You mean settle down quietly and get married?”

He hesitated and she caught onto it immediately.

“I saw that,” she smiled, stepping closer to him again, tugging on his jacket. “So you don’t want me to get married, do you?”

“I never said that,” Jungkook tried, his eyes avoiding her accusatory expression.

“But your eyes betray you, Jungkook,” she said. “You still want to have a little fun, don’t you?”

“I told you—”

She dropped the bouquet out of her hand and used both to grab onto his jacket and tug him closer again. Their faces were now inches apart, as she sneered at him viciously.

“Fine, I’ll let you go,” she said. “You’ll never see me again.”

Jungkook sighed aloud. “Good. Then—”

“But on one condition.”

He held back the urge to roll his eyes. “What could it possibly be?”

“Kiss me one last time.”

The disgust crawled up his throat and his pushed her away at once, anger boiling in his veins.

“I already told you this is over,” he snarled. “Why do you have to act like this? Grow up a little. You aren’t in some high school drama.” He just wanted this to be over with already, and she was making it more and more complicated, hence irritating.

“Harsh, but it’s not what you think it is,” she countered. “I just want to know for sure if there really is nothing between you and me, at least on my part. I know that our last kiss was rather stale—”

“That feeling was mutual.”

“—but I’d rather know for sure that you really aren’t the one before I let you go and regret it forever.”

A silence passed by, as Jungkook genuinely considered her words. He contemplated if it was another one of her twisted schemes, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what she could possibly gain from this any further.

“Come on, Jungkook,” she insisted, tugging his arm. “Feel a little bad for me. I’m the one getting dumped here. Take it as a last request from your ex-lover.”

Jungkook sighed again. She was awfully adamant, and stubborn about everything, and it seemed more troublesome to go against her rather than just give in.

“Fine. But this is it,” Jungkook stated.

“You know I always keep my word,” she winked.

And then she was in his arms again, and his mind was spinning but in a completely different way than when he’d been with Jimin. Whereas his mind had been in the luxury of a sort of drunken pleasure when he’d been with Jimin, now it was spinning like a headache, threatening to crash and burn. She moved closer, making sure to press her body against his for the last time. Jungkook’s own body stiffened in anguish, but he pushed through: this was his last obstacle. After this, he would be free.

He placed his hand on the back of her head and pulled her in, pressing his lips firmly, but stiffly against her. He was about to pull away, but she suddenly wrapped her arms around her neck and held him in his place.

“Come on, boy. It’s the last kiss,” she taunted, her eyes sparkling with desire. “You gotta do better than that.”

Rage boiled within Jungkook, and he vented that by pulling her in by the waist and attacking her with all that he had. He didn’t care anymore—if she wanted a kiss, then he would give her a kiss. He bit and ravaged at her frail lips, not caring that she was whimpering and panting beneath him. It was what she wanted, so he would give it to her. He wanted to prove that she would still feel nothing, no matter how intense he got. He even forced her mouth open and plunged deeper. He felt her body go pliant in her arms, causing her heels to step back and crush the hydrangea bouquet that had been abandoned behind them.

At last, he tore apart, breathing heavily as he wiped his lips. He glared at her, and she stared weakly back at him, knowing that the kiss inflicted no more feelings than it had last time. In fact, if anything, he felt slightly more disgusted with himself that last time, as if there was now an unspeakable filth in his throat and dirtying his lungs.

“Well, that was…” Her sentence floated off into space, and the lingering awkwardness indicated that he was indeed not “the one” for her at all.

Jungkook smiled to himself. Well, this is it. With this, I am now free—

“What the hell is going on here?”

That voice.

The both of them froze in terror. The polished shoes took a step closer, just as a bouquet of vibrant, red roses was tossed mercilessly to the ground. Jungkook felt his blood run cold.

But it’s not supposed to be time yet…

He stared in horror as to who it was that was standing before them.

It was the fiancée that recovered first.

“J—Jimin,” she called his name, her voice quivering. “What are you doing here?”

The man raised his head, but he wasn’t looking at her at all. His normally kind brown eyes shrouded in a subdued anger, boring into Jungkook.

“Someone told meet to them here a bit later,” Park Jimin spoke, his voice rigid like ice. “I thought I’d show up a bit earlier to surprise them…but turns out they had their own surprise in mind.”

Jungkook breathed heavily, though he gulped and tried to hold it all back. He wanted to speak. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, to say anything at all, but much to his horror no sound would come out. He could only stare, in delusion, in disbelief. This can’t be happening, there was no way this was really happening—it was all just a nightmare, it had to be.

I got caught.

Her voice was drowned out as the only thing Jungkook could hear was the pummeling within his own brain. His world was quickly becoming blurry and his hands clenched and unclenched, sweat glistening on the palms and sliding down his forehead. His breath was rapid, quickened, but it still felt like he didn’t have enough air. They were arguing about something—or was it just her screeching off on her own? He couldn’t tell anymore, and his body was shutting down, betraying both himself and the reality before him.

“Jungkook.”

The voice calling his name cut through like a shard, piercing his consciousness and bringing him back. They were both looking at him now, their eyes expectant as they awaited his explanation, the only explanation that could clarify all.

“Jimin,” she said. “You have to trust me. Look at him. He doesn’t even know what to say right now. Listen to what I’ve been saying.”

What had she been saying? Jungkook’s brain felt as if it was about to burst out of his head, and he resisted every urge to clutch his hands to his skull like a madman. He couldn’t look either of them in the eye, not anymore. And he didn’t know what to say.

What is there left to say?

Vaguely within the senses he still retained, he heard Jimin call her name, for the first time in a while.

“Could you leave us for a moment?” Jimin’s tone was rigid and firm, but Jungkook noticed that it had regained a hint of the softness it usually did. His lips parted in surprise, as he watched Jimin dismiss fiancée.

“Are you taking his side?!” she screeched, loud enough so that others around them glanced concernedly in their direction.

“I just wanna hear what he has to say,” Jimin explained, surprisingly calm.

“So why are you shooing me away? Why can’t I hear too?”

Jimin grimaced a little, glancing at Jungkook, and then back at her.

“You should go,” Jimin spoke. “You’re obviously scaring him.”

Her expression was beyond livid. For a crazy moment, Jungkook thought she was going to slap her own fiancé in the face. Fortunately, she merely clenched her fists, let out a wheezy and exhausted cry, and stormed away, her heels clicking at a furious and enraged pace. Jungkook thought he saw a few violet petals scurry in the air, seemingly scattered when her shoes kicked them in anger. 

But even after she was gone, Jungkook didn’t dare look up.

What do I do? What am I going to say?

Jimin was the first one to speak.

“So, Jungkook? What was it really?” Jimin asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

But here was only one question Jungkook wanted to know in that very moment.

“Why did you send her away?” Jungkook muttered aloud. “Why would you do that to your own fiancée?”

Jimin seemed taken aback. “Why do you ask? Weren’t you terrified of her?” Jimin asked, stepping forwards, arms open. “She seemed to be pressuring you.”

Jungkook hesitated.

“You trust me that much?” he spoke. “Even more than your own fiancée?”

Jimin also hesitated, before saying: “Why not? Have you ever lied to me before?”

The question lingered, choking the atmosphere around them. Internally, Jungkook was frantic, despite the barely stoic display he was putting on. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if it was there anymore, given how easily Jimin had read him last time.

Abruptly, Jimin was moving towards him, stepping closer and closer to Jungkook. His lips were parted, and for one insane second Jungkook thought he was going to be embraced again.

But no, not this time.

He suddenly felt Jimin’s palms clasped over his own sweaty hands, surprisingly warm to the touch. For the first time, he looked up, and much to his astonishment, he was greeted with Jimin’s melancholic but kind and encouraging smile.

He could barely believe his eyes.

“Jungkook,” Jimin called. “I’m not really one to jump into things too quickly, and I’m usually careful with everything I do…”

Jungkook’s heart started throbbing in his chest. Painfully so. His eyes widened in terror as he watched the way Jimin’s eyes were completely softening, gaining that tenderness and loveliness that Jungkook had admired and adored so greatly in the past.

Oh no. Don’t tell me he’s going to…

“But I thought, maybe this time…” Jimin continued. “…it was different.”

He made sure he had Jungkook’s eye contact before uttering his next sentence:

“Maybe there actually is a reason why I couldn’t resist a thing when it came to you.”

The words sank deeply within Jungkook’s chest, much like the sinking feeling that foreshadowed the impending doom that would soon approach. This wasn’t right, and it certainly didn’t feel right. This build up, this moment that he had desired for in his deepest, most desirable dreams…

…it was all wrong.

“And so, I thought it would be okay if I listened to myself just this one time,” Jimin was still speaking. He sounded so sympathetic, so encouraging. “Because I’ve never really done that before, and if I feel so strongly wavered then it must mean something special, right?”

Is just thinking out loud? He should stop. He should just stop. Jungkook’s heart was doing all sorts of flips and turns, of the uncontrollable kind, the kind that would falter his judgment and ruin his resolutions should it continue.

“Jungkook-ah.”

A wave of horror washed through him, as Jungkook heard the way Jimin uttered his name. So soft. So gentle.

This could only lead to one thing.

Jimin stepped forward, closer, and looked at Jungkook with eyes that were expectant, yet so sad. How bittersweet. 

“I really think I truly am in love with you.”

The world froze, as Jimin uttered the confession loud and clear for him to hear, with no room for discrepancy. His heart seemed to stopped along with everything around him, sending an unbearable and sharp pain through his chest. But why? Wasn’t this what he’d always wanted? The person he’d been craving for for so long had finally uttered his feelings, and they were indeed more than mutual. What was he hesitating? With two simple words “me too”, he could finally have what he wanted, and everyone else would be proven wrong. He would be happy...

...right?

Jungkook gazed back into Jimin’s eager, brown eyes, mirroring his melancholy. It didn’t have to be like this. All he had to do was accept. He could sense his heart slowly coming back to life, as he fully absorbed the beauty of the person in front of him, both externally and internally. Perhaps Jimin truly was more alluring like this somehow, so vulnerable yet somehow still managing to retain shreds of his pride, with the glimmer in his eyes from the verge of tears so surreal somehow, almost enchanting.

The tightness in his chest was a clear indicator: Jungkook was in love. He’d been in love from the beginning, from the moment he had caught sight of this man and heard his voice for the first time. It may not have been the most rational nor ideal encounter, but the feelings were there, and neither he nor anyone else could deny that.

And now, now that every obstacle was gone and Jimin had fully left all his weak spots open for Jungkook to monopolize, this was his chance.

All I have to do…is reciprocate

Finally, Jungkook took a deep breath, and parted his lips to speak. He noticed Jimin jolt a little, as if too eager to await his answer.

“Jimin-ah…” he called softly, stepping forwards. His heart was slamming in his chest again, fully revived, and he even wracked up the courage to spontaneously grab Jimin’s precious hands.

“Jungkook,” Jimin said, probably barely aware of it as he moved closer, wanting to hear Jungkook continue more than ever before.

“I…” Jungkook gulped, his eyes wavering.

“Yes?”

“I…uh…I…”

“Jungkook…are you okay?”

In one quick, surprising moment, Jungkook tugged Jimin towards and kissed him firmly on the lips. Unlike any of their any other kisses before, it was a ravenous, hungry kiss, lacking any tenderness and feeling whatsoever. He was kissing not for pleasure, nor warmth—just to devour. Neglecting everything around them, Jungkook bit and tugged and just wanted to feel Jimin thoroughly right then and there. It was truly a kiss for no remorse. He could tell Jimin remained surprised as his mouth remained stiffened, and before he could even take pleasure in that familiar softness, Jungkook had pulled them apart, breathing heavily from the intense exchange. 

Even Jimin was panting in his breath. “Jungkook, what did you—”

He was interrupted as Jungkook suddenly reached up and placed a hand under his jaw, tracing the lines smoothly and forcing his eye contact.

“Jimin-ah,” he spoke, his voice soft yet bewitching. “I’m going to tell you everything…”

Jimin’s eyes flickered with an emotion that had been unknown to Jungkook before this.“Jungkook, what’s wrong. Just tell me—”

“...that I’ve been messing around with your fiancée behind your back this entire time.”

Jungkook knew exactly what he looked like as he uttered those words. He voided all the tenderness out his eyes and was glaring at Jimin coldly, as hurtfully as he could. It was the least he could do. And he knew Jimin couldn't see through it this time. It wasn't like last time: this time, he was determined, his motivation clear and written. Plus, Jimin had carelessly left himself exposed and vulnerable. And he knew what Jimin saw—a monster. The man who had just confessed to Jungkook was suddenly staring at him with a fearful expression, eyes dilated and lips twitching at a loss for words.

“You…you’re lying,” Jimin tried. Jungkook said nothing, despite the pitiful sight he was seeing. It hurt even more when he saw Jimin attempting to smile, like he always did. “Jungkook, she put you up to this right? You can tell me truth. I don’t care if she’s been paying you to test the relationship between me and her or anything, I really do love you, Jungkook. It’s not about that. Please, just tell me—”

“Why are you trying to convince yourself?” Jungkook replied coldly. “Do you really like me that much?”

He didn’t blame Jimin for not knowing what to say. It was unlike anyone Jimin had ever seen before—this person may have looked like Jeon Jungkook, but had been replaced by a complete stranger.  

“But all those conversations we h-had?” Jimin was still talking. “And…and what we did that night in the hotel room. And at the party?”

Jungkook snorted out a laughter. “I can’t believe you just let me get away with that, by the way. Why'd you think I was there in the first place?” He reached into his pocket to pull out his phone.

“Get away with…what?” Jimin asked perilously, evidently still convinced that Jungkook was just acting.

He shoved his phone into Jimin’s hands, showing all the texts between him and Jimin’s fiancée that night, the timestamp blatantly corresponding to hours right before his encounter with Jimin in the hotel room.

“If you still wanna insist that I’m lying, I don’t know what else to say,” said Jungkook.

He watched, as Jimin scrolled through the texts with wide eyes, his expression slowly becoming unreadable. Was he devastated? Livid? Completely at a loss for words? It didn’t matter, this would definitely end it all. 

Jimin finally decided that he'd had enough, and pushed the phone back into Jungkook’s hands. His head was bent downwards, his bangs shielding his eyes and rendering his emotions unreadable.

“Jungkook,” he uttered. “Why?”

The one question he hadn’t prepared an answer to. But it didn’t matter, it didn’t even have to be convincing at this point. His target had already fallen for the bait, and whatever tiny thing he could say to completely tilt the scale would be sufficient.

“Because,” Jungkook replied. “You were just so naïve that I couldn't resist.”

At this point, Jungkook was done. His façade broke and he prayed Jimin wouldn’t look up to see the state he was in. All these likes, all these words...they had been words he had feared hearing the most himself. His worst nightmares they were, repeated aloud in a monotonous chant...

...in order to send away the one person he loved most.

He waited for Jimin’s response. Surely, this was it. Perhaps, Jungkook would just leave it at this. He didn’t want to see Jimin like this any longer. It had torn him apart, but it was for the best. Vaguely in his mind, he recalled his promise to Taehyung that he would never hurt Jimin…yet here he was.

I may be hurting him now, but it’ll be better for him in the long run, Jungkook reassured himself.

He stepped away, pushing past Jimin, brushing their shoulders together one last time. The man’s head was still hung down, as he’d remained in that position for a while now.

“Have a good night, Jimin,” Jungkook uttered, trying not to betray his emotions in his voice. “And please try to forget about me.”

He was about to walk away, without stepping back, when he suddenly felt something clutch at his wrist. Jungkook turned around, and before he’d registered what was going on, he felt an immense wave of pain course into his cheek. Only when he’d collapsed on the ground, clutching his face in pain did he realize Jimin was still standing there with a clenched fist, his once loving eyes boring into Jungkook with hatred and resentment.

Jimin grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him upwards. Jungkook turned away, not wanting to make eye contact, though he was surprised—with the glimpse he’d caught of Jimin’s eyes, the foreshadowed tears were non-existent. There only remained a ferocious anger.

“You know what,” Jimin growled, his voice threatening to break. “I don’t even care that you did this to me, but don’t you dare try to do this to anyone else, ever again.”

“What does it matter to you?!” Jungkook spat back, forgetting about his act as he pulled away from Jimin and got back to his feet. “I had my rules! I did my best! I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s life! It’s not like intended anything to turn out this way!”

“You’re an idiot,” Jimin spoke, his tone coated in mockery and slander. “You’re a barely snot-wiped kid—stop trying to play with something you don’t even fully understand.”

“Don't understand?" Jungkook scoffed. "Well, it worked on you, didn’t it?”

Jungkook regretted saying that for a second, when he saw that hint of remorse return to Jimin’s eyes. But only for a second, before it was overwhelmed by the fury once again.

“Well then,” Jimin smirked. “Maybe I’ll try to hold back next time I fall for a cute face like yours.” It hurt, in a way, to hear that all Jimin had to redeem out of their momentary relationship was Jungkook’s face. The same face that he'd mercilessly punched less than seconds ago, leaving behind a bruise that would linger. 

“You know what, forget about it. Forget about me. Just go running back to your fiancée anyway,” Jungkook said. “Go and enjoy your bright future with a happy family. She thinks more highly of you than you think anyway.” A lie, but it didn’t matter—Jimin had to believe the latter in order to achieve the former anyhow.

“You know what,” Jimin imitated Jungkook’s tone in mockery, spite spilling out between his lips and his once pretty, slanted eyes so sharp, so demeaning. “I think I will. Have a nice life, Jungkook. And I hope I never see your deceitful face ever again.”

Jungkook kept his head down as he heard the angry footsteps clamour away, leaving him in the park that was now empty and abandoned to await the forthcoming night. As soon as he was certain the person was gone, he slowly and silently made his way to the main street.

When he was there, he hailed a cab, too tired to walk any further or deal with transit at this point. He monotonously uttered the address of his house to the cab driver, who merely assumed he was exhausted from evening work, and went the rest of the way in silence.

Once he’d arrived, Jungkook paid his fees and made his way up to his tiny abode. He fumbled with the keys for a bit, but the moment he was inside, he kicked his shoes off and tossed them aside, not even bothering to arrange them neatly like he usually did. He stumbled like a drunk person, directly to his bedroom, his body barely sustaining him and his cheek still throbbing in pain.

After throwing down his bag and taking off his jacket, Jungkook threw himself into the covers of his bed without even bothering to change his clothes. It was dark now, and past his usual curfew, as he snuggled into his blankets, curling up his legs and covering himself completely. The clouds drifted silently past his window, highlighted by the half-moon that seemed ever so incomplete.

Abruptly, tiny sniffles sounded from beneath the sheets, eventually developing into quiet sobs as Jungkook’s body quivered beneath the heavy blankets. He pressed his mouth against his blankets, trying to muffle the noise as the tears flowed from beneath his closed eyelids, stinging his bruised cheek before soaking into the sheets beneath.

And despite it all, there was only one thought floating through Jungkook’s mind as he laid there, damaged and alone:

I never deserved him.

*sings "Don't Cry" by Park Bom passionately in the corner* even though it's not okay. at all. :'(

so...uhhhhhh...yeah. sorry for the late update i've been busy with work and just found time to complete this today.

unfortunately, i will be even busier probably until the school year begins again (a month from now) so i have to leave you with this until then. also don't worry about the chapter title--rest assured, it isn't actually the end. XD

in fact i got lowkey inspired enough to write the next part already soooo...maybe we’ll all see an update sooner than we expect?? (absolutely no promises though -> life + work first :/)

thanks for staying with me and plz still do after this (eep.) i will hopefully seen you all soon~ :'D

[babblingbr00k]

All The Way House

All of us girls climbed back into that van with the highest of sugar highs. The giggling and babbling only intensified. I was happy. I knew that this is where God wanted me. I was in the right spot.

Stacey told me that we were almost there. She also told me that she and I had to make a quick stop at the main office. She didn’t tell me why.

“It won’t take long. After, I’ll take you to the girls house where you can get settled and meet the remaining 5 girls.

Amy must have sensed my apprehensiveness because she looked back and grabbed my hand.

“Everything is going to be fine. All the girls are excited to meet you, and I will be right there with you.” She assured me.

The van gently pulled into the near empty parking lot and slowly drove parallel to the shops. I took note of each store front as we passed. Most were empty. Inside the only functioning store front, work out equipment could be seen. I quickly came to the conclusion that it was being used as a workout gym.

“I wonder if we would be allowed to use it?” I quietly asked myself.

I knew that we were getting close to our destination. I could see a crowd of people, no more than 20, standing on the sidewalk 20 feet or so ahead of us. All of them were talking amongst themselves. I didn’t have to eavesdrop to know that the conversations were on the happy and lighthearted side. I smiled as I saw a gentleman grab his stomach, throw his head back, and bellowed with laughter.

Just a few more feet now. I didn't know what to expect. I had never been in a place like this before. I struggled to remember what my cousin, Karen, had told me about her experience in rehab, but my racing thoughts made it almost impossible to complete even a single thought.

“Are they going to make me eat a live chicken on the first day?” I asked myself. “I wasn’t even hungry.” I felt the bile rise up in my throat with that thought.

My anxiety was reaching catastrophic levels. Time to bail? My brain was on high speed as I tried to think of some alternatives that were more desirable. I was unable to come up with any.

That's when that little annoying voice came back.

"You can still leave ya know? What's so wrong with living high in the first place? Some arbitrary law that says that we can't live a certain way? This is America after all. Just because others are irresponsible and accidentally kill themselves, doesn’t mean you will too. You’re an EMT. You can handle yourself when it comes to this. These rules don't apply to you."

I shook my head in an attempt to get rid of the voice. Stacey saw me and kept and everwatchful eye on me as we came to a complete stop in front of the main house of All The Way House. I remember thinking...All the way where?

I looked through the lobby’s glass and could tell that it was very nicely set up. I continued my reconnaissance and saw that, following a few more empty storefronts, sat the church, Miracle Place Church.

My attention was brought back inside the van when I overheard Kim say to Stacey, "Look, all the guys lined up to see the new chicken."

Wait...What...Chicken!! You mean there are guys lined up in the lobby, waiting to see the new MEAT? Meaning ME!

For the first time I was actually contemplating the, “Jump Out and Run,” escape. I was literally a hot mess and in no condition to meet anyone of the opposite sex.

My escape plan was interrupted when I heard Stacey call my name.

“Brook, get your bags and follow me. We are here.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

Amy must have seen the fear in my face because she turned to me and grabbed my hand. "Go ahead.” She said. “ We will see you at the house in a little bit and get you settled. Then you get to meet the rest of the girls." I could see the excitement in her eyes.

As I was commanded, I grabbed my stuff and climbed out of the van into the hot, humid air. Earlier that morning I had lost my rubber band, so my hair hung in a frizzy mess. On the 3rd or 4th day in detox, I noticed that my hair began falling out in clumps. “Stress,” the Doctor said.

My scrub bottoms were too small and would not come up past my hips. I had to hold onto the waistband to keep them from falling off when I walked. Luckily my XXXL shirt was big enough to hide everything, including the fact that my pants were in danger of falling off.

We walked up to the entrance and Stacey opened the doors as a blast of cool air hit me. I closed my eyes and stood there for a second, allowing the sweat that had accumulated on my body to dry. I opened my eyes and scanned the small lobby. It was nicely set up and smelled almost like a Doctor’s Office. There was a large couch, loveseat, and a single seat. In the middle was a glass coffee table with various Christian Magazines.

The lobby was full of men. If there was a structure strong enough to support the weight of a full grown man, then the rump of said grown man was on top of it.

This was so embarrassing. To be paraded in front of all these men. Could I not salvage the very little bit of dignity I had left? Was it really necessary to let everyone get a glimpse of the mess that used to be “Brook?”

I dug deep and searched out the little pride I had left. I refused to hang my head in shame. I ignored the boys and their stares and continued to follow Stacey. I came to a stop and stood behind her as she struggled with the door knob. I took a moment to scan the lobby for clues. In the middle of the room, on the far wall was a set of double doors. I looked to the right of the doors and my gaze stopped at a small plaque that read, “Man Cave.” Putting 2 and 2 together, I came to the conclusion that, behind those double doors, housed the men’s dormitory.

I was just beginning to wonder how many of the male species resided in said dorm when Stacey announced that she finally got the door unlocked, and commanded me to follow her. I quickly followed, wishing nothing more than to be away from the prying eyes of the inhabitants of the lobby.

Stacey brought me into this little office room and directed me to sit down. Almost immediately a little girl came skipping up to me. She couldn't have been more than 7 or 8. I could tell immediately that this had to be Stacey’s daughter. She had her mother’s big brown eyes.

Penny smiled at me and handed me a drawing that she drew just for me. Stacey told me, "Penny has been waiting on you. She loves meeting new girls that come in." I smiled and did my best at being a good conversationalist, but I just wasn't feeling right. Stacey sensed this and asked Penny to go wait in the other room with Matt. I don't remember what we did but it wasn't long till we were making that walk back through the lobby and back into the van. By this time Amy and Kim were gone. I was glad to be away from all the guys and looking forward to seeing what would be my home for the next 9 months.

We drove to the further side of the shopping center to this little pink house. Actually, I could tell that it had been a Pizza Hut at one time. Apparently they had bought, gutted and remodeled it and turned it into the girls house/pantry/kitchen.

We walked into the back door where I came face to face with my first sister, Christy. She was an itty bitty thing. She was sitting on stool, leaned over 2 massive baking trays filled with chicken quarters.

OH! Chicken!!

"Not everything has to be about you Brook," I said to myself. I was, then, told that Monday thru Saturday, all meals are planned and prepared by the cook. On Sunday, it was the girls responsibility to make sure everyone is fed.

The kitchen was separated from the rest of the house by a door. As I walked through the door, I walked into one, huge, single room. This room served as our living room, dining room, bedroom and pantry. I could see all the carbohydrates....I mean food, behind a half wall just beside the living room. To put it mildly, there was enough food there for all 8 girls to eat everyday, every meal, for the next 2 years. And more came in weekly, I was told.

Stacey, once again, grabbed my bags and announced me to the girls in the house. All the girls came speed walking up to me to meet me. They seemed genuinely happy to meet their new sister from another mister. I was introduced to each one individually and was told to pick a bed. I looked up to see 9 twin size beds line the walls. I couldn't decide. I was in no condition to make any kind of decision at this point.

Another girl, Emma, took me by the hand and led me to the bed next to hers. She had long black hair and the biggest boobs I have ever seen on a white woman. She sat me down and plopped down on the bed next to me. For some reason it felt as if I already knew Emma. She looked familiar but there was no way I knew her. She's just one of those people you don't forget. Full of life. She could tell I was feeling no joy.

She grabbed this spider looking thing and started massaging my scalp. It felt good but I was worried that she was ripping hair out of my already thinning scalp.

I met Kennedy, young girl, only 21 years old. I could tell immediately that she would be considered the "class clown." She had the most amazing laugh and was hilarious.

Shanna was this short, little woman. Older than me. Another sweet little lady, but I noticed she kept to herself a lot. Each of these girls, along with the ones I had already met, were in the program. Debbie, I met along with her 2-year-old, cute as a button, son, Jacob. She was not in the program. She just lived there while she worked in the media department for the church. She was a big ol girl from Maryland. I don't remember her story as to how she ended up all the way down in Baker, Louisiana.

These were the ladies that made up the girls house when I entered All The Way House. Land of misfit toys. Where they take in the ones that no one wanted. The place that turns no one away. The place that God told me to go......so I went...

[dothewrite]

Can you write soulmates au with the matching tattoo? If yes then can you write a scenario where iwaizumi and reader-chan are best friends, knowing each other since they were childrens and our quiet and introverted reader slowly falls in love with him, but they aren't soulmates. And she doesn't believe in soulmates or true love, because of her parents. And iwaizumi secretly falling in love with her but he found his soulmate (sorry for being specific)

Iwaizumi’s such a cool cucumber all the time even though he’s like, perpetually fiery, so I just gotta make him stumble at something in life. This is 7k of undiluted shame and rambling, but I hope you like it. :) Thank you for waiting!

[Edit: I am SO SORRY that I completely forgot that it was supposed to be a matching tattoo instead of just a soulmates thing. I am an idiot. Tell me if you’d like to read what you actually asked for and I’ll write a drabble to make it up to you.]

You spoke in a voicelike pure-whiteporcelain… the smell of winter.Within my heart, asilently raging stormrose up, along thisdarkened path.Then twinkling starsfell down from overhead…So immersed in them,I was nearly broughtto tears.                      - orion, Yonezu Kenshi

In a world whereeveryone wants to know who they’re made for, or who’s made for them, you’re anodd specimen. There’s sexual orientation, and then there’s sexualorientation, and yours is ‘realist’. Your mother never lets up for a singleday, telling you that it would be lovely if a girl your age would bring a niceyoung man home for dinner once in a while- and it’s okay if it’s a girl! Itmakes you feel a little sorry about your state of affairs each time, and itstings your eyes when you have to tell her that you don’t want to rush things,despite the world’s certainty of its affairs.

She understands, andthere’s a soft sadness in her eyes that makes you rush in and hug her until sheforgets all about soulmates, or the emptiness of your fingers.

“Your father and Iwere a terrible match,” she used to tell you each night if you asked about thelittle red thread tied around your pinkie, and why hers is broken. “I mean, wegave it a go-” and then she’d look at you and press a wet kiss against yourforehead, “-that’s how we had you, my little gem, but it was never for us.”

“Why is it broken?”You’d still persist underneath the covers, and she’d sigh a long, weary sigh.

“Because we brokeit. And then I found your stepfather, and here we are.” She’d look at you withthat longing, hopeful expression on her face, and you’d stare right back withthe wide eyes of a child listening to a fantasy story. “You’re happy, aren’tyou?” She asked this every night before she left your bedroom, and each nightyou’d tell her the same thing.

“I’m happy, mummy.”You’d reply, and she’d start to smile with a loud sniffle. Then that was it,each night, you’d be tucked into bed without further ado and you’d drift offinto dreams about finding your own prince charming, just like your mom had.

Then, a few yearslater when you were all grown up and being led by the hand to your third yearof primary school, people started making fun of you. You didn’t notice all thatmuch, because it was a terrible year and you don’t even remember spending itanywhere with anyone. Young children, including you, didn’t understand exactlywhat having a soulmate meant, only that everyone had it, and it was a funnygame to see who could follow their line the fastest- you got bonus points ifyou were skipping class for it. You always joined in, and you were very proudof your record for being the one who had skipped the most classes, the one whohad made most of their friends laugh because you had that fearless look on yourface that wasn’t suited for searching for romance at all.

Then, third year came,and your thread broke. It started fraying in class when you pickedabsentmindedly at it, and then it got worse when you picked at it in the showertoo, and then when finally one day you had to run back to your house becauseyou forgot your pencil case, you realized that you weren’t connected toanything anymore.

You didn’t go toschool that day. Nor for the next few days to come.

There’s a buzzaround the air that only desperate, decomposing students can create in thenarrow hallways of a high school in Japan. You’ve just come from lunch in thevery crowded cafeteria after all your friends had abandoned you for some lastminute cramming, leaving you to finish your ramen alone.

“Why am I notsurprised to see you so damn calm?”

Once upon a time,you’d start to blush and lapse into silence at the mere sound of Iwaizumi’svoice, but time has done you wonders, like exposure therapy, and although youthink you’ll never quite get over that incredible growth spurt of his, he’s notquite as overwhelming as he used to be. You pull out your notebook from thebook slot on the underside of your desk and wave it lightly at him.

“I have my notesright here.”

His eyes widen,impressed. “Does this mean you actually studied for our quiz?”

“Nope,” you shakeyour head, and a small crease of a smile worms it way up to your cheeks, “butlife must have an end, and I will end with dignity.”

Iwaizumi’s snort isso loud it almost echoes, and you start giggling along with his grin. “Right,shogun. I’ll see you on the other side.”

“You might pass,Hajime-kun, don’t give up just yet.”

“Pass?” Iwaizumilooks at you confusedly, before going ‘ah’ when he realizes what you mean. “Oh,I’ll just be waving to you from the other side of the river of success.” Hisgrin widens, as it only ever does with you. “I’m going to pass, dammit. Ididn’t suffer through Shittykawa’s study sessions for nothing.”

“…Tooru?”

“Yeah,” he raises aneyebrow, “something wrong?”

You shake your head.That satisfies him enough that he gives you a nod and a thumbs up, and walksback to his seat with the traces of your conversation together still lining hiseyes.

It was a little odd.You hadn’t expected him to have studied with Oikawa, not when Iwaizumi hadalready found his soulmate. In his same class, even! Some people are just thatblessed, and she’s quite the beauty too. Most of your friends have alreadytaken to sneaking around, spending time with their soulmates if they knew them,and study sessions were the golden period of opportunity. Even for peoplewithout soulmates, because, this is high school, and everyone wants to date,and socialization is the lifeblood of youth, isn’t it?

The very thought makesyou blush and want to wither away at the same time, because your heart isn’tready for this at all. Not dating, nor the quiz. The class falls into amakeshift hush when your teacher finally strolls in with a mug of something inhis hand, a far too happy expression on his face, and you join in the suddenshuffle of notes being put away and prayers being said. You dare a peek atIwaizumi on the other end of the classroom and he catches you in the act- yourcheeks colouring instantly- but he offers you a crooked smile and you expire alittle inside.

All in all, youthink when you face the blank piece of paper with an equally blank expressionon your face, you think that any quiz is probably easier than being a teenager.

Things are always alittle easier with Tooru around. There’s something to be said about hisresilience against life’s trials, and although you haven’t quite shared thesame crib as him as you did with Iwaizumi (although he did with Iwaizumi too-it’s a weird infant love triangle, now that you think about it), you find inhim a different kind of comfort. You hope he finds some in you too, because yousee the exhaustion that lines his face when he thinks nobody’s looking, and allyou can do is offer a shoulder that you know he won’t lean on.

It’s after school,and luckily you’re on cleaning duty today and Oikawa has volunteered to staybehind with you, despite the fact that he usually goes off to practicevolleyball on his own whenever he has the spare time. You’re not quite surewhat’s changed, but you feel that something has, because you’re sittinguncomfortably underneath his stare as he perches on the edge of your desk, nota speck of shame in sight.

“They’re going tocome by and ask if you want to go for some shopping and karaoke this weekend,”he says without any context whatsoever.

You blink. “Are younot going, Tooru?”

“Of course I am,” herolls his eyes like it’s the dumbest thing he’s heard, “but I’m just giving youa heads up. I offered to invite you but you know Iwa-chan. Has to do everythinghimself.” You squirm in your seat when Oikawa pins you with that knowing lookof his, and he seems find the way your face flushes several hues of pink veryfascinating. “I know, by the way.”

“Know what?” Yousqueak.

“That you like ourIwa-chan.” He hops off the desk and instead drags another chair to sit rightopposite of you. “You’re terrible at hiding things from your face.”

“I thought I wasdoing alright,” you mumble, fighting the urge to hide behind your school bag,“Hajime-kun hasn’t noticed yet.”

“Yes, well, henotices very little,” Oikawa declares boldly, despite the fact that the both ofyou know he’s very wrong on this account. “It doesn’t matter, I’m not here tobug you about it.”

Squinting a little,you peer at him curiously. “Then what are you here for?”

He shrugs like it’snothing to him, and looks out the window with his chin in a hand. “Just to giveyou some company. His soulmate is coming with, if you’re wondering.”

Ah, now there wasthe fresh youthfulness in your best friend. Who in their right mind would skipout on a chance to get to know their soulmate more? Especially when it’s sorare anyone makes the discovery this early in life, you think it’s a terribleblessing and a curse at the same time. Anyhow, none of that is relevant to youanymore, no when you’re no longer privy to that exclusive group of individualswho are looking forward to the rest of their romantic lives, and here you are,having lived several years already knowing that nothing will make the brokenstring on your pinkie whole again.

No, that isn’t quiteit. You’re not being entirely truthful with yourself, and from the way Oikawais looking at you, you know he knows too.

“Do you believe insoulmates?” The question hits you out of the blue, and you gape a little.

“Nobody’s asked methat before,” you gasp.

“They should then,”Oikawa tucks his lip underneath a row of teeth and chews on it, “it’s stupid toassume that everyone believes in the same things. Some men still don’t believein menstrual pain, did you know?”

“I do,” you’regiggling now, and there’s a small tug upwards on his lips, “now only if yourfangirls heard you talk about such things!”

Oikawa shoots you agrin then, a rare one that appears less and less often the more time he spendson the opposite side of Shiratorizawa, and you discover belatedly that you’llmiss it if it ever disappeared. “All I’m saying is that the string doesn’tdictate your life. It shouldn’t, because then what’s the point in getting toknow other people? Idiotic notion, if you ask me.”

“Is that what youbelieve, Tooru?” And he looks down pensively at the crimson thread around hispinkie and his unknown stranger assigned to him by divine intervention. “Youhaven’t been looking for your soulmate.”

This time when helooks at you, it feels like looking into the endless darkness of the universeand in his hazel eyes holds a mystery of life that’s about to be unravelled ina single moment of sincerity.

“I believe that Ican fall in love with whomever I choose. If that person is my soulmate, then sobe it. If it isn’t, then so be it.”

It all comes up toyou in a swift moment, and you feel the choking truth scrabbling for purchaseagainst the sides of your throat and your chest suddenly shrinks from too muchair. Oikawa is still looking at you with those beautiful eyes, and quietly, heasks you again: “do you believe in soulmates?”

In another world,perhaps, you could learn to be half as brave as the man in front of you.

“I don’t want to,”you breathe, and it’s a heavy thing that sinks in between the both of you. “Idon’t want to.”

As such, you’reinvited and dragged along to the group-date on Sunday anyway, because there wasnever any hope of you saying no to Iwaizumi’s earnest face, no matter howgrumpy his brows are. It’s a slightly chilly day, and you’ve not quite dressedas warmly as you wish you had, but you’re ready to spend some pocket money on amuch needed emergency coat.

Shopping turns outto be quite the difficult affair when boys and girls want to look for verydifferent things. Or rather, boys crazy about volleyball and the rest of younormal humans have to roll your eyes and hand it to them- their enthusiasm isunrivalled, so strong that everyone gets barrelled along into shopping for newshoes for their upcoming tournament. You personally have never really been intophysical activity, and you find that part of you a sore point when Iwaizumicomes up to you more than once asking for your opinion, and all you can come upwith is a stuttered ‘the dark grey looks slimmer, I think’, instead of anythingsubstantial. He had looked satisfied with your comment, gratified even,but nothing could stop you from glaring at your own very un-sporty shoes inabject embarrassment for a few minutes afterwards.

Perhaps you had alldreamed it in your mind, his expressions, because when you all finally settledown into a massive booth that fits six people along with at least ten bags ofshopping, Iwaizumi hasn’t glanced at you once. It’s a small place famous forits tonkotsu, very popular with the younger crowd, and the buzz of noise anddishes around you makes you almost dizzy. It feels that there’s barely enoughspace in your head for your thoughts, let alone the sounds of fifteen otherpeople’s conversations.

“You alright?” Aconcerned voice pops up from opposite you and your head shoots up. Iwaizumiwatches you with his stern expression, tinted with worry although his hands arestill firmly pressed to his side. In a bitter moment, the thought that if hehadn’t spoken up at all, he’d look like he didn’t care. Yet as quickly as itcame, you brush the thought away, ashamed of your ungratefulness.

“I’m fine,” you tellhim with a reassuring smile, “it’s just a bit crowded in here.”

He nods slowly, eyesroaming the place. “A place this good is bound to have a full house on theweekend. I’m sorry about the noise. Did you want me to step out with you for abit?”

His sleeves arerolled up, and you can see the string tying him and his soulmate together bunched up like veins along his toned muscle. She’ssitting right next to him, an equally concerned expression on her face, and yourealize that in your wildest dreams, you couldn’t be as wonderful a person asshe could be. To be jealous of something fated- what a pitiful person you are!

“I-”

“-C’mon, let’s go.”Tooru interrupts you with enviable timing and drags you up with a firm butgentle hand on your arm. He bumps into the person on the other side of him, buthe waves the mutters off with an air of confidence. There’s nothing else youcan do but obey, stricken dumb by how right Iwaizumi looks with hissoulmate, and the steps you take feel more like stumbles out of the busyrestaurant.

It’s nearing lateevening and the hum of activity bleeds out into the open street from indoors.People with their bags, their books, hurrying to their next meals, groups offriends you recognize from the year below you laughing and bumping into eachother as they push their way out of the busy department store opposite yourrestaurant. Neither you nor Oikawa are leaning on anything, wary of gettingyour clothes dirty, but his hands are loose by his side and although he isn’tquite facing you, you can feel his undivided attention prickling at your skin.

“Better?”

“Yes,” you take afew experimental breaths, and yes, it is a bit more comfortable out in the openwith fewer people. “It was probably just the oil from the kitchens getting tome. Would you like to go back in?”

Oikawa doesn’tanswer, continuing to stare out at the bustling road and you join him in hissilence. You knew it was probably unrealistic to spend too much time out here,it wasn’t very polite on a group outing after all, but you can’t find it in youto pull yourself away from whatever peace and quiet you can find.

You’re surprised outof your reverie by the loud sigh that leaves Tooru’s mouth and you turn to seehis gaze on you, almost a foot higher than your head. “You two are really amess, aren’t you?”

“I-It’s just me, Ithink,” you stammer, confused as to how to proceed from this less thanflattering statement. Still, you know he’s right, and what’s more, you agree.You are a mess, everything’s a mess, and all you have going for you at thismoment is the hope that when you graduate, maybe you can forget about this messentirely.

Almost echoing yoursentiments, Oikawa announces into the air, “we’re almost graduating. I don’tknow what goes on in either of your heads but time waits for no man.”

“I wasn’t expectingit to…”

“So take it from me,the person who has never had enough time. If you’ve nothing to lose, why not gofor it?”

Nothing to lose?There was everything to lose- your friendship, the quiet trust built up fromsolid years of growing up, his life, and what about his soulmate? Therewas a circle in hell for people who broke two people who looked so wonderfultogether, apart.

What if it didn’twork? What if you’d never have anything more than a broken thread on yourpinkie, and the last chance of being happy had disappeared the day it snapped.

“Your mom would bereally sad if she knew.”

“…What?” You askfaintly.

Oikawa tuts andshakes his gorgeous head like he’s explaining something profoundly obvious to adullard. “You came running to me the day you came back to school, remember?When your thread broke. You were crying and everything- it was horrible, youalmost got snot on my new sweater- but you had that anger in your eyes when youtold me that you’d be happy anyway, thread or no thread, because your mom washappy without hers. So? Where did all that go?”

“I was nine!”

“And you were asmarter kid at nine than you are now at seventeen.” Oikawa replies savagely,and his accusation slaps you in the face with a nice dose of humility. Therestaurant feels a world away now, where you had been planning on lettingeverything be and getting through the years like Iwaizumi had never meant moreto you, and you just know that you can’t go back. You couldn’t bear to be aterrible person and sit opposite his soulmate, whose kindness and innocence youhad come to envy for no redeeming reason at all.

“Go home,” Oikawatells you a little more kindly now, and you nod wordlessly. “I’ll tell themthat you’re feeling sick.”

He doesn’t give youa chance to say anything else, because he spins on his heel and strides backinto the restaurant like he’d never been out in the first place, and slowly,your mind reaches your feet to take you in the direction of your home, step bystep.

Still. ‘Thankyou’, you tap into your phone, and a reply buzzes right back withinseconds.

‘I know’,is all Oikawa replies with, and it brings an unbidden smile to your face. You think that you must be a little blessed at the very least,with a friend like him.

It turns out thatwhen you successfully suffer through the majority of a social gathering only toleave because of ‘illness’, people are either incredibly suspicious, or veryworried. Luckily, your track record is stellar, and the only expression thatturns up on each person’s face as they ask you all throughout the day atdifferent times if you’re alright, is worry. You’ve never had to quietly andvery awkwardly assure so many people of your health in one afternoon before,but the break did you some good. Your mother had immediately sensed somethingwas wrong the moment you walked into the house, slightly miserably, but she hadleft you alone after a few deflected questions and offered you a small tray ofbiscuits as a peace offering. You’d made your way through it slowly as thenight grew later until you were almost suffocating underneath your blanketsbecause of what an idiot you’ve realized you were.

The thing is, theytalk about these things with such ease in stories- those childhood friends goon an adventure and find out the love of their life was right there all along!-but in reality, it’s quite a dreadful experience for you. The harder you try tosolve your stress, the worse Iwaizumi’s imagine in your head gets, and the lessyou want to say anything at all.

It was just a sillycrush, something you really thought was unfair and most likely to never workout, because he’s found his soulmate; you’ve yet to meet anyone your agewho wasn’t with their soulmate. Who were you break anything up?

Then the man of thehour inevitably shows up as you’re trying to make your way back to your desk asinnocuously as possible, and your own unfamiliarity with melodramatics thatkeeps you from gasping out loud in surprise.

Iwaizumi leanscloser to you at the noise, the worried press of his lips the only thing youcan recognize in your swimming vision. “Are you feeling any better? Did you eatsomething bad as a snack or something yesterday?”

It feels like hisworried face is all you see these days.

“Not really,” youanswer with utmost vagueness, growing more nervous with every passing momenthe’s standing in your personal bubble, “I’m alright now, I think I was justdehydrated.” He doesn’t look very persuaded, so you add, “that’s what my momsays, anyway.”

“Good. I trust yourmom more than you when it comes to your health,” he says, blasé, a challenginggrin teasing his mouth and the crushing guilt leaves you quickly at the sight.

Although, he doeshave a point, and the memory of many nights of denial brings an embarrassedblush to your face. Iwaizumi seems to squirm a little underneath your silence,and the bold grin starts to melt off his face until all that’s left is a quietfeeling of awkwardness. He clears his throat, and your eyes flicker up to watchhim underneath several wisps of hair that’s fallen in front of your face.

“I’m sorry to haveworried you,” you offer, unsure.

“Oh,” he looks amildly surprised and shakes his head a little strongly, “well, as long asyou’re fine.”

“…Okay.”

“I…”

Pigs must be flyingtoday for Iwaizumi Hajime to be flustered. He wasn’t even flustered when he’ddiscovered his soulmate, or when they confessed to him, or when he had shruggedwithout a moment’s hesitation. It’s dreadfully contagious, however, and soonenough you’re almost hopping on your toes from how flustered you are too.

When Iwaizumi triesagain in a pained tone, you startle. “Are you… Do you have time after schooltoday? Want to go… somewhere?”

He doesn’t add toit, but his expression is clearly regretting realizing the great irony ofasking you to hang out, the day after you got sick from hanging out. It makesyou almost chuckle, but you keep it firmly under wraps, otherwise it’d blowyour already terrible cover that perhaps you weren’t quite so sick after all.

“That sounds nice,”you reply softly, sounding a lot more confident that you feel. “I’ll wait foryou at the gates, maybe?”

Iwaizumi nods,relieved, and turns away reluctantly, because there’s really nothing much elseto do than to go to class once the conversation is so clearly over. You givehim a little wave to usher him on his way, and when you’re almost immediatelycrowded by a curious Oikawa, you don’t mention how there’s always volleyballpractice on Mondays.

The rest of the daygoes infuriatingly slowly for you, and without the benefit of a romantic windowseat, you’re left to your own devices of actually paying attention to class ina desperate attempt to make the clock turn faster. You think you’ve never beenquite nervous in your life, and the suddenness of his company does nothing tosoothe your nerves. Have you done something wrong? He looked rather like he’dnot do this at all, so it might be bad news. Or maybe he needs to tell yousomething he thinks you might not like.

You don’t know howmuch more tense things could be between the two of you. Unless he’s gettingmarried the moment he turns eighteen. In that case, yes, it could get worse,marginally.

Still, for how muchyou’d been wishing the day would pace itself at least faster than a limp slug,the end of the day comes rushing at you like tidal wave, and you find the bellringing long before you’re mentally prepared for a very awkward few hours.Perhaps he had been putting this off for a long time, perhaps he didn’t want todo this more than you did, perhaps it was just something to be done.

You change into youroutside shoes with the weight of dread pulling at your limbs until you feel asif your feet are dragging you along towards the school gates. There’s a quietcough that you realize is supposed to grab your attention, and you look up tofind Iwaizumi already waiting for you, leaning against the brick. You smile,and faintly realize that he’s grown up so fast you’d barely had time to catchup.

“Let’s go then,” hesays quietly, so you follow him, falling into pace beside him. You’re farshorter than he is, and it doesn’t help your heart when he suddenly glancesback at you and slows down to a speed you’re more comfortable with.

All you can hear isthe blood rushing about your ears, whilst your pulse drains simultaneously witheach block the two of you pass, and still you have no clue where you’re headed.

“Want to get somecoffee?” Iwaizumi asks, almost as if he’s read your mind.

You smile wanly.“Okay. That’s very American of you, Hajime-kun.”

“Right, that’s me,American man with a gun and my favourite food is hamburgers.”

“Now that justwasn’t funny,” you grin.

“Yeah? Then why isit every time I actually try, you’re cracking up and in tears?”

You’ve nothing tosay to that, because he’s right, and you’re so embarrassed you could die. Youdidn’t know it was that bad, that you were that obvious, and you wish that partof you wasn’t so incredibly see-through and flimsy like cling-film. If he noticesthe sudden redness to your face, Iwaizumi doesn’t comment on it.

Whatever he wants totell you, or has planned obviously doesn’t involve the walk to the café itself,and most of it is spent admiring nature and trying to ignore the awkwardness inthe air. Your introverted nature has almost ensured you a lot of practice withawkward moments and moments where you want to run away, but feeling this waywith Iwaizumi of all people is an utterly new experience. One that you wishdidn’t set your nerves on edge, and reprieve can’t come fast enough when thetwo of you finally reach the café, with at least a whole person’s space betweeneach other, and your step falters a little when he holds open the door for youand you can’t quite remember what to do after that.

His amused raise ofan eyebrow still does things to your heartbeat no matter how awkward you’vebecome. You try terribly hard to stop yourself from thumping at your chest tocalm down, which would require possibly a lot of reassuring that you haven’tlost all of your marbles.

“I’ll go get you adrink then. Latte with extra sweet, right?”

“Yes,” and all theblood in your body relocates to your face, “thank you.”

“No problem,” hethrows you an easy smile and you have to quickly sit down in your seat beforeyour legs start to dissolve into the air.

It’s a tense fewminutes alone at the table. If he’s putting so much effort into this meeting,it couldn’t be too bad of an announcement, right? If he’s still smiling, itcan’t possibly be earth-shattering. Your thumbs twiddle almost spastically. Ormaybe he’s just being extra nice because it’s terrible news. Embarrassing,life-changing news that will leave you to salt your coffee with your own tears.

Iwaizumi promptlysits himself down in the chair opposite you, and you immediately shut your mindup. Maybe you were being a little melodramatic. Maybe.

“So, uh, how wasclass?” He tries, clearly jumbled up, and it makes you feel slightly betterabout yourself.

“Terrible,” youlaugh, “I don’t know why I bother paying attention in class.”

“You aren’t laughingat me, are you?”

That man is far tooobservant when he wants to be. You shrug, but the smile can’t quite leave yourface. “Just a little.”

Iwaizumi makes anattempt at looking put out, but there’s a light in his eyes that doesn’t quitedim when it comes to you being cheerful. You wager he knows, what this is doingto your nerves, but he probably is too preoccupied with his own to do anythingabout it.

“I was thinking…” hefinally begins, but pauses abruptly when your drinks are finally brought to youby an amused looking waiter. There’s a terrible silence until the staff memberwaltzes too slowly out of earshot, and by then, Iwaizumi’s face is beet red andhe almost looks horrified at his own thoughts.

“You werethinking…?” You prompt, and he almost sighs disappointedly at something. That’sfor you to do, you think to yourself, but your lips remain sealed.

“I was thinking…would you… oh God this is worse than what Shittykawa told me but… would you, Imean- oh fuck it, I like you, okay?”

You’re not quitesure what Tooru has to do with anything other than the fact that he’s a generalbusybody when it comes to private affairs, but you nod, like to a small child.

“Of course, I’d hopeso,” you tell him. “We’ve known each other for so long, I- I hope you like me,at the very least.”

Good lord, maybethis was what he was going to say. To tell you that you’re still friends, buthe might be eloping. Or dying. Or telling you that he’s actually gay and hopingthat you won’t hate him. Nothing in this world could possibly make you hateIwaizumi, you admit to yourself, and that is probably not a good thing.

He, on the otherhand, looks like he’s about to implode. You’ve never seen him be anything moredramatic than ‘long-suffering’, so this is an incredibly novel experience.

“That’s- yeah, ofcourse I like you, but that’s not what I meant.”

“O-oh. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Itmakes you want to say sorry again, and Iwaizumi sees it on your face so hehurries to cut you off before you do. “I… I guess what I’m doing is confessing.Just… without the letter, or the chocolates. And this isn’t exactly a rooftopin the sunset either.”

He’s rambling, butit doesn’t matter. You freeze, despite the sudden spike of fight-or-flightresponse that bangs its gong in your head, and this is going all wrong.How- how is that he looks nervous, and you’re being confessed to; youcan’t help it, it’s another sort of reflex when your jaw locks into place andyour gaze jerks immediately to his hand Iwaizumi catches your shift inattention- he hasn’t looked away from you for a second, that brave soul- and hetugs at his sleeve reluctantly, trying to keep himself from covering it.

“I have a soulmate,yeah,” he says, rather redundantly in your opinion, because everyone who’sheard of Iwaizumi knows he’s found his soulmate, and the last time you checked,it still wasn’t you. “I just… do you believe in soulmates?”

“This again,” youbreathe slightly hysterically, and the thought that maybe Oikawa Tooru is thegreat puppet master of the universe crosses your mind several times inoverexcited laps.

“Huh?”

“No,” you respondmore clearly, “I don’t want to.” His expression falls a little, and you quicklyclarify, “I mean- I don’t.” You don’t need to glance down anymore to know thatyour thumb is already reaching towards your bare pinkie to rub at itself-consciously. Iwaizumi follows your movement, and in one heart-stoppingmoment, he pulls his hands off his mug and reaches to grasp your hand in thefirmest grip you’ve ever felt in your life. He gives your cold, clammy hand aconfident squeeze, and you feel the warmth of his palm squeeze your frail hearttoo.

His eyes are burninginto yours and it hurts- whether from the intensity, from your imagination orfrom all the insecurity he seems to be searing away from your soul into ashesthat fall around you like cherry blossoms, because he’s your childhood friend,your Iwaizumi, and if anyone can carry out miracles, it’s him.

“It’s hard to notbelieve in something everyone else thinks is common sense, huh.” He says withaching gentleness, lips curling into a woeful smile that shatters all the wallsyou’ve worked so hard at building, block by block. In just one sentence,without prompting, he has said what you thought nobody else would be able tounderstand. “It’s one thing to live against it, and another to just live…without it.” There’s a pointed silence, and his fingers tighten around yours;you know that instance he’s talking about all the times he’s seen your facetorn up because of your broken string and his intact one, the first gap in thegaping abyss that’s grown between you and the rest of your peers.

Of course, all ittook was for Iwaizumi to bare his soul to you, and the bridge falls andsuddenly, you feel like you can have faith in yourself again. Even if just alittle.

“I got used to it,”you say, voice smaller than you imagined. “Mom, and all. It wasn’t like Ididn’t know.”

The biggest questionis still unsaid when Iwaizumi nods with tender understanding. He’s keepingquiet, and you’re not ready enough to ask it of him yet. In case this is just adream, in case it wasn’t what you had been wishing for all this time.

Miracles, like yousaid. He performs another like it’s nothing, and the words come up without youneeding to spare a glance.

“I… I believed in itat first. Who doesn’t, in the day and age? But…” His voice begins to waver, andin a single historic moment of bravery, you turn your hand over so that you’reproperly holding hands, and you squeeze back too. You hear his breath hitch,and you’re more sure of this than anything else you’ve been. “I… I guess I justcame to love you, more and more. I didn’t realize it at first, because youweren’t on the other side of my string, and even though sure, it’s easy withher, like I barely have to try and we fit, but… you…”

You’re crying alittle. “You make me want to try to fit, even if we might not. Right?”

“Right.” And hesounds like he might be crying too. He isn’t, when you look away from yourjoined hands, the sure expression evergreen on his face, but his voice betrayshim.

“I don’t know muchabout love,” you murmur, “all that I do it’s from my mom or from books, butI’ve always found something romantic in the fact that you get to choose who youspend the rest of your life with. To love again. Who says that we’re onlyallowed one great love in our lives, and everything else will pale incomparison? Why can’t we have two? Three? As many as our little hearts tell uswe need, because we’re us, right?”

He’s silent, cuppingyour every word in his hands like the water of life, and for the first time ina long time, you’re not here with Iwaizumi, your crush. You’re with Iwaizumi,the only person you ever thought was for you, and would probably be for a verylong time. There’s no wealth in the world that could buy genuine understanding-and in a dizzying moment you feel so much more blessed than anyone with a red thread.Despite yours breaking, despite the odds of being born anyone else in theworld, you were born here, in a small town in Miyagi, and you met him.

You hope that heknows that no matter what comes of you two, you’ll forever think him beautifulbeyond compare.

“’Better to haveloved and lost than to have never loved at all’,” Iwaizumi says with a smile,“they used to say that a long time ago. I guess it doesn’t really apply whenwe’ve all got threads.”

“They just assumeyou love, don’t they?” You match his smile with your own, a bit watery but verytouched.

“I’d rather letmyself love who I want, than love what’s just there. Something I had to fightfor, instead of sitting there and letting it happen.”

If Iwaizumi tried topersuade you to jump off a cliff with that amount of earnestness, you would doit without a second’s hesitation.

“You’re making avery convincing argument, Hajime-kun.”

He laughs that richlaugh of his and you feel your cheeks colour again like normal. “It’s onlyconvincing if it works.” He leans forwards like he always does in that way thatsteals chunks of your lifespan. “So? What do you say? Want to give it a trytogether?”

“It’s…” you can feelthe edge of each syllable along the grooves of your tongue, ready to leave yourlips, but they just won’t come, “will it break? The thread. Will it come back?”

He waits, like it’sthe one thing he was certain to come from this whole conversation.

“You… will you beable to go back if you realize you’ve made a mistake?”

Iwaizumi answers youlike god answers prayers- with conviction and a love that can only come fromdeep within. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t change how I feel, and that doesn’tchange what I think. We can try and try again until we find something thatworks. If it doesn’t, I know that I’d never regret it having happened.”

This man is tooblinding, and you barely deserve him. Maybe a few days before and you wouldhave said something very different, but this time your ‘alright’ comes in awhole exhilarated rush and the moments where he pushes even closer to you topress his lips quietly against yours for a mere moment feels like heartbreak-already happened, so intense that nothing could possibly outdo this singlemoment ever again.

“I- we’re in acafé!” You hiss once your brain restarts itself successfully, but Iwaizumi onlyfalls back into his hair with a satisfied grin on his face that borders onsmug.

“Is PDA a no then?”

“No!”

“A shame,” hemurmurs lowly, and something alive curls in your gut from the way his voicewraps around his words like they’ve been coated in syrup, “I’ve always wantedto try that kissing thing that Oikawa always does with whatever girlfriend hehas.”

‘Kissing’ makes yourhead steam with embarrassment, and if you had your hand back to yourself youwould most definitely cover your face with it. “You’ve been spending too muchtime with Tooru.”

“Probably,” Iwaizumisays ruefully, “what’s done is done, I suppose.”

Indeed, it was, andon Iwaizumi’s finger, the red thread lies snapped, on the table, like it hadnever been whole in the first place. It only takes a short glance at yourexpression for Iwaizumi to fall back into sobriety and very slowly, as iftrying not to spook you, he gets up and gently pulls the chair from under you.“Let’s go,” he suggests, and you’re the first to pad out of the coffee shopwhile he gives the table a cursory look over for forgotten items.

The previousconversation falls into a lull, a comfortable one, that accompanies the dimmingsky. You feel like there should be more embarrassment, more nervousness aboutfirst-times after your lives have been flipped over in one single afternoon,but there isn’t. There’s only the feeling of comfort and companionship thattakes its place between the two of you and pulls you closer together likemagnets. There’s a smile on your face while you walk, and his is alight withanticipation for whatever is to come.

First, it’s yourshoulders that bump. Yet, you barely even pause when you feel Iwaizumi quietlysliding his hand over yours and he hooks his pinkie around your own.

“I love you,” hesays into the road ahead, like he wants to say it just once, in case he nevergets to again.

“I-I know,” youcan’t help but stammer, but the deep chuckle beside you emboldens you. “I loveyou also,” you try again, and he hums.

You might never know what it’slike to have a complete thread, to have a destined soulmate, but you think thatin any reality, having someone so wonderful understand you so wholly is theclosest thing on earth to finding one.

[first-edition-dumpster-fire]

Idk if anyone saw the Tik Tok about this that I commented on (highly doubtful), but I thought I’d elaborate a little on what I said because I feel the need to rant so my comment is more understandable and complex.

(And no, for those of you who didn’t find your way here through my Tik Tok endeavors, my comment wasn’t controversial or offensive to my knowledge. It actually has gotten a bit of traction. It was about Bucky Barnes.)

James Buchanan Barnes is a viciously underrated character within the Marvel universe, in both the comics and the MCU. Mostly, he’s shipped around with Steve or whoever he talks to-and I’m a part of the people that do this, huge Bucky/Natasha shipper. And I’m not an expert on his character, I haven’t read a single comic book in my life. But I do want to and I read a lot of excerpts from the comics and watch the cartoons and binge the movies. So if I give out false information, I am happy to be corrected but just know that I do my best to work with the information I have and most of my rants are theory based whether they make sense or not. If you must correct me at all, please be courteous enough to be polite about it. The majority of this is from the MCU films.

Natasha says in CA:TWS that The Winter Soldier was responsible for a multitude of assassinations over the past five decades. Bucky was taken in by Hydra during the Second World War, which goes into the assumption that he’d either just been frozen for twenty years or that he fought off the brainwashing in that time frame. The romanticized version would be the latter. And it’s pretty and sweet and not to far out of the range of possibility. But it’s just not that realistic or believable. They most likely kept him cryogenically frozen and rigorously trained him. The goal would’ve been to keep him under cryo long enough for him to be disoriented when he came out of it before wiping his memory. The first twenty years under Hydra would have been exclusively dedicated to building up the trigger words and their fallbacks. It would’ve been dedicated to making him forget the war, his sisters, his best friend; making him forget Bucky and replacing those memories with every language known to man, every hand-to-hand combat routine practiced on this planet, how to handle any weapon and incapacitate any enemy. He wasn’t a person, not the perfect soldier, not a warrior. Because even the most ruthless warriors were human, they all fought for something. But the Winter Soldier wasn’t human, he was a weapon, he was the Asset. If they treated his wounds, broken bones and ruptured organs, it was to placate him. You had to clean your weapons to use them properly.

And through it all, there was still a little bit of a Brooklyn man named James Buchanan Barnes within the Soldier. They saw it in the way he silently cried after killing a simple witness and their family. In the way he unconsciously shuffled around awkwardly, his prior confidence depleted severely, as if his purpose and poise left him after each completed mission. Knowing that they wouldn’t have him so tightly within their grasp for much longer, they reassured him. And it had been so long since anyone had cared for him properly, had given him advice, guided him, he fed right into it. Maybe he wasn’t so bad, maybe their was some good in his horrifying actions. They said so, and they said it so nicely, they’d never been nice before. At the back of his mind, there was a small voice that told him they were wrong, that told him to fight, dammit! He heard it often, screaming unintelligibly at him during missions, taunting him at night when he tried to sleep, calling him weak and begging him to prove the voice wrong. He never did. He didn’t even know what the voice was saying, it meant something once, but it didn’t anymore. And he was helping, giving the world its freedom and saving everyone. A few lives prevented that and a few hundred made up for the billions, right? He didn’t think it did, but they knew better, they told him so. And if listening, if obeying meant not getting beaten, slapped around, and electrocuted then maybe they were right.

They put him under again in January of 1992. He completed a mission and didn’t return to his handlers. He hoped that them finding him meant that they were worried about him, cared for him even. They didn’t, and told him so as they yelled at him and degraded him. He scolded himself at the same time, he was being stupid and he shouldn’t have hoped for anything. Why did he? He should have gone back to base. Why didn’t he? It was because of that man, that man and his wife that caused this. He was being hurt again and that man and his oddly familiar face were to blame. He sounded so desperate when he begged him to spare his wife. He called him something, what was it? It started with a ‘B’? Where had he seen that man? Why did his chest feel heavy and limbs feel weighed down? Did he know that man? Why did he assume that Hydra would take of him, at least ask him if he was okay? They never had before and yet the answer was obvious. It was because of...of...who? Who did he feel this feeling of kinship for? He didn’t trust or like anyone he knew. The two year hibernation fuzzied him up again. He’d think about it later.

Zola called him ‘Sergeant Barnes’ when he first woke from a coma. It was his first memory and the only one not completely obscured. He hated Zola. He knew that. He was glad he was gone and he never had to see him again. But who was Sergeant Barnes? Was it him? Was he in the military? He looked into the mirrors once and imagined himself cleaner, upright, with a smooth haircut and a light stubble, with a crisp uniform that he wore proudly. He smashed the glass with his flesh hand and his handler backhanded him across the face before wrapping his hand with a piece of yellowed cloth. He hid behind his hair for the next three weeks. He hated his hair almost as much as his hands. He was weak, needing to hide behind his hair the way a young child clung to his mother’s legs. Luckily, they never saw it that way. They thought he was showing off his devil-may-care attitude. Like it was a way to prove that he was just a weapon, objects didn’t care about how they looked. But he needed it. He hated his hair, but he needed it. The unkempt tresses protected him and were the only defiance he allowed himself. They could take away his free will. They could take away his memory. They could take away his youth and soul, but he kept his hair. Even to him the concept was ridiculous if not downright stupid. But he afforded it and took away with it his pride.

His dignity, however, was lacking. He threw it away within the first year of his initial training. The ugly scarring around his shoulder was a physical reminder of it. It was hard to tell what exactly caused the scars, if you didn’t know what he’d done. Sometimes, on his better days, he’d pretend that he’d gotten them in an accident. Maybe the accident that cost him his arm in the first place. On his worst days, he’d remind himself that he didn’t have any scars that he didn’t give himself. Bullet wounds, knife grazes, and gashes all stitched themselves back together eventually, and he wouldn’t be able to tell he had them in the first place. He had two sets of scars that he’d given himself. The aforementioned shoulder scarring, when he first realized just how badly he’d been damaged, when he still thought he could fix himself and be good again. Had he been good at all? He’d hoped so when he tried to pry off the offending metal limb with his bare fingers. After he’d given up on his attempts, he wondered where the most blood was coming from, his flesh hand or the remainder of his shoulder. He passed out before he could decide. The second set of scars was just under his right hip. Hidden by the fabric of his pants and invisible to eyes, the area where he’d stabbed himself with a dagger then ripped the torn skin further with his vibranium hand was now a knarly mess of pale blemishes. He’d done it twenty-three years after being captured, as he then realized, and was given his first witness elimination mission. A widowed mechanic and his three daughters and infant son. He couldn’t do it so he faked an accident so they sent someone else in his place. He was proud of it. His shoulder and arm may have caused humiliation and suffering, but he felt as if their was still some good, some humanity, left in him, even if it was the smallest amount.

That small action led him to believe the lies. If he could be a hero, it would all be worth it. If he did heroic things, he wouldn’t be a bad guy. But he was one. He was a murderer. A villain. A puppet. A weapon. A monster. Shameful and hideous, it didn’t matter what they told him. Because the small voice, which had grown clearer over the years, always told him the truth. He was covered in oceans of blood. He caused lifetimes of misery. He ruined and destroyed whatever he touched. The voice didn’t sound malicious or sinister or taunting. He’d exhausted it enough that the voice knew that taunts didn’t work and never had. It was mournful, sad. It threw these awful and mean names at him, repeated the names of all his victims, replayed all of his punishments. It did it robotically. It wanted something from him. And every time Rumlow or Pierce or Zola’s AI personality spoke, the mental voice was in his head, saying the exact opposite. Rumlow called him a machine. The voice told him he was once human. Pierce told him he was a savior. The voice called him a killer. Zola’s computer filtered mind told him that he was a success. The voice called him a victim. When he first heard the echoing words, they sounded hopeful, rascally, and youthful. Now they sounded tired, old, and resigned. The voice had a Brooklyn accent.

Why did this happen? He was so close! They were so close. Why did that terribly familiar man have to speak to him? Who was Bucky? Was Bucky even a person? What if it was just a curse? Or a sound that the man made? God, why the hell did he respond? Hydra was finally revealing its infiltration into SHIELD and he was finally about to complete the cause of his creation. They were gonna put him under again. Wipe him. It hurt so much. Why couldn’t they just kill him? He deserved it. He wanted it. He should’ve kept his damn mouth shut! But he knew him, and Pierce always had answers. Always. Pierce was many things, Pierce had done many things, but Pierce never lied to him. He was helping. He was a hero. He assisted in the goal to achieve world-wide freedom. He was a machine. He was a victim. He was a monster. He should’ve died.

The blond man was calling him Bucky again. He figured out that Bucky was a name. The blond man, who’d he since found out was named Steve, thought it was his name. He didn’t have a name. Not a real one. He had aliases and identifiers. But no name. They took him out earlier than usual. According to the date, less than a week than when he’d been put under. He’d forgotten the blond man until he was given a picture and an order. He kept his mouth shut this time and the voice in his head became louder. His name is Steve and you know him, it cried. He ignored it as always. If he did this, then they’d have no reason to put him under anymore. No reasons for missions or stakeouts or killings. A large part of him, the logical part, told him that they’d kill him the moment they reached their goal, but a smaller part secretly hoped that they’d just let him leave. Standing in front of the blond man now, he realized that he should’ve thought of an escape plan long ago. It was Steve’s fault. Steve made him realize that he didn’t want to die. How long had he wished that he could’ve been killed? All for it to be ruined by this stupid patriotic asshole to ruin it. His self-loathing was replaced by rage. He’d comply, he’d complete this final mission and then leave. He’d kill Steve Rogers and, for once, he’d actually enjoy it.

‘Til the end of the line’, the voice hollared, so loud that it sounded like his own thoughts, instead of like a background reporter. After saying it’s piece, it left. The presence in the back of his mind was gone and everything became so clear. He hesitated. Flashes of his life raced across his vision. Mom. Rebecca. Stevie. Miss Sarah. Brownies. Dot. Samantha. Carol. June. Maria. Pizza. Army. Sarah died. She smelled like cherry blossoms. Stevie is so small. I dated too many girls. Rebecca hit me in the head for it a lot. She and Ma thought I was a scoundrel. My name. My name. My name. My name is James Buchanan Barnes. My mom. My mom mommy mom. Her name is Winifred. I joined the military. Steve joined. He’s Captain America. California rolls. The helicarrier is collapsing.

The cold water cleared his head. It was like one of Rebecca’s wacks except it was colder, harder and bigger. He preferred Rebecca’s. Stevie is drowning. He’s unconscious. Bucky pulls him out of the water and onto the riverbed. He’s confused and doesn’t know what’s happening. He wants to be alone. He doesn’t know where he’s going just that it’s somewhere and nowhere at the same time and that’s where wants to be. He’s Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Buckybuckybucky. James. Someone called him Jimmy once and he socked him. He hates that nickname. Bucky. Yeah, that’s him. He sees his reflection in the glass and the days events crash over him. That’s not Bucky. That’s him and he’s a monster. A puppet. A weapon. He doesn’t want to be. He won’t be. They can’t control him anymore. He won’t let them. Steve can’t help, Steve can’t understand. Steve will be ashamed of him. Steve doesn’t know what he’s done. He’s all alone. He’s lost. His knees buckle and he crashes to the floor. For the next few hours, he can’t tell if he’s screaming or not. His face is red and hot and wet. Is his voice raw from screaming or is he just dehydrated? Probably not the latter cuz’ the river would’ve done a good job of that. It didn’t clean his cuts that well. They sting. Bucky wonders why his wounds healing themselves hurts more than receiving them in the first place. He deserves it.

Bucky starts at the museum. He stole a bunch of journals out of a craft store. One of them was a dark fushia and he didn’t notice due to the lack of light and time to pick his preference. It’s his favorite color now. He writes down everything in his journals. From his memories to his thoughts to the things he wants to try and why he wants to try them. He wanted to alphabetize the entries, but decided it would be best to write whatever came to mind. Most of it was written in a flurry of different languages, some sentences repeating themselves in Russian, German, Spanish and Chinese. He never learned how to speak French though he understood it quite well. His mother and sister were the first people Bucky wrote about. His friendship with Steve was another. His list of junk food that he hadn’t tried took up a good few pages. He wanted a McFlurry but something about a broken machine prevented him from getting one. When he arrived at the World War II portion of the museum tour and came upon his own section, Bucky was overwhelmed by his feelings of shame. He shouldn’t have been. Staring at the determined but friendly look in his former self’s eyes, he thought about how far he’d fallen. He carefully and meticulously wrote down the entirety of the portion of the exhibit, even writing down every word spoken through the recorded story speech. He avoided Steve’s exhibit.