#He might’ve gotten fed up and just yelled

[baconcolacan]

The T4T tomtord has me thinking DEEPLY like….

As kids Tord would be just the most UNBEARABLE egg there is out there. He’d be hanging out with Tom and just ask shit like ‘Hey Tammie? Do you…ever feel like you’re someone else??’

SURPRISINGLY he’s the reason Tom gets an early awakening cause he keeps using him as a fucking soundboard for his eggthoughts and Tom’s just ‘Ohhh yeah I get it now’ and knows he’s a boy from a young age and it takes Tord until at LEAST sophomore/year 10 to realise he’s trans.

And yes, he still used Tom as a soundboard for all those years until then. Tom TRIES to give him hints, he never catches them.

[bubblybubbubs]

Stuck With Me (3)

Summary - Draco’s POV on losing his soulmate

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count - 3.5k

AN- I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 1  2 

taglist - @lonely-kermit @lifeasdreamgirl @mera-shifts @abbyloubaton @clumsilyclueless @confusedscreaminggremlin @seanh-boredom @weasleysmalfoyxstyles @thefandomplace @mayempress @shadyrose66622 @jay-jay-love @ktvia @lovebynorth @sweet-creature98 @remmyswritings​ @chaoticgirl04

Sometimes Draco thought about how different his life would be had he not left you, had you not gotten hurt and lost your fucking memory.

It was truly ridiculous, the universe was actively conspiring against him, he was sure of it.

His current living situation just proved that further to him. “Wake the fuck up.” Blaise said slowly pouring water on his face even though Blaise himself was evidently groggy. “I will kill you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Draco was unsure as to why Blaise had chosen to live in a crappy apartment when his family Manor was free. He missed his silk sheets and expensive pillows. Yet sadly the ministry had decided they wanted to take that leaving Draco on Blaise’s smelly consignment store couch. Had he gotten completely cut off by his family? Perhaps, it would make the disgustingly plain beans and toasts they ate daily make a lot more sense. He’d hate to think that Blaise fed them this by choice.

“Guess who wrote.” Blaise said, wiggling a letter in Draco’s face.

“Loud ginger?”

“Loud ginger.” He confirmed dropping it in on Draco’s face. “You should answer her before we get a howler, then we’ll really see how loud the ginger can get.” Draco looked at the letter, Ginny’s name was scrawled on the envelope and the aggressiveness of the signature made him heavily considering not opening it but the possibility of getting a howler from her convinced him otherwise.

Draco,

You are the worst and I hate you. I’m not sure if you care anymore given that you have refused to make contact with her but y/n is doing fine. I mean sure she’s been asking about her soulmate and lying to her is slowly killing me, but I’m glad you and Blaise are having fun in your bachelor pad and that you have successfully cleared your amnesiac soulmate out of your head.  

Looking forward to hearing your pathetic excuses,

Ginny Weasley.

It was way too fucking early for this.

-

Things were strange.

You had gotten most of your memories back but everything was very different than what you remembered, everyone was different after the war.

The Weasleys, oh the poor Weasleys, they were like your family but the life has been sucked out of them without Fred. They had all tried to hide it from you, they believed you were already going through enough and you didn’t need their problems too. Ginny especially, she hadn’t left your side since you woke up. You kind of felt bad for Harry because whenever he wanted to spend some one on one time with Ginny she always insisted you tagged along.

For example whatever the fuck this current situation was.

“I’m really sorry Harry.” You whispered to him. “I told her I’d be fine alone.”

At first it had sort of made sense how careful everyone had been around you, but at this point it was exhausting. You would walk into a room and it would just go silent. You lost your memory, not your basic communication skills.

“It’s fine, I understand Ginny can be quite persistent.”

“What about me.” Ginny said hooking her arms with the both of you.

“Just that I don’t think I should be going on your dates anymore, it’s kind-“

“Ginny.” Harry said interrupting you pointing towards a boy down the street. He was blonde and lanky, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

You had seen Ginny mad, in fact it was one of the first things to come back to you. Her calm fury was something that hadn’t remained constant since she was young and right now you saw it on her face as she stared daggers into the boy.

She scoffed. “I’ll be back.”

“This might take a while.” Harry said quietly, shaking his head. “Come on we can meet Ginny there.” You stole a glance across the street as Harry dragged you away. Ginny was yelling at the boy but he didn’t seem to care because he wasn’t looking at her he was looking at you. You felt your face heat up and you looked away from him following Harry. “Who was that, should I know him?”

Harry paused for a minute.

He had that face that people had whenever they were walking on eggshells around you.“He went to school with us but I don’t think you two were ever friends.” The way he didn’t look you in the eyes screamed to you that he was lying.Harry was always a horrible bloody liar.

-

It was really hard for Draco to process what Ginny was saying. Her anger had gone right to her face and Draco had been silently betting with himself as to how long it would take for her face to turn the same color as her hair. “Your face is really red.” Draco said, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Are you drunk.” Ginny said stoically.

Was he? It was likely, he honestly couldn't remember the morning or yesterday. The days were sort of blending together.

“Malfoy.” Ginny said. Usually when people used his name they were yelling at him or were angry at him. But Ginny said it with pity which somehow felt worse.

“I don’t get why you're doing this to yourself.” She said. “You’re miserable.” He deserved to be miserable.

“It’s for the best.”

“How’s that.”

Draco had no interest in divulging his feelings to weaslette of all people, but it seemed his judgement was slightly impaired by the alcohol he may or may not had been drinking. “I’m going to fucking Azakban Ginevra,I just dont see the point in telling her I’m her soulmate and possibly facing rejection just for me to be thrown in Azkaban for the rest of my life.” Draco huffed. “Even if she somehow forgave me, I doubt the dementors will be allowing conjugal visits.”

“There are no more dementors at Azkaban, Kingsley got rid of them.”

Now normally Draco was against hitting girls but he was considering it heavily. “Thank you Weasley. I feel way better, I’m sure Azkaban is a paradise now. Remind me to send Kingsley a thank you letter.”

“Draco.” Ginny said.

Gross, hearing Ginny say his first name with pity felt even worse.

“You’re not going to Azkaban, Harry agreed to speak at your trial.”

“Oh great he’ll testify to the one time I helped him, I’m sure it’ll cancel everything else out.” He said. “I’m not a good person Weasley, that’s why I know I’m going to Azkaban, because I deserve it.”

“Is that why you’re staying away from y/n?” Ginny said even angrier than before. “Is this some sort of self punishment.”

Draco stayed quiet.

“Merlin, Draco go to fucking therapy.” Ginny huffed. “You’re not the only one that’ll suffer because of your self pity. She needs her fucking soulmate back, as much as I hate you for everything you’ve put her through I can’t argue with the fucking universe and neither can you.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have fucking gotten involved with her in the first place, it’s only put her in danger.” He took a deep shaky breath. “And her losing her memory was the universe’s way of telling me to stay away.”

He had known for a long time that she was too good for him  

It was dark and he was tired, turns out making potter stinks badges and teaching all of Slytherin clever chants was demanding. Draco wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings as he walked back to his dorm until of course he heard quiet sobs. He was a firm believer that crying in public was pathetic, especially in a hallway where anyone could stumble across you. And he might’ve told them that had it not been you. He had been thinking about you, not that he would ever tell anyone that ever. But how could he not, you were his soulmate and that had to mean something.

He barely had time to think as his feet moved on their own bringing him in front of you.

“Why are you crying.”

Merlin, could he have been any less compassionate.

“Why do you care Malfoy.” You said.

He hated the way you looked pretty even if your eyes were all puffy and your face was all red.

“I don’t.”

He did. He even started to walk away for dramatic effect of course.

“I’m scared.” It felt weird to hear sincere words from you that weren't you yelling at him, and he hated the fact that he didn't hate it. “Harry has his first task tomorrow he could get hurt or worse.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Don’t tell him I told you this but he has to be some sort of invincible to defeat Voldemort at the age of 1. Don't you think?”He could hardly believe the words he was saying.

“I suppose you’re right.” You finished off.

Draco sat tensely, he wasn't exactly sure what to do. He couldn't hug you could he? No that would be seriously overstepping. You would probably punch him in the face, again. After all you had been the one who wanted to forget about the whole soulmate thing and of course you were a halfblood and a gryffindor on top of that. It would never work.

For once he hated being right.

-

You were actively weighing how likely it was for Ginny to kill you if you woke her up.

Very, is what you eventually came up with. Maybe you could play the amnesia card.

“What do you want y/n.” Ginny grogged from under her. “I’ve been listening to you shifting around for the last hour.”

You had been staying at the Weasley’s and you had absolutely refused to take Fred’s bed so that had resulted in a cramped hammock floating in Ginny’s room.

You turned around to face her with a sorry look on your face.

“Did I know that boy, the one you were yelling at.” You said. “I just feel like I knew him.”

Ginny was quiet the same way Harry was. “No.” She said turning away from you. “No you didn’t.”

“Ginny-”

“Y/n please don’t.” Ginny said, cutting you off. “It’s not for me to tell, if it was believe me you’d already know.”

“I want to go.”

“Go where.”

“To Hogwarts.”

It was embarrassing. Everyone had gone already; they had been able to at least attempt to cope with the trauma they had endured. And you who couldn't even remember the bloody war couldn't work up the nerves to go.

Ginny stared at you for a bit before muttering. “Hermione and Ron are going soon, they’ll likely let you join them.” You were about to make an argument about going on your own before Ginny turned back around nonverbally telling you that the conversation was over.

You still couldn’t sleep and not from lack of trying. Your mind was whirring, ever since you had seen Ginny yell at the boy your lack of memory seemed to be feeling different. And your fear was beginning to settle in, your doctor said that some memories may never come back and that thought made you sick to your stomach. You didn’t feel all that different, Ginny said you were the same whenever you asked. But she could be lying (since she seemed to be in the habit of doing so these days) and you would never know because you had amnesia.

-

Draco was regretting not taking his plea deal. He would much rather be sleeping in Azkaban than waking up on Blaise’s concerningly uncomfortable couch to an angry looking ginger towering over him. No one seemed to value his rest and it was getting ridiculous. He pressed his eyes closed and pull his blanket further over his face in hopes that maybe Ginevra would disappear. Sadly that was not the case and Ginny ripped the blanket off of him leaving Draco quite cold.

Ginny stared down at him as she stood impatiently at the foot of the couch.

“Blaise someone broke into your flat.”

“I noticed mate.” Blaise said who looked just as exhausted hunched over his coffee.

“We need to talk.”

“We talked remember, or were you drunk too?”

Ginny did not look amused and Draco almost felt bad for being so difficult but then he remembered he didn't care.

“Y/n’s going to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. She’s likely going to get her memories back.” Ginny said. “Thought you should know.”

Draco sat up. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ginny said taking a deep breath. “You need to be there.”

“How so?”

“She’s going to remember all the shitty things you’ve done to her and are yet to apologize for and you’re going to lose your soulmate for good.”

“I don't see how me being there will change that.”

Ginny didn't answer him rather she walked towards his chimney. “You know what, screw you. I truly do not care if you go, I just thought you should have the choice that's all.”

Ginny didn't look at Draco, rather giving Blaise a short nod before using the floo to go back to the Burrow.

Draco let himself fall back down to the couch as he listened to Blaises loudly chow down his cereal.

“So are you going to go?” Blaise said his mouth still full.

He felt bad for Blaise’s mum all that money on etiquette lessons for what?

“No.” Draco said, burying his head in his pillow.

“You’re a tosser.”

“I can live with that.”

He could and he has. If he had a sickle for everytime he was called some variation of ‘tosser’ he certainly would not be sleeping on Blaise’s couch.

“I’m calling Pansy.” Blaise didn’t scare him, not in the slightest. But Pansy was another story, Pansy scared everyone, especially the people that loved her which sadly included Draco. “I will kill you.”

“You’re just saying that cause you know she’ll knock some sense into you.”

“I have a lot of sense.” Draco groaned. “In fact I have too much sense.”

Blaise ignored Draco’s exaggerated groans as he called Pansy.The call was short or maybe it was long, all Draco knew was that Pansy was standing over him with that look on her face.

“I’m not going, and you’re not changing my mind Pansy.”

“Blaise leave.” Pansy ordered.

Blaise looked insulted. “This is my house.”

“You call this a house?”

Blaise huffed mumbling under his breath curses at Pansy.

“That was rude.”

“So you're going to lecture me on rudeness now, that's rich coming from you.”

“I dont care.”

“You look and smell like shit, I can tell you ‘don’t care’.” Pansy said.

Never in her life had Pansy been one to sugar coat things and apparently she had no intention of starting to do so. Draco was going to argue it was the couch but he realized he couldn't remember the last time he showered so he kept his mouth shut. Draco a year ago would’ve drowned himself in the black lake had he known he’d come to be like this.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m pulling the card.”

“Pansy no that’s not fair.” Draco said sitting up.

“Fair?”

Poor choice of words.

“Draco, do I have to remind you my soulmate is dead, I stopped feeling tugs and being able to talk to my soulmate when i was 13. Your soulmate is alive by some fucking miracle, and frankly you’re being a selfish prick.”

“Oh.” He always hated when Pansy talked about it. Not because he didn't care but according to Pansy because he cared too much and the last time he had shown any sign of pity towards Pansy it had not gone well for him.

“What lies do you have Ginevra feeding her, does she think she has no soulmate, does she think her soulmate is dead?”

“She doesn’t think she has a soulmate.” Draco said in a low voice, he wasn't proud of what he was doing but he also knew he had no choice. “She was in her coma during the tug. I figured by the time the next one rolls around I have something figured out.”

“And what about you.” She asked. “She may not remember you but you’ll remember her, you'll never forget that you have a soulmate out there that you refuse to see.”

“I won't let myself ruin her.”

“She’s a grown woman, I find it demeaning that you don't see her capable of making her own damn choices.”

“What?”

“You think she'll hate you, you think she’ll be ruined, you think she’s better off. What about what she thinks? You think she'd be okay with you slowly killing yourself?”

“You're a bitch Pansy.”

“So I’ve been told.” She looked towards the clock.

“Come on lets get you something to eat.”

She reached her hand out for Draco to grab.

“I can walk to the kitchen without holding your hand thank you very much.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed onto Draco’s arm.

“What are you-”

Draco’s sentence was cut off by Pansy apparating them both out of the loft.

-

Draco had gone to his fair share of therapy, did it ever work? no, Draco would rather die before talking about his feelings with a stranger but he had been taught his fair share of anger exercises . And Merlin did they come in handy, truly it was the only thing keeping him from throttling Pansy as she stood there with a smug face looking at the rubble that once was Hogwarts.

“Pansy.” Draco said slowly.

“Shut up, look she’s right there.”

“I’m not ready Pansy.” Draco said wiping his palms on his pants out of stress. “I wanted to bring her flowers.”

“flowers?”

“Forget me nots.” He said with a sardonic dry chuckle. “It was our unofficial flower, ironic isn’t it.”

“The fact that you have an unofficial flower makes me want to throw up.”

“I need flowers.” He said. Pansy groaned before searching the grass. She picked up a dandelion swirling her wand transfiguring it into a bouquet of forget me nots.

“Here, go.” He was about to give another excuse but Pansy apperated away. The one time he needed her she leaves.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to approach her without seeming like a stalker.

His thoughts were disrupted by Hermione and Ron walking up to him. He wanted to turn around so bad but he had no doubt that if he did so Hermione and Ron wouldn’t hesitate to curse him.

“Granger, Weasley.” He said sticking his hands as deep as his pockets would allow him.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” Hermione said.

Draco shrugged.

“Just go talk to her.” Ron said.

“Thats why Im here.”

Ron mumbled something under his breath but Draco didn’t feel like fighting Weasley.

Draco had never felt such anxiety because of another person. He had always been confident and walked around like he owned the world, but now he felt scared.He watched you as you traced your hands across the bricks of Hogwarts, his steps faltering as he came closer to you.

“Hi Y/n.” He called out.

You turned to look at him. Draco’s heart felt heavy at the way you looked at him, not any recognition in your eyes. You had once looked at him with such love, then such hate but now you looked at him with nothing. because right now that’s what he was to you, and it broke his heart.

“You.” You said stepping closer. “You were the one talking to Ginny.”

“I wouldn’t really call it talking, she yelled I stood there.”

“Ginny does that a lot.” You shrugged.

“Yeah.” He said.

You spotted the flowers in his hands.

“I’m sorry, who did you lose?”

His hands tightened on the flowers.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You said. “I lost my friend Fred, and my memory. But I don't feel like I lost it since I can't remember ever having it. But I miss Fred.”

He studied every centimeter of your face noting the subtle changes he didn’t notice the last time he saw you as you rambled on about Fred anxiously.

“You.” He said voice wavering. “I lost you.”

You stayed quiet for a second.

“I’m sorry I-“

“don’t know who I am?” He said with a dry laugh. “I was sort of expecting that.”

You didn’t say anything studying his face for anything that sparked a memory in you.

He dug through his jacket pocket pulling out a photo.

His hands were sweating and he tried his best not to touch your hand. Partially because he didn’t want you to feel his sweaty hands and because he feared he would break down at the realization that you were finally here in front of him.

“I’m Draco and you’re my soulmate.” He said

-

AN THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART THE LAST PART WILL BE THE NEXT PART

[ghostdrew22]

The Cabinet || Blaise Zabini

Requested: No

Pairing: Blaise Zabini x fem!reader

Warnings: some angst, swearing

Summary: Blaise is having a hard time helping Draco fix the Vanishing Cabinet and you’re there to comfort him.

WORDS : 1036

<~>

The Cabinet.

It's all Draco can think about and Blaise knows that.

He blames himself.

For what? You don't really know. But you do know that Blaise has lost countless nights of sleep desperately trying to help Draco find a solution to the looming problem that the cabinet presents.

Blaise has gone to and from the room of requirement with Draco, countless books in hand and heaps of hope in his heart, praying to any deity who'll listen that they'll finally fix the broken transportation device. But to no avail, weeks go by with no end in sight.

Weeks where Blaise provides warm arms to sink into at night, kind words of reassurance, a shoulder that Draco knows he can rely on.

Blaise gives and gives, he just doesn't know how to take, or maybe it's that he doesn't want to take.

The Cabinet.

It haunts both the boy's nightmares. You've slept over enough times to have heard their terrified screams and hushed whimpers, you've cradled them in your own arms and promised them tomorrows, better tomorrows.

You see it in Blaise's eyes that he doesn't believe you, that he thinks it'll only get worse, but Draco does, he has to, and so the two of you let him have hope.

Everyday that the cabinet is not fixed is another nail that is set in their coffins, another day that they immensely regret getting the marks on their arms.

Draco was being punished but Blaise, he was being rewarded. Offered the role of supervising his best friend, promised power when the dust settled after the war. Blaise was gifted the honour of being one of the Dark Lord's favourites, but he didn't want to be.

He didn't want the damn Cabinet.

He didn't want any of it.

He'd tried to get the mark off, attempted to scratch at it until it was marred off his skin, but it was futile, he was branded. Affiliated with a cause he preferred to not be involved in at all, forced to pick a side because his family name held respect and recognition in the wrong circles. Or what he assumed were the wrong circles, he couldn't really tell anymore.

They'd fed their propaganda so often to him that the lines between bad and good had easily become blurred. He couldn't distinguish between what was morally justified and what wasn't, there was no scripture that simply gave him the answer.

He'd always liked reading as a child, had loved how easy it was to make decisions and form opinions when everything was written out in front of you for you to analyse. But then he'd grown up and realized that life wasn't that simple, life couldn't be lived through by flipping a page and just starting a new chapter.

None of it made sense.

Especially the fucking Cabinet.

He'd done as his mother asked his whole life- had gone to Hogwarts, gotten the grades she expected of him, joined the quidditch team, befriended the families she liked- and he just didn't know how he was meant to stop. How he was meant to set the boundary and tell her that he'd no longer be living his life on her terms, so he'd complied when she told him to get the mark.

He'd obliged when he'd been instructed to work alongside Draco on the cabinet, he'd obeyed when Snape had ordered him to begin practicing dark magic, he'd even quit the quidditch team to focus more on his tasks.

Because he listens, Blaise always listens.

But he is starting to reach the end of the line, and you can tell.

"It's my fault."

"Blaise..." You utter out and tilt your head sympathetically, in that way he hates because it's always followed by some kind of lecture.

"It is!" He exclaims in frustration as he sinks into his bed, "If I had just been with him then none of this would've happened-"

"You don't know that,"

"Yes, I do. Harry wouldn't have been able to attack Draco if I'd been there to defend him-"

"And how would you have defended him when Harry used a spell that you've never even heard of?"

"I would've hexed him first."

"And if you hadn't seen him coming?"

"I would've." He mumbles stubbornly and you purse your lips in irritation.  "I'm usually more alert than Draco-"

"This had nothing to do with alertness, Harry just got the jump on Draco and you need to accept that nothing you could've done would change the outcome."

"You don't know that." He spits your words back at you and swallow hard to avoid yelling at him.

"I do actually."

"How?"

"Harry went in there with a mission, you might've got the jump on him but it's more likely that you would've been the victim and not Draco."

"I should've been."

He blames himself.

And now you're beginning to understand that he blames himself for not protecting Draco, then or now, he blames himself for things that are out of his control.

You sigh and make your way over to the bed, sitting beside him and pulling his head into your lap. "Why do you say that lovebug?"

He wraps your arm around himself and settles into your lap, cocooning himself in your embrace and making home in the safety of your presence. He speaks softly, almost as if he's anxious or ashamed, and you listen intently to the barrage of insecurities that escape his lips.

His role as the protector is slipping through his fingers the more that he opens up to you and allows someone else to do the caring, but he's not scared or upset for once, he's comfortable. You are a reprieve from his detrimental thoughts, solace from the chaos of the outside world, and he thinks that he could spend his entire life in the comfort of your arms.

Blaise always listens.

Blaise always comforts.

He always supports, waits, protects, reassures.

But he never receives.

Blaise gives and gives, he just doesn't know how to take, or maybe it's that he doesn't want to take.

<~>

HI!!!

I don't know what this is tbh but I was thinking about the vanishing cabinet the other day and i started writing and idk, blaise just came out. i like it a lot.

my haitus is (hopefully) coming to an end soon and i'll be uploading the requests that have been decaying in my inbox lol,

anyway,

love you all,

jean

[robininthelabyrinth]

Complications (aka trans!Jiang Cheng with a kid) - ao3 or part 1, part 2, part 3

-

A-Lian was as good a name as any for the brat, Jiang Cheng supposed. 

He’d been spitefully thinking of additional names ever since Nie Huaisang, that busybody, had decided on the name he liked best, but unfortunately Jiang Lian had a better ring to it than any of the others he’d come up with so far and he wasn’t quite petty enough to condemn his son to a disharmonious name just out of spite.

Assuming A-Lian stayed a son, anyway. Jiang Cheng was still curious as to how the Nie sect had managed to get cursed with an entire generation of women – Nie Huaisang had let slip a few hints that it might’ve had to do with a very fat celestial bird that hadn’t appreciated a comment that had, truly, been meant as a compliment, and anyway they would have made for excellent drumsticks, and honestly the more Jiang Cheng heard about this story the more he wondered if marrying Nie Huaisang just to hear the full version might possibly be worth it – and obviously he wasn’t about to let the Lotus Pier continue to ignore the issue of misaligned reincarnations any longer.

Something he’d have to start enforcing once he was back on the war front, he supposed – which was going to be very soon, if he had his way about it; he was sick and tired of the (nearly completed!) post-pregnancy isolation period.

He couldn’t wait for the relative peace and quiet of an active battlefield.

Of course, the second he thought that, A-Lian started making ominous grumbling sounds, because babies were apparently psychic. Why had no one ever mentioned that?

“You can’t be hungry again, brat,” Jiang Cheng told A-Lian firmly. “I literally just fed you.”

He probably just wanted to burp again, so Jiang Cheng picked him up and started patting him with one hand, using the other to fish out Nie Mingjue’s most recent letter. The other sect leader was quite possibly the most relaxing person he’d ever corresponded with: his letters were practical and to the point, with no extraneous fluff that Jiang Cheng would feel obliged to respond to. 

More importantly, it gave him an update on how his sect was doing, which was all for the best – Nie Mingjue had kept recruitment open for him, which he hadn’t needed to do, and that meant that each letter now contained not only battle strategy and requests for final decisions but also lists of the talent (or lack thereof) of new recruits so that he could make a decision on their admittance as tentative nominal disciples. Final admittance would have to wait until he returned, of course…

He hadn’t gotten a letter from Nie Huaisang yet.

That was to be expected, he supposed. Nie Huaisang had insisted on sticking around for nearly two weeks following the birth to make sure Jiang Cheng didn’t mysteriously expire from complications – the doctors had rolled their eyes a little, but Nie Huaisang’s mother had died from an infection that hadn’t been spotted in time and Jiang Cheng understood his paranoia – and he’d only reluctantly agreed to go, which meant he was probably dragging his feet.

Anyway, just because Nie Huaisang had agreed to tell Wei Wuxian about A-Lian didn’t mean that he could necessarily find Wei Wuxian. His shixiong could be anywhere, after all; contributing to the campaign, of course, but not necessarily in the Jiang sect’s camp…

Ah, yes. Just what Jiang Cheng’s day was missing: the stabbing sense of inadequacy and failure, with a nice slice of the sinking suspicion that his leadership was so bad that he couldn’t even convince his own shixiong to follow him and therefore everyone who was following him was simply humoring him.

“At least you seem to like me well enough,” he muttered to A-Lian, who gurgled happily at him now that the unfortunate burping incident was behind them. “You keep that up, you hear me? You may be a brat, and little more than a blob with arms and legs, but you still have to like me best.”

Nie Huaisang insisted that A-Lian was a gorgeous baby, but Jiang Cheng was having some trouble seeing it. Obviously A-Lian was a baby superior to all other babies, undoubtedly through sheer dumb luck (maybe it skipped a generation?), but he kept worrying that he’d done something wrong, either during the pregnancy or the birth or the care he’d been giving him, and that he’d end up damaging A-Lian for life.

It was easier if he thought of A-Lian as a very resistant blob that would always resume its original shape.

…he really wished Nie Huaisang would write to him and tell him what’d happened when he told Wei Wuxian.

He knew that Wei Wuxian would take it personally, but he wasn’t exactly sure how. Would Wei Wuxian be angry with him? Disappointed, that Jiang Cheng hadn’t just lost his core to the Wens, but his chastity as well? Disdainful that Jiang Cheng had been so desperate for family that he’d decided to carry the child to term, even knowing that its father was their parents’ murderer - that he himself had helped murder the father in turn? Upset, because Wei Wuxian had done so much to rescue him and care for him and even help him get his golden core back, and in return Jiang Cheng did nothing but create another burden that would fall on his shoulders?

Or worse – would Wei Wuxian feel like a failure, too, the way Jiang Cheng always did, and all because he hadn’t been able to save Jiang Cheng from the obvious consequences of his own stupidity?

(It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng hadn’t known when he’d allowed himself to be captured that he’d be tortured and most probably killed, and yet somehow it had never occurred to him that they would do what they did to him – he’d been a man so long that he’d forgotten, just like everyone else in the Lotus Pier, that he’d ever been regarded as anything else. He still didn’t regret the choice he’d made; he’d known that Wei Wuxian would do a better job of avenging his parents than he would and he was right about it, too, wasn’t he?)

Jiang Cheng was so immersed in dark thoughts that he almost – almost – failed to notice when A-Lian started reaching for the ink. Well, flailing around in the general vicinity of the ink, anyway.

“Don’t you even dare think about it, brat. Do you remember bathtime? You don’t like bathtime, and if you get yourself covered in ink, there’s going to be even more bathtime…”

“Jiang-xiong! Jiang-xiong! Are you and A-Lian awake in there?”

It was Nie Huaisang.

He’d returned in person instead of writing a letter; was that a good sign or a bad sign?

“Even if we weren’t, we would be after your yelling,” he shouted back. “What are you, an elephant?”

“A bull!”

“You’re too prissy to be a bull, except for the bullshit you always keep spouting!”

Jiang Cheng waited for Nie Huaisang’s response, which would inevitably be dripping with innuendo, and blinked when there wasn’t anything. That was strange; it wasn’t as if there was anyone here that Nie Huaisang would be embarrassed to –

Oh no.

“Can we come in?” Nie Huaisang asked from outside his door.

Jiang Cheng’s suspicions were confirmed at once when he heard that dreadful ‘we’. Nie Huaisang had returned not with news but with company – company Jiang Cheng still wasn’t sure he was ready to see.

“…fine,” he still said, because there was no point in holding it off any further. He braced himself for Wei Wuxian to sweep into the room like a hurricane.

He was not expecting Jiang Yanli to walk in instead.

“Jiejie!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, and – damn him – felt his eyes start filling up with tears at once. He’d wanted so badly to have her with him during this excruciating process, and she’d even offered, writing him a letter full of concern about the ‘complications’ he was apparently struggling with. But she’d been safe in the Jin sect and he wouldn’t have been able to bear the guilt if something had happened to her on the way to see him.

And that meant he couldn’t say anything, not even in letters that were safe, not even in code, because if he’d so much as breathed a word about what was actually happening, she would have insisted on coming no matter what.

“A-Cheng!” she exclaimed, and rushed over. “Oh, A-Cheng, why didn’t you tell me…”

“I wanted to you to stay safe,” he sniffed. “Travel is so dangerous, and if something happened because of me –”

“Oh, A-Cheng…” She wrapped her arms around him. “I just wish I’d been here for you. You must have been so scared!”

“I have nightmares that say he was mostly just really angry,” Nie Huaisang put in, unhelpful as always; Jiang Cheng didn’t even bother to spare him a glance.

“You were here,” he assured her. “You sent me soup every week; I ate that when I couldn’t keep anything else down –”

A particularly vicious surge of late-onset morning sickness. It’d been a bad ten days.

“You still should’ve told us,” and that was Wei Wuxian, standing in the door next to Nie Huaisang with his shoulders up by his ears defensively, but Jiang Cheng was curled up in his sister’s arms so even if Wei Wuxian was horribly disappointed in him he would be able to handle it.

With Jiang Yanli there, he could handle anything.

“Probably should have,” he agreed, because Wei Wuxian was right. Opting to carry A-Lian at all was a stupid risk to have taken in the first place, given the likelihood of dying in childbirth and leaving the Jiang sect without a leader during their time of need, but – well, that’d been a risk he’d accepted the first time around when he’d given himself up to save Wei Wuxian. It hadn’t seemed so bad the second time, even though he knew he risked wasting all of Wei Wuxian’s hard work in rescuing and getting his core back. “Didn’t, though. You want to hold the brat?”

“Of course I want to hold the brat!” And when Jiang Cheng looked over, Wei Wuxian was smiling. Smiling. “I have to hold him! He’s my shizi!”

“What are you naming him?” Jiang Yanli asked as Wei Wuxian reached over to pick A-Lian up.

“…Jiang Lian,” Jiang Cheng finally admitted, and any embarrassing comments Nie Huaisang might have had to say about it – Jiang Cheng expected whooping in triumph, to be perfectly honest – were drowned out by A-Lian abruptly howling in indignation that this strange person had dared pick him up.

“Jiang Cheng! Jiang Cheng! The baby’s crying!” Wei Wuxian wailed. He sounded like a baby himself.

“Oh for the – give him here!” The second A-Lian returned to Jiang Cheng’s arms, the crying stop and the baby settled back down. He looked a little smug, even.

“It seems A-Lian likes A-Cheng the best,” Jiang Yanli said, covering her mouth with a smile. “Can I try?”

There were still tears, though not quite as many.

“He’ll get used to you eventually,” Jiang Cheng said, as if he wasn’t preening at his son’s excellent taste. “If you stick around, that is.”

“As if you’ll be able to get rid of us,” Wei Wuxian huffed, and that made something warm and happy and glowing appear in Jiang Cheng’s chest. “You know, it’s really unfair, Jiang Cheng! I put in all this work and effort into developing demonic cultivation and inventing all sorts of new things, and in a mere ten months you managed to make something even better.”

Jiang Cheng couldn’t help the laugh that broke free, his heart singing happily – Wei Wuxian didn’t hate him, wasn’t disappointed in him, was happy for him. “It wasn’t really something I was actively working on.”

“Rude. No need to rub it in.”

And just because Jiang Cheng was Jiang Cheng, he had to affirmatively check: “You’re not upset, are you?”

“Only that you robbed us of the opportunity to spoil you rotten,” Wei Wuxian said. “Oh, and for having Nie Huaisang tell me about it – I only found out because he and his brother were betting on the gender.”

Jiang Cheng twisted around in Jiang Yanli’s arms to glare at Nie Huaisang.

“I lost,” Nie Huaisang said, as if that would make things better, and weirdly enough it sort of did. “Never bet against da-ge.”

Jiang Cheng thought about it and nodded. That seemed like a good rule, no matter the circumstances – and anyway, if that meant that Nie Mingjue was there when Wei Wuxian was told, that was all the better. As far as Jiang Cheng was concerned, there was nothing in the world that Nie Mingjue couldn’t handle.

He wished he could one day be even half of what Nie Mingjue was. Confident and self-assured, an excellent sect leader beloved by all, a war leader and a filial son, righteous and terrifying…

“I hope he won something good off of you,” he told Nie Huaisang, who grimaced at him in a way that suggested Nie Mingjue really had won something good. “You deserve it.”

“You have no sympathy for me,” Nie Huaisang whined.

“Forget sympathy for you, what about sympathy for me?” Wei Wuxian put in. “‘Oh, hi, Wei Wuxian, nice to see you, been a long time, guess what, your shizi’s a boy!’”

Okay, that sounded really funny actually. Jiang Cheng kind of regrets missing it.

He smirked at Wei Wuxian, who saw it and made a rude gesture in return.

“It was traumatizing,” Wei Wuxian said with a sniff. “Really, truly. Shijie, you need to make me some soup to help me get over it.”

“No way,” Jiang Cheng said at once. “If she’s making soup, she’s making it for me.”

“You’ve apparently been getting her soup every week for the past few months; I deserve it more!”

“I’m the one getting my chest gnawed off by a wild animal three times a day –”

“I can make enough for both of you,” Jiang Yanli said patiently. “Nie-gongzi, is there a kitchen..?”

“I’ll show you the way,” Nie Huaisang said with a grin. “I’m eager to see how this famous soup gets made. I had to beg Jiang-xiong for three weeks to get a single spoonful, and it was worth every minute of it.”

“You flatter me…”

They left together, and Jiang Cheng used the opportunity to scrub the tear tracks off his face as best as he could.

“It really was pretty traumatizing,” Wei Wuxian said, pointedly only looking at an increasingly sleepy A-Lian instead of seeing what Jiang Cheng was doing. “Not as traumatizing as the lecture Chifeng-zun gave me afterwards about how badly I’ve been behaving.”

“Badly?” Jiang Cheng said, frowning. “What do you mean, you’ve been fine; the effect your demonic cultivation has been having against the Wens alone –”

“No, I haven’t been,” Wei Wuxian said, and his tone was uncharacteristically serious. “Not because of the demonic cultivation, but because I haven’t been standing by your side the way I promised I would.”

“You’re doing your best,” Jiang Cheng said firmly. “You have demonic cultivation now, and that means you can do a lot more things – it makes sense for your to be at the front line.”

“I’m not saying that I shouldn’t be at the front line. I’m saying that I promised you that you’d be my sect leader, that I’d follow you, and instead I keep treating you like you’re still my shidi. Making decisions on your behalf, insisting on doing things my way because I think I’m right…” Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I got used to doing things that way, all these years. But things are different now. You’re my sect leader. Decisions like how to best deploy me are your decision, not mine – if you want me by your side instead of on the front, I should do that; if you want me to lead the Jiang sect cultivators, I should be doing that. I can try to persuade you that my plan is better, but in the end, if I’m going to be part of the Jiang sect, I need to accept that it’s your word that’s final, because anything else would be disrespectful – and I don’t want to disrespect you, Jiang Cheng. Sect Leader Jiang.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jiang Cheng said, words sharp but only because otherwise he’d have to acknowledge that he was crying again. He hadn’t even known he’d wanted to hear that from Wei Wuxian until he had – he hadn’t realized how important it was that Wei Wuxian finally acknowledged him, that Wei Wuxian thought he was capable of being sect leader; he hadn’t realized how much his feelings had been tangled up by the fact that Wei Wuxian still treated him as if he was just a foolish child that didn’t know better. “Everyone else can call me that, but you call me Jiang Cheng, okay? Always.”

He reached over and grabbed Wei Wuxian around the shoulders, drawing him into a tight one-armed embrace.

“Watch the baby,” Wei Wuxian said, as if he wasn’t hugging back just as hard. “Don’t drop my shizi because you’re not paying attention.”

“I’m not going to drop him,” Jiang Cheng said, grateful for the mostly-a-joke. “Does that – does that mean you’re coming back to the Jiang sect? For real this time?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian said. “I am. No more running around outside, I promise.”

Jiang Cheng’s hands were busy, holding his shidi in one and his son in the other, so he had to bury his face into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder to help stop the flow of tears. “Wei Wuxian,” he said. “You really don’t – you’re not angry at me?”

“Why would I be angry at you?” Wei Wuxian said, pulling back and frowning at him and then frowning even more when Jiang Cheng made a flailing sort of gesture with his head towards A-Lian. “For - for that?! Jiang Cheng, it wasn’t your fault you got captured!”

It sort of was, actually, and Jiang Cheng has always been a terrible liar; he shouldn’t have let his insecurities get away from him enough to even ask, because now Wei Wuxian’s eyes were the ones filling up with tears. He’d never been an idiot.

“You didn’t,” he insisted, and his hands were white-knuckled where he grabbed onto Jiang Cheng’s arms. He was probably leaving bruises, and neither of them cared. “Jiang Cheng, tell me you didn’t! Don’t – in the marketplace, when the Wens were about to find me – Jiang Cheng…!”

“Someone needed to avenge our parents, and you were the better choice!” Jiang Cheng blurted out. “And I was right, wasn’t I? You did it! You even invented demonic cultivation –”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed. “There wasn’t any other way out of the Burial Mounds, and now I’m stuck, Jiang Cheng – you don’t understand, it’s not just, I don’t – I can’t – it’s demonic cultivation or nothing for me, and when the war ends, when it stops being useful and starts being horrifying, the entire cultivation world is going to turn against me, and I can’t bring you down with me –”

“Why are you talking like it’s the only type of cultivation you can do anymore?” Jiang Cheng demanded. “How can one type of cultivation block you from doing another? That doesn’t make any sense – even if it did block you, you could just stop, it’s not like you don’t have a golden core –”

Wei Wuxian didn’t say anything.

“You have a golden core,” Jiang Cheng said again, more urgently this time. “Wei Wuxian, you have a golden core, right? You didn’t –” He was starting to panic. “It was Wen Chao that threw you into the Burial Mounds, wasn’t it? He said it himself that that was what he did, and where there’s Wen Chao, there’s Wen Zhuliu – did he melt your core? And I took your name when we went to Baosan Sanren’s mountain, I took your birthright away from you –”

“Jiang Cheng, no! That’s not what happened!”

“You told me to tell her I was you!” Jiang Cheng exclaimed, because what else could it be? Baosan Sanren was a true immortal, powerful enough to fix a golden core, but everyone knew that her disciples weren’t allowed back onto the mountain once they’d left – the gift she’d given him, reviving his core, that must have been a once-in-a-lifetime offer. “I told her I was you so she’d heal me and now she won’t heal you; I did to you what Mother was always afraid you’d do to me –”

“I lied!” Wei Wuxian cried out, and he sounded as if his heart was being torn out of his chest. “I lied, Jiang Cheng, stop trusting me so much! There’s no Baosan Sanren, no mountain; just me, making stupid decisions on your behalf again, because I’m arrogant, because I think I know better, because I –”

“What did you do?” Jiang Cheng said. His lips felt numb. His whole body felt numb. “Wei Wuxian, what did you do –”

A-Lian burst into tears.

That knocked them both out of their self-absorption, turning at once to see what was wrong with the baby.

“Did we jostle him?” Wei Wuxian asked anxiously once they’d gotten A-Lian a little calmer. “We didn’t hurt him, did we?”

“I think we were just being too loud,” Jiang Cheng said after concluding his inspection. “And anyway, he’s kind of a blob right now – you pinch or pull at him and he goes back the way he used to be. The doctors all say that babies are very flexible.”

“A little bun,” Wei Wuxiand agreed. “With just a little dusting of sesame on top.”

Jiang Cheng looked at the very few scraps of black hair A-Lian had managed to grow. “…he does kind of look like that, doesn’t he? Come on, A-Lian, calm down, it’s okay, we’ll stop yelling, we promise –”

“Really?” Wei Wuxian said. He sounded skeptical. “You’re going to stop yelling?”

“Shut up, you sound like Nie Huaisang. Don’t think you’re getting away without telling me what you did…you gave me yours, didn’t you?”

No wonder his core had felt different, stronger, when he’d woken up – he’d assumed it was Baosan Sanren giving him a gift, but in reality it was only that Wei Wuxian was a better cultivator than he was, that he’d strengthened himself more.

No wonder, too, that his core had felt familiar – he’d pressed his ear against Wei Wuxian’s belly a thousand times, feeling the warmth of it, and he’d mistaken that familiarity for it being his.

Wei Wuxian nodded, and Jiang Cheng scowled. “Can it be reversed?”

“Absolutely not,” Wei Wuxian said at once. “For one thing, I wouldn’t agree; for another, it was only a fifty-fifty chance of it working successfully the first time, I’m not taking that risk again. Anyway, I have demonic cultivation now, and if we traded back, you’d need to be the demonic cultivator, and what would that do to the Jiang sect’s reputation?”

Jiang Cheng hated it when Wei Wuxian had a point.

“Especially now that we have an heir,” Wei Wuxian added, reaching out to rub A-Lian’s head. “You’ve got to make sure the Jiang sect is thriving so that you’ll have something good to hand down to him.”

Jiang Cheng really hated it when Wei Wuxian had a point.

“I can’t believe you did that for me,” he said.

“I can’t believe you got captured for me,” Wei Wuxian rebutted. But that wasn’t the same at all, it was –

Okay, maybe there were a few superficial similarities.

“At least that explains why you’ve been so distant,” he said, shaking his head and smoothing A-Lian’s minimal hair down as the baby started to fall asleep again. “I thought you just didn’t trust me to be a good sect leader…”

“What? No! Jiang Cheng, you’re a great sect leader. I just didn’t want to risk dragging you down.”

“How can you drag us down? I’m literally using your golden core to lead the sect!”

“It’s yours now,” Wei Wuxian said. “I built it up, but I can’t decide on how you use it – everything you’ve done since then, that’s still yours. You know that, right? It’s all still you. Your achievements, not mine. Saying it’s mine would be like saying that every person that Chifeng-zun has ever defeated was actually the triumph of whoever forged Baxia for him.”

Jiang Cheng would murder anyone who dared to say something like that, except he’d never get the chance to because Nie Huaisang would have ruined their life before he’d even gotten started.

“Fine,” he said. “But you’re still not dragging us down. We’ll just have to be careful, that’s all – we can even use it to our advantage: whenever we need something to happen that we can’t really admit to, we have you do it, excuse it as being because of the influence of your demonic cultivation, and tell everyone we’ll get right on fixing it right away. Just the way Father used to do with Mother’s temper tantrums.”

“…wait, those were staged?”

“Well, some of them were, anyway,” Jiang Cheng said. He was mostly sure. “But you have to run anything really crazy by me first, okay?”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian said, nodding. “Uh – does that count past actions?”

Jiang Cheng wasn’t even surprised. “What’d you do?”

“Promised a safe harbor to one of the branch families of the Wen sect?”

Jiang Cheng might be gullible where his shixiong was concerned, but he wasn’t dumb. “Wen Qing and Wen Ning? They’re the ones that helped you do – what you did.”

Wei Wuxian nodded guiltily.

“Well, in that case, I can hardly turn them down, can I?” Jiang Cheng said, pretending to grumble. “That’d make me ungrateful. Fine; I retroactively authorize your offer, they can come be guest disciples at the Jiang sect –”

Wei Wuxian hugged him again.

“If you wake the baby up again I will kill you,” Jiang Cheng said, but he hugged him back.

“I think they’re done,” Nie Huaisang’s voice drifted in from the door, and they both turned to look.

Jiang Yanli’s eyes were red, suggesting that she’d been listening – and Jiang Cheng hated that, hated that he’d ever caused her pain or sadness; his jiejie deserved the best things in life, always, not more pain and disappointment and everything he brought with him. But true to form she didn’t say anything, only smiled and said, “I knew A-Xian and A-Cheng would talk it out eventually.”

“Bet you didn’t predict the baby,” Nie Huaisang chirped, and then cowered when all three of them glared at him. “Sorry, sorry. Please ignore me.”

“In the future, there will be no such secrets, understood?” Jiang Yanli said to them, with more steel than usual in her soft voice. “A-Xian will tell us before he does something crazy, and A-Cheng won’t not tell us when something important happens –”

“Well, it’s hardly likely to happen a second time,” Jiang Cheng protested, but not very strongly.

“Hey, don’t be so hasty,” Nie Huaisang said. “We could want more kids after we get married.”

“Wait,” Wei Wuxian said. “When did –”

“We are not getting married!” Jiang Cheng bellowed. It was a good thing that A-Lian apparently found Jiang Cheng’s yelling soothing, or else he would’ve woken up again. “Nie Huaisang, stop telling people we’re getting married!”

“I don’t tell people we’re getting married, I only tell you!”

“That’s not better!”

“Wow,” Wei Wuxian said to Jiang Yanli, voice deliberately pitched obnoxiously loud. “It’s almost like they’re married already –”

“Wei Wuxian! I will throw something at your head, just watch me!”

“Just don’t throw the baby!”

[tinyanimelover]

Ice Cream Talks

Requested Anonymously!

[Ichigo Kurosaki ; "Marry me"]

The first time he met her, she'd transferred to Karakura High School. She wasn't anything special to look, pretty average looking yet she somehow drew in those around her. Was it her mysteriousness? After all, who transfers mid-year? Y/n made quick friends with Orihime and Tatsuki, later becoming friendly with Uryu and Sado. But for some reason she kept her distance from Ichigo. Why? Was it his hair color? Did she judge him based off that? She didn't have very high reiatsu, so she didn't know why the others would suddenly leave class. She didn't know about the world of Hollows, Shinigami and Arrancar. Ichigo was glad for this, not wanting to rope in yet another person into such a dangerous world. But that all changed when she was attacked one night while walking home with Orihime. She couldn't see her attacker yet Orihime seemed deathly terrified, screaming for her to run away while she took care of it. Thankfully Ichigo came to their rescue, saving both of them and defeating the unknown assailant. She was thrown into the world of Shinigami and hollows, that night and yet, despite being a mere human, she decided she'd do what she could for her friends. When they would return injured, Orihime would heal them and Y/n would keep them fed and hydrated, helping them fully recover. She cheered for them, did her best to keep them updated on school assignments and overall, just did what she could for them. So when Ichigo and the others returned from their fight with Aizen, she could see something had changed between them all--well, mostly between Ichigo and the others. She learned Ichigo had sacrificed his powers while defeating Aizen, and now he was a normal human. And as one might've guessed, though he tried to put on a brave face, he was depressed about it all. His friends walked om eggshells around him, while his family acted the same, not having any idea about his second life. Y/n could tell he was having a rough time with understanding it all and trying to adjust to his new normal life. As a fellow human, she understood what he was going through, having felt the same things whenever the others would rush off into battle and she was stuck watching helplessly. It started off subtly, her wanting to cheer him up. She didn't want him to feel like she was pitying him, so she opted in doing small things for him. Whether it was leaving candy on his desk for him, walking to school with him after accidentally bumping into him on the way there, or even just stopping by his house after work to drop off some sweets for him and his family. She did all she could to try and get his mind off being normal now, but she couldn't tell if it was helping, Ichigo was still so sad. Along the way, she sort of fell for the orange haired male, making her feel even more hopeless. He was kinda different than his usual self, even though it'd been almost a year now that he'd lost his Shinigami powers. What else? What could she do? She felt helpless as she watched him attempt to starve off his sorrow with odd jobs here and there, and even joining different clubs as long as they paid for his services. She understood this was his way of accepting he'd never get his powers back, trying to move on, but was this really the way? It was as if he was just pushing it all behind him, not even trying to fully accept it. Frustrated and filled with sorrow over seeing the person she loved in such a state, she woke up one day with the resolve to at least ease him of his pain. She thought about confessing but wondered if that'd put pressure on the male. 'There he is! Okay, Y/n, you can do this!'. "I-Ichigo!" She called after him, glad that he was walking alone. He raised an eyebrow, turning around as she ran to catch up to him with a smile on her lips, a bag in hand "Y/n-chan?". "Sorry..this is random but..do you want to eat ice cream with me in the park?" She asked with a softer smile as she held the bag up "We..haven't talked in awhile since you've picked up that part-time job..". "Hm..sure" he gave in, hands in his pockets "Here, I'll hold the bag". He gently took the bag from her with a smile, "You're hair's gotten longer, huh?". "Y-yeah" she said with a grin, "I was thinking it was too long and it's a pain in summer..but I like it!". They ended up in the park in no time, sitting underneath a tree for shade and enjoyed the nice breeze it produced at they ate ice cream. He stole a glance at her, always curious as to why she was trying to hard to cheer him up. It's one of the reasons why he chose to move on rather than mull over his lost powers, he felt bad seeing her try so hard for him. He looked away, but he felt that simply moving on wasn't what she wanted from him. "Ichigo" she suddenly spoke up, his eyes trailed back over to rest on her, she didn't look over at him but kept her eyes glued to her half-eaten ice cream in her hands. "What's up?" He asked. "..I can't say I know exactly how you're feeling" she started off with a sad smile, "I didn't have any powers to begin with, so I won't try to sit here and tell you that I felt the same way...but, I can say that I think I know a little of how you felt". His eyes widened, "..Y/n-chan? Where's this coming fro--" he was cut off by her. "I didn't have any powers, I couldn't kick ass like you Ichigo. Or heal wounds in an instant like Orihime. I don't come from a special lineage like Uryu ad I don't have any secret powers like Sado....all I could do make sure your wounds were wrapped, make sure you were hydrated and fed..even with my pathetic skills, you and the others took me in" she smiled, eyes lifting to look at the orange and pink sky as the sun prepared to set "I'll always be grateful to you and the others..I'll always do my best to be of some use to you all. Ichigo..you probably think that you've lost the only way to protect those around you..but you're wrong. You're strong, and brave, you didn't lose those along with your powers, they're still there". She gave him a closed eyes grin, turning her head towards him "Don't lose hope, Ichigo! I think..things happen for a reason! When a door closes, another will open and who knows? Maybe it'll be an even better thing than the one you lost! A-anyways, I wanted to have this talk with you..I hope you don't think I overstepped any boundaries or anything..I'm just a concerned friend!". She got up from the bench, "Thanks for sharing ice cream with me! I'll see you tomorrow in school" she laughed softly, walking away. To say he was shocked at what she'd said, was an understatement. He hadn't expected her of all people to think about that stuff, he figured she was just worried about him.  He had no idea that she felt that way about herself, never even giving it a second thought as to how she felt when she was always left behind during battles. She felt..the same way he did when he first lost his powers, how he still felt. "..hah..I've been worrying Y/n-chan all this time" he let out softly, eyes glued to his ice cream. It was times like these that made him fall in love with her even more. It was her bravery and perseverance that made him first see her in such a light, she was a normal human who couldn't fight hollows or defend herself against them, but she didn't let that stop her from helping him and his friends. After that, he found himself falling for her even more but with his duties as a Substitute Shinigami, he couldn't bring himself to put her into anymore danger than she already was. He was more than grateful when she stuck by his side after his battle with Aizen. He sighed, thinking back to what Keigo asked him on the rooftop during lunch. Have you thought about what you're gonna do after high school? He still had time to think about that stuff, not like he had anything else to do. There was also the fact that he really had no idea what he wanted to do. Truthfully, he thought he'd be a substitute soul reaper for the rest of his life. But, there was something that popped instantly into his mind when he thought about his future. He wanted to still be around his friends, even if he couldn't fight with them. But more than anything, he closed his eyes with a smile on his lips as he got up from the bench ".....I won't let her slip from my hands..". He tossed the ice cream into the trash can as he took off running, eyes glued to the girl's figure as she walked. "Y/n-chan!" He yelled after her, "Wait, Y/n-chan!". The girl halted, turing around with wide eyes. He panted as he ran, catching up a moment later as he held his hand out towards her "Y/n-chan...ab--..about another for opening for me with something even better..it opened for me long ago..even before I lost my shinigami powers". "Ichigo?" She let out confused "What're you talking about?". "You aren't pathetic, you aren't weak" he let out as he caught his breath " To me, you've always been brave and strong, even with no fighting abilities". Her eyes widened, cheeks growing warm as he continued on. "I've always thought that about you, whenever I'd get into a battle that I thought I couldn't win: I'd think about my friends who were fighting..I thought about you cheering me on from home..Y/n-chan, I haven't given much thought to what I'll do after I graduate but there’s one thing I know for sure that I want to be present in my future...I don't have anything to offer you...but, as of right now, I can offer you a pair of arms to come home to! And I swear to make you happy, no matter what!". He had a blush on his cheeks, as did she, "Ichigo..you..are you saying?.." She trailed off, unable to eve think straight. "I like you a lot, Y/n-chan, I have ever since we came back from saving Rukia...and I don't want to lose you..ever..." He cleared his throat before getting on his knee. "Y/n-chan!" He blurted out "Marry me!". Her eyes bulged from their sockets, "W-what?!". "I..is that a no?" He deadpanned, half-embarrassed and half-worried "I'm..a idiot..". She laughed as he got up, "N-no! That's not it, it's just that...you skipped the whole dating part and went straight for marriage". He blinked a few times, "...I did! Oh, then, will you go out with me Y/n-chan?". She grinned, "Yes! To both questions!". And she walked away happily, "C'mon, let's get some more ice cream!". "Wait..to both..questions?" His eyes widened, running to catch up to her "You'll marry me then?!".

[thattimdrakeguy]

To Forget a Familiar Name (A story, but not a book.)

Please don’t forget, books have their end. We’re only stories to be told briefly, by some in single breaths.

Life’s simple pleasures can only last for so long. The feeling of a cool breeze against your thumb. The even colder months. A sensation, one that made you smile so wide, of a cold and soothing stream running through your toes and sometimes up to your thighs. The simple acknowledgement of a warm, comfortable home with a dog and blanket awaiting you, as your parents yelled cheese. This dog seemed to be a pug. Ironically she seemed quite catty, but she was dearly loved. 

Human-kind depends on these things. That’s something to remember. They make our soul feel weightless and happy, no longer as disgusted or dismayed, as we might’ve been a previous day, but able to feel something glad. That’s what we should always feel. Make another day feel important and grand. 

Life has itself made. Miniature miracles that make it a journey to take around the corner. Never disremember, the footpath that we travel is powerful and our own, no matter if it lags, but even that path shall eventually sag and reach its end as others go on and prosper happy and glad. That we can’t forget. Could take a wrong turn, that’s always a risk, but that decision so long ago isn’t going to return, while we must continue and keep going forward and on. We can’t always sit and wait. We might miss our date. Wouldn’t want to stop so early and alleviate. Pain could end sooner. But continue on, friend, and make the world your oyster.

Inside, in your home, by the fire, as your meal was being prepared in your stove, near your pet for now, with a good book to read, having your favorite drink, your favorite show on, it’s your favorite time to dwell as well. Wasn’t it just so precious, and undeniably swell? This was a comfy domicile and it was yours. Celebrate that and cheer. These are all things we hope to have, but they are simply not for all so equally. Some aren’t as blessed, some never had the feelings or your simple comfort. But don’t you worry, the sand that is our life would be colder without your inner glow. Another passenger to crash because another has no car wouldn’t solve a thing. Take comfort in the fact that inside your home, as you're on the phone, that these are here to stay.

There’s no need to worry about the day where that won’t be the case. It’s here and now, this isn’t future town. It’s the present day, you can feel the sun on your face, no more moles, just a fine glass, and a hand that you can hold. The palm that has texture you can recognize as a friend, or perhaps even more. You might switch it out, go to dine, but it’s that sensational fever, an inner beam, that makes you never feel low. That was the real treat. Did you need anything more?

An empty house, a crooked beam, a chilling wind, no slippers, no shoes, no sandals, look down and it’s only cold feet. When did you get here? Was it quickly? Did you make this decision? You might want to retreat. Until you realize you can’t no more.

The snow is friendly as long as you're warmed up. Make new friends with the space around you. You could use a carrot as a treat, or you could use it as a nose. Along with some rocks that your future kids will soon trot over as the eyes to give this friend some magical life all of it his own. You know it’s not real. It’s only imagination. But wouldn’t it be grand to make it awake? To give it this treat without human stakes? What a dream, what a laugh, it’s a gaffe, but you put that wish to sleep. Not everything was meant to last.

Welcome to spring, your kids are now here. Their cheery smiles, their infectious laughter, they make messes, but you love them like treasure. The eyes you can see on their face, why they’re like yours. You gave them a blessing, you gave them a life, and these ones won’t double as a potential frozen treat. This you can hug, without melting at your feet.

That game you wanted, and wished for, and listed. It’s past its release. No more time to play it. You have to sleep and be rested for bed much like your children. The temperature feels colder, but yet it’s the same. Another day ends, and another starts. Repeats many times, but now it’s like a thump. You feel a lump. Gravity seems to get harsher, and granted seems harder to hold. There’s your son, he’s got something of some sort, yell at him to tell him to wait.

More grass, but this isn’t comfy. This grass is sad, and not so alive. The trees have no leaves. This wind isn’t friendly. It seems like it’s raining, it’s water, but not like the streams. What was warmth like anymore? The sun was out yesterday, and it wasn’t warm then. For some reason the lights even seemed dimmed.

You remember your life for a second, your mother, and boy she was a hugger. Picking you, swinging you around, giving you all the love you could ever wish and desire. Then was your father who loved you as a child, and that sensation even when he left the nation, never felt flat, and certainly not when he came back. Where were they now? They were no longer around. Could they not make it? This didn’t seem fair. Bring me back home, this instant you hear.

Where am I? This isn’t my bed. Who is this in my dreams? I don’t know anyone named Kyle. My face looked like a disgrace. My hair was now gray. My skin looked in the midst of decay. Crying all around me. I didn’t get it. What was so sad? I only woke up a little lost. Which is where they should be going just about now. They were strangers they were. So many light blue outfits behind them. Several long white jackets. This didn’t feel fantastic.

Gravity must be mad, it’s going extra hard. Fuck, never mind this. I want my home again. It’s been too long since I’ve been home again. They cry for me to come back, but fuck them I say. I don’t need this. Certainly not now, and not then. When was then? Oh who gave a fuck. The time is now, and that’s all that mattered. This wasn’t future town.

Where were my friends? What were their names? I do remember that they were around this place. Right beside me. Might as well been right there. But they were the ones that were lost. Where was the familiarity? What was this fate? I remember going on dates, and being fed grapes. This wind is too harsh, I could fall down, but screw these people, this isn’t my town.

Walking’s much harder, and breathing felt like a fight. I just want to see my dog’s face again, my dad, my mate’s, my mother too. Was I so lost that I’m forever gone? I think something looking like my street is only over yonder. Only so many more feet. What grabbed me? I’ve landed harshly and I feel defeat. Must I crawl? How humiliating and all, but I have to get to warmth, I miss it desperately, and how.

Who would even miss me? I hear yelling, but for who? Was that my name? I’m fighting this destiny. All seems blue, even my flesh that was now covered in moles, but I’ve had that before, and I’ll beat it again. The windows into other houses, they look quite right but who were these fellows? No more Frankie, and Bobby, but they still seem almost familiar. Those were the same eyes, but not faces or taste. They were having fine dining, I wish I could join, but my bed and my dog, they were for me. Could I just stop feeling oh so tired, fucking please. My feet felt stabbed, my arms were wasted. Time was eating at me, like I was finally toasted and smoked, about to be served at Thanksgiving.

The doorstep. I finally made it. It smells just right, and this carpet was nice. Whoever picked it out must’ve been a heckuva guy. All these photos around, so many people. Ha. Who ever could they be? There was a TV with a DVD or Blu Ray of my favorite show. Finally here and rested. Now where was my dog and my favorite blanket? That’s what life is. Not feeling sophisticated and cooked like bacon. So hot outside? Or maybe it was cold. Heard something about getting burnt by freeze, maybe that’s what it is. Couldn’t be much after all.

I’m here now in my familiar town. Something amiss, but I didn’t feel like having a fit. This was my chair and that was my favorite drink on the counter. Why does this box of ashes have the name of my favorite mate? The one on four legs and had the funny face. This couldn’t be right. Who’s home was this? I didn’t remember walking in here. This can’t be right. Why is this room so bright?

It’s all I could see. I’m scared. I’m cold. My blood is running so thin. I wanted a hug, just be picked up and flung. To eat picnics while the birds hummed. This couldn’t be right. Those pictures, who were they? What did I look like? My answer already gone as I laid. My memory was defeated, while I lied in my kitchen, or was it the bedroom? Could’ve been the bathroom it all felt so similar. My skin felt rough and sagging. Had I finally gotten old? When did this happen? Somebody, please. I feel like my life is only a disease, and I won’t have it. I lived in a mystery town now. Oh, god, how?

Crying. Not again, only this time it was me. I haven’t cried in years, or maybe just weeks. This was pathetic, I had to get up. What was going on? What was this? My body felt lifted above. But not by hands, nor human help. Everything felt faded. Goodbye. Wait to who? Was that to myself? Please, this can’t be it. I felt so young, had I already been spent? This was it? All those years gone, and done, and this is all that happened, with only seconds remaining? Stranger’s for neighbors, and my known family already retired to the same place where I’ll be retreating?

All this and not even a dog, or a last kiss. My final meal was through a tube. This was so vile. Make it come back, I’m desperate, and pleading. All I feel is nothing but cold and beaten. A soft voice tells me something “Oh god, oh no.” tell me about it. One last touch on my hand. I wish I could speak. I would beg and grovel to my feet. I had to know. Who was this final stranger? The last hand I’ll ever hold onto, and the final voice before my end. 

All too soon, and too dang slow is how it felt. This was my finale, I’ll never be seen again. Should I want it to drag out, or take me out to a quick end? Was this all worth it? Even those simple comforts?

Years, and days and weeks, all the seasons. The smiles from the faces of people already deleted. All in memory, and now mine was gone. That moment forever turned to dust. Experiences, unique, all to our own, never to be talked about, not even in this home. Where was I to go? Would it be kind? Angel kisses and meeting the divine? My life with my dog, and my short-lived kitten, bring them back, please. I need it. I’m bleeding.

No more time for pleading, and time took no breaks. I could smell the breath of a demonic snake. It seemed like smoke, oddly burnt. Could that be my stove? Did I really start baking? The screams I heard, telling those to run. Was this the after-life or my own abode? This is all I caused. My body now rusted and almost roasted. Buried to rubble. My legacy in spades. Was this happening the whole time? I couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t have. I’ve gone nuts.

Me and my friends, those old-timey woes. The yarns we told, and bars we traveled to and fro. To feel so small and treated like a kitten in a mother’s arms, or on a father’s chest.

Those all felt so temporary, but this was it. All that to never be known ever again. At least by this body and mind. An artifact left to time. I sighed. I felt like the last of my kind. Pieces of existence decimated and depleted. It all held within me, but now I’m apart and seething. Burning away, and choking on soot.

I could imagine the sight, and those strangers having a fight. To save me or not? Could it be done? I suppose that was my family. What have I done?

Thinking to myself in this long drawn out moment, would one choose to exist, even after the run? I’d had to assume heck no, but who would know? Maybe the challenges we faced, looking down on our dead, living as a fecked up human race that destroyed all around us. We caused so much damage. But it was a part of us. Maybe some more unfortunate would give it a go. I feel bad, cause what a poor fucker if this was much better. Everything was empty like it didn’t matter.

Would those be legends too, for as long as time exists? Our only existence. Or would we too, as humans, begin to truly cease to exist.

Those memories that we become, and represent all that we exist once our bodies are torn, and our souls stop blinking, and we’re let out like a leaking liquid, as we become no more. How long could they travel? One day we’ll all be gone, and in the timeline we’re not even a blimp or a bump on the road. There was a much bigger picture and we exist as a skin cell laid across the page to become one with it, but nothing on our own.

All these inventions, and shows. Those festival lights that we glowed. All such happy times, and no longer remembered? I think I know what hell is, and it gave me my last shiver. How I had that in heat, that answer would never be delivered.

Crashing down around me, all that I knew. I’d be turned to dust with my best fluffy pal. It’d be poetic if not so horrific. That box, if only it could be kept. That’s what I want. For my friend to never be forgotten even if I remained unforgiven. These seconds left, and no breath for me to shout in my despair. All the latest bad memories that had transpired, that’s all that’s left of me. All my accomplishments couldn’t be recovered, they were going with me because of all this trouble.

What could be my last thought? Or what should be my last thought? Would I know my last thoughts? What were my last words? Man, I could barely remember. “Fuck you?” Huh, guess that was believable, and most likely true. If not right, I was to never know. I suppose I deserve that for causing these flames. Was I ever even married? Were they happy when they left? Or are they standing there depressed and angry as they watch this blaze. They’re probably a mess. One that I caused but could no longer fix. That chapter is gone and finally written.

This was so retched, so bastardized and dull. What was this rubbish? My last cough, oh now I feel it. I could see them now, that really shouldn’t be. I felt like I was 15 feet in the air. Guess this really was my defeat.

All I am is memories in their head, like all those that were traveling with me, lonely and minute. Their travels are now done and I’m bringing them with me. Yet I’m not all too elated.

I can see all that was no longer to be, as I go to see what’s going to last as my forever and maybe haven. I hope it’s as precious as they were to me. No laughing or crying, or desperate action. They were all that remained of me, yet I made their life feel like a prison.

Turned out that I had my last thought. It was that I was sorry, a whole lot.

[foxtophat]

MERRY CHRISTMAS IN JANUARY EVERYONE yeah i know ~nothing is fixed~ but whatever, fuck you, have some fanfic

so anyway i’ve been planning this for a while, i’m kinda shocked tho b/c i finished writing it in like less than 3 days??? (aside from editing)  usually it takes me longer to at least figure out how to wrap things up, but at least this one was easy money. i’m sure none of the other ones will be so kind to me

this one takes place a month or so after the last one; it’s set in spring 2028 (omfg finally on a new year!!!!) and it has a little something to do with carmina finally getting some chickens!!!!  one thing about new dawn that i think was really lacking is the explanation of how life... restarted before the highwaymen.  i definitely remember a few houses having chicken coops, too, so i know i’m not crazy putting these feathered friends in.  to me, chickens are the most sensible post-apocalyptic pet outside of a dog; easy to care for, provide food while alive AND after death, and they can reproduce easily enough if you’ve got a rooster on hand.  i can imagine a family making quite a life for themselves as a poultry farm in the apocalypse!

ugh idk what else to say so i’ll just say it: thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos on this series. i am so stoked to know that my self-indulgent trash is delicious to more than just my possum ass!  i’ve had a lot of fun worldbuilding in ubisoft’s playground, and i hope to continue doing more fun stuff that other people will enjoy too!!!

with all that said, i hope you enjoy the fic :) i’ll put it below the cut for you if you don’t wanna leave tumblr, but ao3 looks so much better. anyway, thank you and have a great jan 20th!!!!

Winter melts away the same way it does every year, leaving in its path wet dirt and green buds of spring growth. John, nursing what's likely the last cup of coffee they can wring from this batch of grounds, stares out over the back yard and idly marvels at how quickly the snow had disappeared. Montana had been his first experience with white winters; even though he's gotten used to the changing seasons in theory, though, he can't help but be distracted by it year after year.

Across the yard, situated just in sight by the hangar, John can plainly see Carmina's new chickens looking for breakfast. They're the newest addition to the homestead, but so far John has only had to watch from afar as the Ryes worked to adjust them to their new home. He's not sure who's raising chickens out here, but at least they were willing to barter. Fresh eggs are going to mean a lot more than the dwindling supplies out of Jacob's cache.

The misty-gray of early morning has almost evaporated in the rising sunlight, and still the chickens haven't been fed. John watches them from where he stands, their frustration leading to subdued crows as they scratch at the dirt. He doesn't know who's noisier — them, or Nick and Kim arguing at the table behind him. Thank Christ the wet end of winter is over; John doesn't think he can tolerate much more of their married nagging. On some level, he's glad they don't make a habit of yelling at him instead of each other, but Jesus, he can't wait for them to both get some space from one another.

"This is why we said we weren't gonna do pets, remember?" Nick says. "Because if she got a pet, we would end up taking care of it. Remember?"

"Yes, Nick, I remember."

"Yeah, and here we are!"

Kim sighs. John doesn't have to look to see the exasperated eye-roll that comes with it. "It wasn't me who kept her up late last night! Which one of us was egging her on when she should have been asleep?"

This is exactly why John has never owned a pet. They're more trouble than they're worth, and the only thing they seem to be good for is teaching shitty life lessons to kids who don't care enough to learn. The only good thing about the chickens is that they provide something in return other than obnoxious crowing.

Carmina thumps around upstairs. John isn't looking forward to having to listen to Kim lecture her on responsibility, but he's not thrilled to listen to much more of this bickering, either. If his choices are to stay inside and fester or go out into the first nice day of the year — well, that's not much of a choice, is it?

"Fine," John sighs before either of the Ryes can set their sights on him, "I'll do it."

"Nobody's asking you to do it," Kim replies. "It's Carmina's responsibility."

John shakes his head. "Of course it is. Where's the feed?"

Nick points out a white plastic container sitting on the pass-through to the kitchen. "Not gonna wait for us to boss you around?" he asks.

John picks up the container and rattles it to make sure it's full. "I'm streamlining the process," he replies. "Unless you enjoy giving me orders."

Sure enough, implying Nick might like being a bossy piece of shit is enough to get him to shut up. He sighs with a deep frown at John, who ignores him as he heads out to the coop. It's a petty satisfaction to take the rug out from under Nick's feet, but John's not above it. Not by a long shot.

Some of it might be compensating for the disintegrating peace that had come with winter. Before the blizzard set in, they'd had enough on their collective plates as they prepared for the worst of the season. Afterward, the snow had prevented them from doing much more than what was necessary to survive, and the resulting downtime had settled like a comfortable blanket. Even now, with a few weeks of grating interpersonal interactions, John feels more focused, more rested than he can ever remember feeling. Living underground for eight years, he'd naively thought that he'd gotten enough rest to last him a lifetime — but he'd been strung out on Bliss and trying not to suffocate, and he hadn't known what he was doing. He's starting to suspect that the Bliss might've had a worse effect on him than the myriad other drugs he'd ingested. Hell, he's not sure he's clean even now — but he's managing, and that's what matters.

It's only once he's halfway across the yard that John realizes Kim forgot to argue about him going off on his own. Sure, he's only going as far as the hangar, but it's become something of a pleasantry she uses whenever John pretends to have the freedom to go where he pleases. Her irritation at Carmina and Nick probably made her forget. She's gotten so used to trusting John that she's finally found other things to take up her attention.

Weirdly enough, the casual disregard for his potential backslide irritates him. It really shouldn't. He should be thrilled that he can finally disappear from view for an hour without somebody calling out a search party. He's more than earned it, he thinks, but their trust highlights their naivety. Luckily for them, John means it when he says he's changed — but it's a line they're going to hear time and again from people far less genuine than he's been. They're so willing to help everyone and anyone that they don't even realize how much of a target they're making themselves. John's had to hold his tongue whenever Nick gives free supplies to shifty-eyed tweakers who are "just passing through," and while he trusts Kim not to let anyone obviously suspicious into the house, he doesn't trust her to recognize a cunning liar.

The last thing John needs is for the Ryes to put their trust in the wrong reformed psychopath. At least he's capable of picking up their slack. After all, John has his time at law school and years of psychological abuse under his belt — plenty of real-world experience dealing with unrepentant garbage. He'll notice it when somebody cases the hangar or acts too erratically, and hopefully the Ryes will listen to him if he gets the nerve to voice his concerns.

Not for the first time since summer, John is struck with a newfound respect for Jacob and the role he'd inhabited in the Project. It used to be his job to look out for insurrectionists, and he'd taken on that burden even when John and Joseph would openly dismiss his concerns. John can't imagine how many fires Jacob must've put out while the rest of the family was distracted by the Bliss. Looking back on it now, it's honestly a surprise they maintained their operation as long as they did, considering only one of the four of them was ever sober.

The chickens are hopping at his arrival, scuttling around the dirt and crowing as John reaches the pen. They don't notice him so much as the bin he rattles on approach, full of vegetable cuttings and strange white worms that come out whenever it rains. John doesn't mind one lick — he's never been much of an animal person, and he certainly doesn't care if Carmina's so-called pets notice his existence. Of course, knowing Carmina, she's going to use this as an excuse to shift breakfast duty to John full-time, and John won't have much of a say in the matter.

Well, that's not strictly true, but if Carmina asked, he knows he would do it, if only to give his day more structure. Truthfully, he's grown to depend on routine, when before it was impossible to keep to a schedule that didn't involve other people's expectations of him. There's probably a metaphor to be made about trains on and off the tracks, but John has never been particularly interested in locomotives.

John shakes the dead bugs and scraps out into the pen, watching the hens as they race to be the first to eat. They're perfectly happy now that they've been fed, cooing and clucking as they peck the dirt. They certainly seem content with safety and food — not entirely unlike the survivors living day-to-day in the town and beyond. Sure, John might not always be satisfied by bare sustenance, and one day he'll chafe under the grind of surviving week to week, but for now, he might as well be a dumb chicken crowing in the morning sun.

He throws some more feed into the pen, watching the three hens waddle after their meal. One of them lingers by the fence, freezing for a moment as her head swivels back and forth. She pecks at the dirt away from the feed before hustling after her two companions. John watches as she stops again; when he tosses a few worms in her direction, she pecks briefly at them before lifting her head to survey her surroundings.

The primal sensation of something being wrong nearly overtakes John's reasoning, before he manages to remind himself that a chicken's predators aren't exactly his to worry about. Still, he rattles the container to bring the hens scuttling towards him; all three are easily distracted by food now, but John can't shake the feeling that he'd missed something they hadn't. A fox, maybe? A snake? Anything could be lurking in the woods on the other side of the wash. Not a whole lot that could hurt him , of course, but he's not about to be blamed for Carmina's chickens being eaten by a wild dog.

The fence-line is... nebulous past the hangar, sure, but John's positive Kim doesn't consider the rest of the old airport off-limits. Then again, she might be in the mood to lecture him once she gets through with Carmina. It's a risk he's not sure he's willing to take.

Two chickens continue to eat as one keeps watch, their heads bobbing up and down as they switch off. Their unease mirrors his own, and John can imagine Faith giggling at him for being swayed by some dumb birds.

"Very well, ladies," he sighs, shaking the remainder of their breakfast onto the ground. "Don't let them say I don't care."

The chickens don't give three shits about John's motivations, of course; they watch him go, pecking at the food with increasing carelessness as the distance grows. John rolls his eyes at their sudden fearlessness, half-convinced to let whatever animal is lurking eat them out of spite.

There's a wide swath of dirt behind the hangar, separating it from the mostly-overgrown remnants of Rye Aviation that couldn't be saved. John can see the edge of the chicken pen from here, but the hangar is blocking him from the house. Even though he knows the Ryes trust him not to run off, he still feels distinctly uneasy going somewhere where they can't see him. At this point, Nick would probably only tease him for it, but John's not about to linger out here and risk turning Kim's irritation on himself.

To the right of the derelict hangars is a sparse wedge of trees that have grown in uninterrupted. John knows there's a path cut between the trunks, one he'd made himself while hauling the tire-planters for Kim last year, and there's a long stretch of unused runway beyond it. It isn't a great place for anything bigger than a fox to lurk in. That doesn't explain the feeling of being watched that comes over him as he stops halfway across the empty dirt lot; he looks around, but there's no place for anything to hide out here. The overgrowth on the old hangars can't be more than two feet high, and the bushes in the copse are brambly and sparse. The only place anything could hide would be in the trees, which is why John approaches them with more caution than they're worth.

The thinned underbrush is easy to explore, but John goes carefully as he picks through the trees and bushes. He doesn't know exactly what he's looking for — some sign of predators, whatever those might be — but he doesn't find much. There are some hoof-prints clear in the dirt, curving sharply away from the Rye homestead and back out to the airstrip, which tells John that the goddamn deer are back, probably looking to eat their hard-grown crops. Other than that, there's no sign of anything that might be stalking the hen-house. The ground is still somewhat soft from the rain a few nights ago, but it barely takes the imprint of John's boots as he explores the small grove.

That's why it's such a shock to see the tread of a narrow boot in the dirt by the trunk of one of the trees, well off the beaten path. It's an old print, he thinks — but he doesn't remember the last time any one of them had been out this way. Certainly not since the last time it rained.

An electric shock conducts itself down his spine. Somebody had been out here, hiding here in the trees, and it's only been two, three days since the last rain. John turns, and from his vantage point, he can clearly see the coop and the back of the hangar, but not the house. For that, he'd have to move out of the trees, into direct view of the porch.

It has to be Grace's boot. She's the only one he could imagine creeping around the property with good intentions. But even that explanation doesn't settle the anxious flip of his stomach; he tries not to let it show as he marches from the trees, intent on dragging Nick over and proving to him once and for all that they need to be more goddamn careful about who they let around the property. Somebody is going to want the copper fixtures they've salvaged, even if there's nobody to sell the metal to these days.

John gets halfway back to the coop when he catches something in his peripheral vision. Terrible, primal terror grips him as he fixes his gaze on the trick of the light that had scared him, ready to catch Grace peering at him over the abandoned hangars, or maybe a pack of wild dogs. What he sees instead turns his blood to ice, caught like a deer in headlights as the low-hanging shrubbery and thick vines shift and part for a rising mass of dark brown fur. The shape that rises from the underbrush is a tall, dark smudge against the blue sky, and John nearly swallows his tongue when he sees its face — or the horrifying absence of one, replaced with white, flaking skin and two huge, empty eye-sockets that are fixed on John's position.

It doesn't move. Neither does John, frozen to the spot as the chickens begin to crow and fuss. He can't fathom what he's looking at — a bear, a person, a fucking mutant? — but whatever it is, he suspects it's infected with Bliss. Who knows how many angels ended up underground after the Collapse? What might've happened to them in the years since? All John knows about them is that they're dangerous to everybody but Faith, and Faith died a decade ago. If this is an angel — God, there'll be no stopping it. And if it isn't — then what the hell is it ?

There's no way for John to get from here to the house without the thing chasing him. The hangar is blocking his brutal oncoming murder from the two people who might actually be able to do something about it. He doesn't have to look to know the distance from here to the house is insurmountable.

The creature lifts its arm, and the situation that couldn't get any worse takes an even more horrifying turn as it reveals its weapon of choice: a crudely fashioned bow, the same kind of handmade weaponry that Joseph's followers have been seen with.

All at once, Nick's voice is ringing in John's ears, warning him of what's going to happen if this gargoyle takes him away. The things John hadn't considered before — the Ryes' reputation, Carmina's safety, the hard-won trust John's gained from the survivors — it's all in jeopardy. The situation barrels into him all at once — the realization that whatever Joseph did to create this thing , he won't hesitate to turn on John.

He tries to shout a warning, but his breath is caught in his throat. Faith's voice, faint on the breeze, laughs and whispers sing-song into his ear:

They've found you!

The monster barrels down the slope of the hill as if prodded into action by a hot poker. Its gait is wide, bringing it towards John at speeds impossible to outrun. This time, John's shout comes out clear as a bell, panic screaming through him as he turns and bolts for the house. He nearly clips himself on the pen as he hangs a sharp right turn, the porch coming into full sight —

Something snags the back of John's shirt, and his momentum briefly chokes him. A thick arm bears down across his neck before he can rip free, the creature grunting in exertion as it yanks him backward. John feels his boots scrape on the dirt as he's dragged towards the trees, away from the safety that's plain in sight.

Animal instinct kicks in. John gnashes his teeth but there's nothing to bite, so he kicks out his feet instead, first in front of him and then harshly backward until he can hook his shin behind his assailant's and trip them both to the ground. The creature goes down with a surprised grunt; John does his best to roll away, only to be yanked back by his hair. He's distantly aware that he's spitting like a cat in a sack, clawing and biting, the two of them rolling in the dirt as John screams profanities and heresy at the monster trying to pin him down, anything to convince the universe to take mercy on him for once in his fucking life!

The creature manages to grab him by the shoulder, throwing him into the dirt before backhanding him violently across the face. It's enough to daze him; for one horrible second, he's unable to do anything as the monster begins to drag him across the dirt by the legs.

There's a commotion coming from the house. For a split second, the creature looks up, and John realizes his opening at the same time the monster realizes its mistake. It looks down just in time for John to kick it square in its barky, hollow-eyed face, sending a split down the wooden facade.

" John !"

The monster reels backward as if burned, grabbing at the mask as it falls away. John catches sight of a single dark, wild eye behind the broken wood before he kicks out again, sending both boots into his assailant's chest. As soon as the creature staggers back, John bolts, scrambling towards Kim as she races toward him with the rifle drawn. Nick is hot behind her; he grabs John's shoulder and drags him partway back to the house. John doesn't need the escort, and so Nick quickly leaves him to scramble up the porch as he goes after his wife.

John gets all the way to the stairs inside before he realizes there's no safe place to hide. He'd found out this winter just how flimsy the prisoner story had been; if somebody wants to take him, all they have to do is climb onto the roof and jimmy the lock on the nearest window. Whether it's through the broken window in his room or a gap in the roof leading to the attic, the Project will find him. He can't possibly outrun them forever. He'd be stupid to even try. God, he'd been a fool for thinking Joseph wouldn't send someone looking for him, that he wouldn't want to snatch John back from the clutches of apostasy. There's no way Joseph will leave a loose end like him untied.

John sinks to the bottom steps in his mounting despair, only to realize for a second time that he's being watched. The realization is less of a shock as Carmina peers at him around the kitchen archway; she jumps at the distant rapport of gunfire, staring owl-eyed at John as though she expects him to do something.

"Stay down," John hisses, setting an example as he keeps low on his way into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Carmina asks, frantic, "Is mom gonna be okay?"

"Yes," John replies, although he can't possibly know that for sure. He waits a beat, listening for more gunshots, then carefully lifts his head to check out the window when none come. He lets out the breath he'd been holding when he sees Nick standing with his hands on his hips, staring at Kim further down the yard. Whatever the danger had been, it's not pressing enough to warrant immediate action.

"Seriously," Carmina whines, as if that could hide her fear. "What was it? Was it a bear? Grace says there are bears in the woods but I've never seen —"

John sinks to the ground, his mind reeling even as the panic passes, leaving him numb. "It wasn't a bear."

Carmina chews on her lower lip, looking up towards the window as though she might try looking for herself. "Are the chickens okay?" she asks.

"They're fine," he sighs. He pushes his hair from his face, only to realize that his hands have started to tremble with run-off adrenaline.

"Are... you okay?" she asks, frowning as though she can't decide whether or not his wellbeing is her problem to deal with.

Goodwill must be genetic, John laments. "I'm fine," he tells her. She gives his shaking hands a hard look; he sighs and reiterates, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"I'm not," Carmina huffs. Apparently, Nick's attempts to teach Carmina how to bluff haven't worked out.

John is saved from needing to reassure her as Nick abruptly appears in the kitchen arch, out of breath and red-faced. His shock gives way to relief at the sight of the two of them huddled by the counter. He's out of breath and visibly bewildered.

"Shit, John, you okay?"

"I'm fine," he says, although he doubts Nick will believe it any more than Carmina had. His foot jogs uselessly against the floor. "Kim — did she...?"

Nick shakes his head. "She tried," he says, "But it was too fast. What the fuck was it ?"

"Somebody from the Project."

"No shit. But — look, it wasn't an angel , was it?"

John shakes his head. "I don't know."

Kim storms into view, making her way to the pass-through from the living room side. She sets the rifle down on the counter, catching John's eye with a glare. John hurries to explain himself, as if he could possibly apologize for bringing the cult back to her doorstep.

"I was checking for foxes," he tells her, "I didn't think it — if I'd known what it was, I wouldn't have gone on my own."

Despite the fury in her eyes and the hard edge to her voice, Kim seems to mean it when she replies, "As long as nobody's hurt."

But the damage is done, and John can't help but babble on uselessly. "I wasn't looking in the right place. But I shouted as soon as I saw it. I just — couldn't outrun it. I wasn't fast enough. And I wasn't — it was stronger than I expected, stronger than..." Even he can hear the panic edging into his voice, cutting himself off with one last worried question. "Do you think it's gone?"

"It better be, if it knows what's good for it," Kim replies. "Are you sure you're okay?"

At any other time, John would be irritated to have to reassure every single Rye individually that he isn't in the throes of a panic attack. Right now, he's only grateful to realize that Kim doesn't blame him for the thing's appearance.

"I am," he says. "Thank you."

Nick groans, covering his eyes with one hand as he leans against the counter. "So much for it being safe to go out alone. Damn it, we got too comfortable."

" I got too comfortable," John says. "It wouldn't have cared about either of you."

"What about the chickens?" Carmina asks, "Are they safe there?"

Kim crosses her arms. "What I want to know is what the hell the Project is doing out here."

Her question is the only one John has any insight into, although he doesn't know how realistic his theory is. "They might be hunting deer," he says. "The only thing I saw, other than — than that , were deer tracks."

"All the way out here?" Kim asks skeptically.

"The hunting can't be any good in that swamp they're hiding in," Nick points out, frowning as he considers the idea. "And there are more survivors around the river these days. I'd bet that'd make for slim pickings."

"I doubt we'd even know they come out this far if I hadn't been the one out there. At least we've confirmed they're actively searching for resources beyond their compound — and they're relying on traditional methods to do so. Most likely because the armory was destroyed."

"Thank God for the Deputy," Nick sighs. "Okay. We're just gonna have to... I dunno, be willing to shoot, I guess." He doesn't sound so sure about it, and he quickly softens the intention. "At least a couple more warning shots. Once they remember guns outstrip arrows every way but sustainability, they'll probably keep back."

"We can push the fence-line out, too," Kim says. "It won't necessarily stop them, but at least it'll give them a line to cross. They're not cavemen — they remember property laws and how those get enforced around here."

"We'll have to start checking the traps more often. They might be living like bloodthirsty Mennonites right now, but that doesn't mean they aren't willing to steal to survive."

"They'll justify it one way or another," John sighs.

"So I guess we don't have to move the chickens after all," Nick says, "So long as we establish a perimeter. Sound good, Carmina?"

Carmina must have slipped out at some point during the conversation because she's nowhere to be found in the kitchen. Nick glances over John's head and out the window, swearing loudly.

"What the hell is she doing out there?"

John gets to his feet as Nick and Kim take off. He watches them through the window as they chase after Carmina, who's stopped to look around partway towards the coop. Either she's dumber than she seems, or she's inherited both of her parents' reckless streaks. Either way, she's going to leave herself open the same way John had. She's too confident that nobody wants to hurt her. The only way John knows how to teach that lesson, though, is not one that Kim or Nick would approve of — and so he sidelines his worries in favor of sticking with whoever is more armed than he is.

By the time John comes outside, Kim is knee-deep in the middle of a heated lecture about safety and responsibility. Carmina scowls at her feet, her face turning red as she's scolded. John ignores them, passing them by in favor of catching up with Nick, who's come to a stop a few yards past the coop. He's staring out into the unoccupied land — land that used to be his property, once. Now Nick is as much a stranger here as John is.

"Check it out," Nick says, holding out a thin, white-barked piece of wood. John takes it and recognizes it immediately as part of the mask he'd broken in two. The hole for the eye is a roughly cut gouge in the soft wood, and the bark flakes as he wipes his thumb across it.

"I hadn't even considered a mask," John admits. "I thought it was a monster."

"You and me both," Nick replies. He heaves a sigh. "Still waiting for the mutants to crawl out of the sewers, I guess. But I think we can handle a couple of jackasses with arrows."

John squints across the clearing, as if maybe his assailant has hung around waiting for them to reappear. "Next time, it might be Joseph," he points out grimly. "That hunter recognized me immediately. They'll tell him I'm here, and he'll want to find me."

"Come on. Like Joseph's gonna risk crossing enemy territory on foot. I'd be more worried about those goddamn hunting parties you used to send out."

John unconsciously reaches up to rub his throat. "Yeah," he says. "You're right. One of them clearly wasn't enough, but if Joseph decides I'm worthwhile, they'll come as a pack. If he's still manufacturing Bliss somehow, it would be easy to subdue me. And then..."

He's surprised out of his would-be reverie as Nick slaps his shoulder with a heavy hand. "We're not gonna let that happen," he says. "As long as you put up the same fight you did today, Kim and I are gonna come running."

Despite the reality of hidden archers and surprise ambushes, John allows himself to be reassured by the sentiment. At the very least, he pretends for Nick's sake. "I suppose you two were quick to the rescue," he drawls. "But if they get me to the tree-line, I'd rather you just put me down before I get dragged all the way back to the compound."

Nick chuckles. "We'll try to avoid that for now."

Looking over his shoulder, John catches Kim crouched down in front of Carmina, hands on her shoulders. Whatever she's saying, it's too quiet for John to hear, but Carmina's sniffles are a loud precursor to a lot of tears.

"I guess she believed you when you said the Project wouldn't care about us," Nick sighs. "At this rate, we're gonna have to put a bell on her."

"I could tell her about the child soldiers from the summer camp, if that would prove the gravity of the situation."

Just the mention of it makes Nick look a little queasy, and John immediately regrets bringing it up. "I don't want to scare her that badly," Nick says. "She's a good kid, she means well. She just needs to stop going off half-cocked, is all." He rubs his hand across his forehead and complains, "I thought we taught her to be smarter than this."

"She's still your kid," John says. Nick gives him a sour look, but it's the truth no matter how bitter Nick might feel about it. "You can't expect her to be utterly obedient, given her genetics."

"I guess ." He sighs, shaking his head. "At any rate, it's time we stop sugar-coating the cult for her benefit. She's obviously not taking it seriously."

John looks again and sees Kim embracing Carmina tightly. He can't help but worry about what might happen if the hunters come back. When he'd been with the Project, he'd understood Joseph's motivations — at least superficially — but now he's completely in the dark. They used to fill their ranks with abducted children and their desperate parents. He has no idea if Joseph is in a position to expand his flock, but if he is... John does not doubt that they'll start with the young and impressionable. Carmina, being young but not as impressionable as they'd like, probably wouldn't make it back to the compound before she got herself killed. He can't imagine anyone having enough patience to break her.

"You... uh, think we should be worried?" Nick asks after a brief stretch of silence.

"Not yet," John replies grimly. After all, the Ryes have a bargaining chip like no other, in case their daughter is ever taken. John can see to it that she's left alone, but it will only work once — and after that, who knows which brother will be sending hunters after her.

"Good thing we got ourselves a couple of extra guns," Nick says. "You and her are gonna have to start carrying pretty much everywhere."

"I'm sure people will love that."

"Fuck people, man, did you see the size of that fucking guy?"

John can't help a wry smile. "They weren't so big. If I were a couple of years younger, I would have taken them."

"Yeah, sure. "

The lecture must be over with for now, as Carmina's attention has turned back to her chickens. Kim watches her from a distance; John can't read her expression from here, but her posture is tense and defensive. John can't blame her — he doesn't have a parental bone in his body, but the stress of raising a child in these conditions isn't lost on him. Trying to instill a sense of fear into somebody who lived their formative years without a threat in sight can't be easy. Doubly so, considering Carmina can no doubt outgun the rudimentary weaponry the Project is utilizing. Hell, maybe they really are only a threat to him. Maybe it doesn't matter if Carmina sneaks out of the house.

"She won't leave unnoticed again," John decides, because it's the only promise he can genuinely keep.

"Oh yeah? You're gonna eat those words when she's a teenager."

"I'd hope she would be smart enough to bring back up by then."

"Me too." Nick exhales loudly enough to get Kim's attention, stretching one arm over his chest, then the other. "Well, I guess we better get started if we want to have anything to show for it by nightfall."

Even so, it takes Nick another moment before he brings himself to move. John lingers behind, unable to help himself as he eyes the trees distrustfully. There's nothing saying that hunter isn't still out there, watching them from a safe distance. If Jacob had a hand in training them, it's unlikely that John will ever see them coming again. He's likely lost the one chance at a level playing field, and he hadn't even realized it was something he could lose.

Fuck it. It doesn't matter. John has adapted time and again to every disaster in his life, and there's something to be said for the person who he's become. If this is the next catastrophe that he'll have to weather, then so be it. If he isn't capable of dealing with Joseph by now, then it's likely he never will be — and if that turns out to be the case, he can only hope that Kim is as quick on the trigger as she seemed to be today.

[imaginepirates]

Scarred and Scared

           So somebody gave me an excuse to write for Beckett (@fablelady), and I wrote y'all a tender, sad fic where Beckett actually shows some goddamn fear and vulnerability for once. After being washed up on an island, he finds himself in the hands of a pirate who's hiding from the current war. He's now completely at the reader's mercy. Oops.

~3300 words

@bonjour-frens @tesserphantom @ilikebritsandbands @viper-official @measureformeasure

~~~~~~~

Being a pirate was hard. Keeping a low profile was harder. For your part, you were trying to stay out of the messy war between pirates and the government. Nothing good could come of it, not really. Any victory you had would be short lived. The government would win out in the end.

           Part of you was enjoying some rest and relaxation away from it all, but the other part of you was moping. You were stuck on a small island miles offshore of the nearest civilization. You were manning the lighthouse there, trying to make sure ships didn't crash on the rocks. So far, things had been blissfully uneventful. 

           That was until a few bodies washed up onshore. Some had gotten mangled against the rocks, and there was nothing you could do but wait for the tide to take them out again. Of the two others you found, one was most certainly dead, missing a large chunk of his torso. The other was covered in burns, but seemed otherwise unharmed. 

           There was little blood on him, but the burns caught your attention. His skin was twisted and puckered, and had turned a reddish pink color. How he might have survived, you didn't know. You prodded him anyway. First lazily with a foot, then more forcefully with a finger to the chest. You would've touched his face, but it looked too painful. Even you had the good graces not to prod a seemingly dead man in his wound. 

           He didn't move. You weren't surprised. But he wheezed, which scared you so badly you fell over backwards. You pushed yourself to your knees. You intended to take him inside, but you needed to make sure he threw up whatever water he'd swallowed while floating around in the ocean first. You pressed on his chest a few times, forcefully got some air into his mouth, and rolled him on his side. 

           At this point, he puked up water. It wasn't a pretty sight, but then neither was any of the things you'd seen that day. Broken, mangled bodies swollen with water were hardly cheerful. 

           It only dawned on you then that you had to take care of him. It wouldn't have bothered you so much if you actually knew how to care for people. In all honesty, you hardly took much care of yourself. 

           The next thing to catch your eye was his attire. Some bodies were in uniform, and some had the familiar look of roguish pirates, but the man beside you wore clothes more expensive than could be afforded by any sailor. You didn't jump to conclusions, but the ones you made you didn't like. 

           You dragged him back into the house next to the lighthouse. It was a small, cramped space, but it served. The poor man was much lighter than you'd expected, and you were able to partially carry him. He was somewhat conscious, but you doubted he knew any of what was happening to him. 

           You managed to get him lying down in an extra bed. His head lolled to one side, and you had to put pillows on either side of his face to keep it straight. 

           You pondered what to do, staring down at him the whole while. You hadn't the first clue what to do with half-drowned men. You thought on it some more, but came up with little. 

           You ended up observing him instead. He was a small thing, and light. He couldn't have been younger than thirty. For being that age, he looked in good health. Not one for indulgence, you noted. 

           In the end, it was his face that you found most fascinating. The burns covered most of it, though he'd lost little of his hair. The burns ran over his eyes and nose, and had twisted his top lip a bit out of place. You took off his shirt and coat to dry him off a bit, and saw that the burns extended down his torso and arms. You traced them lightly with a finger; endless patterns covered most of his body. 

           It took a few hours for him to stir. In that time, you'd made two bowls of hot broth. One you brought to him, and the other you ate. By the time he woke, the dish was going lukewarm. 

           He blinked awake, eyes barely opening. To your shock, they were a milky white. He didn't say anything, but as he laid there, he began to panic. Trying not to frighten him further, you put a hand on his chest to keep him still. 

           "Hey," you said softly. "It's okay." You weren't used to doing this. Comforting people wasn't your forte. 

           "Where am I? Who are you? Why can't I see?" Even whispering was straining his voice, but there was fear and tension in every word. 

           You suddenly realized that this was his first time thinking clearly after whatever disaster befell him. "Slow down," you told him. "You are completely safe and being taken care of. What happened to you?"

           "A battle with pirates. Needless to say, I lost." He fidgeted some, which you took as a good sign, but he hissed in pain with each movement. "Why can't I see?" He asked again. 

           You didn't know how to break it to him. "How badly did things go for your ship?" You already had a good guess.

           "Christ woman! I just want to know-"

           You didn't let him finish. "You have severe burns. You'll live, but it'll be restricting. There are major burns over certain joints, so bending them won't be fun. The fire got to your face, too. I'm afraid it blinded you."

           "Blinded me?" It was a shocked whisper, and he choked a little on the words. 

           "What's your name?"

           "Beckett. Lord Beckett."

           That changed your opinion of him immediately. The very person who would do anything to see your people wiped off the face of the earth was now at your mercy. 

           Naturally, you fed him broth. 

           The process was one filled with care. First, you propped him up on some pillows. He grimaced, but didn't complain, even though the burns must've hurt terribly. Feeding him, you tried to keep completely steady while holding the bowl to his lips. He did his best to get it to his mouth without the use of sight. It took much too long to finish. The dregs at the bottom were cold. 

           Beckett leaned back into the pillows. "I suppose I have to rely on you for everything now." His blank eyes stared at the wall. "Do you have a name?"

           "Y/N," you said. "And yes, I'm afraid I'll be doing everything for you from here on out." You didn't know about this assessment. There was an equally likely chance you'd let Beckett die. 

           He extended a hand to the side. "I assume you're to my right." 

           It was odd. Men and women didn't shake hands. You supposed, however, that he couldn't see any of the other ways you could acknowledge him. So you took his hand, though lightly. It was about the same size as yours, and he might've had a firm handshake if you weren't both trying to avoid the burns. 

           "Will you explain to me my injuries? Since I can't assess them myself."

           You agreed. The list was a long one, since you had to mention all the places he had burns. They crawled across his chest and back, spiraling up his neck to his face. "Where were you stationed?" You asked. There were multiple islands he might've been staying on. 

           "I," he began, "I can't remember." He turned his face towards you, but stared blankly at your arm. It was a little disconcerting to not be looked in the face, but he couldn't know where your face was, so you said nothing. "I remember pirates, and I remember the destruction of my ship, but I don't know why I was fighting them. I couldn't tell you the name of the ship, either."

           You could. You could tell him all about why he'd been fighting pirates. The fact that he couldn't remember his own flagship concerned you. Exactly how badly was he injured?

           At this point, you could tell he was starting to panic. You put a hand on his arm to calm him down. "You're okay." The words sounded false, even to you.  

           "I can hardly remember anything! I remember being requested in the Caribbean, but I don't remember going. I could have been there years, for all I know. Or not at all. Where am I, exactly?" His voice sounded small and frightened. 

           "A small island in the Caribbean. I'm a lighthouse keeper. You washed up on shore." You tried your best not to feel sympathy, but Beckett was clearly terrified. He deserves it, you told yourself. He's a horrible person. But you couldn't keep yourself from pitying him. The poor man didn't know where he was, or what had happened to him. 

           The worst part was that you knew everything. You knew exactly what had happened, and why, and that he'd already been in the Caribbean for six months. That didn't even count the journey over. It might've been a full year since Beckett was told he was leaving England.

           He grimaced. "Do you have anything for pain? I can feel a headache coming on." 

           Thankfully, you had laudanum. Over the next few days, his headaches only grew worse. You attributed it to the head injury that cost him his memory. Nothing else came to mind. He stared up at the ceiling for days in a row, seeing nothing. Watching him made you sad. In your imagination, Lord Beckett had been powerful and controlling, nothing like the meek man you saw now. 

           It was days before you dared prop him up, and days more before you helped him walk. You wouldn't have done it, but he insisted. You got no rest when trying to deny him something; he'd never tire of yelling until he got his way. It was more annoying than anything, and he never sounded mad, just bored. Finally, you gave in. 

           He was completely unsteady on his feet. You walked behind him, your arms under his to keep him up. If he fell, you'd be in a good position to catch him. He did, more than a few times. He would stumble, and you'd pull him back so he was leaning against your chest. He grumbled out a thanks each time, but wouldn't give up. 

           After a half hour of helping him slowly across the house, showing him where he could put his hands to find his way, he consented to sitting down. 

           It took a moment for you to realize he was crying. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, following the patterns of the burns. He stared solemnly at the ground, not acknowledging the tears. 

           You sat down next to him. "Hey." You didn't know what else to say. Without thinking, you wiped the tears from his cheeks with gentle fingers. They traced over the burns ever so lightly. 

           "I used to be so self sufficient," he said. "I had to rely on myself- I've always had to rely on myself." You bristled at that- how could he know what it was like to rely on only himself?- but he went on. "I left the house at eighteen after fighting with my father. I never spoke with him again. He cut me off from all the family resources. I made my own way, then."

           No doubt he had help. No doubt his name drew people to his cause, made people sympathize with him. He hadn't been alone, not really. Still, it was impressive. He'd left his house and been estranged from them, and he sat beside you as one of the most powerful men in England. One of the most powerful men in the world. 

           "I've done so much for myself, and now, now, I must rely completely on you. I had to take it on good faith that you wouldn't let me die. A stranger that I've never even seen. Dear god, how will I return to a normal life? What was my normal life like? I can't entirely remember." He sniffed and choked on his words. "I've never felt so goddamn helpless."

           And then, to your great surprise, you wrapped an arm around him. To your greater surprise, he rested his head on your shoulder and cried. You went on like that for a good long while, up until you felt dampness on your own cheeks.

           When you'd both wiped the tears off your cheeks, Beckett made a peculiar request. "I'm afraid I don't know what you look like. Would you mind if I, well, felt? I've seen a blind man do it before."

           You guided his hand to your cheek and closed your eyes. His hand tentatively felt about your face, fingers gently brushing over your cheeks and lips and nose. 

           "It's hard to get a mental picture of what you look like. I suppose I'll get better at this in time." His fingers lingered on your cheek, but you didn't push him away. 

           You found yourself spending more time with Beckett as the days wore on. Truth be told, you were lonely on the island. Your fellow pirates had either gone off to fight or disbanded. You'd never felt more alone. Beckett was the enemy, of course, but talking with him was better than being by yourself. You warmed up to each other; he was more polite, and you thought of him more as a friend than a responsibility. He always had a hand on your arm when you were in the same room to know where you were. He too hated being alone. Whenever you had to do things in the lighthouse, he moped. It was endearing in its own way, and you ended up spending a lot of time in each other's company. 

           You had to work in the lighthouse at night. It was an exhausting job, especially because you were up with Beckett all day. A storm had started one morning; nothing major, just some wind and rain. It didn't concern you until later in the evening. You climbed up the steps to the lighthouse as rain bashed sideways against the structure. When you looked out into the distance, lightning danced across the sky. 

           A gust of wind rattled the glass of the lighthouse, and a loud cracking sound echoed over the island. Alarmed, you looked outside. Below you, a tree had fallen just short of the lighthouse. It wouldn't have done much damage, but the sound had certainly scared you. The tree wasn't that big, but had been blown over by the wind. 

           You shook it off, checking to see that the light was rotating properly. Then it occured to you that Beckett was alone in the house with only his ears to tell him what had happened. 

           Sure enough, you opened the door to find Beckett leaned wide eyed against the wall. Somehow, he'd made it to the front door. He looked unsteady, and you were almost sure he'd already fallen down. 

           "Y/N?" The sound of the door opening told him you were there. "I heard something terribly loud, and knew you were out there, and figured you might have been hurt…"

           "I'm fine," you assured him. "You shouldn't have tried to walk by yourself. Are you hurt?"

           "No." He took a step towards you and almost pitched over. 

           You steadied him, and his hands clung to your arms. "Liar," you said. "How many times did you fall?"

           "Enough," he mumbled. "Really, you shouldn't live by yourself out here. If something had happened to you, I couldn't have helped."

           He was right, of course, but you didn't say anything. In truth, you wouldn't be tending the lighthouse much longer. "Did the noise scare you?" You asked instead. 

           Beckett pursed his lips. "Yes," he admitted. "I'm finding that it's very hard, relying on sound and touch. I feel so different from the man I was weeks ago. Or so I assume."

           A flood of fresh sadness washed over you. You hated it when he talked about how changed he was and how hard it was hitting him. "Let's go to bed. The storm will sort itself out." 

           You helped him back to his room. He laid down in bed, staring at the ceiling. "Stay?" His voice was small, like he thought you'd refuse. 

           You hesitated before replying. "Of course." You didn't have it in you to deny him. He was just a scared, hurting man. 

           You slipped a hand into his and dozed off in a chair next to his bed. The storm raged on outside, but the warmth of the house lolled you to sleep. 

           You woke to a gentle squeeze around your fingers. "Thank you." It was the first time Beckett hadn't been ashamed to say the words. "No one has ever cared for me like you have these past weeks. Not since childhood."

           It was a heavy confession to wake up to. You couldn't think of anything to say. Luckily, he went on. 

           "I'm remembering things again. I know why I was in that battle. Dear god, it was awful. Pirates." A look of disgust passed over his face. 

           You flinched a little. You weren't sure what would happen, now that he had his memories back. 

           "I suppose piracy will still be rampant. I hope they don't stop here; I would hate for something to happen to you." 

           It occured to you that he'd continued talking. You were hardly listening, but the comment caught your attention. 

           "I'll be fine."

           "Pirates are vicious and brutal. They don't have a moral code. The likelihood of your being spared in an attack is dismal. They don't discriminate; man, woman, or child; they'll kill anyone. 

           You couldn't take his commentary. "Are we? Are we vicious and brutal? Are we savages?" You didn't care what he knew anymore. It wasn't like he could hurt you. But he could know that you had every capability of hurting him. 

           "We?"

           "Yes, 'we'."

           "Christ," he whispered. "What's a pirate doing manning a lighthouse?"

           "Avoiding being slaughtered by the East India Company in battle." 

           "And even knowing who I was, you took care of me." He was staring at you with milky, disbelieving eyes.

           "I can still throw you to the sea."

           "I imagine you want to."

           "I do."

           He said nothing for a while. When he spoke again, he spoke softly. "I was captured and tortured by pirates when I was younger. My own father didn't care about me enough to pay the ransom. That's why I left home. I have such awful memories of pirates…"

           "And I have awful memories of the Navy and East India Company. You tore down our houses and killed our families. I left my family the day they were killed." It was a painful memory to share, but he needed to know. He needed to know that he wasn't the only one who'd suffered. 

           "I'm sorry." He fidgeted with the blanket lying on his chest. "That you lost your family."

           "I'm sorry that yours didn't care about you enough." You sucked in a shaky breath. "I don't hate you, you know."

           "Even knowing everything I've done?"

           "Even knowing that."

           "You're certainly the first."

           "There's a first time for everything."

           "You'll let me stay here, then? Until I'm ready to leave?"

           "Yes."

           "For the record, I count myself very fortunate that you found me. Thankful, too." He tugged on your hand, which he still had a hold of. Through the whole argument, neither of you had let go of the other. He brought your hand to his lips, letting a soft kiss fall on your knuckles. "It's a strange situation we're in. Strange, but good."

           "Strange, but good," you agreed. 

[atlaskat]

Bakugou Katsuki -- psychological analysis (meta)

I’m not a psychologist, just a social science student studying for an exam, so take this with a grain of salt.

I’m also not totally up to date with the manga (I’ve read up until volume 17). Please feel free to add your own thoughts in the replies if you want to, or call me out if I make a mistake. 

------

I won’t be speaking too much on biological factors, but I think it might be good to just go through some thoughts I have on the matter. In psychological theory, there’s something called “temperament”, which is essentially a child’s most basic form of relating to the world. A well-known experiment on temperament is the famous Marshmallow experiment, where small children were presented with a marshmallow. If they could wait a certain amount of time without eating it, they would receive one more. Follow-up studies on these children showed that those which showed restraint and could wait for the marshmallow had generally gotten further in life -- these children often developed the capability of making and sticking to long-term plans, and were able to work much more methodically than their peers. 

I think Katsuki would be one of the children that waited for another marshmallow. At first glance, he seems very impulsive, rushing into battle and relying on his brute force -- but I’m actually very sure that this characteristic is part of his later development, and not part of his temperament. The reason I believe this is because he shows a very clear understanding of a much bigger and long-term picture. He is very committed to becoming a hero, and this commitment entails behavior which isn’t completely typical for people his age (such as studying hard, never slacking off despite his delinquent-like persona -- even in middle school --, sleeping early, training very hard to maintain his physical condition even as a young teen, etc). This shows his self-restraint, and his ability to plan ahead.

(I’m aware that the amount of pressure to do well in education is very different in many Asian countries, but compare Katsuki to for example Kaminari -- who also wants to be a hero, but is at the bottom of his class and doesn’t seem very good at planning or studying hard. What I think is most important here is to highlight Katsuki’s commitment).

I would also argue that heritability play a role in Katsuki’s personality and cognition. Intelligence and capability to learn have some hereditary factors, which I think apply to Katsuki. It’s difficult to say what came first in this regard though -- a child might be born with a slight affinity for learning (being able to memorize things quickly could be such a trait), but this doesn’t mean they become “smarter” because of it. In this specific case, the humanistic approach of “without the right support and challenge, no child will reach their full potential” is applicable. 

Still, I think Katsuki was born with at least some higher capability to grasp new concepts, which I think plays a part in his, at least partial, understanding of what it takes to not just get on top but actually stay there. Quickly memorizing new information could also play a part in the way others view him -- thinking he’s skilled, amazing, even as a small child -- which in turn fuel both his willingness to learn and his ego. I think his kindergarten years are hugely important, more on it later.

The last thing I would like to say Katsuki was born with is extroversion. This personality trait can be studied in the brain -- the “reward systems” of the brain (mainly dopamine production and the middle brain as well as around nucleus accumbens) react stronger to positive emotions. I say “born with” because of its clear hereditary implications (and as I think this trait comes from his mother Mitsuki. However, it’s possible to theorize that instead of being born with extroversion, Katsuki was born more or less without neuroticism, which occurs when the activity of the amygdala is higher than normal. This leads people to be more anxious, cautious, and avoid situations which might cause unpleasant emotions). Katsuki was very young (2-4 years old) when he first began enjoying being the center of attention, which I think shows he was born with extroversion.

Katsuki’s attachment style  Since we haven’t seen that many interactions between Katsuki hand his family, especially not as a child, this part will contain a lot of my own theories and headcanons, sorry about that. 

Attachment styles are easily perceived phenomenons studied in depth by Mary Ainsworth and John Bowlby. Ainsworth noted that a child’s style of attachment manifests itself in two primary forms:

Stranger anxiety and separation anxiety. After 6 months of age a child will show an autonomous need to be close to, or seek comfort in, their “object of attachment”, usually a parent (often the mother). This need becomes apparent when the child is introduced to a stranger, or left alone, through signs of stress/anxiety. 

Ainsworth devised a test to study these anxieties -- the “Strange Situation”. The test looks like this:

The child arrives in a new room together with the mother

A stranger appears

The child is left alone with the stranger

The stranger leaves

The mother returns

All in all this only took three minutes. The most interesting part was the child’s reaction once the mother came back -- its attachment style was most clear then. 

Children usually have one main attachment style, which have two categories with a few subcategories. Secure attachment The child clearly prefers the mother to the stranger. It might cry or be anxious while the mother is gone, but stops as soon as she returns. These children go on to use their object of attachment as a secure base while they explore the world, meaning they return to seek comfort if they experience something negative, but quickly recover.

Later in life, these people can regulate emotions with more ease. They also cope better with adversity, and are able to connect better with people their age (forming deeper relationships). I believe Izuku was a securely attached child. Insecure attachment This form is more complicated. It has three main categories:

1. Resistant attachment The child has attached itself to in this case the mother, but the attachment is less stable. The child is anxious to let the mother out of sight -- doesn’t trust she will come back. The child may continue crying even after the mother returns and cradles it. 2. Avoidant attachment The child, generally doesn’t cry and doesn’t show its physical/emotional needs. Often it will act a bit aloof -- avoiding or completely ignoring the mother. It will act similarly towards the mother as with the stranger. These children have learned that their natural behaviors to attract attention from their objects of attachment will lead to rejection, so they suppress the needs for affection/comfort. More often than not they still experience the same levels of anxiety as other children, but don’t seek their parents to soothe them.

Disorganized attachment The child shows a lot of contradictory behavior, such as crying to be picked up, but immediately wanting to be let down again, often as a result of being scared of their object of attachment. People who were insecurely attached as children generally have more emotional problems, and are at higher risk for mental illness. I believe Katsuki had an avoidant attachment style. The attachment style of a child is largely based on the behavior of the object(s) of attachment, the parents. Insecure attachment is usually the result of parents not understanding/being unable to provide the comfort their infants seek. My theory is that Mitsuki is, like her son, a very determined and career-driven person. Like I’ve said before, I think she’s extroverted, but I also believe that she doesn’t easily connect deeply on an emotional level with people. This could be a result of how she herself was treated as a child -- as we tend to mimic our own parents -- or simply just her personality. Her own emotional needs might not take up a big part of her life, or she doesn’t really need others to comfort her, which in turn means she might assume others are the same. Ainsworth had a few criteria for a “good parent”:

1. Responsive 2. Permissive 3. Cooperative 4. Psychologically available

I think Mitsuki was, or is, lacking in most/all of these. Clearly, from what we’ve seen, she’s stubborn and knuckle-headed -- while she might have been responsive to baby Katsuki, she might not have known how to handle things beside his clear physical needs, like keeping him fed and clean. If she was also working during this period, as I would definitely assume (considering her job as a fashion designer and how well-off the family is; they live in a huge house), her availability might have suffered. Think like this:

- Mitsuki is tired, but has to finish work - Katsuki begins crying - Mitsuki changes his diaper and feeds him, but puts him down again to work - Katsuki starts crying after only a little while, but nothing ‘looks’ wrong (he’s fed, clean, warm, etc) so Mitsuki goes back to work - Katsuki continues crying, which frustrates Mitsuki because ‘nothing is wrong’; she might snap -- such as yelling, ignoring Katsuki further, or leaving the room entirely. As Katsuki begins to speak (let’s say at around 1,5 years), he might try to achieve emotional closeness by showing her his toys, trying to talk to her/play with her. If he is already ‘extroverted’ by this point he will be a lot more vocal than a timid child his age. If he hurts himself, or becomes scared, he probably tries to get Mitsuki’s attention at first, and I think this is where her biggest mistake might’ve lied. Based on how she treats Katsuki being kidnapped by the League of Villains I believe she disregards a lot of comfort-seeking behaviors as weakness. 

“When you get down to it, you got taken and inconvenienced everybody cuz you’re so weak!!” I think this shows clearly how Mitsuki herself feels. Of course she worried for her son’s safety, but worrying about someone in itself is an inconvenience to her. She equates her own worrying with other people’s weakness -- if only people weren’t so weak, she wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced by worry. Mitsuki, like any parent, never wanted anything bad to happen to Katsuki. She was probably very aware that the world could be a dangerous place, so she tried to eradicate any ‘weakness’ within her own child so as he couldn’t be hurt by the world. I’m not sure where to place Masaru, Katsuki’s father, in all of this. A child can have several objects of attachment, but Bowlby expressed that usually there is a sort of hierarchy in the attachments themselves. For example, the child might favor one parent for playing, but prefer the other if they become scared. I think Mitsuki simply was the more important object of attachment in this case (this can be a result of having more skin-to-skin contact in the first months, or Masaru could for example have been working a lot of the time). Izuku on the other hand became securely attached to his mother Inko, as I think Inko is very emotional and open as a person. While the scene where Izuku cries about not having a quirk comes when he is about 4 years old, I still think this shows clearly that he seeks comfort in his mother. So, a little TL;DR before the next point: Katsuki was an ‘extroverted’ baby, who experienced a lot of emotional rejection from his mother very early on, which made him suppress his needs -- perhaps unconsciously starting to share his mother’s view on emotionality itself (and his own need for help at times)  as weakness. Erikson’s life stages and Piaget’s cognitive development Another model I’ll be using is Erikson’s life stages as well as a theory by Piaget.  We’ve passed the first life stage -- infant (0 - 1,5 years). This is where Erikson means that the child will develop a basic way of relating to the world: positive (the world is a place where my needs are met) or negative (the world is a place where I feel alone). Right before starting kindergarten I think Katsuki had developed the negative view, even though he was an ‘extroverted’ baby, as a result of his attachment style.       - Izuku, on the other hand, developed the positive one. This meant he had a fundamental sense of hope for the world, which is very important later in life. The second stage -- toddler (1,5 - 3 years). Starting kindergarten is an extremely important step in Katsuki’s development. I think he would’ve been completely different without it -- I really can’t stress this enough. Avoidant-attached children will have to fulfill their needs somehow -- usually through validation from sources beside the object of attachment. ‘Avoidants’ can become narcissistic and overly confident, all as a means to protect themselves. This is exactly what happened with Katsuki, let me explain: As I’ve already explained, I think he was born with both extroverted qualities and an affinity for learning new things. His innate temperament was also perseverance. His avoidant attachment meant that it was seemingly very easy for him to be separated from his mother to go to kindergarten, although at the start, his negative view of the world might’ve made him cold/closed off. The kindergarten personnel catered to him, though. Through a lot of positive reinforcement (to which he is especially sensitive as of his extroversion), attention, and frequent intelligence-related challenges (such as new and complicated games, learning to read, etc) Katsuki developed a more positive outlook. According to Erikson, if one stage of life doesn’t “succeed”, it can be recuperated later, which I believe is what happened here. Where I think the kindergarten fell short however is with too much praise, or very easily letting Katsuki off the hook. I believe they saw very much potential in Katsuki from a young age -- perhaps because of this they were too eager to inforce how amazing they thought he was. Often times, we think that anger should be “released” and not repressed. We should get it out of our system, so to speak. However -- counter-intuitively -- we shouldn’t actually do this. Borrowing from the cognitive approach to psychology, the more often we think a certain thought or behave in a certain way, the stronger that mental connection becomes. I think Katsuki, because of his avoidant attachment, might’ve acted really aggressively as a child too. Instead of giving him strategies to cope with his anger the kindergarten teachers probably encouraged him to “release” it, which just made this cognitive scheme easier to access. Thus more likely to be activated again. Children who feel that their opinions and ideas are interesting and valuable will become more sociable, and take more charge, while children with overprotective carers will start doubting their own abilities. Where Mitsuki wasn’t able to do right, the kindergarten picked up the slack and followed Katsuki’s whims to encourage him. He probably developed really quickly, which probably stunned the teachers and carers. The adults’ attention fueled his confidence and ego, and this drew other children to him, which meant more attention.

According to Bandura and Skinner, both real consequences, imagined ones, and reinforcement dictate personality as well as social interactions. Sometimes though, something called “observational learning” occurs, in which no reinforcement is needed. A child often learns behavior by imitating something someone else does, and I’m not excluding this as a possibility to explain Katsuki’s bias/bigotry against quirkless people. Of course, cognitive bias also plays a major part here. As humans, we are wired to look for details which inforce our worldview. 

Bandura’s model of reciprocal determinism. The individual and the environment affect each other mutually. This is part both of how Katsuki grows egotistical, and also his disdain for Izuku. Another important factor of personality is expectation. If an individual expects to be able to change the environment, they are more likely to attempt to do this. Without kindergarten intervention I believe Katsuki would have become a pessimistic, unmotivated person. Third stage (3 - 5 years) By this point Katsuki had already replaced his emotional needs and attachment to his mother with attention and admiration from his kindergarten peers/teachers (feeling superior to others). During this stage the child is supposed to develop a sort of pride of their own abilities. Katsuki was already an independent child (also because of being an ‘avoidant’), but this is where it might’ve went a little overboard. The development of his quirk was, as we all know, a turning point in both Katsuki’s view of himself/the world and his relationship to Izuku. This is mainly because of the quirk development. I’ve already stated that the kindergarten let too much slide -- the bullying of Izuku started even before the quirk development -- but now that becomes more important, as Katsuki was now capable of doing a lot more damage. Developing the quirk solidified Katsuki’s inflated ego -- now he was sure that he was the most awesome kid alive. It also solidified Izuku’s worthlessness to him (of course, if Izuku wasn’t useless, surely he should’ve developed a good quirk too?), which is how “Deku” came to be. At the same time, Izuku “needed help with everything”, but he was also really helpful towards others. He was sensitive, emotional, but still brave -- someone like that was worrying to Katsuki even back then. Katsuki -- an ‘avoidant’ -- repressed his needs, while Izuku indulged in them, openly showing this ‘weakness’. This is where Piaget’s theory comes in.  According to the theory, people develop “schemata” and “concepts” which are cognitive structures. 

1. A schema is a mental representation which covers a range of behaviors, e.g.: a child learns to pick up a bottle. It learns that it can pick up other things too, so the action of picking something up becomes a schema. 2. A concept is a mental structure which relates to the environment. A concept of an object entails for example what that object does, what it’s used for, and its relation to other objects. Children develop concepts and schemata very early on, and after that there are two processes which occur heavily in the first few years, and then continue throughout life: 1. Assimilation -- new information is modified to fit existing schemata/concepts. For example, a child making engine sounds while playing with a block of wood has assimilated the block into their concept of a car.

2. Accommodation -- the new information can’t fit into existing schemata/concepts, so new ones have to be made. This is part of changing worldviews -- let’s say a little boy only has two categories for animals: birds and fish. But then he sees a dog. If he says “that’s a fish”, he has assimilated the new information, but if he makes up a whole new category of animals, then he has accommodated the new information. There are periods of life in which a child will assimilate more than it accommodates (and vice versa). Piaget called these periods “cognitive equilibrium”. The counterpart is “disequilibrium”. This might be part of something which happens during the first few years of life -- there is an explosion of neurons, brain cells, during this time. When the accommodation has occurred, the child will go back to assimilating. Katsuki developed a lot during kindergarten, and therefore created lots of new concepts and schemata. For example, “I am awesome and everyone else is not”, is a cognitive scheme which enables one to enact their superiority over others. “Deku is useless and I can hit him” is another such concept. However, ‘Deku’s uselessness’ is something Katsuki came up with as a defense mechanism -- as stated before, Izuku indulged in (normal) behavior which Katsuki saw as weakness. But, as any child, he still experienced anxieties and wanted affection. This went against his conviction that sensitivity was weakness, so Katsuki projected all these needs onto Izuku. Punishing Izuku then became a way of punishing himself for the things he wanted. This worked for a while, but then Katsuki became aware of the fact that Izuku was brave enough to go against him, and not only that, but look down on him enough to assume he could need help. He, the most awesome person ever.

This could mean two things. 

Sensitivity is not weakness, and it’s not wrong to want it

Katsuki is still so weak that even people like Izuku are a threat

Accommodation is a more difficult process than assimilation, so Katsuki avoided changing his view of sensitivity, which was so deeply ingrained, by adopting the second possibility. But this was scary, and incredibly disturbing to Katsuki, which meant the hostility towards Izuku especially grew. So this is when the bullying picked up a bit. Stage four -- 6 - 12 years During this stage most children begin going to school, the stakes and expectations are higher, etc. I believe Katsuki thrived in a school environment too, with steadily increasing levels of challenge.  This is also when both Katsuki’s and Izuku’s admiration for All Might increased, for different reasons. In Katsuki’s eyes, All Might was so strong he always won no matter what, which enabled him to get in more fights. Winning these fights fueled his ego, and he began believing he could surpass All Might. Stage five -- 13 - 18 years Ooh, here’s when it gets juicy. I believe the bullying might not have been too intense back in stage 4. Erikson defined this stage as “identity against role diffusion”. During their teen years, most people begin identifying all the different sorts of roles they have in life, which might cause some anxiety. That’s why a lot of teenagers are experimenting with their identity, and go through what adults often disregard as “phases”. This searching is very important however, because every person needs to have a secure sense of “this is me” to be mentally healthy. We need to believe there’s a core in our identity, which will stay the same even if we or our surroundings change. Middle school Katsuki and Izuku are both 14 when the series starts. Katsuki is still delusional, prideful, and narcissistic. His teachers think he is powerful enough that it’s inevitable he will go on to UA, which only confirms his view of himself. Right now he tries to act unbothered, but Katsuki is painfully aware of the fact that Izuku hasn’t abandoned the dream to be a hero, even though he is quirkless. All of Katsuki’s intimidation tactics -- blowing up the notebook, for example -- are all desperate attempts to discourage Izuku from even trying, because Katsuki is still scared and disturbed by Izuku in general. Perhaps more so than usual, because I think Katsuki’s trying to find his identity right now as well, especially since it’s time to apply to high school. “Leaving Izuku behind” might be the most symbolic thing Katsuki can think of. He feels as though he’s been stuck with Izuku for years, and wants to hammer home the differences between them, defining his own identity in the process. Still, Izuku is going to apply to UA. I know Katsuki looks pretty unbothered while telling Izuku to take a swan dive off the roof, but I’m 100% certain he’s absolutely shaking inside. It really is a last resort type of thing. Which doesn’t make it alright, of course, but I think it’s important to keep in mind that Katsuki by this point is a vulnerable young teen, unconsciously terrified of going into the world without knowing exactly who he is. Izuku’s response to this bullying and especially the swan-dive line are interesting to me. He doesn’t get depressed, instead he thinks to himself that the idiot Kacchan would have instigated a suicide if he really went through it. This is partly why I think Izuku is securely attached to his mom, even if he now doesn’t approach her with all his problems. He developed a strong sense of hope for the world, more on that in a bit. The Sludge Villain incident is a big stepping stone for both Katsuki and Izuku. We see Izuku genuinely almost give everything up after meeting All Might, and still, even as he saw someone who had bullied him, he still rushed in without a second thought as soon as that person seemed to need help. And in reality, Katsuki was asking for help. You can’t say this isn’t the face of someone who needs saving.

Of course, Katsuki catches up with Izuku just after the incident, telling him “I didn't need you to save me!”, the works.

He’s struggling really hard here to assimilate the new information. He doesn’t want to accept it. When he fell into the creek back as a child, I don’t think he actually needed any help, he probably would’ve been fine. The problem then was Izuku thinking he needed help, which he equated to being looked down upon. In this moment, the problem is that Katsuki really needed the help. Had Izuku not been there, not spurred All Might into action, Katsuki might very well have suffocated. And he knows this, he’s a smart kid. That’s why his reaction is so extreme this time. Accepting that he could’ve died if Izuku wasn’t there means, again, that there are two possibilities to Katsuki:

1. He is weak and needs Izuku’s help of all people 2. He has been wrong about sensitivity all along Both of these mean he has been wrong, both are unacceptable to him. But I think the first one, at least unconsciously, does become its own schemata. Some time after the incident Katsuki stays silent when it’s again noted that Izuku is applying for UA. On the first day there, he only tells Izuku to get out of his way, but doesn’t mock or question his presence. Izuku even comments that “ever since that day, he stopped tormenting me.” They even sit beside each other without any real problems. I think this again is due to two things: 1. Katsuki is hyper-focused on his real goals right then, he needs to do really well 2. He has accepted “Deku is applying for UA” as a new schemata, which is easier to swallow than accepting either the sensitivity or needing help thing. 

High school -- UA There’s of course a minor hitch once Katsuki realises Izuku was accepted, but I think that’s fairly standard. What I think is more important for Katsuki is the fact that entering UA means coming into contact with other people his age who are more advanced than he would’ve ever thought. He’s been so far up that nobody could catch up to him for years, but suddenly, other people are merely steps away if not on the same level. The fact that other people are so close to surpassing him, and seeing Izuku has somehow developed a powerful quirk, opens the gate to the possibility that Izuku might surpass him too.  As many have noticed, Katsuki is much more subdued since starting at UA. I think he’s beginning to warm up to other people (they’re not scared of him, he can’t dominate them like that). But I think his anxiety has slowly been growing, leading to the outburst/fight at Ground Beta, with All Might’s retirement as a final straw.  I want to analyse him further (and even more how he’s affected by avoidant attachment!!!), but this will have to do for now. Please let me know what you thought, if you agree, if you’d like more, etc. It’s really encouraging. Have a nice day!

[lord-explosion-baku]

Candles

Bakugou x reader

Warnings: fluff??, swearing

A/N: just a short lil snoot I wrote for everyone’s favorite hotshot’s birthday!!

It was Ashido’s idea to make you in charge of organizing the party, reasoning that you had been spending a lot more time with Bakugou so you would know what he would like the most. It was Sero’s idea to make the party a surprise, reasoning that Bakugou would never agree to a celebration if he knew about it but you didn’t want him to get upset on his special day so you asked him for permission.

“Absolutely not-“ was his immediate answer.

“Ohhh, come on! It should be fun! There’ll be food and music and presents! Please? Pretty please? If I didn’t tell you about it, it would’ve happened anyway and you would’ve had to suffer!”

“Actually that’s not true. Shitty hair already let it slip that you all were plotting something. I already planned on avoiding everyone at all costs.”

“Bakugou!” You whined, boldly placing your hands on his arms. “it’s not gonna hurt you to have a good time! Everyone already got you gifts and I’ve put down a deposit for the room we got for it! and… I don’t know, if you don’t wanna do this for you then do it for everyone else! It will make a lot of people happy!”

Bakugou would never admit it but he really did care about his friends. He might’ve not liked them all the time but you had to appeal to his tsundere side somehow.

“Tsss...” He pulled away from you, looking anywhere but your face. “You really paid for everything already?”

“Yup!” You grinned.

“And there’s no way you can get your deposit back?”

“Mmmm nope!” You totally could but he didn’t have to know that.

“Fine-“ he glared out in front of him “-but just know that I hate birthday cake.”

Needless to say, you were ecstatic.

You took full advantage of your party planning privileges, decking out the space you rented with all the classic birthday supplies: orange, black, and green streamer matching the color of his hero suit draped across the ceiling and fitting cartoon blast shaped balloons tied to each table bobbed against each other. You made a playlist full of Bakugou’s favorite music along with some other songs that you knew everyone else would enjoy. Food and drinks were provided by a catering service that Kirishima had recommended which you got a discount for because Kirishima was a “totally rad guy.” You might have gone a tad bit overboard for such a small get-together but anything was worth it for Bakugou… the two of you had gotten to be pretty close over the last few months... and you maybe had developed a tiny little crush on him and Ashido was just absurd enough to suggest that he reciprocated those feelings. Like, sure, the two of you did share a couple moments where you guys looked at each other for longer than you needed to when you were a ways away from each other but Bakugou always broke the eye contact. And okay, you were probably the only person Bakugou let touch for long periods of time but you were pretty handsy with a lot of people and you were sure he’d just gotten used to it… Not that any of that mattered for the party! You had to focus on making it a swell time and not because you had some silly crush! You were really just throwing this party out of the goodness of your heart!

Mina was the first to arrive clad in her best party outfit. She helped you a bit with making the snack table look more aesthetically pleasing. Sero was the next to arrive, ironically wearing sunglasses indoors and he brought silly party hats for everyone to wear. Jirou and Kaminari showed up together and they brought games that you’ve never heard of to play! You don’t know when Tokoyami showed up, he just happened to appear. You had invited him but you weren’t sure if he’d be attending since when you extended the invitation, he only said something cryptic that you didn’t quite understand. You were happy to see him nonetheless. Kirishima, under the guise that the party was still a supposed to be a surprise, escorted Bakugou into the room and when everyone jumped at them yelling “surprise!” Bakugou just rolled his eyes which wasn’t all that much of a giveaway that he was already in on it since that was a very Bakugou-esq thing to do.

Everyone seemed to have a good time! Sero and Kirishima attempted to play multiple birthday pranks on Bakugou which always ended with one of them getting swatted, Ashido and you danced a bit together to the wonky playlist you put together that she ended up tweaking a bit, and Kaminari attempted to explain how to play some of his weird games but he was too excited to really get whatever it was he was trying to say out so Jirou had to take over the games.

You lit the candles that were stuck inside your very special concoction of a dessert and the others let Bakugou know what was coming when they started to sing “Happy Birthday,” albeit, completely out of key. Still, everyone had stupid, contagious grins on their faces and even Bakugou smirked when he saw that you brought out a brownie platter rather than a cake.

“I added cinnamon and cayenne pepper,” you said with a wink. “I hope you like the kick!”

“Make a wish!” Ashido yelled, bouncing up and down.

Your heart skipped a beat when Bakugou looked at you, the glow from the candles complimenting his jaw structure. You couldn’t help but think that the birthday boy looked kinda handsome even while forced to wear that silly cone party hat.

Swiftly, he blew out every candle and everyone cheered for him.

You got a sense of accomplishment while Bakugou opened his presents; weights from Kirishima, a hoodie from Ashido, a ‘Guide To A Zen State Of Mind’ book from Sero, a skull which you were very unsure if it was real or not from Tokoyami, drumsticks from Jirou, and a welding torch from Kaminari. With the stress of making the party happen you didn’t actually manage to get him anything but you had doubt that he’d even notice.

While Sero and Kaminari were busy trying to pop Bakugou’s explosion balloons with their butts, you saw Bakugou go out to the balcony. You barely had any time to talk to him beforehand while you were his trying to make sure everyone was well fed and having a good time so you decided to join him!

“Did you like the party?” You leaned against the rail, looking over the vast city in front of you. You felt his eyes on you and you hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous you were to hear his answer.

“I guess,” he muttered back. Relief flooded over you. Had it been a couple months ago, that answer would’ve hurt but after having got to know Bakugou a bit more, you knew that ‘I guess’ was Bakugou for ‘sure did!’

“Well, good.” You tapped on the railing to beat of the music playing from inside. You get a nervous flutter when you feel his eyes slide over to you.

You pull on your shirt sleeves and look him in the eye. “So, what’d you wish for?”

He shot you a wicked grin and quirked a brow. “Why do you wanna know?”

“Innocent curiosity,” you smiled sweetly back at him.

“Yeah? Oh, hey, I couldn’t help but notice, you didn’t get me a gift! I mean, come on, L/N, it is my birthday.” He took a daring step closer to you.

“Wha-! But! Okay, sure but-! I threw you a party!”

“And? I told you I didn’t want a party,” still, he didn’t stop smiling through his teasing.

“And I made you brownies!”

“They were pretty good.” One more step closer. “It’s a shame I had to share them with rest of those losers.”

“Aww Bakugou, what could I possibly give you that you don’t already have?” You jabbed him in the ribs and he grabbed your hand.

“You tell me,” he said, pulling you closer. His hand ran up your arm to your elbow. This was the first time Bakugou initiated contact with you and you felt like your body was about to burst into flames! “What do you think I wished for?”

“I… have no idea,” his free hand brushed some of your hair out of your face. You were thankful it was dark outside or else he’d be able to see how red your face was, though, he was so close to you he could probably feel your body heat. “Bakugou?”

“Take a wild guess,” he whispered, inches away from your lips.

A wild guess? Oh, your thoughts were running rampant with crazy ideas but you couldn’t focus on just one with his lips so close to yours! You knew what you wanted but Bakugou was too hard to read and goodness! his hands were cupping your face and- and- you took that wild guess!

His lips were warm and he tasted like a mixture of chocolate and spice. Your hands found his jacket and you pulled him closer while you let your lips linger on his. He felt… nice, like unexpectedly soft and you let out a delighted shiver when one of his hands moved to your waist. The kiss was sweet and even though you had accepted that you really liked Bakugou you never expected to feel so right with him like this.

With a squeeze of your hip, he pulled away, eyes still closed and you could see him smiling. It was… cute?? You wanted to kiss him again but you suddenly got nervous and shy again.

“Um… is-is that what you wished for?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. If I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”

“But you just-!” You grabbed his hand, “Bakugou!”

He snickered and intertwined your fingers with yours. “Thanks for the party-“ a deep blush bloomed over his face “-but maybe next weekend we can do something just the two of us.”

Hands still together you placed them back on the railing. “That sounds really nice actually… is that what you wished for?”

He chuckled. “Kiss me again and maybe I’ll tell you.”

He never did tell you what he wished for but you were all too happy to comply with his request.

[lxveille]

If you're still taking the time & place flash fics, maybe 3AM + In a Car with Joshua ? and apocalypse/disaster AU if you feel like it ? If you don't take them anymore it's fine tho, I'm using this opportunity to tell you that I love your writing and your one of the fics writers that inspired me to start my own blog too so thank you for your amazing work !!

title: paradigm shiftword count: ~ 2090warnings: mild physical intimacy (making out in car); some vague talk about deatha/n: apocalypse!au (death leech); also hi, i’m still writing these flash fics and your words are so so kind anon!! it’s been a while since you sent this in, so i hope you’re still out there reading & writing yourself

The car is still running. Rain falls steadily down, beating an uneven rhythm against the windshield. The details are caught only in the headlights, and from any other window the world simply looks like dark blurs caught in sheets of the downpour. 

There’s only the sound of the storm and the low static of the radio. Both of you have managed to steady out what had been panicked breathing, and so panting has been taken out of the equation. At one point in time, it would have been a rarity for this highway to be so silent. You have memories of being a child in a backseat on roads much like this one, watching streams of cars rush by and listening to the blare of horns the moment anything came to a standstill. But that had been before; when people still had places to go for any reason other than survival.

Tonight had been a blur from uneasiness to fear. From suspecting to knowing it had been a mistake to trust anyone who said they could guarantee safety.  You’re not sure how long the car’s been idling here. But the warehouse is hours away now, and the clock on the dashboard changes its display to read 3:00. 

Your gaze moves over to the driver’s seat. Joshua is staring ahead; uncertain where to go from here. His hands still grip the wheel tightly, like he can’t quite accept that you’ve gotten far enough away to relax yet. In this lighting, it’s difficult to make out the bruises along his knuckles. You know they’re there, though. Patchy, reddened reminders of how very much things change. 

(“We have to get out of here,” you’d told him breathlessly only hours before. He’d furrowed his brow and tried to understand your hurried explanation of what you’d discovered. How the small community you’d stumbled upon wasn’t the safe haven it had made itself out to be. That in its maze of rooms was one where they kept a bloodied chair and a single jar where they had somehow managed to trap one of those terrifying leeches. All their talk of being a level-headed group, looking not only to survive but to find a way to understand and one day eliminate the leeches from Earth. You should have known they’d have to have a way of experimenting. Of studying. But leeches need to feed. It was the whole reason society had fallen apart when they’d arrived.

Joshua didn’t need to see it for himself. He believed your words, or else the terrified look in your eyes. It was also probably that look that made the others decide you couldn’t just head out to ‘scavenge’ at such a late hour.

It had been only you and Joshua for a long time before the warehouse. In all that time – regardless of all the horrors that came up – you’d never seen him hit anybody before. Not until Hosung had stood between you and the car.)

“Josh,” you speak at last. It feels like you haven’t done anything but whisper or yell or breath for hours. A normal volume sounds nearly foreign. He glances to you without turning his head; still ready to move the car out of park and hit the gas in case anything changes. “I think we’re in the clear,” you tell him. 

“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound like he even means an answer as tentative as that. 

“They’d be here by now if they were following us.” 

He lets out a sigh, and his head falls back against the seat. At least it isn’t a position that’s quite as on edge as he’d been a moment before. “We can’t spend the night out here,” he points out, closing his eyes. 

“We can find somewhere better to pull over,” you agree, “But we’ve slept in cars before.” 

Joshua checks the rearview mirror before looking to you in full. “You shouldn’t have snooped around there.” 

That catches you off guard. It couldn’t be that he’d rather have a bed regardless of whose roof it was under. You look him over in disbelief. “They would’ve fed us to that leech eventually,” you remind him. The words are bitter on your tongue; halfway to an accusation against him, but too caught up in confusion or exhaustion to truly make one. 

“They probably would’ve done that to you as soon as they caught you down there,” he answers. Joshua’s eyes don’t leave you. His gaze seems to be trying to convey something more than what he’s said. There’s a kind of fear waiting there that he’s still holding too close to his chest for you to understand entirely. 

“Am I supposed to say sorry or something?” Your tone is more defensive than you feel. You aren’t really sure what you’re feeling. Moreover, you’re not quite sure what Joshua’s trying to get at. He didn’t want you to put yourself in danger. Sure – that much you could make out. But the warehouse had been a danger the whole time. To hold it against you that you had followed the bad feeling in your gut didn’t strike you as fair. If you hadn’t found out this way, the alternative way of discovering the truth surely would have been worse. 

Joshua lets out another long sigh. His fingers uncurl from around the wheel and fall to his lap. “Do you remember when we met?”

The change in topic has you giving him a puzzled frown. Obviously the answer was yes. You’d both been younger, with families that still thought getting away would mean getting away from the problem. Indefinite delays had given time for the two of you to begin hesitant smalltalk. And when the screaming had started from somewhere unseen in the terminal, you hadn’t really been thinking when you’d grabbed his hand before starting to run. 

In all the time since that day, Joshua had been the only constant. 

“I would’ve died back then if it hadn’t been for you,” he continues, without needing you to answer his original question. His words sound more like a confession than a hypothesis.

You look out the windshield window to where faded highway paint is illuminated in the headlights. There’s a pothole already filled entirely with rainwater not far ahead. It’ll be easy enough to go around it. No one else is the road to keep him from swerving around it. “You don’t really know that for sure,” you reply. 

“I’m pretty sure.” His voice beckons your gaze back to him. “You know I love you, don’t you?” 

The rain and the radio seem to stop for a moment. The only thing you can hear is your mind replaying his words, and your thoughts asking in what way he means it. “You… what?” you manage. 

It’s either another sigh or a kind of breathy laugh that Joshua gives off in response. Maybe a bit of both, really. “I don’t know.” It nearly sounds like he’s backtracking until he adds, “I just do.” His hand moves with hesitation towards you, and ends up stopping at the gear shift that sits between the two of you. “And I thought I might’ve lost you today.”

All you can think to say is, “You didn’t.” 

He gives a quiet hum as agreement. Yet he doesn’t seem fully reassured. His mind still caught up in any number of ways things might have gone wrong. You shift in your seat and reach out one hand to find his half-outreached one. His hand twists automatically at the contact to intertwin fingers with yours as it’s done so many times before. The touch feels different this time; charged with the energy of what Joshua had just said. 

“I knew,” you decide. You must have. For how long, you couldn’t quite say. But perhaps it was inevitable when you spend so long with just one person at the end of society. When you look up from your tangled hands to his face, Joshua has another question burning in his eyes. You can read it from the way sight flits over the details of your expression, lingering for torn moments at your lips. 

You lean over the space between you first, but Joshua is quick to react in kind. Your bodies twist to face each other as much as the front seats of the car will allow. His mouth is warmer than his hand, lips insistent and unhurried against your own. You wriggle your grasp out of his in favor of placing your hand along the line of his jaw. 

The rain rattles against the metal of the car. Slowly, Joshua’s hand moves from the gearshift to your knee. Radio static fades to a warm white noise as you continue to kiss him languidly. As if there’s a backlog of kisses the two of you need to catch up on, but an eternity stretched out in front of you to do it in. 

When your own fingers slide down to his shoulder, his hand seems to mirror in a way; squeezing lighty at your knee before gliding up half the length of your thigh. Inbetween kisses, he pants out words that are either your name, or curses, or god. 

Your body tries to move closer, impeded by the car’s obstacles and the cramped space. A faint chuckle laced with frustration leaves you, fanning heat against Joshua’s lips. He responds by moving them to your neck. Your hand curves around his nape, the pads of your fingers tickled by ends of his hair. He exhales against the skin of your neck he’s already made damp, and a small shiver runs down your spine. You open your eyes for a moment and watch the pattern of raindrops running down the window as Joshua’s kisses seem to run an even less logical path across your neck and jaw. 

You call his name quietly, as if he’s still too far away. He lifts his head to make eye contact. For a moment, there’s nothing but heated gazes. Then a smile breaks out across his face, and you feel your heart flutter a thousand times over inside your chest. Joshua brings his lips your yours again, gentler this time. Your eyes slip shut, and you let yourself begin to sink back into the pleasant dizziness of kissing him. 

Something makes you both pull apart at the same moment. 

Your heads both turn towards the dashboard, hands still caught upon each other’s bodies.

A voice had made you stop so suddenly. You both drawn back your arms; Joshua’s hand hurrying back to the wheel and the gears while you turn up the volume on the radio. It’s difficult to make out the words. You fiddle with the controls, flipping to different stations in an attempt to find the exact frequency the strange voice was using. 

“… checks out… clean…you guys?” you manage to make out as you settle on one. You and Joshua both exchange a look that says neither of you recognize it. 

“No signs of anybody down the road” a second, deeper voice replies over the radio, “Seems like the neighborhood’s empty. Jihoon, Soonyoung, anything on the road?” 

“Yeeeah, the thing about that–” starts a third, only to be interrupted by another. 

“There’s a car that’s been sitting only a bit down from the exit out to us for like… 15 minutes. Not clear what the situation is.” 

“Keep an eye on it,” the first voice chimes back in, “Let us know when something changes. The schoolhouse doesn’t seem like anyone’s used it as a shelter for a while. Wonwoo, you guys head back here and we can try scavenging the neighborhood in the morning.” 

“Copy!” the lighter, previously interrupted voice replies. 

“Another group of survivors,” you remark on the obvious. Joshua’s looking out the windshield, likely looking for whatever exit had been mentioned. Or else for whoever it was that had spotted your car. “They sound young.”

Joshua nods in agreement. It’s the kind of thing that’s reassuring after seeing the kind of camp those older than you can set up back at the warehouse. 

“We should keep driving,” you suggest, “Let them regroup and get some rest.” 

“How far do we go?” he asks. What he really means is, how much distance between ourselves and these guys too?

“Three exits down?” Easy enough to keep track of which exit they would be off of come morning, but far enough to reassure both yourselves and the strangers for the night. 

Joshua doesn’t turn off the highway until you’ve counted five exits.

[doubletriplepowerbomb]

Forever

Colby Lopez x Lais Ribeiro (VS angel) 

request for @colbynatorsforlife

Warnings: none other than some fluff that you MIGHT drown in and some swears

Word count: +3300

Tags: @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @jenn0755 @zappyzoodle @disturbthepearls @lost-in-the-stories @lithesxx @racingandreigns @rocketgirl2410 @vebner37 @therianfurry46 @littlelunaticfringe @finnbalorlover21 @winged-time-criminal @mrsnegan25 @xfirespritex @wefunloveruniverse

June 2012

“Hi welcome to Java Java can I help you…” My voice trailed off when I saw him. The most gorgeous man I had ever seen in all my years of life. He was wearing a tight black tee shirt with a gray beanie and glasses. I think he even had a streak of blond hair underneath. I knew I was staring for too long, I needed to look away. I blinked hard and asked the man again if I could take his order. He was staring at me too.

“Oh, uhm… yeah can I just have a black iced coffee?” I nodded, my eyes locked on him. I asked him his name and he smirked. “You want my number too, Lais?” He asked, reading my name tag. I blushed at his words. Did he think I was hitting on him? Should I start hitting on him?

“I just need it for the order,” I said with a smile. I kept my tone light and fun, so he knew I was kidding. His face got red and he reached up to adjust his beanie. I almost drooled at his arm when his bicep involuntarily flexed.

“Oh… duh… My name is Colby.” He looked pretty disappointed that he wasn’t on the same page as I was. I kept a smile on my face the whole time he stood in front of me and I watched him intently while I made his coffee. He had an athletic build. Big arms, thick legs, and a nice butt. I could barely think straight knowing he was in the small coffee shop I worked at in Iowa.

I think I read his coffee cup 12 times while making his order. It was the plainest order ever and I could barely remember it. Once I finally finished, I grabbed a pen from the counter.

“Colby!” I called his name and watched as he perked up. His hand lingered on mine as I handed his cup to him. He shot me a wink and I almost fell over, I couldn't wait to see his face when he saw what I wrote on his cup.

563-777-4653

My break is in 20 xx Lais

I saw his face light up and he looked up at me. I shot him a wink and kept working until my break was over. He stayed in the shop, sitting on a stool. His eyes didn't move from me either. I felt him watching me for 20 antagonizing minutes before I finally had my break.

The little timer on my watch went off and I swear I had never been so excited to hear that noise. I only had my short lunch break but the whole time sitting with him was amazing. We talked non-stop for an hour before my watch went off again. “Crap, my break’s over.” I said with a frown. His smile went away too.

“Well, when do you get off? Maybe I could take you out tonight.” he looked at me with raised eyebrows and an adorable smile.

“I get off at 6.”

“Then I’ll pick you up at 8. I’ll text you.”

“Bye Colby.”

“Bye Lais.”

Those last 3 hours were the slowest hours of my life. All I wanted was to get off and see Colby again. I couldn't even describe what I felt in my chest when I even said his name, let alone saw him or thought of him. I had never had a crush on anyone like this, especially not after only knowing someone for a little over an hour.

June 2019

That was 7 years ago today. After that day, we started talking all the time. I found out he was a wrestler and that it would put a strain on relationships considering he isn’t home often, but I didn't care. I never believed in love at first sight but after that day, I did. I fell madly in love with Colby Lopez the day that I met him. 7 amazing years later here I was getting ready for what should be the best night of our lives. I was going to propose to him tonight. And I know, the girlfriend shouldn't be the one to propose, but I’m not like that. I knew from when I was little that I would propose, I’ve always taken what I wanted.

Colby was at the gym meaning I had nothing but time on my hands. I had been talking to Colby’s two best friends from work, Joe and Jon (Roman and Dean) all about it. They helped me get a ring and plan out a perfect night that Colby would love.

“So what are you gonna buy a wedding band?” Jon asked before popping a bubble with his gum.

I laughed at him. “No, Jon I’m getting a promise ring type of thing,” I said, scanning the endless cases of rings. Who would’ve thought they make so many rings for men?

“This one.” I heard Joe’s voice from the other side of the store. His finger was pointing to a plain black titanium ring. It was perfect.

I bought the ring and I kept it hidden in the laundry room, I knew he’d never find it in there. I got a text saying he’d be home soon. I checked Find Friends and I saw that he was in the car on the way home from the gym.

I had gone to our favorite place in the park earlier and made it all nice for a picnic. I made a nice dinner for us and had it all packed up in a basket in the fridge. I worked so hard to plan this out and all my hard work was finally going to pay off. I had taken a shower and I was wearing a yellow off-the-shoulder sundress that accentuated my dark features. I was finishing up my makeup when I heard the bathroom door open.

“Well don’t you look delicious.” Colby stood there with his arm resting on the door frame. He had thrown his shirt and shorts in the laundry basket and he was wearing only his boxer briefs. “What’cha dressing up for, beautiful?” His hands snaked around my waist and I felt him press against my backside.

“Ew sweaty, get off!” I yelled playfully while wiggling out of his grip. “I just finished getting ready.”

“Do you have something tonight?” Colby looked down at the floor for a second, he was disappointed. He was sure I didn’t have any plans tonight and he wanted to cuddle up and watch a movie.

“Yeah I do have plans,” I began. I saw Colby’s gorgeous brown eyes lose their shimmer momentarily. “You and I are going on a date tonight. We’re having a picnic.” The shimmer came back and he smiled. He opened his mouth to speak but I continued. “So shower quick and get dressed.” And with that, I walked out of the bathroom.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me, gorgeous?” Colby’s voice was persuasive and if I didn’t have a plan for tonight I definitely would’ve turned around, but I couldn’t.

“I’m already all dressed and ready to leave, babe. Can’t shower now.” My tone teased him and I didn’t even need to turn around to know what expression was on his face.

I didn't know this then but as Colby showered his mind ran wild with the image of me in that dress. God damn, she looks so good. I’m gonna marry that girl. I just don’t know why Dean and Roman told me to wait. I’ve been with her for years now and I know that I’m making the right choice. Fuck it, I’m buying a ring tomorrow.

I heard the water shut off only a few minutes after I heard it turn on. Colby walked back into our room with a towel hanging low on his hips. I was tempted to pull it down and forget this whole night.

While Colby was in the shower, I began to second guess myself. What if he doesn’t like that I proposed? What if I embarrass him? What if he says no? But I couldn’t think like that. I loved him and he loved me, this would be great. But looking at him made all the worry in my head go away and I remembered the day I knew I wanted to marry him.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

August 23, 2015

Summerslam. Colby had a title-for-title match against John Cena. He had been so nervous about it, John Cena was a role model for everyone and having a big match like this against him made Colby nervous. I loved Seth’s attitude about this match though. Seth was an cocky jerk. Colby was considerate and cute. Watching Colby be Seth on TV for millions of people made me smile. Seth wasn’t nervous about the match. His confidence in the ring turned me on insanely and I loved watching him wrestle. Well, not always, I didn’t like seeing him get hurt.

I didn’t tell him that I had gotten tickets for SummerSlam. He thought I’d be watching from home.

He didn’t see me during his match, I wasn’t sitting super close to the front. I wanted it to be a surprise for after his match. I talked to Hunter and Stephanie earlier and, considering Colby was their golden boy, they allowed me to go to the ring after the match.

I watched the whole match on the edge of my seat and I think I might've been the only person in the arena with a smile on my face when John Stewart came out with that chair and hit John Cena. He threw the chair down and ran out of the ring before the official got back up. He set Colby up to win the match and I screamed when he did. I shot out of my seat and ran down the aisle and got to the barricade.

Colby saw me running up to the barricade and held up the titles for me and everyone else to see. I jumped over the barricade and climbed into the ring. Normally, something like this would ruin his asshole façade, but I couldn’t have cared less.

I wrapped my arms around him tightly, not caring about the sweat, and pressed my lips to his cheek. I refrained from speaking, I doubted he’d hear me. I felt his arms wrap around me accompanied by the cold metal from the belts against my back and thighs.

Most of the crowd wasn’t happy, but I didn’t care. Sure, someone helped him win the match but Colby worked so hard to get to where he was. Everyone argued that he got everything handed to him, but he had to work extremely hard to get to the “golden boy” position. That’s what I was proud about. His hard work paid off.

That night in the hotel room, I had the best sex of my life. But that’s not the point. Watching him in the ring and seeing the glow in his eyes made me feel a certain way that I hadn’t before. I had been proud of him before but something about this was different. I fed off of his success and I felt like I won too. It’s kind of hard to explain but it was amazing.

After that, I knew I needed to make him mine. I didn’t care how. I just needed to spend the rest of my life with him. I realized how deeply I loved him.

“Get dressed.” I said with raised eyebrows and a playful roll of my eyes.

The light summer breeze blew my sundress and hair but I didn’t mind. It was so warm out. I loved summer evenings, the sun was still out but it was cooler. Perfect.

We talked about nothing important the whole walk to the park. I loved talking to Colby like that though. He always made me laugh when we talked about nonsense. He’s such a goofball.

“Woah. Look at that. Who would set that up and leave it empty?” Colby pointed out the picnic I had set up.

“I did it stupid.” I said taking his hand and leading him to the blanket. Colby’s shocked smile made me smile as well. He was so taken aback at the fact that people would leave a picnic basket alone. I rolled my eyes at him but kept the smile on my face.

As we ate, the conversation was light and hilarious. We debated about the dumbest things and laughed about stupid stories. I love him. I couldn’t wait to ask him to be mine forever.

After we ate I asked if he wanted to go for a walk around the lake in the middle of the park. He agreed and held my hand as we walked slowly.

Once we reached the opposite side of the lake, I walked with him to our favorite spot. It was a small clearing past the trees that lead to a small lakefront spot.

The sun was setting and an explosion of pinks and reds and oranges streaked across the sky. It was simply lovely and I squeezed his hand before turning to face him.

My heart was racing to fast. It was thumping so aggressively against my chest I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. I let go of his hand and reached into my pocket. My fingers brushed across the black satin and I stared up at him. His brown eyes bore into mine. He didn’t even know what I was gonna do, he was just staring at me.

I took the box out of my pocket and knelt down on the grass. Colby’s eyes widened with disbelief, but there was a shimmer of happiness in his eyes. Seeing that shine calmed my nerves.

“Colby, I know the you were kinda supposed to do this but I can’t wait. I love you more than anything in this world and I can’t imagine ever being without you. It makes my heart ache when I think spending the rest of my life with anyone else. I want to experience life with you and grow old together. I love you. So, will you marry me?”

Colby stared at me through his big brown eyes. As scared as I was to hear his response, the familiar gleam in his eyes reassured me. His lips stayed closed and his mouth turned into a grin before his smile got so wide that he had to show his teeth. “Lais,” he bent slightly in his knees and placed his hands gently on my biceps, gently pulling me onto my feet. “Ya, know I was gonna do this. I was gonna propose to you first. You made the first move, you said I love you, and now this? C’mon you gotta give me something.” His playful tone made me smile.

He kissed me quickly before I could speak. I felt his hands slowly caress down my arms, to my hands, then he let go of my hands and grabbed my hips. He pulled me closer to him and I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck.

After a short while, he broke the kiss but remained close. He bumped his forehead lightly against mine and I smiled. “Of course I'll marry you. You’re everything to me and I couldn't imagine this world without you in it. I need you in my life.”

I smiled at his words and I remembered when I first heard him say that.

November 5, 2015

Colby had a House show in Dublin that night. I was sitting at home, waiting for a text from him saying his match was over. But it never came. Instead, I got texts and calls from Joe and Jon.

“Lais, It’s Colby. He hurt himself during the match.” Joe’s voice wasn’t as firm as it usually was. I heard ambulance sirens in the background.

I straightened up on the couch. “Joe? What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“It’s his knee. He had a match against Kane. He tried to do a sunset flip off the turnbuckle, for a powerbomb. But his knee. It buckled underneath him.”

My mind went blank after that. That entire night was a blur. The scariest part was that he was across the world and I had no real idea of what was happening.

I remember everything about the day he came home though. He looked heartbroken. My poor boy’s face was downcast and his leg was wrapped in a thick cast. He ended up tearing multiple ligaments in his knee. Surgery. Rehab. No wrestling for months.

He was difficult to deal with at times. But I didn't mind all that much. I loved him and he was devastated. I just wanted to make him feel better.

On one particularly sad night, he snapped. Not at me, at the rehab. He was so mad and there was nothing he could do about it. Colby came home fuming. He didn’t yell at me, he didn’t do anything at all. I kept my distance that night, not wanting to bother him.

Apparently, he took it as me having enough. Me not wanting to deal with him anymore. So that night, I was woken up by him curling my hair gently around his fingers.

“Lais, are you awake?” His voice was soft and shaky. I turned to face him.

I leaned up on my elbows. “Yeah. Are you okay?” My voice was laced with concern.

“I’m sorry.” He coaxed me to lay back down. “For everything. I’ve been such a jerk. I just… don’t… don’t go. I need you in my life.”

I didn't say anything right away. I simply leaned towards him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Colby, I love you. I’d never leave you.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say to him. So I kept my mouth shut but I laid my head on his chest and continually pressed kisses against his hot skin until I heard his breathing steady completely and I knew he had fallen asleep. His words stayed with me though. I need you in my life.

I’d never leave him. I loved him. That’s why I proposed to him, I wanted to be with him forever. Every day with him made me fall in love with him more and more.I looked down at Colby’s hands and grabbed onto his left one. His wide smile mirrored mine as I slipped the black ring on his finger.

Colby looked down at the ring on his finger. “Did you really just propose to me?” Colby asked, his tone playful.

My smile widened and I took his hand. “Yes I did.”

December 2019

“By the power vested in me, by the state of Iowa, I pronounce you man and wife. Colby, you may kiss your bride.” Cheers erupted from the crowd as we kissed.

Mrs. Lais Lopez. I could get used to that.

I couldn’t keep the smile off my face during the whole reception. Colby was mine and I was his, forever.

A/N: Okay, so I really wanted to focus on the build up to the proposal and all the flashbacks. (Y’all know how much I love my flashbacks). I realise I didn’t get that in depth about the wedding or anything after that but if that’s something you guys want to know about let me know and I’d love to write about it! (Maybe starting a family I don’t know ;) I love hearing what you guys have to say!

Thanks for reading, love you all

-Doubletriplepowerbomb

[feel199x]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚apple of my eye ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ VI

gang!au, gang member!han jisung, band member!han jisung. florist! reader

I  II  III  IV V VI VII VIII IX X masterlist

a/n: oof man. this and the next chapter will be the heaviest chapters. but! this series is coming to a close soon! also this chapter made me mad even though im the writer so uh good luck

warnings: themes of abuse and kidnapping, swearing

                                 ┍━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┑

His hand was on your thigh, tracing circles on your knee as you drove. Your hands were clumped together, held together by zip ties that dug into the bone of your wrist. You’ve been here before, in this position. You had woken up suddenly and you didn’t know where you were. You had been very careful to not stray too far from your block, the farthest you’ve ever been from your shop being the time that Jisung brought you to meet your friends.

Jisung.

You were crying again, not caring about how you looked. You felt so guilty, so burdened by your own existence. You hadn’t meant for Jisung to make that decision, it kept replaying in your head like a broken record. His face, his shaking arm. You wanted to tell him you were alright, that he didn’t have to worry. It wasn’t his place to, it wasn’t his burden to uplift. But you knew how Jisung was, how he just felt more. You were one to tear up during sad movies, but rarely would you cry. But Jisung was different, every time without fail, he would end up crying. He would hold you, claiming that you needed to be comforted as he rambled about how much he liked you. Your cries were muffled by the cloth, but it was still noisy.

He squeezed your thigh.

“You know it took me a while to find you,” he said, anger building up in voice, “But I did. When I saw you with that bastard. What was his name? Jisung?” You looked at him, seeing his face become tight as he tried to maintain his composure. “I couldn’t believe it, I wanted to kill him right then and there. But I had to wait, and it was hard, it was hard,” he squeezed the part just above your knee hard enough to leave a bruise, “And you’re such a hypocrite, breaking up with me because I’m in a gang. But know you’re with him?” You knew what he was implying, and you couldn’t help but yell muffled protest. He pulled down the cloth, “Use that pretty mouth properly, baby.”

“Jisung wouldn’t. He would never. He’s leagues better than you.”

He laughed, grabbing you by the hair. “You’re lucky you’re pretty huh? Wouldn’t get anywhere with a head like that.” He pulled your hair tighter, “And you should shut up, huh? What a waste of a pretty mouth.”

“Jisung is a good person,” you argued, refusing to believe that Jisung could ever be in the same field as him, “He’d never hurt anyone. He’s not like you.”

“You don’t use your fucking head do you?” He tapped the side of your head, “You don’t think it’s fuckin’ weird that he has a gun even though he’s like 19? How his friends have guns? How he goes off the grid and won’t even text you, the one he loves?”

“He’s,” your voice wavered as you stuttered, “He’s in a band. He’s busy. He’s popular. I’ve heard him sing. He’s good.”

“You’re so annoying when you talk. You really are only good for one thing.” All you heard before you passed out was the cracking of the window glass.

You awoke in a room, all dark. There wasn’t anything in the room, no furniture, not even a bed. You got up, hoisting yourself up from your legs. But you were weak, no strength to carry them, and you fell. You stayed there, nose bleeding as you cried. You felt weak, overwhelmed. The only reason you were able to escape them was because the feds busted his house for drugs. Someone would think that he’d be arrested, put away for life. But they found no drugs, and even though you fought in court- having to face him again, you lost the case. They said you lead him on, had never really said ‘no’, and that you were into this sort of thing. And you cried, you completely broke down in the courtroom, the entirety of the jury witnessing your weak moment. They didn’t have any proof, no evidence, but he still wasn’t put away. He had told lie upon lie, and he had gotten away with it. You coughed into the carpet, using it rough texture to wipe your face as you finally sat back up.

The only other thing you could think about was Jisung and your flower shop. Things were adding up in your head, even when you didn’t want them to. Jisung may have been in a gang, but Jisung was still better than your captor. You thought about the flowers he brought you, the daisies and you wish you could see him again. You wished to feel another daisy petal in your hand, You wanted to slow dance in the kitchen with Jisung again, you wanted to sleep in the same bed with limbs entangled. You missed him. You wanted to hear his voice again, hear him sing you to sleep again. You had just gotten your flower shop back again, and you missed the mixture of all their aromas, the feel of the petals. You wanted to reverse time. You wanted, wanted, and wanted.

You might’ve felt helpless, but you were no damsel in distress. Even as you continued to cry, you tried to break the zip ties- to no avail. But you had practiced, you had trained for this even when you didn’t want to. Because you knew he wouldn’t stop until he found you again, and even though it hurt to have to relive that memory- you did. Even though it was nearly no fucking help. He must’ve heard you hit your hands against your back in order to break the zip ties, because he burst in.

“I see you’re awake.”

You didn’t respond, moving to the back corner of the room. You were terrified, shaking and trembling like a dog. You could feel your face getting messy again, and you were starting to hiccup. “Why can’t you be good for me?” he yelled, pulling your hair and dragging you as you fell, “Why can’t you just be a good girl for me?” He dropped you on the kitchen floor the cold tile against your face as it hit the floor. He sat at the kitchen table and ate, watching you as you watched him.

“You gonna be good?” he asked lowly, “You gonna behave for me?

You wanted to curse at him, yell at him. You wanted, wanted, and wanted. He smiled at you, pleased with the lack of your response. “Good girl,” he cooed, placing a plate down on the floor, “Good girl.” You needed time, to gain his trust. You were going to escape, going to go back to Jisung and your flower shop, but you needed time. If you didn’t time this correctly, then you had no chance. There was no way to gain his trust ever again in hopes of being able to exploit it. But you felt humiliated, having to eat your food like a dog. You were hiccuping now, your head throbbing and you couldn’t even rub the pain away. So you didn’t, you backed away and sat back up, leaning against the kitchen’s island.

You were in his home, you had to be. It was nice, sophisticated and large. The kitchen itself was bigger than your shop, and you hated every part of this house. It was built on blood money, and you knew it. He didn’t deserve any part of this house, he deserved to be behind bars.

You felt the type of anger you had felt before again, the type that would leave faster than it came. And even though you were a crying, blubbering mess, your body was as hot as a furnace, heating up and only getting hotter. He had wronged you, he had ruined your life. He made you feel scared and utterly alone, and the only two things that were helping you, your flowers and Jisung, he was trying to take it away. And it made you hot with rage, it was the type of anger that would give you courage.

“Why aren’t you eating?” he slammed his fists on the dining table, making it shake, “I got it made just for you. Why won’t you eat it, baby?” You were snapped away from your blank stare at the food, and with it simmered your anger. He stabbed the table with a kitchen knife, letting it stand alone as his fork clattered on the table. “I’ve done everything for you! I spent almost two years looking for you! And you won’t even stop crying!” You were sniffing, trying to rub your face against your shirt. He rose from the table, hitting your head against the underside of the kitchen island. “I’m gonna feed you this food, okay?” he hit your head again, “And you’re gonna eat it, okay, baby?” You nodded weakly, lip quivering. “Okay?”

“Yes.”

So, he did. Slowly feeding you the food and threatening you if you took too long. The both of you sat forever on the tiled floor and you felt like you were the only one to blame again. It felt as though you must’ve done something because this doesn’t happen to good people. You knew you were wrong, and that Jisung would scold you and then pepper your face with kisses, but it still felt that way. “Good girl,” he cooed again as you finished, “You’ve been so good. Let’s watch T.V hmm?” He stroked your hair and watched you as you struggled to get up, laughing as you forced yourself up. Your head was still spinning, and you felt a throbbing pain ripple through your skull but you were excited.

He always fell asleep during movies.

He chose a romance movie, and all you could think about was Jisung. He loved these types of movies, always eager to watch another and would’ve probably only picked those types of movies if you hadn’t urged Jisung to pick within different genres. You watched him intently as he sat next to you, arm around your shoulder. His attention was beginning to waver, and eyelid beginning to droop. Your hands were still tied behind your back, but you knew that if you hit your back a couple more times- it would snap. You were doing well, being able to quiet down your crying, and even though your heartbeat was fast and unrelenting, you were calm and getting calmer. You were watching him, as he fell in and out of sleep, his snoring jerking himself awake. It was almost an hour until he had shut his eyes, completely dozing off but you waited until the queue played the next movie to move. You only had one chance, and you were determined to make it count. Slowly, you moved away from his embrace, eyes widening in horror as he moved. But remained asleep as you stepped away. You started running, clumsily as you snapped the zip ties off of your wrists. You rubbed your indented wrists, nearly flying down the house’s large spiral stairs as you made your way to the ground floor and out the front doors. It was his mistake not to have anyone around, his mistake to not expect you to run. You were out the doors, feeling the summer rain on your skin and being able to breathe. You ran and ran, even after you heard him calling after you. You didn’t turn back when you heard the gunshots, you could feel him gaining on you but you couldn’t stop, you wouldn’t stop. You felt his hand over your mouth, and another around your throat. He flinched as you bit him, as you thrashed in his hold. But as your vision faded, you decided that darkness never looked so dreamy.

-

Jisung was bleeding again, and from his thigh like last time. The guy was a lousy shot. Jisung still ran though, even with the pain he was feeling. But the man held the gun to your head, threatening to shoot if he heard any gunshots coming towards the car. Jisung had never felt so entirely helpless, watching him drive you away, passed out in his arms. The first thing that Jisung had done was call Minho, he couldn’t help you if he was bleeding out on the sidewalk.

                              ┕━━━━━━━✿━━━━━━━┙

[moreauclarabel]

                       ❝ Too much light has come out of my darkness. ❞

LILY COLLINS? No, that’s actually CLARABEL MOREAU. A SIXTH YEAR student, this RAVENCLAW student is sided with THE NEUTRALS. SHE identifies as a CIS-WOMAN and is a PUREBLOOD who is known to be SECRETIVE, ANXIOUS, and INTERNALIZING but also INTELLIGENT, CURIOUS, and OPEN-MINDED. 

CHARACTER INSPO: Nell Crane ( THOHH ), Lexie Grey ( Grey’s Anatomy ), Rory Gilmore ( Gilmore Girls ), Sansa Stark ( ASOIAF ), Belle French ( OUAT ), Elsa ( Frozen ), Pepper Potts ( MCU )

TRIGGERS ( all tagged ): abuse, neglect, depression, anxiety, panic attacks

– –  the moreau family were purebloods with an extremely long and prolific lineage in france - blood supremacists to the core, they were extremists since god was a boy. but, for the most part, until the last 75 years or so, they stayed out of shit. they kept their lineage pure, they instilled elitist beliefs in their children, they disowned family members who went off the beaten path and that was that. they stayed in france, they stayed with their own, they expanded when they needed to through marriage and having children, but until the start of of the rise of voldemort ( grindlewald certainly shook them up, though ), they didn’t involve themselves. 

– –  séraphine moreau neé travers married into the family and wanted more -- why didn’t they involve themselves? why didn’t they want more? why didn’t they involve themselves? so insulated? as a travers, their family had a history within voldemort’s circle, why didn’t all purebloods aspire for the same? it was a shame, marc andré was relentlessly pushed and coerced by his wife to dedicate himself to the cause during the second wizarding war. they struggled to have children, so she thought, if we can’t have children, maybe just maybe we can have power. the moreau line dropped one by one during the second wizarding war due to this hastiness --  séraphine was brilliant at convincing them of her agenda, but she really was blinded by pure and unadulterated anger & hatred -- especially because she couldn’t fufill her duty as a wife. 

tbh though she always wanted power, she never wanted to be a mother or a fucking wife but like! she was! she was aware that was her place but she was also raised to be smart, disciplined, ruthless, hardworking. the moreau’s might’ve wanted her to take more of a backseat -- at first -- but when they realized she needed room to prove herself to them as a person and not just an object, they decided to give it to her. what did they have to lose?

– – more money ( mo problems ), more everything was poured into the war, they were SURE they were going to win. they were sure they were going to come out of this winning. they didn’t. when the aurors came for marc andré and séraphine, séraphine cleverly played on her fragility, both of them plead the imperius. with marc’s family’s record of staying away from shit -- they got off. it was the year 2000, the moreau family’s prestige deteriorated quite a bit, séra tried to hold onto the crumbling empire that was gone -- she was fucking angry. she had no child, no legacy, they had to rebuild their reputation, they had to do work that she frankly didn’t think they should’ve had to do. as far as she was concerned -- the whole wizarding world were the mad ones for accepting muggleborns and those without pure blood. but she knew she had to lay low. marc followed her lead for the six years until they finally, FINALLY, got pregnant with clara. 

– – she was it. their child was it. their child, they hoped they’d be a boy, would be their key into the good graces of society again -- and many in society were happy for the moreau’s, don’t get it wrong. they might’ve lost some prestige and some status, but they had more years of being jewels of society than being pitied under their belt. their child, their boy would carry on the legacy, the last moreau, he’d be their ticket into everyone’s shining graces again. 

this was clarabel’s first mistake. she was not born a boy. marc was happy though, he fell in love with clarabel the minute she was born, he loved her but séraphine? angry. she felt the same feeling of failure that she had after their side lost during the wizarding war. still, clarabel séraphina would have to make due. 

– – they knew something was off when her bouts of accidental magic were extremely frequent. first, they passed it off as if clara was a show off, as if it was a party trick at events, when guests came over in their townhome in paris. but clara was a very poised, an otherwise controlled, soft spoken child -- it was hard to imagine she’d show off. in fact, they took note of how clara’s nature was just extremely soft. séra didn’t understand it, she must’ve gotten it from her weak father. you coddle her too much, you give her too much attention. too much love. this didn’t effect clara as much until she was older and they realized that this problem, this party trick was not going away. this was a problem. she was a problem. 

to them it wouldn’t have been such a problem if clara could use this excess magic to hurt people, to maim them instead of creating flowers, to do terrible jinxes instead of sprouting butterflies or some really warm, good, light shit. to them, their daughter was a monster for not being monstrous like them, for not being ruthless, for being so soft. 

– –  [ ABUSE, NEGLECT TW ] the neglect, the abuse, while it was definitely a thing while clara was growing up got worse after her 11th birthday. they had enough then, séra at least, had had enough. there was not a day that went by that clara was not chastised, yelled at & put down by her mother. then neglected and not given attention by her father. her father, who was once so loving and caring, that love was rescinded. [ END OF TWs ] clara struggled to understand any of it. she knew that it was because she couldn’t control her magic, sure, pouring herself into books and anything she could to learn how. sure, she knew it was because she was and always had been a disappointment, sure, she had every reason to hate & be terrified of herself ( and deep down, she did, she was ), but she didn’t understand. she didn’t get it. it never clicked the way her magic did. this magic made her feel so good, it made her feel free, the lack of control, feeling that came from it made her elated and here her parents, the people who were supposed to love her most, hated it & her by proxy? what else did they hate that they didn’t understand? what else did they hate that just didn’t make sense?

it was why clara would never completely give in and believe wholeheartedly in blood supremacy. she’s ignorant, sure, but hateful? she couldn’t understand it. they didn’t give her reason. she was observant, kind by nature, and she just couldn’t understand why why you’d hate someone for reasons they couldn’t control. 

– – this conflict brewed in her head until her 13th birthday when after a particularly brutal homeschooling session with her mother, clara lashed out. she yelled at her mother, she sobbed, why do you hate me? why? the emotions that she had built up were so intense, so consuming, so powerful, that they expressed themselves through magic -- resulting in clara sprouting a cherry blossom tree ( she’d seen it in her books & thought it gorgeous ) in the middle of their living room. it was then they packed up their townhome in paris and moved to south of france, bordering monaco, near the water. their daughter was out of control, she was an out of control monster, she needed to be taken care of and they felt isolating and secluding her from the city, from society, from everything, was going to help. it had to.  

– – [ DEPRESSION MENTION ] while clara loved their summer home immensely, she also longed to be around people. besides her cousin odilia and her house elf, she really didn’t talk to anyone which only fed her curiosity further. she painted, she played instruments, she spent copious time alone even though the more and more she did, she craved paris, she craved the outside. she’d always been an extremely curious, open-minded child because of her parents being so vehement against being so -- so she read more and more about people and things she could never be. the only problem was, she could never read enough to replace human interaction, to replace people, to replace touch, feeling  more lonely and frankly, depressed, than she had before. [ END OF MENTION/TWs ]  her mother had always refused to let her go to regular school because of her abilities & outbursts, but as time went by and clara just didn’t get better at controlling her abilities and started to fall behind in regular school -- séra started to give up. it was clear, as much as she’d loathe to admit it, that she was out of her depth and needed help with her daughter -- she did. 

– – beauxbatons was too lax for their taste and because she was coming in the middle of the year, durmstrang didn’t have space. it was minerva mcgonagall that thought, they loathed to admit it, had the most prestige and knowledge on transfiguration that they could access for clarabel, away from french pureblood society, hopefully their child would actually learn something. though reluctant to send her to hogwarts, clarabel went and her life was changed for the better.

it was a really hard transition, from learning how to share a space with 4 other people to being around so fucking many, learning the staircases, answering riddles, but her cousin odilia paired with lily potter and her friends ( though the two groups not together, that was for sure ) helped clarabel  -- the minute her parents caught wind of her friendship with a potter they encouraged the closeness, another secret started to weight on clara heavily besides the bouts of uncontrollable magic which brought her shame. especially considering clara knew that if lily really knew her parents, she’d be furious, though the two did get over the revelation that eventually came -- if only they knew who killed harry potter. 

– – while she loves ghosts, ghouls and the great beyond she finds herself spending more and more time with spirits and her art supplies than people as the war grows more and more heavy on everyone. especially after mcgonagall’s murder, clara’s felt like she’s lost the only person she can imagine that can actually help her with magic because while it’s come a long way she still has an exceptionally long way to go. after a year of being at hogwarts, clara knows her neutrality really is morally wrong, she knows that she’s hurting people by doing nothing but she would hurt the people closest, who she loves, if she took action with either side. though clara could never have the gusto to join something like the death eaters, nor the ability, her parents definitely have encouraged her to marry into a family that has a son/child that supports it. [ ANXIETY TW ]  they want her to become the dutiful wife, the pureblood socialite of the year, but she realizes that is so far away from what she wants that she doesn’t know how to handle her future becoming her now. panic attacks and anxiety attacks, while something she’s dealt with for a very long time have become more and more frequent and the years he spent on practicing her magic seems futile when these emotions take over the way they do. [ END OF TWs ]

PLOTS: 

NEW TUTOR: maybe a student who helped mcgonagall with clara’s stuff could pick up the slack maybe a teacher could take interest? either way, clara needs someone to help her with this magic because while she’s thrown herself into dueling club, she needs a ton of help. maybe even an outside source! 

CLUB FRIENDS: art club, dueling club, frog choir, hogwarts orchestra ( piano ), clara needs friends or people she knows from those clubs!! 

PUREBLOOD SOCIETY: the society of purebloods! we have some and she’s close and related to odilia travers, so there’s a starting point. she

FIRST KISS: maybe it was at a school party that clara was dragged to? it could be cute and like whatever, honestly, clara would get a lil blushy around them and stuff. 

BETROTHED: LAMOJDJDOJDW sorry to bring this ARCHAIC UGLY PLOT but she would have one and i think it would be interesting to play out. 

THE SUSPICIOUS: maybe someone who’s just suspicious of clara and how she is? is she really that good when she has family and parents like the one she has? is she really playing a game? open to family members of lily as well tbh. maybe someone on the pureblood side who’s suspicious of clara being so close to lily and co.? 

ANNOYANCES: clara isn’t the type to be annoyed by people easily but if she is, while she’ll try to be nice, it’s very hard for her to hide it. who knows why! 

BAD INFLUENCE: clara can be quite innocent about shit, maybe this person is trying to be a bad influence on clara bc its sort of hilarious that she’s so innocent about a lot of pop culture and such??

TUTORS FOR SCHOOL: as mentioned, clara is like barely keeping up with her classes and though she’s not super behind like she was last year, she’s still struggling! someone tutor her!

OPEN TO OTHER PLOTS: i am open!!! even to amending any of these or anything!! 

[mvssmallow]

Memento Vivere

Part IX

Masterlist

Pizza and ramen when he’s on hiatus. His mum’s cooking for the holidays. Chicken salads and protein health shakes when he’s on tour or promoting. A warm coke when he’s working overtime.

All that seems light years from where he is right now; trying to peel potatoes as Hanbin buzzes around the kitchen in between watching both kids.

After June went home, he spent the afternoon doing laundry with Minji, working on holding Jae without dropping him and trying not to piss Hanbin off any more than he’s already done. He was mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted, which is surprising considering how good his stamina usually is. Maybe the Jiwon in this world doesn’t hit the gym.

“You still like mashed potatoes right?” Hanbin asks as he bends down to check on the chicken in the oven.

“Yeah.”

Mashed potatoes were definitely a banned food when he’s on tour. All those carbs and sugars apparently make him ‘sluggish’ and ‘lazy’. But he did always like it, especially the way he remembers Hanbin making it for him-salty, buttery, creamy and all the things that his manager tells him he shouldn’t eat.

“Me too daddy!” Minji yells out from the kitchen table, where she’s still going at it with paper and crayons.

“I thought you were only eating blue food this week, Min.” Hanbin points out.

“Potato too!”

“Oh, potato too. Okay.”

“Can Jae Jae have potato?”

“Jae has his own food.”

“And Rocket?”

“Rocket eats dog food.”

“Can I eat Rocket food?”

“NO.” 

He looks at Hanbin in horror as they both reply in unison. That split second of co-ordinated fear and worry over her wellbeing catches him by surprise and he feels the air changing around him somehow. Hanbin doesn’t seem to notice because he’s gotten himself tangled in an un-win-able argument about why people can’t eat dog food.

He starts cutting up the peeled potatoes just as Minji points out that dog biscuits were technically still biscuits, biscuit is a human food word, therefore all biscuits qualify as human food. It’s like the most illogical version of Six-Degrees-Of-Separation. 

Hanbin might be the most clever guy he’s met but he wonders if he’s ever won an argument against this kid.

“It’ll make you sick, Min. Don’t eat it okay? You have to save it for Rocket. You don’t want him to be sad that all his dog food is gone, right?”

She shakes her head aggressively. “I love Rocket.”

“Good. So don’t eat his food, okay?”

There’s a half-shrug-half-nod before Minji goes back to drawing some huge yellow blob in her colouring book but judging by Hanbin’s grin, it’s probably the closest anyone gets to a win.

Without even thinking, he blurts out the first thing that enters his mind. “She’s all you.”

“Meaning?” Hanbin asks, the challenge loud and clear in his voice.

“Too smart for her own good. Wins every argument.” He says, hoping it comes out as well-intentioned as it sounds in his head. “It’ll be fun when she’s a teenager.”

Hanbin lets out a quiet scoff but when he looks over, there’s definitely a small smile on that face.

Dinner is kind of chaos. Jae has to be fed first. Then Rocket has to be ushered outside for his meal (he swears he got actual daggers this time). Then Minji has to be convinced that eating is more important than finishing her drawings. Everything just takes twice as long here and he might’ve dreaded the pace this morning but as he cuts up Minji’s chicken and heaps mash potato on her plate, it feels kinda nice. Kinda right.

Afterwards, he does the dishes as Hanbin goes to give both of the kids a bath. He can hear the happy shrieking and splashing but he thanks the Universe that he wasn’t asked to do that tonight. The smallest thing he’s ever bathed was the family’s old maltese and that always resulted in a wet dog running around the house.

“You want to do the stories tonight? She’s asking for Winnie and Piglet and apparently I don’t do the voices right.”

He’s sitting in the bedroom, wondering what the hell he should be doing now, when Hanbin comes in with a half soaked t-shirt.

“Why are you so wet?”

Hanbin just rolls his eyes like the answer is obvious. “You think Minji is all me? Then Jae’s all you.”

Such a small comment that probably meant nothing but it hits him in the gut anyway. It really shouldn’t have but it does.

The wall clock tells him it’s 7:30pm. Both kids are already in bed, which means the day is winding down soon. Just another 5 hours and he’ll be waking up in his own life again. His real life.

It’s a relieving thought at first; he can sleep in his own bed, drive his own car, do his dream job and go back to being only responsible for himself.

But...

Hanbin. And Hanbin’s kids. The sleepy neighbourhood. The dumb fucking car and judgmental dog. The worn in life here. What if...

“So is that a yes? Because you know she’ll just be in here in 5 minutes with her books.” Hanbin asks, now pulling off the damp shirt and wondering into their own bathroom.

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” He replies.

As predicted, Minji is still awake and sitting up in bed clutching the ‘Winnie The Pooh’ book in her hands with an expectant face.

He remembers that book. Not just the title or the edition but the actual physical copy. He takes it to flip to the first page and yes, it’s still there-the uneven childish scrawl stating: jiwons book!

This is his. From when his parents used to read it to him as a baby.

Jesus Christ.

How did she get that?

How real is this?

His hands are sweaty and shaky as he starts to read.

“Once upon a time, a very long time ago now, about last Friday, Winnie-the-Pooh lived in a forest all by himself...”

He reads and reads, all the while letting something thaw and melt inside him. It feels like memory and regret and nostalgia and guilt for not calling his parents more often. What even happened to him? What happened to the guy who used to love being read to? Or who used to eat platefuls of Hanbin’s mashed potatoes without a single care in the world? Or wanted to give everything to the one person he loved? What happened to that guy? When, how, why did he change?

Minji is fast asleep by now, her tiny rocket ship pyjamas sticking out from baby yellow bedsheets. Hanbin made an amazing kid. Not that he expected anything less.

“Night Minnie Mouse.”

Checking in on the baby was a mistake. He can’t help it. Minji was right about Jae; he is magic. A magic sleeping thing in a cow print onesie with the tiniest fingers and softest hair.

“Night little man.”

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

Don’t get upset over something that isn’t even real.

He repeats it over and over in his head until that feeling of impending loss fades and he feels less pathetic for maybe wanting to stay a bit longer. Just out of curiosity or something.

When he gets back, Hanbin is already in bed, scribbling something in a notebook. It’s so early but maybe people with kids just go to bed earlier. It makes sense. He’s exhausted.

“The Park twins just cancelled all their piano lessons next week, guess we’ll be down $100 bucks.” Hanbin says with a slight frown. “No more unsolicited purchases of cherry ripe bars.”

He feels the warmth on his cheeks. Kim Jiwons never blush but apparently they do here.

“Sorry, thought you liked them...”

“No, I do. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He’s still thinking about cherry ripe bars and piano lessons as he stands underneath the shower. Well, that explains the shiny black Steinway piano in the living room. He knew Hanbin studied music and theory throughout Uni (he was there) but last thing he remembered was Hanbin going for some kind of job interview or internship at a big record company. They had crazy dreams of writing music together once. What the hell happened. What kind of choices did Hanbin make to end up giving kids piano lessons as his job? Such a small title. Hanbin deserves something bigger, always has, always will.

He dresses hurriedly in the bathroom because well, it’s kinda weird being naked here. It’s stupid really. Hanbin’s seen everything anyway.

“Hey, mum just messaged me. You still want to go out tonight? They can come over to keep an eye on the kids.”

Jesus.

Going out?

After the long-ass day he’s just had?

“Okay, I know that face. So that’s a No then?” Hanbin says with an amused smile.

“We can.” He says, trying not to let the hesitation and dread show. “We can if you want to.”

Hanbin shakes his head and types out a text reply on his phone. “No, it’s okay. I know you had a rough day. Maybe next week?”

The hopeful lilt at the end of the question makes his chest ache from the heaviness of guilt. Is there any version of Jiwon that’s good to any version of Hanbin?

“Yeah, definitely next week.” He nods as he climbs under the weird yellow sheets, avoiding eye contact because he knows that there will be no Next Week for him. Maybe the proper Jiwon will remember to go.

“Okay.”

Once the lights are flicked off, it’s even more tense and awkward in the dark silence. Neither of them are asleep.

9pm.

Nearly there.

“Was it just the headache?” Hanbin asks suddenly. “Or is there something I missed?”

He turns his head but it’s too dark to see much. “Just the headache and maybe the flu or something. It’s...it’s nothing you did. Just felt like shit when I woke up this morning.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Night, then.”

“Night.”

10pm.

11pm.

11:50pm.

He’s still awake.

Eyes well adjusted to the darkness by now and not once leaving the rise and fall of Hanbin’s sleeping body next to him.

I don’t want to miss you.

But I think I already do.

Midnight.

[connorpilmanwriting]

short horror: step

My father was an addict and an abuser. An unquenchable well of addiction and violence ran so deeply to the core of him that the foundation was cracked long before I came along. She’ll never admit it, but I know my mother hoped my birth would calm him down. Though, it didn’t. And she’ll never admit it, but I know she resents some part of me for that. But she loves me more than she resents me and would never put such an unreasonable weight on her own child. She wanted what was best for me, despite her shortcomings. My father, however, wasn’t as reasonable a person.

Around one-thirty in the morning on a weekend in early October I heard pounding on the front door of our new apartment. My mother was working the graveyard shift. They’d been separated for seven months. It couldn’t have been anyone else at this hour, rapping on the door with such force. He’d handled marriage and fatherhood poorly, and forced bachelorhood wasn’t treating him well either. Without my mother to reign him in during his sudden and random bouts of lucidity, my father had slipped off whatever edge he thought he was skirting and was now at the bottom of his own lonely well.

It was a prison of his own making. Drinking, drugs, abuse. Choices rippling into other choices. That’s what I was thinking when I opened the door, phone in hand. My father usually recoiled at the sight, since communication meant exposure; he was essentially black mold to my mother’s sunlight. But not today. Whatever coursed through his veins gave him more courage than he ever had sober. I barely opened the door when he charged with force, knocking me into the wall parallel to the entrance.

“Get up,” he said, waltzing past me and into the apartment. “We’re going on a trip.”

“Where?”

“Disneyland. Get packing.”

His words weren’t slurred. The syllables didn’t sound strung together with tar like they so frequently did. He was clearly on something, though I couldn’t tell what. I didn’t want to get close enough to look at his pupils. Whatever it was gave him an extra edge, instead of dulling his preexisting one. He was as cognitive as he could be while still under the influence. This was my father at his most dangerous.

In the brief moment I was given to pack, I grabbed the first clean items I could find. Extra underwear, a bra, a flannel and some jeans were all thrown into an empty garbage bag. He started yelling when I stopped in the bathroom for toothpaste and tampons. He even took my phone. With the clothes on my back and a garbage bag filled with the barest necessities in the bed of his old pickup, we sped off into the dark of night.

He blared music, old cassettes that were already outdated by the time he was my age. Bygone country and swing punctuated our drive into the black autumn wilderness that started just south of town. I knew about these woods. If I went missing here, I wouldn’t be the first. Maybe that’s how they’ll get him after I’m gone. That was the closest thing to hope I felt as the dark of rural night pulled us into its gaping maw.

Once civilization was well out of our rearview, my father pulled onto a path so decrepit and hidden I jumped thinking he was veering us into the tree line. A near unrecognizable dirt road lead us deeper into the forest for far too long. “I used to bring girls out here. Back before you. Before your mom. I’d sneak off on school nights to see girls with nothing more than a six-pack, this class ring, and my baby blues. They did the work for me.”

Whatever boyish charm he supposedly had was long gone, pillaged by years of self abuse. Now he looked 15 years older than he was and smelled like a broken air conditioner that ran on cigarettes and cheap booze.

“But now,” he started. “Now, I just…I don’t know. She wasn’t supposed to get pregnant so young. I thought I had a few more years left of something more alive.”

It stung to hear, but only for a moment, like the half second before you react to your hand getting too close to an open flame. If I truly cared what he had to say, it might’ve actually stayed with me. But the words were already fading when we pulled up to a secluded patch of empty grass nestled deep in the woods.

“Set up the tents,” he barked as he poked at the fire pit with matches and sticks.

I did as he said. I worked quickly and quietly to assemble two single-person tents. I was surprised he even brought tents. Some part of me just assumed he was going to kill me here and now. The night’s still young, I thought to myself.

Once I was finished, my father had gotten a fire going and was slumped in a folding chair in front of it. His feet were propped up on an old stereo playing his outdated cassettes. Whatever uppers he was on must’ve run out since he was nursing a bottle of brown liquor, his trademark. I sat on the cool ground, opposite side of the fire, glaring at him through the flames.

“Why are we out here?” I eventually asked, fed up with silence.

He stared into the fire for a long time. Seemed like minutes.

“Your mom got a restraining order on me. I just wanted to spend time with you…”

“You’ve never wanted to spend time with me,” I muttered.

He heard this and leapt over the flame, towering over me. He kicked up his foot, hitting my shoulder with the flat heel of his boot. I was on my back when he stepped closer, further towering over me.

“You don’t know,” he said with a long paused before spitting, “Get more wood.”

I struggled to my feet and stumbled off, tears welling in my eyes. A numbness had kept me composed up to this point. It was wearing off and the panic of logical fear was seeping in. I was stumbling through black brush, uncaring of my direction or destination. I just needed to get away, I thought to myself. I’d never felt so doomed.

Two big red eyes in the brush, glinting in nothing more than moonlight, seemed to glow brighter than everything else. Normally, I would’ve been afraid. I would’ve ran or tried to make myself bigger or something, anything. But now I just stood there, pondering what would be quicker: death at the hands of my father or at the hands of a wild animal? Fear was back in the city. Despair was the only thing out here in the woods.

“Just do it,” I said to the eyes as if they understood, “Just get it over it over with.”

I took a step closer and it remained unflinching. I could hear something akin to whimpering as I approached. When the gap between us became less than ten feet, it huffed slightly and retreated with impossible speed. I sighed, disappointed.

The ground was wet from a cool rain earlier in the day but I nonetheless filled my arms with as much tinder and firewood as I could find. I should’ve known better.

“What the fuck is any of this?” he spat, every syllable soaked in booze.

“It rained, this is the best I could find.”

Wrong words. Wrong wood. Wrong everything. I barely evaded the bottle he threw at my head. It shattered against a nearby tree. In an effort to dodge the incoming projectile, I inadvertently dropped my collected firewood into the still-burning hearth, smothering most of the flame in damp logs and twigs. I don’t know if he was still mad at my words or if ruining his fire had refreshed his rage, either way he charged at me like he did at the apartment. This time there was no door between us to dampen the force.

This is how it ends, I thought.

I rushed to his truck, hoping for the measly snub nose he often kept in his glove compartment. And there it was. In my hand. Despite its paltry size, the dense metal it was built  from made it heavy in my palm. The grip was faded. The whole thing was coated in a sooty grime. It simultaneously seemed overused and untouched. I pulled the hammer back with my thumb and swung around to aim at my father.

Logic, for the first time all night, made an appearance in the form of a flashing realization in my father’s eyes. He was standing at the rear of his truck, watching me. I hated him. I hated every inch of his being. Everyone I knew hated him. Who cared if I did him in? Would the police even notice? He had a rap sheet so long and slimy his death would be a relief to the justice system.

“Stay away from me.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” he laughed, spit dribbling from the corner of his crooked mouth.

“Yeah.” I could feel the tears in my eyes. “I will.”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” He smiled. “And if you don’t, you’re gonna wish you did.”

It was a single step he took towards me. That was all it took. I couldn’t see clearly through the tears but I pulled the trigger nonetheless. He didn’t deserve precision. He deserved as blunt and as slow a death as this snub nose could give him. I closed my eyes when I pulled the trigger. The sound startled me. I kept them shut, expecting to shortly be floored by my father. But he never reached me.

I opened my eyes and he was laying on the ground. His eyes were wet now, tears shared between father and daughter. He was still there, still alive. The bullet laid him out. A red patch was forming on his abdomen. He tried speaking but only wheezed and coughed. Good. You don’t deserve any finals words, you piece of fucking shit. Then I became angry.  Angry he wasn’t suffering more and angry he wasn’t already dead.

A few steps and I was towering over him. I pointed the barrel at his head. I was so angry. The things he’d done and said, my whole life. The amount of blood, sweat, and tears spilled because of this leech. My mother and I will be physically and mentally scarred for the rest of our lives because this… filth. What did he think all this abuse would amount to? My father must’ve thought he was luckier than I was fed up. His mistake. I pulled the trigger.

I stood there for… a while. Only the rustling of a nearby large animal was able to pull me back to reality. Something big lurked nearby, drawn by the blood, no doubt. So I fired another shot, startling whatever was in the shadows. And then I started thinking.

I had till morning to sort this out. If the cops ask why I didn’t come sooner, I was in shock. And I was, after all. Shocked that I was finally free of this wretched fucking man. But after more thought, I realized I didn’t want to deal with the cops. I wanted him to stay in these woods, baggage and all. He didn’t get the right to haunt me further. It ended here and today.

So I took a shovel from his truck bed and started digging. The dirt was cold and hard but I didn’t stop digging, not for hours. Once it was wide enough and deep enough, I kicked him into the small pit. Then I filled the hole, not just with dirt but everything he had with him. Everything I didn’t need to get back into town. His hands were the last thing I saw, the fading moon catching one last glint before being hidden way under the topsoil.

When I was done, I was too tired to move or do much of anything. I found half a bottle of whiskey under the passenger seat and sipped it until my cheeks became flushed and I found myself comfortably disoriented enough to sleep.

As I wrapped myself in blankets inside my tent, another approaching animal crept into campsite. I was too drunk and too emotionally drained to care. It was probably more interested in the freshly-spilt blood. I stayed still so I could listen to this bear or big cat dig at the ground. Eventually the sound of cold dirt was replaced by strange cloth shifting. Not moving, not digging. Like it was taking off a particularly difficult jacket or something.

Eventually that particular noise ceased, replaced by the sound of animalistic devouring that echoed off the trees. The last thing I remember before slipping off into drunken sleep was sinew wetly crunching just feet away from me. Good riddance, I thought as I drifted off for the night.

∆∆∆

I woke with the most intense fight-or-flight response I’d ever experienced in my life. Somebody was here, and they were making breakfast. I gripped the snub nose that had foolishly rested under my pillow throughout the night. Slowly, as slowly as I’d done anything in my life, I unzipped the tent.

Startled, I fell back into my tent. For a second I didn’t recognize him but he was sitting there, in front of the fire, making breakfast. Clean shaven and freshly dressed, my father poked at sizzling bacon in a pan over the fire pit. He noticed my pratfall, and when he looked up at me I pointed the gun at him.

He set the fork back in the pan and raised his hands slowly.

“Can we talk?”

I panted, anxious this was some nightmare.

“I know last night was bad. It was the worst. I realize that. I’ve realized a lot of things. And I want to make them better. I want to make them right.”

“I killed you. Shot you. In the stomach.”

He slowly lifted his clean shirt, revealing a bandage wrapped around his abdomen.

“Fished it out with a screwdriver and a butter knife. Stings like a son of a bitch, but I deserved it.”

“I shot you in the head. I buried you.”

“You had a lot to drink last night, huh?” he asked, gesturing to the empty bottle in my tent. “I don’t blame you. I really put you through the wringer.”

“I killed you.”

“Almost. And you had every right. And that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

I said nothing so he continued.

“Last night was awful. And when you shot at me, something changed in me. I’m your dad but I treated you so terribly you literally wanted me dead. No daughter should feel that kind of anger or fear because of her parents. There is no forgiving or forgetting what I did. And if you finished me off, here and now, I wouldn’t blame you. I really wouldn’t. But I want things to change, for the better. You and your mom deserve better than me. I can’t promise much, but I can at least be there as your dad.”

I reacted at the mention of my mother.

“I called her this morning. She was really upset, obviously. But we talked, for a while. And she’s still really upset, but she’s giving me the benefit of the doubt this one time to get you home safe. Just this once, can I ask you the same?”

Gun still pointed at him, I let my father squirm for minutes as I contemplated my answer. I could still taste the whiskey in my mouth. It left a cotton feeling in my mouth.

“Thirsty?” he asked, pointing at a case of plastic water bottles at his feet.

As he knelt down, I straightened my arm aiming at him. “No.”

“Okay… So what do you say?”

“To what?”

“A second chance.”

I looked at his hand. I’d spent a long time staring at his ring as I buried him. Now it was gone.

“Where’s your class ring?”

“That old thing? I ditched it. Some things are better left in the past.”

I looked at the patch where I buried him. It had been dug up again and replanted, flatter and cleaner than I ever would’ve.

“Let’s try again. It’ll be different this time, I promise. Okay?”

The sun had just began to peek over the horizon, streaking low hanging light across the woods. Beams of early morning light broke through the trees, fragments of the incoming day illuminating our campsite. One beam in particular hit my father’s face, catching the slightest, most familiar red glint in his eye.

I set the gun down.

“Okay.”

For the first time in my memory of linear time, I trusted what my father had to say. Even if he wasn’t really my father.