#I might give Moth the ability to speak one day

[snazzyladreal]

Quick compilation of my Kirby OCs so far so I can find them easier

Lemon Dee - a more yellow toned waddle dee that was possessed by the ‘Pink Spector’(another oc I’m working on). This physically mutated them and gives them some magic abilities. Halo is optional lol

artfight link lol

Statute Knight - a creation from a long dead artist, made out of crystal and based on the legends of heroes and warriors from across the universe. They work to keep order in the universe, keeping threats to the galaxy and universe at large at bay. Until one day, they entered a deep sleep, disguising themselves as a star to recover and lie dormant. It wasn’t until another creation of its creator started down a corruptive path, the knight’s eyes opened again to protect the innocent creatures caught in its path.

tldr; Crystal action figure bootleg dude that I made protect Ripple Star and give them their crystal, and they’re not violent towards Kirby at all. Colorful fren :)

It on artfight too

Bale - a little fluffy guy with paws and moth wings! They got one eye and no mouth, leaving them to talk through body language and some squeaky toy like noises. They might have some claws, but they’re not visible often. A little guy who just likes to explore meadows and colorful places with friends, and preventing conflicts when they can. They also love physical affection :)

guess who also on artfight

Daisy Dee - a type of dee that has claws and can bury underground! She’s a sweet thing that likes gardening and helping others. But her claws are rather sharp, so better be careful. They live on the edge of a forest and a meadow, tending her garden and watching the stars. And she loves to tell stories and legends about anything and everything to anyone who asks, even if she can only speak waddle.

(Last two made on this picrew, the picrew wasn’t made by me)

[mediaevalmusereads]

The Witches of New York. By Ami McKay. Harper, 2016.

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Genre: supernatural, paranormal, historical fiction

Part of a Series? No

Summary: The year is 1880. Two hundred years after the trials in Salem, Adelaide Thom ('Moth' from The Virgin Cure) has left her life in the sideshow to open a tea shop with another young woman who feels it's finally safe enough to describe herself as a witch: a former medical student and "gardien de sorts" (keeper of spells), Eleanor St. Clair. Together they cater to Manhattan's high society ladies, specializing in cures, palmistry and potions--and in guarding the secrets of their clients.

All is well until one bright September afternoon, when an enchanting young woman named Beatrice Dunn arrives at their door seeking employment. Beatrice soon becomes indispensable as Eleanor's apprentice, but her new life with the witches is marred by strange occurrences. She sees things no one else can see. She hears voices no one else can hear. Objects appear out of thin air, as if gifts from the dead. Has she been touched by magic or is she simply losing her mind?

Eleanor wants to tread lightly and respect the magic manifest in the girl, but Adelaide sees a business opportunity. Working with Dr. Quinn Brody, a talented alienist, she submits Beatrice to a series of tests to see if she truly can talk to spirits. Amidst the witches' tug-of-war over what's best for her, Beatrice disappears, leaving them to wonder whether it was by choice or by force.

As Adelaide and Eleanor begin the desperate search for Beatrice, they're confronted by accusations and spectres from their own pasts. In a time when women were corseted, confined and committed for merely speaking their minds, were any of them safe?

***Full review below***

Content Warnings: torture, suicide, Orientalism, g-slur, blood

Overview: I came across this book while looking for another, and since everything is suggested to us by algorithm these days, I decided to give it a go. Overall, I was very impressed by this book, and there are many things I enjoyed; however, the things I didn't like were significant enough to prevent me from rating this book higher. The characters, lore, and prose were all delightful, and McKay definitely has a talent for these. But the brief Orientalism, use of the g-slur, and the various plot threads that seemed to build up to something yet only end without much satisfaction... these things held the novel back for me.

Writing: McKay's prose is very whimsical in that it is full of fairy tale-like descriptions, flows at a dreamlike pace, and juxtaposes narrative with things like newspaper clippings/grimmoire quotes/sermons. It made for a fun reading experience that showed off McKay's creativity while also creating atmosphere, and I think the author has a talent for writing whimsy.

There were some things, however, that made me uncomfortable. For one, McKay refers to a character over and over again using the g-slur, and while I didn't get the sense that she was trying to generalize or degrade Roma people, I didn't appreciate its appearance. I also felt like the book was a little bit Orientalist (if that's even the correct term in this situation) in the way it mystified Ancient Egypt, and while I can understand there is an argument to be made about portraying the Egyptomania of the time period, I personally wish it weren't there.

Plot: The main plot of this book follows witches Adelaide and Eleanor as they try to help Beatrice come into her power. Eleanor and Adelaide own a tea shop together and hire Beatrice as extra help. When they learn about her emerging abilities, however, they take it upon themselves to nurture her and protect her from beings who would harm her.

The main action of the plot didn't seem to get going in earnest until maybe 200 pages in, but that might not upset everyone. The first part is more about establishing character and setting, so if you like the characters, you probably won't be bothered by the pace. I personally didn't mind, but I was also enchanted by the prose.

This plot also weaves together a number of side plots, some of which are lovely and some of which are disturbing. I particularly disliked the threads that followed the sadistic, murderous preacher and his self-righteous fangirl; it's not that I can't stand violence, but I am just personally fed up with scenes where women are brutally tortured and killed by religious figures. Your tolerance may vary; I just thought the religious stuff was too sidelined to be much more than shock value.

That being said, I really enjoyed the scenes where Beatrice was interacting with spirits, and I liked the science plot. Maybe I just enjoy the support and enthusiasm that came with these scenes, but I thought they were the strongest parts of the book. I also loved the scenes with the Dearlies (little fairies that create dreams) and the descriptions of how spirits move through and occupy space. The juxtaposition of science and spiritualism made the book feel even more atmospheric, and I loved how it showed the way various belief systems existed alongside one another.

Characters: There are a lot of characters in this book, and I really liked that McKay took the time to make them all feel complex and fully realized. To avoid making this review too long, I'll focus on our three main protagonists and then generalize about a few side characters.

Eleanor, the eldest witch with a family legacy of witchcraft, was pleasant enough, but wasn't ultimately very interesting to me. She serves as a kind of motherly mentor to Beatrice and has a wealth of knowledge and wisdom that always seems sensible. McKay does try to make her more complicated by giving her feelings for a married woman, but I didn't feel like there was any hope for that relationship or that it made Eleanor evolve, so I found Eleanor's arc to be the least interesting.

Adelaide, the next oldest witch, was a bit more fun to follow. Not only was she somewhat impulsive and restless, but watching her try to figure out what she wanted was compelling. I really liked that she wasn't overcome with angst because of her past, and I enjoyed her cavalier attitude towards love. I also adored her genuine warmth for people in her life, and I found myself rooting for her multiple times throughout the book.

Beatrice, a 17 year old witch from the country, is fairly interesting in that we see her struggle to accept her power. Her desire to go to the big city and work for independent women was admirable, and I loved that she always seemed to be motivated by the desire to help people.

There were, however, characters I think were underutilized. The woman in the madhouse, for example, seemed to be inserted for flavor rather than function; I thought she was going to get out and be a threat to Adelaide and the other witches, but her arc never actually goes anywhere. The demon disguised as a human, too, doesn't really have any function in the book other than to by mysterious, and I didn't think he was truly needed. Perdue the raven could have also been used better, given his backstory, and the villains of the book could have been less sadistic (though I admit this last one is based in my personal taste). Still, given all that, I enjoyed following the characters, and their actions interested me enough where I felt like I could generally overlook the things I disliked.

TL;DR: The Witches of New York is a whimsical, character-driven story that is sure to delight lovers of witchcraft and female-ceteted magic. Though there are some characters and plot threads that seem to go nowhere and a couple aspects of the prose that I disliked, McKay clearly works hard to evoke amparticular atmosphere, and for the most part, she succeeds in drawing the reader in.

[nx-communicato]

How many times have I asked for you to come to me with questions instead of assuming you know what I’m thinking. Yet still all I see are judgements unfairly cast against my intent, against my honor and my character, and opposite to that which I was actually thinking or trying to accomplish. I love you 424574514 (or 179449, or 24183, or 935516, or whatever). But this is straight insanity. How can you say

“I’m going to text the lawyer baby.. so I can know what details you’re sending to me “

That now they’ve seen, what a wanker I am and for you to accuse me of infidelity while you are lying to me the whole time. Have you ever loved me? I am starting to question it. You thought (apparently) that you had caught me trying to pick up on a random woman, I am guessing? If I am wrong please let me know. I knew it was you the whole time, I even said so under my breathe at the beginning, “ok, baby. I’ll play along.” If you don’t believe me reread the conversation. I put in plugs that ONLY you and no one else would get! Also, I mentioned this the other day, flashing tits on my screen does not “lure” me in (although I will say good job on keeping the face behind the window on my screen so I couldn’t see it). It really and truly is crushing to my soul when I realize how low of an opinion you all have for me. To think that I forgot that I have kids to pay for, when repeatedly over the last couple years I was given an option to have the amount readjusted because of the loss of income and each and every time I refused the offer fully aware that the total debt would skyrocket, and despite the fact that the original monthly amount was based on 82843’s falsified records, and irregardless of the fact that is was 82843’s fault that I became unable to work by having her children unknowingly deliver a tin full of asceriae sarcoptes mites into my household (and she thought she got away with it) as well as utilizing the lit of you to harry my ability to get better in so doing allowing me no option but to accrue debt. Which, I reiterate I could have chosen to have reduced repeatedly, but I wanted to “do the right thing” thinking that when cured I would work doubles until it was paid off. But in this way, I would not feel like I had paid less than my share despite her lies and manipulations which nobody even questioned. Strangely, whenever I speak I am told I am crazy, I am wrong, or I am speaking out of turn it’s getting too repetitive! Why is it so difficult to allow a chance that I might be right? I am not saying I always am,but why are you saying I never am?

I have been enduring this in solitary for almost four months now and been nothing but 100% faithful despite being under a constant barrage of attempts by you and your sisters/mother/friends/etc. inspite of the non-stop back and forth “is she married, is she not?” “Is she seeing someone, is she not?” Where I ask you to find one other man on the face of this earth that would have borne that heartache while smiling back and promising to be your friend anyways. So you caught me masterbating, big deal give a guy a little privacy! Besides that I was jerking off to old pictures of you (tastefully, they weren’t even nudes) so you can say that is creepy, or call it lewd, but don’t you dare accuse me of being unfaithful. I have been mothing except a shining example to you of unconditional love, and what have I received in return?: lies, deceit, and attempted mind-control. If your goal is to continue this treatment forever until I slip up and you finally catch me “cheating”, then you may as well quit. If you and your family decide I am not worthy of joining you it is your choice to make, but I am through being slandered and not defending myself!! That is what has caused all of the problems in the first place. And now that this smear campaign has been running for so long now for you Paige, people believe it without giving me a fair trial. Devastated by your life hackers, deceived and betrayed by all whom I care for, tormented by demons from below and admonished by the angels above, I say, “ ENOUGH!” I love you all but this is enough. With no defense or explanation given I have been condemned to hell and I have still, throughout it all, been the most loving, caring, faithful, trustworthy and honest one out of all. So judge me on that!

[ghostbustermelanieking]

i'd like to hear some headcanons for your "georgie can see dead people" au! :0

oh thank you so much!! this is probably going to be a little messy, since i haven't actually started the fic, but!! here is something!! :) (also i am so sorry for all the sixth sense references. the actual fic will undoubtedly be worse.)

1. So the basic premise of this AU is that the end result of Georgie's encounter with the End is that, instead of losing her ability to feel fear, she gains the ability to see the dead. Everything goes the same otherwise: the protest, Alex, the dead woman, Georgie waking up days later at home, the months of strangeness and unfeeling. The difference is that when Georgie wakes up, she can see the dead woman, too. Never too close—only in corners, behind doors, in the window. And never always, but only in the moments that feel crucial. The moments where she's searching for something of herself. Her mother hugs her and she sees the dead woman over her mother's shoulder. 

Georgie sees Alex, too, sometimes. Closer and more head on; she is always looking back. But she never speaks, and neither does the dead woman from the room. It isn't until she begins to see other ghosts that she realizes they can talk, if they want to. If they choose. 

(Six months later is when Georgie figures out how to lock the dead woman out. She stops seeing Alex shortly after, except on occasion. Sometimes she'll see a flash of those familiar eyes in the mirror, over her shoulder, and they always seem to be apologetic. But Alex still never says anything. Georgie gets good at pretending that this doesn't hurt nearly as much as losing her.)

2. Jon is the first one that Georgie almost tells. Almost. They're honest with each other in a way that Georgie usually isn't, when they first meet, and she almost thinks he'd believe her. They talk about ghost stories all the time. 

She mostly thinks about it when she sees Jon's ghosts. It isn't often but she sees them. He'll talk about what little he remembers of his parents, or pull out some old, faded pictures, and she'll see the faces reflected in the kitchen, the bathroom mirror, Jon's bedroom. He never talks about the apparition of a strange teenager that appears, once, when they both wake up sweaty from frantic nightmares and he refuses to explain, and Georgie doesn't press. He doesn't tell her about Mr. Spider and she doesn't tell him about the ghosts. Much as they love each other, they do still have secrets. 

Georgie goes to his grandmother's funeral years later, even though they're barely talking at this point, and almost tells him then. Seeing him stand mostly alone at the grave, looking monumentally alone, and then a flicker of his grandmother behind him—she almost does. But still she doesn't. She's never told anyone before, and she and Jon aren't really in touch, so she just hugs him and tells him she's so sorry, and doesn't meet the eyes of the woman watching behind the fresh grave. 

3. Melanie is another person Georgie almost tells. They still meet through their connections—Ghost Hunt UK, What the Ghost, and Georgie's power is (probably unsurprisingly) very useful for the paranormal podcast business. (All her episodes aren't pulled from real life, from her own experiences—that would be irresponsible, and there's more clout in retelling familiar stories. But sometimes when Georgie runs out of episode ideas, she'll visit a spooky place, write down what she sees, do a deep dive on the history, and fill in the gaps by attributing her sightings to "unnamed" witnesses.) She's met a lot of people in the ghost hunting business, but Melanie stands out, because they hit it off so immediately. Start hanging out outside of work drinks, at parties or pubs or research stints. Melanie starts inviting Georgie to consult on the show, or to collaborate, and Georgie uses what she sees to point Melanie and her team towards real sightings. Why not? Might as well have the horrible power be useful for something. Haley Joel Osment solved his problem by helping people, and this isn't the same at all (and that's a movie, anyways), but it is something. 

So she and Melanie become fast friends, faster than Georgie is used to, and Georgie genuinely thinks about telling her. She trusts her, and she doesn't think Melanie would laugh, or call her a liar. (Melanie's got stories about not being believed, too; it's common in the paranormal business.) She thinks Melanie might be the right person, maybe. Just maybe. 

(She doesn't end up doing it. She's still a coward when it comes to that. But it isn't because she isn't tempted.)

(The idea to tell Melanie comes before she starts seeing Melanie's father. But that fact doesn't help her decision, either. In quiet moments with Melanie, Georgie starts seeing the man in Melanie's framed photos in the shadows, looking at Melanie with sad eyes, calling her little moth. But Melanie can still barely talk about her dad, and the accident, and it feels even more wrong after he starts showing up, to tell her. Georgie worries Melanie might think she's making fun, or making something up to make her feel better, and she doesn't see this going well.

Instead she says, sometimes, I know your dad loved you a lot. Melanie says, Yeah, I know, too. Georgie says, And I bet he misses you, even though it isn't a bet; she knows. But she can't tell Melanie, and that's as far as it can go.) 

4. The most significant time Georgie wants to tell Melanie, but doesn't, is the one she'll end up regretting the most in the end. When Melanie gets out of the hospital, first, and then when she comes back from India; when Georgie is basically the only friend Melanie has left from her old life, and therefore is probably the person Melanie goes to the most. The person Melanie confides in. 

So Georgie is there to see it all. She'll be sitting across from Melanie in a pub, or beside her on the couch; she'll brush Melanie's hand with hers, or their knees will knock together, and Georgie will see flashes of blood, violence. Hear screaming. She'll see haunted faces out of the corner of her eyes: soldiers, doctors. Muzzles of guns. Once, a stained hand gripping Melanie around the leg. 

She'll regret it, later, but Georgie doesn't say anything; she doesn't know what to say. She's never seen anything like this, even with over a decade of seeing ghosts. How is she supposed to explain it? She doesn't really know what it means. Melanie talks about war ghosts, and Georgie listens, and she rationalizes that Melanie will have to be okay. (She was okay, when it was her, and if—if this is something serious, something worse, than… then Georgie will be there. Melanie will have someone who understands.) 

5. One night in February of 2018, Jon shows up back in Georgie's life, looking shell-shocked on her doorstep. He stands in the hall looking mildly terrified, when Georgie opens the door, and behind him stands a dead woman, looking desperate and furious all at once. 

"Georgie," Jon says weakly. "I-I know it's been a while, but…" 

"Jon! Christ, what happened to you? Are you all right?" Georgie says, trying to take in Jon and the dead woman all at once. (She is new—Jon must have had someone else close to him die.) She focuses on Jon, puts a hand on his shoulder. "Are you hurt?"

"I… I'm fine." Jon's hands twist in front of him. "I… didn't know where else to go."

Georgie swallows hard and says, "Are you in trouble?" The dead woman is looking right at her. Georgie keeps looking at Jon. 

"I… yes." Jon chews on his lower lip. "If… I know it's a lot to ask, b-but I… could I… possibly stay here for a little while?"

Georgie swallows hard. She has a dozen questions—what's happened, why he needs somewhere to stay, why he looks like this—he looks like he's been through emotional turmoil, through hell—and worse, why a dead woman has followed him here. But she doesn't know how to ask these questions. And she can't just turn him away. Jon helped her heal during one of the worst periods of her life, even if he doesn't know it. And she can do the same. 

"Yeah," Georgie says, and leans forward to pull Jon into a hug—tentative at first, and then stronger, when Jon latches on like he needs it. "Y-yeah, Jon, of course."

Jon rambles out a frantic thank you, layered in with apologies and copious promises to pay rent, but it becomes harder to listen. Right over Jon's shoulder, the dead woman is staring right at her, her mouth hanging open. She's got long hair and glasses, and she looks exhausted, and it isn't immediately obvious how she has died, which is unusual. And she's looking right at Georgie. She says, suddenly, "Can you—can you see me?"

It isn't the first time a ghost has spoken to her, but it's a rare enough occasion to be shocking. Her throat is thick with surprise, and she can't say anything in front of Jon, so she just sort of imperceptibly nods. Holds the dead woman's gaze for a moment. 

"Fuck," says the dead woman. "Thank—thank god, thank Christ, I…" She pauses and looks at Jon, then back at Georgie, still numbly hugging Jon there in the hall. "My name is Sasha," she says, and Georgie thinks of the scene in The Sixth Sense where the sick little girl under the blanket asks for help. "Can you… can you help me?"

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)

[ask-fantasy-sanders-sides]

What did Virgil do after we left to check on Logan and Patton? can we see, or can Janus not show us visions where he wasn't present?

Virgil climbs his way up the gargantuan tree as gingerly as he can without damaging it, leaping from shelf-fungus to shelf-fungus. His ability to spider-climb hasn’t been reliable for years now, but that hasn’t left him completely immobile. He enjoys the burn of the extra exercise, even if the precarious height is a little terrifying.

Exhausted from what he would have sworn was a short climb in younger days, Virgil sits on a giant branch far above the manor. The night air is filled with the rustle of leaves and chatter of nocturnal animals and bugs, the breeze cool and heavy with the smells of a fungal forest. Virgil doesn't have the energy to put up his hammock, but he's never minded dozing off in the cradle of a tree.

Virgil shrugs off his pack and rustles through it for the berries he brought with him. His eyes land on one of the minutely-glowing feather-arrows he harvested from Roman, and he frowns to himself.

"Good evening, Grand Commander."

"Empress!” Virgil startles, turning around to see her levitating towards the branch he’s resting on. Virgil silently curses the Hometree for telling on him.

Virgil hops back onto his feet, then bows from the waist and shifts down into a kneel without meeting her eyes, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of the dagger on his leg. A greeting fit for a knight and a Queen.

She tuts, laying a hand on his jaw to pull him back upright, then bowing her head to touch her forehead to his. Familial.

"You insult yourself." She hums in their home language, sounding more disappointed than piteous.

"I'm afraid not," Virgil sighs, still sounding a bit grumpy. "I'm losing my edge. I couldn't even kill a harpy on my own a few firelights ago."

She stifles a laugh, having absolutely no pity for the ex-warrior's pride. Rude.

"You are afflicted, little moth. You will heal." She smiles softly, sitting down next to him.

She turns her face to the moon, baking in it's light for a few indulgent moments. Virgil sits with her in silence, letting the serenity of it wash over him but refusing to relax. When she turns back to Virgil, her expression is more stern.

"To speak of things that do not," she sighs, eyes boring into his own, "These are not your usual companions, sweet shadow."

Virgil nods. He lets the nickname slide in favor of giving her a curious look, wondering what she's trying to get at.

"Mortal years escape me," She elaborates, voice tense with concern, "Have your old companions already met their dusk?"

"No!” Virgil squeaks, his stomach churning with an uncomfortable swill of guilt and embarrassment, “No, they're still alive. We're just separated, for the moment."

She doesn’t immediately answer, and Virgil hopes she isn’t prying into his mind at the moment. He’s out of practice with that sort of conversation, and he's worried his mental strength has been draining with the rest of it. He has no energy to put up a front, and honestly, Virgil doesn't even know how he feels about Remus and Dee right now.

“I think I’ll return to them soon.” Virgil adds just to break the silence. Despite Virgil’s inner uncertainty, it doesn’t taste like a lie.

"Three new companions," Empress Shri'Neerune continues, and Virgil winces preemptively; He should have assumed that was what this conversation was about. He's not exactly excited to have this lecture again.

"...Three new splinters." She frowns at Virgil. Concerned.

"I know." Virgil sighs, running a hand through his hair. He tries to dismiss the thought with a joke, smirking,

"I mean, once it's already split twice, why stop there? Right? It can't really get worse."

"It can." The Empress scolds, "A fractured soul is not something to take so lightly, Commander. Your Mother worries for you."

Virgil closes his eyes lightly, trying not to show his irritation and look too insubordinate. He knows she's only trying to help him, in her own weird way, but he can't help but take it all with a grain of salt.

He'd never been particularly religious, even when pretending to be a zealot was required by law. There are still some customs and rituals that he can't shake, sure, but he doesn't know why everyone worries so much about his "soul." Who cares about his wellbeing in the afterlife if he's already headed to the Demon-Webs? Honestly, the less of him that makes it there, the better.

(I mean, after all he's done, he's just surprised that she thinks he has a soul left to splinter.)

"It is an indescribable loss, feeling a piece of your soul tear away." Shri'Neerune frowns, laying a hand over her heart.

"And they are not easily regrown, if at all."

Virgil looks into her eyes, catching a glimpse of earnest, profound grief hiding behind her graceful porcelain mask. She's told him her story before, but that doesn't make his heart ache any less when he sees his older friend like this.

"I don't intend to tell you who you can and can't bond with; I do want you to be happy," she speaks softly, reaching out to lay that hand over his chest, "But the more you give away, the longer it will take you to heal. The harder it will be to heal at all."

"I don't know if I can." Virgil frowns, laying his hand over hers for a moment. Damn the Faewild and it's honest air.

"Anyone can find peace, Virgil." She smiles, moving her hand to his face. She brushes the backs of her fingers against his cheek,

"With time and with help, anyone can. You are just too hard on yourself."

Virgil snorts, disbelieving. The Empress chuckles at him and stands, lightly brushing off her dress.

"Setting that aside," She sighs, "There is your recent resurrection. For one so careful on the battlefield, you throw yourself into a lot of lethal situations."

"They wouldn't be lethal if I didn't have a bunch of idiots to keep safe," Virgil wants to bite back, but he keeps that remark to himself.

"Your mother is tired of you coming home to her without breath in your chest." The Empress sasses back, because of course she heard him. "She doesn't want to watch you return shattered, either, but she would prefer it to seeing you fully dead."

Virgil nods. He still feels guilty about the way that whole situation went down, especially considering how much time he's been spending with Roman instead of comforting her... Now that he's thoroughly terrified himself away from the Paladin, he might as well spend the next few days with his adopted Mother.

Empress Shri'Neerune send to catch the guilty expression on his face, and gives him a tiny smile.

"At least pretend to promise me you will return some day and let us help you?"

Virgil smiles sheepishly, curling up on himself a little bit.

"Even if I do end up 'rupturing my soul' or whatever?" He asked with feigned sarcasm. She nods, very seriously,

"We will always be here to help you back together, Commander. You are one of us."

She turns her back to him, and after a flash of silver light, she starts to levitate back towards the ground. She calls out behind her, sounding some mix of exasperated and fond,

"And so are all of your mortal bondmates, I suppose, if you intend to keep collecting them."

Virgil blushes, turning his face away from her and ignoring her soft laughter.

"It's not like that!" Virgil grumbles to himself, hopefully out of earshot of the Lady. It tastes like a lie.

[marjansmarwani]

maybe, I’m afraid 

3.8k || ao3

Episode 2x06, but with Carlos (as it should have been)

Just me here again to give Carlos the screen time he should have had. 

A little late to the party maybe (I have no idea how you all manage to get fics up within 24 hours of the episode, I am in awe of that ability) but I still felt the need to make my contribution.

--------

Most days Carlos was pretty sure that after 7 years on the force he had seen everything there was to see. 

Other days he got a call to respond to two teenagers trapped in a homemade minefield and he was forced to reevaluate that sentiment. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out all there is to know, including just how bad it really is, and by the time the familiar ladder truck pulled up (because of course it was the 126) he was waiting outside the passenger door to give Owen the rundown. 

“Officer Reyes,” he greeted when he saw him, “I’m surprised to see you. I thought this would be a little out of your jurisdiction.” 

Carlos shook his head, “Just barely within it, another half-mile and the sheriffs would be handling the call.”

“But you managed to snag it, lucky you.”

“Can’t say I would have been too upset if I had missed out on this one,” Carlos agreed drily. 

Owen hummed in agreement as he surveyed the scene, “What are we looking at, exactly?”  

It was a bleak picture: two brothers, trapped. One injured, both scared and stuck in an active minefield without a map. And the bomb squad was at least 40 minutes out. He saw his concern reflected on Owen’s face as he considered the situation and all the implications. If they waited, the boy would die. If they went in, he would be possibly sending some of his people to die too. 

And yet Carlos knew what choice he was going to make before he even opened his mouth. He had learned so many things during his time with TK, and one of them was that in so many ways he and his dad were a lot alike. If it were his call, TK wouldn’t have been able to leave those boys in there either. So when the instruction came, he wasn’t surprised. 

“We’re going to need the heaviest duffel we can find and spray paint - the brighter the better.”

Carlos locked eyes with TK briefly as he and the rest of his team turned to start gathering supplies, giving him a smile and hoping that it conveyed everything he wanted him to know: it would be alright, no matter what. 

He almost believed it too. 

All was calm at the start, the 126 functioning like the well-oiled machine they were. In no time they were prepped and Owen was striding back towards the ambulance, asking the new guy if he was ready to go. The discussion quickly transformed into an argument and Carlos couldn’t help but glance back over at the minefield and the brothers. Every moment they argued was one less moment these boys had. Carlos was considering stepping in when a new voice entered the discussion, effectively bringing the escalating argument to a halt. 

“I’ll go.” 

And Carlos froze because he knew that voice. He would know it anywhere, it drew him like a moth to a flame in any room. He turned slowly to find TK standing slightly apart from his crew, stance relaxed but jaw set in determination. 

“I was a dual function FD medic in New York,” he explained, voice calm and firm, “all my certifications are up to date. I can do this.” 

Carlos didn’t need to be looking at him, didn’t need to see where his gaze shifted to know that those last words were directed at his dad. The knowledge made Carlos’s heart ache. The fact that his boyfriend still felt the need to prove himself to his dad after all this time and all he had accomplished killed him, but the thought of TK willingly walking into the minefield killed him even more. 

But it wasn’t his choice to make and when Owen nodded, he felt a cold dread spread throughout his body. This wasn’t how today was supposed to go. Today was not supposed to be the day he watched his boyfriend walk into an active minefield. That day was never supposed to come, and yet here it was. 

He walked over to where TK was switching out his gear, struggling with a strap that was twisting over his shoulder. He reached out for the strap without a word, smoothing it out and snapping it in place. They didn’t speak as Carlos stepped back, surveying the harness and gear for any other twists or issues. 

“It’s going to be fine, Carlos.” 

TK’s voice, soft and reassuring, broke the silence and Carlos met his eyes sharply. He wanted so desperately to believe him, but there was a field filled with explosives that had already claimed one life today behind them and he was finding it hard to be optimistic. 

“Are you sure about this?” he asked instead. 

TK pulled his helmet on, his steady gaze never leaving Carlos, “Of course I’m sure, the kid’s going to die if we don’t go out there, Carlos. I need to help if I can.” 

Carlos reached down to grab his medical bag and held it out to him. He didn’t like the thought of the man he loved purposefully putting himself in harm’s way, but he also knew TK. As much as he might hate it sometimes, this was TK: always ready to help, always willing to put himself at risk if it meant saving someone else, and there was nothing Carlos could do to change that. And he wouldn’t want to - it was a part of TK that made him who he was: someone that Carlos loved with all his heart. 

When TK reached out to take the bag from him, he didn’t release it immediately. He let his grip linger for an extra moment as he studied TK, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Just, be careful,” he told him softly. TK gave him a small smile, and Carlos released his grip on the bag, allowing TK to walk away, towards the minefield. He was still watching as he ascended the ladder that would drop him out onto the minefield when he felt the presence of others appearing at his side. 

“He’ll be okay kid,” Judd said quietly, eyes never leaving the sight of the two Strands climbing to the end of the ladder. 

“You don’t know that Judd,” Carlos responded just as quietly, already feeling his fingernails digging into his palm as he clenched his hands at his side. 

“No,” the older man agreed softly, “I don’t. But I do know they’ll be as careful as they can.” 

Carlos nodded, eyes tracking every movement desperately. They had reached the edge of the ladder now and he watched as Owen tossed down the duffel, as they both reeled back in preparation for an explosion. He could feel his heart skip a beat and his breath catch in his throat as they waited, but there was only silence and after a moment, he allowed himself to breathe again. 

“I don’t know if my heart can take this,” Paul lamented from his left, “that was nerve-wracking and they still have a long way to go.” 

Carlos nodded wearily, but caught his retort before it slipped out of his mouth: if they made it that far. He didn’t need to release that idea into the universe and the others didn’t need to hear it. So he swallowed it and continued watching. Each and every movement they made was agonizing to watch, but each and every thud of them landing unharmed gave him a moment to catch his breath, a brief reprieve for his heart to beat normally. They had settled into a rhythm, and everything was going smoothly. 

Until it wasn’t. 

The sound of the mine exploding filled the air around them and worked its way into Carlos’s soul. It sent shockwaves through his body as he watched, desperately trying to see through the haze of smoke and debris. He couldn’t see him, he didn’t know if he was okay. 

That fact was more than enough to bring on the fear. It attacked him with a vengeance, freezing him to the spot. He felt as if the whole world froze in that moment; suspending him in the terror of not knowing, trapping him with doubt and fear. 

And then he heard TK’s voice, and he could breathe again. It might just be the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. 

When Owen’s voice sounded across the radios, confirming that they were both in one piece, time picked back up at its usual pace. He felt himself sag in relief, grateful for the knowing and supportive hand on his shoulder from Judd. He spared a glance at the others, seeing his relief reflected on their faces and in their stances. 

Marjan let out a long breath, “That was…” 

“Intense,” Paul agreed grimly, “let’s never do that again.” 

They all nodded, and Carlos couldn’t agree more. 

If there was an upside to that moment it was that the path forward was now clear and the two Strands made quick work of the rest of the journey, closing the distance between them and the boys in seconds. Carlos watched in awe as TK slipped into medic mode the moment he reached the boys’ sides, calmly managing the scene and taking care of the patient. It was a wonder to watch. He handled it all with focus and compassion, quietly reassuring the boys even as he gave instructions to his dad and administered care. He was cool and steady even as he delivered the lifesaving compressions, forcing the teen’s blood to pump through his veins with his own hands. It was only minutes before his voice sounded over the radio, announcing that the injured boy was stable and no amount of fear or worry could have stopped the intense pride Carlos felt in that moment. 

“Kid’s got some skills,” Judd observed with a fond smile and Carlos could only grin. 

Paul nodded, “Looks like someone’s been holding out on us, that was pretty impressive I must admit.” 

“Badass is more like it!” Mateo exclaimed and Marjan, standing next to him, laughed even as she placed a hand on his arm. 

“Steady Probie,” she reminded him, “they still have to get out of there. Let’s not jinx anything.”

Her words tempered the celebratory mood of the group, but even though Carlos had never let go of that fear (he knew he wouldn’t until TK was out of the minefield and at least 2 miles away) it felt different from before. It was wrapped in that pride now, and even as Carlos watched them prep to move and the bomb squad moved out to locate and detonate any mines along the path, he couldn’t shake that. It was almost stronger than the fear now, this pride he felt for TK. That was his boyfriend; the person who had just saved two young brothers in the middle of a minefield was the man he loved. Just when he thought that he had come to know every bit of his body and soul, he managed to surprise him all over again. 

It took every ounce of restraint and professionalism Carlos had to not rush over to TK the moment he cleared the edge of the minefield. He forced himself to wait, focusing on his own job while keeping a watchful eye on TK as he reported back to Captain Vega, as he got an exam from the new paramedic. It wasn’t until he headed back to the ladder truck that Carlos broke away from the crowd, meeting him at the side of the engine. TK looked up as he approached, a smile on his face and a greeting on his lips, but Carlos pulled him into his arms before he even had a chance to speak. 

He held him tightly, savoring the feeling of his breath on his collar and the faint sound of the beating of his heart. His familiar scent filled Carlos’s head with each breath and he closed his eyes. He would have been happy to stand there forever, feeling this and just being them and while he knew they couldn’t, he was determined to have at least a few moments more before the world interrupted. If nothing else, the universe at least owed him this. 

“I’m okay Carlos,” TK said evenly, his voice muffled against Carlos’s shoulder. 

But you almost weren’t. The words rang through his head, but he didn’t speak them. Instead he pulled away just enough to see TK’s face as he asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” TK assured him firmly, placing a steady hand on his chest, “the new medic looked me over but I could have told you anyway, I’m fine. Not injured, my dad and I both made it out and so did the boys. This was a win Carlos, I’m more than okay.” 

And he was, Carlos saw as he studied him. He was beaming; enthusiasm pouring out of him. His eyes were alight with something Carlos couldn’t name and he was practically vibrating. Despite everything, Carlos couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He was still worried, still terrified by all the ‘what ifs,” but seeing TK like this gave him a lightness he couldn’t have imagined feeling even a few minutes before. 

He shook his head, trying to mask his smile with little success, “I am glad you’re so pleased with yourself, considering you almost gave the rest of us a heart attack.” 

He had been going for a joke but he instantly regretted it when TK dimmed, “I’m sorry,” he told him sincerely, “I didn’t mean to scare you guys, especially you. I just knew I could help…” 

Carlos interrupted him, moving his hands so they were on each of TK’s shoulders, “You have nothing to apologize for Ty,” he assured him firmly, “you did the right thing. You saved a kid’s life and you did amazing. I am so proud of you.” 

TK’s smile returned, softer than before but still glowing with pride, “You are, are you?” 

Carlos leaned down to place a soft and tender kiss on his forehead, “I am. So incredibly proud. You’re a pretty impressive guy, you know that?”

TK’s smile could have lit up the world and Carlos would have been happy to let it. But they were both still on the job and decidedly not alone, as they were suddenly reminded when Paul peaked around the side of the engine. He smirked at them before calling over his shoulder, “Yeah, they’re decent back here, you guys can come around.” 

Carlos rolled his eyes at his friend while TK casually flipped him off. Paul crossed towards them, completely unfazed before reaching out and pulling TK into a hug of his own. “You can’t keep scaring me like that man,” he told TK when they pulled apart, “I’m getting too old for that crap.” 

TK rolled his eyes at his teammate and Carlos chuckled. He looked behind him to see the rest of the team materializing. 

“That’s my cue,” he told TK, “I need to get back to work and get this scene wrapped up anyways. I’ll see you at home later?” 

TK nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand, “I’ll be there right after my shift.” 

“Think you can make it until then without nearly dying on me again?” 

“I’ll do my best,” TK assured him and Carlos smiled. 

“That’s all I ask,” he responded, “I love you.” 

“Love you too, Carlos.” 

Carlos smiled at that, the warmth he felt every time he heard those words from TK rushing through him. With one last squeeze of the hand holding his own, he stepped away, letting TK’s team get in their time. As he reached the corner of the engine he looked back, still feeling the whirlwind of emotions deep in his chest. 

But TK was safe and happy - he couldn’t ask for anything more. So he turned the corner and returned to the task at hand. 

----------

“You know, that call today? It felt good, really good.” 

Carlos looked up from his dinner sharply to see TK idly playing with his, his focus clearly elsewhere. “Please don’t tell me this means you have decided to become a real-life minesweeper, I am going to have some objections to that,” Carlos deadpanned. 

TK laughed lightly, shaking his head, “No, not quite.” 

“Thank god, I don’t think my heart could handle that.” 

TK shook his head fondly at Carlos before his expression grew more pensive, “I didn’t mean the minefield, or even the danger or adrenaline. I meant the saving the boy part. I know I do that all the time as a firefighter, but there’s something different about doing it as a medic. I haven’t had the chance to really do any medical calls since moving to Austin, with the way the department is structured.” 

“You’ve never really talked about it before,” Carlos noted, “I’ve seen you do medical stuff in the field, but before today I didn’t even know you were dual certified.” 

TK shrugged, “It just never really came up, I guess. It’s pretty typical in New York, but their firehouses are structured differently. I guess once I made my peace with being down here I never really thought about it again. It’s not like I could do both the same way I used to.” 

His tone was almost wistful as he turned his gaze down to his plate, but Carlos had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing the food on it. “Sounds like you miss it,” he ventured after a few more moments of silence. 

“Sometimes I do.” 

“So why not go for it?” 

TK looked at him sharply, but Carlos just shrugged, “What? You’ve spent most of the past hour talking about it and you mentioned how the new guy quit and there’s an opening on the paramedic team within your first 10 minutes of showing up tonight. I know you and I know you’re already thinking about it, so why not try it?” 

“Even if I applied, there are so many other candidates. There’s no saying she’d pick me.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She knows you and how dedicated you are to your job. She saw you in action today, willing to take the risk that someone else wasn’t in order to save a patient. You did the job well and you did it under insane pressure after months of not doing it. If I were her, I’d be wondering what you’d be capable of on an average day.”  

TK looked startled at the efficient takedown of his doubts, but Carlos just raised an eyebrow, “Next?” 

He would dismantle his boyfriend’s doubts with logic one by one if need be. Whatever it took for him to start believing in himself the way Carlos did. 

“I’d have to leave the team,” he said softly, “I wouldn’t be working with them anymore. We’re like a family, I can’t just leave them.” 

Carlos reached across the table to take TK’s hand in his own, “It’s not like you’d be leaving the station,” he reminded him, “you’d still be in the same building and on the same schedule. And they’re not going to feel like you abandoned them, Ty, they’ll still be right there. And right here,” he added with a laugh, gesturing towards his living room, “we’ve fed them, I don’t think we are ever going to get rid of them now.” 

That pulled a smile out of TK, but there was still so much doubt in his eyes that it hurt Carlos to see it. 

“What do you think they would say, if you told them it was something you wanted?” he asked instead, “Do you think they would tell you to forget about it? To stay with them because it was more comfortable?” 

“No,” TK said quickly, “of course they wouldn’t.” 

“So why are you worried about them? They want what’s best for you and they always will. Unless,” he hedged when TK’s expression didn’t clear, “they’re not the ones you’re worried about.” TK pulled his gaze up from the table and Carlos saw all the confirmation in them that he needed, “Your dad?” 

TK nodded, and Carlos sighed. “TK…”

“It would be a big change Carlos,” he said softly. “Except for my probationary period, I have always worked with my dad. I don’t want him to take it personally.” 

“But it is a little personal, isn’t it?” 

He was careful to keep his tone even, non-judgemental and he watched TK closely, waiting for his response. 

“Maybe a little, yeah,” TK admitted. “I feel like this would be a way for me to really see who I am without him right there. It’s not like this is a reaction to him or any news he may have shared recently,” he added hastily, “I would hope I’m past the ‘blowing my life up to piss off my dad’ point, but it is something to consider. And…” 

He trailed off, but Carlos had a feeling he knew what was going to come next, “And you’re worried he might take it personally?” he suggested. 

TK nodded and Carlos sighed and set down his fork, reaching across the table again to pull both of TK’s hands into his own, “Look,” he began, “what’s important is why you’re thinking about this. So, what is it? Why are you thinking about becoming a paramedic?” 

“Because I think I’d love it,” TK said without any hesitation, “because I feel like it’s the best way I can help people.” 

Carlos smiled at him, squeezing the hands in his grasp softly, “Then I think you have your answer. You should do this because it is what you want and because it is right for you. That’s all that matters. Everything else - and everyone else - will fall into place.” 

“And if they don’t?” TK asked softly, and Carlos felt a pang in his heart at the sound of so much doubt in the other man’s voice. 

“They will,” Carlos assured him. “Nothing ever stays the same, remember? And your dad knows that. We all know that. And,” he added, leaning forward in his seat to close some of the distance between them, “I will be here for you, every step of the way. No matter what.”  

The smile TK gave him warmed every inch of his body. They sat in companionable silence for a while, intertwined hands connecting them across the table until TK spoke again. 

“If you really mean that,” he began with a grin, “I could probably use some help with my resume.” 

“Anything for you,” Carlos quipped back, but even as he said the words he squeezed their clasped hands. He meant that, in every way possible. He would be here for resumes and job interviews and everything in between, as long as TK wanted him to be. 

Judging by the way TK met his eyes, and the soft ‘thank you’ that fell from his lips, he had a feeling he felt the same way too. 

[squishmallow36]

Keeper of the Lost Prepositions - Thirty-two

Word count: 2.5k

Tw: injury; not super graphic

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-floppy-frog @poppinspop @crystallinewalker @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @books-over-boys @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @cotyledon-tomentosa @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125

On Ao3 or below the cut!

     “You’re sure?” Mom whispers.

    “I don’t know…I can’t think of a flaw in the logic, so I don’t know how there’s still hope, but…that’s all I can do,” I mumble from behind my hands. 

    “Does he know?”

    “I couldn’t do that to him. I know he’ll hate me but I can’t do that to him. I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess but I hate hiding things.”

    “That being said, it’s kinda funny how you’ve done so many dangerous things in the past two weeks.”

    “Just lock me up in Alcatraz at this point,” I mutter.

    “What?” Mom asks.

    Not sure if she means that she couldn’t hear me or didn’t get my human reference, I reply, “Nevermind. Human thing.”

    “Oh—okay.” She stops for a second, giving my heart just enough time to climb into my throat because I know my doom is fast approaching. 

    “Not to change the subject completely, but I know for a fact that we’re going to find ourselves on another tangent in the next ten seconds, I should probably talk to you about your punishment, young man.”

    Well, crap. I was hoping we’d completely avoid that. 

    What are you talking about? Ugh, preposition. About what are you talking? You knew there wasn’t a chance that you’d make it out of this conversation unscathed, with or without grammar on your side. 

    “Look, I know you and your friends. Trying to tell any one of you to not immediately run into danger is like trying to tell a moth not to fly into a flame. So whatever I do will make you just keep doing what you’ve been doing, except this time you’ll be even more careful to not have Lovise spill all of your secrets.”

    I mean, at least she kept the one that matters?

    “All I can ask is that you please not get yourself into any more life-threatening situations in the near future on purpose. And if you are going to do anything that might be considered even slightly dangerous without an adult present, just send me an Imparter message like you did today, okay? Is that really so horrible?”

    “Not gonna lie, I thought I would be the next Ice Sculpture,” I admit. 

    “I thought about it. But then somebody saved his hide by dropping the secret to end all secrets. You might know him.”

   “Perhaps…but in all seriousness, please don’t tell the collective about Keefe’s new ability. I don’t need him mad at me when he ends up coming back here. As much as he wants to believe that he can live with humans for all eternity, I don’t believe that’ll work for much longer.”

    “Send me a message or let me know if you see him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think Lex in particular is having a destructive day so I should see what damage has been done since I left them to their own devices. 

    “That reminds me. I’ll most likely be up here trying to build a Roomba if you need anything.” 

    “Have fun. Don’t electrocute yourself.”

    “I’ll try,” I reply, Yoda’s “Do or do not, there is no try” automatically playing in my brain. 

    Once Mom leaves, I pop an earbud back in my ear and find another of Keefe’s YouTube videos to watch. 

    Over the next few days, Rex and I watch all of the other Star Wars movies, I build a ninety percent working Roomba, which, in Technopath speak, means that I just have to debug the thing for the next century before it actually works, and I anonymously send Cassius the link to Keefe’s coming out YouTube video, with which he can do whatever he wants. 

    And then Fitz hails me and to absolutely no one’s surprise he’s still way too perfect for words. 

    “Can I come over? I feel like I’m losing my freaking mind,” he asks.  

    ‘Yeah, sure, why not?” I reply, because all of my common sense has decided to fly out the window. 

    “Thanks,” Fitz says before hanging up faster than I can respond. 

    In record time, I tame my hair and throw on clothes because I don’t see why I should get dressed if I’m not planning on leaving the house. 

    And yet it wasn’t fast enough. When Fitz knocks at the door, Bex is the one that opens it for him. 

    Then, somehow, it gets worse. 

    Bex calls, “Hey, Dex! Your boyfriend’s here!”

    I wave awkwardly, fully aware that I’m nuclear red. “Hi, Fitz.”

    “Thanks, mate, I was hoping to talk to someone who’s managed to preserve their sanity because mine is slipping away.”

    In unison, Lex, Bex, and Rex start laughing maniacally. 

    “What?” Fitz asks. 

    “If you think I’m sane then you’ve already lost all your marbles,” I explain, fighting back the urge to laugh. 

    “You’re totally sane,” Fitz argues. 

    From a completely different room, Lex yells, “We hear him talking to himself all the time! You think he’s talking to Lovise or hailing someone, but nope. He can hold a conversation with himself easier than he can make Nogginease over at the store.”

    Rex, also yelling, adds, “Yeah! He’s done it with his eyes closed before!”

    “Yeah, but, that’s how that hole got up in the ceiling so I don’t think that counts!”

    “Then maybe you should use a different example!”

    They continue bickering, but, at this point, I can mostly tune it out. 

    I ask Fitz, “So what’s driving you insane? If you don’t mind me asking.”

    “His royal highness Alvar. I’ve tried everything I can think of and I just ended a phrase with a preposition.”

    “You sound like me. Between calling Vackers ‘his royal highness’ and the whole preposition thing. Maybe you really are losing brain cells,” I say, laughing. 

    “Well. That’s nice to know.”

    “Now we just have to clone Biana!”

    “Please don’t.”

    “Oh, yes. I think that’ll be a fitting punishment.”

    “For what?”

    “Ending a clause, not a phrase in a preposition, of course.”

    Sighing, Fitz asks, “Do you have any more movies we can watch? I need to think about something other than brother dearest and prepositions.”

    “There’s so many it’s not even funny.”

    “Cool.”

    He smiles slightly and I die just a little bit more inside. 

    I search for ‘Disney’ on the search engine, and for some reason Mulan catches Fitz’s eye. 

    How, exactly, do I say ‘No’ in the nicest way possible?

    I select that one, and distract myself by almost singing along and watching Fitz out of the corner of my eye. His hair looks particularly good today. Well, that probably applies to every day. 

    Change my mind. 

    Halfway through the movie, the triplets have apparently stopped bickering, because I can hear them singing “Do You Wanna Build A Snowman,” which is, of course, from Frozen. 

    “Is this a normal occurrence?” Fitz asks. 

    “Well, yes, but actually no. Lex, Bex, and Rex singing songs from Frozen? Yes. “Do You Wanna Build A Snowman” specifically? No. Most of the time it’s “Let It Go”. If you think it’s bad now, try getting woken up by it way too early in the morning.”

    “Believe it or not, I actually just experienced an idea. Do you think they’d mind if I get a recording of that to try to break his royal majesty’s barriers down?”

    “I already have like eighty percent of one from the background of a recent hail. I programmed it to differentiate my voice from theirs for noise cancelling purposes, so it’s just a little side effect that it records. I can send it to you if you want.”

    “Yeah, but why’s there only eighty percent?”

    “The first verse wasn’t loud enough to be recorded, but I think that’ll just add to the experience. Trust me. Brains love nothing more than an incomplete song. That’s why earworms exist. You know, those songs that are stuck in your head.”

    I send the file over to him, which takes just long enough for me to completely get distracted by technology like the Technopath I am, and I ignore what’s happening in the movie. 

    I think I get caught back on, but I feel like I missed something important nonetheless. 

    After the movie, I ask, “You want to watch the sequel that Disney wants to pretend it never made or go set up the newest method for Alvar’s interrogation?”

    “Take a guess.” 

    “You’re going to want to run it on a loop just so you know. It’s only like two and a half minutes, so it makes your life easier to not have to restart it every single time. 

    “Thanks. I might be back here in a couple of hours if Alvar’s still being stubborn.”

    “Text me beforehand,” I reply, smiling. 

    “I’ll try to remember how to do that. Bye!” He waves, flashing his movie star smile and my face may or may not have burst into flames. 

    Believe it or not, Fitz is back before I can even completely watch Aladdin. 

    “Distract me. Please.” 

    I’m tempted to make a comment about how I don’t even get a hello anymore, but I refrain because that will probably be a bad idea. 

    Occasionally, I can sense that. 

    “Are you thinking that you want to watch more human movies or more baking?”

    “I’m not really feeling either of those options,” he replies, sitting down heavily on my bed.

    Surprisingly, my brain actually suggests something helpful. 

    Nearly falling off my bed, I reach for one of my human laptops, and fire up Torchlight, which is kind of like World of Warcraft, but a little less multiplayer, so I know for a fact that I can set it up to play with Fitz. 

    I set up a new account for him and myself, so that our levels can at least start at the same spot. 

    I do my best to keep him occupied, although his vision is probably going to be destroyed with the amount of screen time going from almost zero to several hours every day. 

    It’s also difficult to teach him how to type properly. The hunt and peck method is one of my new pet peeves and takes forever compared to touch typing. 

    To be completely honest, I still look at the keyboard sometimes. But not that often!

    After the first day, I let him borrow my laptop so that he can play and stay at home. At least I won’t keep getting distracted by him. 

    On day three of this cycle, Lovise knocks at my door and I think she says something that I can’t hear over my music. 

    There’s something about Star Wars that requires it to be at full volume or don’t even bother. 

    Popping out an earbud, I ask, “What'd you say? I couldn’t hear you.”

    “You might want to look out your East window.”

    Through the chat, I tell Fitz, “Afk brb,” and pause the game. Although technically I roll over to my window with my laptop still on my lap.

    If I had to guess he’s googling what that means right now. 

    Well, maybe not. He might not know how to google. 

    Wait a minute. Stars, wait a minute. Is that Keefe? More specifically, is that Keefe looking like he did right after his duel with Dimitar?

    I’m not sure if there are any other blond boys that will light leap into my backyard covered in blood, so, I mean…

    I run downstairs as fast as I can descend stairs, which isn’t that fast in reality. 

    I see him out of another window as I’m running.    

    I take a few precious seconds to unlock and open the door. Stupid doorknobs. 

    When even a Technopath can’t use your stupid doorknob, maybe it’s the doorknob’s fault and not the end user.

    “Keefe!” I yell, slowing down as I approach. 

    He puts his hands up in a ‘don’t touch’ sign, and whispers, “Elwin.”

    “Like I’m not already hailing him.” I sigh, feigning exasperation to keep myself from freaking out. 

    “Dex? What’s up? Usually it’s Sophie that’s hailing me in the middle of—.”

    I turn the camera around, and Keefe attempts a smirk that’s more of a grimace and half a wave. 

    When I flip it back, he’s bobbing in and out of the camera, and I can tell he’s grabbing as many elixirs as he can. 

    “Two minutes. Keefe, keep pressure on whatever the heck you’ve done to yourself this time to staunch the bleeding. Dex, if you have any healing elixirs stashed anywhere, go get them.”

    “Don’t die,” I tell Keefe, running back inside because I have a mental map of where any kind of elixir anyone could ever imagine is stored somewhere in the house.

    Honestly, it wouldn’t be all that surprising to find a bubble of Alkahest somewhere in here. 

    When I get everything I can remember by raiding the medicine cabinet to help with anything from wound healing to burn medicine, because who knows what That Boy got himself into this time?

    Now’s the one time I wish I was wearing the Foxfire uniform, so then I could use the half cape to carry everything, 

    “Should I hail Livvy?” I ask Elwin, trying to avoid the fact that Keefe is mostly shirtless and my poor little gay brain can only handle so much. 

    “No. I’m not useless, you know. I kept Sophie alive for over a year,” he replies, smiling. 

    “That being said, Keefe, can you try to maybe not do this to yourself next time you run away?” Elwin asks. 

    My rapidly thinking brain does raise a decent point. “Is this, like, a permanent thing where you’re staying here or are you going to go back into hiding once Elwin says you’re clear? By which I mean you’re going to sneak out days early and injure yourself farther.”

    He holds up two fingers, and I’m a little disappointed, not gonna lie. 

    Elwin mutters something about duct tape.

    The longest five minutes of my life pass before Elwin says, “Okay. I think that’ll do it. You’re not fixed by any means, but I can at least get you back to the Healing Centre without risking further damage.”

    “Anything else you need me to do?” I ask. 

    “I might hail you later with something I need from the store, but, other than that, I think we’re good. Anything you need?”

    “Can you text me when he’s up for visitors? Other than that, I can’t think of anything.”

    “I don’t know how to do that but I can hail you.” 

    I open my mouth to say that I could show him if he wants to know but I doubt he’d use that skill enough to remember, and then I’d have to show him again in a never ending cycle. 

     “See you later,” I say instead, waving.

    “Back at you. Sooner than I’d like, I’m sure.”

    “Eh, what are you gonna do when your friends are danger magnets?”

    “Get new friends?” 

    “Like I can find any of those just laying around.”

    With that, he and Keefe leap away, leaving me to race back upstairs so Fitz isn’t left alone too long and level himself up into infinity. 

[thed4rkhand]

Hi! I'm excited for your posts :3 It would be really interesting to read your analysis on Jimin's chart!

So today we’re doing Jimin’s chart and my analysis of it. Let me make it clear right off the bat, that since I’m not a professional astrologer, some things may not match up, further since we’re not super sure of his birth time, it’ll definitely affect the reading. What I can be sure of is that I’ll do my best and I’m completely open to constructive criticism from you all!

Now lets get on with some basic stuff, for those who have not yet read the post with Namjoon’s moon analysis, I’ll again reiterate some principles of Vedic astrology! In the scenario that you’re still confused with all this jargon, feel free to reach out and I’ll be more than happy to help you out.

Starting out, we have to note that while western astrology is usually more advisory in nature, Vedic astrology’s main purpose is to predict. Also, we usually go a sign back from western astrology in Vedic astrology, so according to that for example, if you’re a libra rising, you become a virgo rising in Vedic astrology and so on and so forth. All planets will also shift back a sign, so a Capricorn Mercury will become a Sagittarius Mercury.

Now let’s be aware that the chart may be a bit different, but given the main d1 (Lagna) chart remains the same for about 2 hours, let’s focus on that and the moon chart (rashi chart) for this reading. We can also just look at d9 for strength but not house placements as that can be time sensitive. So, we can take a two hour margin of time discrepancy and still predict accurately.

For this reading, we have taken 13th October 1995 as the day and 10:34pm as the time of birth, with the location set to Busan.

OTHER THAN THIS, LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT ME TO DO A BIRTH TIME RECTIFICATION FOR JIMIN LATER ON SO WE CAN GET MORE ACCURATE PREDICTIONS.

Since this is a general chart analysis, we shall be covering topics briefly and discussing the moon, ascendant and sun. For an in depth reading, do pick a smaller and focussed topic as we can honestly keep going on and on about a chart.

THIS READING WILL BE DONE IN 4 PARTS, FOLLOWING THE ASCENDANT, MOON, SUN AND MISCELLANEOUS.

On with the actual reading now-

Right off the bat, we can see Jimin is born into Gemini, with his ascendant at 16’49’, within the Nakshatra of Arda, within the fourth quadrant or pada. His lagna lord, Mercury is retrograde in the 4th house conjunct with sun, in the sign of virgo, where Mercury is naturally exalted as well as Mercury being in its Mooltrikon sign here. Secondly, the lord of Ardra, rahu, is sitting in the 5th house conduct Venus. Further the first house receives aspects from both rahu(north node) and mars. We can keep going but we’ve got a whole chart to cover here.

Now onto explaining what all this means. Being born into gemini makes the natives jovial and social by nature, all while having a very sharp mind. The phrase that comes to mind is ‘a wolf in sheep’s clothes’, not because they’re inherently bad or something, but because people don’t give them enough credit for their genius calculating mind. Throwing the Nakshatra of Ardra into this, I can definitely see the dots connecting slowly. Ardra literally means ‘the fortunate one’. An apparent destructive Nakshatra, given its ruled by the deity Rudra, it has several different aspects to it.

People born in ardra tend to have very extreme emotions and may be prone to anger issues and a habit of destructing anything they deem imperfect. People in this Nakshatra also make great actors due to their ability to mimic others well, a quality that makes them well liked and sociable, often giving them a dual persona of seriousness and goofiness. Such people are extremely affectionate and motherly, And men may display an effeminate quality to them, given that the Nakshatra is female in nature. Further, since rudra is also representative of the half man half woman god, (Ardhnarishwar), such people may have a conflict with wanting to show more and more stereotypically masculine sides to them and thus may engage in extreme dieting or bodybuilding to achieve this.

On a professional front, such people are extremely hardworking and rule abiding, sometimes to the extent of being self destructive. They have a humorous disposition and often hide behind that persona. They also keep a tight circle of friends and often check up on them. Compassionate and coolheaded, such people are often the centre of attention. The tend to multitask very often and find it hard to remain still and let go. lastly, such people and their career usually peaks after the age of 32 (aaahhh whaaat jimin).

lastly, his ascendant is in the last quadrant, which is ruled by Pisces and thus Jupiter. Being in an enemy sign here, people can have body image issues (1st house is our body and mind) and mental destress regarding their capabilities. Such people also love to engage in drinking and are very philanthropic in nature, loving to elevate the unfortunate people in society.

His lagna lord is retrogade in 4th house in virgo, conjunct sun and without aspects. The former indicates that a personal has a constant up and down tussle with their self image, and people often have demeaned them for either their looks or personality. This causes a person to be extremely insecure in themselves, and thus may require constant coddling and words of affirmations. Going four houses away, we can see that his mother is someone who truly shaped him and his persona. Their childhood upbringing plays a big role in them. Their childhood could have been tumultuous, with constant disagreements and obstacles.

They may have problems expressing their emotions or penning down their words, or they might be a very cautious person in terms of what they speak and to whom they speak. Mercury is also exalted here, giving it power, so we see that eventually the native breaks forth of this dilemma in life. They may have a career related to communication (see mercury aspecting 10th house), and they will have a successful career at that. The person may own a lot of real estate with this position. Since its mercury in virgo, such a person may be brilliant with handling technology and may even pursue IT based careers due to the ease of handling gadgets.

Given that here, sun in conjunct, right off the bat, the person must resemble their father a lot in terms of looks. They also have a regal appearance that demands attention. They may be well spoken. Their father was dominating and shaped them into who they are. Since mercury and sun aren’t friends, we can also see that such a person may have anger issues and problems controlling their tongue. This conjunction also forms the renowned Budh-Aditya Yoga, a conjunction that shows extreme smartness in a person. While this doesn’t necessarily have to be academic, such people can be very sharp and grasp things easily, they may even have knowledge on a wide variety of subjects and be extremely curious to learn more. Due to this, a person also become a great communicator, and people enjoy listening to them talk as they hold people’s attention with their unique way of speaking. They can be a great salesperson or politician with such a placement. Studies should come easy, as would reading anything from novels to detailed instructions. There may be a talent for writing stories and one may be good at interpreting symbols, font design or calligraphy.

Now going to rahu and Venus in 5th. This is a great placement honestly, given that Venus, the lord of love, beauty and creativity is sitting in the house of children, past karma, creativity and primary education, in the sign of libra. This would indicate that a native with their Nakshatra lord here would be extremely creative (rahu blows qualities out of proportion), kind of childlike innocence that would attract people who would want to literally ‘nurture’ or mother them, or inversely they could themselves be very motherly to their friends, such people also have good education till primary level (undergraduate level) and also carry a lot of good karma from their past life, which results in gains now.

Further the sign of Libra signifies that their beauty or creativity would be very magnetic, they exude charm and regalness, they tend to attract people like moths and have a very star crossed lovers kind of personality. Given Venus is the lord of 12th and 5th house itself, sitting in its mooltrikon sign of libra, it is extremely powerful here. Such a person may have alien or distinguished ideas, explore new arenas, write about devotion and deep philosophical experiences. They may also be very fond of children and children’s literature.

Given the 12th house is also the house of paranormal and extraterrestrial beings, such a person may be very in tune with their own selves and may regularly take part in activities of the occult like tarot, astrology, magick or occult like practices, or at least they have the natural capacity to do so. They may also be great psychologists with this placement and read people’s minds, with acute sixth sense and empathetic powers. Such a placement may also give clairvoyant abilities to a person. They may have troubles with their left eye, liver and digestive track also.

Rahu in libra makes someone overtly sensual and starry eyed about the world, seeing stuff through rose tinted glasses. Here in the 5th house, this may give an unrealistic image of love and grandeur, cause obsession like love, unrealistic image of self to the world. They may be also seen as a sex symbol of sorts often time, but also have a very cute site to them, as libra is a dual sign itself. Given its the ruler of 9th house here, where retrograde Saturn sits, the person may have many failures in their love life or have a very unsuccessful love life till much older, when Saturn matures at 36 years. further, aqueous gives an affinity for wanting to stand out, attracting people and being attracted to people with unconventional personalities (vmin stans) and of course, being excited about all things foreign. They may have an affinity for writing about unusual and unrelated scenarios or daydreaming about them. They might want to provide comfort to unusual people and nurture them alot, while also wanting to stand out and become unconventional themselves, they hate being blended into the crowd with this position.

As for the mars and rahu aspect to the lagna, it would largely affect the physical and mental state here. Rahu has a tendency to give long, elongated and cat like eyes to people, or very exaggerated features in general, as rahu represents the extremes. These people have unusual but magnetic (rahu is temptation) looks, which only get better and better with age (rahu is the oldest after Saturn). Mars over here gives a ruddy complexion and untidy and unruly hair. It gives a stout athletic body, which is made extremely lean due to his gemini rising. These people have exaggerated Adam’s apple and extremely masculine features (look at his face, at points he looks like he’s a statue with those sharp chiseled features). Mars may give a very sexual look to a person too, making them look more hot than cute usually. The extremely emotive eyes of his are all thanks to ardra Nakshatra, which usually promises that (the eye smile?).

Such people may have very violent thoughts, due to mars. They might also be extremely passionate and would do anything to reach their goal. Rahu here brings a tendency to fall for addictions, such as alcohol and drugs.

So this is part 1 of jimin’s chart, I’ll analyze his sun, moon, miscelnous (house placements, atmakarka, amatyakarka, darakarka, divisional charts and a lot more in that)

Do let me know if you enjoyed reading this and if you have any feedbacks.

[thiswasinevitableid]

29 for indruck nsfw? i am already amused thinking about what sport either of them would play

Here you go!

29. I’m a professional athlete and I just fired my personal assistant and my manager sent you over but you don’t even know what sport I play or who my team is

When you’re in an aggressive profession it’s best, in Duck’s experience, to be as calm and friendly as you can the rest of the time.

But this whole shit-show is testing his fucking limits.

It’s been two days since he found out his perfectly fine P.A was working for the Wallstreet Journal, hoping to learn that Duck was somehow using his T or his identity to gain an unfair edge in matched. Ned fired him on the spot, thank god, but it took less than twelve hours for the guy to publish some fabricated piece on his attitude and for Duck to remember why he needed an assistant in the first place. He’s gotten so used to having one that he keeps forgetting stuff or dropping the ball on appointments, and the last thing he needs right now is to look like some stupid hick.

When Ned texts him to let him know his new P.A is en route, Duck groans “thank fuck” loud enough to startle the cat from her tree.

He goes to the door when someone knocks, but doesn’t open it.

“Who is it?”

“Indrid Cold? I, ah, Mr. Chicane said this was Duck Newton’s address and I’m supposed to start as his assistant tomorrow.”

Duck opens the door, “Fuck tomorrow, you’re startin today. I gotta focus on strategy with Minerva the next two days if I don’t wanna show my ass Friday night and it’s real fuckin hard to do that with people callin me left and right.” He guides the startled young man inside, then stops to take a deep breath, “sorry, lemme try that again” he holds out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Indrid.”

“Likewise, Mr. Newton.”

“Duck is fine. It’s a nickname. You bring your stuff with you?”

“Yes, it’s all in my car.”

“Good. Here, lemme give you the, uh, the grand tour, so to speak, on the way to your part of the place.”

Indrid smiles and nods, hanging back slightly as Duck leads him through the house. They cover the living room, kitchen, Duck’s bedroom, then come what was once the garage door.

“This here’s the gym; you can’t find me in the rest of the house, I’m probably here.”

“Goodness” The other man’s eyes widen behind his red glasses, “that’s an impressive array. I mean, I know professional athletes need to train but I, ah, I assumed you did it on site with the rest of your team.”

“Team?” Duck closes the door, spots Indrid’s fingers diving into his pockets to hide their twitching.

“Yes.”

“Which team?”

“Your...sports team?”

“....you got no fuckin clue who I am, do you?”

“No.” Narrow shoulders sag in his sweater.

Duck chuckles, “Figures.”

The silver haired head snaps back up, “Mr. Chicane didn’t say it was a prerequisite for hiring me.”

“Guess he didn’t. And I guess it ain’t. Just hoped they’d hire someone who knew what the fuck he was gettin into.”

Indrid crosses his arms, “They gave me a very thorough job description. I assure you I can do every part of it. Laying out your pre-workout and scheduling appearances isn’t rocket science, and it doesn’t matter if the dry cleaning I pick up is for a, a baseball after party or some sort of charity basketball fundraiser.” It dawns on the taller man that he’s just snapped at his boss. He contracts in on himself, staring down at his black converse.

Duck takes the chance for a more careful look; all of his clothes are second hand, chosen as if he’s cosplaying a jock who went into white collar work. There are piercing holes in his ears, flecks of silver polish on his nails. This job application was a hail mary and Ned Chicane went ahead and caught.

“No harm done, slim.” He rests a friendly hand on Indrid’s arm, “think it’s time I enlightened you.”

His office doesn’t get used much, so a sprinkling of dust greets them as he flips on the lights and reveals posters, magazine covers, and newspaper clips bearing Duck’s face. The gloves he used to win his first fight hang in a place of honor, right above the photo of him and the other fighters from Amnesty Boxing. It’s an older photo, taken the first time they sent a team out of state, sun-faded to the point the writing on it is disappearing. It makes him smile all the same.

“This does explain the set of instructions for helping you cut weight if needed.” Indrid takes in the posters, then turns his attention to the corner dedicated to Duck’s model ship collection. He cocks his head, says more to himself than Duck, “boxer. Interesting.”

“Were you just gonna bluff about knowin who I was until I said somethin?”

“That and look for clues in the rest of the house.”

He smiles, “Like a man with a plan b. C’mon, lemme show you your room.”

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

Alright, so Indrid should have researched Duck Newton before turning up at his house so he didn’t come across as ignorant and unprepared. But he was busy running every Taskrabbit and UberEat he could get just to scrape up enough to keep his landlord off his back. Sue him for not wanting to sleep in his car again.

He never expected to get this job; live-in P.A who doesn’t have to pay for groceries (buy them, yes, since that’s one of his jobs) is not the kind of luck he’s familiar with. He keeps waiting for the catch, so nervous that when Duck pops in on him unpacking he assumes he’ll scold him for his wardrobe.

“I, should I buy some more professional clothes?”

Duck takes in the two duffle bags and backpack, “Up to you. I don’t mind you lookin like the little art punk you are, but a dress shirt or two might help if we gotta go somewhere real upscale. Don't worry about buyin it yourself; just use the same card we do for groceries.”

Indrid is still hung up on why the fact a man three inches shorter than him calling him “little” makes his chest burn. Luckily, the phone rings and distracts him. Then it rings again. And again. And again. All while the inbox doubles every time he looks at it.

This turns out to be the catch; the work is actually hard. Everyone and their uncle wants to interview Duck, get him to sponsor something, or proposition him. Four hours in, he’s overwhelmed, overstimulated, and ready to hide under the desk. His fidget necklace isn’t helping, so he pulls out his chewable one; it often helps him think in high pressure moments.

The phone rings again and he growls at it.

“You’re allowed to let things go to voicemail, y’know.”

He spins in his chair, black rubber moth still in his mouth. Duck leans in the doorway, tank top soaked in sweat and towel around his shoulders

“I, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to drop anything important.”

“Ned handles the fights and the money, and anyone I care about has my private number for emergencies.”

“Right. I knew that.” Indrid can’t have his boss thinking he’s a total space-case.

Duck smiles, “What I’m sayin is; ain’t the end of the world if you don’t get back to everyone right away. Besides, right now you need a lunch break, slim. Lemme go rinse off and I’ll join you.”

By the time Duck enters the kitchen in an old “NIN” shirt and jeans, Indrid has his protein bowl laid out for him and is finishing microwaving a hot pocket for himself. Before he can scurry away, Duck pats the seat beside him and Indrid sits down, preparin to politely listen to Duck talk about himself or his sport.

He talks for ten minutes about the trees he saw on his run that morning before asking Indrid what he did before coming to the house. Indrid explains about his art and his side hustles in tarot and palm reading, about the run of bad luck that saw him without roommates and lost him his steady gig at a coffee shop. Duck makes genuinely sympathetic noises, lets Indrid change the subject when the fact he was on the edge of disaster makes Indrid’s chest tighten. They’re still talking about music as Indrid returns to his desk and Duck goes to meet Minerva in the gym.

By the time Duck’s fight rolls around that weekend, Indrid is feeling much better. He has a system of sorting emails that works for him, some mothman stickers to help him organize the paper calendar on his desk, and more confidence in his ability to spot callers with ulterior motives. He’s shut down two separate ones looking to trap Duck into interviews where he’d be forced to defend his very identity. Duck overheard his responses to the second one and brought him back a fancy creme brulee latte from his breakfast as a thank you.

He doesn’t go to the fight; it’s a small one for charity and Duck has Ned to manage him, Minerva to train him, and Leo to coach him ringside. He doesn’t need his P.A. Instead, Indrid finishes up his correspondence for the day, makes sure Duck’s breakfast is all set in the fridge, and confirms the masseuse is coming in the morning.

Once in bed, Indrid gets sucked into the commission he’s doing and is lost to the world until a tired, satisfied face pokes through his door.

“Oh! Hello Duck. Did it go well? Do, ah, is there something you need from me?”

“Yep, I won like I thought I would. And nope; was just poppin in to say goodnight.”

No one’s said that to him in a long time. The bitterness of that realization is sweetened by Duck’s smile.

“Goodnight to you too, Duck.”

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

Minerva is sick, which wouldn’t be a problem except for one part of his workout. He could skip it, but he needs to keep everything sharp for when they go to L.A.

“‘Drid? You got a few minutes?”

His assistant appears in the doorway, black jeans and white “Cramps” tank-top fitting him in a way that makes Duck want to hold him face down on the floor and find out how to take his breath away.

“What do you need?”

Duck points to the heavy bag, “You up for bracin this while I hit it?”

“I...I am not as strong as Minerva.”

“You don’t gotta be; this is just to keep the damn thing from swinging while I’m doin this speed drill.”

“Alright.” Indrid takes off his glasses and sets them on the folding chair, joining Duck, “how do I hold it?”

Duck shows him, does a few test punches to make sure he won’t send the poor guy flying. The round clock dings green, and he’s off. The bag wobbles for the first few seconds, then Indrid seems to find his footing and holds it stable enough for the drill to work. When the round ends, Duck steps baack, “okay, you can let go until the next round.”

“Goodness.” Indrid stretches his hands, “I feel for your opponents. I’m jarred just from that.”

“You need to stop? I got two more rounds at least, but if it’s hurtin you I caan skip ‘em.”

Indrid shakes his head, smiling, “nono, I like helping you with this. It’s exhilarating.”

The bell dings.

“Glad to hear it. Now brace it again.”

By the end of round three, Indrid is panting loud enough for Duck to hear him over the fan. He looks up, glove still on the bag, and finds them face to face.

“Minerva said three to five rounds for this. You wanna keep goin?”

Indrid, breathless and grinning, nods, “Can’t have you slacking off, now can we?”

Duck wants to bite his lip, just to see what happens. Blames the thought on the adrenaline. Then discovers the exact same thought waiting for him when Indrid, cleaned and in his most respectable clothes, joins him in the car to go to an interview.

Ned gave the P.A a list of likely questions, so they practice those as they creep across the Bay Bridge. But Duck notices that on both the trip there and back, whenever there’s a lull in conversation Indrid is on his phone reading about boxing. Duck knows the other man fixates on topics that interest him; knowing one of Duck’s passions has earned that distinction makes him smile.

After that, he starts inviting Indrid to watch him train, or shares his thoughts about matches with him. That’s all it takes for Indrid to start drawing him into long, animated conversations about his sport. When Indrid asks why there’s such debate over the proper way to wrap hands and also how does Duck do his, Duck demonstrates.

“Here, ‘Drid, now you try it on me.”

The P.A moves the wraps slowly, deliberately, moving Duck’s hand like it’s a priceless treasure he’s readying for transport. Every time he bites his lip in concentration or brushes hair from his forehead, Duck has to remind himself to breathe.

“Done.” Indrid is still holding his left hand, “Did I do well?”

The boxer tests the wraps, wiggles his fingers and clenches his fists. Then he squeezes Indrid’s hand, “you did perfect, slim.”

Duck can wrap his hands in his sleep. But whenever he’s home, he finds Indrid and asks him to do the honors. Indrid does them every time. Perfectly.

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

Indrid stands in the green room with Ned and a cluster of arena employees. The roaring crowd a few walls away echoes through the screen. He’s never seen Duck fight, but this event required all hands on deck to handle P.R, scheduling, and making sure Duck had what he needed to win.

Duck and his opponent enter the ring. Touch gloves.

Indrid’s pulse climbs.

Then the bell sounds and no useful noises come through the T.V. Just the announcers shouting and being drowned out by the crowd. Indrid gives up on parsing the cacophony, focus only on Duck. He’s seen him practice, but in a true match he’s a different beast. His opponent is faster, that much is clear, but Duck is patient, steady, blocks and weaves until he can land blows that make Indrid hurt just watching them.

Duck is magnificent like this. Indrid has to draw him like this, has to capture this and keep it forever, he has to, he has…

He has a hard-on in the middle of the green room.

He sticks it out long enough to see Duck win and then bolts to the bathroom so it can be taken care of by the time the boxer is done with the post-fight interviews.

They go out to celebrate, and Duck never nudges Indrid aside to let someone more important sit next to him. And as the drive to the hotel, he nods off with his head on Indrid’s shoulder.

It only gets worse after that.

Duck will coax him into joining him for a run with the promise of a fancy breakfast. On cheat days, Duck orders food to the house or takes Indrid out to lunch, and somehow the thing he wants when not focused on macros is always the thing Indrid mentioned he’d been craving. He invites Indrid on hikes with him, starts taking him to all his events even though he seldom needs help or herding at them (“yeah, but it’s nice to have someone to crack jokes with”). And on days when Indrid needs to be alone, or wants to see other friends, Duck simply smiles and closes the door.

The most dangerous days are the ones without anything on the schedule. Then it’s all too easy for Indrid to pretend that they’re something they’re not while he draws at the table across from where Duck is building his model ship. Too easy to imagine that the water-wise garden Duck tends is something he put into their house, not his house that Indrid happens to live in. Too easy to admit that Indrid wants to look after him for no payment except being looked after in return.

Duck reciprocating his feelings is within the realm of possibility. Indrid’s caught him staring when he walks in on the P.A doing yoga, and the casual touches long ago made the leap from accidental to deliberate. He also knows that Duck can’t fire him--only Ned can--and hopes that might lead to the boxer slinging him over his shoulder and tossing him on the bed one of these days.

There’s also the tabloid site circulating a photo of them with a caption claiming he’s Duck’s “boytoy” in spite of them only being two years apart. They’re not even sitting that close in the picture; Duck’s just smiling at him like he’s the only thing in the world, that’s all.

Currently, he’s having an easier time keeping his feelings buried because--ever since they landed in Vegas-- Duck has been a dick the rest of the day. Well, as much as a dick as he can be; his offenses are mainly snapping at people and lacking his usual patience.

When he scolds Indrid over something silly in the hotel that night, Indrid turns and stares at him over his glasses.

“Duck, what’s wrong?”

“Wh-uh, fuck, nothing, why do you, uh, fuck, I’m fine.”

“You just snapped at me in a way that was completely uncalled for.” He crosses his arms, “is it the fight? I know it’s a big one but that’s no reason to be rude.”

Duck scratches the back of his neck, “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I swear I won’t. Or, if I do, it will be after you leave.”

That gets a smile, “I’m uh, well, I’m what you’d call ‘horny as all fuckin get out.’”

Indrid’s immediate thoughts would solve the problem at hand while creating a new and far worse set, so he keeps them to himself and replies, “If need privacy, I can come back later and hold all your calls.”

“Nah.” Duck sits on the bed, “You’re not supposed to get off before a fight. Makes you too relaxed.”

“That strikes me as an old wives tale. Old boxers tale?”

“Either way, it’s one Minerva still believes. If I lose, she will ask about every possible cause, includin that one. Better if I just cat nap before I start all my pre-match stuff. Come get me in fort minutes?”

“Of course.” Indrid waves and closes the door before he offers to lay down in the hopes of Duck having a wet dream while holding him.

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

Duck wins, though it’s a tough battle to get there. He fucking hates these Pay-Per-View fights, they try to make it sound like he’s got beef with the other guy. In reality, once he’s down from a knockout, Duck is the one who helps him to the other side of the ring.

There’s a flurry of press afterwards, of questions and congratulations while all he wants to do is shower. He gets clean, promises Ned they can all go out to celebrate later. As he and Indrid finally escape to his suite he’s forced to admit that--if the thoughts of hitting the “fire” button and fucking Indrid against the wall are any indication--his problem from earlier hasn’t gone away.

“Do you need me to see if I can get a masseuse up here? You look very stiff.”

“Just uh, just tense.” Why did he tell Indrid he liked those jeans on him? He’s worn them as often as he can since.

Indrid cocks an eyebrow, “Still pent up even though the fighting is done?”

“Yep.”

The P.A shakes his head, hiding a smirk, “Do you need me to find something for you to watch?”

“No.”

“I mean it, this place has all the good channels.” He’s so earnest, picking up the channel guide like it, rather than those fucking jeans and shirt with Duck’s name on it, has what Duck needs.

“No.” He growls.

Indrid sighs, sets the book back down, “This mood is annoying us both, so just tell me what kind of porn you want and I can go out and buy it.”

“Unless they got somethin called ‘boxer jackhammers skinny artist until he cries’ we’re gonna be shit out of luck!”

The P.A blinks, “Duck, this is Vegas, I can probably find that. Or look for it on your laptop…” he trails off when their eyes meet. Duck knows he must look like he’s ready to jump him. Indrid licks his lips, “Duck? What, ah, what exactly lead to this situation?”

“You really wanna know, slim?” Duck steps across the carpet, notices Indrid padding over the black and blue patterns to meet him.

“Yes.”

Duck removes Indrid’s glasses, “Had a dream about you while I was on the plane. Woke up havin just finished fuckin you open. First thing I thought was “no big deal, ‘Drid’s right here. We can do the real thing once we get to the hotel.’ Then I fuckin remembered that we couldn’t, and I know for damn sure that if I jerk off I won’t feel satisfied because you’re be over there” he jabs his thumb at the door connecting their rooms, “so close and completely outta my reach.”

“So keep me right here instead.” Indrid purrs, fingers tentatively finding Duck’s hips. The light contact splinters his self-control and he practically tackles Indrid onto the bed, kissing him as the taller man moans and paws at his clothes.

The kiss takes the heat off enough to clear the steam fogging up his head and sits up, “This really okay?”

“I would have said if it wasn’t now for goodness sake please get back down here.” Indrid yanks him forward by the front of his shirt, smashing their lips together. He’s humming and sighing every time Duck touches him, rolling his hips to display a quickly forming hard-on.

“Aw, sugar, you gettin excited just from kissin’?” Duck grinds down just to see him gasp.

“Y-yes. I, Duck, I’ve wanted this for months.”

The implication of those words slam his desire into overdrive, “You sneaky little thing, that why you kept runnin around in tight clothes?”

“Most of my clothes h-hang off me.” Indrid holds tight to Duck’s thighs as the boxer strips his shirt off, “but yes I, I did start wearing what you liked more often.”

“Ain’t that thoughtful. And what were you hoping would happen, slim?” Duck yanks his sweats off and kicks them to the floor.

“This.” Indrid’s eyes keep slipping down to stare at Duck’s dick.

The boxer strokes himself lazily, “like what you see?”

“So much.”

“Then how about a closer look, sugar?” He crawls up Indrid’s body to straddle his face. It looks even better than normal framed by his thighs.

“Do I get to touch too?”

Duck guides his hands onto his ass, “As much as you want. You gonna be sweet and let me fuck your face, or am I gonna have to hold your mouth open?”

Indrid opens his mouth instantly, a whimper creeping out of it as Duck strokes his hair. The sound morphs into a louder, but muffled, moan when Duck sinks down. He teases his dick against Indrid’s lips, drags slick across his chin, feels his jaw tremble with wanting to close. Duck shifts so his dick touches Indrid’s tongue, “get to it. Oh fuck” he braces a hand on the wall, “heh, didn’t know Ned screened for cocksuckin skills.”

Indrid shakes his head, brown eyes wide as Duck roughly rides his face.

“No? He didn’t make you demonstrate on some of the other fighters? Didn’t make sure you could make a whole gym cum to prove your mouth was good enough for me?”

“‘O” Indrid shakes his head again, silver strands sticking to the pillow as he kneads Duck’s ass in a way that makes him groan.

“Too bad for them. Because now they ain’t ever gonna get a chance.”

A whimper and write of the torso; Duck glances over his shoulder to watch Indrid buck his hips in the air, pre-cum clear on his crotch. His feet, still in their shoes, point and flex as he moans around Duck’s dick.

“You like that, don’t you sugar?” He threads both hands into Indrid’s hair, pinning his head down or pulling it closer as it suits him, all the while gently rubbing his scalp “like knowin’ that you’re doin well.”

A harder suck in reply.

“Then be a good little cocksucker and make me cum.” He holds his head down and let’s loose, grinding and grunting in pursuit of the heat that starts at Indrid’s tongue and is steadily curling up into Duck’s belly. The other man holds him tight, moaning and licknig and sucking until Duck cums on his mouth, the lasts bursts of it happening against a slackening jaw.

As soon as his legs cooperate, he climbs off and guides Indrid to sit up in his arms. His attempt to check on the other man is interrupted by a frantic kiss.

“I was gonna ask if you wanna keep goin’, but I think I got my answer.”

“Yes, I mean no, I mean please don’t stop yet. Please I, we can do whatever you like, we can do just this, you can drag me out on the balcony and fuck me in full view of the city-”

“Easy, slim, easy.” Duck cups his cheek, “let’s start with somethin simple. Get naked and get comfy on your back for me. I gotta go grab somethin from down the hall.”

His memory turns out to be spot on; the vending machine on this floor has toiletries, including condoms and a travel bottle of lube. He buys ten of one and three of the other, drops them in the pockets of his robe and hurries back to Indrid. Sprawled on the bed, he looks painfully vulnerable, like someone who got used to life kicking him and telling him to stay down.

It’ll be different when they’re together, Duck can promise that much.

“Seem to recall you wanting me to keep you here.” He grabs a handwrap, holds it where Indrid can see, “how do you feel about me usin this?”

“Extremely good. Oh, oh hello.” He laughs when Duck rolls down beside him to pepper his face with kisses. The process of trapping his hands to the headboard is prolonged thanks to their mutual need to keep kissing every five seconds.

“Now” Duck kisses his shoulder, “I didn’t bring any toys to fuck you with, so it’s just gonna be my hand.”

“You say that as if it’s a disappointment to me and not incredibly sexy.”

“Some folks don’t think you’re fuckin ‘em unless you use somethin dick-shaped.” Duck shrugs with a flicker of sadness from the last time he had that conversation.

“Tell me who insulted your body or your skills in bed and I shall stand outside their window with a megaphone informing them of how terrible their manners are and how they missed out on the finest man in the world.”

“That’d be funny” Duck leisurely kisses his belly and hips before sitting up, “but you’d have to get outta bed.”

“True. Ah well, a sternly worded email will have do OOOh, oohhhyes.” He wiggles his hips as Duck presses in the first finger, relaxing under his touch.

“Get the feelin you’ve done this before”

“Yes.” Indrid’s chest is flushed and Duck reaches up his free hand to play with his nipples.

“What’s the most you’ve taken?”

“Th-three, I believe. I, ah, I’m usually facing away so I sometimes lose track.”

“You're takin four tonight. Can’t believe anyone would wanna miss out on how you look when you’re getting fucked.” He teases the second finger to prove his point and Indrid’s mouth curves with bliss.

“My ass is many people’s type; my face not so much.”

“Fuck that.” Duck pushes the second finger in. Indrid arches, then sighs as Duck keeps working him open.

“I find it difficult to care what they thought right now. I, ahhhn, it’s much more fun to think about you.”

“About me…?”

“About right you’re doing right now and, AH, what we can do next. I do so want to sit in your lap in the hot tub back home.”

“Can manage that. What else?”

“I’d very much l-like to fuck you, however you’ll let me and, and I want us to do it right after you train some day, you look so good like thatAHgod.” The third finger is in and Indrid is now steadily pushing down on them, “and one of the times you get me to run with you I expect a blow job in reward oh, ohfuck” his eyes are wild and eager, “please do the last one, I’m ready, I want it so badly, please.”

Duck begins teasing the fourth finger, “Think all those wants of yours sound real good. You wanna know mine?”

“Absolutely. AHaahnnnahgod” The wrap tightens as Indrid clings to it, trying to stabilize himself as Duck fucks his hand into him hard.

“Soon as we get home, I’m gettin the strap-on and fuckin you for a solid hour at least. Gonna leave you so fuckin raw and relaxed you won’t wanna do anything but lay there, and you’ll goddamn get to because you’re mine and I’m gonna take care of you.”

“Duck” it’s a happy sob, Indrid’s cock bobbing in the air.

“Gonna take a trip somewhere private, just the two of us, and you’re gonna spend the whole fuckin time tied up, to the bed, a chair, whatever the fuck else I feel like so I can ride your dick whenever I want.”

“Yes.” Indrid is barely getting out words between his cries.

“And the next time you have the fuckin nerve to wear tight jeans the day I gotta fight, I’m gonna shove a vibration plug up that cute little ass and lock your cock in a cage so we can both be horny without bein able to get off.”

“Duck please, I’m close, please touch-”

He wraps his fingers around Indrid’s dick and works him over hard and fast, “Soon as I’m done with that fight, you’re gonna blow me in the locker room so I can focus on nailin your ass into next week when we get--ohfuck!” Cum hits his chin as Indrid gasps and squeaks, scratching at the wraps and the headboard.

If Duck ever loses his memory, he hopes this is the last moment to go; Indrid Cold, happy, safe, and satisfied while he moans Duck’s name.

Indrid is boneless as Duck undoes the bonds, though he rallies enough to pull the boxer into a hug so he can cuddle him like a teddy bear. He kisses his throat, feels his pulse even out beneath his lips.

“Duck? Does, ah, does this mean what I think it does?”

The phone rings right as he’s about to answer. It’s probably Ned, so he holds up a finger and grabs the receiver.

“Go for Duck. Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine” he nods as Ned explains the plan for their exclusive, late night dinner, “yeah, tell ‘em five; you, Minerva, Leo, me and” he winks at a beaming Indrid, “my boyfriend.”

[polythremed]

wheres the essay op i want whitsun bugs

there might not have been an essay before, but there is now! bugs and inverts are hugely overlooked. however, the victorians loved insects! they were huge inspirations in art, shells were used in fashion, so what would be more vogue than a giant bug for a pet?

(Punch, September 29, 1877)

the bulk of this talk will be under the cut but tl;dr is that arachnids still offer a lot of potential, beetles and moths live in the neath and were popular at the time, and there are a lot of lesser-known bugs that fit fallen london

also cw for bug images because there’s a lot of them beyond here, this is for people with good taste only

firstly: arachnids

FL has a lot of arachnids and this year’s whitsun saw the introduction of a squirrel with a scorpion tail! i think it’s a fun design personally, but arachnid companions are Not obsolete. the most relevant arachnids are crabs, and crabs are more varied than you might think!

(image by abc.net.au)

the yeti crab was the first crab to come to mind, related to hermit crabs and living in hydrothermal vents in the deep ocean. it means we’ve got another underground beast, and could you imagine this as a spired crab? it could be the product of shapeling arts, and the yeti crab’s famously hairy arms have the potential to be used as arm warmers or 1890s uggs for the discerning londoner!

there’s also the japanese giant spider crab, which might be more lanky than it’s neathy angler crab cousins, but look at those legs! how big do you think it is? how about taller than the average person?

you have to understand how badly i want to be this man they also inhabit vents near the bottom of the ocean (the crabs, not this man), they’re omnivores and one specimen’s measured in at 3.8 metres (12ft) across its outstretched legs! it’d probably be a dreaded companion by the sheer size of it, but imagine the walking sticks you could get from those legs

arrowhead crabs and horseshoe crabs are also runners up for this!

mites also came to mind, being small arachnids- the mite above is an adult female tea mite, and not much is known about mites! they’re primitive but have a terrible reputation, and FBG have shone the spotlight on other unloved creatures in the past. there’s also Caveat Emptor which tells us that the bazaar has parasites which are probably like mites? you could have your own romance vampire, surely nothing could go wrong

and if you’ve come here for spiders, how about the pelican spider? with a pelican-like head, pelican spiders prey exclusively on other spiders! isn’t that a fun way to counter sorrow spider infestations? introducing new species is a good thing, right?

higher tiers of this companion could start to own the whole pelican thing. i’ve seen monster designs of spiders with human heads but never a spider with a pelican head!

(image by me)

all he needs is some love and spiders

close arachnid contenders that i want to mention before this whole post is made up of eight-legged companions: camel spiders, harvestmen, and whip scorpions!

secondly: beetles

as john b. s. haldane once said, “god has an inordinate fondness for beetles”. and he’s right because there are more known species of beetle than types of mammal

in fact, the victorians fucking loved beetles (and butterflies but we’ll get to that)

we have phosphorescent scarabs as luminosity items and a few mentions of beetles in airs texts and in sunless sea, the latter where a beetle has been eating through your ship’s supplies. being from england, i have a vague idea of what sort of beetles would end up in london!

there are still stag beetles, rove beetles, and even cardinal beetles, but these by themselves might feel pretty basic. they’d be good t1 companions, but why not have a companion that’s a whole insect keeping setup? there’s even some colourful beauties like the scarlet malachite beetle which are now incredibly endangered

but if you want something Huge and Large and easily convertible into a fashion accessory, hercules beetles have a lot of potential! horns that can be used for knives in dockside brawls, or you could take most of the bug features and place them on a furry animal like a guinea pig since seas already gave us the guinea page

these beetles could also add diversity for the phosphorescent scarabs- and speaking of phosphorescent beetles, why not look to fireflies? they aren’t fire and nor are they flies, but to carry on with FBG’s habit of “slapping animals together to see what happens”, you could easily make something with the features of a firefly larvae

or you could take the even more interesting approach of having a grub the size of a cat, for example. hercules beetles have some of the largest larvae and the feast of the rose gave us maggots, so why not have one of these babies but the size of a cat? and glowing? they’re a possible light source that might make you more bizarre or respectable

a close runner up that i wanted to mention was diving beetles and how freaky they can get if they’ve adapted to the zee but the sabretooth longhorn beetle is going to close this segment as an embodiment of a dangerous and respectable companion- it already looks like it’s been carved out of wood! i think a carved polythreme beetle would be incredible

(see also: bombardier beetles, weevils, oil beetles, tiger beetles, harlequin beetles, trilobite beetles, and giraffe weevils!)

moths, and less commonly found underground, butterflies

another love of the victorians: butterflies!

butterflies are basically moths by a different name (there are way more moths than butterflies) and we do have canon dreams where a frostmoth the size of your head appears in your window, and wouldn’t that be useful for hunting in parabola? much like the beetles, there’s a lot of diversity that can be explored especially if we add shapeling arts

white plume moths are also found in the UK and just look at those wings

we can have a usual approach of adding the wings to something else, like a particularly unlucky bat, or just have something bizarre with the moth itself! more eyes? more eyes has been a common theme lately, or you can combine an insect with an arachnid and give it whip scorpion hands

these wings would be one hell of a decoration because white plume moths are considered to be micromoths

on the other end of the spectrum and taking the role of a respectable companion, the white witch moth is considered to be one of the largest insects on earth because of its wingspan! maybe they’re a more risky cousin of the frostmoth, maybe you could turn the markings on these wings into shifting sigils? don’t set your moths on fire

(image by Acrocynus)

white witch moths themselves have a lot of diversity while cup moths are another contender for an animal you could combine with another animal

(image by itchydogimages)

why not add the tail of a squirrel to this one? or a scorpion’s tail? a lion? with enough of these, you could end up with a very striking tawny coat. this thing is the embodiment of being neathproofed. even if they’re opposites of frostmoths and are associated with embers because of it, or if the tail is closer to being a candle!

moths are also good at mimicking in order to defend themselves, which is why you see so many moths and butterflies with eye patterns on their wings. birds hate eyes so much so there’s room for some real eyes on your brand new butterfly or moth companion

but some moths also mimic snakes, so for any fingerking fans out there: behold the atlas moth

this is such a mithridacy companion. can you imagine the t3 version of this where the snake heads are alive? we have a two-headed terror bird, so why not snakes on a moth? there’s even jokes to be made about one head telling truths and another telling lies, maybe the only head that could tell you the difference is the moths!

for butterflies themselves, we have butterflies that drink the tears of alligators and tortoises- so melancholy butterflies that only appear to feed on lacre? (and they might not be butterflies down here, you might’ve already mistaken a day-flying moth for a butterfly, not that the difference matters for much in the neath)

another strong mention is vampire moths if we’re carrying on the theme of insects drinking odd things, but a vampire moth with bat wings could be wonderful at ruining the lives of taxonomists

luna moths are also massive and could be more fitting now that we know who the creditor is, and that whitsun is talking so much about the bazaar and the masters

other lesser-known but interesting insects

we don’t entirely need to cover bees and wasps but it would be nice to have a piece of media showing wasps in a way that doesn’t present them as evil, but wasps could wait until hell is really significant again since wasps and bees are incredibly cool cousins. and thread waisted wasps!

(image by Bev Wigney)

get a load of that! these don’t even have the ability to sting humans, what would a thread waisted wasp-themed spindlewolf look like? how much shadowy with something with these colours give you? imagine the corsets inspired by these things

assassin bugs are another dangerous option considering how good they are at hunting other insects, and the neath wouldn’t be complete without more creatures that burrow underground and can find themselves in this weird cavern

(image by Fir0002)

their forearms are specifically developed to dig! perhaps they can dig through a rival’s belongings, or perhaps you can fashion their claws into brass knuckles or a belt buckle?

(image by faraaz abdool)

another fashionable, lesser-known invert is the velvet worm! we have plenty of slugs in fallen london, but you know what they’re lacking? legs

about 200 species of velvet worms have been described and they’re already quite rare! they all fall under the onychophora name and there isn’t anything else like them. you could easily have some persuasive with this, or if you turn it into a stole that can hold however many hands you want!

(image by docj96)

also, thrips! i found out about these today and apparently you’re likely to hear about them if you’re into gardening. sometimes they have crab claws for forelegs, so hey- more bazaar similarities! they have an interesting method of flight (clapping their wings together) but this might not bee too impactful unless you want a novel way to raise your investigating

flies are also criminally underrated, but i couldn’t tell you how many flies live in fallen london. stalk-eyed flies, however, are gorgeous things that would work so well as t2 companions! you could even go all out with a horsefly taking on attributes of an actual horse

(image by minden pictures)

the stalk eyed fly sees you five minutes before you can see it

there are genuinely so many more that come to mind (even neathy types of mantis- orchid mantids that have adapted to blend in with mushrooms! imagine!) but a good way to finish this off is with a love story

there are centipedes who will guard and hold their young close to them! giant centipedes are protective mothers and you can get hundreds of companions in one- or perhaps just one companion who really misses her hundreds of kids. and they hold their eggs just as carefully whilst waiting for them to hatch!

isn’t that a good love story? there’s a lot you can combine this with, but i’ve spent most of today writing this one! do with these creatures what you will, i definitely enjoyed talking about neathy possibilities for insects!

(bogleech also has a fantastic article on insects that should be used as the basis for pokemon designs, if you want even more out there bugs be sure to look here)

[wulfies-kpop-fanfics]

Savior → Kim Namjoon

↳  Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

↳  Word count: 3,757

↳  AU: Police Officer!BTS

↳  Warnings: Mention of rape, conception caused by rape, violence, captivity, involuntary bondage

⁙  Summary: While investigating a crime ring, officer Kim Namjoon advocates for the rescue of the final living captive, who has just fallen pregnant.

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

“Stop screaming!”

Your voice went quiet, your lips closing as best they could over your tightly bound ball gag. You tasted metal, lapping up blood that trickled into your mouth from your cracked lips. More drool trickled down your chin, the replacement for your long dried up tears of pain. Your throat felt even rawer once you had stopped screaming, to the point that you wished you were still doing so. After being yelled at, you knew it was a bad idea. So, you decide to follow the instructions of the distant voice and silently endure the burning pain searing your throat.

You honestly had no idea how you came to be in this situation. For as long as your memory could recall, you’ve been chained to this bed, existing in the darkness, a small room. A hospital cot, small and narrow, covered by a thin and ratty mattress with only a moth-eaten pillow for you to lay your head-on. Ankles bound to the posts by handcuffs: the skin bound, bleeding and scabbing over from your struggle against the restraints.

Sometimes you would be wearing a straitjacket, white and scratchy cloth. It was old, yellowed and rank, tattered and ripped. Your arms would be bound across your chest, perfect braces for missionary. You could have laughed at yourself, feeling the draft through the hole that was cut into the crotch whenever someone entered the room. Sometimes the hole was covered up by a metal chastity belt, most likely to bar you from touching yourself. Not that you could, anyway.

 Sometimes you would be nearly naked, everything out for the world to see, hands bound by rope, zip ties or more metal cuffs against your back and only the belt to cover you. Perfect for being taken from behind, face shoved into your pillow. One thing that always remained was your ball gag, only taken out for 5 minutes each day to feed you. You could not speak words, swallow what was left of your saliva or bite your tongue. If you tried to kill yourself when the gag was removed, you would not be fed, your captors instead deciding to whip you. You knew there were scars all over your back, more recent wounds still bandaged and itchy.

This was the horror of being trapped, wherever you were. Your room was extremely small, only large enough for your bed, a humidifier and a desk where a doctor would sometimes sit. You would never leave this room except for when you were allowed to use the restroom or when the doctor needed more room to examine you. Men would come in here to remove the belt, but you often forced yourself into unconsciousness to deal with whatever happened when they were there. Still, you knew what happened. The wetness and aches between your legs told you as much whenever you awakened. 

That was life, and you could do nothing but deal with it. You were at the mercy of these people, no matter what you could plausibly try. They fed you, treated wounds they inflicted, rented you out. There was next to no light coming into your room despite the large window across from your bed on the opposite wall, so you could enjoy nothing. Sometimes your doctor would turn on the desk’s lamp, but you were often blindfolded so that your eyes wouldn’t become irritated - therefore you couldn’t even remember what real, yellow light looked like.

The smallest amount of artificial light came through the large window connecting your room to the hallway most likely from a ceiling light located further down the hall. It was minimal, blue, dim and barely noticeable, but it did give you the ability to see if people were looking in on days you weren’t blindfolded. Often you would see drooling, scruffy men with unkempt facial hair and moth ate clothes. Other times you would see handsome and young men in sleek and expensive-looking outfits, and finally, you would even more often see a security guard peering in with his arm resting up against the glass.

His facial features were hardly ever something you could see through the dim light, but you could still feel his intense gaze through the darkness. He never smiled, never said anything through the window as the scruffy men would, would never stand with both hands extending downwards to where you could not see as the men in suits. The only thing that was uniquely his was the hat he was always wearing, adorned with a golden badge that would at times catch what little light there was and glint brilliantly on the ceiling.

If you had been staring at the ceiling, like you were right now, you could watch the little light show. That would indicate that he was standing there, silently watching you. Sometimes you would wonder what his purpose was. Since you were so weak and restrained, there was no way you were going to escape or scream loud enough that someone would come to rescue you. Sometimes you wondered if he had a weapon on him. He most likely did, there have been times when you’ve heard distant gunshots. Sometimes you wished that he would just shoot you and end your suffering: you had figured out a long time ago that you weren’t going to leave alive. You thought being shot might be the best way to really get out. 

No matter what you speculated, you were most likely wrong. He would just stand there, arm pressed against the glass. All he did was stare in. He never entered the room or even attempted to communicate through the glass. While his stares didn’t make your skin crawl like everyone else you’ve seen here, it didn’t make you feel any better.

~

“How long does this have to go on?” Namjoon whispered through his phone, hidden outside the facility in a small nook where he could make his phone calls without being suspicious. He looked over his surroundings, the night only lit up by the numerous light posts littered around the field. They would go out soon, indicating that Namjoon would either have to leave for the night or retreat into his excuse for a room. Not that he could complain about his situation, you had it far worse than he did.

“Not much longer. You’re sure that (Y/N) is the last girl alive in there?” The voice on the other line asked. Namjoon sighed, nodding even in the knowledge that his superior could not see him.

“I’m sure. They’ve moved Crystal, but I was never given access to any of the girls’ files other than (Y/N)’s. She’s the last one alive in this place specifically. Either they’re starting to catch on, moving them all to other facilities, or worse… leaving them to die of malnutrition as they move onto different products.” Namjoon sighed again at the use of the term. “Please… I just want to save at least her.”

“We first need to make sure that we have enough of an advantage against the ring that’s orchestrating it, to begin with, special agent. If we can’t take them down, saving (Y/N) will be for nothing.”

Namjoon clenched his free hand into a fist, the other one holding his phone so tightly that it might break, “Chief, please.”

The man on the other line sighs. “Wait until tomorrow, at least. I’ll think about it more tonight, go over it with your team. Get ready to take a call around midday.”

“Yes, sir.”

~

“Come, dear, I’ve got to check you again,” Dr Woo calls softly from the door, closing it and sitting down at the desk the top of your head is currently facing. You can’t respond, and perhaps that is the doctor’s personal way to torment you like the others that come in. He places a few things on the ground by your bed, but you can’t muster the strength to sit up or lean far enough over to look at what it was.

Dr Woo moves from the desk to stand over you, a clipboard in his hand. From the board he picks up your blindfold, watching your reaction, eyes widening as you see it. You hate that blindfold. It smells like you do after the men come in before the doctor comes in to wash you and put your belt back on. The cloth, however, is a different story from you. You don’t believe has ever been washed. It was once white, you think, but it has since been tinted with stains that even you could see in the minimal light. It goes over your eyes despite your whines of protest, your vision was stolen away from you once more.

Dr Woo wipes the drool from your cheeks and chin, soon moving away to place the clipboard on the desk. You hear the tapping of the board against the surface, waiting for Dr Woo to grab you and sit you up straight. But, it doesn’t come.

“(Y/N), sweetie, I need you to answer some questions,” he cooed at you. You would spit on him if you could. You hated how patronizing he was, how condescending he was and how he pretended to be kind. “Nod for yes and shake for no. Understand?”

You nod. You have no choice but to answer, and if you lie, you know that whatever came after that was worse than telling the truth.

“Have you vomited within the last 24 hours?”

Shake for no. If you did, you’d probably have choked on it.

“Have you been experiencing any abdominal cramps recently?”

Nod for yes.

“Okay,” you hear a pen scratching against paper. “Have your breasts felt sore or tender recently?”

Nod for yes.

“Have you been feeling nauseous?”

You try to scoff, but it sounds more like a gargle than anything else.

“I have no patience for sass, (Y/N). Nod or shake.”

Nod for yes.

“Okay, one more question. Have you been feeling more fatigued or sluggish than usual?”

What was that supposed to mean? You’re almost never moving. You feel tired all the time. You try to sigh, and nod.

“Alright. Thank you, (Y/N). Now, I’m going to need you to sit up for me so I can undo your buckles.” You hear Dr Woo move again, the cuffs on your ankles being taken off, but you don’t bother to try and kick him. You’re too exhausted. You don’t move at all until Dr Woo’s hands are under your head and your back, lifting you into a sitting position.

He scoots you until you’re at the edge of your bed. “I’m going to remove your pyjamas, okay?”

Pyjamas? Yeah right. Soon enough all the buckles of your jacket are removed, as well as your belt. His hands are on your breasts briefly, nothing you’re not used to, but you were sore, so his examination of you was more painful than before. He’s then taking your blood pressure and examining your lungs with an ice-cold stethoscope.

“(Y/N), I have a little bucket here for you, it’s right in front of you, so none of it will get on the floor or on your bed. Can you please urinate for me?”

Was someone else in here with the doctor? He’s never had you relieve yourself in this room. Whatever. If he wasn’t going to get you to stand up and escort you to the bathroom, you guessed that this was your only chance to let go today, so you do as he asks.

“Good girl,” Dr Woo praises. Something small is placed against the desk, you can hear the small tap of it hitting the surface of the desk. You’re soon laid back down with your belt and jacket on, your ankles returned to their place in the metal cuffs chained to your bed.

Usually, after his examination, Dr Woo either gives you a shot, wipes lashing marks (if any) and your ankle scabs, or just leaves. However, you know that he hasn’t left the room. He’s waiting for something. You tense up, wondering what his motive could have been. It would be unlikely that he’d tell you, but you wished that today was an exception as your curiosity outweighed your pain.

After what you assumed was a few minutes, a faint ‘click’ sounded in your right ear, coming from whatever the doctor placed on the desk. You heard him pick it up with a quiet “hmmm”. He stood, pacing across the room a few times before turning off the lamp, removing your blindfold and exiting the room.

There were times when you could hear faint conversations happening outside your room. Hoping that Dr Woo would meet with someone just outside, you strained your ears and tilted your head toward the window with attentiveness. In a stroke of luck, two people appeared before the doctor, standing just inside your field of vision. Their faces were of course obscured by the darkness, but their silhouettes were mostly visible.

“We’ve got a problem,” you hear the doctor’s faint voice from outside. It was muted, but still discernible. More drool dribbled its way down your chin as you attempted to swallow out of nervousness.

“What is it, Woo? Is she?” Another voice came. It’s lighter than Woo’s but more harsh and sharp.

“Yes, she’s pregnant.”

Your eyes go wide. There’s another person inside of you? Inside this hell hole? Your chest tightened and you felt like you could cry, but you had long since wasted yourself of tears and the general dehydration barely kept your eyes from drying out in the first place. A choked breath leaves you. Why did this have to happen now?

“What are we going to do about it?” The third voice asked. It was deep, smoother, and much calmer.

“Either I take out her reproductive organs, remove the fetus which could damage her groin, I give her the shots I’ve been developing, or we kill her and find a new girl.”

“We can’t remove her ovaries or anything of the sort. Fixed girls don’t pull nearly as much money as she does. No damage to the groin, I don’t even want to risk it. How far along are your shots?” The second voice asked.

“I have to admit, not far, especially with the resources we have. It could kill her.”

“Fuck. I don’t know if we’ll ever find another girl as durable and as profitable as her...” Voice number two complains.

“But we might just have to.”

~

“Backup’s almost there, Namjoon. Are you sure that’s what they said?” Chief Jin asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. I was standing there with both of them as they talked about it. Right outside her room, too. I saw the test and everything.”

Jin sighs. “Then we really do have no choice. Do you have the key to (Y/N)’s room?”

“I don’t, but I know how to pick it.”

“Close enough. Get in there, get her out. She is the first priority. Your team will take care of the rest,” Jin instructs.

“10/4.”

~

You were startled out of sleep when the knob of your door began to jiggle wildly. “Fuck!” you heard over and over again in the seconds following. Your breathing became ragged. Did they decide to kill you? Where was Dr Woo? Isn’t he the one with the key? You turn your head towards the commotion, not bothering to move the rest of your body. Your neck pops uncomfortably, but an impromptu adjustment is the least of your worries. You couldn’t die, no matter how much you wanted to before. Not now, not while you had another life to protect.

When the door finally flew open, your body jolted in surprise. The silhouette of the security guard was standing in the doorway. Not exactly the executioner you were expecting, but you were getting ready to fight him regardless. He stares down at you, something you’re familiar with but still not exactly used to. The light coming from the hallway illuminates him a little more this time, revealing a round face, thick lips and teardrop-shaped eyes laced with concern.

“We don’t have much time, (Y/N),” he says, walking over to the end of your bed to pick the locks of the metal cuffs. You whine in confusion, wishing that the gag in your mouth was gone. Then again, did you even remember what it was like to do something other than scream? Did you remember how to talk?

“I’m special agent Kim Namjoon. I’ve been undercover here for almost a year, and it’s about time that I get you out,” he explains. “My friends are coming to get the bad guys while I carry you away.”

You sniffle in relief but stay still as your ankles are freed in the slight disbelief that this was actually happening. You’ve been here for a long time. You couldn’t even tell if it was daytime, night or even what day, month, or year it was anymore. Why would someone come for you now? Let alone the person who had been constantly staring at you in silence?

Namjoon slowly moves his hands to your head, raising his eyebrows and waiting for a nod before lifting your head and undoing the clasp that kept the gag in your mouth, successfully allowing you to breathe properly and put your jaw back in the position it was supposed to be in. You lick your dry lips, swallowing in satisfaction and moving your jaw side to side to pop it.

“Can you speak?” He asks, his hands now moving to your back and under your knees, lifting you into his arms.

You shake your head. There was no point in trying.

“Okay, let’s get you home.” He leans to something attached to the pocket on the chest of his jacket. “I’ve got her. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t long after that Namjoon broke into a run, effectively but not intentionally jostling you around. The movement began to hurt your head, eventually causing you to pass out.

~

When you awoke, you found yourself in another dark room, still brighter than the one you had just been occupying not long ago. Your surroundings weren’t exactly identifiable, you were once again living in little more than the place where you were held captive, but it didn’t feel or smell like death and sex.

You licked your lips. No ball gag. You lifted your leg as best you could. No ankle cuffs. Your arms were resting at either side of your body. No straitjacket. You rolled your head from side to side. A fully fluffed and warm pillow was beneath you. You wiggled your hips. No belt. A wave of warmth and feathery softness washed over you, indicating that a thick blanket had gently been spread over you.

“So, you’re awake,” a voice softly calls from your left. When you spot Namjoon, he smiles. “Don’t try and talk yet, Dr Summers says your throat is still raw.”

You nod.

“You’re in the General Marine Hospital if you’re wondering. How are you feeling? Alright?”

You nod again. He continues to smile.

“Good. Here, I have something for you.” From his lap, Namjoon hands you a teddy bear, fuzzy and soft. He places it in your hand, allowing your fingers to weakly curl over its hand and feel the fabric. “His name is Ryan. Take good care of him, okay?”

“Okay,”

“Shh, I know you will.”

Namjoon continued to sit with you, through the occasional visit from Dr Summers and the filing in and out of his team of police officers. Officers Kim Taehyung, Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook were all very sweet, determined to bring justice to the men who hurt you. They would bring small bowls of jello and little popsicles for you along with cups of coffee for Namjoon whenever they visited. They would ask the occasional yes or no question before taking their leave again. But Namjoon stayed.

He would fall asleep in his chair, sometimes with his head leaning back, sometimes with his forehead pressed against the edge of your bed’s mattress. Somehow, you didn’t mind. You felt grateful to him, having saved your life and all. You wondered if he had a family, and what they would think about him never leaving the side of a beaten, nearly dead pregnant girl. You wondered if you had a family, but somehow, you felt that the doubt in your chest was telling you the truth. If you had a family, they’d be here.

Over time, the investigation ended and six months later you attended the trial of your captors through a video call, still only able to answer yes or no questions, Dr Summers’ fear of you never being able to speak again rendering you from answering any complicated questions. But even when Namjoon was assigned to other cases, he would still come every day to see you, to make sure you were okay and if you were taking good care of Ryan.

He would hold your hand, stroking the palm gently with his thumb as he smiled down at you, his former intense gaze relaxing into something you might have been able to see as affection. That alone was something that made your smile return. His stories were things that motivated you to eat. His encouragement and help also gave you the determination to learn how to walk again.

Perhaps after all this, you find it in your heart to feel something other than pain.

On the day you gave birth to Jihoon, you were finally able to speak. You had to have a C-Section, and you spent another three days in a medically induced coma. That was nothing, and you knew it was to keep your son safe. You felt as if Jihoon blessed you, somehow not loathing the fact that the biological father was some stranger who was a part of your torture. To you, little Jihoon’s father was Namjoon, the man who saved your life, the man who gave you life, the man who cured your doubts. The man you fell in love with.

“You know,” Namjoon said after you reawoke, little Jihoon cooing in his arms, “he already looks like you.”

“If…” you try, Namjoon shushing you. “If,” you persist, “if he looks like me, then… he’s going to be brave and smart like you.”

Namjoon smiled down at you. “I hope he’s as brave as both of us.”

[gallickingun]

remember me || t.a.

SUMMARY: Tamaki Amajiki saves a civilian. He doesn’t expect her to buy him coffee and teach him about the wiles of floral culture.

PAIRING: Tamaki Amajiki x Fem!Reader  RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: mild violence and language, etc.  WORD COUNT: 6.9k+

LINKS: ao3 | masterlist | mobile | writing tag

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ is at the end of this post!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is my first submission for the @bnhabookclub​ provisional license event! if you want to participate, here is the post! and if you want to apply for the server, here is the application!! 

i have to get sappy here for a second. i had 2 panic attacks while writing this because i was so self-conscious, so riddled with doubts about a. was i getting tama’s character right b. was i even on par with the great and wonderful writers of this fandom and c. am i proud of this? eventually, after talking it through, i realized that it doesn’t matter how i measure up to everyone else. i should be writing this because i want to, and because i’m enjoying myself. so, special thanks to @freckledoriya​ and @k-atsukidayo​ who have once again been my lifeline. i love you guys ♡

if you like this, feel free to request more HERE!

Tamaki Amajiki had never given flowers much thought.

He usually passes by the windows of a floral shop and notices the blossoms just enough to smell the variance of air – from stale to sweet – and then he moves on, not much effort spent towards the colorful display of petals in the open windows.

But now, after finding you, he cannot stop thinking about the way they bloom.

“Columbine,” your eyes light up, thumbs pressed to the dark red petals, “they are used to symbolize anxiety.”

Tamaki’s eyes graze over the flower, wondering how you could know so instantly that he might connect with this specific budding plant. The tether he feels to it is strange, something particular but also aloof – as if he could not place it if he tried.

Anxiety is something very relevant to Tamaki’s life, a demon he has struggled with every day since he could comprehend the reason his stomach tied into knots, the worry he keeps pent up in his chest burning ulcers into his belly. He wraps his arms around his waist at the memory of meeting you, the way his entire body was wrought with anxious thoughts, mind unable to comprehend the extent of your impact on him at the time.

You tilt your head as if able to realize that his mind has begun to spiral, “We don’t usually add these into bouquets, but something about them is just so beautifully broken, I can’t help but fall in love.”

It is a typical day on patrol when he first stumbles upon you, nothing special or out of the ordinary, not really.

Tamaki has been working under Fatgum’s agency for a few years to date, and he’s comfortable with the route that he’s been assigned, a routine he has held since the beginning of his deployment. The elder hero understood from the very start that Tamaki tends to try and avoid social interaction. In response, Fatgum made sure to create a patrol route so Tamaki could walk the least populated paths while also providing an effective amount of protection to the community. It’s the least he could do for the young Suneater, a new hero steadily climbing the charts despite his difficulty in speaking with the press outlets.

Some days Tamaki will try to stop by various vendors’ carts, eating foods that will create good manifestations for his quirk or just to support the local economy. It also allows him to try and force himself to have a discussion, even if there isn’t much substance to it, trying to grow more familiar with the ideology of small talk. He’s decided that he is going to stop by his favorite sushi bodega today, already thinking up his lengthy sashimi order as he starts towards the food stand.

And then he hears someone cry out.

Tamaki races in the direction of the distressed sound, channeling his quirk as he rounds the corner. The tentacles that are thanks to the octopus he regularly incorporates into his diet are extended from his fingertips, ready for action as soon as he skids to a stop in the street.

Your body is pressed against the wall of the alleyway, face cut by the brick beneath your cheek. You connect your gaze to his, your brilliantly shining irises seeking him out like a moth to a flame. Tamaki can’t help the way his chest constricts at the sight of such a helpless person, and then his heart lights on fire when he sees the burly man currently trying to take advantage of you. He snarls, digging his heels into the concrete, tentacles growing straight from his fingertips.

Before you can part your lips to try and beg for help or mercy, Tamaki is landing a swift blow to the thug’s head, successfully knocking him unconscious to the ground. You clasp your freed hands around your neck, coughing violently as you bend over at the waist, stars in your eyes and shards in your throat. A thin river of tears streams freely from your lids, and when you’re able to look back up at him, you’re far from embarrassed.

“Th-Thank you,” you manage, voice hoarse. You lick your lips and swipe your hands at your face to rid your skin of tears and snot, “Seriously. That guy-he came outta nowhere!”

Tamaki finds the adrenaline of the short-lived skirmish to have fled from his system, leaving behind only the crippling anxiety that makes him blush from head to toe. He swallows the growing lump in his throat when he realizes he’s been staring at you without responding for at least a full minute now. Your hands are shaking and your shoulders quiver, but Tamaki is frozen in place, feet unable to start towards you.

Fatgum taught him how to comfort civilians, but he’s never been good at it, and the way that you look at him like he hung the moon in the sky does not make the encumbrance of his task any less intense. He knows that the objectification and idolization of heroes is inevitable, no matter how poorly he projects himself onto the public. The reality of it all only does more to constrict his throat, the familiar shroud of apprehension blanketing his body and curling around his spine like a snake. It slithers its way up into his throat until he can’t breathe, tongue deadweight in his mouth.

“Black-eyed Susan,” you muse, plucking a set of three yellow flowers from a vase not too far from him. You turn the buds between your thumb and index finger, the canary-colored blossom blurring in midair as Tamaki tries to stay focused on it. He’s not so close with you that he can smell your perfume, a distinct scent even when you are hidden amongst the blossoms in the greenhouse, but near enough that your presence is dizzying.

It is hard to focus anyway, what with the way your eyes are sparkling under the lowlights of the greenhouse.

You bring the bright flower toward your face and scrunch your nose as you sniff it, eyelids fluttering closed in bliss, “They’re used to express a fierce sense of justice. Usually, we use these in our arrangements for hero galas and festivals.”

Your eyes turn to him, connecting with his violet irises as a smile tugs the corners of your mouth upward, “Don’t you think they’re stunning, Tama?”

For some reason, when he answers, you can’t help but feel there’s a duality to his words, as if he is saying one thing but meaning something else entirely. Tamaki’s eyes are trained in on your face, not the flower, and his lips move in slow motion, like syrup dripping from his tongue, “Oh yes,” Tamaki is close to smiling, “quite stunning.”

You return to your arrangement and begin to hum a gentle melody between heavy breaths as you meticulously place the flowers in their perfect order. The way your brow furrows, creases ever-present on your forehead, draws Tamaki’s attention.

For a fleeting second, he wonders if he were to press his mouth to your worried skin, would you find yourself able to relax? To allow your body to melt into his touch?

“U-Uh, yeah,” he forces the words out, a hand brushing the back of his neck to try and relieve some of the tension he’s feeling. Tamaki adjusts his cape, taking a step forward, just like Fatgum taught him in his earliest days of training. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, but you’re fumbling towards him to capture his frame in a hug before he can make sense of what is going on.

You cup his face in your hands as you pull back to look him in the eyes, completely oblivious, it would seem, to his current state of panic, “Thank you so much! You’re Suneater, right?”

Tamaki gulps down what is left of his dignity and nods in silent confirmation, eyes a little glossy as he gazes over your face. He takes in your features, noting the slope of your nose and the bow of your lips, and he wonders if he’s ever seen anyone as pretty as you before. Normally his body would turn him to mush at the mere sight of a person such as you coming so close to him, but there is something different about your aura, the way you carry yourself.  Your hands pull from his face, and he can’t help the manner that his body follows you, desperate for more.

Just as he’s coming to his conclusion about your beauty and grace, he realizes that you’re talking again, lips moving animatedly. Only this time, you aren’t speaking directly to him. You’re on the phone with the local police, letting them know that there’s been a low-level thief apprehended in the streets.

Tamaki is in awe of you – absolutely shocked at your ability to take charge of the situation, to hold onto it with an iron grip and make it your own. He should be the one alerting the cops, giving them an address and a rundown of what’s happened – that’s his job. And yet, here you are, phone to your ear and authority in your voice, detailing the scene down to the hair and eye color of the perpetrator currently propped up in the alleyway. He’s still unconscious, with his head lolled to the side with tongue protruding from his mouth.

Amajiki’s jaw is hanging just slightly, you notice, so when you step forward, crowding his space all over again, you nudge his chin with the crook of your thumb. A gentle giggle parts your lips, your head tilted in such a way that reminds him of a curious young animal, “Do you want to stop in at my shop? The police said they should be here any minute.”

“Y-Your shop?” he stutters, eyes flitting around to the different curbside stores on the strip of the road in an attempt to pinpoint the building you might be speaking of. He sees a few food stands and a bodega selling travel brochures, but nothing that screams you.

Although, does Tamaki really know enough about you to determine what kind of shop you might own or manage? He chastises himself for jumping too far ahead, his intense and sudden feelings forcing his heart to tumble over his inhibitions.

The habit of his emotions leaping into his throat is one he has struggled to curb for years now – he’s fully aware of his naturally forward-thinking spirit. He can take one action, one string of words, and force it into a new, paradoxical reality which he has fashioned all on his own in a matter of moments. The fabric of this new world is woven so intricately that it’s difficult for him to pull himself out of it, the alternate universe sucking him in and creating a vortex in which his mind can play.

You nod, grabbing your phone out of your pocket and unlocking it quickly, heading to your pictures folder for something specific. The split seconds in which you are distracted give him time to pull himself out of the recesses of his mind, to mend the fabric of time to bring him back to the present. You proudly hold the device up in his face, and he blinks harshly so he can focus.

The photograph on your screen shows him a rather familiar front display stand, dozens of budding flowers framing a beautifully crafted window sign that he’s seen every day since the start of his time at Fatgum’s agency. Tamaki tilts his head, trying to take in the store fully before he admits that he patrols by your flower shop consistently.

His head spins – he can’t believe he never stopped into your store before. Could he have met you a long time ago? Could he have seen you every day for the past few months, getting to learn your favorite flowers and flavors and the specific perfume you wear to smell so enticing? Another question plagues his mind – would you have stopped to give him the time of day had he not met you by saving your life?

“Oh,” he forces himself to speak, to dislodge himself from his tumultuous thoughts, “I-I’ve seen that shop before. You own it?”

You’re looking at the photo now, marveling at it with proud, shining irises. The picture distracts you from his enlarged pupils and blushing cheeks, and he’s thankful for the reprieve of your daunting gaze. Tamaki takes advantage of the seconds of your distracted scrutiny to map out your frame again, attempting to commit as much of you to memory as possible, given the short amount of time he has with you. He swallows the lump in his throat, licking his dry lips when you shove your phone back into your pocket, and he must refocus his eyes on some facet of your face other than your lips.

“There’s an adjoined coffee shop just to the left of it.” You’re smiling at him, and Amajiki thinks his heart is going to beat right out of his chest, flesh bruised from the intensity of its ministrations underneath the skin of his pectoral. The beginnings of a bashful tinge of pink warm your cheeks and ears, and Tamaki speculates whether your body is reacting to him or the heat of the afternoon. You lick your lips, “We can grab a scone and a cup of coffee if you like? My treat since you saved me.”

Tamaki is immediately refusing, holding his hands up as he shakes his head, ducking away from you entirely. “No, n-no, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

Your lips are pulled downward in a pouted frown, eyes losing a little of their luster. Tamaki regrets instantly that his mind is so tied down to the rules, the reality that: “Heroes aren’t supposed to accept bribes, gifts, or rewards in any form.”

You are twirling a different yellow flower between your fingers – this one is much more fragile in nature. Tamaki eyes the papery blossom and ponders the antiqueness of its appearance, as if it were meant to be made into outdated floral prints on fine china.

Your eyes are focused in on the center of the bud, narrowing just enough that he can tell you’re trying to concentrate, “These are yellow carnations. Carnations can mean so many different things – red for heartache, white for innocence, pink for the reality of being unable to forget someone – but yellow, wow yellow is something much more draining, exhausting.”

Tamaki is scooting closer to you, his body drawn in by the tone of your voice, “If the other flowers mean something so kind, h-how can this one have such the opposite effect?”

Your eyes are sparkling, but there is something hidden in the back of them, an emotion he can’t quite pluck out. Perhaps you have a familiarity with this type of flower? Does it hold a different power for you than the others? Are there memories tucked away in the recesses of your subconscious that wreck your spirit when you see this type of blossom?

“That’s the beauty in the buds,” you laugh at your attempt at a jesting remark, eyes hooded now as you glance downward, “if you choose the wrong one, you’re sending a different message entirely.”

Tamaki’s knee bumps into yours, and usually, he would pull away, but this time something feels different, weightier than before. His eyes cannot stray from you; he finds it difficult even when he tries. And so, he succumbs to the desire and leans closer. Near enough to you now that your body heat is intoxicating once mixed with the headiness of your perfume. He tries to keep his eyes from crossing and his hands in his lap, body uncharacteristically wanton for your skin.

You take a breath, your chest expanding, “Yellow carnations mean rejection, disappointment. Usually, they’re used as a revenge flower, given to someone who has harmed you, or taken advantage of you. We don’t do many yellow carnation bouquets.”

The phrase only seems to make you more determined – your brows pull together so tightly that your forehead creases, “Well,” you pause, brushing your hand over your face, “I guess it just won’t have to be any of those things then.”

Tamaki’s head tilts just enough to remind you of a confused animal. His inky irises are zeroed in on you, raven locks of hair falling in his eyes, “Wh-“

“It’s a date!”

His eyes practically bug out of his head, sweat starting to bead down his temples. He shakes his head and steps back from you, holding his hands up in the space currently separating your bodies. Tamaki attempts at conversation, trying to tell you in as few syllables as possible that no, that’s not okay, we can’t, I don’t think that’s allowed…

You shrug, “Listen, call it whatever you want - it’s just coffee.”

The police arrive with sirens blaring a few minutes later, taking down a statement and emailing Tamaki a new set of paperwork he’s going to have to fill out later regarding how and why he used his quirk. He secretly is praying that you will flee the scene once you realize how mundane this part of the hero job can be – interviews and paperwork and confessions on the street.

Maybe you’ll find him and the whole process tedious enough that you’ll run away, back to your flower shop where you can live on in peace, pretending as if you never met him. It’s not always fun and games being a hero, and typically, once a civilian realizes it, they walk away from the scene at hand and find something much more interesting to take up their time. Tamaki is sure you must have a thousand other things you would prefer to be doing than waiting for him to wrap up a discussion with a police officer, or so he’d like to believe.

For some reason, it does not surprise him to find that you are still waiting on him, patiently sipping a bottle of water given to you by another officer while you chat, feet twisting back and forth to pass the time. Tamaki’s mind begins to wander again to how he always passed your shop and never found you outside, watering the arrangements or even in passing in the window. He would have waved – that’s what Fatgum taught him to do. He has been trained to interact with civilians, to remind them that he is there for their protection and safety, as a beam of light in the darkness of their daily lives. There are other shop owners who he knows by name, their faces somewhat cataloged in the recesses of his mind, so he knows he would recall meeting you.

You’re remarkable; Tamaki would have remembered you.

And yet, he knows that now, every time he passes your shop, he’ll think of you, regardless of whether or not you’re outside watering the plants or inside working on an arrangement. Tamaki will be distracted with thoughts of your pretty smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your shop. Surely he’ll never be able to walk the beat of this street again without remembering you, his heart hammering in his ribs as he plucks up the courage to pass your shop each day. He’d bank on the hope that you’d see him, that you’d turn to wave, and he might be able to catch a glimpse of you, maybe even hold a full conversation more than a few sentences long.

It’s like his eyes are magnets for you now, drawn to find your essence like a northern pole. He turns his head so he can look over the officer’s shoulder, trying to find your frame again amidst the police and pedestrians alike.

Tamaki is more than surprised to find you staring directly back at him.

“What are these?” Amajiki points to a white flower he realizes he should have memorized based on its simplicity, and yet the hero knows that he’d sooner hear your bell-like voice rattling off the meanings to him, “I feel like I’ve seen them before…”

“Daisies,” you giggle, plucking a plume from your wall on display.

You twirl the flower around, taking an inhale of it before returning your attention to the hero stood in front of you. Your body moves without thinking  - inhibitions tucked away in a box in your heart as you step forward, so your body is almost flush with his own. You press one palm flat against his chest, eyes connected with his inky orbs as you grin.

Tamaki is frozen in place, his feet cemented into the ground. He couldn’t escape you even if he wanted to, what with the way his anxious heart stutters underneath the cage of his ribs. Amajiki is somewhat thankful for the bone structure around the organ, acting like a prison so his heart can’t flutter out into the open. His body blushes from head to toe, painting his skin pink, when he feels your fingertips brush against his cheek.

“You look so pretty, Tama,” you murmur as you tuck the bright white blossom behind his ear.

You cannot pull your gaze away from the fragile petals held in place by the thickness of his violet hair and the curve of his ear. The blossom looks so lovely and light in contrast to his inky hair, tucked away like a secret between the strands and his skin. You are practically whispering when you speak next, afraid you might shatter some unspoken moment, “A daisy symbolizes innocence and hope. They’re typically used to symbolize the potential of new beginnings, a promise of faith despite a certainly somber situation.”

Tamaki’s face is bright red, but he manages to speak, “O-Oh, so a get-well type of flower?”

“Something like that.” Your hand ghosts over his cheek, pushing the bud deeper against his temple so the petals are flayed outward, a hauntingly beautiful smile painted on your lips. “It looks purely providential in your hair, Amajiki. Like a light in the dark.”

When you catch him staring, your left eye drops in a wink. Tamaki knows that he has never felt his entire body blush before, but now he is privy to what the sensation is like, an intense heat traveling from his ears to his toes. It’s hot and stimulating in all the strangest of ways, pinpricks of heat underneath his skin, making it seem like he may balloon up and fly away at any given time. He coughs to try and conceal the way his throat is bobbing, covering his mouth with his gloved hand. Even his palms are bright pink beneath the white leather of his suit, turned darker in shade by the overwhelming heat of your gaze but thankfully hidden by his gloves.

The eye contact between the two of you must make you bolder, because you are walking towards him now with purposeful strides. Tamaki knows that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t make his body combust instantaneously to avoid talking with you, and he can’t quite run away when you’re striding towards him. None of those options would prove very heroic.

And, at the end of the day, despite his personal inhibitions and self-restrictions, his job is to be a good hero, to strive to provide the public with safety and comfort, and maybe today the word heroism just means coffee.

You step over to him, your body closer now than before, “You think you’re ready for that coffee now?”

“I-It’s three in the afternoon, what if the caffeine-“

“There is this cool, new invention called decaffeinated coffee,” you deadpan, raising a patronizing brow at him, smirk lilting your lips, “or you can always try tea.”

Tamaki runs his fingers over his jaw in trepidation, the pads of his digits soothing his sweating skin. He licks his lips and chews on the inner corner of his mouth, diverting his eye contact from you to the ground, focus now steadily on the toes of his boots.

The first thought in his mind is that he could be reported for this – he’s still on duty, and he’s decked out in his full hero costume. If he were to be spotted by one of the head heroes or a news outlet for being too friendly with a civilian after saving their life, it could end poorly for him in terms of his reputation. Not only would Fatgum be disappointed, the Suneater’s ranking would dip into the undesirable zone, and he’d probably lose a few of his current brand endorsement deals.

And yet, when you grab him by the elbow and loop your arm through his, Tamaki is frozen just long enough for you to begin dragging him down the street with little opposition.

“Hollyhock,” your eyes roll back in your head as you smell the pink flower in front of your face, a whimper caught in your throat at the dizzying scent. You groan, slumping down in your chair, “One of my favorites.”

Tamaki’s ears perk at the statement, eyes widening just enough so he can memorize the shape of the floral arrangement, stashing away the memory in hopes that he might pull it forward if he were to need it in the future.

“This flower is usually an accent piece, something to show that the recipient is ambitions, outgoing,” you place the stem back into the arrangement, neatly tucking it away to ensure the set is not disturbed. “They’re so stunning, such a phenomenal meaning. So often we don’t reward ambition, instead trying to stifle it.”

The hero turns toward the arrangement, eyeing it carefully. He tilts his head, careful of what he says next, “They a-are pretty flowers.”

“Yes,” your voice has quietened when you admire the blossoms, eyes glazing over as if you were under a spell. You sound far away when you speak, like you might be somewhere between here and there, feet planted on the ground beneath you but mind and soul much further away. “I think so.”

The scent of floral buds and coffee beans makes his head spin – or maybe it’s just the closeness of your body and the gentle breeze that blows your perfume towards him. Your smile mixed with the sunlight of the day makes Tamaki’s breath hitch, eyes averted from your gaze so he won’t turn every shade of red in the book.

“Bean There, Done That,” you rattle off the name of the shop, “they give me free coffee because I put together the floral arrangements for their shop.”

Tamaki is overwhelmed by the menu alone – his eyes roll back and forth over each flavor of roast and style of drink that they offer. Eventually, he feels terrible for holding up the line and he starts to stutter, attempting to spit out some flavor of some type of some kind of drink. His surprise only grows into silence when you half-step in front of him, palm jutting out to wrap around his bicep as you start ordering something that sounds like he might actually like it.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologizes as you wait off to the side, his toes overlapping as he turns his feet inward. Your hand has since released him, but that does not stop his body from blazing beneath his costume from your touch. Tamaki coughs to hide the trepidation, “I-uh, I don’t really…I don’t really drink coffee? I-It doesn’t do much to help my quirk, so I tend to stay away from it.”

You shrug, folding your hands together at the knuckles in front of your waist, “It’s okay! I figured.” You’re turning to look at him, softness held in your irises as you behold his face, “Plus this place has a lot of options, so it can get kind of easy to feel bogged down, especially when you’re in a line, and other people are waiting impatiently.”

Wow, he thinks to himself, it’s like she’s in my head.

You’re pressing your palm to his arm now, warm touch once again like an anchor to his befuddled mind. When he looks down, you’re smiling, and some small part of him wishes your expression would never fade away into anything less miraculous than your grin coupled with dimpled cheeks and shining irises.

The crumpled petals look like sheets of tissue paper all bundled together, but somehow your magic touch makes them look appealing, beautiful even. Tamaki watches as your delicate hands swirl around the arrangement, tucking different colored flowers into various sections of the vase, transforming it from something that was one dull on its own to a symphony of color and meaning. He tilts his head and smiles, a gesture he’s discovered to be much easier now that he’s found you, “A-And, what are these?”

You glance up from your work, hands caught beneath a blossom, “Hydrangeas.”

He nods, as if he might know exactly what that word entails, lying through his teeth. When you see his unsure expression, you can’t help the grin that tugs upward on the corner of your mouth, “Do you know what these symbolize?”

Tamaki curls in on himself, shoes overlapping as his knees knock, “Uh, n-no?”

“Hydrangea flowers are beautiful because they are used to communicate gratitude for being understood,” you pluck a blooming flower from the stand, turning to hand it to him. When his knuckles brush yours, it’s like a dozen electric shockwaves tumbling through his veins, blistering his blood beneath the skin, turning him to ash inside. Tamaki gasps at the contact, but he’s thankful that you don’t laugh at his unexpected outburst, or rather you continue as if nothing happened, allowing him to shrink back in on himself with less shame than he may have been burdened with otherwise.

You lick your lips and take a short breath, eyes returned to the arrangement at hand, “Hydrangeas are beautiful and easy to manage, most people have them in their yards or gardens for decoration. I haven’t met many gardeners who know what the true meaning is, however, it seems that people always choose them for their bouquets.”

“When would you give someone a hydrangea?” Tamaki asks, eyes tracking your motions no matter which side of the arranging table you’re on. He cannot get enough of you, body drawn to your presence as he sits in wait of another story, another tale to tumble from your lips.

You are tilting your head, considering the question like it held the weight of a court behind it, as if Tamaki were your judge and jury. You sigh, the weight of the world seemingly settled on your shoulders, almost like you’d thought about this question far too much before, “I think if I were going through a hard time, and I had a friend who just was there for me, I would give them a bouquet of hydrangeas.”

“Why?”

He wishes he hadn’t blurted it out – how rude of him – but your answer makes it worth the accidental insensitivity.

“It’s easy to try and instruct someone on what you think they’re to do next,” you answer carefully, eyes following invisible directions as you stalk around the arrangement as if it were your prey. You grind your teeth together; Tamaki can tell based on the way your jaw quivers under the strain. “It’s difficult just to sit and listen. Even when it’s meant to be kind and helpful, it can sometimes be overwhelming to constantly be told how to react or what to say or how to handle a situation. Almost like they aren’t considering you at all, instead preaching to you of their prowess, how they might have done better if they were in your shoes.”

Your voice is almost chilling, hollow like a needle or a feather, “To find a friend who could listen to me without interjecting their opinion, without telling me what to do, now that is worthy of a hydrangea.”

He allows his subconscious thoughts to wander for a moment, thinking on the implications of you possibly having a mind-controlling quirk. Is that the reason he was okay with coming here? Was it all because you manifested a quirk that allows you to influence the minds of men? Or did your quirk work on women too? Did you-

“Hey,” your voice is gentle, subtle despite the loud volume of everyone else in the shop. Your palm is on his bicep, and for some reason, it anchors him instead of making him want to float away at the sudden contact. Your eyes are genuine as you whisper, “Breathe.”

Tamaki listens to you, taking a short breath in and exhaling soon after, eyes never losing direct contact with yours. His shoulders roll with tension, Tamaki’s lower lip tugged between the bite of his teeth. He swallows, realizing what a fool he must appear to be. How can a hero need assistance from a civilian just for breathing?

“I know what anxiety looks like.” You brush your thumb against his bulky costume, and Tamaki wishes a very secret thing then – something he would never admit aloud. He is curious about how intense your touch would be if he weren’t in his full hero outfit.

Would the pads of your fingertips be soft? Would he be able to feel the heat from your skin leeching onto his own? How much more calming might your skin be if it was direct on his own?

You tilt your head, a considerate grin tugging on the corners of your lips. He’s pleasantly surprised to note the dimples that dip inward, making you all the more appealing, as if you needed any additional help. Tamaki tries to say something, but it gets lost in his throat, so you speak instead, “I hope you don’t mind me ordering for you at the counter. I just wanted you to be a little more comfortable. I felt bad since I was the one who asked you to come.”

“N-No, it’s fine,” he forces the words out, turning to look you in the eyes. Tamaki grits his teeth together and muscles through the anxiety gripping his bones like a vice. He questions when the day will finally come when he might break. “I just feel bad for the people waiting on me.”

“This flower is pretty,” Tamaki licks his lips and leans forward, inspecting the blossom rather intently.

You laugh, and he’s reminded of how delicate you are when you giggle. His eyes are momentarily redirected toward you, taking in every curvature of your face, the dimples created by your smile, the way the gesture reaches your eyes, and it’s like little stars shine from your irises. Tamaki can’t help the way he grins, your laugh and your smile are infectious, much like your love for flowers.

“Have you seen one before?” you ask him, stepping towards the wall of blooms, “They’re a beautiful choice, a lot of meaning behind them. Most people have never seen one, though.”

Tamaki turns to face the flowers again, compelling himself to detract from your silhouette, “Are they rare?”

“Not necessarily,” you respond. You push yourself up on your toes to grab a bright red bud from the wall, twirling your choice blossom between your fingerprints. The scent wafts from the center of the flower, a small dusting of pollen coating Tamaki’s nose.

You giggle as you reach across to brush his skin free from the yellow powder, hand lingering just slightly too long for him to ignore your possible intent. You lick your lips, irises swallowed by your pupils for a moment, allowing him a direct line of sight into your soul. He reads you for a split second, and he swears that the look in your eyes mirrors his own when he thinks too hard about the way you move and the distinct notes of your smell. You’ve taken over every inch of his mind, every last curve of cerebrum and cerebellum.

For the first time, Tamaki is somewhat confident that you might be under the same spell.

“These are anemones,” you break him from his stupor, pulling his line of sight towards the budding flower in your grasp, “they signify anticipation – the build-up before the burst. Kind of like when you’re going to have your first kiss!”

Tamaki stutters, “T-That’s why you’d g-give someone this flower? Wh-When you want to kiss them?”

“No, silly,” you swat at him, smacking the back of your palm against his bicep. However, before you can turn away from him entirely, he notes the beautiful blush turning your cheeks to a rouge. You sigh dramatically with your hip leaned against the table, “I just mean that’s what the flower symbolizes – the tantalizing next step into the unknown.”

“Sounds scary.”

Your eyes light up as you turn to look at him again, irises gleaming under the bright lights of the flower shop, “Oh, but doesn’t it feel riveting?”

You are too close now, your pose intoxicating as he remembers every time you’ve come so near to him and he hasn’t had the strength to reach out and grasp you by the waist. Is this his time? Is this the day that he finally hands you a blossom and tells you the truth about the war raging inside of his chest? He has little soldiers prodding at his heart, stomping all over his bones, making them ache when he is adjacent to you.

Something within him wanders into the tumultuous thoughts of how you might respond, what his body would do in reaction to you. Would he finally find some relief from the plague of himself when he finally passes the threshold into adoring you on a physical level? Mentally, he’s been infatuated with you for some time now, but his throat can’t force the words out when he’s within ten feet of your frame.

Tamaki reaches out, his hand weighted down with reserve and implications. And yet, it’s almost like you lean into his touch before he can think on it too harshly, before he can make the rash decision to retract it and flee. He gasps audibly, eyes flashing to find your face, irises connecting like some sort of lighthouse out at sea, giving one another hope despite the disparity of every other moment leading up to this one.

“Anemones,” Tamaki whispers, voice curling from his throat, projecting onto you like a prayer. His hand is hot with hesitation as it rests on your rib cage, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Well, the people waiting on you can get over themselves. Everyone needs to learn a little patience, anyways.” You brush a hand through your hair, blowing away stray locks as they float back into your line of sight. You sigh, voice sounding dejected until your topic turns to blossoms, “I-I’m sorry if this wasn’t the place to bring you. I just figured it would be easy since it’s right next to my shop. I’d love to show you some flowers if you have time?”

“I-I’m on patrol,” he manages to push the words out from between his teeth, his throat grating like sandpaper, “I’m not sure…”

“Maybe another time, then?”

Dare he say you sound hopeful? And maybe even a little nervous?

How is it that each time his mind snaps him from you like a rubber band, you are right there, ready to stretch his limits yet again?

“I have seen this one…in Mother’s Day bouquets, I think?” Tamaki asks, unsure of himself this time as he circles the table. There are so many different types of blossoms, so many different meanings to decipher based on genus and color alone.

Your nod makes the pit in his stomach settle for some reason, and Amajiki releases a breath he didn’t realize that he was holding captive in his lungs. He’s not sure he understands why just the small reassurance of your head bobbing or your voice lilting on the right side of kind can calm the raging sea in his mind and stomach.

Tamaki is nearly tucked into your side, hands itching to find purchase against your body, his frame devoid of his typical uniform. The long sleeve shirt may cover the majority of his palms, but that does not mean he would refrain from baring his skin if it meant he could dip his toes into the edge of the ecstasy he might feel at your touch.

His fingertips are on the cusp of you, the calloused pads extended, beckoning you to come closer in a silent, desperate plea. Like your hearts are tied together in some other realm, as if you’ve done this a thousand times before, in a dozen other lives, you turn subconsciously to allow the collision of his fingerprints to impact the curve of your waist.

“Gladiolus means remembrance,” your voice is breathless as you point towards a set of buds that are seated proudly on the wall of flowers. You tilt your head upward, eyes shining as you press the heel of your palm into the column of his throat, thumb grazing his Adam’s apple to soothe it.

The weight of your words does not fall on deaf ears, Tamaki’s every sense on high alert as you speak next, “They can mean remembrance of someone past, or of someone you’re currently trying to honor. Or they can just mean a simple remember me.”

  ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* TAG LIST *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

@kamehamethot @simplybakugou @burnedbyshoto @cookies-n-chaos @katsukisprincess @rat-suki @bitchtrynafck @cutesuki--bakugou @bnhatrashh @succulent-momma @yuueimagines @multifandom-fanfic @that-one-enthusiast​ @blue-peach14​ @pastel-prynce​ @bokunokangae​ @shoutodoki​ @todorki-shoto​ @bakuoushoe​ @tenyaingenium​ @lxvely-mha​ @myherorambles​ @ramen-rambles​ @honeytama​ @sleepysuneater​ @bratwritings​ @samanthaa-leanne​ @orokayagi​ @tumblingintothefeelstrain​ @sunbeamwrites​ @bnhawritten​ @aizawamirite​ @lovekatsukibakugo​ @plusultrawritings​ @suckersuki​ @bnha-mha-imagines​ @heroesreverie​ @pink-imagines​ @brattyquirks​ @lookslikeleese​ @normiewrites​ @secondhand-trash​ @yaoyorozuwrites​ @pinkjeanist​ @kingtamakimurder​ 

[hypersweettea]

Mutually Assured Destruction

Betad by @miraculous-mused

AO3 - Cold War

The day Marinette finally snapped started just like any other had ever been since she took Adrien’s advice about taking the high road when it came to Lila. She walked into class, smiled politely whenever Lila said something about some celebrity she definitely didn’t know and sat in the back of the classroom without complaint. It hadn’t been long after the events of Miracle Queen when Lila had come up with a new lie to get herself in the front row with Adrien and Marinette sent to the back. If Marinette hadn’t been emotionally and physically exhausted by her crash course in Guardianship that the kwamis had been giving her every night after she patrolled, she might have put up more of a protest, but instead, she had just slowly climbed the stairs to the back row and used the opportunity to catch up on her sleep unnoticed. Her exhaustion was mostly the reason she had taken Adrien’s advice in the first place.

The first day Marinette started ignoring Lila had been the day after the events of Miracle Queen and her first lesson as the new Guardian. Lila was pissed when she tried to get Marinette riled up later that day but Marinette just shrugged and said ‘sure, whatever you say, Lila,’ before yawning widely and going back to resting her head on her desk. Due to Marinette’s non-confrontational behavior, all of Lila’s plans to actively turn the class against her had flopped, succeeding only in distancing Marinette from the rest of the class and getting her moved back to the back for some new made-up reason that Marinette had missed. She was so quiet and unassuming for the first month after Miracle Queen that her class almost forgot she was still there and had stopped asking her for favors that took up all her free time.

When Marinette had come out of the fog she’d been in since she lost Master Fu, and had the weight of Paris dropped fully onto her shoulders, she’d been surprised how little she cared that her friends had seemingly forgotten about her. At least Lila hadn’t managed to make them hate her. Although her friends had stopped actively wanting to hang out with her, she decided she would still keep her friends from getting hurt by Lila’s lies. Thankfully, they still thought her advice was valuable. Whenever Lila would tell them not to bother entering this contest or applying for that internship because she knew someone famous in the industry in question and she’d put in a good word for them, Marinette would find them later and convince them that it would look good on their resume or in their portfolio to have accomplishments that they can show Lila’s contact to impress them beyond Lila’s good word. The line that usually convinced them was; Sure Lila can open the door but you need to have something impressive to show that will keep that door open.

With her new free time, Marinette had taken to studying, working on commissions, and learning more about being an effective Guardian. As a result, her grades had risen and she started showing up to class on time after scheduling her time better now that she wasn’t running around, going along with one of Alya’s hare-brained schemes to get her and Adrien together. She had also become more powerful as Ladybug, learning new abilities, and gaining more time before detransformation. The Kwamis had also deemed it necessary for her to know Adrien was Chat Noir as she needed to be able to take the miraculous back if it ever came to that or when they finally defeated Hawk Moth. As a result, her feelings for Adrien faded when she learned the boy she was crushing on had been hounding her for dates and kisses like a ‘nice guy’ she’d read about after running across the term on the internet one night. Because of this, she was able to see his actions as a civilian in a new light. She stopped taking his advice.

Although Adrien believed Marinette had stopped opposing Lila, she was lying low and gathering evidence to contradict Lila’s lies, waiting for the perfect opportunity to expose her. One day during an attempt to chase down an Akuma before anyone was Akumatized, Marinette had stumbled upon the sadly unsurprising fact that Lila was working with Hawkmoth to create more powerful negative emotions for equally more powerful Akuma. She had temporarily lost sight of the butterfly when she finally spotted it dipping down into an alley. When she dropped onto the roof above it, she saw Lila speaking to the butterfly before offering it her supposed family heirloom to possess. When the spotted heroine realized Lila had been speaking to the instrument of Hawkmoth’s control, she’d pulled out her yo-yo and filmed the seemingly not one-sided conversation the brunette had before the familiar purple outline of a butterfly even appeared. After that, Marinette added gathering evidence of her criminal activity as well.

That’s why when Marinette heard a familiar voice coming from the entrance to the alley she had run into to transform to fight the newest Akuma made from Hawkmoth and Lila’s combined efforts, she felt ice-cold dread creep down her spine. Gritting her teeth, Marinette turned to face Lila, seeing all her best-laid plans to get the lying Italian kicked out of the country for working with a terrorist.

“Lila, how wonderful to see you again,” she said in greeting, silently hoping Lila had been too late to see her secret identity, “I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got an Akuma to go fight,” her voice dripped with false pleasantries. Lila laughed and dashed Marinette's hopes to dust.

“This is just perfect! My two worst enemies are one person! Oh, this is going to make destroying you that much sweeter Mari-bug,” she emphasized the word like an insult and cackled, meanwhile Marinette was trying to think of a way out of this disastrous situation.

Marinette held up her hands in front of her, palms facing outward, as if she was trying to stop a dangerous animal from mauling her, “Now Lila, let's not be hasty. We can work this out just between us, no need to tell anybody.”

Lila scoffed, “are you kidding me? I’m telling everybody! Then Hawkmoth will do the dirty work for me and crush you like the little bug you are.”

Marinette dropped the defensive stance and crossed her arms across her chest, “Fine, if you wanna play it like this then let’s do it,” Marinette glared at Lila, “if you tell anybody I’m Ladybug I’ll tell the police you’ve been working for Hawkmoth.”

Lila’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sniffed and fake cried even though she knew Marinette always saw through her act, “I’m just another poor victim of his evil machinations.”

If Marinette wasn’t focused on her seemingly dire situation she would have been impressed by the large word Lila used.

“Just wait until I tell everyone that their beloved Ladybug thinks they’re willingly working with Hawkmoth,” Lila continued to crow, thinking Marinette had nothing left up her sleeve.

“Oh no Lila,” Marinette smirked, unlatching her yoyo from her hip and opening it, “the way an Akuma victim works with Hawkmoth is much more different compared to how you work with him,” she pulled up a video she’d found on the school’s cameras where Lila chased down and caught an Akuma.

She showed the screen to Lila and continued, “Akumatizing yourself isn’t what makes someone a poor victim of, how did you put it? Oh yes Hawkmoth’s evil machinations,” Marinette sneered.

Lila glared back, “uh-uh that proves nothing! I was just really mad! It was the heat of the moment and I regretted my actions later!” She spoke quickly, trying to cover her misdeeds, “no cop will believe you on one video, even if you are Paris’ savior.”

“Oh really?” Marinette swiped at the screen, pulling up the video where Lila held an Akuma in her hands and talked to it, “do you think they’ll believe this?” She hit play.

Rising from the magically powerful speakers of Ladybug’s yo-yo, was Lila’s voice saying, “look I know the plan didn’t work this time but I’ll get that annoyingly upbeat Marinette don’t you worry,” Lila paled, “now Akumatize me. No use wasting a perfectly good Akuma.”

Lila yanked the yo-yo out of Ladybug’s hands, “how did you get this video?!” she tapped at the screen frantically, trying to delete the incriminating evidence against her, “how do you work this stupid thing?!!”

Ladybug snatched the yo-yo out of Lila’s hands, “it doesn’t work for anyone but me. So there’s no deleting this video, or any of the others that I’ve filmed ever since I found you speaking to that Akuma in the alley,” she snarled at the liar. Lila shrunk back, having never heard the superheroine use that kind of tone before.

“What do you want from me, Marinette,” Lila replied sullenly, finally giving up her feigned innocence.

Marinette relaxed for the first time since she’d heard Lila’s god awful laugh coming from behind her, “that’s more like it,” she reattached the yo-yo to her hip and recrossed her arms, “now as much as it pains me to say it, I won’t show these videos to the police,” she paused and Lila let out a sigh of relief and she opened her mouth to say something.

“If!” Marinette cut her off before she could speak, “and only if, you can keep your mouth shut. I don’t trust you. If I hear even an inkling that Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Ladybug I’ll hand over a flash drive to the police. Doesn’t matter if you squealed or not,” she paused and then snorted, remembering their history lesson from earlier that day, “I believe this is what Miss Bustier would call a M.A.D. situation.”

“What?” Lila hadn’t been paying attention again in class.

“Mutually Assured Destruction,” Marinette replies before leaving Lila in the alley, intent on getting to the Akuma attack she’d been caught transforming for in the first place. She hoped that Chat hadn’t done anything stupid in her absence and that Lila was the only idiot she had to deal with for the rest of the day.

[miki-snake]

📖: freesias are all what you can think of, so much it feels like they’re taking your breath away and crushing your lungs ⭕️: angst, unrequited love, hanahaki disease, mentions of possible death 🔍: 5.2k+

taglist: @sugasugawarau, @drabblily​, @igenll​

A/N: It didn’t come out as angsty as I wanted it to be but well,,, hope you can still enjoy it and thanks to @igenll​ and @drabblily​ for giving me feedback on my work, ily two!

Hanahaki disease is a fictional disease, where flowers are growing inside of your lungs. Starting with coughing up petals and flowers until eventually the flower is blocking all of your airways and you die. 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

“Alright, let’s meet up today. I gotta tell you some great news!”

You remembered his words as you sat down on the ground, blooming freesias adorning the stretched out field. The infinite blue sky was drowned in streaks of orangey-reds, like clouds dipped into the image of dusk and hung up on earth’s ceiling, leaving them open to dry. It was a picture out of a fairy tale, the scene so serene it felt like you were trapped inside a painting. You had to think about him, Terushima Yuuji, the colorful accents of the landscape reminding you of him. Freesias, his favorite kind of flowers, were holding the meaning of energy and being energetic. Just like him.

He was like the flicking neon lights on the late night streets, the lightning thundering down on the sea, the adrenaline rushing through the veins and the sunlight strays shining through the blinds of your room.

It was always fun to be around Yuuji, seeing him smile and grow into someone he could be proud of. You knew him since you changed to his middle school and up until now you two were like the sun and the moon. Inseparable and completing each other but opposites nonetheless.

He was the light that helped people to grow, the warmth of a sunny evening that would touch the hearts of the ones around him, while you were always swaying between flood and tide, shining only on the ones who couldn’t sleep at night.

Watching him was blinding you, though you couldn’t look away. He was always in the spotlight, not that it was his intention but people were naturally drawn to his outgoing personality and comedic behavior, like moths to the light. He was loud, wild and carefree but it was the silent nights you enjoyed the most.

It was just him lying in the field of freesias, while you made flower crowns out of them, placing them on his disheveled hair as he smiled up at you like he just won a prize. Sometimes he would braid your hair with the flowers inside of them, telling you how it looked good on you and that he wanted to do that more often. It was sure that when the sun goes down, the moon would grace the sky but when you looked at him like that, under the starry lights, it was like the sunlit day and the moonlit night would merge with each other, creating the impossible paradise you two found. Just like the others you were naturally drawn to him like gravity and there was no way you could turn around and leave him. So, you just kept him company until you were sure that he would leave you.

Your feelings for Yuuji ran deeper than any roots of a million years old trees, they were stronger than any natural force in the universe and they weighed heavier on you than any stone you could find on earth.

At first it was a light feeling of a crush, just like a summer breeze making you feel a little lighter when you were around him. Slowly, it turned into something you couldn’t name, it was more than a crush but surely you wouldn’t call it love just yet. It was a tingling feeling in your gut every time he looked at you and a prickling sensation on your skin where he left his touches. Though you were aware of your emotions and the way your thoughts on him shifted, you weren’t ready to approach him as more than a friend.

It was no secret that Yuuji had a great fan base of girls and occasionally boys. He was popular among young and old alike. While you waited and watched how person after person confessed their feelings to him, your inability to own up to your feelings made it harder for you to speak up. The butterflies in your stomach turned into a turmoil of clashing thoughts that crushed you into the ground, making you feel like it was getting harder to breathe.

It felt like he was moving further away and you could only stop him by screaming his name. Of course you two still talked to each other and you acted like everything was totally fine, even though it was quite the opposite of it.  As hard as you tried to call out to him, every time you opened your mouth you just started to cough. Those uncontrollable attacks grew more frequent, especially when you were alone with your thoughts.

The first time you realized that something was definitely wrong was during another one of those coughing attacks and you felt how something fell out of your mouth and into your hand. Opening the fist of yours, you could see something small, something in the color of red but it wasn’t blood, it was something that looked just like a flower petal.

The thought alone was scaring you, how did that even come out of you, no chance a plant would grow inside of your body. At first though, you didn’t want to visit the doctor and chose to take normal medicine to treat your sore throat. The attacks kept coming and going but in front of others you could normally hold yourself back, sometimes you still found one or two petals falling to your feet but never once did you make a doctor’s appointment.

Until on that one particular day.

It was on the weekend, the day just started for you and you already got a phone call from the boy that was haunting your dreams and occupied your mind. He was talking about how the two of you should definitely go to the fields again and he had some exciting news for you to hear.

To be honest, you couldn’t stop the fast beating of your heart, the moment he told you that he had something to tell you. Something inside of you wanted to believe that maybe it would be a proclamation of love at your favorite spot. Of course you agreed to meet up with him and somehow it felt a little easier for you to breathe. Like those "imaginary" branches inside your lungs finally made some space for fresh air to rush in.

Arriving at the agreed time you could already see his figure standing there, hands shoved inside the pockets of the red jacket he always wore. He looked like the same Yuuji as always, he looked like your Yuuji and as he turned around you could see how his face broke out into a bright smile. Instantly a wave of contentment rushed through your body, it was nearly silly that he could make you feel like that. How just one smile, no, just the look of him made your heart beat in the rhythm of your favorite song, your lips lift up into a real smile and your skin prickled in anticipation, feeling every passing gust of wind.

It was bordering on crazy how far you fell for him and that your love was engulfing all of you that you couldn’t even move anymore. Still, you moved forward, ready to fall all over again.

Right when you reached the top he took your arm and pulled you with him, both of you falling into the sea of blooming dreams.

Landing on the ground you could hear the loud and melodic laugh of your friend, obviously enjoying the little stunt you two just performed. You turned your head to the side to catch a glimpse of his face and he took your breath away. He just laid there, eyes closed and laughter tumbling out of his mouth. He looked so genuinely happy it felt like flowers were blooming inside of your chest, the butterflies residing in your stomach flying around.

He caught his breath again and turned to also look at you. Your eyes met and you could gaze into his almond looking eyes, drowning in the comfort he radiated.

Right then and there you wished you’d had the ability to just put the time on hold. You wanted to watch him smile at you like that for the rest of your life, wishing for this moment to never die, a part of you didn't even care anymore if he loved you back. Every fiber of your body just wanted to be by his side, no matter what he thought of you. Still, you couldn’t deny the yearning inside your heart, like a flower that tried to reach out for the sunlight.

Suddenly he sat up, taking your hands into his to pull you up and looked you straight in the eyes. “Alright, I wanted to tell you something important, so could you hear me out?”, he asked you, excitement evident in his voice. Seeing him so earnest made you shudder and you couldn’t trust your voice, so you just nodded your head.  “Great! Actually you’re the first person I’m telling it and yeah… wow somehow I’m nervous.”, he chuckled and the fact that he was nervous directly transferred over to you, making you feel even more jiddy. “Okay, I guess I’ll just tell you. I ehm.. I have a girlfriend! I think you might even know her, she went to the same high school…”, the rest of what he was telling you was drowned out by your roaring thoughts.

Terushima Yuuji. The Terushima Yuuji, your best friend, had a girlfriend? How did that happen? You wished you could listen to what he was saying but no matter how hard you tried to, your mind just slipped elsewhere. The news came crashing down on you, like standing underneath an ice cold waterfall. Honestly, if you’d stand underneath one in that moment, you’d want to drown in it. You fell hard and you fell all over again but you also fell into nowhere, no one ready to catch you. The part in you that hoped to hear a confession from him withered away, petal after petal falling into the pit where the shards of your heart can be found. Well, you did hear a confession, even a confession of love, just not for you.

It felt like roses were wrapped around your bleeding heart, their thorns piercing through it.

You had truly lost him to someone in the past and now there was no way for you to make him hear your voice again. It wasn’t disappointment you felt, it wasn’t anger you felt and it wasn’t sadness. It was a tight feeling in your throat, you felt like you would choke on all the emotions that went through you. You felt restricted and you lifted your hands to your chest, pressing against it to try and relieve the pain you felt.

All your pent up emotions were exploding inside of your ribcage, threatening to rise up your throat, so you only had the choice to either spit them out or to choke on them. You couldn’t hold back the cough, something blocking your throat and you desperately tried to get some air in your lungs. Fear was consuming your mind as it was getting harder and harder for you to control yourself. One of your hands clasped against your mouth because you already feared the sight of colorful petals rushing out of you. You wanted to understand what was going on but you weren’t able to grasp a coherent thought, your body shaking uncontrollably.

The feeling of two hands on your shoulders brought you back to reality and you tried to look at the person holding you. Your sight was blurry due to the tears in your eyes, the pain of barely getting enough air and the ache in your throat causing you to tear up. “Y/n, what’s happening?”, Terushima pulled you up until you were standing, or rather leaning into him.

“Please, do you need water? You have to try and tell me something.”, he panicked and moved you with him downhill. “If you don’t stop we need to get help. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”, abruptly you stood still and shook your head no. It couldn’t be that severe that you really needed to go to the hospital. It’ll probably pass soon, just like always. You wanted to tell him that but you still struggled with stopping your attack. It was never this strong before and you didn’t know why it was now all of the sudden. “Y/n it’s not getting better, I don’t care if you don’t want to go, I’m just gonna pick you up.”, he threatened you and in an instant you felt your feet being lifted off of the ground. He was holding you bridal style and ran towards his car, while you just tried to stay conscious.

I’m sorry but my friend needs help please, she’s been coughing all the time and it didn’t stop for a second!”, you could hear footsteps rushing over to you and a pair of hands guided you through the room. Terushima’s voice rang after you through the hallway, “Wait, I need to go with her!”. His voice sounded so scared and you wanted to turn around, telling him that everything will be fine but you couldn’t. Not only because your body was shaking from all the coughing but also because you knew you couldn’t bear to look at him right now. You heard how a nurse spoke up and tried to calm him down but it wasn’t that easy for you to hear. It was like cotton was pressed against your ears, muffling all the noises around you. Reaching a room, you sat down on a bed and tried to concentrate on what the doctor was talking about to the nurse. It was all in a blurr, your senses slowly shutting down.

The hand that covered your mouth started to lose the strength to stay in place and so a rush of petals came out with your coughs, sinking down and piling up in a mess of your emotions on the white floor. After that you couldn’t really remember much, your mind drifting off into a bitter sweet slumber.

Awoken from a loud beeping sound, your eyes tried to open but the bright light behind your eyelids made it nearly impossible. “Oh, so you're awake.”, a female voice rang in your ear as you turned your head to the side and forced one of your eyes to open up. A woman, probably a nurse, stood next to your bed working on the machine you were apparently plugged to. Trying to push yourself up into a sitting position you heard the nurse talk to you again. “Wait, take it easy. I’m gonna go and get the doctor, so he can explain the situation to you but I need you to stay put alright?”, she exclaimed and before you could reply in any way she turned around and rushed out of the door.

Now you remember, you were in the hospital. Looking over to the spot where the mess of flowers should be, you could see it all gone. Right, somehow your body produced flowers and they were probably the reasons why you had a hard time breathing. At least you were brought into the hospital on time before you choked to death.

Realization hit you like a road truck and you nearly fell from the bed. Terushima brought you to the hospital. He brought you here because you two met up. And you two met up because he had to tell you something important to him. He had a girlfriend.

The twing inside of you came back, the memories of his words rushed into your mind. It was so ridiculous how you got the worst attack with the hardest pain right in the moment he told you he had someone else he loved. It felt like life was looking down on you, cruelly laughing and testing how far a human heart can bend until it would snap in two.

You remembered how the pain bored deep into your bones and how moving and breathing was near impossible. Even though you should probably be concerned about your own health, the hurt of Terushima’s confession slightly overshadowed the uneasiness you felt towards the whole situation.

Terushima Yuuji had a girlfriend and it wasn’t you. His love would shine on someone else so they could bloom under his light and his warmth would bring someone else the comfort of home. He wouldn’t be your Yuuji anymore, he never was. Now, he was just Terushima a good friend of yours, well, more likely your best friend but the thought of being so close to him and not being as close as you wished to be, hurt you too much. People could call you a bad friend but you wouldn’t care because after you leave this building, you need time for yourself to heal.

The sun would go down instead of rising for you and sure, it might have been stupid of you to try and reach the sun, when you were nothing more than the moon. Not to be compared with Icarus, who flew too close to the sun and fell down into the sea in which he drowned. No, you weren’t even close enough anymore to feel the heat of the sun. It was only natural for you to not get close to him because when the sun rises the moon would go down and when it was time for the moon to shine, the sun would move to the other side.

You swam so deep in the sea of thoughts that you nearly missed the pair of footsteps passing through the door. Your eyes followed the noise and you could see the nurse from before but this time a doctor accompanied her.

They didn’t beat around the bush too much, introduced them, asked you how you were feeling and then they dropped the bomb. Apparently, you suffered from a disease called “Hanahaki”, which was a pretty rare disease and affected your respiratory system. More specifically it meant that a flower was growing inside of your lungs and it would eventually lead to the point where the plant would hinder you from breathing or even making it impossible for you to breathe. To say you were confused was an understatement. You sure weren’t working in the field of medicine but never did you hear of the Hanahaki disease. Well, they did say it was rare but it was still unbelievable. What on earth would cause a flower to grow inside of your lungs.

They showed you an x-ray of your lungs. There you could see it, the flower. And not any flower, no, it was a freesia. You’ve seen it so many times you were one hundred percent sure about it. The doctor must have seen the shocked look inside your eyes and fastly continued with his explanation. You weren’t prepared to hear about your disease but you sure as hell didn’t expect what he was telling you next. The reason behind all of this was nothing more than simply love. Unrequited love to be exact. The moment you heard those words coming out of his mouth, you felt how your heart sank into your stomach.

So, this is what you get for loving too hard. Not only a broken heart but also a deathly disease. Just great.

Moving on he told you about the options you had.

Option 1: going under surgery and getting the flower removed, which would cure you and ultimately lead to you forgetting about the feelings you had for Terushima. Still, another side-effect might be to completely forget the person you loved.

Option 2: die. Simple as that, just dying. The plant would keep growing until it blocked every way for you to breath.

After they told you everything you needed to know, they stepped out of the room, giving you some time to think things through.

If you’d go under the surgery you would be able to be alive and even get to free yourself from the pain you felt due to the unrequited love. You would forget every single ounce of love you harboured for him. Though the risk would be there for you to forget him as a person as well.

Every memory you had would be erased and he wouldn’t be your friend anymore, only a stranger. Is this what they should’ve been from the beginning? Nothing but perfect strangers? Losing him as your possible partner was hard and painful but losing him completely? That was like losing the only possibility for you to catch a glimpse of sunlight. You didn’t want to be stuck in the dark without him. Sure, there was the possibility that you wouldn’t forget him and even if you did, you wouldn’t remember it and so there would be no feelings of a loss, right?

Things could go so easy and you could just move on from the spot you were currently rooted in and though you might not remember it afterwards, you know it right now. You know what you would leave behind, all the hardships you’ve been through together and all the moments you just felt like forever wasn’t too far away. The others might call you stupid for even considering the other option but for you it was just part of loving him.

When you moved on he’d be with someone else but not completely out of reach. If you forget though, he’d be gone out of your life, at least for good. Still, you were sure that even if he’d know that you forgot him, he’d try everything in his possibilities to make you remember. But what if you don’t? Would it break him, knowing you would never remember all of your little adventures again? Would he lose trying?

It wasn’t clear if you could learn to remember again after the loss but from what the doctor’s told you, there weren’t really big chances. Maybe you two would learn to be friends again? You two became great friends once, so why not a second time? Though, it would be even more hurtful if you two wouldn’t become friends again. Could he let you go like that? Could he accept the fact that you two wouldn’t be the same as before? You knew that if he’d be the one to forget, you probably wouldn’t. Even if you’d two be friends again, who would assure you that you wouldn’t fall for this idiot again? Falling too far again and landing right back to the position you were currently in.

There was a knock on the door and as you turned your head towards it, you could see Terushima leaning against the doorframe, his body radiated exhaustion but concern was clear in his eyes. “Hey there, the nurse said I could come and visit you, as long as you would allow it.”, his voice was unusually wavering and all you wanted to do was hug him and assure him that you were okay.

He walked next to the bed and once again took one of your hands into his. “What did the doctor say? Is everything okay now?”, he asked you and the worry in his voice resulted in tears welling up in your eyes, you just couldn’t help it. Here he was, the person you loved with everything you had and also the reason behind your suffering.

How could life be so unfair? Who did you murder or hurt in your past life? How deep did you fall that it had to come this far.

The moment he saw the tears threatening to fall down your cheeks, he fell into panic. “Wh-What’s going on y/n? What did they say? I mean if you don’t want to tell me it’s fine, I can call your parents and when they arrive I can leave. Y/n I-”, you efficiently shut him up with your hand covering his mouth. It was already enough that he was so panicked, even though he didn’t know what would happen to you, you didn’t want him to leave now too.

“Don’t leave I-”, you stopped mid sentence but not because you had to cough again, but it was just too hard to tell him. You knew it would devastate him, knowing his best friend could die soon, who wouldn’t be?

“I… they told me that I was sick.”, your voice trailed off and you could see how his eyes were fixed on every word you said and so you lowered your hand back into your lap. “It’s called Hanahaki and is actually quite rare.”, your hands were balled into fists as your eyes wandered down, trying to avoid his blazing gaze. “And how sick?”, you could make out the light tremble in his voice, you knew that he was trying to control himself to not just bombard you with all of his questions. “Well, it’s called the Hanahaki disease and apparently that attacks my respiratory system, my lungs to be more exact.”, you confessed and when you didn’t hear an immediate reaction, your eyes moved up to catch his stunned expression. His eyes were wide open, mouth agape from the shock and his whole body tensed up. His face looked nearly funny to you but you knew there was nothing funny about this situation. He made a move to stand up but he instantly fell back on the bed, hands balled up into fists. He stared on the floor and you could see how he clenched his teeth, jaw locked into place.

“And how did this happen? Can it be cured?”, he asked the question you didn’t have an answer on, well technically you had but it wasn’t that easy. You wanted to tell him that it was something that is the result of normal natural occurrences and not because you loved him. You wanted to tell him that you can be cured but not with the cost of losing him. How can you look at him and tell him that you’ve made the decision to just… let it go.

You didn’t want to cut off your feelings for him, your love rooted so deep inside of your soul. Taking the flower out of your body meant taking a part of you away and denying your love. You might be free from it afterwards and wouldn’t remember what you’d lost but right now you know. You knew what you’d give up on and sure giving up on life might sound totally irresponsible and stupid as the other option but you wanted to live life without regrets.

And you didn’t regret your feelings, no, you never once did. You loved but you loved with everything you had and that was enough for you. Regretting your emotions would mean regretting all of the happy moments he gifted to you.

No, you didn’t regret, you just kept on loving.

You leaned forward until your right hand could get a hold of his chin, turning his face towards yours, so he was looking at you. When your gazes met, you swore a shard of your heart bored into your flesh. He looked so sad, so hopeless, it was hurting you. You wanted to wipe that expression off of his face and turn his lips into a grin, but you knew that whatever truth you were gonna say, it wouldn’t make him smile like he normally would.

“Yuuji, the only way would be surgery, but that might come with some complications and could result in memory loss and that’s not what I want.”, you told him in a hushed voice, trying to keep him calm, even though you knew that the words you just ushered would have the complete opposite effect. He tried to move back but you just grabbed his face with both of your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t want the surgery? Y/n are you crazy?! If it’s attacking your lungs it might lead to your… to your d-”, his voice broke and not only that but you knew that you broke that boy in front of you with your words. He wasn’t even trying to hide the tears that were welling up behind his eyes but you won’t take your words back. You will stand your ground.

“I know, Yuuji. Don’t you think that I know? But I don’t want to go on if I forget you.”, his lips were pressed on each other and tears were now running down his cheeks. Your fingers wanted to wipe them away but you knew you couldn’t do it. You knew you caused it.

“Y/n I thought you were the smart one of us, why would you make such a ridiculous decision. You think that you could throw life away that easily?!”, he was mad and how mad he was but so were you. How could he say that you're doing this so easily? He talked like it didn’t break your heart to make that decision.

“Do you really think that it’s easy for me? You think that it’s fine with me to just pass away and leave all of you behind like that? Well, then you’re really the dumb one!”, you nearly screamed at him. He just stared at you, eyes wide and you could see that he was trying to understand you, he really did.

“Yuuji, it’s nothing but hurting me to make that decision but do you want to move on, knowing you’d forget everyone? I don’t want that okay? I don’t want to live a life that isn’t fully me and start to regret things. Because without you I’m not completely me, do you understand? Actually I don’t expect you to understand and I don’t expect you to accept it ‘cause I know you’re hurting too.”, your voice was wavering, pumped full with all of your raw emotions.

All of this was too much for you and a part of you wished that you could cut off your emotions but that was exactly what you didn’t want to do. You didn’t want to suppress your feelings because every single emotion was meant to be felt. There was shortcut not other way around, no, you just have to own up to them and feel them with everything you have, even if it hurts you. Denying them would be fruitless and end in more misery than happiness, you knew from experience.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you and I really don’t think that you’re making your decisions carelessly. It’s just… I’m afraid you know? But I mean, you must be even more afraid than me so I have no right to judge.”, he lifted his hands so they would clasp around yours, the warmth of his hands seeping into your skin.

“No, you have all the right to. It’s not easy for the both of us, it wouldn’t be easy for anyone. I don’t want you to hold back your feelings just because you don’t want to offend me, that would be selfish.”, you shot him a slight smile, everything you could muster right now.

Right then, you two were in your own world again, when day and night collided. This time though, it wasn’t like the gentle paradise where the sun would kiss the moon goodbye. Instead the cloudless morning sky was teared down like wallpaper, the starless midnight blue shining through the holes in the light.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Sitting here in the field of freesias you recalled his desperate voice in your mind.

“Wait, there has to be something that we can do right? Please y/n, I don’t want to lose you.”

“But you don’t love me.”

[beeexx]

Meet the Family

Carlos meets Gwyneth Strand for the first time. 

Set before 2x01, a missing scene. 

Word count: 13.3. Read on AO3. 

TK has spent the better part of the week in offices of higher ups, getting cleared for active duty again, which means he hasn’t had the time to see Carlos much at all. But he’s been looking forward to lunch together all week, and therefore, he spends the better part of it sending him looks that Carlos can read into however he wants to, but judging by the slightest tightening of his grip around the fork or how his foot keeps climbing higher up TK’s leg, almost unconsciously, he’s definitely thinking along similar lines as TK is.

Not that the lunch isn’t lovely and being in Carlos’ presence is making TK feel a little like a moth to the flame, Carlos’ undivided attention on him is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, a little addictive for sure and TK knows all about what that’s like. But this is the good kind of high, the one leaving you with tingles all over, wide smiles that are real and butterflies in your chest.

But putting all the lovey dovey feelings he’s definitely experiencing aside, he’s also, and unashamedly so, a little horny and he hasn’t had sex in ages because of this stupid injury and Carlos’ stupid (and hot) caring side that refuses to give in to TK’s puppy dog eyes because strenious ativities are not yet approved by the doctor. Or they haven’t been, until now, so now he’s going to look at his boyfriend and put all kinds of images in his head that they can later on reenact in his bedroom. 

Yep TK is a genius. 

On the drive over to TK’s he can barely keep his hands to himself though, biting at his lip, hard to prevent himself from reaching out for Carlos and causing an accident, that would defeat the purpose of the car ride altogether, even though it’s really tempting. His house is closer and Owen is on a shift, yes TK double checked so the promise of an empty house and a whole afternoon to take advantage of, is making him feel extremely happy, butterflies in his stomach kind of happy, while he also has to remind himself that they’ll arrive soon and he doesn’t need to attach himself to Carlos just yet.

But it’s proving to be really hard, the anticipation in the air between getting harder and harder to ignore. 

Once they do make it to TK's house, he immediately pulls Carlos close, his patience all but gone now when they’re finally able to touch and Carlos seems to be in a similar position to him. He pulls TK closer, shifts a little so the angle TK is currently in allows him to rub perfectly up against Carlos’s crotch, the outline of his dick digging into the inside of TK’s thigh.

Yep he needs to get them inside now.

Carlos presses up against his back as TK tries to unlock the door, leaving kisses on the exposed skin, making goosebumps erupt all over TK’s body, making it even more difficult to focus on the task at hand. The door finally makes a triumphant click and TK turns, meeting Carlos’ hungry lips before he twists the door open, the both of them stumbling inside, hands never leaving each other. The door shuts and Carlos pushes TK up against it and finally TK thinks, kissing back with the vigor of a man who has not been kissed like this by his boyfriend for days. Carlos hands travel down to the hem of his shirt, ready to throw it off. He feels the slowburn of arousal in the pit of his stomach, making him shift on his feet.

There is a cough and clearing of someone’s throat that makes both TK and Carlos freeze up in each other’s arms. TK closes his eyes and leans his head on Carlos’ sturdy chest before he thinks ‘oh God no’. 

Carlos has gone rigid instead, one hand braced against the door in an awkward fashion, his eyes trained on the ground. TK looks up, blushes all over when he spots Gwyneth sitting by the kitchen island, smirk in place and looking way too comfortable that anyone in her position should have the right to be.

“Honey.” She says teasingly and TK groans and steps out from Carlos’ arms, putting some distance between them, but makes sure to keep close.

“Mom.” He says tightly. “I thought you were arriving on Thursday.”

“It is Thursday.” She says.

“What? Right, right…” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up, feeling like the floor has been pulled out from underneath the ground, swallowing TK whole. Fuck why is this his life?

Carlos clears his throat a few times and finally turns around, fixing his shirt, eyes flitting nervously around the room before landing on his mom. Gwyneth smirks when he finally dares to meet her eyes.

“Carlos, it’s nice to meet you, I have heard a lot about you.” She smiles, all hard edges and shark like. For all of Owen’s faults, at least he has always been supportive, that cannot be said about his mother. Carlos gulps, clearly sensing that he might not be welcome. 

“Mom.” TK tries intervening but Gwyneth clicks her tongue at him, softening her smile slightly though.

“You really are like your dad aren’t you…” She mutters but she comes forward, chique pantsuit on, hair falling in long messy curls behind her back, light makeup on, looking way too put together for someone who has spent almost 4 hours on a plane should do. 

“Did TK tell you that this isn’t the first time this has happened by the way? I once walked in on him when he was maybe 16, it was his first boy -”

“Mom!” He interrupts, ears the colour of lobsters and he keeps shooting glances at Carlos who looks like he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to leave or not. 

“Mom.” He tries again, shooting her a reproachful glare and she bites her lip, eyes gleeful. But she sips her mouth shut.

“What are you doing here? How did you even get in?”

“Your dad picked me up from the airport and drove me here.”

“Right, and no one thought to tell me?”

“He said you’d be out for lunch with Carlos. I take it the plans changed.” TK groans.

“No those plans were intact, we just decided to come here for dessert.” It’s a terrible terrible joke to make and TK regrets it immediately because Carlos winces and his mother smirks, her quick mind already coming up with ten different ways to match that reply.

“Don’t.” He warns and she chuckles, holds her hands up, backing off. 

But she doesn’t stay placated for long, she never has, and she comes forward, smile intact but somehow managing to wear an expression of impassiveness as well, her eyes fixed on Carlos as she puts her hand forward for him to shake. He looks at it for a moment, obviously confused before he puts his hand in hers in a jerky movement. She shakes it, firmly but Carlos has pulled himself together enough to match it and she looks a little less hostile immediately.

“Carlos, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Gwyneth.” Their eyes meet, and her eyes are sharp and alert, probably already having categorised everything she’s gauged about Carlos’ down in her head, already started a mental list of hers. 

His mother’s sharpness and her uncanny ability to be too adept at reading a room, any room, has served her well in her professional life. It hasn’t served TK well at all, and he learnt quickly that lying to her never worked well at all. Well apart from the drugs, that one TK hid so well that he would have probably been able to get away with it for years longer, had his dad not accidentally come home one evening and found him puking his guts out in the bathroom. Apart from that it’s been a major argument between him and his mother, her inability, that he called judgment and she called intuition, to leave that by the door or at her job, and not make up her mind about TK’s friends and boyfriends, before they were even able to make a case for themselves. 

So TK feels bad for Carlos, because he knows all too well what it feels like to be on the other side of her scrutiny. 

“Yes, Mrs. Strand, it’s nice to meet you too.” Carlos says and he looks a little more at ease, probably faking it well, but Gwyneth studies his face a moment longer before she nods admicabally, and it’s as good of an improval from her that it can be at the moment. 

“So, do you want to stay?”

“He’s not staying.” TK interrupts, he isn’t putting himself nor Carlos through an interrogation from her right now. He might need to prep Carlos for that and himself too for that matter. 

“I guess I’m not staying.” Carlos says, and it makes Gwyneth chuckle, looking between the two of them before her eyes land on TK, her eyebrow lifting in a silent question.

“But it was nice to meet you, if you’re in town for some time I’m sure we can find a time for dinner or coffee or something.”

“Yes, you know what I’m sure that’s possible.” But it’s sais genuinely so thank fuck for that. 

Carlos nods his goodbye and TK follows him to the door, feeling his mother’s eyes at the back of his neck, very obviously listening to them. He opens the door to give them some privacy and steps outside with Carlos, closing the door firmly behind them. He leans against it, feeling the air go out of him completely. Carlos is silent, waiting for him to speak.

“Soooo, that’s my mother.”

“She’s intense…”

“Tell me about it...I’m sorry, I forgot she was coming to town this week.”

“Well I guess I’m not the first to meet her this way.” Carlos jokes but it lightens the mood between them and honestly TK’s never been happier to date someone who can joke about something that could have become a massive thorn in their side going forward. Not everyone is fond of overprotective mothers. 

“Yeah… no, that was way worse than this though. She can be vicious when she wants to, that's all I’m saying, you’ve already passed her first test.”

“There are tests I need to pass?” TK shrugs awkwardly.

“Probably…”

“Well, I better bring my A game then.” TK huffs, but it turns into a soft little smile because he really can’t believe Carlos. Most people would have run for the hills by now and decided this is not worth it. Well most people would have probably run for the hills when they found out he was an addict. 

Carlos is proving to be the exception to most of the rules. 

TK steps up close and pulls him in, kissing him hard on the mouth, pulling a groan and a hiss out of Carlos who cradles his face close to slow it down before they both get too lost in each other.

Carlos is the one to stop it completely though, his eyes dark and flush high on his cheeks, looking absolutely gorgeous, and he holds TK’s head in his hands, stroking a thumb up and down his cheek gently before he smiles softly.

“I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, yeah, do that.” TK says breathlessly and Carlos leans forward to gently kiss his lips, before he steps away, TK missing him immediately. 

Before he goes back in to face his mother he needs a moment to catch his breath. He counts to 5 in his head before he opens the door and goes back in.

She’s sitting where he left her, typing away on her phone, but she puts it down when he comes towards her, lifting an eyebrow.

“Can I say hi to my son now?”

“You probably shouldn’t be allowed to after you scared my boyfriend off.” But he’s already opening his arms and she huffs, steps in close and hugs him tightly, her hard exterior melting away now when it’s just the two of them. He closes his eyes, admitting that it is nice to see her. She steps back, cups his face in her hands to look at him properly. He lets her, knows she will not calm down until she’s allowed her little ritual.  

“How are you?” She asks.

“I’m good.” She gives him a piercing look and doesn’t say anything.

“I am good! I swear.” He defends and she huffs, kisses his cheek before she steps away. 

“Good, good.” She takes out her suitcase, it’s massive, and opens it up.

“Mom, you are here for 10 days, why have you packed like you’re going to be here for months?” She heaves an unimpressed sigh and grunts, flipping the suitcase on its back before she opens it up.

“Now, now. One never knows, there could be an emergency.”

“That requires these?” He holds up the Prada heels skeptically and she rolls her eyes, grabs them out of his hands.

“These are the latest in my suede collection, they’re gorgeous right?”

“Yes, yes, they are. Still, it doesn’t answer my earlier question.” He points out. She ignores him and starts to riffle through her things before she picks up a baby blue paper bag that’s been wrapped securely in an airtight plastic bag.

“Now, that’s no way to treat your mother that comes bearing gifts.” She hands it to him and he can’t help but let out the little happy squeal as he rips it out of her hands.

“Aw you shouldn't have.” She chuckles at his delight and he immediately stands up and puts the bag down on the counter, hands twitching in anticipation, just staring at it lovingly. 

“You’re not a child, you can eat cookies whenever you want.”

“I’m 27 and I live at home.” He points out.

“Well, that is all your own doing.” But she kisses his cheek lovingly and he huffs, happy that they can still joke about the elephant in the room. He rips the bag open, mouth salivating at the sight, can’t wait any longer when the smell of freshly baked cookies hit him. 

“How is Fred? Did you tell him hi for me?” He asks, mouth around a chocolate chip cookie, munching away happily as the heavenly taste spreads around in his mouth. The cookie is still soft in the middle, it’s beautiful. 

“He is good, he says hi back and that he misses his favorite customer. Apparently Lily has started high school, can you believe?”

TK can’t, he used to remember her being so young, but she’s always been sassy and she’s going to give poor Fred hell.

Fred’s bakery was a little corner place a few blocks away from TK’s apartment. He used to go there way too often and buy all the sweet pastries in his way. The cookies quickly became a favorite, and he became Fred’s favourite customer because of it. He misses the place dearly. He still hasn’t found a bakery here in Austin he likes as much as that one, and when he keeps telling Carlos that he huffs, having become set on finding a place that will make TK just as happy as Fred’s did back in New York. TK isn’t going to complain, it’s been a fun little activity to play while he’s been on the mend and Carlos’ is almost ridiculous in his categorically organised note taking of the whole thing, dead set on finding him the perfect pastry. If it were anyone else, it would be ridiculous, but because it is Carlos and it’s a thing that’s been made to be about him, TK is just so touched and charmed by it that he’s willing to admit that Texas does have an amazing food scene, even the posh New Yorker in him is willing to admit as much. 

“Did you give me this do distract me from all the clothes you brought?” He asks again.

“No, don’t be a smartass, clothes are no joke. Also are you sure you should be mouthing off to me? You own like 20 jumpers in the same colour alone, don’t come at me.” He snorts and it brings a laugh out of her, he’s missed their banter, he really has. 

“They are not all in the same colour.” He pouts, but it shortly melts into a smile instead. “I’ve missed you.” He admits and her smile goes soft before she steps in close allowing him to pull her into a hug. 

“I’ve missed you too kiddo, so coffee, I’m in desperate need of some.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me.”

“Don’t be silly, do you even know how to work that ridiculous coffee maker?”

“You have the exact same one at your apartment, I’ve used that plenty.” He points out, making her smirk but she walks over, easily enough making herself one, looking way too familiar with the setup.

“You want one?” He shakes his head. She lifts an eyebrow.

“One a day.” He says and she nods.

TK can drink coffee, sometimes he indulges. But he tries not to have any on the days he’s off, it tends to make him a little jittery and being prone to anxiety, he tends to avoid getting his heart rate up unnecessarily high normally, or at least when it comes to drinks and food. When it comes to other stuff he’s none too happy to overindulge a bit in, particularly if their name is Carlos Reyes. 

He goes over to the fridge and takes out the tropical green smoothie from Whole Foods his dad stocks up on and Gwyneth snorts.

“That looks blergh.”

“You’re like a child.” He laughs. “It’s not the worst of his insane food ideas.” 

“No, it really isn't.” She agrees.

“His food regime hasn’t totally gone down at the station, not as well as he’d hoped at least. He tried a cheese burger a while back.”

“Did he now? Wow he’s a changed man.” She jokes and TK delights in having an ally to make fun of his dad with, someone that knows him and loves him enough that it’s okay.

And even after the divorce Owen and Gwyneth usually ganged up on him, it’s nice to have someone to side with from time to time. He sits down beside her as she sips at her coffee.

“It’s a nice place.” She comments, looks around, taking note.

“The prices are insanely low compared to New York.”

“Yes, one of the many advantages. Speaking of New York, a nice little couple moved into your apartment, did you know?”

“Yeah, dad said.”

“They seem nice.”

“Did you threaten them about the carpet in the bedroom?”

“I did, I told them how expensive it was.” She winks.

“You’re menace.”

“Yep, so what should we talk about first?”

“You really don’t know subtlety”

“I do, but I haven’t seen you in months and you are either too busy with work to reply to my texts or calls, or in a coma, or with your boyfriend, so I don’t have the time to beat around the bush.”

“In my defence, the coma wasn’t on purpose.”

“So, are you cleared for duty?” She ignores him and he nods, her eyes studying him close.

“Yeah just got cleared.”

“Good, 100%?”

“No, part time for a while.” She draws in a breath, relieved to hear.

“And therapy?” He sighs.

“She’s not like Doctor Harris, but she’s not bad either, just different.”

“Well I vetted her so.” He rolls his eyes.

“I know, you and dad really have no chill.”

“Not when it comes to you no. And so how are you?”

“Good, and that’s not a lie. Life has been weird, all over the place, crazy and hectic and in it I met Carlos who seems to have been the only stable thing in it all. But yes, it’s actually good for once.” Gwyneth smiles, proud.

“Good, I am happy to hear, really happy to hear. He seems -”

“If you insult him I’m leaving.” Her eyes widen and she burst out laughing. 

“I was going to say that I like him actually.”

“Oh? Oh, okay well that’s good.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him properly and not when you try and rip his clothes off.” He blushes and groans.

“God, I’m never living that down am I?”

“Honey, you have a tendency to be a little bit of a mess, I’m sure you’ll find something to do soon enough that I can tease you about, in the meantime, nope, you’re not living it down.”

“Great.” She laughs and ruffles his hair lovingly. 

“I’m good at reading people, you know this, I like him, he’s different to all your previous boyfriends.”

“Different from Alex you mean.” She sighs, takes her hand away.

It’s no secret that Gwyneth has never been a fan of Alex. While Owen has almost always been supportive and hidden his disagreements when TK makes decisions he doesn’t like, Gwyneth has always been very vocal about what she thinks. Almost too vocal at times when he does things she really doesn’t like, and TK being TK and definitely his parent’s child, he’s done a lot of things she didn’t approve of. 

Alex being one of them. 

“TK I don’t want to fight, but yes, very different from Alex.” TK sighs, he doesn’t want to fight either and particularly not over fucking Alex.

“Yeah, fine…”

“I’ll have to get to know Carlos better but he clearly adores you.” TK’s eyes snap to hers trying to see if she’s lying, she isn’t. She is looking back at him with a knowing look in her eyes and TK averts his eyes, blushing and she giggles.

“Oh wow, you’re really taken by him too?”

“Shut up.” She laughs.

“I’m happy for you. I really am.”

“Thanks.” He whispers.

“Tell me everything.” He groans but sits up.

“It started badly.” But TK’s got to admit, gossiping about his love life or his life in general is something he’s missed doing with his mother. Owen is good at it but he’s just not her, doesn’t have her sharpness and wit.

“Really?”

“Terribly, which is why you have to be nice to him, he put up with me and that’s hard enough for anyone.”

“Oh shut up, you’re not a burden.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She scoffs when he doesn’t take her seriously, and moves forward, grabbing his face forcing him to look at her. She looks sad, the look she gets when TK is either being difficult or when she feels powerless and heartbroken, unable to reach him at all. He’s used to being on the receiving end of it, particularly after becoming an addict, and her face has often been shrouded in soft concern when they talk about it. 

It used to make his skin crawl in discomfort, the pity too much for him to bear. Now, he thinks she’s earned the right to care about him this way, she’s been through it all with him, and she’s the only one he can tolerate the pity with.

“I mean it, not a burden, not now and not ever and if Carlos thinks so he doesn’t deserve you at all.” TK’s mouth twitches, Gwyneth’s overprotectiveness can be worse than Owen’s aloofness to all his decisions. It’s a fine line to walk between two parents that sometimes either care too little or way too much about what he does. TK still hasn’t found a perfect way to walk between it yet. 

“He definitely doesn’t think so.”

“No?”

“No, mom, god, he’s been nothing but nice and supportive.” She studies his face closer, slightly frowning.

“I take it he knows about the addiction then?” TK nods, shrugs.

“It kind of became inevitable after a while, especially after I got arrested…”

“You did what now?!” TK flinches because whoops.

“Erm, I mean...kind of.”

“Tyler Kennedy Strand, no one gets kind of arrested.” He hates it when she uses his full name, he groans.

“Okay well you can’t be mad.”

“You know when you tell me that I can’t be mad it’s usually because you’ve done something bad.” But she lets go of his face and sits back, tapping her foot against the stool impatiently, backing off, something she rarely used to do when he was younger. 

“Yeah okay, this was stupid. He made me dinner because he’s a nice thoughtful man that misread my signals of just wanting a casul hook up, and then said something about a marriage proposal and that struck a nerve because of Alex and the cheating, so I freaked, found myself a perfect little bar where a gay man can get beat up, got into a fight and then got arrested. He was the one to process me…”

“For real? Were you drunk? Or high?!”

“No, no, of course not. Mom, you would have heard about that. I was sober.”

“Well considering your track record, sober is better, but really? What in the world made you feel compelled to do something so stupid?” TK can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah funny, Carlos said the exact same thing.”

“Oh, smart man.”

“So I told him why because I had been a complete dick and then I continued kind of blowing him off about the whole thing which was a relationship but also wasn’t. It was very undefined for a while. He obviously wanted us to be more serious but he wouldn’t pressure me into anything, not until I wanted it too and expressed that to him. He’s just an extremely good guy, and then shit happened and here we are.”

“Huh? Shit happened, is that how you would explain it?” She smirks. “I think I like this Carlos the more I hear about him though.”

“Told you, he is a good guy.”

“Well that’s what you deserve, a really good guy.”

“Thanks.” He says, eyes flitting away, but smiling because TK cannot remember the last time he felt so good about being with someone.

As hard as it is to admit, it’s easy being with Carlos and he makes him feel really happy, a feeling TK isn’t too used to experiencing. 

“So, is there a guest bedroom here or? Owen wasn’t exactly specific.” She changes the subject, satisfied for now, but he knows his mother, there will be more words and a longer conversation about everything that has happened since he left New York.

And for once he doesn’t actually mind it, it doesn’t bring him the usual dread or irrational fear of judgement that it used to when his mother wanted to talk to him about his life. TK feels different, he probably is different from when he left New York all those months ago, feeling more stable and secure in himself than he has in ages, unable to not let those emotions merge into his growing relationship with Carlos, so unable to not admit that Carlos has alighten something in his chest that is spreading like wildfire to every part of his body, igniting every cell in its way. Yeah, being with Carlos is unlike anything else. 

Apart from that it’s nice being at a point in his life where talking about his past doesn't make him want to run away in fear. 

“Yes, there is, I’ll show you.” 

“Perfect.”

For some it might be weird having your 50+ divorced parents of 20 years live under the same roof when one visits from out of state, for the Strands/Morgans it just isn’t. His parents should have probably gotten divorced sooner than they did, but once the conversation was actually out there the fighting and the yelling stopped, both of them realising it was for the best for all of them. And ever since they started co parenting, everything kind of settled and became better for all of them. Owen became more present, involved himself in TK’s life and Gwyneth stopped bearing resentment towards having to be a stay at home mom full time and finally had the time to build a career, a very long and successful career that was, while TK finally had the undivided attention of both his parents. And underneath the anger, his parents loved each other very much and after a while they learnt to be friends again.

Then TK screwed his life up a few times and put both of his parents through hell so yeah, it was good until it wasn’t. 

But he can’t deny it’s nice to see her after so long apart. He really has missed her.

*

Read the rest on AO3.

[heretherebedork]

Hiya there! One of my all-time favorite tropes are the “enemies to fake rivals/friends to lovers” trope so I obviously had to come up with some sort of premise. I guess I have a thing for couples having to constantly walk on eggshells or else their whole secret relationship gets ruined? Not sure but it’s entertaining either way.

Premise: Street setting with our ML and a fake rival who became best friends. This ‘rivalry’ happened when their 2 wealthy families fought over a piece of land, forcing them to dislike each other. Coincidentally, both live quite close and always manage to sneak out at night to go on late trips to empty streets and grocery stores in their casual little hoodies.

I get to try to write Bad Buddy? I mean, I know the delays are rough but still! lol, I'll give it a try but I've started this three times and have yet to get anywhere. I'm determined to do it this time but we'll see how it turns out. Also this one grew OUT OF CONTROL so uh it's a long one.

Okay! So there's ML and there's Rival. ML is a super studious kind of kid, very deeply invested in his grades. Rival is a jock. That's actually what ends up changing their rivalry. They start out just as deeply in that rivalry but it turns out that helping each other is better than fighting each other and by the time university comes around, they're best friends in secret and rivals in public.

When they were younger, they always communicated in notebooks and other secret methods of communication. They even had a series of knocks that worked for simple messages.

It's a lot harder for ML. He's always helping Rival with school work, helping him keep his grades up and then getting protected-fought with by Rival on the field to cover up his mediocre abilities at sports.

But their friendship is his greatest solace. They meet up whenever they can, typically at odd hours and in odd places. But they understand each other in a way no one else does. That pressure to be the best, to be rivals, to never be good enough unless he's better than someone else... Rival gets that.

And university is even better. They're farther away from their families most of the day and have many more chances to just hang out. But ML is struggling with unfamiliar feelings towards Rival. He wants to be with him all the time. He finds himself drawn like a moth to flame.

But he quickly finds himself frustrated because Rival is constantly flirting with other people. Constantly. Like, every moment of every day, Rival is flirting with someone else. And ML watches. ML watches and yearns and pines over his former rival turned friend and now absolute love interest.

It makes it a lot harder to help Rival with school work as well. They're both engineering majors because their parents insisted (They've already been told that they're all getting business degrees for their masters, so you know... not much choice). But now ML is trying to help him study and trying even harder to ignore him flirting with the other students.

One day, he can't ignore it. But instead of communicating... ML explodes. Declares their rivalry back in action and stalks away from a very, very confused and hurt Rival.

ML goes to one of their favorite old hang outs and just cries. He's been struggling in university, both with the crush and the work, and to suddenly just giving up on everything.

So he goes home. And he resumes a life he's never really known... one where he actively tries to dislike Rival, just like his parents want.

He hates it. ML hates it beyond all measure. But it's still a little better than nurturing his crush. And somehow, it's a bit better to see that Rival is suffering as well. ML's definitely taking a bit of perverse pleasure in that suffering. At least they're both suffering.

But Rival is still flirting and ML is withdrawing more and more. Even his other friends are starting to notice and question him. Which just makes it harder. Especially when Rival approaches him with one of their notebooks, pushing it at him.

ML can't turn it away. As much as he wants to, he has to accept the notebook. And realizes that Rival has written a very long note. It's not just one note, it's just piles of notes from the last week they've been apart.

And the notes go from confusion to hurt to loneliness to what turns out to be a very long love letter from Rival to ML that details all the ways he misses him and all the things he misses about him and all the things he regrets... and then a good-bye.

Rival can see how miserable ML is, assumes it's because of him, and managed to convince his parents to move him to another university, far away. He's leaving the next day and this is just his last good-bye to someone who started hating him and he has no idea why.

... It's a good thing Rival lives across the street from ML.

ML climbs in his window in the middle of the night. Rival is still awake, packing his bags. ML knocks on the glass and startles the fuck out of poor Rival.

He's let in and for the first time in several weeks, they're face to face and ML opens his mouth only for Rival to interrupt. He's done with this, he promises he's really leaving, he doesn't need any more insults.

ML shakes his head and steps closer, grabbing Rival's hands to get him to stop. It doesn't help because Rival is finally venting weeks of pain and he can't stop, not until ML gathers him into his arms and holds him tight. Then he buries his face in his shoulder and weeps.

The guilt is overwhelming as ML holds him. He never really considered that Rival would be so hurt by his absence, he never thought about how Rival might have acted like it was all easy but was working just as hard as he was.

When Rival finally sinks quietly into the embrace, ML apologizes. He explains, hesitantly at first and then more easily, what happened. The pain of watching Rival flirt with everyone. The way the school work was harder, the way he was struggling, his own fear of relying too much on Rival when Rival went and got his own girlfriend.

The first kiss is salty and full of both their tears but not bitter. Just pained and sad and so, so late. Because Rival can't stop the transfer now. He has to spend at least one semester in the new school. There's just no way to stop it without his parents getting suspicious.

So ML agrees to some long-distance, to try... but he also points out that this can't be a secret forever. That their parents will never let them do this. That this is impossible.

Rival doesn't care. He'll do anything to keep ML with him. They can run away, they can flee, they can do anything as long as they're together. But ML can't abandon his family. They're just as important to him.

So Rival flies out and they keep up a secret, long-distance relationship and the worst part is how much ML loves it. He hates it, hates the very idea, but he loves it so, so much. To greet ML on the phone with love? The smile at him across screens? To fall asleep with his laptop open next to him and Rival on there, falling asleep at the same time?

That's how his parents find out. They barge into his room one morning to see the video on the laptop.

Things get rough. ML is banned from every single electronic, from the internet, from leaving the house. He's basically locked in his room as his parents flip their lids and tell the other family what's going on. ML breaks down. He's locked in his room without any of his comfort. He is absolutely not okay.

Rival breaks into his room less than a day later, disheveled and out of breath and panicking as he rushes in the window to gather the exhausted and heartbroken ML into his arms.

Then the door slams open to reveal both their parents standing there, staring at them.

ML stares at them, stares at Rival and then just... collapses in tears. He sinks all the way to the ground and can't stop crying even when his parents try to speak, even when Rival gathers him back into his arms, even when the yelling dies down to uncomfortable whispers.

The pain in that, the tears that won't stop, the way Rival whispers and strokes and holds him finally sends their parents out of the room, together for once, glaring at each other but silent.

It takes hours to calm ML down until, finally, he falls asleep in Rival's arms and Rival falls asleep not long later, curled together in his bed.

The next morning is... tense. To say the least. But for the first time, all six people in these two families are in the same room. The parents on opposite sides of the room and Rival keeps ML at his side, tucked under his arm protectively.

They talk. It's awkward, there's shouting, no one's particularly happy. But ML's parents can see the writing on the wall and Rival is absolutely willing to disown his parents without a question and they can tell.

So there's a truce. It's awkward and it's hesitant and it's mostly held in place by Rival's glaring... but it's a truce.

And that night, ML sleeps in Rival's arms and everyone knows.