#When in reality the other is just going through the same mental checklists

[jupiter-on-the-compupiter]

So tired of Cream being considered "the vanilla/super wholesome ship" when, yes, it ends like that at one point, but both Dream and Cross are characters who have a hard time seeing their own value past their usefulness, I wish there were more fics exploring the ways their tendency to self-sacrifice would hurt the relationship

[kit-williams]

I want to use the Emperor on his golden throne to fry an egg. I’ll be butchered by the Custodes within seconds but it’ll be worth. Emperor fried egg. :)

If the egg ain’t cooked to perfection then I’m using my final breath to Yeet a second egg at his divine corpse/body/being.

So I remember getting this ask and being very confused... but I put this on the backburner for when I would get around to writing yandere custodes and the necromundan scum, that one of them decided to bring home, named smoothie.

@sculptorofcrimson this is your fault/this is the funny one (again my knowledge of the golden boys is very limited/I struggle to write them)

And you lot get to benefit from it @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams @barn-anon

thank you to @squishyowl for the dividers

Smoothie did not like it here... the clean empty inner hallways left nothing for her to scavenge... no place to get food or drinkable water for miles. It was two days before her golden shadow found her dehydrated as she slipped away from him when he had a chance. Adonis only collected her so soon as they were about to release a small swarm of hormagaunts into the imperial palace for practice and Adonis did not like how easily she could slip from his grasp.

Like recently... Adonis felt his fingers clench and unclench as Nicodemus had jested even at how he must have picked up a mindwiped assassin with how easily she could vanish from his grip. But there was something about her that satiated the itch behind his eyes... it sated the desire to feel a crumb of affection back.

Smoothie crawled through the vents moving on padded knees and wearing thicker gloves as she looks around unable to make marks or else they'll figure out where she's going. Everything seemed to narc on her if she tried to make herself comfortable add her own touch to this gawken gawdy golden glitter glamhouse! She looks around as her body starts to tingle and she is certain that she's getting closer to the radiation.

It makes her body tingle... her nose bleed and she needs to get a bit closer to the source till she feels her teeth itch and then she's in the right spot to cook the eggs she stole from the kitchen. Not like she was gonna live very long anyway and if the glamshow that is Donnie and his brothers just casually relaxing with an open source of radiation then she could die faster making something she loved to eat.

"Adonis." One of the Companions said into the coms with a monotone drone that to Adonis belied a hint of amusement.

"Yes?" He replied going over the mental checklist of places to look for her and she rarely went to the same place twice in succession.

"She's in the vents again."

"Of course she is. Thank you Amadeus." He replied slightly between his teeth. If a companion was telling him where she was... he moved quickly.

She saw her 'lover boy' look at her with the most unamused look in his eyes as she just gave a shit eating grin offering him a radaition cooked egg, "Can I offer you an egg my lord?" She snarked at him as one of her eyes was bloodshot and her nose bleeding from even being this close to the golden throne unprotected.

"If I eat it will you come back willingly?" Adonis asked knowing he could just grab her but he hardly delt with such willful... creatures? She was certainly human... just very different from any other... paramour would be a word but so would obsession fit as equally for what this... itches would be.

"I dunno Donnie... I worked so hard in cooking these." Smoothie says peeling the shell away as she took a bite leaving a smear of the neon green lipstick she wore on the white of the egg.

"Smoothie." His augmented voice shakes the air as he does his best not to order her, because that is not what lovers did. But what the supposed ideal versus reality was also another thing to take into account.vHe watches her frown as blood trickles from her nose. She was so much more willful than any of his other paramours obsessions that it confounded him but also greatly excited him.

He is certain that his beloved Lord would have teased him... But then again he and the others would not feel that itching need so often. The pout on her green lips as she crawled closer to him before just putting one to his lips. He ate it, it was simple as he expected it to be.

"Fine we can go. At least before more of my teeth fall out." She says trying to crawl past only for Adonis to hold her to his chest. He moved quicker than she could out of the vents.

She whined as he took her to a rather unused medical area. As it was time to start some treatments to keep at bay the... Side effects of her lifestyle. Adonis had told her that she would be surprised at how much longer she would live around him. He wasn't going to let her fall apart so soon.

[0miss-anonymous0]

🌊☀️Beach⛱️🐚

“Do you have everything?” Lilith asked Atlas as she checked her purse. This would be Atlas’ first time to the beach since they were a child and it would be the first time for them both as a couple.

“Yes,” Atlas responded in their monotone voice.

Even with their confirmation Lilith still went through her mental checklist over and over. Finally, after her thousandth time checking the two were ready to leave.

Once they arrived the couple quickly unpacked and went to change. When they came back to meet up Lilith felt like her heart was going to burst. Atlas’ swimsuit was in no way provocative or inappropriate but still the girl couldn’t help how fast her heart was beating.

Atlas’ swimsuit consisted of navy blue and white swim trunks that went to his knees and a matching shirt of the same pattern. Both articles blended together and seemed to form one singular suit. It wasn’t tight, hanging loose over the aasimar’s lithe muscles.

Lilith on the other hand wore a two piece swimsuit. It wasn’t revealing per say, it concealed enough. Like all of her clothes the swimsuit was the epitome of feminine. The pattern was baby pink and white gingham that was overlaid with mesh and frills, giving it a very demure look.

The tiefling couldn’t stop staring at her partner. She felt like a creep but part of her didn’t care. “You look pretty,” Atlas said.

She blushed, hard, “thank you and you look…..très chaud,” she said almost breathlessly.

“Chau? What does that mean, I’ve never heard you use that word before?” Atlas lifted a brow.

“It means handsome,” Lilith lied, turning to her bag, “did you put on sunscreen?” Was she trying to change the subject? Yes. Did it work? Also yes.

The wings on the side of the aasimar’s head bristled. ‘That would be a no.’ Lilith pulled sunscreen from her bag, the spray on kind, and shook it up. “Of course you didn’t. Don’t worry I brought the spray on one,” she said much to her disappointment.

“Hold your arms out.” Atlas obeyed and stood in anatomical position, making Lilith giggle. As she started applying the sunscreen to their pale skin her mind wandered. If only she had brought the lotion-

“Lilith?”

She snapped back to reality, “yes?”

“You've been spraying the same arm for 5 minutes.”

“That’s because you’re so pale you need extra coats. And time for it to set in,” she pointed at where the towel was set up, “you’re in time out, you know what you did.”

They didn’t argue, they knew she was just teasing them. They sat down on the towel crisscrossed, Lilith joining in after fetching her own sunscreen from her bag. Hers was specifically made for her dark obsession complexion and blended in smoothly without making her look like she was ready for the morgue.

“I don't actually know the answer, but can you swim?” Lilith said, applying the lotion to her arms.

“Yes, my mom taught me when I was younger. But I didn’t get to often.”

“Same, my brothers taught me but there’s not really any large masses of water in the nine rings,” she moved on to her torso and legs, “is the salt water okay for your wings?”

“Yeah, it’s better than chlorine. They’ll take forever to dry though,” the wings on Atlas’ back rustled at Lilith’s question. Every time she asked them about their sets of wings they always moved, as if they were listening to her and proud of her attention.

She reached out and ran a finger over one of the wings’ alulas. They immediately responded, faintly flapping away her hand. Lilith noticed a shiver run through Atlas.

“Cold?” She giggled. “Look at you, the 6 '3 paladin shivering during one of the hottest days of the year. You aasimars really are an anomaly.”

Atlas’ eyes cut to her, a pout marring their face, “that’s not why and you know it.” A flush coated their cheeks.

“Oh do I?”

Atlas rolled their eyes but there was no malice in it.

“You’re too easy to tease.” Lilith turned her back to Atlas, once again reaching into her bag for something. She jumped when she felt a poke on her back.

“You forgot your back,” they said. The tiefling did in fact forget to apply sunscreen to her back. But even if she remembered it wasn’t like she could reach anyways.

“Aw mon amour are you going to put it on for me?” She teased.

“Do you want me to?”

Gods above yes, she wanted to yell. Her imagination was running wild again and her overconsumption of romance movies was messing with her reality.

“I don’t mind. You helped me.”

Right, it was just repayment for a favor. “If it’s not a problem then please?” She asked as she turned her back towards them. Luckily her hair was already up and out of the way. It felt strangely intense having her partner touch her like this, as simple as the action was. For the first time in her life she was genuinely happy that her wings could retract into her back.

Atlas’ touch was rough from their calloused palms and yet the way they touched her was gentle and tender. “Finished.”

“Thank you,” she couldn’t face them. For some odd reason no matter how much she teased Atlas it was always Lilith who ended up the most flustered in the end.

She stood up, “let’s go swim,” Lilith walked to the edge of the water and slowly eased into the tide, Atlas trailing behind.

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

After a while (barely 20 minutes) of swimming, the couple decided to indulge in other beach activities; tide pooling, building sandcastles, and much more.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“No.”

“But they’re completely extended, all four of them.”

Atlas’ wings fluttered slightly, “they won’t dry completely otherwise.” All of Atlas’ wings were extended to full span, including the ones on the side of their head.

“Why don’t you do that shimmy thingy that ducks do?”

“Because I’d knock someone over,” Atlas said matter of factly.

“Sounds like a new special attack,” Lilith thought for a moment, “is that why it takes you so long to shower? Because of your wings?”

They nodded in confirmation, “I either have to hold them out of the spray, which rarely works or just suffer the inevitable.”

By their tone Lilith guessed that 99.9% of the time they went with the latter. “I have an idea, let’s go home.”

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

Once they arrived home they both settled into their night routine. However, since they ordered takeout Lilith bathed first instead of cooking dinner, taking extra care to completely wash the salt water out of her locs.

Atlas went second, taking the time to thoroughly purge the salt from their feathers, at Lilith’s request. Once they were finished getting dressed and drying their wings as best they could by themself they opened the bathroom door and let their girlfriend in as she requested.

She brought in a stool and set it down on the bathroom floor. Once Atlas was seated she got to work.

“Tell me if this hurts,” Lilith plugged in her hair dryer, put it on a low setting, and got to work.

“It’s fine. It feels like a breeze.”

Lilith spent a total of 25 minutes blow drying her partners wings and that was only the ones on their back.

“Almost there,” her arms were aching but she was determined. All that was left were the wings on Atlas’ head. When she turned the hair dryer on to them Atlas immediately recoiled, placing their hands over them.

“I’m so sorry,” Lilith immediately shut the appliance off, “did I hurt you?” She held their face in her hands, turning it to look for any sign of injury.

“It was too much; noise and the wings on my head are more sensitive than the ones on my back. It was too much.”

Lilith took in a breath. It was becoming more rare but sometimes Atlas did suffer from sensory issues. “Okay well they’re almost dry anyways, it’s okay. Let’s go to bed.”

The couple nestled themselves together under the covers, Atlas assuming their position curled up to Lilith with their head on her chest. “Don’t blame yourself. You did help me.”

“I know but I’m a cleric, my entire purpose is healing those whom I love.”

It wasn’t everyday that Atlas was the one cheering Lilith up, “thank you for drying my wings,” the ones on their head fluttered, “for going to the beach with me,” they sat up, “for being my girlfriend,” they kissed her.

Lilith smiled at them, “oh mon ange you’re too suave for your own good.”

They settled back down, resting against her chest. Lilith gently ran a finger down the margin of one of the wings on Atlas’ head. In response the aasimar yawned and closed their eyes.

“I’ll have to remember that trick and use it more often.”

Atlas didn’t respond, too far off in dreamland.

Lilith withdrew her hand and gently pressed a goodnight kiss where her finger was once touching them. Tired from her eventful day the tiefling finally succumbed to sleep.

—————————————————————————————

For those of you wondering, Lilith is French. For those of you also wondering, yes Lilith fangirls over her pookie, constantly.

Also in case you’re wondering here was the outfit inspo(I think I found them on Pinterest but I honestly can’t remember):

[thriveandalign]

Breaking the Silence: What I Learned from My First Visit to a Women’s Health Clinic

Opening Up About a Journey That Changed the Way I See My Health

For years, I put off visiting a Women’s Health Clinic. Like many women, I told myself I didn’t need to go unless something was “really wrong.” I’d brush off concerns, normalise irregular symptoms, and quietly Google every unexplained discomfort in the middle of the night. The thought of opening up to a stranger about my body—my cycles, my questions, my pain—felt daunting and, at times, even shameful.

But one visit changed everything. And I wish I had gone sooner.

As I discovered, attending a Women’s Health Clinic isn’t just about ticking off a checklist of physical exams—it’s about having a safe space where your health is prioritised, your concerns are heard, and your story is respected. In this post, I want to share what that first experience was like and why I believe these clinics are not only necessary but deeply empowering.

You’re not alone if you’ve hesitated. And you’re not weak for finally saying, “I need help.”

The Fear That Keeps So Many of Us Away

Before my visit, I was filled with uncertainty—mostly around what to expect. Would it be awkward? Would I be judged? Would my concerns be brushed aside like they had been in other medical settings?

These fears aren’t irrational. Many women carry emotional baggage from previous experiences with healthcare—where symptoms were dismissed, language was clinical, or care was impersonal. On platforms like Tumblr's women's health tag, it’s easy to find others who’ve felt the same hesitation or anxiety. You realise quickly that this silence is shared.

For me, I was dealing with irregular cycles and chronic fatigue, but I was also battling the internalised idea that maybe I was just “being dramatic.” I now know that minimising your health doesn’t make you stronger. It just delays healing.

The Reality: Warmth, Understanding, and Professionalism

I booked an appointment with the Women’s Health Clinic – Googong Family Practice, not really expecting much beyond basic checks. But from the first moment I walked in, the tone was completely different from what I had anticipated.

The atmosphere was welcoming—not sterile or rushed. I was seen by a GP who listened first, asked thoughtful questions, and offered care that was evidence-based but also human.

Instead of jumping straight into medical procedures, we had a conversation. We talked about my family history, emotional wellbeing, sexual health, and long-term goals. It wasn’t just about my symptoms—it was about my life.

That’s something not often mentioned when people talk about a Women’s Health Clinic: it’s not just a place for Pap smears and pregnancy tests. It’s a setting where you can speak openly about contraception, menopause, fertility, mental health, breast health, and more—all with practitioners who specialise in supporting women through every stage of life.

The Value of Being Proactive, Not Just Reactive

I’d always viewed healthcare as something reactive—something you do when you’re sick. But the clinic challenged that mindset. One of the things we discussed was how many women’s health issues can be prevented, mitigated, or better managed when they’re addressed early.

For instance, my fatigue and hormone irregularities? We explored possible causes, including vitamin deficiencies, stress load, and the impact of poor sleep cycles. I was referred for further tests, not out of panic, but out of thoroughness.

Preventive care may not feel urgent, but it’s invaluable. I now understand how attending a Women’s Health Clinic regularly may help detect silent conditions early—like PCOS, thyroid imbalances, or reproductive issues that don’t present obvious symptoms at first.

This proactive mindset is something that’s often discussed in self-care circles on Tumblr. If you’ve ever browsed through posts under the #selfcare tag, you’ll see that true self-care goes beyond skincare routines and relaxing baths—it involves advocating for your wellbeing, even when it’s uncomfortable.

It’s Time to Normalise the Conversation

One of the biggest takeaways from my first visit wasn’t just medical—it was emotional. I left feeling lighter, like a weight had been lifted. Being able to speak freely about my concerns, ask questions without embarrassment, and feel heard made me realise how much unnecessary shame we carry around our health.

And it’s not just about me. The more women I spoke to, the more I realised how common this experience is. We whisper about period pain, miscarriages, and menopause like they’re taboo. But these are normal, human experiences—and they deserve space in the open.

That’s why sharing stories—whether through blogs, journal entries, or Tumblr posts—matters. By telling others what it’s like to walk into a Women’s Health Clinic and be met with dignity, we begin to dismantle the barriers of shame and silence.

A Safe Place to Be Heard and Helped

If you’ve been postponing your own visit to a Women’s Health Clinic, know this: it may be one of the most affirming things you do for yourself this year. You deserve to understand what’s going on in your body. You deserve clear answers, compassionate care, and follow-up when needed.

For those in regional NSW or the Queanbeyan–Googong area, the Women’s Health Clinic – Googong Family Practice offers a warm and inclusive space for women’s health at every life stage—from adolescence to menopause and beyond. Their focus on continuity of care, collaborative treatment, and genuine understanding makes it easier to take that first step.

And if you're outside that area? Let this article be your encouragement to seek out a local clinic that respects your story. The support is out there. Sometimes, we just need a little reminder that asking for help is strength, not weakness.

[madaboutmunson]

It's a Kind of Magic Part 1

Part 2

So you have to imagine that in this reality Steve is a major loser (he's not really a loser, but in his realm he feels that way) magic user, also he's British. The realm is one of my own creation, and you'll learn more about it as the story goes on :)

Hope you like it.

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

Steve had been staring at the pigeon feather for way too long. He had cycled it through every unnatural colour imaginable and used it as a projectile weapon against imaginary monsters that were actually walls. Steve could even make it dance, but he couldn't get the damn thing to do anything it was supposed to, like be its natural colour, float gently to the ground or write his name in cursive.

It was almost as if his magic wasn't interested in any of that mundane stuff. But, of course, the problem with that was Steve needed to complete that checklist to pass the exam to further his magic studies, and that stuck-up establishment wasn't interested in all the other things Steve could do, just these archaic criteria.

Steve hears an audible pop and a chorus of bleating from the animals outside.

"Another one," Steve says aloud to no one, grabbing his lantern and firing it up.

He slumps his way down the stairs and out into the garden to find a bewildered young woman, looking around wildly and turning around dramatically, shouting her Hellos into the night.

Steve hoists his lantern high in the air and approaches until it has her attention. As usual, his nearing shadowy silhouette makes them stumble backwards and land on their backside. Next was the inevitable greeting of violence or bargaining. This one looked like they would bargain Steve wagered against himself.

"Please help me. I mean no harm. I just...I don't know where I am or how I got here. I have...um...I can trade for your help."

Steve makes a mental note to mark that tally on his board when he gets back and raises his hands submissively, "No need, just follow me, and we'll get you home." Steve says kindly and waves them towards himself.

The woman cautiously follows Steve and his light but leaves a good gap between them. They all did. Steve couldn't blame them, really.

Imagine just going about your day, then POP, you fall out of the air onto a patch of grass in a place you've never seen before. Then have your ears assaulted by a cacophony of noise, only to then have a strange person or silhouette of a person approach you. Of course, Steve would keep his distance too.

However, there was a reason Steve was chosen for this, not only because he couldn't pass that damn entrance exam but because people warmed up to Steve quickly. Maybe Steve had a trustworthy face, or in cases like this, in the middle of the night, a trustworthy walk.

Whatever the case, the woman has closed the gap and is walking next to him now.

"Where am I?" She asks in almost a whisper. Steve knows she's not speaking his language, but he can understand her all the same.

"Honestly, it really is for the best you don't ask, don't look at anything too closely or touch anything. Just keep up with me, you'll get to the portal, and all of this will feel like a dream. So try not to think or worry about it too much. It's really not worth the mental strain."

"A few minutes ago, I was just tending to-," she starts, but Steve interrupts.

"This mental strain is a two-way street, my friend. You can tell all of this to the people at the portal, they'll put you right back where you were, and the timeline will be undisturbed," Steve recites happily, reassuring her but also defending his own brain.

It wasn't that Steve didn't understand the concept. It was just there were too many questions surrounding it. In basic terms, creatures, mostly humanoids, from any timeline or universe have the potential to pop through the rift that hovered ten feet over the patch of grass in the garden.

Why that garden? Where did the rift come from? Were there more of these, or did all time and space have a link to that tiny rift over the garden? What caused them to fall through? Why only one at a time? Steve shakes the unanswerable from his brain, and it's time for the inevitable question from his temporary guest.

"Is this the afterlife? Did I die?" She asks, almost with a little too much excitement.

"No, nothing quite so profound, I'm afraid. You've found yourself here quite by accident." Steve says with a smile and quickens his pace, hoping he can get to the tower before she asks The Question.

Too late.

"Do I have to go back exactly where I was?" She asks curiously.

Steve closes his eyes slowly for a second and sighs silently, "Yes, you do. Otherwise, the timeline will get messed up, and who knows what impact that could have on everything and everyone else."

There is a knowing silence between them both as they get to a stone tower. The portal's glow sprays light through the slit windows and cracks in the stone into the inkiness of the night sky. Steve can almost hear the thought cogs turning in her mind.

Steve isn't supposed to tell them, but strictly speaking, it was more of a hint than anything else, "You know some people around here take their jobs, very...VERY...seriously!"

Steve glances up at the smoke-infused iridescent multicoloured light emitting from the top of the tower. Steve hopes upon hope they got the hint as he turns his eyes back to them and opens the great wooden door.

They step through and turn back, "You aren't coming with me?"

Steve gives them a small, almost embarrassed smile, " 'fraid not. Only qualified mages are allowed beyond this point."

They digest this information as Steve closes the door.

"But wait, does that mean I'm a-" but the door muffles the question.

The jealousy wraps around Steve like a familiar cloak. The answer was yes.

Yes, a person that accidentally dropped into a garden randomly and had never harnessed their magic wherever they had come from was, indeed, classed as a more advanced magic user than himself.

Except they didn't have to pass an exam to prove it because they bent space and time, and The Board advised that despite their magic seeming haphazard, it all benefits the realm.

Benefit to the realm meant as the poor souls get pushed back through the portal from wence they came, The Portal Keepers extract their magic and distribute it to those born in this realm. But, to be honest, they are typically none the wiser. None of them knew they had magic in the first place.

Steve used to search for each one using his terminal once he got home, but he stopped once he began to see a pattern. Whilst they had no idea they had magic, the absence of it had an effect on each of them. They could never quite put their finger on what it was, but something was always missing.

They became doomed to see the magic in others, but they could never possess it again themselves.

That isn't to say every magic owner ended up here. That was the real mystery. Steve would have loved to be the one to compile the data to figure out the pattern, but they said to learn anything about these creatures could potentially drive him to madness, and, honestly, that is an additional trait he could do without right now.

He is about to turn up the path to his crooked little house when there is a POP, and the bleating begins. His brown furrows, 'Another one?'.

It wasn't like it couldn't happen. It just had never happened before. They were normally days, sometimes weeks apart, but minutes? Steve speed walks towards the grass patch.

The bleating stops before Steve gets there. That had never happened before. Ever.

His speed walk turns to a full-speed run. The rift in the air crackles with red lightning arcs and sizzles. Whilst Steve was sure it had no emotions, it looked furious.

Steve holds his lantern up but cannot make out any creature until he turns his eyes to the ground.

A human. A man, Steve guessed. Eyes wide open. Blood was caked around his mouth, in his long dark hair, and in various torn areas of clothing. He must be a warrior of some kind, so Steve keeps his distance. A belt of bullets around his waist, protective clothing around his torso and a skull emblazoned on the material wrapped around his head.

Steve glances over at him again and watches his chest closely. It isn't moving, no rise and fall of breathing.

This was unprecedented. They all came through alive, all of them. He didn't have a procedure for this.

Steve could only think to move him in case any more came through. He quickly fires up his magic, and its earthy green swirls embrace the body on the ground lifting it, carrying it with him into the house and placing it on the kitchen table.

Steve takes off his "wizard" outfit. The long velvet robe and pointy hat emblazoned with moon phases and constellations are hung up, leaving him in his wide-leg black trousers and black silken blouse. Steve carefully props the lantern up against the wall next to clothing hooks as Steve calls out to his smart computer.

"Hey, Betty, can you find me the protocol handbook and turn on all the kitchen lights, please?"

"Yes, absolutely, Skreve", the voice rings out around his home. His nose crinkles in annoyance at the blasted thing getting his name wrong again because his fingers slipped on the keys, because he nearly knocked his tea over the console.

A holographic book appears in his eye line as he uses one hand to start using his magic to make a pot of tea and the other to turn the book's pages in front of his face.

After his first cup is poured and he has flicked through every page of the manual, Steve pulls one of the chairs away from the table towards him at the counter and sits in it, looking over the body on his table.

Steve could just contact the tower and tell them, but something told him they wouldn't believe that a corpse had just dropped through the rift.

Steve could hear them now, "Impossible!! They've clearly disobeyed the protocol and killed the poor creature on the way here. Making up some nonsense to cover for themselves, just like with the cat that went missing."

In his defence, the cat did go missing. Steve just didn't tell them he had found it again a few days later, eating the leftovers from his fridge. Then, almost like she can sense him thinking about her, Steve feels her rub against the outside of his leg and makes a sweet chirrup noise at him.

These noises were utterly unnecessary, Steve could communicate with her just fine, but she insisted they made him feel warm and fuzzy inside, and she was right about that.

Lofn was big for a cat. She was big for a Norwegian Forest Cat. When she sat on the ground, her ears touched the top of the kitchen table, but thankfully despite her size, she was silent on her feet and weighed very little. Which oddly made her easier to disguise. No one believed this was a cat that fell through the portal, but rather some bizarre experiment Steve had messed up. Her fur a mixture of jet black and smoke grey splodges with a pure black face and emerald green eyes.

She had taken most of the walk with Steve to the tower but halfway, stopped and ran away. He tried to take her back many times, but she always wiggled her way back to his house until the day she broke the rule between them. She told him the horrors of the home she had escaped, and sending her back would be a death sentence, and he just couldn't do it after that. Steve couldn't be her executioner.

Lofn sits up on her back legs, her eyes wide and nose sniffing the air of the body on the table. Then, finally, she turns her head to Steve, "What's wrong with it?"

"I think it's dead," Steve says, slowly sipping his tea.

She tilts her head at the table, "Really? Hmmm. I wonder"

"Lofn, whatever it is you're thinking, I really wouldn't. We don't know anything about it." Steve runs his hand over her mass of fur. It's more to reassure himself than her.

She sniffs the air again and laughs, which sounds like tiny chittering noises coming from her mouth, "I think this one is safe".

With that, she leaps up and sits on the body's chest. She looks directly into the eyes of the body, her pupils expanding massively, and her fur begins to stick up on end. She hisses, but before Steve can reach out, she lunges forward quickly and places one tiny lick on the tip of its nose.

"Ok, I think we can safely say-" Steve starts before the body blinks in slow motion.

Steve rapidly shakes his head, in case he is seeing things, "Lofn! I think it's time to step away from it now."

Lofn doesn't take her eyes from the eyes of the body, "No, if I stay here, he won't move. He won't be scared."

"Ok, well, You are scaring me right now, ok?" Steve says, trying to place his teacup on the counter as his hands shake violently. It feels like the whole room is humming or breathing in and out. The walls are expanding and contracting. The lights brighten and dim in time with them. Steve backs himself into the corner of the kitchen.

"Lofn! That's enough of...well...whatever it is that you're doing." Steve tries to say firmly but his voice trembles.

"I'm not doing anything, though!" She protests, "I'm just reading him!"

Then it's like all Steve can see, hear, taste, touch and smell are ripped from him. The room's light, colour and air are pulled towards the body on the table before bouncing back out again, his senses returning to him, and he braces himself once more against the counter as his surroundings return to normal, apart from one thing.

The body's pallid-toned skin is refilled with colour, the eyes are blinking, and the hands reach up for Lofn's head. Steve reaches for the nearest sharp knife and is about to send it hurtling towards the newly awoken thing when its fingers gently scratch behind Lofn's ears.

"Hey there, beautiful. I always knew it would be a cat, not some skeleton in a robe," he almost laughs out as Lofn rubs her head against his hands.

[indianamoonshine]

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

|

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

|

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

|

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

|

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

|

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

|

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

|

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

[liam-93-productions]

This weekend it’s the UK’s biggest event on the entertainment calendar, with the 74th EE British Academy of Film and Television Awards taking place at the Albert Hall with guests and nominees attending virtually for the first time, thanks to Covid-19. And while the awards promise to be as exciting as possible in these unprecedented times, on Sunday night we will also be treated to another exciting world-first in the form of Liam Payne being beamed into houses up and down the country while performing for the opening of the ceremony.

Yup, if you’ve ever fancied the former One Direction crooner serenading you at the end of your bed, on Sunday you can make your dreams a reality – or augmented reality – as Liam has joined forces with the EE network to create a 3D avatar hologram of himself that can be beamed through the app ‘The Round’ (available on any mobile device) as he performs at the Albert Hall. Super fans can also get to experience the avatar in their homes, or on-the-go, ahead of the performance, if they tune in via the app at 6.45pm, 15 minutes before the hologram joins real Liam on stage to perform.

GLAMOUR caught up with Liam to discuss this sci-fi sounding excitement as well as hear how the past year has treated him. In a wide-ranging chat with the ever-charming Liam, we covered all things from the struggles of lockdown and coping with his mental health to his former bandmates, burgeoning acting career, new music (...).

Is the fact that you're performing at the BAFTAs a sign that your acting career is on the rise?

I've done a lot of auditions, a lot of tapes. The thing about acting somebody told me, it’s very much like: are you right for the part and is the part right for you? I think it takes a lot of talent, luck and judgment going into acting to actually get into a job. I mean, hat's off to anybody who does it because it's a long process. I seem to get through to like the final five or final three people for every role and then not quite get it. Which is frustrating but, you know, that’s how it goes. I've had a fair few auditions and I was lucky enough to get into the final five again for one audition that I got to meet Steven Spielberg [a couple of years ago] on my 25th birthday which was quite amazing. But it's been fairly slow through the pandemic obviously.

And what about music? Have you been writing anything, or even been in the studio?

I'm going to the studio later on today actually, to record something for the first time in a while. Which is quite weird to be traveling back into London to go into work. I've been doing some stuff from home as well, which has been quite interesting. Zoom sessions don't really work out all that well, it's very difficult. I'm sure a lot of musicians will agree. So, it's been kind of hard to work properly during this half of the pandemic. The other first half of the pandemic, I just did these live shows, which was really amazing to play live and do them online, which was kind of strange... It's been difficult in terms of the creative process for me.

The past year has been challenging for absolutely everyone, no matter their circumstances. How has it affected you on a personal and a professional level?

In the first half of it, I was so busy that I didn't really notice it as much, except for having to do a lot of stuff myself without crew and learning to do hair and makeup was kind of a weird experience. But then this second half, I stopped working and I had a full, proper month off [and that was] really hard. And it was all a bit dark for me for a little bit and I'm sure many people experienced it. Just not being able to go anywhere, not be able to do anything. It really, really hit home. And I just found myself sat in the same place day in, day out. And I was like, okay, I really do not know what to do with myself.

You’ve bravely spoken about struggling with your mental health in the past, and you say now that you did go into a bit of a dark place recently, how have you coped with that?

I think it's an ongoing experience. For me, learning to relax has always been quite a hard thing to do because I feel like if I'm not moving forward, then I must be going backwards. And I think that's something that I've always struggled with. So, in a way it's kind of a blessing in disguise, as this has all kind of taught me to relax a little bit more. And to not be so worried about that, like the world is not going to fall over if I don't do something today. So, it's been nice in that respect. But I think for a lot of people it's difficult, and I definitely took for granted how much I miss my family. I'm used to being away from home, I'm used to being abroad and not seeing very much of them. But I'd always see them at a show or at something once a year. And then now that that's all been taken away, it's been a lot to not see my family and realise how much they actually ground me.

So, what have you found helpful or supportive during the past year? Have you turned to anything to get you through these dark times?

Friends that are there for you... [talking to] one of my managers that I'm quite close with. I think a lot of guys struggle to talk about what the hell is going on a lot of the time. And for me and him, actually we're quite heart on our sleeves sort of people, so we talk a lot about different things. But I think if I didn't have that, someone to share that with, I think I would have struggled a hell of a lot more.

Like a mental health mate?

I mean, we literally talk about everything. We're probably too honest with each other! But I think it's important that everybody has that person. I'll be honest, at the start of this, drinking definitely became a lot more of a thing because there just didn't seem to be any boundaries. I wouldn't say I drank too much, I'd say I drank too often. Just through the boredom, I guess. A lot of people were going through that though I think - there was so many funny, great memes about it I saw friends of mine put up. But it can be quite dark at times. I think the only thing that's really helped me through that is just learning to work out again and learning to put boundaries in for myself in terms of what food I'm eating. As a pop star, I think you're always quite weight conscious. My job has always been about having to work out, doing underwear modelling and all that sort of thing, it makes you quite body conscious at times. It was nice to be able to just sit and eat pizza and chocolate, I really enjoyed that. But getting myself back into the habit of working out and then having a cheat day put in place, so that there was more boundaries in line, I think has definitely helped me.

I'm quite fortunate that I don't put a stack of weight on, although I have gone up rather a lot in size over this time. But I think it was more about routine for me than anything. And I always say, having a small victory before you get into bed at night time. Or life just gets depressing. Whether that small victory is making sure you've spoken to a family member, you've worked out, or whether you did learn to do something today, just something small. There's one task that you literally can't be arsed with, you should get done just on the day, so that you feel good about yourself when you get into bed.

That's so important. So, do you almost have a checklist before you go to bed?

I think as long as I make the gym and I've done that bit and I've taken care of my needs, just cooked some nice food. That's mainly it for me, really. And then I feel good about it. (...)

(...)

Moving on to social media, you've obviously got such a massively positive fan base, but how do you cope with the negative side of social media and the impact that can have on your mental health?

I struggled with it for a long time. I argued with people. I was aggressive on their points trying to fight my own side. And I think for some people you are talking to a brick wall, you will not win and there's no point trying. And also, the more you talk about it, the worse it gets. So, I just shut up and put up a lot of the time. I think it's the Queen that says, "never complain or never explain." And that's something I think myself I do live by because it's just like, with some people it gets worse having the argument and trying to explain yourself. But all of it, it's like five minutes of your life for somebody who doesn't know you, it's just a bit pointless.

You have so much intense public scrutiny on you all the time, how do you navigate keeping something back for yourself, and how have you managed to maintain that sense of privacy over the years?

I think this has been one of my biggest struggles this whole time. Because, I'm very much a heart on the sleeve sort of person. I didn't actually realize this for a long time, but I often give a little bit too much away…But it's definitely a difficult one to flick the two people apart. So that you're on stage, you're a certain type of person, and at home you're a certain type of person. That's always something I've really struggled with.

And you've been famous since the age of 16. How did you manage growing up in that sort of public glare?

Never did! [laughs] My friend was [recently] talking about how he’s got a teenage son that he was really struggling with at the moment. And I was thinking, "oh my God, imagine how much people would have struggled having five teenagers, rowdy boys in a band. It must've been terrible, there's no getting through to them!" And for a while, it probably was. I think we all go through that awkward teen phase where you're finding yourself. And most of us, we get to get away with it. And they're funny family photos for later on; here was your emo phase or whatever you went through! And for us, we never got away with being awkward or annoying at points. It was kind of out there for everyone to see; the awful haircuts and we’re talking terrible clothes, it was all out there.

What has your career taught you about the idea of success and the idea of failure?

I think it's taught me lots about how you would measure success. I came from a family that weren't very well off. We didn't have a lot. My dad was in debt actually when I started. So, success for me always meant a monetary thing to start off with. But then as I got older, I realized I don't really buy all that much. I don't really spend a hell of a lot of money. So, it can't be about a money sort of thing. And it's more now become more about happiness and experiences. And the one thing I always say about my job, no matter what, and everybody gets annoyed at their job sometimes, it is what it is. But for me, at least I get to put a smile on someone's face.

Yes, you do! And what has it taught you about failure?

That's a really good question. It’s taught me I think that perseverance will always prevail in that sense. Because it doesn't always go exactly to plan. We were really lucky when we came up, we absolutely skyrocketed. And then, it's been hard to follow that ever since. But you know, measuring a failure as well. What is a failure? And people will look at this and, for us sometimes getting a 100,000,000 streams isn't quite what we aim for, but it's still 100,000,000 streams….you have to kind of get a hold of yourself. Everything is about perspective at the end of the day, isn't it? That was something I struggled with for a long time, because of how well it went [for the band.]

So you had such high expectations for everything?

Yeah. And it's like, time to give that a break really. And Louis from my band has always been quite great to sit with me and talk with me about stuff. And if I'm feeling a certain way. We've been quite good with each other, actually in that respect and helping each other out, which has been nice.

And finally, if you could sit down with the Liam who was starting out in One Direction in 2010, what advice would you have for him?

I think just have more fun and relax a little bit. I think I was a very serious child, one of those man-childs, I was a man in a child's body pretty early on. And I think I would have avoided that stage, to be honest with you. To enter One Direction as that difficult, because it just meant that I got completely a different job to everybody else.

You were the grown up one?

That was it. And it was boring. I should have just larked around and thrown plates out the window and stuff!

More rock and roll?

Well, I mean at the start, and then later on a bit less rock and roll [laughing.]

Well, thank you so much, Liam. And we look forward to seeing your performance on Sunday at the BAFTAs.

I'll see you wherever you want me in your house, I guess.

Liam Payne is performing an exclusive EE BAFTA AR real-time music performance, ahead of his 5G-powered opening show at the 2021 EE BAFTA Film Awards. Download ‘The Round’ app to enjoy the live AR experience through your mobile phone, wherever you are, this Sunday 11th April 2021 at 18:45pm BST.

[oakleaf--bearer]

@jonmartinweek day two - injury!

also on ao3

When dealing with matters of the heart, Jon was about the furthest from a natural that there could be. 

He was... rusty to say the least. Awkward was a generous way to put it. Completely and utterly useless was far more accurate. 

So when Georgie had laughed and asked when he and Martin had started dating, he had been understandably taken aback and politely asked her what she meant by that. ("Georgie, what the fuck?" had been his exact wording). She'd shrugged and patted his knee, telling him that he should probably talk to Martin as soon as he got back to the Institute. 

He stared down at the ring sat on the table, a frown creasing his forehead. It had been something of a whim purchase. He had bought it several years ago after reading about the concept online, and he'd just....not taken it off. Every time it left his hand, he'd itched to put it back on as soon as possible. 

And now, a blistering burn mark on his hand was stopping him from putting it back on. A small, mostly insignificant piece of his identity stripped back and taken away from him. 

A gentle knock at the door startled him out of his quiet contemplation. 

"Hello." Martin poked his head around the door. "Tea?"

"Thank you, Martin."

Martin smiled, and Jon remembered Georgie's assumption. Would he? It wasn't the most unimaginable thing in the world. Martin was friendly. Charming, comfortable, welcoming. But dating? Maybe... But Jon had done dating before. He'd explained what the ring in the table meant to enough people that he was tired. Tired of the assumptions, the questions, the idea that there was one person out there who would change his mind, all he needed was a good- 

Martin wasn't that person. When Jon ran through the mental 'relationship checklist', he could imagine so many different aspects with Martin. Holding hands, going on dates, even waking up next to each other, but that particular facet of a relationship was completely unimaginable. It wasn't that Martin was unattractive, simply that Jon just didn't see the attractiveness like that. 

"What's that?" Martin gestured to the ring. 

"Oh, uh, nothing." Jon covered it with his good hand. "Just a- nothing."

"Riiight." Martin placed the tea on his desk, in easy reach. "Keep your secrets then."

"Hmm." Jon hummed, still examining Martin's face. 

"Jon? You alright?" 

"Oh!" Jon realised he was staring and quickly looked away. "Sorry." 

"It's okay." Martin said with an audible smile that made Jon's heart do something ridiculous. 

"Martin..." Jon didn't really know what he was going to say. "Are you- I- Hmm." 

"Take your time."

"Have lunch with me. That is, if you want to, please don't feel like I'm pressuring you, you can say no if you-"

"Jon." Martin put a hand on his desk, gentle, a calming reminder of a calming man. "I'd love to." 

Jon stared at the hand. It was larger than his own. When he'd arrived back in the archives, trailing blood and exhaustion behind him, Martin had sat and re-wrapped the clumsy bandages he had put on it, patiently telling him off for not going to a doctor and getting it checked. Jon hadn't been able to look away from his hands then either, just gazing at them with sleepy eyes, his mind fixed on the image of Martin taking care of him. Carefully picking up the pieces he had left flung about the place and putting them back together, gently slotting them back into place.

Martin took him to a sandwich place around the corner from the institute. Jon stared at the menu, trying to decipher the swirling font. The letters swam slightly as he read them, the words jumbling together. 

“Jon?” Martin bumped their shoulders together lightly, bending down to Jon's height to compensate for the difference. “What are you going to order?”

 “I-  What do you recommend?” 

Martin smiled. “Hmm. How about the tuna and sweetcorn? It’s a classic, you know?”

“Sure.” 

Martin ordered for them and nudged Jon towards a table in the corner. Jon went willingly, content to listen to Martin chatter away about the wait times and the various bouts of  people-watching he had gotten up to in this cafe. Despite Jon’s lack of contributions, Martin seemed to be fine carrying the conversation on his own. A couple of people gave them odd glances, no doubt wondering what Martin, kind, gentle-looking Martin, was doing with a grumpy sack of exhaustion. Externally, they didn't match. They were diametrically opposed, two entities that shouldn't exist in the same space without causing some kind of epoch changing event. 

But the more Jon pondered it, the more he realised that he wanted to be here, sat opposite Martin, listening to him talk, letting him order his sandwiches and hold his hand-

Jon’s brain skipped a beat. 

Martin had placed his hand over Jon’s where it rested on the table and was staring at him, concern across his face. “Jon? You okay?”

‘I care about him’, Jon realised with a start. ‘This is my friend.’

Martin nudged his hand around so that he could properly take it in his own. The motion dislodged the ring that Jon still held clutched in his bandaged fingers. It clattered out, its black outline stark against the faded beige of the tabletop. 

“Oh, sorry.” Martin picked it up to hand it back to Jon. “You might want to be a bit more careful. You don't want to lose this.”

“What?” Jon stared down at Martin’s hand. It felt ridiculous to see Martin holding out his ring and for Jon to feel this weightless. The gentle curl of Martin’s fingers around the band set Jon’s mind whirling down avenues lined with graffiti reading ‘Just tell him’ and ‘Maybe it will go well’. 

Jon took a deep breath and took the plunge. 

“I’m sorry, Martin.”

Martin blinked. “R-right? What for?”

“All of it.” Jon reached out and covered Martin’s, still holding Jon’s ace ring up in front of them. “You were always- I’m glad you're here. With me.” He carefully took the ring and let go of Martin’s hand. It looked shockingly sad sitting in the palm of Jon’s bandaged hand. Another piece of who he was now associated with pain. An uncomfortably familiar reality that Jon was steadily becoming used to. 

Martin reached across the table and gave Jon’s hand a quick squeeze. Jon hissed at the jolt of pain lacing up his arm. 

“Oh god, Jon, I’m so sorry, I didnt- I didnt think, that was stupid of me-” Martin’s hands fluttered in the air around Jon’s. “God, that was awful of me, I’m really sorry-”

“It’s okay,” Jon said, grabbing at Martin with his uninjured hand. “It’s fine, it's already passed.” 

Martin gave him an apologetic smile, but didn’t argue. “That’s important to you, huh?”

“Hmm?”

“The ring. I’ve seen you wear it a lot. Does it mean something?”

“Oh.” Jon hadn't considered the possibility that Martin might be aware of the ring's existence. In his head, it existed in a bubble, separate from work and his colleagues. It made sense, he supposed, that Martin was able to see into that bubble, since its edges had been bumping against Jon’s perception of Martin for a little while now. “It, ah, its a- Its a sexuality thing.”

To Martin’s credit, he didn’t even blink at the idea that Jon might not be straight, just nodded and smiled encouragingly. “I thought so. Asexuality, right?” 

“Wha- Yes.” Jon had been gearing up to explain the intricacies of asexuality, not for Martin to already have that knowledge. 

“It came up when I was doing research trying to figure out my own sexuality.”

That caught Jon off guard. For some reason, throughout all of his deliberations trying to figure out where on Jon’s internal spectrum Martin sat, he had failed to consider the actual real life possibility of Martin’s queerness. “You’re-”

“Oh, I’m not ace.” Martin shook his head. “At least, I don't think so. Labels,” he chuckled. “Confusing stuff. I usually just go with gay and trans to sum me up.” 

A small, overlooked lightbulb in the back of Jon’s mind flickered to life as a couple of pieces of information fell into place with a quiet ‘oh!’

“I saw the ring but I didn't want to ask in case it was just a style thing. A lot of people don't know about this stuff and it's sometimes hard to tell, you know?”

“Right.”

“I guess the bandages stop you wearing it, right?” It was a non-sentence, a piece of idle observation that Martin was making. But it still stung. 

“It feels somewhat ridiculous to say but- I think I’m going to miss it. It’s just a ring, it's not my entire sexuality, I’ll still be ace without wearing it, but I’m still- It feels like I’m missing a piece of something that I was trying to hold onto, you know?”

Martin nodded. “I understand. Here-” he reached up and unclasped a thin chain that had been hanging around his neck. “You can borrow this. I’ll take these off for now.” He slipped off a couple of charms that had been hanging on it. Smiling, he held out the chain.

“You- You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Martin wiggled the chain in the air between them slightly. “You can give it back when your hand is better.”

Wordlessly, Jon took the chain and looped the ring onto it. He lifted to try and fix the clasp around his neck, but he couldn't get the clasp open. Martin pushed his chair back, coming to stand behind Jon, taking the chain out of his hands and closing the clasp for Jon. 

“There.” Martin smoothed Jon’s collar down. “That looks nice!”

“Thank you.” Jon whispered, then louder, “Thank you, Martin. This- This means a lot.” 

Martin shrugged a little awkwardly, cheeks turning red. “No trouble. It means a lot to you, so, you know, you should be able to carry it with you.”

He smiled down at Jon, and once again Jon felt the small jolt of recognition, of comfort. The bubble in his mind fully merged with Martin, creating something new that, at least for a few more long, exhausting months, Jon didn't know to call love.

[starglow-xx]

checklist

heyo! i wrote and posted this on my quotev for keith’s birthday (october 23, 2020) and i finally made a tumblr for my fanfiction soo here it is!!

keith kogane x f! reader

genre: fluff and slight angst!

This was what you had planned and written out coming to the Garrison.

(y/n's) Checklist: Garrison Days

Get into the Garrison✔️ extra: best friend is here too! :)

Get a license to become a co-fighter pilot extra: we're getting there!

Make new friends!✔️ extra: pidgeon, lancelot, and sunshine :D

Graduate!

Okay, granted, it's a bit short, but nevertheless it's straightforward and guaranteed to not knock you off course.

Although, this was the list that she seemed to be following at the moment.

(y/n's) Mental Bullshit Checklist

Fall in love with your best friend✔️

Sneak out of the Garrison basically every night to meet up with said best friend who just so happened to be expelled✔️

Fall in love with your best friend✔️

Keep secrets from your other best friends✔️

oh and FALL IN LOVE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND

✔️

Can't forget that checkmark.

You sighed.

'Damn him and his pretty face.'

Sighing once more, you flopped backward against your bed holding your phone out away from your face staring at the time.

11:23 p.m.

'It's still early. I'm not meeting up with Keith for at least another half hour.'

You frowned at your phone.

'I wish time would go faster. Or better yet, just skip this.'

You put the phone down opting to stare at the ceiling instead. Frankly, you were exhausted. Keith always ends up keeping you up till the very early hours of the morning, just before daybreak, leaving you with a small amount of sleep.

'I mean we do this basically every night. It wouldn't hurt to bail on him just this once right? It's not like we end up finding any clues about Shiro or "the energy source".'

Frowning again at the thought of your lost older brother figure, you closed your eyes and placed your right forearm against your eyes, leaving your other hand against your stomach holding your phone.

'A quick nap wouldn't hurt now would it?'

You shut your eyes slowly and then you were out like a light.

You awoke to light knocking at your door.

Opening your eyes slowly, you stared up at the ceiling, and you wait until your eyes get adjusted to the dim lighting of your room.

'Wait a damn minute.'

You frantically sit upright looking for your phone before spotting it on the floor. You immediately grab it before widening your eyes in horror.

12:46 a.m.

'Shit.'

*knock knock knock*

The knocking of the metal door snapped you back into your senses, making you rush all over the room fixing your appearance while simultaneously packing a small bag.

*knock knock knock*

'There's no fucking way Keith broke into the Garrison. There's no fucking way he's outside my door. No fucking way.'

'Guess we'll just have to find out.'

Taking a big deep breath, you allow the metal door to open.

And you end up staring into the blue orbs of your flirtatious best friend Lance McClain.

A sigh of relief passes in between your breath and you smile as you lean against the frame of your door only then noticing Hunk's panicky presence behind the lanky male. Ignoring his nervousness, you wave at the soon to be yellow paladin, with him exchanging a fidgety smile and wave in return. 

Taking note of your sigh and smile, Lance speaks up with a cocky, goofy grin on his face.

"Woah there pretty lady, happy to see me?~" 

Rolling your eyes with an equally goofy grin on your face you respond.

"Ha! In your dreams McClain."

"But you're always in my dreams (y/n)!" he replies cheekily.

Playfully shoving the tall teen backward, you stifle a laugh. You always enjoy your time with Lance; it's always been like this, the playful banter, everything. Even since you met as kids at the Garrison.

"Okay! Okay! Jeez (n/n) so violent."

Rolling your eyes again, you take another look at the best friend duo before asking, "So, care to tell me why you're here in front of my dorm at like one in the morning?"

Lance opens his mouth only to have Hunk shove the both of you back into your room with him following and the metal door shutting behind the three of you.

Lance not liking how he was treated so roughly, started to whine, "Hunkkkk what was that forrr- MPPFH," only to get interrupted by Hunk placing a hand on both of your mouths.

"SHHH! We have to be quiet you guys," Hunk lowers his voice, "I heard a guard walking down the other hallway, I think he might turn the way next! Oh wait! I hear him shhhhh"

The three of you stood still and quiet as you hear the footsteps of the guard get closer and closer until eventually fading. 

After that very close call, you all sigh in relief as you had done a few minutes prior.

Suddenly remembering the conversation from a few minutes ago also made you become more aware of the time. Taking a look at the clock on your dresser, you curse under your breath.

12:57 a.m.

Quickly taking out your phone from your satchel, you curse again seeing the missed calls and text messages from Keith.

57 missed calls & 6 unread messages

keef♡

where are you?

sent 12:03 a.m.

(y/n) answer.

sent 12:07 a.m.

(y/n) pick up the damn phone! I know you're tired and I always drag you out late but come on pick up.

sent 12:09 a.m.

Okay, okay I'm sorry. Don't be mad at me.

sent 12:10 a.m.

(y/n) damn it. Now's not the time to be mad at me or to be sleeping. I think we might actually find something this time, I can feel it.

sent 12:15 a.m.

Fine then. I'll go on my own this time.

sent 12:17 a.m.

Ah shit. The only time Keith texts you first, and it's because you were being an idiot and accidentally bailed on him. Now he thinks that you've ditched him. Knowing him, he's gonna feel way more upset than you think because of what happened with his mom, dad, and Shiro. 

'Ah I fucked up this time didn't I?'

Breaking out of your thoughts, you realize that you have guests at the moment.

You whispered yelled at the two taller boys, "What are you two doing here?!"

Lance sulked, "Aw (n/n) I could've sworn you were happy to see us like five minutes ago."

"That was before you almost got me in trouble!"

And that's coming from the girl who sneaks out of the Garrison on a daily basis. But they don't need to know that.

Not yet at least.

Hunk (bless his soul) interrupts Lance once more as he opens up his mouth, "Lance here wants to do some "team bonding" so we were going to get both you and Pidge, but we saw Pidge run out of his dorm, but we still needed to get you and this is the worst team-building exercise ever."

Ahh that's right.

The four of you got scolded today after failing the simulation.

Hunk puked, Pidge removed his (you're still doubting if he is really a he, but no judgment there) safety harness, and Lance crashed the jet. You on the other received praise from Iverson after attempting to pull a safer (cough cough Lance) emergency landing, and trying to pull the team together.

Well, it's your job as the co-pilot to keep Lance in check, just like how you attempted to keep Keith in check. All your teachers and other friends warned you about sticking close to Keith. They never did understand that you two had a close bond.

You two grew up together after all.

--

"Seriously (l/n) stay away from Kogane. You're a bright kid, you got real skill. Don't get mixed up with that troublemaker."

You look down as Commander Iverson speaks to you.

"Well go along, break will be over soon enough. See you in class."

He walks down the hallway as Keith approaches you carefully as he enters from the other side of the nearby wall.

"You can stop you know. You always get in trouble for sticking with me. I'll understand." He says in a low voice looking down.

You, on the other hand, shoot your head up and quickly wrapping your arms around him surprising the young teen.

"Are you dumb?! I'd never leave you Keith! We'll go through thick and thin together remember?! If anything, you might be the one leaving me! You move too fast you might just leave me behind!" you exclaim while squeezing him tighter fully aware of the growing blush on your face.

He lightly laughs before wrapping his arms around your smaller frame squeezing you just as tight.

"Don't worry (y/n), I don't plan on it."

You refuse to let him go as you don't want him to see your red face, not knowing that he hasn't let go for the same reason.

--

As you both got older, around the disappearance of Shiro, Keith gets expelled, but the both of you still manage to keep in touch seeing as you frequently sneak out.

"Why don't you two go ahead? I was just about to get some shut-eye, so tell me how it goes tomorrow okay?"

Yes, sleep would be pretty nice, but in reality, you needed them to get out of here so you can find Keith.

Please say okay, please say okay, please say okay.

Scrunching his eyebrows, Lance denies your request, "What? No! You're part of the team, we need you there!"

'Damn it.'

--

Before you know it, you find yourself on the roof checking out Pidge's equipment.

"Stop touching my equipment!"

You and Hunk pouted.

--

Now, you find yourself and the other three spying on an alien ship on a small ledge after hearing the emergency lockdown announcement at the Garrison.

You blinked. 

"Hmm hey, Lance?"

"Yes (y/n)?"

"Why the hell are we here?"

Lance stopped looking through the binoculars to look up at you.

"We need to find out what's going on! But we'll never get past those guards to take a look."

Pidge types away on his computer.

Hunk sighs, "Aww yeah, I guess there's nothing else but to get back to the barracks right?" and he gets up from his crouching position and starts to leave. 

'Good idea Hunk.'

As you yourself start to head back, Pidge speaks up.

"Wait they set up a camera in there and I picked up its feed. Look."

The three of you gather around Pidge, only for your breath to hitch and for tears to start gathering in the corner of your eyes.

'Shiro?'

You think back to Keith's message.

"I think we might actually find something this time, I can feel it."

'Damn it, I hate it when he's right. I need to text Keith.'

You snap back into reality to dig through your bag only to hear Lance say, "No, what we need is a distraction."

As if on cue, a series of explosions go off in the distance.

'Oh no Keith I swear to God.'

"Ahh are those the aliens?! Are they here?! They got here so quick!" 

Hunk continues to freak out, but Pidge interrupts him.

"No, those explosions were a distraction! For him. The Garrison is heading towards the blast, while he's sneaking through the other side!"

You could recognize that red hoverbike anywhere.

So, you quickly make your way down the small ledge ignoring the shouts of your friends.

"(y/n)! Wait! Oh that guy is always trying to one-up me!"

Lance quickly runs after you.

"Who is it?" Hunk asks.

"Keith!"

"What?! Are you sure?!" Hunk is quick on Lance's heels.

By now, you're way ahead of the three.

"Who?!" Pidge questions.

"(y/n)'s boyfriend!"

But not far enough to not hear that.

"I heard that Lance!"

--

(y/n's) Mental Bullshit Checklist

Find your lost brother figure✔️

Get chased by the Garrison✔️

Realize that your bestest friend might be mad and hurt because of you✔️

Today is just not your day.

*A few minutes prior*

"Nope, no, n-n-no no you don't. I'm saving Shiro."

As Lance makes his way over to Keith and Shiro, you find yourself locking your (e/c) eyes with Keith's purple ones.

His eyes widened, not noticing Lance taking Shiro's other arm. 

'Wait. Is that a metal prosthetic?'

"(y/n)?"

Snapping back into reality, (you seem to be spacing out a lot recently) you try and wrap yourself around this delicate situation.

Keith thinks you abandoned him on something that means a lot to him.

Keith is possibly mad at you.

Keith finds Shiro only for you, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge to barge in.

Keith might be thinking you left him alone for those three.

Keith looks hurt.

Your already teary eyes soften along with your voice, "Keith I-", only to get cut off by Keith himself.

"Who are you?" he quetions looking at Lance.

'Ouch.'

'I guess I deserved that.'

"Who am I? Uhh the name's Lance?"

Lance blinks waiting for Keith to recognize him. When he doesn't he speaks again.

"Uhh we were in the same class in the Garrison."

Keith still not recognizing him asks, "Really? Were you an engineer?"

Lance tired of his confusion clarifies, "What no. I'm a pilot. We were like rivals. You know, Lance and Keith neck and neck, and with (y/n) breaking up all our fights."

You deadpan at the brown-haired boy.

'Does he mean those petty fights where Keith doesn't acknowledge him, and I end up dragging him away?'

As if suddenly remembering, Keith says, "Oh wait I remember you. You're a cargo pilot."

"Well not anymore, I'm fighter class now thanks to you washing out."

Keith being Keith sarcastically congratulates him.

"Seriously, how are you (y/n)'s bestest friend?! You don't even know anything about her other best friends? And what's with the attitude?! I swear! I always tell her to stay away! You're a bad influence on her!"

You warn the blue-eyed boy, "Lance..."

"What?! I'm just trying to look out for you!"

*Flashback end*

Now, the five of you along with an unconscious Shiro are all on Keith's red hoverbike with the Garrison hot your trail.

Keith's driving, you're behind him, behind you is Lance, the Pidge and Shiro, and finally Hunk in the back.

Hunk's panicky voice carries through the air, "Oh man, Mr. Harris just wiped out Mr. Montgomery! No no, he's fine."

Keith speaks to you without looking back, "(y/n) hold on."

You quickly wrap your arms around his masculine chest.

'At least he isn't that mad to ignore me completely.'

"Big man lean right!"

Hunk quickly listens and leans right guiding the overworked machine to the right making it jump to another rock structure. That maneuver efficiently stops one of the two Garrison vehicles chasing you. 

Your heart is pounding realizing that you're all heading towards a cliff.

"Uhh guys?!" Hunk promptly points out what you've just been dreading. "Is that a cliff up ahead?!"

You hear the screaming of your teammates behind you and Keith leans forward forcing you to do the same. He grips and twists the handlebars making the bike speed up while confirming Hunk's question.

"Yup."

You don't even have to look at him to know he has that hot stupid smirk on his face.

'Damn it. My heart just skipped a beat, and it's not because we're falling off a cliff.'

Lance continues to scream at Keith.

"What are you doing?! You're gonna kill us all!!"

Not giving Keith the time to respond, you answer Lance with your own yell while squeezing your eyes shut and squeezing Keith even tighter.

"Lance just shut up and trust him!"

Smoothly maneuvering his bike, Keith "lands" back on solid ground and zooms away.

You guys were alive.

Barely.

But that's beside the point.

(y/n's) Mental Bullshit Checklist

Save Shiro✔️

Almost get caught by the Garrison✔️

Almost die falling off a cliff✔️

Feel Keith's masculine chest✔️

--

You, Shiro, and Keith look at the sky as the sun begins to rise.

Once again, you blank out as you try to wrap your head around what had happened in the past few hours, missing Shiro and Keith's conversation and Shiro calling out your name.

 "(-/n)"

"(y/n)"

"(y/n)!"

A sudden shake of your shoulder snapped you back into reality, making you turn your head towards Shiro who was looking at you worriedly and Keith who was looking down and his feet.

'Ah.'

'He's still upset.'

"Are you feeling okay (y/n)?" Shiro asks worriedly.

You look up at him, with a smile on your face and you cheerfully answer his question.

"Ahh Shiro, you haven't changed, always acting like a dad huh? If anything I should be asking you that question!"

His face showed mild surprise but then he chuckled and ruffled your hair making you squeal. 

"You haven't changed much either (y/n). I'll be heading inside, are you two okay out here or are you gonna follow?"

Once again your focus falls on the rising sun.

"Nah, I think I'll just stay here for a bit longer. I can meet you guys in there a bit later."

"Okay, just be careful. You Keith?"

"I think I'll stay here a bit longer too. You can go meet up with the others."

You inwardly flinched. The two of you were going to be alone.

"Alright, I'll head back inside."

Now, it was just the two of you.

A light breeze past by, and you shivered. It was only then you realized you didn't have a jacket.

'I guess I didn't realize it was cold with everything going on.'

Your thoughts were once more interrupted by something getting draped around your shoulders.

Your eyes widened and you look over your shoulder to see Keith looking away from you now only in his black v-neck shirt. 

You bashfully look away as you hold the collar of his jacket close so it stays on your shoulders, with your left arm hugging your body to keep the warmth. You mutter a quiet thanks only to have been met with silence.

It was like that for a while, until you couldn't help but speak.

"Keith I can-"

"Why were you with them?"

With your body now turned as to get a good look at him, you frowned as you process his question and because he still wouldn't look at you.

"Keith, they're my team, even if I didn't want to, I'd still go anyway. They're my best friends Keith you have to understa-"

"Are we not a team? Are we not best friends?"

You visibly irk as you get interrupted yet again.

"I never said that."

"You were thinking it."

"Dammit Keith! Let me talk!"

The purple-eyed boy finally turns to look at you with an agitated look on his face.

"Why should I?! You'll just leave like how everyone else did! It won't matter."

Frankly, you were hurt. Did he really think that you'd just leave him after years of memories and a childhood of growing up alongside each other? But, you understood why he was so upset. He was scared. 

Not wanting to lose your childhood friend and your first love, you try and defuse the situation. 

"Keith, I understand why you're so agitated right now, it's okay, I understand, I know-"

"Know what (y/n)?! You know nothing! You don't know anything! You don't understand anything!"

It's a good thing the both of you were at a far enough distance away from his shack.

He slowly walks towards you waving around his hands and arms to show how agitated he really was.

"What made you think you knew anything?!"

"Our friendship! Our trust! Our bond! Our everything Keith! Did any of that even matter to you?!"

"I don't think it mattered to you! If it did, you wouldn't have abandoned me! Especially since this was important to me!"

You couldn't believe your damn ears. You scoffed before yelling back, not caring about the tears starting to fall.

"I didn't fucking abandon you Keith! And don't you dare think that this thing was only important to you! Shiro means just as much to me and much as he does to you!"

"Then why the hell did you not show up?!"

"For God's sake, I was sleeping! Call it a lame excuse I don't care! Keith, I'm tired. Every single fucking day we're out till fucking daybreak. On top of that, I have class! I have training! It's fine for you because you don't even go to school anymore! You can sleep all day then explore all night! Me? I run every single day with less than four hours of sleep. It's a fucking blessing to even get one. I understand that you're scared! Cause I am too! We grew up together Keith! Do you know how devastated and worried I was after you got expelled?! I thought that was the end for us! Here you are yapping that you have it rough, that I abandoned you, and some other bullshit while I have it just as bad!"

        Your voice was raw and cracking, tears streaming down your face, eyes starting to puff up, but at this point you didn't care. You didn't care if the others could hear you, you didn't care that Keith stopped yelling, you didn't care that his eyes finally softened and weren't sharp and spiteful anymore, you didn't care.

        You didn't care because you felt your heart break. You want him to know. You want him to know how much you struggle every day, but most of all you want him to know how much you cared. You want him to know how much you care for him even if he doesn't really understand right now, even if he doesn't care for you as much as you do you, or if he doesn't care for you the way you want him to. You wanted him to know that you loved him. Him and only him. Even at the risk of rejection.

"(y/n)..."

"No! I listened to you, now you listen to me Keith Kogane! I understand that I hurt you! I understand that you have trust issues and that you don't want anyone to get too close only for them to leave, I understand! You don't want me to be another repeat of the people in the past; your mom, your dad, Shiro! I understand more than you think! I care about you so much so Keith...please."

At this point, Keith looked like he was going to cry too, and Keith never cries in front of you anymore.

"(Y-y/n) I-I didn't know. I-I'm sor-"

You stop him right there.

"Keith, you have nothing to apologize for. You didn't know cause I didn't tell you, I never wanted to tell you but but oh my God fuck. Keith, it's because I love you!"

There. It's out in the open. No going back now.

"I love you more than friends, more than best friends, more than siblings, Keith I love you with all of my heart! And it hurts so much seeing you like this. I don't need you to love me back, what I need you to do is to trust me. To trust me with everything you've got because there's no way in hell I'm going to get up and walk away from your life. I will always be there for you. I'm your best friend. Through thick and remember?"

You're choking on your own words, and your voice trembled with every other word you've said but it doesn't matter now. You did it. You confessed. Maybe now, your heart can be at peace.

You look up at the boy you've grown to love and you take a good look at him. His long dark locks, his captivating purple eyes, everything. 

You take a good look because you believe that this is going to be the last good one you'll have. The last one before he'll shy away from you. But that's okay. It's okay because you'll always be there for him even if he won't be there for you.

You remove his jacket from your shoulders and gently take his hands placing the jacket into them. You feel his eyes on you and you look up at him placing a gentle smile on your features. You watch as his tear-streaked face looks at yours with so many emotions. More emotions than you've ever seen on him. 

Your hands never left his and with one last act of bravery, you lean up and kiss his cheek. 

You gently pull your hands out of his, and turn towards his shack.

You turn around and bravely smile at him and say, "I'll be heading back inside now okay? If you need anything, you know who to find." 

You turn back around and you slowly walk away with one of your hands covering your mouth to cover up your soft sobs. You just really wanted a hug, and you plan on getting four big ones.

As for Keith, Keith can't seem to move.

Don't get mixed up, no no he isn't frozen because he couldn't believe his best friend just confessed to him.

Well actually that was one of the reasons, but that's not important right now.

Your confession and love? Oh boy, he thought that was only a crazy, hopeless dream. Something that he could've never thought would happen.

Let's face it, the boy's in love with you.

Head over heels really.

How could he not be?

You were a godsend in his eyes. You were kind to basically person that you've met, you're compassionate, you're intelligent, and so much more. Your good looks were only a bonus. And one of the most important things was that you were always there. 

You were there to defend him, you were there to comfort him, you there to just be with him.

You were always there. You were there when he cried over his mom, you were there when his dad died, you were there when he found out about Shiro. You were right, the two of you went through thick and thin.

Getting back to the point, he couldn't seem to move was because he hurt you.

Yes, Keith can be an ass, but he's always made sure not to accidentally hurt you in any way shape, or form, but he did.

Seeing you with Lance, Hunk, and Pidge hurt. It stung like hell, but after what just happened, he knowing what he just did hurt far worse, but it hurt just a little bit more realizing that you would've probably planned on not letting him know about your struggles and pain ever. But, something changed, something changed your mind, so you told him.

Just like you wanted, you put your feelings and inner turmoils out in the open, and now he knows. 

Seeing you standing there, pouring your feelings out to him voice raw and filled with emotions tears rapidly falling down your face, your trembling body, it, it was just too much for him.

And after you said that if he needed something, anything, he could go find you; it made him realize how he truly doesn't deserve you.

Yes, he has thought of it before. He can't help it with what seems like every single person in existence telling you that he's bad news or their doubts of him, and with his own insecurities. Truth be told, their words always end up right back into his head, no matter how long it's been.

"Stay away from Kogane"

"Don't get mixed up with that troublemaker."

'You don't deserve her.'

"(y/n) is that guy really your friend? He seems like he's a cold person."

"(y/n) that guy is trouble! Why do you hang out with him?!"

'She's too good for you.'

"Seriously, how are you (y/n)'s bestest friend?!"

"I always tell her to stay away! You're a bad influence on her!"

But even with all those words meant to scare you away, you stayed. He couldn't help but remember the words you told him long ago.

"Are you dumb?! I'd never leave you Keith! We'll go through thick and thin together remember?!"

It was then when Keith made his decision.

--

You were almost at the front door. Surprisingly not one of the four boys three actually, but you didn't know that yet checked outside after all that yelling. Not like they heard any of it

You were lost in your thoughts. Thoughts about Keith, your past, your pain, who would give the most comforting hug right now probably Hunk when someone I wonder who it could be grabbed your wrist and tugged you back so you would be facing him.

Knowing who it was you kept your eyes shut as if you didn't, you knew you were going to cry.

But Keith was stubborn. You of all people know that better than anyone.

"(y/n) look at me."

Keith was stubborn but it didn't mean that you weren't too.

Keith's voice cracked.

"(y/n) please."

Your resolve wavered, and it seems your hesitation was obvious as Keith softly spoke, "You don't have to say anything, I just want you to hear what I have to say."

You hesitantly opened your eyes and you could already feel your eyes watering again.

Keith's entire being seemed to deflate soften at your state.

"Okay, I know I don't deserve you, much less deserve you taking your time to listen to me right now but I just want you to know that I love you."

Your eyes widened. You weren't sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn't that.

"Keith, if you're just saying that to-"

"(n/n) I promise you that I'm not just saying it because you said it to me. I'm saying it because I truly do love you."

Your voice was stuck in your throat and you gently shake off his hold on your wrist. You opt for wrapping your arms around yourself.

Your glassy eyes showed confusion and panic.

"I-I don't understand," you shakily argued.

"(y/n) you've always been there for me and that's something I will always be grateful for, and it's one of the many reasons why I fell for you."

You didn't respond. Instead, you continued to listen to him. You listened to him because he was allowing himself to be vulnerable.  Even Keith was surprised by his own actions. Yes, times and times again has this broken boy show you his vulnerability, but he always made the effort to do so in a private setting.

Not right outside his door with his brother figure and three strangers waiting for him inside.

Keith gently tilts his head, "(y/n)..."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

You softly gasped, not expecting the purple-eyed boy to give you his thanks.

From your angle you see a small smile on the boy's face which make your eyes water even more than they already have and your tears once again fall down your face, but at a slower speed.

"I will always appreciate you, and I will always be grateful for all the things you've done for me growing up. I love you. I love you so much, but I'm so sorry that I've been hurting you all this time. I understand if you'd rather go out with Lance seeing as he looks out for you-"

You cut him off with a tight hug that is filled to the brim with love, affection, and warmth. So much warmth. Keith is remain frozen not knowing what to do.

He wants to hug you so badly, but remains from doing so because he doesn't want to hurt you again, but he hears you mumble something that gives him so much reassurance, so much that he forgets all about his insecurities involving you.

"It's okay, Keith. We're okay."

With that, Keith's eyes start to glisten and he gives in and just lets go of reality for a moment to hug you. To hug you and let his tears fall because he knows he's safe with you.

That you are his home and he is yours in return. 

--

(y/n's) Mental Bullshit Checklist

Release and spill all your feeling onto best friend✔️

Act like a crybaby in front of your best friend✔️

Confess to your best friend✔️

Think you get rejected by best friend✔️

Find out your feelings are reciprocated ✔️

--

omake!! :D

"Are you two getting inside or not?! We kinda have an alien problem on our hands!!"

You and Keith jolt out of your hug not expecting to be interrupted by your team pilot at such a vulnerable bonding moment. The both of you turn your heads to see Lance sticking himself out the window shaking his fist into the air as if he was an old geezer yelling at little kids to get off his lawn.

You see Keith visibly irk and you sweat drop seeing Lance duck back inside closing the window letting out a small shriek.

"Remind me to stab him later."

You look up at the boy who's still glaring at the now closed window and softly chuckle before letting out a small "don't" but a teeny weensy small side of you secretly not minding the planned assault.

You hoped Lance knew how dodge. 

--

[work-of-waking-up]

In Defense of the Psychopath

Alright, wanna venture into my crazy ass brain? I’m going to start by saying one thing that will set the tone for everything else that follows: Villanelle is not a psychopath in the way that we currently understand them. Why am I even bothering to write about a fictional character, you ask? Because representation is important. Media portrayal of various mental and behavioral health topics (including ones that people might not think need to be discussed) is important and this show has a big audience. I also just want to contribute to the conversations that are taking place because I am seeing A LOT of them and the reason for that I believe boils down to the fact that Jodie makes Villanelle so relatable and people want to know what that means and looks like for them. Even those who felt they could relate to Sandra’s Eve, or the relationship between the two, maybe questioned what that meant the further they went down the path with them. “It’s probably a bad thing I relate to a psychopath, right? But she can’t be a psychopath because she cries and she feels things! Psychopaths don’t cry, which means she isn’t realistic so therefore it’s okay that I relate to her! Right? Or are my assumptions about psychopaths and people with antisocial personality disorder wrong? I relate to Eve but look what she is underneath it all...so does that mean I relate to that part of her too?” Not only is villanelles character relatable, but people see the freedom inherent within her, the freedom that Eve sees, and they realize that, at least on some level, they want it too. The show has (unintentionally I think) created a massive dialogue which is super cool and you can tell everyone involved on the show is aware of that now, I mean they have a consulting psychiatrist so I think that speaks for itself. This is less of a commentary on the character herself and whether or not she is a genuine psychopath, and more so a commentary on the conversations she has inspired and why... For the record, this is literally just my opinion sprinkled with a few facts, nothing else.

So, the term psychopath gets thrown around in the show, more so in the beginning, MI6 explicitly labels Villanelle this way, even going so far as to use her in a presentation about psychopaths, although I think that was more so to gauge Eve’s response than anything else. The reality of Villanelle, which we come to learn, is that nobody has been able to get close enough to really know the truth. Anna and Konstantin both got close but we never hear either of them use that word (Konstantin says it once but he clearly doesn’t mean it, it was more of an attempted manipulation tactic). They make it clear that she has, and can, and WILL cause damage, but that’s as far as they go. Eve is getting close and she tells Villanelle when they first meet that she knows Villanelle is a psychopath but it’s obvious from Eve's behavior and things she says later on that she truly doesn’t believe Villanelle is what everyone says she is. It’s easier to label her as a psychopath because that alienates and isolates her and her behavior completely. She is an outlier with behavioral anomalies and therefore it isn’t necessary to look any closer. For MI6 and others (not talking about the shows creators) to label Villanelle as a psychopath is easy, it’s lazy, it’s reductive, it serves a single purpose... a means to an end. They (anyone other than Eve basically) simply do not care about Villanelle’s truth. But as an audience we are lucky enough to see more of her with each episode. The psychopath label begins to fade and Oksana is what’s left. We know based on what she has said that she is aware that people think she is a psychopath, a monster, a person built to kill. It’s not always easy to decide that who you are is different from who you’ve always been told you are, especially given her history. Villanelle hasn’t told us yet if she thinks (or knows) that she is a psychopath, but it’s clear towards the end of last season that she no longer wants to be the person that they (meaning the twelve, Dasha, Konstantin, etc.) created. We see moments where she clearly has no remorse and clearly enjoys what she does, but then we have little moments sprinkled in between where she very obviously struggles, even if its short lived. And those moments are important. We have the moment where she struggles with the choice to shoot Konstantin, saying he is a good person, she thinks. This comes shortly after a conversation she had where Irina tells Villanelle she thinks she is a good person because she is sad, so we know she is thinking about it, we know the awareness is there, and it becomes more and more there as times goes on. I like to think of it in terms of having moments that are pure Villanelle (ie the way she killed Inga in the Russian prison), and then we have moments that are Oksana, vulnerable and emotional. Villanelle is a creation and a mask whereas oksana is the truth. Those moments are starting to really mean something. I'm not even going to start with her trip to find her family, that’s its own thing, but it's a Really Big Thing.

So. Villanelle is not a psychopath in the way that we currently understand and perceive them. Yes, she displays psychopathic traits, and yes, she absolutely has antisocial personality disorder. I read an article where the psychiatric consultant for the show (makes it pretty obvious how hard they worked to make Villanelle as realistic as possible) said that the Villanelle in Luke Jenning’s books scored a 32 on Hare’s psychiatric checklist, but I like to think (and I think a lot of people would agree) that number is a bit high, at least for Jodie’s Villanelle, maybe not even hitting 30 at all (close though, let’s be real lol). The max score is 40 which would be a fully blown primary psychopath. For reference, Ted Bundy scored 39. This checklist is flawed though, mostly created and based off the prison population. Which is why it isn’t used as a proper diagnostic tool. 32 is apparently extraordinarily high for a female (think Aileen Wuornos), which brings me to my next point which is that because it’s hard to measure a lot of the classic traits objectively, there is not a ton of solid data surrounding psychopathy, and even less of it is on female psychopaths. Like most things in life, psychopathy exists on a spectrum, there are levels and layers. It’s not black and white, there’s no definitive test (psychopathy isn’t even in the DSM-5 because as I said earlier it’s extremely hard to measure objectively) and it's important to distinguish between someone who exhibits psychopathic traits and someone who is actually an identifiable psychopath. Chances are high that someone you know displays at least one characteristic shared with psychopaths and this doesn’t make them one.

I think what’s important about this is that mental disorders (mental illness/personality disorders/etc.) of any kind are much more nuanced than a lot of people tend to think they are. That they exist less in black and white and more in shades of grey. Jodie Comer is absolutely remarkable for showcasing that through portraying the different layers of Villanelle. Her performance is a literal gift. We cannot keep thinking and acting like we know everything about how a person thinks, feels, and behaves based strictly and entirely on one label. The thing that has stuck out to me the most, the reason I decided to even write this bullshit babble, is that one of the most searched topics about the show is whether or not it’s realistic that Villanelle cries, and honestly how sad is that? That makes me sad for V. Is it more realistic for her to develop connections and cognitive empathy if she was made into a psychopath vs if she was born that way? Is there a legitimate difference between the two? And how do we even decide which one is applicable for someone? It’s important to add that antisocial personality disorder is not the same thing as psychopathy or sociopathy. You can have aspd and not be a psychopath. Research has shown that about only a third of those diagnosed with aspd would meet criteria to be considered a psychopath. Society is not doing a great job at getting people to understand this. But to be fair, understanding personality disorders specifically has been somewhat problematic, a lot of diagnostic confusion and overlap between disorders. A LOT of work needs to be done. But as far as portrayals go, society has strictly chosen to go the route of giving us psychopathic characters and having them be inherently violent, incapable of remorse, feelings, or change. Poverty of all emotions. Subhuman. They are made out to be so abnormal and unrelatable to the point where the character of Villanelle has sparked so much debate and fascination simply because she exists in a way that actually IS relatable...and layered and beautiful and thrilling. We thought she would be the bad guy and yet we root for her at every turn, we cry for her, we want good things for her! We see her darkness and without question or hesitation we forgive it. She makes us question what we’ve previously been shown. Questioning whether or not it’s realistic that she acts the way she does is less important than questioning our own personal assumptions and beliefs and where those come from. I think that’s awesome. Villanelle is truly a gift. She is hands down one of the most well written fictional characters, which is saying a lot considering when you put something, or someone, in a box it doesn’t leave tons of room for expansion. and I honestly don’t even really need to say this, but.. Jodie Comer.

[thebomb-thebird-andtheburntbitch]

A World-- Certain

dabi / f.reader

genre: real world to parallel world au? (is that an au? it’ll make sense dw), angst, romance, pinning, fools to lovers? (or dabi is stubborn/scared as all get out), longing/yearning (teehee)

warning(s): uhh, dabi hits a point where he’s determined to find a way back home or burn the city to the ground trying (is that a warning?), cursing, violence (or dabi punches one cop and sets another on fire- as he should), touya spoilers included? (like kinda minor ones, but you know, just in case), guns/dabi gets shot, sickly-sweet ending don’t worry, tiny mention of death

w.count: 9.8k 

synopsis:  the last thing he remembers, dabi had stepped in to join a rather nasty bar brawl that erupted at your pub one night. he along with a group of other villains who sided with you against a group of villains who weren’t exactly fans of your unground work. when he woke up, he wasn’t in the medical basement like he expected, nor was he at his apartment or yours.  he was in a room he hadn’t seen before. when he leaves to your pub to get some answers, you’re not there. in fact, the entire building was abandoned and rotting.  just what the fuck happened and where was he exactly, because this wasn’t exactly the city he knew anymore. 

a/n: this is the second part to my two parter series, A World--, so be sure to read the first part A World-- Unsure, or else this really won’t make sense LOL.  The concept can be kinda confusing already, but trust me- it’ll make sense aldfkasd. Enjoy! 

also! since @lildockel​ asked to be tagged when part two went up, here is it!!

After seeing his white hair,  and feeling how healthy the strands felt between his fingers, instead of the damaged, overly dyed black mess it all used to be, Dabi raced back into the bar.  Rushing up the steps into the abandoned apartment as he looked around.  Rushing to a mirror still hanging just barely on a nail, he used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe it of dust and cobwebs before ripping off his jacket entirely and tossing it to his feet. 

He hadn’t realized it before since he never kept a habit of looking at his scarred and damaged body, but now as he stood in front of the mirror in the shirt he woke up in, he noticed the scars that he knew crawled over almost every inch of his body had changed.  

The scars didn’t run up his whole right arm and stopped just at his elbow. His entire left side wasn’t engulfed in purple and staples, but instead ran up his forearm and then just around his shoulder and a patch on his neck.  He reached up over his head and behind his shoulders to grab the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head and off to join his jacket on the floor before he looked at his chest.  The scars that wrapped around his chest before weren’t nearly as bad and turning around to his back, he could see more skin than scars now.  

He could feel the draft of the empty apartment on his skin, something he hadn’t been able to do in a long time. 

He knew that each time he over used his quirk he would cause himself harm.  His tolerance to the cold took a harsh toll on him since his quirk was heat based- he wasn’t built to handle heat as well as he should be with a quirk like his father’s.  

He brushed his hand through his hair again as he stumbled around, head spinning to keep up with what the hell could be happening.  The world was almost the same, but everything just felt different because of things that weren’t supposed to be.  He snatched his phone from the pocket of his discarded jacket, trying again to call your number.  It was there, clearly imputed with his information and call history, but just as before he was met with an automated message.

Your apartment wasn’t here, your bar wasn’t either and your phone number was nonexistent.  It was like you didn’t exist at all. 

Dabi moved back to sit against the wall that was across the room from the mirror, just so he could keep an eye on his reflection to help process exactly what was happening.  He was no fool, and he could figure out that the world he knew was different from this one.  

He sat on the ground as he thought.  His hand came to rest over his neck, thinking back to the dart that was shot into him back at the bar.  It was too convenient that he got shot with it then woke up in some weird- what he can only assume is- parallel world. A world exactly like the other, with just a few things altered. 

Rather, the longer he sat in thought, the longer he thought that maybe it wasn’t a parallel world he was in, but actually a dream.  The last thing he remembered was passing out covering you, so maybe the needle he was shot with put him into a dream. 

He tested out his quirk, letting his hand be engulfed in fire before diminishing it, finding it worked exactly like it had before; so, he was in a world where quirks still existed at the very least.  He wondered if the him he had become was still a villain, and if he was, then was he with the league? What was the actual year he woke up in? Was it parallel to the original timeline, or was it ahead? Delayed maybe?  

The date on his phone lined up to the next day after the bar fight, but his phone also still had your number in it that didn’t seem to exist, so he didn’t trust his phone as much as he wanted to be able to. 

Thumbing through his phone’s contacts, he wondered if he should try calling a different number.  There was always a league member, but which one.  He wouldn’t be caught dead calling Twice for answers and he didn’t really trust Toga’s tendency to go off on a tangent to get a straight answer out of her.  Spinner wouldn’t have been a bad idea since he kept shit short, but he didn’t answer his phone for fuck. Maybe Magne? Though, he didn’t really want to call her, felt like if he did, he’d be imposing on her ‘me’ time.  

By the end of his mental checklist, he was stuck between Shigaraki or Compress. He didn’t think Kurogiri even owned a phone, or else he’d dial him first. Sighing, he pushed his thumb against Compress’s contact.  He didn’t want to deal with Shigaraki if he could avoid it- at least not yet. 

The line rang out loud when Dabi put the phone on speaker and with a few more rings, the line picked up.  It was a strange wave of relief when he heard the man with a thing for theatrics address Dabi by name when he picked up. 

“Oh, thank fuck,” he sighed. There was an air of silence before Dabi spoke again, hearing Compress on the other line clear his throat in anticipation.  “Okay, this may sound like complete bullshit, but hear me out for a second.” 

Dabi unloaded the entire situation he suddenly found himself in to Compress as well as asked any questions he felt he needed to know the answers to, to get up to speed on exactly what kind of dream he ended up in. He was on the phone with the masked villain for almost an hour before the call ended with Dabi understanding things just a bit more. 

In this world, he was still indeed a villain, but his face was kept under wraps. Dabi wasn’t presumed dead as Touya Todoroki, but rather disregarded his birth name for the alias just because he wanted to.  His real name wasn’t a secret like it was in reality, that was why he didn’t have black hair- because if his identity wasn’t a secret, there was no point in dying it to stay hidden. But, he wasn’t as flashy a villain here, so no one really know who he was anyway.

In this dreamscape, Touya Todoroki never died, but ran from his home and betrayed his family after finally having enough of his father. Working now as a criminal, he stayed on the downlow side of society. 

Things were more or less still the same otherwise.  It was just his background and you that was truly different.  Dabi sat and stared at his reflection wondering if you really existed here- and if you didn’t he wondered if that was partially his fault. 

When he was at the bar, he had previously resolved himself into drifting away from you and the feelings you had towards him.  Was it his stubbornness to get away from you what caused you to not be here? Or were you here in this world, but as someone completely different than the Y/n he knew?  Could you exist with a whole different personality? Were you a hero? A villain? Or maybe still just a regular citizen?

Dabi immediately wanted to start looking for you, but with everything linked to you not even existing, he didn’t know where to start. Typing your name into his phone’s searching engine did nothing to help as nothing about you was listed anywhere.  Okay, so you weren’t famous, or infamous in any sense so you had to be just a regular, everyday person? Right?   

Sighing, he dropped his head back and closed his eyes, trying to think. He could always ask one of his connections to start looking for you in his stead. Then, his eyes opened again as he scowled- once again growing irritated.  Why was he putting your whereabouts above trying to figure out how to get back- or wake up? He had unconsciously put you above how to get out of this dream.

Bringing a curled fist to rest against the side of his head, he hissed through his teeth.  

“God dammit.” 

-x-x-x-

It was Dabi’s second day in this dreamscape he started calling it.  It was a strange feeling, being inside of a dream yet still having the ability to fall asleep and wake up again.  He sat on his bed of his apartment he owned in this dreamscape and sighed.  It was a far cry from his place in reality, tucked and hidden away from main streets and curious eyes. This place was just off a busy street and when he hung out the window to smoke, people were walking two stories below- just minding their day.  

Puffing out a plume of cigarette smoke, he heard his phone ping from inside on the desk sat in the bedroom.  He would always mentally correct himself into saying ‘his’ instead of acting like this place was some random hole in the wall.  It was his- as far as he knew. He left his cigarette perched on the window sill, going to his phone and yanking it off the charger to see a text from Shigaraki. 

Compress had blabbed to the leader of this dream’s League of Villains about Dabi’s little breakdown of what he believed was a dream.  Seeing the text of ‘you still high, or you coming to work or not?’ made his lips twitch.  He wasn’t high and he hadn’t been high; then again, it wouldn’t be any version of Shigaraki unless he was mocking Dabi for something.  In this case, it was Dabi’s die hard claim of this dreamscape being a false reality. 

When Dabi stopped to think about it, he could understand where everyone was coming from.  For all he knew, this body- the body of Touya- was a completely different person in this reality and Dabi’s personality just manifested into it.  He ran his fingers through his white hair and groaned, annoyed at the situation. 

“Fucking parallel universes and their stupid ass rules.” 

He sent a reply back to the leader- well, it was just a middle finger emoji- and abandoned his phone to go finish his cigarette before it burned away on its own, unattended.  

Once he burned through the toxic stick, he snuffed it out on a glass ashtray he kept on the small balcony just outside the window and retreated back inside his room.  Reaching up and over his head behind him, he gripped the back of his shirt and tugged it off, shaking his already messy hair out before he started to change.  

It was odd seeing a full closet of clothes instead of like the five whole outfits he would interchange on a day-to-day basis before cleaning them and repeating the process.  In reality, he had no use for everyday clothes since he was always wearing his villain gear or lounging around in close to nothing at his apartment.  Though, he did remember that you had bought him clothes to keep at your place, so he did have more- just never wore them because he thought it was weird you were buying clothes for him. 

You claimed it was so he would stop walking around in nothing but boxers or tank tops in your house, but he didn’t buy that excuse. He saw it as something to intimate; too close to a bond he was too afraid to acknowledge. 

Pulling on a grey shirt and black pants- him being the most comfortable in his safe feeling monochromatic wardrobe- he tugged on a jacket and flipped the hood up.  At this point it was a habit to try and conceal himself now- even if he probably didn’t need to in this dreamscape reality. 

Leaving the room and soon the apartment, he was soon pulling his phone from his jacket pocket and seeing an incoming call from the hand-freak himself.  Groaning, he contemplated denying the call, but if this Shigaraki was anything like the one he knew, he'd just blow up his phone in retaliation.  So, reluctantly, he picked up. 

“What?” 

“Don’t ‘what’ me. Where are you?” His tone was impatient and gruff. “You need to get to the bar, we have work to do, dammit.” 

“I’m workin’ on it, calm the hell down.” The low murmurs of the daily street this early in the morning with people making their daily commute to wherever the hell they were on their way too was just enough to make Dabi’s scarred skin crawl.  He always tried to avoid crowded areas in the past for numerous reasons, not just for the sake of his identity.  

However, it was easy to navigate the streets since they were exactly the same as he remembered from his reality. The more he was here, the more he came to the realization that everything was the same besides him and you- or lack thereof. 

Hearing Shigaraki bitch and moan on the other end of the line, Dabi sighed and pulled the phone from his ear and promptly hung up the call before he shoved his phone back into his pocket- but not before putting it on ‘do not disturb’, so even if the annoyance he calls a boss calls him back, he wouldn’t know. 

Not too long later, the pyro was walking into the bar, seeing the leader annoyingly tapping his fingers on the bar one at a time in succession as he seemed to be calming down from a temper tantrum.  A temper tantrum that Dabi was most certainly the cause of. 

“It’s about time,” the leader hissed as Dabi promptly ignored him, only giving him a tut in response to his neediness. Flipping off his hood and messing around his hair to feel less matted from the hood’s previous pressure, he moved to the back of the bar and plopped himself down into a booth. “I said we need to get to work,” Shigaraki started complaining, “not take a breather because you couldn’t show up on time.” 

“Spare me the bitching, oh-so-fearsome-leader,” Dabi waved off lazily with his hand flopping back and forth on his wrist. If Shigaraki hadn’t had his father’s hand on his face, Dabi probably would have seen the scowl painted beneath it. 

It was silent for a beat, with the two of them and Kurogiri only being present in the bar at the moment.  

“Is your attitude still shitty because you’re convinced this is one big fever dream? Because, if you’re stoned or drunk, I’d really rather you not mess up our jobs and go away.” 

“If this is your form of concern, you’re shitty at it,” Dabi rebutted. “I already told you, I’m as sober as a rock, so hop off. If you were in my place, you wouldn’t be slap-happy either.” 

All day long, Dabi had to deal with orders being barked at him before he eventually went out on his own to look for possible new villains to recruit for the cause.  He was hardly being mindful, low-level thugs weren’t cut out to join the ranks and anyone else just annoyed him. When he finally had enough and called Shigaraki that he was finishing up for the day, he just hung up without getting a proper ‘okay’ and stared at himself in the reflection of a window in an alleyway. 

He raised his lip in annoyance as his reflection that he wasn’t familiar with anymore.  Who he was looking at wasn’t Dabi, but Touya. The Touya who was dead until he decided otherwise, the Touya who looked too much like his parents.  His previous red hair that faded to match his mother and his eyes that were copies of his fathers. 

On his way back to the apartment he stopped by a general store and picked up two boxes of hair dye.  That evening, when he finished showering, he ran his hand across the width of his steam fogged mirror and looked at his new reflection.  He let an awkward smile breach his face as he looked at his pitch-dyed hair. 

“That’s better,” he mused, walking out of the bathroom to just put on a pair of boxers, lay in bed and think. Think more about how he could leave this dreamscape all before he passed out, closing his eyes on his second day in a dream. Maybe he’d ask the league members to keep their eyes and ears out tomorrow for you, since the sooner he can figure out what’s happened with you in this place, the sooner he’ll be to a solution… probably? 

-x-x-x-

Day after day passed and Dabi found himself less and less sure of anything.  When he first came here, he was aware that everything was fabricated and fake- nothing was truly real since he distinctly remembered his life before all this happened.  

Now, a month has passed and everyday when he wakes up, he feels more fussy than the day before.  His mind and memories feel like their blurring and he started waking up and writing down small memos on post-it notes just to try and get a semblance of reality again.  He wondered if one day he’d wake up and see all his notes, just to throw them away because they would have no meaning to that ‘him’. 

The thought irked him. He was himself, Dabi knew that, but he felt like he was losing it. 

He had woken up today with his head pounding.  Leaning over the side of his bed, he held his forehead in his palms as he squeezed his eyes shut.  Pushing the heels of his palm into his eyes, he could see the splotches of darkness coat his closed eyes from the presssure. He groaned, head even more hazier than the day before.  

Dabi felt like he was forgetting something.  

Getting up, he threw on whatever was hanging on the back of his chair in his room and flipped on the hood of whatever jacket he grabbed and left.  He wasn’t called to the league just yet, so who knows if he even needed to go today, but maybe being at the bar would jog his memory.  Just maybe it would clear his mind- somehow. 

When he walked into the bar, he immediately made a beeline to the booth in the back as he laid down, sprawling out across the red velvet booth and covered his eyes with his forearm.  One of his legs propped up on the booth while the old hung lazily to the floor, his other arm rest on his chest, feeling his stomach rise and fall with each breath.  

If he just lay here long enough, something was bound to spark something in him, right? After all, he was in a bar.  

A bar? What does a bar have to do with anything? 

He grit his teeth when he heard the door to the bar open, someone walking in. Whoever it was, they had decided to waltz over to Dab and sit themselves on the short coffee table in front of the booth. 

“The fuck do you want?” He growled, a small whistle and the smell of smoke greeted him in the form of a hearty chuckle, one that made him irk. 

“My, someone’s grumpy today, isn’t he?” Hearing Giran’s smoke laden voice first thing after laying down really wasn’t how Dabi wanted to start his day.  Moving his arm just enough to peer over his arm with a glare, the villain broker raised his hands in mock surrender, a half smoked cigarette between his lips. “Easy there, I’m not looking for a scuffle this early in the morning.” 

“Yeah? Then leave me alone or else I’m going to set you on fire.” With another chuckle from the broker and no movement of him leaving his place on the table, Dabi groaned.  Moving his arm, he ran his hand over his face before he reluctantly sat up and rubbed the back of his head, his tangles of unbrushed black hair snagging between his fingers.  He glared at the tooth-gapped man with a smoking habit worse than his own.  “What?” He growled. 

Giran dug around in the inside pocket of his tacky blazer before he presented Dabi with a pocketbook.  The scarred pyro looked at the blank book before looking back up to Giran’s face, his brows turned up in questioning.  

“The fuck is that for?” 

“That, my dear Touya,” hearing the broker sing-song Dabi’s real name made him bark at him in warning to never do it again, one that Giran promptly ignored, “is everything I could dig up on that little lady you asked me about a couple weeks ago.” 

“Lady?” Dabi’s brows furrowed, his headache spiking again. 

“I gotta say, I’m not usually one for such slow work, but with the villain count spiking, I’m a busy man.  I got a lot on my plate, so I had to put your little search on the back burner.” Tossing the pocketbook onto Dabi’s lap, one of his scarred hands immediately held it to his leg to keep it from bouncing off his leg onto the floor.  Giran then stood, stuffing his hands into his equally tacky trousers.  “A man as busy as me has things to do, so I’ve gotta bounce.  Talk to me again if you need anything else.” Giran turned but stopped short, swiveling to look at Dabi once more. ”Oh and as for that woman’s whereabouts, don’t be so bummed when you read about it.” 

Dabi watched Giran leave the bar about as quickly as he came in, the smell of smoke the only lingering thing indicating that he was even there to begin with  Well, that and the pocketbook Dabi held in his hands.  He eyed it with narrow eyes and knit brows. 

“Lady? What lady was I-?” He cut himself off as he just shut his eyes and tossed the book onto the coffee table where Giran had previously sat. 

All morning, Dabi kept to himself on his booth, just lounging and laying around.  Every time someone went towards him he’d growl at them, not like it did anything to deter them away regardless. However, if someone even though about touching the pocketbook, he’d sit up and snatch it away and stuff it under his legs or his back or his head- just away from their grabby hands.  Whatever info was in there, they didn’t need to pry into his business.  

It was well into the afternoon when Dabi had his fill of the noise that only got louder over time in the bar and dismissed himself, leaving as he heard Toga calling out behind him before going back to whatever the hell she had been doing.  

The pocketbook was in his hands folded to rest against the inside of his wrist as he walked around the streets, not wanting to go home, but not wanting to be nowhere.  His desire to be somewhere, along with his annoyance accompanying that desire- but, not having any idea on where to be- unconsciously lead him down roads and through alleys to a run down, abandoned building. 

“A bar?” He questioned himself out loud, not knowing why this place seemed familiar to him.  He felt like he should know this place, but it felt like the way it was right now- run down and in shambles- was wrong.  His head ached and he found himself climbing through a busted window to get inside.  

Dust plumed under his boots when he landed inside the place.  He began to wander around, dragging his hands along walls, kicking rubble with the toes of his boots, scanning the falling apart shelves that barely hung on the walls. Moving to the back room past the vacant kitchen covered in dust and smelling like the inside of a mechanical pencil, he placed his hand on a wall next to a staircase that led upwards away from the other empty rooms.

“This wall,” his eyes narrowed in both pain from his pounding head and his fuzzy recollection, “shouldn’t be here. Isn’t there supposed to be a door?” His palm that was flat against the wall curled into a fist, his knuckles pushing against the cold stone.  “A door? Why would I-” 

Dabi silenced himself as he snatched his hand away from the wall as if the structure was suddenly covered in some sort of burning acid.  

“Fuck this,” he growled.  He turned his back to the wall, ready to leave and clear his head, but stopped as soon as he went to take a step out.  He glanced up the stairs before his feet started taking him up them, entering the would-be apartment through the rotting, crooked door. 

He stood in the middle of the space that would be a small living room, his headache dulling, but just faintly.  The feeling in the pit of his stomach clawed and deep in his head screamed that he was forgetting something; something important. 

He pushed the pad of his thumb into the crease of his forehead, between his furrowed brows. Something was missing, wrong, just not fucking right here.  Pushing his thumb harder against his skull, he tried blocking everything out and picking at every corner of his brain he could to think for a moment. 

‘You keep doing that, you’ll put a dent in your head’

Dabi’s eyes shot open, breath catching in his throat as he swallowed back a cough from the sudden intake of breath. His hands dropped from his head to hover in front of him, elbows tucked by his sides. His senses were alert as he whipped around, looking around the empty apartment space. 

“Who’s there?!” He shouted, his echoing voice bouncing back to him as he listened for any sounds to give away who he may have heard.  

He heard someone- a woman- as clear as day.  It seemed to echo- but given the empty room, it wouldn’t be shocking for voices to carry and bounce like that, after all his did.  Standing in silence, he heard absolutely nothing.  No breathing, no sounds of movement, no more voices.  Just silence surrounded him- and a slight ringing in his ears.  

The moment he started to settle down, thinking it was all in his head- which thrilled him- again, the same voice echoed around the room. 

‘Don’t just take up space you- actually, take up as much space as you want if you heat the place up. My heater just went out, so come on Space-Heater, hop to it’

He started to think a league member was toying with him. Did someone from the bar follow him? Was this a quirk to dick him around for a lark? Then, he remembered the pocketbook. 

It had been in his free hand the whole time, but he had forgotten about it. He quickly flipped it open and inside were small clippings and photos of a woman taped inside. Like some cryptid profile in a recluses dairy; much like Giran’s shady, handiwork to be expected. 

The more he flipped through the pages and read, the more his head pounded. 

‘Dabi’ 

The voice called him by name as he dropped the pocketbook. Spinning around with a waft of blue fire coming out of his arm in sheer instinct to protect himself from whatever may be around him.  The voice ignited his fight or flight and Dabi was never one to run, ever a fighter.  Fleeing wasn’t in his nature- not even when he was a child. 

‘Was it too trouble to keep remembering?’ 

“Who the fuck are you? Where are you hiding?!” 

‘You rejected me to this extent? That you forgot me entirely? Is this really your dream?’ 

… Dream? 

His eyes widened before he looked back down to the open pocketbook at his feet.  It lay pages facing up, open on a page he hadn’t yet read. His fire simmered and he starred down at the open spread. Slowly kneeling, he gently ran his fingers over the clippings and the single picture on the opposing page. 

It was a photo of a gravestone. 

The date of death wasn’t that far back; rather, it was pretty damn recent. This person, this woman, was dead? 

Dabi felt small flames lick at the scars under his eyes as he stared down unblinking. 

“Y/n?” 

It all hit him like a bus. The memories he had slowly forgotten about came back to him and it knocked the breath from his chest.  He stood to his feet and rushed downstairs, leaving the pocketbook in the empty apartment he finally remembered was supposed to be yours.  On the way down to the bar, he nearly tripped on the stairs before he stood behind the bar top and looked out into the room.  

Was it always this hard to breath? 

Was all this his fault? 

He remembered the emotions he used to push all the way down into his gut.  Did his want to put distance between the two of you kill you in this dreamscape? This fake reality?

For a time, he forgot about time itself as he sat on the floors of the once lively bar he remembered.  He ran you- your name, your face, your voice, your stupidly good heart, everything- on repeat in his head to ensure his memory wouldn’t slip away from him again.  He was just a breathing corpse, or so he felt like. He didn’t even feel like smoking for once, even if his stress was through the roof. 

His eyes flicked up when the rusted, busted doors of the trashed building opened to see two figures enter. The sun had long since set and the only light in the room now was two bright flashlights searching and finding his slouched body under the bar, facing the door.  

From the shadows casted by the flashlights and the figures outlines, he could see two policemen in front of him. His eyes traveled away from them down to his palms, irritation flooding his head at their intrudance to his safe space. 

“Hey!” One cop called to him, making their way towards his floor-slumped body, careful not to trip. 

Was it his fault? 

“This is private property.” 

Did you end up a dead stranger because he kept pushing you away? 

“Sir, you need to leave immediately.”

Why was this bothering him so fucking much? 

“Can you hear me?” 

He was brought out of his self pity when the cop who now stood next to him had gripped his arm and hauled him to his feet.  Dabi’s body was still slack, not putting in too much effort to keep himself upright.  He felt his back dig into the bar behind him, the only thing beside the cop tightly gripping his arm, holding him up. 

Had he ever felt his miserable before, beside back when-

“Sir!” Dabi winced when the cop damn near shouted in his ear.  He wasn’t some old man. He could hear perfectly fine.  His scarring on his ears hadn’t made him deaf. 

“-off me,” Dabi muttered.  The cop not hearing him, asked him to repeat himself.  Dabi’s lethargic face tensed in fury as he ripped his arm out of the policeman’s grasp and brought his other arm up to knock his fist into the cop’s jaw.  “Get the fuck off me!” He yelled.  

The cop dropped his flashlight as he fell to the ground, half out of it from the way Dabi punched his jaw- nearly knocking him completely out.  The other was quick to draw his gun and point it at the villain, but it wasn’t quick enough.  

Dabi was no fool.  The moment he knocked the first cop on his ass, he knew the second would act.  Grabbing the wrist of the second one as he tried pointing his gun towards him, Dabi twisted the policeman's wrist, disarming him and shoving his head through the small window in the front entrance. 

He didn’t need light to see that the cop he held against the door, head just barely through a window, was bleeding.  Dabi had turned him around, keeping one of his hands on one of the cop’s arms behind his back and the other on his head, keeping him uncomfortably pushed against the glass frame, nou doubt cutting up his skin further.

“You think you scumbags can just waltz in here and disrupt me? I happened to be in the middle of fuckin’ something.” 

“B-but,” the cop he held captive began to try and argue, “this is private property!” He gasped. 

Dabi’s eyes rolled in annoyance.  “I don’t give a shit,” he seethed before his palms ignited.  The policeman’s head was soon engulfed in blue fire as well as his wrist before his clothes ignited as well and the entire man was on the ground, a dead, burning mess.  

The smell was familiar to him- the first familiar thing he’s felt in a while.  He left the bar behind him, the space being intruded by law enforcement made it feel different.  It wasn’t his space anymore.  As he made his way down the street at the dead of night, he soon heard sirens and screeching of tires making their way down streets.  Looking behind him, in the dark, clouded night sky, he saw outlines of smoke and fire in the distance.  

“Looks like the building is gonna burn down,” he spoke to himself before he made his way further down the street.  Passing a random building he didn’t even know, he reached his hand out and ignited it, setting drapes and signs on fire.  

As he made his way down roads, he set building after building, house after house on fire.  Soon, he stood at the end of the main street, blue on either side of the road and screaming from inside the buildings.  People scrambling to get into the open, the panic of being in the middle of a blazing area with no idea on how the fire started. 

It was pure hysteria. 

People ran past him standing still on the sidewalk. Everyone was terrified and panicked as he didn’t seem at all bothered by anything happening. He stared blankly, uninterested with his hands in his pockets as he just gazed at his flames that ate everything it touched and spread like a plague.  

As he stared, losing track of time once more, he felt something push against the back of his neck.  He smiled, knowing the feel of a gun all too well.  

“I guess not knocking you out worked in your favor, huh?” He knew it was the cop he clocked in the jaw at your bar.  

By the time the firey lump of his coworker started eating the building, he probably regained enough sense to leave the building and chase him down.  Not in time to spare the buildings and homes being eaten alive by his fire, but in time to threaten him just when he was ready to start enjoying the show. 

“Sorry about your pal,” Dabi chided, “but he said a lot of shit that just pissed me off? I mean, private property? Come on.” The villain didn’t turn to look at the cop, just felt the man push the gun’s tip against his scarred neck further.  “Don’t tell me you’re gun shy? Come on, pull the trigger.” 

His self-destructive words were absolutely insane, urging the man with a gun at his neck to shoot him? It wasn’t like Dabi expected the cop to not have the balls, he knew cops and they didn’t care what they had to do to keep villains at bay.  Dabi had just set fire to everything, the entire world in his vision burning as he spoke- that only was enough proof to the cop he was indeed a villainous man. 

“It’s not my place to judge-” 

“The fuck it isn’t!” Dabi laughed, whirling around and taking hold of the front of the gun and pushing it against his chest. “Pull the trigger you pathetic excess of a protector of the public!” 

Maybe it was his words, his temptation to espcae this fake reality oozing out, his insane smile that pulled at the staples across his face or maybe it was just the policeman’s sudden decision- but the trigger was pulled and Dabi, felt for just a moment, a bullet tear through his chest. 

-x-x-x-

Dabi’s eyes cracked open, vision blurry as he stared at a ceiling.  His mind was fuzzy and his head pounded with a headache he immediately took to noticing, even if he had just opened his eyes moments ago.  

He felt something behind his head, something covering his body and heard noises of machines humming besides where he was laying.  Annoyed he was on his back, he groaned, but found his throat drier than desert sand and grumbled to clear it.  His body felt heavy and weak as he started to slowly move around on the bed he rested on. 

His knees lifted, feet moving as his heels dug into the mattress to push his weak feeling legs up and his arms moved to brace into the mattress to try and lever his body up.  After a bit of a fight with his own body, he managed to sit up and his eyes finally focused from their blurriness.  

He looked around seeing equipment attached to his arm and patches on his chest that linked to a machine that showed his heartbeat.  His chest was bare as he wasn’t wearing his normal jeans, but grey sweats that he didn’t remember actually owning before.  

He groaned, his hand coming to push against his head.  The headache combined with his confusion was making him feel nauseous.  What happened? Had he been somewhere before this? Where was he? 

Looking around the small room he was in by himself again, he started to slowly remember.  He remembered the dream- his dream- and the dream he had forgotten wasn’t actual reality. Dabi remembered being shot. His heartbeat started to quicken when he started to finally take in the familiarity of the room and it’s concrete walls.  

Pulling the patches off his chest, he fumbled with whatever was in his arm and took it out.  The scars he was familiar with ran across his body in large proportions and the bangs that hung in front of his eyes were a dark, dyed black.  

He felt around his staples on the back of his hands and felt around his stomach and chest, tracing the large scars he knew were the real ones.  He pushed his hand through his hair and felt the strands just as he truly remembered. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, moving to swing his legs over the bed and lean into his knees, hunching over as he brought his hands to his forehead- relieved. “I’m back.” 

He sat in his own silence and relief to be in a world that finally felt right as he tried regaining himself.  He remembered the dream he was stuck in and remembered the lack of your presence- your death in that place.  His eyes widened as he stared at the ground before he lifted his head up. 

You.

He stood to his feet quickly, but immediately teetered and fell to his ass on the floor.  He hissed, angry at how weak his legs felt.  He must’ve been sleeping for way too long if his damn legs didn’t want to work. 

Dabi growled as he used the bed to get back to his feet and took more cautious steps towards the door to leave the room he was in.  The open basement waiting area was empty and dim, not currently being in use. 

Using the wall, he ambled the perimeter of the room to come to the stairs that lead to the bar- the bar he was sure was there. The bar that he missed and that bar that didn’t exist in his previous dream without you. 

It took Dabi far longer than he’d like to admit to get his legs to climb the stairs, even if they were starting to gather more strength the longer he was awake and the longer he forced them to move and do as he commanded.  It wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t as hard as when he originally woke up. 

Getting up to the door, he unlocked it before he practically fell through the frame when it opened.  Stumbling in, he shut it behind him and leaned his back against it to catch his breath.  He stopped and stood still, seeing the doorway into the bar’s kitchen and beyond it.  He had to make sure, he had to confirm this was real. 

Ambling his way through the space he knew so well, he came out of the back and smirked when he leaned against the doorframe and looked out into your bar.  The tables were empty and polished, chairs pushed in neatly and booths clean.  He saw the rec room beyond its own doorway and sighed.  

“It’s here,” laughed weakly to himself. “It’s all back.” His legs felt tired as he moved around the bar to slide into the barstool he always sat in.  Letting his legs rest, he rested his elbow on the bar top and pushed one hand into his hair to hold his head and the other arm stayed on the bar.  He began to replay all the memories he had here that he almost completely forgot in his dream.  

What would happen if he let that dream consume him? What if he eventually accepted that dream as reality? Would he have forgotten about you like he almost did? would he had died or just slept until he was old and grey? He didn’t know and he didn’t honestly want to think about it. 

He missed the polished scent of your pub instead of the dusty, rotten one of the abandoned building in his dream.  He felt his shoulder tense when he heard the pub entrance open behind his back.  Swiveling just a bit to view the door under his hand that partially covered his vision and his black bangs, his eyes widened at seeing you enter. 

You were carrying bags in your arms, head down as you worked on shutting the door and relocking it.  You hadn’t even seen him yet, eyes focusing on other things and the task of shutting your door and relieving your arms of the weight of whatever you had just gone out and bought. 

He heard you sigh and he mimicked the sound silently.  It felt like it had been so long since he heard you.  You dropped the bags to your feet, rotating your shoulders to give your arms a break from how long you were carrying them. Dabi could tell from the way you stretched and rolled your neck that you were tired.  

His breath stuttered when you turned and your chin came up, eyes finally finding the body sitting at your bar.  It took you just a beat to realize that it wasn’t just some stranger who had broken into your closed pub in broad daylight. 

You were about as frozen as he was as your jaw dropped, making your mouth go slightly agape.  He couldn’t blame you, he guessed. He lifted his head from his hand and gave you a weak, tired smirk. 

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” 

You were soon tripping over your bags and rushing to his place at the bar, your hands grabbing his shoulders and pushing him from his slouched position into one that was straighter.  You twisted his stool and made him face you as you leaned him back to rest on the bar and inspected him. 

Dabi inspected you in the same manner.  

He watched as you silently, but frantically pushed your hands across his body.  His bare chest was warm and every touch of your fingers made him feel hot. it was like you were confirming that he was real and not some delusion you had made up from stress. He would do that same after the you-less dream he had been succumbed to for fuck-knows how long now, but your warm touch was too comforting- too real to be a just another dream. 

Dabi could see your eyes slick over as you just kept trying to silently convince yourself he was in front of you.  He furrowed his brows- you hadn’t looked at his face since you saw him and you weren’t saying anything.  It irritated him. 

The pyro snatched your roaming wrists in his hands as you jolted and went completely still.  

“Fuckin’ look at me,” he demanded, his impatience getting the best of him.  Slowly, your head lifted and you did.  He could see the tears brimming your eyes and he briefly wondered if you could even see him clearly with all those tears in the way of your vision. “Now, talk to me.” 

Your mouth fell open, but snapped shut again. Only small sounds coming out. What could you say? You had no idea how to form words in the given situation.  What should you say? Ask him how he feels, ask him how he woke up and if he was okay? Ask him why the hell the first thing he did was get up out of bed and come to the bar? 

“Let me make this easy,” he told you, a scowl still on his scarred face. He brought one of his hands up to the cup under your jaw, his thumb and fingers pushing your cheeks to make your lips purse , your chin rest in his palm.  “Can’t talk? Fine; then just say my name, it should be easy.” 

You swallowed. One word, just two short syllables long, that’s it.  It really should be easy.  Opening your mouth, you did your best to force your locked up voice out. 

“Dabi?” You questioned, your brows quirking up as he chuckled, smirking down at you. 

“Atta girl,” he whispered before he brought his lips down onto the ones he had pushed out so invitingly to himself.  You found your head spinning when Dabi’s hand that held your cheeks and under your jaw, pulled your mouth open so he could push his tongue inside to tangle around yours. 

The entire time he roamed your mouth, his eyes stayed open and on yours.  Your small huffs of shock dwindled as your wide eyes started to narrow and drop to a lid as your tense body finally slackened.  

This is what woke him up- what had him remember, not being shot.  His want to be around you, to taste you for the first time and to smell your scene again. Drawing his tongue out of your mouth, he peppered your flushed cheeks and the corner of your lips with small pecks, before greedily taking your lips again.  Every time you tried pulling away from him- to get some answers no doubt- he didn’t let you get far as he kept chasing after your lips. 

Your taste was so fuckin’ addicting, he almost growled. 

Lifting himself up from his barstool, he had forgotten that his legs were weak and he found himself immediately releasing your lips and losing his balance.  Grabbing your shoulder and arm to try and keep his balance, you squawked, not ready to hold his weight and you both tumbled to the tile. 

You groaned as the man lay on top of you, his arms laying outstretched on either side of your head with his chin next to your neck.  When he didn’t move, you brought one of your hands to his back and tapped him gently. 

“Uh, Dabi?” You felt his breathing against your own as he just hummed signally that he didn’t just pass out..  “Think you can get off me?” Your voice was weak and without even looking at you, Dabi could imagine the flush that most definitely painted your cheeks a vibrant red. 

“No, I don’t think I can,” he chuckled. He felt you fight under him, your arms pushing against his side before you lifted him just a bit before pushing him and sliding yourself out from under him.  He groaned. “Fuck, you should treat a patient with more care.” 

“Oh, sorry,” you panicked as you were soon grabbing his arm and throwing it over your shoulder and heaving him up.  You looked back to your bags of groceries before deeming Dabi’s overall health top priority. You were ready to take him back downstairs to the basement when he stopped you, his free hand shooting out to grab a door frame and keep you from proceeding.  

“No,” he denied.  “Upstairs. I want to be in your place instead.” 

“What? But, Dabi, you’re-”

“I’m fine,” he bit.  He couldn’t just outright say that he missed your apartment, especially right to your face.  “Just, take me up there instead.” In the end, that stupidly good heart of yours relented and obeyed his request.  

Dabi felt like he just reached nirvana when you helped sit him down on your couch.  His arms lifted to the back of the couch instinctive and he dropped his head back and shut his eyes, taking in the newfound comfort. He could feel you stand in front of him before he felt the cushion next to him dip, informing him that you had just sat next to him.  He could feel your concerned eyes burn into the side of his face. 

“You don’t need to stare.” 

“Well, you still need to answer some questions.” 

Dabi peeled his eyes open, as he tilted his head that still rested back on the cushions to look at you. “Ask away.” 

“Okay,” you breathed, not expecting him to be as cooperative. “Well, how do you feel?” 

“Better than ever,” your pointed look at his legs made him clear his throat with a chuckle. “Better than ever with a bit of a balance problem.” 

“And your neck? Does that hurt?” 

“Nope.” 

“What about your head, any headaches or eye strain?” 

“Had a headache when I woke up, pretty much gone now.” 

You ran him back and forth about questions of if he was in pain or any discomfort, and while he normally would have found the entire process annoying, he couldn't help but smile through it. Listening to you talk so much made him feel remarkably better. 

“Alright, now for unprofessional questions,” you told him. “Why the hell did you think it was a good idea to go up to the bar as soon as you woke up? I was gone no more than 20 minutes and you somehow climbed your way up there. What if you fell back down the stairs or something?” 

“I don’t know about you, sweetheart, but when I wake up in a basement, I’d like to get out of it,” he joked.  “I wanted to see the bar anyway.” 

“It’s the same as it’s always been.” 

“Not to me.” 

“What?” Your twisted face that had been chewing him out the past several minutes had softened at his tone.  His joking smirk fell as he looked back at the ceiling and his mouth pressed into a line.  Just remembering that awful dream really pissed him off.  

“What was the quirk I was under?” 

“You,” you started, “you knew you were under the effects of a quirk?” 

“Of course I did, I’m not stupid.” 

“Well, the guy with the needle fingertips is the one who got you in the neck during that brawl, remember?” Dabi nodded. “His needles contain a type of sedative that sends the affected body to sleep and their mind into a created reality of their dreams. I guess you had a dream, huh?” 

“Yeah. A fucking stupid dream where everything was the same expect the important stuff.” 

“Important stuff? Like what exactly?” 

Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, he decided not to tell you about his identity.  To you he was still just plain Dabi- the Dabi who took Stain’s words to heart and hated this hero-praised society. If he told you who he really was, what if you looked at him differently? So, he kept it to himself. 

“You weren’t there.” You were silent at his side, his gaze moving to focus back on the light fixtures that were turned off above him since the sun was bright enough through the windows to light the living room up.  “When I woke up in that dream, you weren’t there. The bar wasn’t there either, it was just some run down building owned by the city. You didn’t know me in that dream, and you died as a stranger to me in that dream too.”  His eyes lidded as a grim shadow cast over his face.  

“I died? But how-”

“I really don’t want to get into the details.” 

“Oh,” you pushed yourself.  “That makes sense. Sorry for prying.” It was silent for a beat. You looked away from Dabi, glancing around your living room as he watched you from the corner of his vision.  You had stood up from the couch, making him twitch. “I’m going to get you something to drink, you’re probably thirsty.  Since you’re recovering though, I’m gonna make you drink a lot of water.” 

He was content on letting you do what you wanted, but the thought of you leaving his sight for just a moment made his skin crawl.  If you went to the kitchen, you’d be going around a corner and behind a wall, he couldn’t see through walls.  

You got one step from the couch when he snatched your wrist and yanked you over.  Falling back on the cushions, your back was against Dabi’s side where he had snaked his arm around you, keeping you hostage.  

“What are you-?!” Your voice stopped when he dropped his forehead to your shoulder and squeezed you.  

“Don’t leave my sight yet.” 

“Did my disappearance in your dream really bother you that much?” He cursed you for being so perceptive on why he was suddenly so handsy with you. In the past, he tried to be as mindful of your feelings as possible.  He didn’t want to take advantage of your emotions back then, but now it wasn’t quite like before.  

“Yeah, it did.”  His honesty shocked you.  There was no joking undertone and no sound of a smirk on his lips.  It was sincere and it was sad. 

You relaxed against him, raising one of your hands to push through his hair that tickled your neck and cheek.  You wished you had a book or your phone to keep you busy at the very least, but you didn’t. You just traced the design of your apartment’s wallpaper with your eyes, sitting in silence for a while. 

“Hey,” you softly called after a while to test if he had fallen asleep.  You heard him hum behind you. “Is the reason you did what you did in the bar, because I didn’t exist in your dream?” 

Oh fuck. 

He had nearly forgotten that he practically shoved his tongue down your throat not that long ago.  In the past, maybe he would’ve felt bad about doing that; to you in particular- you being his best friend and the same friend who patched him up on the regular and the friend who got rejected by him. But now, he didn’t feel any regret looking back on the deed.  

In fact, the only regret he felt int his moment was the memory of his rejection. 

“Can I take it back?” 

“The kiss?” You croak? “Well, of course you can. I-”

“Not that, you idiot.” 

“What?” 

“That time I told you that I didn’t do relationships, when I rejected you. Can I take that back?” Your silence made his stomach churn.  God, this is why he hated relationships, why he hated fuckin’ feelings.  This is the sole reason he squashed what he felt towards you down into the pit of his stomach. Now it’s all coming back up to burn his throat like a case horrible heartburn. 

“Dabi, this isn’t a joke to me.” 

“I know, I’m not that much of a prick.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“Not to you, I’m not.” The moment you opened your mouth to argue against him again, he bit into your neck, making you squawk and kick your legs out before bopping the top of his head with your hand that had been previously brushing through his hair. Which didn’t help your case, since all it did was knock his teeth into your skin more before he unlatched from you. “Hey,” he spoke as he moved to push his cheek against the top of your head so there was no way you could even get a glance at his face.  “If you think you still like me, then I think I like you too.” 

Dabi felt you start laughing before he heard it.  He felt like he was going to burst into flames as you squirmed around in his arms, laughing like he just told the world's worst dad joke. He pinched into your sides, making you yelp between laughs. When you settled down, you just rested against him willingly and hummed. 

“That’s not how you ask a someone out, Dabi.” 

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” 

“Neither is that.” 

“That’s it,” he finalized with himself as he planted his chin on top of your head with enough force to make you whine in dull pain. “Just for that, I’m not taking you on any good dates. It’s just concrete basements and empty fridges for you.” 

Yu gasp. “That is not how you treat your girlfriend!” 

“I don’t remember asking you to be that to me?” 

“You son of a-”

He pushed a hand over your mouth, muffling you as he felt you smile against his palm.  Tiling your head back to look up and back at him, he pulled his hand away from your lips and pushed a finger in front of his own, shushing you. 

“You sure you want me?” He asked. “Last chance to back out of it.” 

“Well,” you answered, “do really you want me?”

Dabi rolled his eyes. Like he would flake out after all this, you should know better than to ask him something like that.  He was meticulous, he wouldn’t be so certain of something like this if he hadn’t thought it over first.  He’s had his time without you and now he’s gonna make certain that it never happens again. 

“Oh, baby, I only want you.” Your face flushed and he kissed the end of your nose- since your lips were too far away from this angle to reach.  “Now turn around dammit, I want to kiss you properly.” 

That stupidly good heart of yours never fails to listen. 

-END- 

[evening-starlight]

Warm Beers

Taglist is OPEN! DM or comment to be added.

Posting Schedule: Monday, Wednesday, Friday

This is set before season 1

All Works Master List

Warm Beers Master List

7

Word Count: 1496

    Victor watches as Kenzie slumps down the stairs, wiping sleep from her eyes. "Good morning, sleeping beauty," He jokes. Kenzie groans in response and shuffles her way into the kitchen. "Why are you up so early?" Victor asks, looking at the clock on the microwave reading three in the morning.

    "John B. wanted to go fishing, and now I'm suddenly regretting that decision," Kenzie mumbles, laying her head on the side of the fridge as she glances inside. "Why do I do the things I do for my friends?" Victor laughs and pours her two thermoses of coffee.

    "Does John B. like cream or sugar?" He asks while he makes Kenzie's the way she likes it. Kenzie groans again with a shrug, grabbing the food she packed last night. Her father laughs at her with a shake of his head. "When did you get to sleep last night?"

    "Like eight or nine," She says, piling her food and drinks on the counter. "Is my rod in the garage still?" He dad nods at her question, and she goes out looking for that and her tackle box. She finds them propped up on the wall near her dad's squad car.

    "Is John B. picking you up?" Victor asks as she gets back into the kitchen. Kenzie nods again and goes over her mental checklist of fishing gear. She's got her fishing rod, the tackle and bait, and the food for their morning. "Be safe out there, okay?"

    "I know, Dad. I'll make sure John B. behaves," She says. The father and daughter hear the Twinkie pull up, and soon after, Kenzie's phone starts to vibrate in her pocket. "John B. is here. I'll see you after work." Kenzie states and hugs her dad goodbye. John B. meets her at the door and helps her carry her gear to the van, greeting Mr. Shoupe on the way.

    Kenzie leans her head against the door frame, closing her eyes once John B. starts the van. "Tired there, Shoupe Jr?" Kenzie whines in confirmation, trying to get a few more minutes of shut-eye before they go fishing. John B. lets Kenzie rest until they get back to his house.

    They load the boat up and are soon off to their favorite fishing spot in the marsh. The friends sit in silence while they wait for the fish to latch on. "So, what's going on with you and JJ?" John B asks after what feels like an eternity of silence. Kenzie chokes on her coffee, not expecting such an outright question.

    "We're friends like everyone is," Kenzie says. John B. rolls his eyes and looks at Kenzie, unamused. "Don't give me that look. He's just my best friend and nothing more. What's going on with you and Kie?"

    "Don't flip this on me, Shoupe. This is about that stupid tension you and JJ have." McKenzie rolls her eyes and ignores John B. as he presses again. "Come on, Kenz. We can all see it. You're always touching and flirting with each other."

    "Flirting?" Kenzie laughs. "If you consider hitting and yelling flirting, sure."

    "The way you two do it, yes. It is," John B. fires back, smirking at the annoyed look Kenzie wears. Kenzie waves off her stupid friend and goes back to fishing in the tranquil silence of the early morning.

    After nearly three hours of fishing, John B. and Kenzie walk up the dock, back towards the chateau. "I need a fucking nap," Kenzie complains, dropping herself on the couch in his living room. John B. hums in response and walks into his room, closing the door behind him.

    Kenzie is rudely awoken from her nap when the front door slams shut. "Jesus Christ, what do I have to do to get some fucking sleep?" She mumbles into the cushion, opening a single eye to look at the intruder. Pope stands over her, smiling brightly down at her with three books clutched to his chest. "What is it? Book club?" She asks, closing her eye again.

    "No, but it could be," Pope says excitedly. He moves her legs so he can sit under them. "I remembered these books I had, and I thought you'd like them."

    "I'll only listen if you get me coffee," Kenzie says as she sits up. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes as Pope dashes into the kitchen to get her a cup of coffee. Kenzie thanks Pope when he returns with her caffeine.

    Pope's shoulder sags when Kenzie lays her head on his shoulder, ready to listen to the books Pope brought over. He talks about the plots, his favorite characters, and twists. Kenzie listens intently, excited for the new books Pope will share with her when he's done rambling.

    John B. comes out of his room, shirtless, and sees the friends raving about their favorite book series. "Jesus, I didn't know I walked in on a book club," John B. teases.

    "You'd probably enjoy it if you weren't illiterate," Pope shoots back. McKenzie laughs and takes the books from Pope's lap. John B. flips his friend off as he enters the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal. "How was fishing?"

    "Fine. I'm still tired as shit because somebody needed to wake up at three in the fucking morning," Kenzie groans. John B. smirks when she gives him a dark, pointed stare. "How was your morning, Pope?"

    "I cleaned out my room and then figured I'd stop by because I have no other life or friends," Pope sighs.

    "Sounds like a loser," John B. comments through a mouthful of cereal. Kenzie stifles a laugh and watches as Pope tosses a coaster towards their friend. "When are the other fuckers coming?"

    "Kiara should be here soonish. She worked an early morning at the Wreck. Ask JJ's girlfriend when he'll be here," Pope says, glancing at Kenzie. She groans and throws her hands up in agony.

    "I'm not his stupid girlfriend," She whines, punching Pope's thigh. "Why does everyone think that?"

    "He looks at you the way John B. looks at playboy magazines and the way Kiara looks at new shoes. JJ never lets anyone touch him, let alone cuddle him," Pope starts, making Kenzie roll her eyes.

    "JJ looks at you the same way he looks at food, and Pope looks at books," John B. intervenes with a smirk. Kenzie throws her head back and groans loudly. Kiara walks in, arms full of take-out containers, and sees the boys smirking and Kenzie in anguish.

    "Woah, what'd you idiots do to Kenz?" She asks, putting the food in the fridge for later.

    "Telling Shoupe that JJ loves her," John B. answers quickly. Kiara giggles and joins in.

    "Have we told her that he looks at her the same way John B. looks at his porno mags?" She asks, making Kenzie groan again.

    "I will murder all of you and get away with it," She huffs with a roll of her eyes again.

    "JJ looks at Kenzie the way Eugene looks at Rapunzel," Pope adds, making the group laugh. "Oh! Or the way Rafe Cameron looks at coke." Kenzie can't help but laugh at that one. Nothing could come between Rafe and his cocaine.

    Kenzie continues to sit through their annoying remarks until they're all laughing up a storm at their friend's expense. Pope leans a head-on Kenzie's shoulder as his laughter dies down. "You know we love you, McKenzie."

    "Shut up, Heyward," Kenzie shrugs Pope off her shoulder and moves to turn on the TV. Kiara parks herself next to Kenzie as she hears the intro to her favorite guilty pleasure, The Real Housewives of New Jersey.

    It started when both girls were bored out of their minds one afternoon when the boys weren't around. They sat in Kiara's living room, channel surfing for something to watch together. They ended up on reality TV and fell in love with criticizing the women who had it all and yelled for more.

    Kenzie is nearly asleep on Kiara's shoulder when JJ bursts through the front door, holding a game case in his hands. "Kenzie, get your ass up. I got the new Call Of Duty." Kenzie sits up quickly, not feeling tired anymore.

    "Put it in. Put it in," Kenzie chants as she grabs the gaming controllers from the coffee table. JJ rushes to change over the TV to the gaming system and practically shoves the DVD in. "Be careful, J. It's a baby," Kenzie whines.

    "Shut up," JJ mumbles back when it finally slides in. He jumps over the coffee table and squeezes between Kenzie and Pope.

    "You know there's a whole other couch, right, JJ?" Pope huffs, shifting uncomfortably against the arm of the couch.

    "Yeah, so why don't you go sit over there?" JJ bites back as Kenzie scrolls through the opening menu. Kenzie elbows him slightly, a warning to play nice, and starts a game with the two of them.

Taglist: @Gwenlovesharrystyles @x-lulu​ @gviosca​ @cognacdelights​ @queenofallhobos​

[captainsolare]

Solsooool!! Congrats on 300!!you deserve it and much much more!! ❤️💜 For your event, you know I have to ask for sero, you write him so well! Sero + journal maybe?? And thank you in advance!! ❤️💜❤️

A/N: Hello hello lovely!! I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you like it! 

A/N: I’ve come to the conclusion I can’t write short things, I have too much to say. Also woah this is the last post from the 300 event, thanks so much for your support y'all <3

Sero + Journal

The lunchroom was loud, Sero sat with his normal group, thoughts miles away. “Why do we have to do this stupid assignment anyways?” Denki lamented, sighing heavily as he slumped forward onto the table. “Hey, don’t knock my rice off the table, electricity for brains.” Bakugo threatened, grabbing his bowl as the table tipped unevenly. Sero zoned back into the conversation when suddenly a question was directed towards him.

“What was the question?” He asked, blinking. Kirishima smiled, “No worries man. Mina just asked what you wrote for the journal assignment.”

Sero hummed thoughtfully. The assignment prompt was ‘What would your ideal future look like?’ He knew he should probably say a generic answer, like ‘seeing a world where heroes wouldn’t be necessary or wanting to be a top hero, but for some reason, all of his thoughts led him down a path towards you. He didn’t know you very well, you were in a different hero course class, but you seemed kind and smart, and with a face like that? Goodness, he was hooked.

His daydreaming was interrupted by Mina’s finger poking his cheek; blinking to settle back to reality he was met with his friends’ smiling faces. “Uh oh I know that look,” Denki said teasingly. Mina nodded, smirking, “Uh-huh, our little tape boy is in love.”

Love? The word felt strange in his brain and set his cheeks on fire. “What?! No way.” he protested, hands raised defensively. Mina smiled and exchanged a knowing glance with Denki, “I bet we already know who it is!” “We do?” Denki asked, face scrunching in confusion.

“Look! There’s Y/N now!” Mina exclaimed. Sero couldn’t help it, he perked up like an excited puppy eyes scanning the crowd for you. His face settled into a pout when you were nowhere to be found, and his friends began to laugh. “Dude you should have seen your face!” Denki teased, socking his arm lightly. Sero’s cheeks were warm from embarrassment. Kirishima raised up a halting hand, “Hey now, let’s not tease the guy too much. I think it’s manly to be in love.” Bakugo grunted his disinterest, and the group returned to other topics of conversation.

Soon the bell rang, signaling the long walk back to class. Sero was quiet as he walked, trailing a few steps behind his friends; running through a mental checklist of what he’d need for the next class he panicked as he realized he left his journal back in the locker room this morning. He quickly pivoted, yelling to Denki that he’d be right back and to cover for him.

Little did he know you were in the same predicament, you rushed to the locker room, retrieving the all-important journal from your own locker. As you exited into the hallway, not really paying attention to your surroundings, you bumped into something warm. Your notebooks and whoever’s you’d bumped into landed on a heap on the floor. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry (YLN/)(Sero)!” You and Sero said at the same time.

You both scrambled to the floor to grab the notebooks, managing to knock heads in the process. “Geez, I’m really batting a thousand today, huh?” Sero joked, handing you the notebook he presumed to be yours.

Before you could answer the bell rang and you met each other’s panicked eyes. “Sorry, gotta go!” You exclaimed, rushing off to your class. Sero lingered a few moments longer, hand burning from where you’d accidentally brushed his.

He rushed back to the classroom, notebook in hand. “Sorry I’m late, Present Mic.” Mic nodded, not pausing from his lecture. Once Sero sat down, Mic set his piece of chalk down. “Alright! Now that everyone is here, we’re going to swap journals with the person next to us and edit their journal entries for the most recent assignment.” Sero’s heart sank, but he turned to Midoriya and begrudgingly handed his journal over. At least he probably won’t make fun of me.

Midoriya’s cheeks were warm from embarrassment, “I wish I had known we were going to peer-edit these. Mine’s a little embarrassing.” Sero chuckled, feeling a bit better about the situation, “It can’t be any more embarrassing than mine.” Midoriya smiled and they each turned the pages open to find the most recent journal entries.

Sero was digging out a red pencil from his bag when he heard Midoriya’s shaky voice coming from next to him. “Uh Sero?” He turned, head cocked in confusion, “Yeah? Is something wrong?” Midoriya bit his lip, wondering how exactly to tell him this, “Well, uh, it looks like this notebook isn’t yours.” Hanta blinked, how was that possible? He had definitely picked up his own notebook in the hallway, right?

He was certain his face was as red as Kirishima’s hair as he took the notebook from Midoriya with trembling hands. As he peered at the handwriting that was most definitely not his, the facts cemented in his brain. In the hallway, he must have given you, the person he wrote an embarrassing journal entry about for an English assignment, the journal he wrote it in. Sero sank in his chair, resting his head in his hands. It was certain, his life, and reputation as being a sort of cool guy were over.

As the day crept on, he dreaded going to the training grounds this afternoon; you’d surely be there and he wasn’t sure he could look you in the face, not after you’d read that journal entry he wrote. In the locker room, he pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering what exactly he had done for fate to curse him like this. “What’s wrong man? You’ve been acting weird all day?” Denki asked, shirt half on. Sero sighed, shoulders heavy with defeat. “I accidentally ran into Y/N after I went to grab my notebook earlier and in the mix of rushing to class and getting up off the floor, we ended up swapping notebooks.”

Denki blinked, “Wait, your English notebook? Why would that be a big deal?” Sero shook his head, his best friend could be so perceptive, but so dumb sometimes. His cheeks warmed as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Well, I-- uh… I sort of included Y/N in my journal entry.” Denki couldn’t help the sound that erupted from his throat. “You what?!” His laughter echoed on the tile walls and Sero felt his cheeks grow hotter. “I know it was stupid okay? You don’t have to make fun of me.” Denki’s laughter immediately stopped, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Honestly, I think it’ll be okay. The worst that could happen is you never speak again right?” Sero fixed him with a dark look. Denki put his hands up defensively, “Sorry, I’m not the best at making people feel better.”

The minutes ticked by during training, your class would be here soon to take over the gym and he could feel his stress levels rise from the very thought of it. Your voice echoed from the doorway, saying his name, and he would have run for Denki and Kirishima not held him in place.

Your cheeks were on fire as you made your way over to the dark-haired boy. “Hey, Sero, can we... talk?”

He swallowed thickly, “Uh, yeah sure. Let me grab my bag.” He darted over to the corner to grab his things and walked outside with you. “So, what’s up?” He asked, kicking himself for the question as soon as it left his mouth. You knelt down to rummage through your bag and pulled out a familiar-looking notebook. He did the same, and you traded notebooks without a word. He began to leave but your voice stopped him.

“Sero?” He stopped in his tracks, heart pounding in his ears. “Yeah?”

You bit your lip, “About your journal entry… I’m flattered but--” Ah, there it was, the dreaded but. “There’s no need to finish,” He stopped you, a sad smile on his face, “I know you don’t feel the same way.” You gave him a look and he blinked, confused.

“I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that I’m flattered but I don’t know what I want for the future yet. But that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want for next Saturday.”

“Oh really?”Now he was even more confused, what was that supposed to mean? “What do you want Saturday?” You smiled, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “For you to pick me up from the dorm at 7 PM sharp and take me out for dinner.” His eyes widened as the realization set in, and he settled into a comfortable smile. “Perfect, I can’t wait!”

His friends came tumbling out of the gym onto the ground in front of you as you tugged the door open to rejoin your class. You and Sero burst out laughing, a mixture of embarrassment and humor. As his friends teased him about this new development, Sero could have sworn he heard Bakugo say, “All according to plan.”

[dionysianfreak]

some spicy things I do in my practice because of ADHD

given that it's literally my brain, adhd takes over a lot of things in my life. it finds a way to wiggle into everything I do in both bad and good ways. it's just how it is being neurodivergent and it's just how life goes for me, but that doesn't mean it doesn't aid me in many ways. growing up we aren't taught about mental divergency. we're taught the abled and neurotypical way and that's it, but in truth neurodivergent people only struggle due to not having the resources to do things the way that'll let them work efficiently. so here is a list of ways my personal adhd effects my pagan practice and ways I incorporate it into my worship !

stimming

stimming ! i stim a LOT and sometimes, if the emotion I feel is strong enough, they turn to uncontrollable tics. this also means that when during things like rituals, I'll have to pause so I don't tic and ruin something. this is totally normal and okay ! I've never once had a problem with it, and the Gods just patiently waited for it to pass as it always does. we both know it's just something that happens and it's apart of me, it isn't something to be ashamed of or hide.

accepting stimming once I was diagnosed was also something I did as a devotional act to Dionysos ! instead of trying to mask or push down the urge to stim, I'd allow myself to just let it out. my stims vary between very overt to covert, and accepting the overt ones as normal was a feat worthy of devotion imo. you can also keep stim toys on your altar when you're not using them, if you wanted to.

time and schedules

consistent worship ????? never heard of her. same goes for offerings. sometimes I give 294894 offerings in a day and sometimes I've given one offering in a week, it just depends on my ever changing behavior. there's no need to be stuck on a schedule if you don't want to or even make one to begin with. when I first started out, I asked Hermès, Apollon, and Dionysos (who I worshipped at the time) if I should make a schedule and the no was so hard I haven't asked since. my worship is a part of my daily life, as just like I don't drive places every day I don't worship every day. both are still important in my life regardless if I'm actively doing it or not. if you stuggle with consistency, I urge you to speak with the Gods you worship and see if making things more fluid would help !

hyperfixation is also a pain in the ass sometimes, especially when it becomes something other than paganism. due to the free nature of my practice and that I've chosen to devote, it sometimes translates into "well I don't haveeee to do this" and suddenly poof, all the motivation is gone. it's VERY hard to come back when your brain is so wired on something else entirely, and I understand the feeling. during these times I personally do very small things to keep up. if I make dinner for myself, I'll offer a portion and eat with the Gods just to show that I'm participating even when I'm struggling to. the small things count.

RSD - Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

my RSD is crippling in my life, and it's reach extends to paganism sometimes as well (if you're unaware, RSD is the extreme sensitivity to perceived rejection in any form). sometimes during readings I receive a card that I believe is saying something "negative". sometimes it's criticism, sometimes advice, sometimes it's a slap on the wrist, but no matter what it is in reality I'm at the mercy of my brain to interpret it. so this has lead to meltdowns, long depressive/anxious episodes, and crying fests when I think a deity is angry with me. it has gotten so bad before that delusions have appeared and made me believe false memories or feelings of hatred from the Gods.

it's so hard and I'm so sorry if anyone else has to deal with it. to help with this, I have to fight to remind myself that advice is not an attack. the Gods are trying to help me and, even if They were angry at me, I've made mistakes before and They've allowed me to grow from them. i also have a checklist of questions I ask myself to allow logic and reality back into my head. a few questions include "have i done anything recently that's worthy of anger from a God ?", "is this something that will last forever ?", and "is this a message that has something to teach me ?".

impulsiveness

ask most people with ADHD about being impulsive and you'll probably receive a nervous side glace. we're impulsive often, which can do a multitude of things in paganism. one, starting a devoting and never finishing it. i am SO guilty of this one, and it make me feel bad even now. i have plenty up unfinished plans, drawings, and other devotional items that look around and guilt me. I've been in this cycle for a year and I don't think I'll ever grow out of it, but from what I've noticed the Gods don't mind. doing some of a devotion is a wonderful feat, and the energy that took is a wonderful offering even if you don't finish it.

I'm sure other adhd people and probably some autistic people have been in the position of "I just discovered this new Deity and oh my god I NEED to worship them RIGHT NOW or I'll DIE". They're just SO COOL and you automatically feel a connection. then three weeks later you feel demotivated to worship Them and now you feel terrible about it. don't worry, me too. to help with this nowadays I personally honor for a bit then worship if the worship relationship doesn't involve any help between us. this is what I did with Pan, and it worked VERY well for me. i recognized our connection but I didn't feel the pressure to consistently worship Him.

back to the start of the second paragraph, if you're stuck in that situation just communicate with the Deity. it can be hard to admit you're wrong, especially with adhd. however, just sitting down and calling to Them to let them know how you feel and that you think you made a mistake is a huge communicative step !

demotivation

this. one. sucks. inbetween hyperfixations, being stressed out or anxious, going through a depressive episode, and more can cause very deep demotivation and loss of energy in people with ADHD and other disorders. sometimes I'll just lay in my floor with my headphones on for hours because I literally can't find the energy to get up. a lot of people worry that this directly conflicts with Paganism and would slow progress. i understand why it seems that way, especially since adhd is a very "GO FAST, DO THIS THING N O W" disorder. there's actually a few solutions here I can think of

devote your personal healing to the Gods as this can give your brain a "reward" and can help you personally feel better in many ways. after weeks without a shower, devote a bath to a Deity or maybe eat breakfast at Their altar if you haven't been eating much. allow Them to be your motivation

take a break entirely. paganism certrainly isn't a 24/7/365 commitment and your practice molds to your needs. if you're just absolutely knocked out and need rest, take a break. I've taken MANY breaks before. I've been forced on breaks too because the Gods noticed my mental health declining before I did. never feel ashamed for needing time for yourself

do multiple small things rather than big things. a little bit of your dinner when you eat, redecorate Their altar or space, listen to music that reminds you of Them, think of Them when you're out and about in case you see something. you can weave devotion into daily acts in order to reinforce mundane things you need to do and calm your mind about paganism.

and finally, miscellaneous list of other things I do that are too small for their own section.

if you need to keep track of divination readings, no need to write down every reading you've ever had in detail. you can voice record them as you go, take photos of the cards, or use apps like Labyrinthos that can act as a tarot log.

your altar doesn't need to look perfect, it should reflect your worship and your devotion to a Deity. this means if your altar looks like a mess, as mine ALWAYS do, it's perfectly okay ! clutter aesthetic altars are the most beautiful altars in my eyes, and they're so worthy of adoration. I've never once heard of a Deity disliking an altar, They appreciate our work to put in a space just for Them. let your altar look messy and wild as you want, altars don't need to be aesthetic or color coordinated

you see everywhere that many of us are devoted to one deity in particular or multiple, I fit in here too. i just wanted to say that you never have to devote to any Deity if you don't want to. you could worship when you need help from a specific Deity or worship a different deity every month. never feel like you have to tie yourself down just because other people feel comfortable doing so.

you don't have to celebrate every festival. it's okay to skip celebrations that don't really apply to you or are at an inconvenient time ! you could also reschedule if you find yourself wanting to celebrate but burnt out or busy.

[kumkaniudaku]

Idk if you write for Sam Wilson but “I’m scared”

No matter what your grandma said, a passionate hello never made the goodbyes easier.

Sam’s absence in the home made the days and months drag. Five years of uncertainty made for a bitter sweet when he returned from what you only knew as The Blip. The emotions drudged up by having him in your arms made way for frequent bouts of anger and shouting matches typical of reality television.

You were mad at him for hiding the truth. He was tired of you pressing for answers he didn’t have. A therapist could only do so much to mediate a clash of feelings. But you both held on because, despite your grievances, the pain of separation was too great to relive.

When a breakthrough seemed possible and arguments took backseats to tender words in the morning and at night, your sense of normalcy was upended. Sam was Captain America. Country first and family second was the new normal. Instead of slipping into old habits, you both put on a brave face to grin and bare the newest strain on an already splintering relationship.

With clothes stacked neatly into a worn suitcase, Sam ran through a mental checklist of toiletry items needed for a weekend at the Capitol. You watched in silence from your spot at your vanity.

“Can I take that cocoa butter with me? I don’t have a backup.”

“Go ahead. I have another bottle in the bathroom closet.”

Sam looked at you through the mirror. “That was easy.”

“I don’t want to argue today, Sam. I’m tired.”

Sitting in the same room immediately became stifling, leading you out of the room and into the kitchen to quell the tears pooling at your waterline. A few minutes passed before Sam appeared on the opposite end of the kitchen counter with small frown on his lips and questions in his eyes.

“What’s going on? We were fine earlier.”

“Put a pin in this for when you come home,” you answered, avoiding eye contact. “No need to get all worked up before your trip.”

“This trip isn’t more important than my wife being upset with me. They can wait. What’s up?”

Sam took your initial silence as an opportunity to breech the imaginary divide and join you on one side of the counter. His fingers started a tentative journey to your hand before filling the gap. You sighed.

“How are you so calm? Why are you not more upset that these people have the nerve to make you Captain America when they couldn’t give a fuck enough to help your family when you disappeared for five years?”

“I’m all those things. I’m scared, furious, confused…all of that! But, I have a responsibility, baby.”

“A responsibility,” you scoffed. “Are they holding up their end or is nobility just for your Black ass? What has this country ever done for you?”

Sam dropped his head when you snatched away from his hold to create distance.

“It’s bigger than me. I owe Isaiah and every other Black soldier before me a debt for paving this path. I took an oath to protect. We both did. Remember?”

Your eyes flickered up to catch Sam pointing to the Air Force pendant on his chain. He smiled before pointing to your wrist.

“Some of us felt so strongly we got a tattoo.”

“Don’t use my past against me.”

“I’m just saying,” he protested with his hands raised. With your guard down, Sam inches closer until you were wrapped in his arms and swaying side to side with his assistance. “Trust me. Please. I’d never do anything to put us in danger.”

“Samuel, S.H.I.E.L.D agents and a human weapon have access to my home.”

“Yeah, but you’re never in danger. My point stands.”

Your hand colliding with his chest made Sam laugh from his belly. You let him finish while you pulled him closer, savoring his smell and the feel of his body against yours.

“Promise me you’ll always come home.”

Sam looked down at your pleading eyes and smiled. “I promise. You gotta promise you’ll always be here when I come back. Don’t make me chase you again.”

Standing on your tip toes, you kissed his nose then his lips.

“I promise.”

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Voyage - Bit 3)

Prologue Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3

This has settled down to a once a week post at the moment. I am still writing, but I’ve been writing the Prologue because I realised that I hadn’t written enough backstory to support the main story. So expect 4000-odd words of Jeff landing on Mars in the near future.

In the meantime, here is a little terrible twos being good bros.

As always, many, many thanks to @tsarinatorment​ @scribbles97​ and @janetm74​ for all their patient help. I’ve been a pain lately, so they have suffered greatly for my fic :D

I hope you enjoy this last bit of Part Two.

-o-o-o-

Gordon sat back and watched his father and Virgil leave the cockpit. John followed a moment later.

Gordon wasn’t hungry, not by a long shot. His stomach was still protesting the jump and he was quite happy staying where he was.

He wasn’t surprised that Scott, after reassuring himself that Alan was okay monitoring the course correction, disappeared after John. Gordon did not want to be in the room when that encounter happened. Not that he didn’t have his own beef with the astronaut over this. He couldn’t believe John would support their father going into space. John, of all people knew the health ramifications.

Speaking of which…

He unbuckled and pushed off his chair in the direction of his father’s chair. Formerly, his chair. He was of two minds regarding that fact, but considering he didn’t think Dad should even be in space, where he sat was of the least importance.

He hooked his foot around the base of the seat and pulled himself in beside his little brother.

Gordon’s eyes danced over the flight controls. “How’s it going?”

Alan glanced at him. “Computer is performing perfectly. We’ll stop to drop the buoy in about twenty-five minutes.” A raised eyebrow. “How’s the tummy?” And yes, there was a small smirk accompanying that.

“It’s fine.” As if to penalise him for lying to his little brother, his gut twisted.

Gordon let out a groan.

The smirk turned to a worried frown. “You sure you’re okay.”

He grunted at his brother. “I’ll live.” And he remembered that there were four more jumps there and likely five more on the way back. “Maybe.”

“Get Virg to drug you up. You’ll enjoy it more.”

‘Enjoy’ was rarely in the same sentence as ‘space’ in Gordon’s book. “Might do that.” Puking in zero-g was just messy and not to mention gross. “How come you aren’t feeling it?”

Alan shrugged. “Been playing with g-forces since I was a kid? This isn’t much different.”

Gordon grunted at him again.

They sat there together for a moment or two. There was something about hanging with his little brother that was different from hanging with his older brothers. More relaxed maybe, or just…different.

“Not often my ‘bird carries yours. This has to be only the second time.”

Gordon blinked. “Yeah? I think so. Not too many oceans in space.”

“Tell that to the Jupiter system.”

Space oceans were a thing. After the mad dash that was their trip to Europa, Gordon had made a point of reading up on all the extra-terrestrial oceans he could find.

Earth, of course, was the only body in the solar system with surface liquid water. There were buckets of ice on many of the other planets and moons, but none of that interested the aquanaut. He preferred his water well above zero degrees celsius.

Europa had been fascinating and he was still basking in the accolades from the scientific paper that he, Alan and his heroes, the Pendergasts, had jointly written. Readings from Four’s scanners had recorded everything and Earth’s scientific compliment were still going nuts years later. Tracy Industries had helped fund a proper scientific expedition to the moon.

Hmm, come to think of it, they should probably drop in and say hi on the way back. Would be interesting to catch up with Gwen and her team in person instead of over holovid.

Would be hilarious to knock on their door as a surprise. Hi, we were just in the area…

He grinned.

“What are you up to?” Alan was eyeing him suspiciously.

Gordon snorted. “Just thinking we should drop in on the Europa Extra-terrestrial Marine Expedition on the way back. I owe Gwen a jump-scare.”

His brother tilted his head, obviously calculating the possibility. “Could do. You should speak to Scott.”

That dragged him back to reality. “I guess it depends on Dad.”

Blue eyes darted in his direction. “Dad will be okay. You know that, don’t you?”

Gordon found he didn’t have the energy to get angry. “How can you know that?”

“I don’t.” Alan went quiet a moment. “But then how do you think I manage each time you go out on a mission?”

The aquanaut stared at him. “What?”

“Well, your health has never been and never will be one hundred percent, yet you still dart down to the bottom of the ocean, jump off high places and do things just like the rest of us. Do you think I don’t think of losing you all the time?”

Gordon froze a moment digesting that his little brother still worried about that… “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Dad…okay, I get your point. But I’m also worried about Scott.”

“What?” Alan stared at him.

“Can’t you see what this is doing to him?”

“Er, what?”

No, Alan hadn’t seen. “I have never seen Scott so terrified.”

“I repeat – what?”

“When Dad told us he was going. Scott just…” He swallowed. “Dad is hurting Scott and I, for one, am not going to stand for it. Virg isn’t either.”

Alan was staring at him. “You said Dad was cold and didn’t care. Abrupt, yes, that’s Dad, but I can’t believe he doesn’t care.” The astronaut shook his head.

“If he cared, he wouldn’t have come.”

“Gords-“

“Alan, trust me on this.”

His little brother stared at him again. “I trust you, Gordon, you know that. It’s a given. But I also trust Dad. He knows what he’s doing.”

Gordon pressed his lips together. “He doesn’t know everything and I really wish you guys would stop worshipping him as a god.”

“He’s not a god! He’s just…Dad.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.”

There was silence after that. Gordon not willing to berate Alan any further. It wasn’t Alan’s fault. He didn’t have the history with Dad Gordon did. He hadn’t had to fight to swim. Hadn’t seen Virgil struggle with his choices.

Hadn’t seen Scott give his everything to his father only to have it…ignored.

But no, that was history. Long ago. Before the Oort Cloud. Gordon had his issues regarding his father. He loved him, but he was a difficult man under all that passion. Being the son of a hero wasn’t everything it could be.

Scott worshipped the ground his father walked on. Gordon, not so much.

To see his father hurt Scott like that…Gordon’s blood just boiled.

“Is Scott okay?” Alan’s voice was smaller than usual.

“That’s just it, Allie. I don’t think so. You know how he gets. Like before the Oort Cloud. I, for one, don’t want him going there again.” ‘There’ being more a mental place than a physical.

Alan’s head dropped. “No.”

A voice rumbled behind them and both jumped. Michael was talking into comms, to Scott, something about the aft sensor array.

Crap. It was a sign of his distraction that he had forgotten the Mechanic was there. He glanced over, but the tattooed man showed no sign of even knowing they existed.

Gordon sighed.

A hand landed on his knee. “It’s going to be okay.” Blue eyes sought his. “It will be, Gords.”

He let out a breath, suddenly wishing he had Alan’s faith.

If anything happened to Dad…

“It. Is. Going. To. Be. Okay.” The hand on his leg squeezed tight.

But Gordon didn’t answer.

-o-o-o-

The drop of the communication buoy saw all of them back in the cockpit. John was the mastermind behind this little exercise and Virgil was, as usual, very proud of his space brother.

The design was ingenious, of course. John had taken a portion of the T-drive technology and applied it to communications. The same Tunnels created by the engine could be used to push what would otherwise be a simple comms signal through to the next buoy at a vastly accelerated rate. His brother had been working with Brains to realise this technology. Back in Earth orbit, a satellite connected the new network to the planetary network. On the way out, they would connect the Jupiter system. On the way back, they would connect Mars. Time delay communications would be a thing of the past.

Possibly as a tension reliever, John’s first signal went straight to Lady Penelope.

Gordon’s demeanour shifted immediately. His excited babbling did much to lighten the atmosphere in the cabin. The uninformed wouldn’t have been blamed for thinking he hadn’t spoken to her for years. Virgil knew for a fact the two of them had had a conversation shortly before they left.

The concept of ‘young love’ made him feel old.

And indicated just how tired he really was.

But sleep was something he couldn’t see happening very soon. Sure, he could try to take a nap en route. Hell, he had to. But his head was full of worry that likely wouldn’t let him rest.

Scott let Gordon babble for a full minute before cutting him off with the mission. Perhaps the commander saw how much the atmosphere needed to be lifted from the black depths they had fallen into.

Virgil hated it when his family argued. It didn’t happen often...okay, maybe they did quarrel every now and again - it came with the territory of working together. But nothing deep like this. Nothing that cut into the core of their very foundation. The surety that held them together.

Virgil sighed.

“Ready for jump.” Scott’s voice was all command and it forced Virgil to focus.

Pre-jump checklist as his brother called out to each of them.

“Airframe?”

“Craft secure. We are go.”

Blue eyes flickered to Michael. “Propulsion.”

“T-drive ready.”

“Helm.”

Alan’s back was tensed, his hand on the lever that would propel them further away from Earth. “Ready.”

The familiar countdown, such a part of their lives. Scott’s voice carried security...and Virgil’s faith.

Alan’s arm moved.

And the Excel jumped.

-o-o-o-

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