#and because it's something she probably wanted to do for a really long time but she doesn't want him to be left alone

[stevieschrodinger]

This is not how Steve wanted to spend his afternoon.

Actually, he’s found himself doing a lot of things he hasn't wanted to since Starcourt burned down but, honestly, this is probably right up there.

God it’s disgusting.

But he had to try. All the kids had looked at him with their stupid hang dog faces, so he said he’d try. Which is why he’s at lovers lake, freezing his ass off in the water and nipple deep into the shrubbery, ripping slimy crappy weeds and grass out of the muddy lake bed.

At least Robin got in with him. She’s shivering in her bathing suit, but she’s gamely holding onto the cooler as it floats in the water, so at least there’s that.

The bin full Upside Down vines next to the tank hadn't made much sense at the time, but it became apparent pretty fucking fast when the fish creature in Steve’s pool hadn’t eaten for forty eight hours, and Steve was now, finally, sober enough and not concussed enough to put two and two together.

Hopefully this works though; all the kids have, obviously, become immediately like, fucking pack bonded with the thing. Man. Fish Man.

El and Max keep insisting he’s a mermaid – Merman? Merdude? - like he’s something out of a fairy tail and is all magical and shit.

Steve takes a breath and ducks down again, having felt something hairy and frond like with his exploring toes.

“You think this is enough? Like as a fair test?” Robin rocks the half full cooler forward and Steve peeks in.

And alright, Steve just doesn’t want to fucking be here at all, so he says, “yep, looks good,” as they share a lightly guilty look.

It might not work at all, of course, so their wanting to give up is legitimate. They can always come back when it’s warmer if the fish man does eat this shit.

He certainly isn’t interested in the raw fish the kids have been trying to feed him – Steve’s going to be eating fish for a fucking month with what’s in his freezer now, and don’t those reprobates realize the price of fucking prawns??

The fish man wasn’t interested in meat either, not raw, not cooked – even though Dustin insisted that because of his ‘forward facing eyes’, ‘claws,’ and ‘slightly pointed teeth,’ he must be a predator Steve! The vines must have just been for, in his tank, or whatever, Steve!

Whatever.

Steve’s here to prove them wrong, and Robin’s backing him up.

The kids have gone home when they get back, which is a fucking relief. Even with the heaters in the car on full, Steve still feels cold in his bones. His skin warm and tingly, but the shivers still locked inside; him and Robin head for separate bathrooms without even really talking about it, fishboy has survived this long, he can do another twenty minutes.

Steve finds the biggest sting of kelpy weedy seaweedy stuff from the lake, and drags the tip of it in the pool. It’s dark out, the light from in the house reflecting on the surface of the pool, making it impossible to see where the creature might be hiding; until he disturbs the surface, a few seconds later.

Steve splashes the end in the water, “here fishy fishy fishy.”

“Steve,” Robin elbows him.

“What, it’s not like he has a name,” Steve doesn’t look at her though, he’s watching that strange pair of eyes come closer. They reflect the light strangely, like a wild animal in the headlights. His dark hair is plastered to the top of his head, being wet, and everything else is submerged.

Steve knows he can breathe fine for at least an hour out of the water though; that’s how long the rescue took. And then the bathtub; he was fine in there for a day while they drained the pool of chlorinated water and refilled it with fresh. And it was easy enough to get him in there; if he was human, Steve would say that fish dude was starving to death. Concave stomach, all his ribs clearly visible, pale flesh pulled too tight over the knobs of his spine. Steve had lifted him easily, the sad curl of his dull black tail hardly adding any weight to him. He felt frail, breakable; like a bird.

If there’s any lingering chemical in there, it doesn’t seemed to have hurt fishguy, but then a creature from the upside down must be tolerant to plenty, Steve thinks, imagining the constant fall of ashy dust from the dark sky.

The creature cautiously approaches, and when he’s near enough, there’s a gentle tug on the weed, like the most cautious of bites on a line. Steve lets go, and both fish guy and weed disappear under the water.

“Do you think it worked?” Robin whispers, like they’re viewing a skittish wild animal. Which, they kind of are.

“Don’t know,” Steve whispers back, unable to stop himself. There’s just something about someone whispering to you that’s irresistible; it’s like an unavoidable instinct to follow suit.

“How will we know if it’s worked?”

“Dunno. Try another? See if he takes it?” Steve’s just about to break open the cooler again when the head pops up. All of it, this time.

He has dark hair. So dark it looks black; thick and ropey, it kind of reminds Steve of the vines of the upside down. His face is...pretty much human; just very pale. When he’s got his mouth shut, hiding the slight point of those teeth, nothing would give him away.

He lifts a hand out of the water, offering something to Steve who, gingerly but reflexively, takes it.

It’s the stalk of the weed. The leaves are gone, and the fleshy green of the outside has been carefully stripped off; use for those pointy teeth. Steve guesses all the plant material of the upside down is actually probably quite sturdy and quite hard to eat. It probably also has the nutritional value of wet cardboard.

Steve offers another weed, and the fish dude doesn’t leave this time. Steve watches as he eats; quick, practiced movements, trimming leaves with his claws, rolling them, eating them, then just as Steve suspected, using his sharp teeth to strip the outer stalk of all it’s fleshy wet goodness.

Steve doesn’t shudder at the thought of the mud at the bottom of Lovers Lake.

“Steve one, Henderson zero,” Robin says quietly, the fish man tipping his head to the side, as if he’s listening. Steve’s seen it a lot, the amount that the kids chatter at him, but the fish guy tends to stay at the other end of the pool to them. Watching. Nervous, and frightened, if Steve had to put a label on it.

But then, wouldn’t anyone be? Stolen from your world by unrecognizable creatures in hazmat suits. Shoved in a tank. Probably experimented on.

The whole thing sounds shitty.

Steve offers another weed, and the fish guy repeats the process, floating closer still, “Robin, humor me, go and see what’s in the crisper drawer.”

She follows his logic immediately, “on it.”

Steve watches the creature, the fish man, and the fish man watches Robin warily, moving away from the edge again a little, but coming back when Steve offers another frond.

He takes it, strips it, hands it back.

“We need a name for you man, I can’t just keep calling you ‘fish dude’ and ‘creature’ in my head.”

Steve looks over at the house, figuring he has another minute before Robin comes back, he taps the middle of his chest, fishguys strangely gimlet eyes tracking to movement from his too thin face, “Steve.”

Nothing. He tries again, pointing to himself and tapping, “Steve,” and then pointing to the creature, trying to get him to understand.

Fish guy swims a little closer, raising a hand out of the water. Steve sees the stubby but pointy black claws, like little ovals on the end of his fingers. His webbed fingers, Steve sees next, webbing stretched between them up to the first knuckle. He hesitates for a moment, but Steve doesn’t move, wanting to see where this is going.

Fish guy points cautiously at the center of Steve’s chest, close but not touching, lifting far enough out of the water to reveal protruding collar bones. He opens his mouth, and Steve watches with baited breath, fish guy frowning like he’s concentrating, such a human emotion on his face.

Footsteps, then, and he drops back into the water, backing away into the middle of the pool, sinking down so only his eyes are visible. Steve remembers to breathe; he’s not imagining it, something was about to happen. But he can try again tomorrow, once Robin has gone.

“I got some lettuce and some frozen peas,” she whisper hisses at him as she sits again, handing them over.

“Gimme the lettuce,” that seems like the next nearest thing to Steve.

[kinopio-writes]

HH Characters x Physically Affectionate!Reader (Pt.2)

A/N: The last part. Enjoy, lol.

Bonus character: Zestial!

Warnings: Mention of sex on Adam’s and Vox’s part, but nothing explicit

———

Sir Pentious

• he’s not used to it and is uncomfortable with it (he makes a weird face every time you touch him)

• he’ll be fine after you two become close, though

• but don’t try to overdo it

• if he likes you romantically, however, he blushes crazy every time you touch him

• he doesn’t really have a favorite one

• he turns red no matter what

• and his love language (receiving end) is more about words of affirmation, anyway

———

Lucifer

• if you’re together with Lucifer, he’s likely smitten with you, so he becomes really giddy whenever you give him affection

• he probably starts stimming (doing little kicks or squealing)

• this guy loves to be held a lot

• oh, but he loves it when you nuzzle into him

• his favorite is forehead touching

• it’s really tender and he melts at that type of affection

———

Adam

• usually, every time you touch him, he’ll think that you want to fuck

• so he’s fucking confused whenever you don’t escalate any further than a kiss

• he does that thing where even when you pull away, he’s still leaning toward you, eyes fluttering

• he’ll probably get used to it

• his favorite is when you just cling to him

• if you’re not short enough to do that, he loves it when you just put your head on top of his while you two are curling up on the couch (he finds it cute)

• he also loves getting massages from you

———

Lute

• she’s not affectionate in general nor is she a fan of it

• so if she’s not that close to you, you better back the fuck up ’cause she’s going to take that as a genuine attack

• it’s worse if you do it out of nowhere (seriously, you will end up with a broken arm)

• but, if you two are sort of close and she’s used to your affections, she’s aloof to it all

• she will even start to initiate them herself unknowingly

• it’s because she mirrors the people she likes, which is not a lot, lol (everyone does this—I think—but Lute’s just more noticeable)

• back rubs are her favorite (not full-on massages, though, just a little rub after she got done training or something)

• she might like head pats, too (she feels praised whenever you do it. This works exceptionally well if you’re taller than her)

———

Vox

• he’s not that physically affectionate

• unless it’s sexual

• he’d be pretty weirded out if you just wanted to hold hands or something

• but after he gets used to it, he becomes nonchalant about it

• he’ll start grabbing your hand on his own accord (it becomes instinctive)

• he’s fine with PDA, but don’t try to be all lovey-dovey when he’s in conversation or dealing with someone else

• his favorite is when you two are just snuggled up on the couch doing your own separate thing

———

Zestial

• I added him in because I wanted it to be even

• anyway, he’s more hand-kissing and linking arms type of gentleman

• and the most he’ll do in public is link arms

• he thinks displays of affection should be private

• even then, he’s not that physically affectionate

• he doesn’t have a favorite, but considering that he’s cold-blooded, he quite likes it when you snuggle onto him and make him warm (this only works well if you’re just as tall as him, lol)

———

This was relaxing to do. I’ll likely write more stuff like this in the future whenever I feel unmotivated to write.

The next three requests I’m going to post at a much later date will probably suck ass. Sorry to the ones who send those in. And for making you wait a long time as well. If they even remember…

My favorite ones to write from the two posts were…mostly everyone! These were so fun to write. I sort of had a writer panic midway, but it was still fun. It’s probably because I used too many parentheses and it bothered me or something.

[hellodropbear]

like she used to (V)

alexia putellas x sister chapter I, II, III, IV from alexia's perspective tonight :)

~~~~~~

My younger sister hates me. 

I don't know why, I don't even know when it happened. 

But I know that my younger sister hates me, and I have absolutely no idea what to do about it. 

I have known there was something wrong since she started skipping our dinners on Thursdays, claiming to have Barcelona B training until late. 

I knew they finished up an hour before dinner started. 

Alba says that I spent to much time away from her, that I didn't focus on her enough. 

Mami says that she is growing up and simply becoming less reliant on her older sisters. 

But neither of those explanations seem to make sense, because my younger sister is not the girl that I once knew any more. 

The girl who would sleep in my bed every night, who wiped my tears when I cried and put a smile on my face when all I wanted to do was bury my face into my pillow and scream about how unfair the world was. 

Because she's Elena and she's happy, she always has been.

But Elena does not seem happy anymore. And I don't know when it changed, but I hate myself for not being there to make her smile like she did for me so many times when we were younger. I hate myself for not being there to put a smile back on her face as soon as it fell off. 

She lives with bags under her eyes, her usually olive skin turned pale, her eyes constantly downcast and her eyebrows set in a solemn line. 

She used to tell me everything, but then I blinked and my baby sister's name was on my team sheet and I didn't even know she had been training with the first team. 

Mami said that she was sleeping, that she didn't want to talk about it now. Mapi told me the next day that she found her 45 minutes away from home, sitting in the park by her house. 

I should have been there more, I should have gone to her games. I know that, everyone knows that. But I broke up with Jenni, who had been my rock for as long as I could remember. I broke up with Jenni and she moved to Mexico, leaving me alone for the first time, in an apartment full of memories that would swallow me every time I entered.

I felt alone, every fibre of my being felt alone. I was isolated and my world was crumbling around me. And I didn't know who to turn to, I didn't know where I could find support. 

I didn't know that Elena was sat at home in bed, staring at her phone and waiting for me to call her, to text her. 

I used to call her every night, but slowly, those phone calls died out. Elena would all asleep with her phone in her lap. Until she gave up. Until she switched her phone off as soon as she reached her bedroom in the evenings. 

Back when Papi died, I relied probably a bit too much on my little sister to get me through it. Mami always said it was the wrong thing so I didn't want to make that mistake again. I avoided Elena, not wanting her to realise how weak I really am. She always said she admired me for being strong, powerful. I was her inspiration, her hero. 

I didn't want to ruin that image she had of me by crying on Mami's couch, unable to be alone after something as superficial as a breakup. 

But I think I ruined that image in other ways. 

I stopped going to her games. 

I stopped holding her as she fell asleep in my lap on a Thursday evening, instead watching her move further and further away from me on the sofa, until she wasn't there at all. 

I stopped being there for her, helping her with her homework, picking her up from training, taking her out for ice cream. 

I stopped being her sister, and I don't think I will ever forgive myself. 

I don't think she will ever forgive me either. 

And to make everything worse, I only thought about it properly when Olga brought it up a few weeks ago. 

"Why haven't I met your younger sister yet? There are so many photos of her here, but I have never even spoken to her."

It was then that everything came crashing down, reality hitting me like a truck, driving 100 kilometres an hour along the highway. 

Olga couldn't understand why I was suddenly sobbing into her arms, my words more incoherent than my thoughts. But she held me close and told me one thing. 

"If there is something wrong with your little sister, you need to fix it."

Obviously she was right, she didn't need to tell me that. 

I felt an enormous surge of guilt explode inside of me, and for once Olga's arms didn't do anything to help me. I don't deserve her comfort, I don't deserve to feel good when I have left my baby sister behind. 

Because she is everything to me but I haven't spoken to her in two years. 

I don't know how I let it go this far.

~~~~~~

Mapi's voice is scratchy and quiet over the phone, and I could tell something is wrong. She wouldn't tell me what. 

"Elena is here with me. I texted Eli but she didn't reply but I needed to tell someone that she is safe and asleep in my spare room. We will take her to the game in the morning."

She didn't say much else, other than that she found my sister at the park after she had taken the bus from home. 

But, the look that she gave me at the game the next day told me everything I need to know. 

It wasn't angry, really, she just looked confused and hurt. She looked upset as well and I knew exactly what it was about. Because Elena has always loved Mapi, and Mapi has always treated Elena like a little sister. 

Elena would have told Mapi something, and even though I don't know what it was, I know it would have been bad enough to make Mapi overthink everything, to realise how awful I have been over the past few years. 

I was anxious through the whole game, separated from my best friend by Frido and Jana, trying my best to ignore the looks that Mapi kept sending me. 

The looks that were filled with such emotion that I couldn't handle. Emotions that were hard to read because they were filled with so much meaning. 

I am too much of a coward to face her and my consequences, I realise, so I ignore it for as long as I can. 

But I knew I could not avoid everything when Mami pulled me to the side after the rest of the girls had gone back into the changing rooms, after Alba had gone to the bathroom. 

"What are you doing?" 

She was furious, and for good reason. But I stay silent, still too scared, too guilty about everything I had done. The only thing on my mind was  trying to figure out how I could ever fix this. 

"Alexia Putellas! Answer me! What are you doing?" 

Her face was almost red, but if I looked hard enough I would have been able to see the tears that dried up in her eyes, never given the chance to slip down her face. 

"What do you mean, Mami?" 

She rolled her eyes dramatically and scoffed loudly. 

"Your baby sister is 15 years old and without any help from you, her older sister, was sitting on the bench for your team. The best team in Europe. She is 15, Alexia! This is such a huge achievement and all she wants is a hug from you, for you to tell her you are proud of her, that you love her. But no. Nothing. Nothing at all from the great Alexia Putellas who cares about nothing but her career!" 

Mami's words are a slap in the face, really. Thinking back to them, however, they are the truth. The terrible, painful, horrendous truth. 

Not that I don't care about anything but my career, of course, but about how I haven't done anything to help Elena get to where she is. 

I pause before responding, debating internally how I should respond. 

I could respond with fire, but that would just make Mami even more furious.

So I don't. 

"I know she is, Mami! That is why I am about to go do exactly that. I am so, so proud of her but I can't find the words to tell her just how proud I am."

She looks at me for a moment, as if assessing the validity of my statement. 

"We are going out to dinner tonight, Alexia. You are coming with us and we are celebrating Elena. Not you, Elena."

I nod, telling her that I will go get Elena and meet her and Alba outside. 

Except that doesn't happen, because I see Elena in the changing rooms, but she doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with me. 

I see the 15 year old girl laughing and interacting with my team, holding Aitana close and whispering in her ear. 

But honestly, the whole scene flipped my insides out. I am not focused on Olga as she chats to me, as she notices how distant I am from reality, moving towards Mapi. 

When I do finally speak to my sister, it does not go well. She is cold and I don't know how to get through to her because she is right to not want to talk to me, she is right to stick up for herself. I have messed up and I still have no idea how to fix things. And until I do, she is right to act like this. 

So I didn't end up going to their dinner, instead sitting alone in my apartment and staring blankly at my switched off tv, wondering what on earth I can do to fix this mess. To fix this mess that I single handedly created. 

It meant that Mami came round late, storming into my apartment, smoke practically billowing from her ears.

"You have messed up, Alexia. She is so upset and it is entirely your fault! You are stupid, you are irresponsible and you have been a terrible sister." 

I cowered under her strong gaze but she did not soften. She sat down, placing her head in her hands.

"You are almost 30! You should know better. I have not raised you to be like this, I have not raised you to throw people away without any thought, not caring how it might affect them. She is so confused and so, so upset and it is all because of you. All because you decided a few years ago that you did not have time for her anymore."

"Mami-"

There are tears in my eyes, but Mami can not see them. Mami does not care, she should not care because I did all of this, all by myself. 

"No, Alexia. You will tell me what has happened, why you have done this. You have ripped apart our family, Alexia. Alba is practically mourning the destruction of it and I just can not begin to understand why you have decided Elena doesn't mean anything to you any more."

"I haven't decided that!" My yell took my mother off guard and she recoiled. I continued before she could speak again. 

"I love her! So much and I am proud of her! I don't know what I have done, Mami and I don't know how to fix this." The tears that filled my eyes began to slip down my face. "I have ruined everything."

My voice broke and Mami softened, looking at me in confusion, some sort of inner turmoil and for the first time in my life, I recognised that she had no idea what to do. 

She didn't know what to do as I broke down into sobs, my body practically folding into itself, loud cries wracking through my body. 

"I don't know what is wrong with me." 

~~~~~~

Mami and I spoke for ages that evening. She convinced me that I should take a step back and let Elena come to me. That I should try and talk to Elena soon to tell her that I love her, that I am proud of her. 

But it ended up with another unsuccessful attempt of speaking to Elena. She was in bed and wanted nothing to do with what I wanted to say. I told her everything that Mami told me I should, ignoring the protests of my insides. 

I do not want to take a step back because I am already so far away. I want to be there for my sister like I should be, there for a hug or for some assurance. But that is not what I tell her, because apparently, that is not what would be the best for her. 

All I want is the best for her. 

I want nothing more than to tell her I want to be a part of her life like I used to be, I want things to just go back to normal. But nothing is that easy. I have to face the consequences of all my mistakes. 

Huge, terrible, life altering mistakes.

I tried again the next morning, but she ignored me completely, heading up to her room without a single utterance of a word. I could practically hear her exhale in relief as the piano chair creaked and waited until she had begun her playing to walk upstairs and sit by her door. 

She has improved at it so much, skyrocketing right past the level that Papi used to play at. The notes rang out at such a pace that I could barely keep track of where the song was going, up, down, fast, slow, loud, soft. 

The rhythms flew through the house and I didn't register the warm liquid slipping down my face until it fell with a splat into my lap. 

It is painful to realise how much I have missed; how much I miss her. 

Her playing is mesmerising and I could feel the emotion that radiates from her and her piano. 

It used to be Papi's, but now it is hers.

Because she has grown up into such a talented person and our father would be so proud of her. 

Me, I don't think he would be so proud of. 

And I hate myself because of it. 

The song broke down into soft chords and if I strained my ears I could hear her quiet whimpers. But I can't comfort her any more. 

No matter how much I want to. 

She will not be comforted by me. She doesn't want me there to comfort her. 

So I creep down the stairs and leave. I drive back to my apartment, back to Olga. 

At this point, I am used to the constant stream of water on my face. 

But there is nobody to blame but myself. 

~~~~~~

The next few weeks were equally as painful, despite Olga's efforts to lighten me up. My mood was down when I woke up in the mornings, and only got worse after training, seeing Elena light up when she spoke to my friends but escape every room I entered, cowering when I glanced over at her, leaving conversations as soon as I joined them. 

It's like she is scared of me, intimidated by me. I hate it. 

Mapi was silent in rehab, which is a big change from the constant stream of chatter I am used to. I don't think she knows what to say to me anymore, knowing what I have done. 

I wouldn't know what to say to me either. 

It is Vicky approaches me one day after training. We are all sat in the changing rooms when wanders over and asks for help with her homework. It is maths, and I tell her with a laugh that I will be no help at all, but she persists, opening her book and pointing at the maths equations, confusion written all over her face. 

I help her as much as I can, laughing at the drawings she has scrawled out on her page, explaining the trigonometry to her as she stares at me intensely. It takes a while, but she gets it eventually, finally answering a question correctly. 

"Nice, Vicky! So much better, so quickly!" 

Mapi stands up from across the room, grabbing her bag and storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

From where they are sitting in quiet conversation, my sister and Aitana look up at the door, their eyes scanning the room. Aitana's eyes land on me first and she rolls them dramatically, shaking her head in what looks like disgust. 

"Vicky, I did that yesterday. I can help you." 

Elena's voice is level, but I can see confusion in her eyes at the scene that had just unfolded. 

Vicky sighs in relief, closing her book and walking across the room to Elena. 

"I forgot you were smart!" She beams, plonking herself down on the seat beside my sister and they both dive into the world of mathematics. 

Aitana is standing up by now, her bag over her shoulder. 

"Alexia, can I speak to you outside?" Her voice is steady as she continues. "There is something wrong with my dribbling and I would like some help."

It is a lie and everyone knows it. There is never anything wrong with Aitana's dribbling. 

But I pick up my bag, following the shorter midfielder out the door, immediately faced by Mapi who stands there, anger all over her face. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice is low and her words come out as a whisper, full of venom. Full of anger. 

It is something I am not used to from Mapi and it takes me off guard. My hesitance gives her the chance to continue.

"Helping Vicky Lopez with her maths when you don't have the first clue whether Elena is even at school. Elena, your sister."

"She goes to school." 

My voice is full of confidence, but Mapi is right, I don't even know how she manages to fit it all in. I don't know the first thing about her timetable. 

She rolls her eyes, scoffing. 

"Do you understand just how much damage you have done?"

I nod, inhaling and exhaling deeply. 

"She hates me, I know. I have ruined everything. It is all my fault."

Mapi nods, but it is Aitana who speaks next. 

"She doesn't even hate you, Alexia. It just shows how much she loves you. You have done all this and she still loves you, still would do absolutely anything to get your approval, your attention."

I blink to stop the tears and bite the insides of my mouth to stop it from trembling. 

"She has been begging for you to notice how hard she has been working. How well she is doing. But you do not, you don't see her, it is like you are blind! And then Vicky Lopez gets a maths question right and you give her more praise than you give Elena for being selected in this team, for working hard, for being so, so incredible." 

If Aitana wasn't whispering to keep this conversation from the ears of the people in the room we just left, she would be fully yelling, her face red and her eyes narrow. 

"She is perfect, Alexia, and it is so sad because you just can't see it, you can't see how good she is, how smart, how kind, caring. And it makes me so, so angry because you have changed her so much in the past few years, and not in a good way."

Mapi puts her hand on Aitana's arm, trying to get her to stop. Mapi knows me well, and knows when I am about to break. 

But the usually stoic midfielder has tears in her eyes when she continues, her voice softening and breaking at the same time. 

"She was such a happy little girl, so excited by everything. She loves you so much and she always looked up to you. But now she is insecure, she is lonely, isolated. She is confused and feels like she needs to fight for validation every day. Everyone has pressure on them in this team, especially when they are young, new blood. Coming from La Masia and the B team you should know this, Alexia. You should know about the pressure better than anyone because I do too. But your sister? She has it worse than anyone because she has all that, but she is your sister. Alexia Putellas, two time Ballon d'Or winner. She has to live up to that in some way and is trying to hard to do it without anyone's help. She is only 15, Alexia. 15."

Aitana stops, but I am not sure whether it is because she has nothing more to say or if it is because she is too upset. She is silenced by weak tears, shaking her head as Mapi places a soft arm around her shoulder. 

"She is right, Alexia." Mapi's voice is soft and she looks at me with that same concerned glint in her eye. "And I don't know what is going on with you, but whatever it is, it needs to be fixed. You have made some significant damage and if you don't do something about it, it will all become irreparable."

"I don't know what to do." It is a cry for help, and it is all I can say without letting my tears escape from me once more. 

Because Aitana's words are nothing I don't know, but the fact that she is saying them, that she feels the need to tell me all that, is enough to tell me that it is not clear to anyone that I already know. 

Because I have been a bad sister, I am not denying it. 

And I am guilty, I feel absolutely terrible. 

Mami said to leave her alone, let her come to me, but I don't think that was her best advice any more, because my sister is struggling. 

She is struggling and I am only making it worse. 

But I can't do anything about it. 

When she was little, she would be the person I would go to when I needed to be cheered up. She would make me smile, laugh, feel better about myself and the world around me. Her small arms would wrap around me, her chubby fingers would wipe my tears from my face and she would chatter and giggle into my ears until I was smiling again. 

She was the light in our household when Papi died, but I think that was partially because she didn't understand what was happening. 

We avoided his study like it had the plague, she would go and sit on the piano stall, practicing the songs he had taught her. 

She gave us endless cuddles, basking in our attention, her heart set on making us feel better, on putting a smile back on our faces. 

She made the darkest time of our lives bearable, she helped me get through the hardest times of my life. 

And this... this is how I repay her. 

"Ale... Alexia? Ale." Mapi's hand is on my shoulder and Aitana looks at me curiously. 

"Stop, just... stop." My voice is soft, and Mapi's eyes soften as I slide down the wall behind me. "I just... I don't know what to do."

Mapi sits down beside me, perhaps thinking that maybe she had been too harsh. 

"I had Elena over yesterday." Mapi's voice is quiet. "She said... she said she misses you, Alexia. And that... she said you told her you were going to take a step back. She thinks you already did. She doesn't want that. She just wants you."

"But I have ruined everything, Maria. This is all my fault." A singular tear finds itself on my cheek and Mapi places an arm around me. 

"You're right, you made so many mistakes. But I know you, I know you love her. She means everything to you. And she loves you as well, Ale. I know you two can get through this, but she is struggling to stay afloat with all this pressure and no support. Aitana and I... we need to look out for her because your Mami works all the time and she doesn't want to burden Alba with her problems and ruin her life. We need to be there for her at the moment because the poor girl is crumbling."

I wish she would realise that I am crumbling too. 

Olga is always there to hold me, to calm me down, but as much as she tries, she can't understand what is going on with Elena. She doesn't know Elena, which I know is my fault. 

But Mami is angry with me, so is Alba. For good reason. 

And Mapi is my best friend, but she needs to be there for Elena. 

All I want to do is cry out for help, but I know I can not because I caused it. 

"I am taking Elena out this afternoon." Aitana speaks up from where she has been stood silently. "I will talk to her again, we will work on it. I'm going to go now, but Alexia, if you need to, you can talk to any one of us."

I nod at her, trying to muster a smile onto my face as she walks back into the changing room. 

"Mapi, you are my best friend." 

She nods. 

"You will be honest?"

She nods again. 

"Do you think this is fixable? Do you think I've ruined my chance of ever getting my Lena back?" 

She rests her head on my shoulder. 

"I hope so. I miss seeing the smiles on both of your faces and truthfully, I don't think that Elena will thrive here if she keeps going on like this. She needs support, from you, your Mami and your sister and I don't really think she is getting it."

"But Mami and Alba are there for her!" I find myself getting defensive of my family. 

"I know they are, but she needs more than that at the moment. She has been skipping school because nobody is home to tell her to go to it, she has been skipping meals because nobody is home to eat with her. She doesn't sleep properly, she doesn't eat properly. It is not your mother's fault that she has to work, or Alba's fault that Elena doesn't want to burden her, but she needs more support than she is getting." 

My brain is telling me that Mapi is wrong, that my sister is fine, that my family is fine. But in my heart, I know she is right. And it makes me feel sick. 

Because if it wasn't for me being such a terrible sister, such a terrible person, Elena would not be struggling so much. She would not need Mami or Alba as much as she does, she would be thriving in this environment. 

But she is not. 

The pressure is something I only really felt when I got older, when I had thicker skin. I had a force of people around me to fall back on, to get support from. But Elena has so much pressure building on her at 15, with less experience, with less people to support her. 

And the pressure will keep building and building on top of her, until it is so high that everything falls over, falling down on top of her until she breaks. 

As if reading my mind, Mapi continues after her pause. 

"And if she does crumble under all this pressure, she will need so much support. Aitana and I will be there for her, if nobody else is."

~~~~~~ hope you enjoyed :)

Will probably be back to elena's perspective next chapter, just thought it'd be easier to write this in a different one

[daycourtofficial]

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - part 14.1

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | previous part | masterlist

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: okay babes I’m desperate to get this out bc this part is going to be so fucking long I had to break it up into parts

“Rhys, stop!”

Feyre’s shriek of annoyance draws your attention to the front, your eyes watching Feyre chastise Rhysand for driving almost 30 miles per hour over the speed limit. You and Azriel were in the backseat of Rhys’s car (“It’s a Tesla,” Rhys would correct), Feyre in the front seat making several comments about the way Rhys drives as if he is attempting to murder all of you.

Mor and Cassian drove separately in Cassian’s truck - you and Azriel snickered at their less than covert attempts to be alone in the apartment. The six of you had been about to hit the road when Cassian had ‘forgotten his driving sunglasses’ and Mor had immediately offered to help. Rhys had rolled his eyes, telling Cassian the four of you were going to head off instead of waiting for them.

Rhys’s lake house was about an hour and a half away, so you and Azriel had spent that time in the back mindlessly chatting, showing each other silly videos of mostly cats. Feyre sat in the passenger seat, deeming herself in charge of the music, the three of you not caring what she put on.

Whenever Rhys and Feyre were too preoccupied in their own conversation to notice the two of you, you would slip your hand into one of Azriel’s, playing with his fingers or just squeezing lightly before pulling away.

“When do we think Cassian will show up?” You ask, making eye contact with Rhys in the rearview mirror. He scoffs, turning his eyes back to the road, “no telling. He’ll get hungry eventually, so he’ll probably show up around dinner.”

The six of you met up around two, you and Azriel almost arriving late because of your lunch date taking too long. Neither of you wanted to pretend there wasn’t something between you two, but both of you wanted to wait a bit before telling everyone, causing the two of you to linger in the parking lot for far too long, neither of you wanting to keep up the charade.

The impending deadline didn’t stop him from kissing you as if he were going off to war in the parking lot of the cafe you two went to, though. You could still taste the coffee he had on your tongue.

Feyre sighed, looking out the window, “maybe I shouldn’t have put my bag in his truck.”

You laughed, partly at her melodramatics, partly at how foolish she was to leave her bag in Cassian’s truck, “I don’t think you’re seeing that bag for a while, Fey.”

She turns her head to look at you, a scowl on her face, “you make it sound like this is my fault.”

“Well, we did put Cassian and Mor in a car together, so maybe the group is at fault. Just be thankful they didn’t pull over and have sex on top of your bag.”

Her scowl deepened, a look of disgust on her features, “my poor bag would never be the same. I would never be the same.”

“You’d have Cassian butt sweat on it.”

“Ewww, stop.”

“Or worse, his butt hair.”

You laugh as Feyre whips her head to scowl at Rhys, “and how do you know about his hairy butt?”

“Cassian spent our teenage years with a new approach to life - he was determined to be naked at any and every opportunity.” You giggle at Azriel’s words, his ears reddening a bit at the attention you were giving him.

“My mother considered kicking him out because he kept walking around naked and standing in the windows.”

You and Feyre giggled at the image, but Rhys continued. “Our neighbors kept calling and complaining. I’m actually not sure how she got him to stop.”

“She probably bribed him. It’s the only way with him.” You quirk an eyebrow at Azriel before he continues, “nothing ever got to him as a kid - yelling, getting in trouble, praising him. But bribery always worked on him.”

You turn to Azriel, pointing your head in the direction of the front seat, “what was Rhys like as a kid.”

Az huffs, “same as now. Spoiled and annoying.”

Rhys glares at him through the rearview mirror, but Az continues. “He was a bit pompous, always talking about how rich his family was.”

You watch Az try to keep from smiling as Feyre laughs, before reaching a hand out to pinch Rhys’s cheek. The movement pings something in your mind, telling you to ask about it later.

“I did not.”

“You once came to school in a helicopter.”

Rhys sinks a bit in his seat, but you file this whole conversation away in a folder of your brain titled ‘ask again later’. You had a vague sense of things you had picked up over time - Rhys’ parents were technically married, but his dad would travel a lot. Rhys’ mother and sister died at some point. Somehow Azriel and Cassian came into the picture.

It was a bit fuzzy, and you never found out why Cassian lived on his own away from Rhys and Az. You had little pieces, but you needed some way to connect the. You filed it away, just allowing yourself to enjoy the car ride.

The ride eventually reached a lull where the two of you sat in the backseat texting each other while Feyre and Rhys talked mindlessly about goats, maybe. You really weren’t sure what was going on up there.

Azriel: did you know all the guys in this town are riddled with disease

Azriel: so you shouldn’t get anywhere near them

Azriel: just to be safe

You: I like disease-riddled men

Azriel: is now a good time to tell you I had chicken pox as a kid

You: oh really?

You: Mmm itchy men

Azriel: I regret this

You: do you have any scars from it?

Azriel: that’s classified

You: I’ll just have to go around searching for them from other men

Azriel: wait no

Azriel: no no no no no

Azriel: this is a joke right

His eyes snap up to you after you refuse to respond to him, and you have to stifle a giggle at the way he’s looking at you.

You: I’m a changed woman. I prefer disease free men now

Azriel: thank god you’ll stay away from Cassian now

You look up at him with wide eyes before you type back furiously.

You: Azriel we share an apartment what do you mean

You: I let him drink my coffee the other day

You: Azzy please tell me you’re joking

You huff as each of your texts is met back with the three dots indicating he was typing. You looked over at him to find him typing random letters before backspacing to allow the dots to stay up.

You: meanie head

Azriel: you’re the one who said you preferred disease riddled men

You: they wouldn’t treat me like this

You: I would be a queen to them

You: me and my disease riddled king

Azriel: that implies you are their diseased queen

The two of you continue trying to stifle giggles as Rhys drives, Az’s hand moving to squeeze your thigh. You’re so distracted by texting him and his hand on your thigh you don’t notice where you are until the car is pulling into a neighborhood of massive houses that could likely fit multiple families with room to spare. You sit up straighter, looking out the window at these multi-dollar houses and wonder if this was a vacation home, what did Rhys’ house look like growing up?

You knew Rhys’s dad’s lake house was going to be a ridiculously large house. You knew that before, you knew that as the car drove through the neighborhood, but pulling up into the driveway it was as if you had completely forgotten. The house was massive - it had to be at least three floors above ground, and the property it was on was large too.

Rhys’ car slows across the long driveway, no other cars around. You have to strain your neck to look at the house in its entirety - it was beautiful - three or four floors, large windows showing off spacious areas on the second and third floors. It was a mix of the classic lakehouse look, but with slightly modern twists to it. All you could think about while looking at it was how long it would take to clean it. Most of your squabbles with Cassian were over whose turn it was to do dishes, and you knew this place would really test your friendship with him if you lived here.

Or maybe he’d just be able to better hide his messes in this house.

“How long would this take to clean?”

Your voice comes out a bit squeaky before you clear your throat, looking over at Az.

“You think Rhys’s dad does his own cleaning?”

Rhys parks his car in the garage, the four of you getting out. Rhys opens the trunk, and you reach out to grab your bags but Azriel beats you to it, slinging your duffle bag over his shoulder. He crinkles his nose at your pout, sticking his tongue out as he walks into the house. You follow after him, taking in how nice his back looked through his shirt.

Azriel heads to the stairs, taking Feyre to her room, but you fall back to take in the living room. You could host a house party in this living room and fit a hundred people easily. You siddle next to Rhys, watching him play with the lid of his coffee in one hand, his phone lit up in the other.

“Are you worried at all about your dad showing up?”

Rhys sips his coffee before answering, “I’d be more shocked than anyone if he showed up here. Az, Cass, and I once spent an entire summer camped out here. Didn’t even catch a glimpse of him.” He shrugs, his face looking indifferent as his phone screen displays the ‘find my friends’ app, and he looks quizzically at the screen, trying to figure out where Cassian was, you presume.

He blows out a breath, “I’m gonna call him.”

You walk away, opting to look at the photos that decorated the walls. The living room is covered in them, all shapes and sizes of frames littered the yellow wall. You see photos of younger versions of Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys, photos from when they were about ten or so until pretty recently, if you had to guess. You can watch them grow, the three of them looking so unsure of themselves at various stages.

The young photos of Azriel are littered with an air of sadness to them, his eyes not quite as bright as they are now, bandages still lingering on his hands for a long time. Azriel’s the smallest in what you think is the first photo, not much more than skin and bones, his now tan skin had a sickly pale hue to it. A woman and a young girl are in the photos with them, the five of them all looking remarkably similar - it’d be very easy to convince others that the two boys were Rhys’s brothers. The photos are all tan skin, dark curls limp in some photos from the ocean water. They are scattered across the wall, no chronological order to them, but if you lined them up you could watch the three of them grow.

The photos made you feel a well of emotion - how someone could be so cruel to someone so small, so defenseless. But as the photos continued and Azriel blended in more with this family, it made you feel so proud of him for opening himself up like that, when all he knew was pain.

He hadn’t told you the extent of his childhood - just that his family was awful, he hadn't seen or spoken to them in a decade, and his step brothers burned his hands. But the pictures of this small, helpless boy looking so lost at the lake spoke volumes for him.

Rhys put the phone down from his ear as he hung up. “They’ll meet us at the restaurant for dinner. He muttered something about a pit stop before hanging up on me.”

He gazes at the photos as he stands next to you, his eyes landing on the one you’ve been staring at. It involved a very young Azriel, fresh bandages adorning his hands. The striking woman was holding him so delicately, as if her arms squeezed him too hard he’d burst in her hold.

“That’s my mom.”

His voice catches you off guard, not expecting much of anything from him. He points at the photo, his finger tapping slightly on the glass.

“She’s beautiful.”

He hums in agreement, “she loved Az. She fought so hard for him. First person to fight for him, really. Spent a shit ton of money getting custody of him.”

That surprises you, but you leave it there for now, keeping your eyes on her smiling face. His gaze lingers on her soft smile, “she loved all of us, but boy did she love Az.”

You watch his mind go somewhere, not wanting to intrude, about to step away when he speaks up again. “That’s my sister. Kaylah.”

His finger moves to a photo nearby, landing on the young girl that Cassian had hoisted on his shoulders.

“She’s cute.”

“She loved bothering Cassian. The two of them butted heads more than any of us combined.” His voice was full of love and nostalgia. “She once got so mad at him she pulled her shoe off and threw it at his head. He was so chuffed he didn’t notice her throw the other, both of them hitting his eyes. He had a black eye for weeks.”

You laugh, “oh my gods, what happened?”

“What happened?” He turned to you, a wide grin on his face, “we got kicked out of the restaurant we were in, and she had the audacity to ask for her shoes back because they landed at another table.” He laughs, a twinkle in his eye you had never seen before. “Oh, Kaylah was something. She always made us laugh.”

“What happened to her?”

Rhys looks down, the twinkle immediately leaving his eye, “she and my mom were hit by a drunk driver when we started school. We- it was a hard time.”

You look over at him, tentatively moving your arms around his waist and hugging him to you.

“I’m sorry.”

He squeezes you back, his citrusy scent filling your nose. “Me too.”

The two of you gaze at the photos, at a time long gone, standing in silence as if an embrace could change the ending for the subjects of the photos.

The moment’s broken by Feyre’s voice, “what’s going on here?”

You turn your face to look at her, head still against Rhys’s chest, “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. We’re in love. He’s having my baby.”

She gasps overdramatically, clutching her chest as she puts on a ridiculous voice, “oh my stars! The scandal!”

You giggle as Rhys unwraps himself from you, “we were going to tell everyone while we were here, but it’s true. We’re naming the baby Cassian Junior.”

Feyre breaks her resolve, giggling, “how is it Cassian Junior?”

“Cassian’s adopting him, of course.”

Feyre giggles before coming to the wall of photos, looking too. “Wow, you guys were so little!”

You laugh, “yeah now we have proof Cassian wasn’t born with a six pack.”

“A six pack of beer, maybe.”

Azriel’s voice startled you. How a man so large was so adept at sneaking up on you unaware was impressive. He stopped behind you, but you could feel his warmth through your back.

“That would explain a lot,” Rhys mutters, turning away from the photos and sitting onto the couch. He stretched out his long legs, propping them on the ottoman before him. “That drive took a lot out of me.”

“It was two hours,” you scoff, sitting on a nearby chair. Azriel followed you, sitting in the chair next to you.

“Two hours is a long time.”

“Maybe for a baby,” Feyre coos, sitting next to Rhysand, pinching his cheeks. His hands swat at hers, pushing her away with very little effort. The four of you mindlessly chatter away, Feyre telling you all about something one of her sisters recently did, until Rhys’s phone buzzed again, Mor texting him that they were half an hour away.

The four of you jump back into Rhys’ Tesla, and he rolls down the windows as he drives you all to some restaurant called ‘Mama’s’.

“But ‘Mama’s’ what?” You had asked, to which Rhys and Az shrugged.

“Just ‘Mama’s’.”

You had huffed, accepting the nonanswer for the time being. The windows give you a glimpse of the tax brackets you drove through - starting the journey in multi-million dollar homes occupied during the warm months, the landscape quickly changes to lower and middle class homes for the people who live here year round.

Rhys pulls the car into a small restaurant, fitted with outdoor lighting and seating. It was so homey - a dozen or so people stood around outside, playing some variety of games like checkers and cornhole. A couple dozen more sat at tables, eating what smelled to be the most enticing food ever created. Your stomach rumbles at the smell, and Feyre laughs at you before you poke her in the stomach with an elbow.

You spot Cassian leaning against his car, Mor standing next to him on her phone. He stretches his arms out, huffing, “finally, we’ve been waiting for you!”

Rhys promptly pushes him as he walks past, and Mor giggles as he falters a bit and she falls in line with you and Feyre and you gag at her. “You smell like sex.”

She gasps, “no I do not,” before discreetly smelling her shirt.

“No, you don’t. Made you sniff.”

She rolls her eyes, copying your words in an exaggerated voice.

The six of you find a table, and you’re seated in the middle of the booth with Feyre and Rhys next to you. Azriel sits on the end of the other booth, and you make brief eye contact across the table, sending him a soft smile.

The waitress comes up to your table, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her black clothes making her eyes pop, her name tag reading ‘Steph’. She looked at all of you, but her eyes stopped on Azriel, her smile growing wider at the sight of him.

“Hi everybody, what can I get you all to drink?”

She takes your drinks orders, rubbing Azriel’s shoulder as she walks away. Cassian laughs at Azriel’s grimace, “I think she likes you, Azzy.”

“Shut up, Cass.”

Azriel looked to you as your friends kept talking, and you offered him a smile back. His face was hard to read, but his eyes looked so sad. You cock your head to the side, trying to figure out what the problem was, but he turned his head away.

Dinner goes by in a blur, the food was delicious, the six of you spent the evening joking around, except for Azriel, who spent most of the meal quiet. The waitress came by to check on you all several times, and her blatant efforts at flirting would have been amusing if it wasn’t completely obvious how uncomfortable it made Azriel. Each time she returned to your table, you would watch him tense up as she approached, her hands always finding their way to his shoulders. On her third stop at your table, she began calling him Muffin.

Rhys paid the check, handing over the receipt to Azriel.

“For you, Muffin.”

Azriel takes it, and from next to him you can see the phone number written beneath the total. His hands crumple it, discarding it before you all made it to the parking lot. He opens your door before heading to the other side of the car after you slide into your seat. You immediately pull out your phone, your texts with Azriel lighting up the backseat.

You: hi Muffin

Azriel: I’m so sorry

You: why? Did you do something?

Azriel: for the waitress?

You: did you do something with the waitress?

You: I did go to the bathroom, maybe you slipped out and made out with her?

You can hear Azriel furiously typing on his phone.

Azriel: no no no no

Azriel: I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t do that. I’m sorry she was hitting on me.

Azriel: I didn’t know what to do because I didn’t want to tell her I had a girlfriend

You: you have a girlfriend?

You: and you’ve been making out with me?

You: you dog

You peak over at him and his face is a deep red. You want to laugh but you feel a little bad about your teasing once you see his fingers shaking, having to backspace several times over misspelled words.

Azriel: I think so

Azriel: I didn’t mean to imply anything

You: so, you don’t have a girlfriend?

Azriel: I don’t know

Azriel: maybe?

You: do you want one?

You: a girlfriend, that is

Azriel: god yes

Azriel: but it has to be a specific girl

You: anyone in mind?

Azriel: I have my eye on someone

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Thanks for reading ❣️

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 11

Part 11:

Liana could easily say she would pay thousands of dollars to fly home on another day. But obviously she didn't have thousands of spare dollars, and the ones who bought her the plane tickets were her parents, along with Art's parents. Of course, seating them side by side the entire way from Stanford home.

Most of the semester she managed to avoid him. From time to time she would feel a scrutinizing gaze on her and knew it was Art, but every time she looked up to tell him to go fuck himself, their eyes didn't meet.

Now she has to spend several hours on the plane next to him, with both of them remembering the last time they flew together and she fell asleep on his shoulder. Both know she doesn’t plan on sleeping a single moment on this flight. There’s no way that in a moment of weakness, she will touch Art Donaldson by choice ever again.

Liana's leg shook uncontrollably, causing Art to sigh. He wanted to pull out one of her earbuds and tell her she could relax and that he wouldn’t bite her (no matter how much he wanted to). At this stage, he already thought it was ridiculous. Months have passed, and she acted as if he didn’t exist when they both knew that if they just talked about it, this horrible period would be behind them.

"I bought the snack you like with the jam." He couldn’t resist and pulled out one of her earbuds. His hand brushed her cheek for a second. If he were a stronger man, he wouldn’t have done it. But even if Art Donaldson is strong in most areas of life, he is very weak when it comes to Liana Levy.

"Can I have it back, please?" She asked with a coldness that never characterized her. Even before Stanford, when they were younger, and she tried to make him think she didn’t want any connection to him, she wasn’t cold. She would roll her eyes, go into tantrums, and distance herself as much as she could. She was never indifferent to him. He feared this indifference like a sheep fears a lion.

He put the earbud in her hand and left his hand on hers. She let him for a moment, and he closed his eyes, relishing the touch that lasted exactly three seconds until she recovered and moved away from him as much as she could. As if he might infect her with an incurable disease.

She took the snack he bought for her. Because if there’s one thing to say about Liana, it's that she can't give up her manners, and even when she’s furious with him to the core, she will do this small act to please him. It made his heart ache and kept him silent for the rest of the flight.

Again, like in a déjà vu feeling, her father was waiting for them, and they got into the car. "Liana, even if Mom acts coldly, it's not because she's angry. Okay?" Her father suddenly said, and Liana blushed. Art examined her as she shrank into her seat. "Can we talk about this at home?" She asked quietly, embarrassed by the direction of the conversation. "No, because Mom is at home, and Art is practically family. Right, kiddo?" Her father smiled at him through the mirror. God, how he loved her father and the small window he opened for him into her life. "Anyway, she almost completely fine with everything, and she even wanted to call a few days ago to ask how you were doing." Her father continued. Art didn’t know something had happened between Liana and her mother. "How long has it been like this?" He suddenly asked, his voice much more confident when her father was in the car because he knew Liana wouldn’t complicate the situation. Especially if she’s already in some kind of fight with her mother. "Since the day we talked about London, probably. The day Li flew back to Stanford." If her father could, he would give Art her entire life story at any given moment. He really loved Art as if he were the son he never had.

Art started connecting the dots; That’s the reason she came to him as soon as she landed that day. That’s the reason she seemed so shaken, and that’s the reason he thought she had been crying. She and her mother fought that day. A fight big enough not to speak again for months. And instead of supporting her and insisting on knowing what happened, Art made that day even worse.   The thought that Patrick was going to erase him from her life sharpened at that moment. He knows Patrick would’ve read the situation better. He knows Patrick wouldn’t have acted the way he did that night. Art knows Patrick is selfish in every aspect of his life, except for Liana. While Art happens to be the most selfish when it comes to Liana.

Despite Art’s grandmother ruining all her birthdays throughout her life, Liana loved her as if she were her own grandmother. That’s how she found herself in a car with Art Donaldson, on the way to her nursing home. Because she couldn’t leave the country without seeing her, and Art... well, he heard about it from his parents and said he would drive her because he also wanted to see his grandmother. And once again, only Liana knew that Art was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

"Are we really not going to talk the whole drive?" Art asked. He was dressed nicer than usual and smiling more than usual. On another day, Liana would have found his smile charming, but the last two weeks at home had been filled with silent fights between her and her mother, who probably wouldn’t forgive her in her lifetime. Right now, Liana wanted to wipe the smug smile off Art's face with a slap. But she wasn’t a violent person, so she simply turned up the radio and looked out the window. "Are you planning anything for your birthday?" Art asked, turning the radio back down to its original volume.

"Tell me, is this a mental illness? Are you bipolar or something?" she retorted, only causing his dimple to become more pronounced. "These are really concerning mood swings, I recommend you check it out and really shut up for the rest of this trip that I don’t even know why you joined. You can visit your grandma literally any other day and not with me like a psychopath." She mumbled the last part, causing Art to chuckle.

"Is it amusing to you, Arthur?" she asked, genuinely unable to read the person in front of her. A person whom just a few months ago her instincts betrayed her and made her think she knew all about him.

"It amuses me that you're trying so hard to hate me, Li, instead of taking a moment and talking to me." He said with feigned calmness. Art knew he was getting close to the point where Liana wouldn’t be able to resist and would just spill everything that was on her mind. He knew that from the moment it happened, it would be easier for him to deal with her. He knew that from the moment she started showing him she was angry at him and not ignoring him as if he didn’t exist, he would be able to turn things back.

Maybe not to Christmas when she was completely his, but before, when she looked at him and really saw him. When she cared for him because he was sick. When she came to some of his practices. When she was an inseparable part of his day. If she'll leave when she was at that point again, maybe Patrick won’t be able to take over what remained of her feelings for him. Maybe he'd have a chance to be in her life.

"You’re delusional." She muttered, turning up the radio again. "You look beautiful today. All this to impress my grandmother? You know she already loves you." He turned it down again, still amused. Liana sighed and rolled her eyes. This was going to be a very long drive.

"Jessica, you look amazing!" Liana said and hugged Art’s grandmother. His heart filled in a way he didn’t know it could. How did he never notice? How did he not notice how much attention Liana paid to such an important figure in his life? And so for a few hours, they sat and played cards and Scrabble with his grandmother and her two friends, and they listened to gossip about the seniors at the nursing home. Liana was so good. So attentive. So present.

"Lia," his grandmother started when the three of them were left alone, "at your wedding, I won't be there, but say a few words about me so that Art’s grandfather hears from his grave and gets jealous." She tossed it out casually. As if everything in this scenario was self-evident; It was clear to her they would get married, it was clear to her she wouldn't be there, and it was clear to her that her deceased husband would hear.

Art chuckled quietly, watching Liana and seeing how red she was. Even her ears had changed color.

"Don’t worry, Grandma. We’ll talk about you the whole event." If he had been less smug about everything, he would have shut up. But he couldn’t stop himself. He had to see if he could make her blush even more. If there was another button he could press to make her release what she had against him, so eventually he could get back into her life.

"When Art gets married, Jessica, you’ll be there and hold his hand. And at my wedding, you’ll be the guest of honor." Liana said, trying to steady her voice. Art chuckled. The shameless bastard just chuckled. The look Liana shot at him would have killed any sane person. But Art didn’t consider himself very sane at that moment, and certainly not someone who feared an angry look from Liana Levy.

"She’s dismissing you, Arthur. What are you doing about it?" His grandmother looked amused by Liana’s embarrassment and Art’s feigned indifference. "Don’t worry, Grandma, I’m on it," he smiled and hugged her.

"Lia, promise me you’ll keep calling me even when you’re far away and fall in love in Europe," Jessica looked at her with a penetrating gaze. "Yes, Lia, promise her." Art said, causing her to look at him for a moment. At this stage, he wasn’t sure he would survive the day, but it would probably be a sweet way to die. "Jessica. If until now I’ve called once a week, without missing, nothing will change that." Liana hugged her again, and they moved towards the car.

"You're calling my grandma once a week?" Art didn’t know this. Why didn’t anyone tell him this? He wanted to scream. Since they were kids, Art was sure he wanted to be much closer to Liana than she wanted to be. And that was fine, he got used to the piercing looks, sarcastic words, and eye rolls. Stanford changed that. Stanford made them equals. They saw each other in the same way. They wanted to be close in the same way. They were in each other’s space. For him, Liana's change happened at Stanford. The change happened this year. And then he discovered things like this. He discovered that Liana was calling his dying grandma once a week and helping her pass the time.

"Can you fucking answer me?!" He raised his voice. He didn’t want to raise his voice. But his patience for the silent treatment, his punishment, had run out. He felt like a little boy who was told to stand in the corner for four months and expected not to explode.

"Arthur-" she sounded bored when he cut her off. "Art." He said firmly and made a sharp U-turn on the highway, driving in the opposite direction of their home. "What the fuck?! Art! Where are you going?" she asked, a bit scared by his change in approach. He didn’t answer her and continued driving until he stopped in a place empty of people, surrounded by sand with no building in sight.

"Where are we, Art?!" she asked for the umpteenth time.

Art got out of the car and closed his eyes, breathing heavily, hearing her get out too. "I'm not joking with you. Take me home. Now!" She crossed her arms under her chest, and he approached her, invading her personal space.

Liana managed to see his eyes up close for the first time in months. They were filled with tears. Her initial instinct was to reach out a hand to his cheek, but she restrained herself from moving. Their breathing was heavy as they examined each other. Art's first tear fell on his cheek.

Every bone in Liana's body screamed at her to hug him. Every internal and external limb of hers burned with the need to ease his pain. But she knew he didn’t deserve it. She knew that whatever was happening now, Art deserved to feel it.

"Please, Liana." He mumbled. His voice was broken. This wasn’t how Art planned this day. He planned to dress nicely, drive to his grandma’s, remind Liana of all the things he was good at. Remind her that he was much more kind than he was mean. Instead, he was crying. Instead, he was looking at her and realizing that in a few days she would leave, and maybe he would never feel the same way for anyone else. Maybe he didn’t want to feel all these emotions for anyone else. Maybe only with Liana could he feel so much.

Art slowly dropped to his knees. Not taking his eyes off Liana. Her breathing became even heavier, and her eyes filled with tears too. She had never seen such a thing. A person willing in the middle of the street to drop to their knees before another person, while in tears.

"Art, get up..." she mumbled, wanting to look around to see that no one was coming, but afraid to take her eyes off the scene before her. Her instinct won this time, and she placed both her hands on the sides of his face, wiping away the endless tears, while Art, like an addict to the feeling, leaned into the warm and gentle touch with his eyes closed.

"Do you even know what you did to me?" she asked, and he opened his eyes, looking at her with longing. With a desire to absorb everything she had to say to him. "You ruined me, Art Donaldson. You broke me." She said, and he stood up slowly. "I'm sorr-" he started, and her hand found his cheek with force. Liana wasn’t a violent person. Liana is not a violent person. "You have no right to ask for forgiveness." She stated. "That was the first time I slept with someone, Art." Her voice sounded like the cry of a wounded animal. "Did you think about what such a formative experience would do to my sex life? Did you think about the trust issues I would have? That I would never be able to trust anyone like I trusted you?" She cried so hard she couldn’t resist his embrace while his crying intensified.

"I will never be able to behave the way I behaved with you. You used me to get back at Patrick. You used me to win a competition only you participated in." She pushed him a bit away from her, and they stood facing each other again, both trying to breathe. After a few minutes of this, silence and piercing looks, Art dropped to his knees again, and Liana looked everywhere but at him. With the last of her strength, she tried to resist the magnetic pull Art Donaldson has on her. "Li, look at me." His broken voice commanded her without commanding, he couldn’t command anything for anyone. He was on his knees for her. "You're pathetic." She said. Without blinking. She never talked like that to anyone. All he could do was nod and hug her leg while she looked up at the sky, again with tears in her eyes, running a finger through one of his curls. "I will be good. I promise." He said what he demanded from her every time they were intimate with each other. Their gazes crossed once more, "I will be good even when you’re not here. I will be good for you."

HEYYYYYYYYY How are we doing with that gap of 2 days? I hope it was worth the wait. I hope that you're not getting tired of this story yet 'cause I'm still obsessed with them all, but I don't want you guys to feel like I'm dragging the entire thing. Patrick and Liana are going to London in the next part. Who's excited??? You're always welcome to the comments or the ask box and have a chat with me. also, taglist is open if you want :)

taglist: @marley1773 @ruyaas-world @apolloscastellan @primlovesdilfs @fangirl-kimora @serenadingtigers @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @ganana @yoitsme-04 @swetearss

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for breaking up with a man to immediately date a woman?👩‍❤️‍👩

So a couple of years ago I (at the time 25F) identified as bisexual and ace. I had dated before, but it was all long distance relationships, and all men. At this point, I was single, and while in university, I met a guy (Jake, 26M) and he confessed he was into me. I only really thought of Jake as a friend, but I agreed we could date- because I've always confused platonic/romantic feelings, and foolishly thought I could probably "grow into" the relationship, like my previous ones. Jake is smart, friendly, very sweet and supportive, thoughtful, I didn't see why we couldn't date! But of course, as relationships do, suddenly he becomes more physical, more affectionate with me- which duh, we're dating, I should've expected this- but it blindsided me.

I would very frequently communicate to him what I was comfortable/uncomfortable with, and he'd be okay backing off and taking things more slowly, but would occasionally gently push my boundaries. I'd have to remind him that I wasn't comfortable, and he'd back off and would tell me it's okay- but I don't think he meant it. I think he was hoping I would "get over" these uncomfortable feelings and give him what he wants, eventually. It got to a point I was uncomfortable even being alone with him, because I knew he'd start acting this way. I was deeply appreciative of his patience, since I know I was being weird about our relationship.

While this is happening, I was venting to my dear friend Mary (25F) about how I felt terrible, how I felt stuck, and Mary would support me, hear me out, and comfort me. I had also met Mary in university, and Jake and Mary knew each other and were also friends. We were all a part of the same friend group- but I only would talk to Mary about what was going on between me and Jake.

A few months of this passes, and it occurs to me that I had a crush on Mary. A real, actual, true crush. One I'd never felt before in any of my other relationships- I had a connection with her, she and I understood each other. One night, we jokingly both kind of confessed to each other at the same time. It was then that it all clicked for me- I'm not bi… I'm a lesbian. It's why I've felt that I've had to "grow into" my previous relationships with men. I never truly was attracted to them, and just thought that was how all relationships were. Mary was the first person I actually felt like I could be myself.

Anyway- Mary knew about Jake obviously, and I told her up front that I'd need time to break up with him. She understood completely. I broke up with him the next day or so in person, quietly, in private. I didn't tell him about Mary, nor about me realizing that I'm a lesbian. I just said that I didn't think we could work out- that he wants more than I could give, and that I wasn't good for him, he deserved someone better. He understood, but he was very upset. And angry. He threatened me with a "If you date anybody in our group- we won't be friends anymore." and stormed off. I cried, but figured I deserved it. He truly cared about me, and I feel like I lied to him through our whole relationship- even if I didn't realize it.

Mary and I dated in secret shortly after, to prevent Jake from finding out and hating the both of us and causing turmoil in our group. He went around and told all of our male friends to leave me alone and not to touch me, so I'm pretty sure he never suspected Mary. I only found out about this because one of said other male friends approached me and told me what Jake had said- Jake never made this apparent to me.

But me and Mary? I've never been happier. We cuddle, we kiss- we do everything you'd expect in a relationship, and I'm never uncomfortable. And when I AM uncomfortable, Mary leaves it alone. She never pushes my boundaries unless I try something on my own terms or we talk about it first. She's a dream come true, and she's beautiful and I love her.

Cut to years later- me and Mary have been together for 10 years now. We've both graduated university, we live together, and we're soon to be married. We're still very close with our friend group- we regularly meet up for movie nights, dinner outings and dnd sessions. Jake's still one of our best friends, and he knows that we're dating, now. I've never addressed me and Mary to Jake directly, so I've never known how he's felt about us.

This is years after the fact, of course, and Jake is still a wonderful friend and (seemingly) has moved on/doesn't care about me and Mary. But I'm occasionally haunted by this mess that I caused, and I feel like I was terrible to Jake. So, Tumblr, I leave you all to judge me. Was I the asshole?

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 8: late

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool. '

---

You meet the girl of steel, though you've yet to get closer to her. Luckily, you have friends around the corner like Yuuji— and Megumi, too, but it's a little different with him.

word count: ~7k; tws: none for now :)!!

short a/n: hi i’m sorry i was away for so long!! life got a little busy and this chapter took a while to write. I will preface it by saying that this one is quite boring, though, but the chapters to look forward to a bit more are the two next ones!! lots will happen there :). thank you for your patience and i’m so sorry again!

25-6-2018 

By the time you’re back in Jujutsu High’s campus, night time has already shed its shadow against the world, black over Tokyo's fulgid skyscrapers like a veil, the sky devoid of any stars. Tokyo is a metropolis of glittery, coruscant lights that litter the land, with parks and crepe shops and cafes galore. And oh, how you love it every time you come back, from its 90s movie mood to its futuristic innovations. 

Dr Ieiri really had planned everything, as if she’d always expected you to be here: she’d got you a room near her office, even helped to clean some of it up, and promised you that you’d still be merely a room away from the one other female student currently in the school. Once the last first year— a girl— arrived, she’d be staying right next to you. 

“So? How long do you think you’ll be staying?” Dr Ieiri asks, “I know you’re planning on just giving someone something, but you’re going to be here for much longer, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Alright, but I’ll give you a heads up first. Staying here and operating as an actual sorcerer here, or a doctor for sorcerers like me or your father— it’s a far cry from the last time you were there. I won’t force you to help me when I need it, but you’re still going to be demanded of at almost all times, and I know you’d be the type of person to try to save people as much as you can. You have to be ready for that— the strain and all.” 

So she knew what you wanted better than you did. “I am.” You’ll ask that of your father later, to tell Sugisawa Third that you’re transferring to a religious school in Tokyo. They knew too little of you to think of whether you were religious or not anyway. 

“I’ll help you so you can still take things easy, okay?” 

“...okay. Thank you, doctor.” 

26-6-2018 

Dr Ieiri smokes less than you thought. Really, the night that you first met her was the first time she’d smoked again in five years, according to her. She attributed it to nostalgia and reminiscing on old memories before asking you to just go to bed— it was almost two in the morning. But you thought it made sense that the ones who were made to heal were the ones who mourned what was unhealed the most; you weren’t the only one stuck playing long-gone memories like a panoramic film on loop, a permanent backdrop in your mind. 

“You need to get a good night’s rest,” she’d said, but now you’re walking down the desolate hallways again. It’s fine— if there’s one thing about actually going against your parents for the first time instead of solely refuting them verbally in heated, mangled arguments, it’s that it’s insanely liberating. Before this, you’d have never even considered it an option, yet now it suddenly exists— that autonomy; suddenly, there isn’t a need to follow whatever order you’ve been given. And yes, you do respect Dr Ieiri and probably everyone else in your life, but you can choose not to abide by what they tell you just because you don’t want to— you decide it. No justifications, no reasons or polemics. Just pure responsibility and autonomy of yourself. You can’t fathom now, why you’d been scared of it before, or whether you’d even realised you were. It still feels unfamiliar, like a thrill, like adrenaline from treading on a tightrope above pits of deep, all-encompassing water, but in a week or so you’re going to have become used to it. 

From your room, if you walked all the way to the end of the hallway, you’d see the first year boys’ dorms. You don’t take the letter with you— that’s a bridge to either burn or cross another time, when you’re not right about to sleep. 

Careful to make as little sound as possible, you knock the door, hoping he’s awake. 

You hear his groggy steps as he seems to trudge himself along, before the door opens with a creaky whine. “—it’s one in the morning,” he frowns, “What do you want—” 

“Hi, Megumi.” 

He closes the door. You wait outside for a moment. 

Megumi opens the door again. 

“...I should’ve told you I was here, actually,” you say. 

“It’s one in the morning,” he goes, “Why aren’t…” he blinks his eyes awake a little, groaning as he rubs his temples, “Why aren’t you asleep? —no, why are you even here, really…” 

You’re going to regret your replies come morning, probably; they’ll sound stupid by then. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but that doesn’t really bother you. “I’m sorry. It’s just, um, I actually wanted to give you something, I mean— I’ll give it to you tomorrow or one of these days, but I was just bored. I just got here, and I’m just going to help Dr Ieiri with some things, um. …sorry, did I wake you? You should rest, actually, it helps your injuries heal faster; sorry for waking you—” 

“—no, not… not really. Don’t worry about that,” he states, “But you should still go to sleep anyway. It’s late.” 

“I can’t sleep.” 

He opens the door and heads inside. An invitation for you to enter, it seems, because he turns and waits for you, the door ajar as you hesitate in front of it. 

You come in. 

His dorm room seems quite similar to the one in his old home, actually, the only difference being how his room now is only just a little larger than the one you were in at fourteen. (You wonder what happened to it, whether Tsumiki still lies on her bed with her phone for a maximum of five minutes at the same time every day.) The two of you sit on the foot of the bed, the lack of light unquestioned. Just like things were two years ago. With the lights outside his window, the bustling city still abuzz with their izakayas and night clubs, your eyes can trace over an outline of his sharp face and spiky hair.  

“How long will you be staying?” 

“Quite a while, I think.” 

“...which is?” 

“Probably more than a week.” 

“Wh— then what about school?” 

“Oh, I kind of, um… threw it away. I don’t know, um. My parents knew I’d be here for a long time. I think I’m just going to transfer here. I’ll leave it all behind that way.” 

He sighs, “I know, but that… that just sounds like a thoughtless decision.” 

“The only part of it that I put thought into was whether I’d run away and live or stay and rot there. So when Dr Ieiri gave me a chance I just took it. And I’ll keep taking what she gives me. If not, then… I’ll be stuck dwelling on it for the rest of my life, I think.” For so long, you’d been trying not to do so; to not take that life-determining chance, to decide to dwell yearningly instead of live, and to appease your parents so at least your mother would have that sliver of assurance, but not anymore. They wouldn’t be in your life forever. 

“So you’re doing this just so you won’t live a life of regret? You’re doing this just for yourself?” 

“It’s the same thing as doing this so that I can help people. It’s two sides of the same coin. Not everyone has what I do.” 

“You sound like Itadori,” he says. The way he does so makes your chest ache slightly and you don’t know why. But nobody is as selfless or as much of an unstoppable force as Yuuji is. Nobody, ever. You turn your eyes away from him even if he can’t see you do so in the dark. 

“But Yuuji takes that to the extreme, I’m…pretty sure. I’m just trying to do what I can because I can.” 

You move your right hand to the side, fiddling with yourself, empty hands trying to find something to do. It bumps into something— something warm and soft. Skin. 

With imaginary chills running along your body, you feel Megumi’s left pinky finger loop itself around yours. He clears his throat, breaking the silence, and you look at him again, at the vague shadow before you. “—that’s…that’s my hand.” 

“Oh. Ah, okay,” you say. It feels right this way— comfortable, nervous, jumbled, calm— 

Your hands move slowly, your fingers trying to steady it like steering around an old, shaky wooden boat with only a paddle, set and ready to embark on a journey. Quivering, you pull your right pinky finger away before your hand is fully enveloped under the hold of his. The heat from his palm on the back of your hand transfers itself right to your face and neck. It’s summer, but it feels cold and hot in the best way possible. “Do… do you want me to let go? Do you want me to stop?” 

“...no. I don’t think so. Do you?” 

“No. I want to stay.” 

“Okay. Me too.” 

He does. 

In the silence you sit up, biting your bottom lip, your nerves like jelly and your brain probably fried if not for the lack of sleep. For a moment you decide to look at him, and you see him swifty turn his head away from you as soon as you do so. 

(—so he’d been looking at you?) 

What wakes you up is the sunrise, an early morning. It’s been embedded into your brain to wake up at seven sharp no matter how late you slept. 

He’s sleeping, his face down, water in his eyelashes— you suppose that’s why he has such crystalline eyes, viridian ones that remind you of summer and life and protection. Jade and grass. Shifting into rather uncomfortable positions so as to not wake him, you pull yourself away. 

His hand still remains snug over yours. 

‘Just friends’ don’t do things like this, you think. But at the same time, ‘just friends’ don’t fight curses or heal those who do so, and ‘just friends’ don’t have a third person they had better relationships with before they broke apart while constantly thinking of each other and decided to at the very least become active figures in each others’ lives again. 

This is scary, moving all too quickly. You’re being grabbed by the waist and thrust into a paraglider; you’re flying in the vast expanse of a boundless, unnavigable sky, manning a paramotor with no previous warning or idea of how to do so. 

But he's very beautiful like this. Hair so black it’s blue, eyelashes woven of silk, a jaw so sharp yet so smooth. The sun greeting the sky as it ejects itself from the inky-hued horizon. You don’t know if there’s a creator, or if there’s a god— you’ve heard of Christianity and many other kinds of faith, though you’d never really dabbled in any of them. But you’d definitely thank someone like that, because scenes like these are proof that someone like that exists, and that that someone is an artist, a masterful artist. So he must have created you and given you an apt appreciation for beauty and art, too, as well as someone like Megumi who was beauty and art. 

‘Just friends’ don’t think like that. 

But you still will anyway. You can allow yourself that. 

He makes a tired little noise as he wakes up, taking in a deep inhale. “...did we really—” 

“Yeah. Um. —wait! I should, um, probably brush my teeth first, my breath probably smells horrible right now, sorry—” 

“Oh. No, it’s fine, I should too—” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll go back to my room too; I don’t want doctor suspecting anything, ah—” 

“Oh— okay,” he releases his hand. 

It’s strange to have things like these— little snippets and moments that remind you to just have fun and be a kid. For years— maybe your whole adolescent experience so far— every day hailed with it a new matter to tend to and worry about, and every day you subconsciously wondered if you were wasting your life away, doing nothing but fantasise of a faraway fancy in which you could use the only potential you had for something. 

But who knew that it was so simple, yet so profound: that the excitement and memories that you yearned for could be obtained just from wanting to do so? That if you wanted to do something, you could just up and do it? 

You like it, though. The paralysing, dizzying feeling of it all, breaths caught in your throat and you can’t say anything without stuttering. The last time you’d felt it, it was Yuuji: you’d had yourself emotionally constipated to the point you choked it all up within you, toned things down and muted the intensity of it all before you even felt it. But it was fun then, and now this is much better. It would seem delusional to hope for anything else. There’s not much of a fantasy for you to look to and put yourself into a deluge of daydreams about, but for once you want to feel something without the implications. That must be what being a teenager is like— you’d seen it time and time again in movies, with cliques and girlfriends and gossip sessions, but you’d never had the luxury to have them yourself and be a girl like that. So this must be what it’s like, at least a semblance of it, with its fun and frivolities and feelings straight from familiar flicks. 

Not quite the time to put a name to it just yet, but it’s fun. At least, you can do it a little longer. It feels like a breath of fresh air after chaining yourself down like an anchor to the seabed. 

You rush to the door. “I’ll see you later? For breakfast,” you try to smile as calmly as you can while you turn back to look at him again. 

Thank goodness Dr Ieiri wakes up at eight whenever there isn't much work for her to tend to. 

You set a mission for yourself: hold Megumi’s hand again at least once in your high school career. 

Now that’s how to live without regrets, be a teenager, and have fun. 

Are you being delusional? 

You don’t know what Fushiguro Megumi is to you now, because ‘friend’ doesn’t sum it up well enough, ‘stranger’ doesn’t do the two of you your deserved justice, classmates isn’t the actual term, and ‘boyfriend’ is way too far from the truth. 

So to have dreams like that; thoughts like that, you think as you brush your teeth, you’re probably making a fool of yourself again. 

There’s something going on here and you don’t know what it is. And even if you’d told yourself you were fine with it, you don’t know how long everything else will be. 

It makes you feel like an idiot. 

But in your head you're filled with thoughts and, for a lack of a better term, hindrances. Did he sleep well? Do friends do that? Or was it just the two of you who’d do that? Was there even any meaning behind it all, any implications on your relationship due to this? This way you’d drive yourself insane before you could even get to breakfast. 

Did he like it, though? Could he have liked it, the sight of you sleeping next to him? Of vulnerability? No, he couldn’t, right? Yet, if he did, then—

You needed to calm down. 

(What about the letter?)

Maybe this was adrenaline: you’d run and take a few bites of breakfast before anyone else did, heading back to your room after you had done so. This way, nobody would see you. (You weren’t calm enough to do this, what made you think, in your sleep-deprived mind, that you’d be mature enough to handle this the next morning?) 

Just as you’re planning strategies to spend the whole day holed up in your room and avoid contact with anyone for it all, there’s a knock on your door. 

“Took so much to talk to the dad alone—” he says, his voice muffled as he speaks to someone else, “I could never stand that old geezer! If he’s like that I’m glad I never had to know how much worse his wife is.” 

It’s Gojo, you can tell. There’s a slight mocking tone in the way he does everything, in the way he says and laughs about the most out-of-pocket shit ever— this is one of those times, because you can almost hear what you think is a feral maniac with the voice of an idol laughing like a loon as he bangs against your door as if he’s trying to kill it. 

“You probably shouldn’t hit it so hard.” Dr Ieiri’s voice. 

You open the door. “Yes?” 

“He’s saying that you should come as backup, and I thought it would help you be put on the spot. It’ll teach you how to operate with clarity as you work,” Dr Ieiri explains. 

“Besides, you won’t even need to help that much. It’s just that this way, you’ll be able to do so if it’s needed while we’re here to guide you. Think of a baby taking its first steps with the help of its parents. If it gets dangerous for them, I’ll step in and you can heal them, but if you can’t heal them enough, we’ll just bring them back to Shoko,” Gojo cheerfully adds. Dr Ieiri nods along with him. 

“Ah… okay.” Your first “actual” lesson as an “apprentice”, then. 

“But first, you should change,” Gojo tells you, handing you a set of clothes, “Here. It’s a spare standard uniform that we keep for special cases. Now you can match with Megumi!” 

Your eyes widen, unsure of whether to laugh nervously or slap him or dash in the opposite direction— shawty a runner, she a track star.  

“I’m so sorry that he’s like this,” Dr Ieiri goes. Joking or not, she’s right. You’re sorry she’s dealt with him for so long, too. 

“...thanks.” 

“Don’t bully my student, Satoru,” Dr Ieiri orders, and you kind of like the sound of your new title. 

You wonder how Gojo got used to teleporting with his cursed technique, but you suppose that it comes with the innate ability to switch from one scene to another so rapidly without feeling at least a little sick— like how the shift from the quiet of the dormitories to the bustle outside of Harajuku has you feeling right now. The brightness of the summer sunlight feels like an intrusion as Gojo sets you down and you open your eyes again. 

“Wow.” 

“Oh, it’s [Name]!” 

Megumi looks away. He’s probably embarrassed to hell and back right now— angry at you, even, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore; you couldn’t even think. You try to let the heat rising up to your face subside without fanning it, steadying yourself beside Gojo, swearing that you’d like to be invisible just this once. 

“Sorry for the wait! I had to take up a call. I brought [Name] over here for backup too to get a grasp of the on-field experience.” Gojo says, waving at them, “Oh! Your uniform made it in time.” 

“Yeah! It fits great! Though I noticed it’s slightly different from Fushiguro’s. Mine has got a hood.”

It does fit him, you think, as you look at Yuuji. It looks better on him than it did when he sent you pictures of it over text. It’s easier to look at him now than Megumi. 

“That’s because the uniforms can be customised upon request.”

“Huh?” Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “But I never put in any requests.” 

“You’re right!” Gojo smiles, “I was the one who put in the custom order.” 

“Huh… oh. Well, cool!” 

“Be careful,” Megumi goes, “Gojo has a habit of doing that kind of stuff. So why are we meeting up here in Harajuku?” 

“Because,” Gojo clarifies, “That’s what she asked for.” 

“Oh!” Yuuji starts as the four of you walk out of the station, “You’re wearing the uniform too, [Name]. Looking good!” 

“Really? Thanks. I mean, I like the skirt. The uniform makes me feel like a fancy princess in a fancy school or something, but the skirt looks a little like it belongs to an elegant office lady.” 

“Uh, yeah,” Megumi follows, “You… look good. In the uniform, I mean.” 

You force out a laugh— “Haha, uh… you too. I mean, everyone would look good with these uniforms, right?” Wow… 

“...I guess so,” Megumi replies, looking in the other direction. 

If you see Gojo stifling his laughter in front of you, no you don’t. 

“We- we should get popcorn. I read online that said you could get really tasty popcorn at one of the shops in Takeshita Street.” 

“Yay, popcorn!” Yuuji exclaims, “I want some!” 

“Sure,” Gojo chuckles, “The shop’s pretty near here anyway. This is your guys’ first time in Harajuku, right, [Name] and Yuuji?” 

“Ah… yeah, and now that I think about it, Yuuji had never been out of Sendai until recently, actually. Right?” 

“Yeah, but I thought you’d have been to Harajuku before.” 

“I mean, I used to live in Tokyo, but I didn’t really move around. I think the most famous place I’ve been to is Shinjuku-Gyoen. Really pretty garden…” 

“Oh… then we should go around Tokyo one of these days!” 

“Yeah,” you smile, “We should! But you could spend a whole week exploring and you still wouldn’t see all of it,” you remark, “It’s a good idea, though.” 

“Fushiguro, wanna come along?” 

“Uh, sure…” Megumi goes, avoiding eye contact with you. You do the same. 

“...hey, is everything okay between the two of you? How come you’re so shy with each other all of a sudden?” 

“H-huh? Ah, no, no, it’s okay.” 

“You said ‘no’ twice. You usually only repeat words like that when you’re really worried about something,” Yuuji says. Curse his affinity for knowing you. 

“But it’s fine, though. Don’t worry.” 

“Uh… yeah. What [Name] said.” 

“You sure?” Yuuji asks again, a bit concerned. “Okay, then.” 

The rest of the walk mostly goes in silence— Yuuji excitedly heads for things to buy, from funky accessories to buckets of snacks. By the time it’s over and all of you are near the 400 yen corner, he’s decked out in all the Tokyo tourist gear, there’s popcorn in his hands, and sunglasses with frames spelling out “ROOK” on his face. (Maybe because he’s a rookie?)

There’s a well-dressed girl in front of you— you wonder if it’s her, but she isn’t wearing the uniform, so it probably isn’t— and a man most likely bald and wearing a wig with his black-and-white business suit. “Well, hello, there!” the man says to her, “Are you on the clock right now?” 

“No, not right now,” she replies. 

“That’s great! You see, I’m looking for potential models. That’s what I do! Would you be interested?” 

He’s scouting for models? 

There’s a sliver of hope in you that he looks at you next and asks you that question. You’re sure it isn’t going to happen, but you suppose you would like being told you were pretty by having a job associated with people who were— there was no chance, though. In Tokyo, the vast metropolis that it is, there are so many with better looks; better faces, prettier hair, nicer bodies— or people who dress better, walk more confidently; people who are adequate in all the ways you aren’t. 

The thought slightly shocks you, in reality— you haven’t thought about how you may not be able to compare with others since the time when you really did realise that Yuuji would never like you (not in that way, at least, and it still hurts to think about it). You never thought you’d feel that way again, and you never thought you would have to be surprised by such thoughts that had been brought in by something akin to envy or jealousy. 

“I’m in a hurry right now,” the girl denies. 

At least she probably knows just how beautiful she is. 

“Hey, you!” another girl calls. This one is just as beautiful— prettier than you, with brown (probably dyed) hair, and pretty brown eyes to match. She’s wearing the same uniform as you save for some titivations at the skirt, and she looks way better in it than you do. “What about me?” she asks, pointing at herself, “For that modelling gig. Hey, I’m asking what you think about me.” 

She’s so confident, it’s so cool… 

“Oh, well uh… I’m in a hurry at the moment,” the man says. Little bitch boy. 

“What the hell?” she asks, holding the man by the collar, “Don’t run, come out and say what you think!” 

“Wait, she’s the one we have to go and talk to? This is real embarrassing,” Yuuji says. 

Megumi mutters under his breath, “Yeah? So are you.” 

“I think she’s an icon,” you express. 

Gojo waves at her, amused, “Hey, we’re over here!” 

The girl slams the locker door shut after she places her backpack— a really tiny, cute pink one— into its pit of shopping bags. Probably to buy pretty clothes. She’d look really good in them. 

“Right, so now we have our three students! Oh— [Name] here isn’t really a student, by the way, I’ll explain later,” Gojo informs the pretty girl, “I’d like you to meet—” 

“Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.” 

She’s so cool.

Oh, she’s judging them, you think as she stares at the boys. 

“I’m Itadori Yuuji. I’m from Sendai!” 

“Fushiguro Megumi.” 

“Ugh,” she lets out, “This is what I get to work with? Great, just my luck.” 

“She took one look and sighed— that can’t be good,” Yuuji says. 

“Are we going somewhere from here?” Megumi asks. 

“Well, we do have all three—” 

“All four—” Megumi interjects. 

“Ack— no, no, Megumi, I’m not a student, hold on—” You don’t want to be something other than a ghost, not right now, because then you’ll have to deal with whatever you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours that you’d rather beat around the bush and eventually forget about than anything. 

“Okay, we do have all four of you together, and since three of you kids are from the countryside, that means…” he pauses for effect— were you really “from” the countryside, though, if you’d moved around so much that you had no sure idea where your roots were? “...we’re going to Tokyo!” 

You and Megumi watch as Kugisaki and Yuuji chant the city name over and over in unison before arguing over where to head to. But this is Gojo— so there may be a catch somewhere that you just haven’t found yet. 

Megumi looks as annoyed as ever, much like the expression his younger self used to have when his eyebrows crinkled in exasperation from your antics. 

“If you quiet down, I’ll announce our destination,” Gojo begins, and the newly formed pair quiet down, “Roppongi!” 

It’s probably just something like an abandoned building in Roppongi, not Roppongi in all of its glamour itself. 

It’s an abandoned building in Roppongi. 

Gojo explains the situation after Kugisaki and Yuuji’s outrage— “There’s a big cemetery nearby. That, plus an abandoned building, and you’ve got a curse.” 

Kugisaki stops her raging when she finds out that Yuuji is still learning about how curses are formed. “Wait, hold up here. He didn’t even know that yet?” 

“To be honest…” Megumi starts to explain. 

She looks horrified after. 

(If you could, though, if you were anything other than a ghost right now— you’d tell her of how selfless and brave Yuuji is, of how incredible he is that he stopped at nothing to help his friends. You’d tell her that this was what made liking him as easy as breathing air.) 

Before the two of them head into the building, Gojo hands Yuuji a cursed tool— you’d never actually seen one before. You wonder if he’ll be able to wield it well enough: you know he has it covered, but you’re still worried about him anyway. (You always are.) 

And he gives Yuuji a challenge, too, though it’s more like an ultimatum. “Don’t let Sukuna out, okay?” 

Soon the three of you sit down near the building— there’s a block of concrete that you wonder why it was placed there for, and Gojo gestures for Megumi and you to sit down there. 

“Hey, you should be sitting here. I’m fine with standing.” 

“Nah, just take a seat. I’ve got to be on standby anyway.” 

“But you’re the teacher. You should get a better seat. And I’m not injured like Megumi, so I’m fine with standing.” 

“Pft,” he snorts, “You think I actually care about that sort of stuff?” 

You pause. “I… guess not. Thank you. Sorry again.” 

Gojo squats down instead, only his feet on the floor. “See? It’s better this way. Just you and Megumi in your own little world—”

“—please stop.” 

Megumi turns away from you again in embarrassment. 

“Anyway…ah, Kugisaki is really pretty,” you state, “And she seems really strong. I’m still worried, though. What if the curse inside is stronger than anticipated…” 

“...I think I’ll go in too,” Megumi says, “Someone needs to keep an eye on Itadori, right?” 

“You should rest and let your injuries heal, though. I mean, I could help you with that, but I’m supposed to wait for their injuries first—” 

“Well, the one we’re testing this time is Nobara,” Gojo highlights, “That Yuuji… he’s got some screws loose: he’s fearless— these things take the form of terrifying creatures who try to kill him, yet the guy has no hesitation at all. And he doesn’t have the familiarity with curses that you have. We’re talking about a boy who used to live a normal high school life. By now you’ve seen plenty of sorcerers and you’ve seen them give up because they couldn’t conquer their fear or disgust, right?” he explains to Megumi. 

He’s right, though. For someone who had no idea what curses were just a bit more than a week ago, it’s amazing how he can acclimatise himself to such a new life so quickly. When you’d first learned about curses and jujutsu sorcerers, the only reason your life stayed that way was because actually becoming a victim of it seemed like merely a faraway hypothetical, something that couldn’t affect you— up until your father revealed his cursed technique and you exorcised that curse in the store a while after. That was when the ghastly figure of reality that was jujutsu society reared its head and pricked you with its cold finger. As happy as you were after you’d exorcised it, you could feel that empty pit forming in your gut— you did it, thank goodness, but what now? And as your heart raced while you helped that lady, you didn’t address it. 

You supposed the benefit of your position was not having to at all. 

“Hasn’t Kugisaki already dealt with curses before, though?” 

“As we know, curses are born from human minds, so their strength in numbers grows in proportion to the population,” Gojo teaches, “Do you think Nobara understands? Tokyo curses are of a different level than those in the countryside.” 

The curse you handled before would be on the weaker side, then. “In what way?” you ask. 

“Their cunning— monsters that have gained wisdom will force cruel choices upon you where the weight of human life hangs in the balance. [Name], when you fought that curse last time, did it seem to be sentient or self-aware?” 

“...I mean, I guess it seemed like it couldn’t really see the other person there. It was just me and the lady who worked there, so… no.” 

“Well, to put it into perspective, [Name], the curse, had it been one from the city instead, could have done something like take the lady hostage to sort of threaten you and keep itself at large. So this test is to see if Nobara is crazy enough.” 

It wouldn’t matter, though— you were the healer, the medic, the doctor. Whatever level of martial prowess you were supposed to have didn’t concern you. 

“And speaking of tests, [Name]…” Gojo begins, “One of these days, you’ll have to get one too. As someone about to take Shoko’s role, this is your first test as a medic— every mission you get sent to will be a test in that aspect. But as a sorcerer…” 

“Hey. I’m not an actual sorcerer, though, remember? And you should speak with Dr Ieiri first if you want me to expel curses like one and all.” 

“Well, I didn’t speak to Dr Ieiri. I spoke to your dear old dad!” 

“What?” 

“Took a lot of convincing, but—”

“He didn’t tell me anything about this. I’m sorry— I know you just treated me well and gave me a better seat, but why didn’t you think to ask me first? It’s not like I ever really wanted to fight, either. And they were on-board with that. It’s just— why would you change that?” 

Megumi sighs exasperatedly, “Seriously, what is this?” 

“Yeah! What is this, Gojo?” 

“Okay, okay: I’ll share a secret with the two of you, then. You’ve always been tied together, so there’s no use in me telling either of you just to not tell the rest. Keep it between yourselves, okay? Think of it as another part of your shared bond,” Gojo says. 

You purse your lip. (Your mother did that a lot. There is nothing you can do that your parents are not entwined in even now; the roots of them have been planted so deeply into your life, ingrained so deeply into your psyche.) “Look, I just want you to answer me, Gojo. Why did you do it?” Why ruin a consensus that took years of compromise and arguments to settle on? 

“...because you can. I mean, it’s your philosophy to be like that, right? If you have the ability to help someone, do it.” 

“I mean, in essence, yeah, but what kind of point are you trying to make here?” 

“That I think with that mindset you’d make a pretty good teacher. You know,” he sighs with a faux furtiveness, “Your father had that same mindset, with his strength and his intelligence and his kindness, and he was one of the best teachers you could ever have. He wasn’t an actual teacher, but… he was the kind of geezer who people thought were wise and would seek guidance from. A great guy, actually. But to cut to the chase, what I’m saying is that I want you to be a sorcerer who knows how to fight, too, instead of just the doctor in the corner that you believe will be the peak of your potential. I think you can do better.” 

“So? I mean, as bad as it sounds, I don’t want to.” 

“That’s why I just want you to try. I want you to have that test and become an actual student here. Shoko doesn’t mind you not becoming one because she thinks they won’t send you on missions if you’re considered ‘too valuable’ by the higher-ups. But I want you to become my student— I’ll give you time to think about it, but look at this way: you have abilities that exceed what you think of yourself— imagine how it sounded to other sorcerers when they heard of you back then, a thirteen-year-old with a late-blooming cursed technique grasping control of it instantly and defeating a grade two curse, even healing the person left behind. Face it: you’re technically a prodigy. The only thing that separates you from others like you is your humanity that troubles you with a reluctance to believe you can actually do anything.” 

Harsh. “...I’ll think about it. But why spring it up on me now?” 

“Maybe you know too little. O-kay, children, listen carefully. Little [Name]’s father would be a relatively famous sorcerer just because of his partial position as a healer, right? For all your life, you were sheltered and protected by your parents who never wanted you to enter into the jujutsu world. I even spoke to your mother herself, remember? Told her that you’d probably be a window but that you could still use cursed energy. You hadn’t shown signs of a cursed technique yet, but we hadn’t considered that it was because prior to that you never had to use it— the countryside areas you grew up in were practically devoid of any curses that your mother and father wouldn’t have already killed themselves. So, with your father’s quote-en-quote ‘fame’, what makes you think that people wouldn’t have wanted you as a jujutsu sorcerer from the start?” 

Just like that the worlds in your head have had worlds of meanings added to them. 

“So? What do you think, [Name]?” 

You turn to Megumi. When you’re backed out into a corner, your eyes scrambling for a place to put them, you turn to Megumi. 

His hand moves hesitantly to your shoulder, ghosting over it like a teapot over a china cup. “...whatever it is, you’ll do well. Gojo just likes to pull stuff like this.” 

It feels warm. You won’t be in trouble if you don’t run away from this. It’s nice. It’s calm, his steady hand on your shoulder as your heart feels like it’s about to take a nosedive. “...thanks.” 

“Give me some time, Gojo.” 

Yuuji and Kugisaki come back with a little boy in tow. 

“Ah— you’re back!” 

“No injuries, [Name]! We’re all scratch-free! The kid has a bruise on his knee, though.” 

“Oh. Can I see it, please?” you ask the boy, kneeling to his height. 

The boy pulls the left hem of his pants up, revealing a fresh violet blot on his skin. 

“Would you be okay if I touched your knee? I can take the bruise away for you.” 

He nods and soon it’s gone, his skin pristine and new. “Woah,” he goes, “Thank you! Was that magic?” he asks, eyes full of childlike wonder. 

You giggle. “Something like that. Could you keep it a secret?” you make the best welcoming and kid-friendly grin you can as you place your index against your lips. 

“Okay!” he whisper-shouts, smiling wide. 

Kugisaki and Yuuji rest by the building while Gojo, Megumi and you bring the kid back home. 

“You know, I wanted to say, big sister,” he starts, looking up at you, “You’re really pretty!” 

(So cute!!) “Ah, really? That other girl is really pretty too, though.” 

“You too! You could be like a model on a poster!” he exclaims, “Oh wait— I live over there! Thanks again!” he points to the turning on the left. 

“Haha, thank you,” you reply as Gojo waves at him, “Take care of yourself!” 

“I will! Bye-bye, big sister!” 

“Are you hungry?” you ask Gojo and Megumi. “Ack— I feel lightheaded.”

Megumi turns to you in an instant— “You didn’t eat enough for breakfast?” 

“Guess so,” you reply, “I should be fine, though. I think I just had something on my mind the whole day and I couldn’t feel the hunger or something.” 

He whips his phone out. 

“Oh, there’s a famous tonkatsu restaurant back in Omotesando,” you suggest as he scrolls through restaurant options. “I think Yuuji may want to eat something like steak, though, and I don’t know what Kugisaki likes. Is there anything you want in particular?” 

“I’m fine with anything,” he says, “But it’s Gojo’s money we’re going to be using, so we should probably make the most of it.” 

“Mm… we can eat beef steak in Ginza, I think… ah— Yuuji’s grandfather always called it beefteki. I’m surprised I can still remember.” 

27-6-2018 

“Hi. It’s one in the morning, Megumi,” you greet him as he stands outside your room’s door, “Can’t sleep?” 

“...yeah,” he admits sheepishly, “Sorry about this.” 

He sits down on the bed. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s like we’re going to keep doing this,” you start, “Our special ritual. Something like that. I mean, we help each other in this way, right?” 

Your hand strays upward a little, nervous as it inches toward his shoulder. 

He brings your hand there and places his own hand on top of it. “Yeah,” he replies contentedly, “But I… wanted to ask,” Megumi begins, “What Gojo said. Are you going to become a student?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, looking at how things are going now, I may. It seems like things are leaning more towards me being a full-fledged sorcerer. Haven’t had the time to think about it.” 

He seems to pause for a moment, to reconsider something one last time like a record in his head. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

“I should take you to see Tsumiki first.” 

You nearly gasp. “She wants to see me?” After all this time? “I’m happy, but… wouldn’t she be busy, though?” 

“No… I mean… you really should take a look at her first. Then you’ll see what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry, but I just— I really should have told you sooner.

“Told me what?” you frown. Learning of this feels a bit like restarting and going back to square one somehow. 

“I’m sorry, can we just… do something else for now? Just… please be patient with me a little longer. I’m sorry you have to do that so much.” 

“…okay.” 

You wake up to his figure being illuminated shyly by the light of dawn. In the tiny bubble that the two of you share— of intertwined paths, secrets, lives— and the sensation of waking from a late night, you realise just how much you want to stay there forever. 

This morning, you don’t rush back to your room and hastily go through your routine. All you do for a while, for what feels like it lasts for a century yet lasts for too little time, is look at him, at his steady, quiet breathing as his eyes are shut comfortably tight.

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[anandrettisimp]

Okay, so I need to do a bit of a ramble about one of the biggest couple goals in recent motorsport.

I am, of course talking about Will and Liz Power

Now you’ve gotta understand that they basically started at Team Australia/Walker Racing within a couple of months of each other with Will doing the last two races of the ‘05 Champ Car season and Liz joining as part of the PR team in February ‘06. They had met and interacted but it wasn’t an easy start for Liz.

You see, between Long Beach and Houston, which was to be the first race she would attend in person, her Dad, Bo, had a stroke and required quadruple bypass surgery. It was only at the last minute that she felt she could do the race only just making it in time for the team bus leaving for the airport.

Will sat beside her, making sure she was okay (apparently all he really wanted to do was hug her).

Eventually Liz was asked by team boss Derrick to befriend Will for two reasons:

He basically knew nobody

Australian media wasn’t happy that Australian driver at Australian back team wasn’t dominating series he had only just started in.

Part of the way Derrick sold this to her was by describing Will as a lost puppy but, at the same time, she wasn’t to date Will or she’d be at risk of losing her job.

Well within a couple of months they were dating because what do you expect when you take two people in emotional vulnerable situations and tell one of them to get close to the other.

It should be noted that around the same time Will had already asked mutual friends if Liz was seeing anyone.

Simon Pagenaud knew from the start and was even Will’s wingman from time to time and helped them hide the relationship while Liz’s family became part of Will’s rock in America. Liz’s mum Kathy is Will’s PA lady and basically the only person he trusts to buy and choose his outfits (cause left to his own devices you will know he is colourblind).

Of course it got found out but between how well Will was doing by the end of the season and how professional Liz had been in her role all was good.

Over time their careers would split, Will moving to KV Racing then Penske (with Liz being heavily involved in helping him prep for the interview) while Liz had stayed with Walker Racing until the end the going on to Dreyer & Reinbold Racing before calling time as she found it was too much to do PR at one team while your husband races at another.

And, honestly, if I was a racing driver’s partner I’d probably be in a similar state to Liz, murdering all the bottles.

Their son Beau, named in honour of Liz’s dad who had sadly passed away in 2007, was born in 2016 but after the birth there were complications which resulted in Liz having to go back into hospital in Christmas Eve, luckily she was able to recover.

Towards the end of 2022, as Will won the championship for a second time, Liz again was starting to get ill. Come January 2023 she had a fever of 106 and Will had to call an ambulance.

It turned out that she had a staph infection that had settled in her spinal column and the only way to save her was to do an operation.

She almost didn’t make it.

Will pulled out of the Daytona 24 but he almost retired full stop.

He had to be there for his family.

She got better though she was back in the hospital just before St Pete.

I think you had to be an idiot to not see that Will was off balance last year. This was a man who was doing everything he could to take care of his wife and then going to races by himself.

The support system that he has depended on since his first full season racing in America was gone.

For the first time since 2007 he failed to win a race.

It wasn’t until the final races last year, with Liz finally back that he relaxed. He even said he was just happy the season was done.

This year everything is back to normal or as normal as it could be after going through something like that.

But, most importantly, Liz is back.

There’s already been a couple of weekends, be it after practice, qualifying or the race where you can see Will come out of the car hot and all it takes is Liz being there a couple of words and he calms, ready to speak to the team and media.

We already know if Liz hadn’t gotten better when she had then we don’t have Will leading the championship right now because he would have chosen her and Beau over another season.

Heck, if he wins the championship this year I wouldn’t be shocked if he decides to end his career on that high so he can spend more time with the one who stood by him through it all.

[drurrito]

Move Along

AN: literally just wrote this bc i refuse to journal!! I'm also off a melatonin gummy so all mistakes are mine

Warnings: it's angsty, a little suggestive, probably cursing

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

Wanda rides out her high while you watch from below. She falls over with a dreamy sigh, her arm falling across your chest and her fingers curl against your neck. You pull her in closer with a kiss atop her head. You let her mindlessly play with the hairs on the nape of your neck for a few moments until you catch the vacant look on her face.

"S'wrong?" you mumble, not really expecting anything to come of it. Wanda doesn't say anything for a few beats, and that makes you turn towards her, lifting her chin with the softest grip, her eyes choosing to look at the lamp on your nightstand.

"Wanda?"

"Vis asked me to come see him in Hamburg," she's still not looking at you.

"Oh? Like a weekend trip?"

"More than a weekend trip," she shrugs, "for the summer, said I'm too far away for his liking."

"You guys talk like every night, don't you?" you tilt your head, cocking a brow.

"That's not the point," she lightly flicks your ear. You both have had this flirtationship/friends with benefits thing long before Vision ever came into the picture. You weren't used to competing for someone when he came around, you still aren't. Wanda used to think it was cute how you always acted like you were at the top of her roster--because you were--at least until Vision proved to be a top contender. You never hit the gas, but you never hit the brakes either. You've just been cruising like always, and Wanda absolutely factored that in when she was making her decision about Vision.

"Y/n," Wanda eyes finally land on yours, her hand moves down to cup your cheek, her thumb grazing against your skin.

"It's getting serious, between me and him."

"Okay," you knew this is what she was getting at the whole time, she's always been too nice to just come out and say things like this.

"Okay?"

"What am I supposed to do about it?" You gently grasp her hand and prop yourself up on your elbow, "he's sweeping you off your feet from miles and miles away, and I'm just, here I guess."

"There's nothing else you want to say to me?" Wanda sits up too, she wraps the sheets around herself while you sit there at the crossroads you hoped to never reach.

It was always going to end this way.

Maybe, deep down, you hoped that by the time this day would come that you would have figured out the right way to go about things.

But you haven't and that's on you, so you have to take this on the chin and keep it moving like you used to do.

"Y/n?"

"When do you leave?" You turn to face Wanda in time to watch her shoulders droop.

"Thursday," her reply is curt. You wince, it's Tuesday.

"So this is it then?"

"You're not even going to try to keep in touch?" Wanda frowns while you chew on your lip.

"And talk about what, Wanda? How amazing it is to live with the guy that has way too much money to shower you with gifts for so many lifetimes?"

"It's not about the money y/n-"

"It's the effort, I get it. But I've been here, Wanda--more than Vis has, even."

Wanda opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but she just sighs instead. You're right, you've been here, but not in the way she needed, wanted you, and you both know that. You never bothered to evolve beyond a fuck and a flirt, and Wanda realized she had to give up on waiting for you at some point.

She just didn't expect for it to happen so soon.

Wanda reaches for your hand, taking it in hers when you don't pull away.

"I'll always remember this, us," she lifts your hand to her lips and releases it with a kiss. Your jaw twitches with an emotion you thought was long-lost. Wanda moves to get up from the bed, but you still her with a hand on her own.

"Stay? Just for tonight?" You curse yourself with how much that resembles begging, and you barely have the courage to look Wanda in the eyes while you wait for her answer. After tonight, nothing will be the same, so the least you can do is just savor what's left of it now.

Wanda's eyes soften, you'll always be special to her. She wordlessly nods and climbs back into bed with you, pulling you close to her chest. Wanda pretends that she can't feel your tears on her skin. You finally relax and fall asleep after a few minutes of her whispering sweet nothings into your ear while drawing patterns across your shoulders and back.

As much as Wanda wishes things were different between you, she knows that life will leave her behind if she keeps waiting around for something more to happen.

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

You wake up, the other side of the bed is the coldest it's ever been.

[omamorens]

a while back you said something akin to “inkblade college au.. (head full of thoughts)” !! would you be so kind as to open your head and share them? i am begging you on my knees…. spare inkbkade college au.. pls…

dear anon you dont have any idea of the floodgates im about to open but!!! im imagining two main routes for this college au. bear with me with this long answer!!

the ‘met-again at college’ au:

In this version of the events, the Rat Grinders probably broke off to do their own individual thing after finishing junior year and their redemption quests.

Oisin would probably distance himself away from Elmville but still pursue wizarding school elsewhere. Probably at the Bastion City University.

This time, he does it correctly with no cheating.

Though if he was being honestly, still having access to the full benefits from the school of conjuration was probably an unfair advantage.

So he always pushed himself to do harder, to excel beyond expectations. He’s a chronic over-worker and just wants to do things right for once.

Oisin never gets into another adventuring party again and instead studies to be some type of wizard scientist, developing new spells and technology probably.

Adaine, by this time, is already a world-renowned adventurer and top divination wizard of their age, in her own right.

She’s already established somewhat of a mark to history at the young age of 24? 25? probably younger, honestly.

Oisin hears about her from time to time— they do occupy the same wizarding circles and its kind of hard to avoid mention of the Elven Oracle.

But she was a famous figure now, literally beyond reach from a lowly college student like himself.

Imagine his surprise when he sees her walk into his class one day, but not as a student, no.

Adaine was a guest speaker and was about to discuss to them the very interesting topic of the Cosmology of Extraplanar Realms and Studies of Divinities

Oisin blanked out most of it.

Too starstruck from seeing Adaine again and oh… his chest was hurting again, phantom-pains from the shatterstar that never really left his mind.

Or is it?

Before he knew it, the session has ended. He thinks it ended too soon but the topic was actually discussed for two hours.

But his professor has an announcement to make? He stayed back to hear it out.

“Miss Abernant will be conducting research in the university for some time, and she has graciously granted the Wizard Department the opportunity for a student to take up an internship role for the duration of her team’s stay. Interested students may submit a form to me and the decision will be passed to Miss Abernant’s team after careful deliberation. That is all, thank you.”

Oisin has spaced out again, reeling from the thought that their paths would probably cross even more now that she’ll be at BCU indefinitely.

“Mr. Hakinvar? Oisin Hakinvar?” his professor called for him, and he addresses her, snapping out of his thoughts.

“Ms. Abernant, this is the top student of the Wizarding course, Oisin Hakinvar. I would speak highly into considering him for the role…”

Oisin has drowned out the noise again, because Adaine was staring at him, a twinge of familiarity setting in on her features. And of annoyance.

“Oh, I know of him.” she says tersely, “Top student, you say? No unfair advantages to speak of?”

Oisin’s brow twitched at that, answering the question himself, “None at all. I’ll make sure to send in my form for the internship role.”

Because he was prideful more than anything, and the subtle mocking comment made at him was baseless.

Adaine doesn’t know him, not the way that he is right now. Not after he’s pushed himself over and over to prove that he is worthy to be here.

“Very well! I’m sure Miss Abernant will be pleased to review your form.”

“Trust me, I am very good on both paper and practical application.”

Adaine shouldn’t even care for him at all, but she was curious. After Oisin and his adventuring party disappeared off Elmville, she always wondered what they were up to. Maybe more evil plots? Maybe they died somewhere off Spyre? Who knows.

Now she does, and the kindling of curiosity was highly-flammable, the worst of all motivators she could have.

And yet.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” she says to him, like a challenge. Oisin was set on meeting her to it.

This AU is definitely tagged as “Enemies-to-Lovers”, constant bickering and challenging looks, academic rivalry too because thats always nice. Maybe a bit of mystery because I do love the allure of putting them in a dark academia setting.

the ‘they got close during senior year and went to college together’ au:

This one is definitely sweeter and idyllic.

If you’ve ever heard of Sabrina Carpenter’s new song “Please, please, please” this is the general theme; its what Adaine would feel like.

Because in this AU, Adaine finally gives Oisin the chance to date her during college.

They’re always together anyway; with both being wizards pursuing academe, their schools of study interact in much more ways than anticipated.

Lots of cute dates in between classes too!!

Going to the newest cafe to try out their menu.

Amusement park dates!! Museum dates!!!

Bastion City is filled with things to do.

And even when they don’t, just studying together was already a date.

Oisin would always have some part of his body in contact with her.

Maybe his tail wrapped around her calf under the table, his free hand on her knee when they read together side by side, or just letting her lean on to him if she gets too tired to sit upright.

Adaine, on the other hand, was a little more paranoid of their relationship.

Was she just lying in wait for Oisin to fuck up? Hopefully not, but the chances are never zero. And she hates thinking of that, because at some level, she does trust and love Oisin, wholeheartedly.

But the past has always been haunting her in some way or another.

And it’s hard to relax when danger has been everything you knew your whole life.

But Oisin was soft with her, caring and understanding, frankly a little possessive and obsessive, but it was just the healthy amount that makes her want to drag him to bed every night and assure him that she is all his.

And Oisin proves to her that he is all hers.

Just imagine. Domestic Inkblade. never thought i would live to see the day that both words are in the same sentence.

Lots of late night cuddles, of assurances, of future plans togethers.

Unending conversations of “i love you” said in the most unconventional ways.

AND OF COURSE this is college. you cant expect me to think of college au without having Adaine live up to her “Party Wizard” title!!!

Adaine definitely lets loose at parties. She has her friends with her, a loving boyfriend, and her life has never been better.

But god she has the worst alcohol tolerance known to mankind.

Oisin is definitely watching over her, excusing himself from drinking too much just incase Adaine goes wild again.

And oh she does.

Thank god Oisin is there to [i will not elaborate what happens here, but god is it in my head; just guess].

And then she wakes up with a raging headache and Oisin is more than happy to care for her (making her hangover food, massaging her sore spots).

Like I said, domestic. Fluff and comfort and so much healing. LIKE SOOO MUCH. this is the answer to the “we could’ve had it all” tag because in this AU, they have it all.

Good for them… good for them!!

Will I write this? Not anytime soon but God would I kill to read it. Someone… anyone… save me inkblade college au save me…

[scribbledghost]

Back to back angst request- I won't be too specific on all of them because I want you to have some freedom but anyhow, fem! Simon shuts down emotionally after a particularly traumatic mission and her girlfriend struggles to break through her silence and help her open up

Simon hasn't spoken in five days.

When she returned home from her latest deployment, you'd known in an instant that this one had been worse than the others. She'd held a far-off gaze, breaking it just long enough to reach for you with a trembling hand. She'd stepped back when you'd tried to hug her, only allowing you to hold her hand.

That'd been almost a week ago. And not much has changed. In fact, if you were to really think about it, much of it has gotten worse.

So much so that when Simon retires to the guest bedroom (a very common occurrence now), you step outside and call Captain Price.

"I just don't know what to do," you tell him, trying to keep your voice down and level to hopefully not give away the fact that you've been crying. "I don't know how to help. She won't speak, won't sleep in the same bed, won't even look at me half the time. She's just completely shut down."

Price can't tell you specifics about the mission they just returned from, but confirms your notion that it had been incredibly traumatic for Simon in particular.

"I don't want to go into detail," he says. "That's for her to do when she's ready. And she will be ready, eventually. But it's probably going to take a lot longer than you're used to. Just... be patient, yeah? You bein' there is helping more than you think."

The conversation ends, and you return inside, immediately running into a wall of muscle.

"Shit, I'm sorry Simon," you say, "I thought you were in the spare room."

You look up at her, and for the first time since returning home, she gazes back at you. Then, she tilts her head. You don't need words to know what she's asking.

Who were you talking to? And why?

"I called Price," you say, and her expression remains the same.

You try to contain yourself, try to tiptoe around the reason you'd called her superior in the middle of the afternoon.

The restraint doesn't last long.

You end up explaining (perhaps over-explaining) how helpless you feel. How badly you want to help, but how you also don't want to push too much. How you want to be there for her, but don't know how. How you want to do something - anything - but you don't want to risk making things worse.

"I just..." you say, sighing as you scrub your hands along your face, "You're always there for me. You always know how to help, you always know just what to say or what to do. I want to be that for you too. I want you to feel safe here."

Then, in a much softer tone:

"I don't want you to have to go through this by yourself."

When you look back at her, Simon is still holding your gaze. Her expression still hasn't moved, and her slightly tilted head would be endearing if not for the circumstances.

She doesn't speak. Not that you'd expected her to.

No, instead - for the first time since she'd returned home five days ago - she hugs you.

It's crushing, the way she pulls you in; like she's afraid you'll slip through her arms and down through the floor if she's not careful. Her grip doesn't falter, and you lose track of how long the two of you stay like this, wrapped up in each other. You suppose it doesn't matter.

It's in this moment that you know Price was right. Eventually, she'll open up again. She may never tell you what happened, and that's okay. But for now, getting to hold her in your arms is more than enough.

[vinylfoxbooks]

June 9 - Lip Gloss | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 862

Part 1 and Part 3

The bell above the door announces James’ presence before James himself can. Regulus looks up and smiles gently at him, grabbing his bag, “Dora. I’m leaving now.”

Pandora hums and nods, “Alright. Have a good time, Reggie.” Regulus nods and starts making his way towards where James is waiting for him by the door. 

James takes his arm and guides him out of the store, “Hi Regulus, how was work?”

“Slow.” Regulus hums, “We only had a couple people come in. I got yelled at by a jealous husband.”

“Oh?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, thanking James with a head nod when he opens his car door for him. He waits until James gets in the car as well and starts driving before he starts talking, “So I’ve got this girl that comes in. She’s a regular customer, probably my age, that constantly comes in for romance books. They’re usually spicy but I genuinely couldn’t care less about that. Well, today she came in with her husband and I was checking her out, talking to her about the book that she had picked out. He got pissy at me and started yelling at me for trying to ‘flirt with his girl.’”

“Ew.” James shakes his head, taking a turn, “I hate when people do that.”

“Yeah, well, it’s whatever. He just kept yelling and yelling at me and getting after me for selling his wife the book and all of the other books that she’s been reading. Again, I couldn’t care less about that.” He shakes his head, “I eventually had to tell him that I had a date with you. A guy.”

James huffs a laugh, “Did that actually work.”

“He didn’t apologize about it.” Regulus shakes his head, “The thing is, the book? Song of Achilles.”

“That’s a good one.” James hums, “And nothing to throw a fit over. Especially since it’s gay.”

“My point exactly.” Regulus shakes his head, “Pissed me off.” Then he takes a moment to look over James. He’s wearing a nice gray t-shirt underneath a long red coat and some regular jeans. He’s also wearing…

Fuck.

James Potter is wearing fucking lip gloss. His lips have a slight sheen to them and it makes Regulus’ heart stop. Already plump lips with this pretty, slightly red, shiny stain on his lips. Regulus takes a deep breath, “You look nice.”

James turns to him and smiles softly, “Thank you. You look wonderful as well.”

Eventually, the two of them make it to the movie theater and head inside, getting their tickets and popcorn then heading into the theater. They talk quietly between themselves during the ads before the movie itself starts.

And now, Regulus was impartial on going to see this movie. James really wanted to see it and Regulus always enjoys the environment of a movie theater so he agreed to go with James as a date but he…

He can’t focus on the movie itself when James is sitting there with his slightly red lip gloss, shining beautifully in the ever-changing lights of the movie. 

Fuck, it’s driving Regulus crazy.

Soon enough, after about an hour and a half of Regulus mostly watching James then snapping his head to look at the movie whenever James leans over to whisper something about it or crack a joke in Regulus’ ear -- he doesn’t understand most of the jokes and just nods along when James makes a comparison because he hasn’t been paying much attention to the movie -- the movie ends and they’re standing up and James’ stretches his arms above his head which raises his shirt a bit. They walk out of the theater together, hand in hand, and hop into James’ car. 

“Harry’s with his mom tonight,” James informs him, “Would you like to go to my house and I can cook you some dinner?”

Regulus hums after a couple minutes, “Sure.” James glances at him before he starts the car and smiles, making the breath catch in Regulus’ chest because of that damn lip gloss. 

The drive to James’ place is filled with James singing quietly to the music that he’s got playing on the radio, his oh so slightly red lips glinting in different lights as he sings. When they show up at the house, they head inside and James goes into the kitchen to put together a quick meal. 

When he comes back out with two plates of some sort of pasta, he hands one to Regulus -- who has settled himself on the couch -- and sits down next to him.

They talk while they eat and Regulus is completely transfixed by James’ lips, which the older man seems to take note of. He tilts his head a bit and smiles at him, “See something you like?”

“What lip gloss are you wearing?”

“It’s a lip tint Lily gave me.” James smiles back, “I figured that I would try it out. It seems, to me, that you like it.”

“I do.” Regulus nods.

The older’s smile widens, “You want to try it? It’s cherry flavoured.”

“What is it with you and cherry flavoured things?” James shrugs and leans forward to pull Regulus into a kiss.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for telling people I don’t work here?

Ok so it’s Saturday morning and I (28M) don’t have a lot on my mind, besides like maybe lunch, I’m a little hungover so I go to the supermarket really to just get out of the house. Then suddenly this woman approaches way to fast and her eyes are intense And she spits on me a little as she asks, “where do you keep the pasta?” and I’m confused but I try to be polite so I say, “I dunno aisle 3?” And then she demands get it for her! I just stand there for a moment because I was just trying to get a Gatorade and I don’t want to deal with this, but then she rolls her eyes and I kind of lose it. 

So I tell her, “Hey! I don’t work here and if I did I would not sell you shit!” And then I say, ”Maybe should work here so I can hide all the things you want from you!” and, “If I did work here do you think I’d be wearing a dirty white singlet? Ya fool!” Then I noticed the pasta was there the whole fucking time so I tell her, “Silly me I’ve had the pasta all along. Fuck you” and she starts crying. 

So now it’s the afternoon and I’m not going to lie, I feel really great about making a middle age woman cry today. So I’m taking a walk on the hot sand on the beach and decide to take a rest in the shade of the lifeguard tower (and my foresight readies me for melee) so then this man runs up from the surf way to fast, with a bluebottle across his chest he shakes me as he asks “you’ve got to save my kid!” But I can’t swim, so I tell him that, and he gets all upset and goes “what kind of a kid guard are you then?” And I’m tired and just wanted to take a nap but he rolls his eyes so I kind of snap.

And I tell him “Hey! I don’t work here but if I did I would not save your kid!” And then I tell him “maybe I should work here that way I could help relieve that nasty sting for you” and I tell him “do you think a life guard would make a race car out of sand then fall asleep?” And then I get a bit sidetracked thinking about how I should probably get a job and I guess I’m mumbling because the guy asks if I was thinking about saving his son and I tell him no and he says “What about my son, he's drowning?!” Then I look over his shoulder and see that no he isn’t and I tell him "Your son's fine, he just swims weird, and you shouldn't hold that against him.” And the guy turns around to check and I take that as my moment to get out of there.

So it’s night now and I’m not thinking about much just kicking a ball down the street then I give it to much juice and it flies over the fence of my local NASA compound (just bear with me) I climb over the fence to get it when I realize the guards are all passed out and it seems there’s been a planed attack. The alarms are blaring but I’m the only one in tact. I try to phone for help but something must be blocking it. And they’re an alien transmitting itself to NASA screens specifically. And the alien says “Give us ya planet” and I’m trying to figure out way to do or find any one who can actually handle this and I tell the aliens but it just repeats “Give us ya planet” and I try to get someone to answer me and tell them we’re under attack and again the alien says “Give us ya planet” and I try to tell it that I don’t have the authority to do that but it just won’t listen. I just came to get my ball but it’s been a long day so I’ll speak for all of humanity. 

(Also I didn’t know this at the time but apparently this had worldwide news coverage)

So I tell the alien “Hey! I don’t work here and if I did I would not surrender shit!” And I tell it “maybe I should work here that way I could take a trip to mars and strangle you!” And I ask “Do you think the president of Earth has a fucking mullet?” And at this point I’m just letting out all the anger from the day and I tell it  “maybe I should work here that way I could put my planetary fist in you, I could teach your kid to drown in front of you, and I could hide all of the linguini from you!” 

Then the alien fucked right off and also I’m the president of earth now. So AITA

[youcouldmakealife]

David/Jake; all eventualities

Another Kickstarter fill, for the prompt: David showing commitment to Jake

It comes up at dinner with Jake’s sister. The Lourdes are very — candid with one another, David finds. Initially he found it uncomfortable, even sometimes alarming, but now he’s mostly used to it. Still, he didn’t expect Natalie to casually bring up making a will while twirling spaghetti on her fork.

“I know most people put it off,” she says. “But when kids are in the picture you can’t, you know? You have to make sure they’re taken care of. Not just financially, but you have to think of that too.”

“For sure,” Jake says. “You do know I would—“

“No, I know,” Natalie says, waving Jake away with her fork. “Still. I have Allie and Serge as guardians. No offence to you guys, obviously, she’s just, you know, already a mom. What’s one more, right?”

David is pretty sure it’s a little more strenuous than that, but then, he isn’t a parent, so maybe he's wrong. Jake doesn’t look offended, and David’s too busy suddenly considering the possibility of Jake having custody of his nephews, as small as it may be. He hadn’t really thought about it before, not even as a distant possibility.

“But you guys are the back up,” Natalie says.

“Sweet,” Jake says, completely unfazed, while David spends the rest of dinner methodically cutting his spaghetti down into smaller pieces.

“You know it’d never happen, right?” Jake says on the drive home.

“Hm?” David says.

“Me getting guardianship,” Jake says. “Nat’s just being thorough, checking all the boxes.”

“Oh,” David says. “I know.”

“You looked a little worried,” Jake says.

“I wasn’t worried,” David protests.

Obviously, that wasn’t true, but as David thinks about it more that night, Jake asleep beside him, he realises Jake’s right — the chance of both Natalie and Allie being unable to care for the children are infinitesimal, orders of magnitude smaller than the odds of, say, a collision each time David gets in a car. And that risk doesn’t stop him from getting into one almost every day.

But if David did get into a collision — and that would be the most likely cause of his premature death, statistically speaking — he wouldn’t have a will of his own. David likes to think he’s a responsible adult, and his bookkeeper praises his record keeping, but apparently that doesn’t extend to planning for the end of his life. It’s not like he’s never considered making one, given that he’s in a career where a shortened lifespan is unnervingly common, and just because he’s emerged from it more unscathed than others doesn’t necessarily mean he’s escaped long-term consequences, but it’s just — uncomfortable, he supposes.

If Jake died — David doesn’t even like thinking about it, but if he did, and he didn’t have a will, then his money would surely go to his family, and that seems right.

But if David died without a will? It’d probably all just go to his parents. He doesn’t think Jake would fight it, even if he had far more right to it than either of them.

He’d say it didn’t matter, that he had enough money, but it isn’t just money, is it? It’s David’s money, but it’s also property, furniture, keepsakes, from his Gold medal down to his pyjama shirts, plastic cracked and cotton faded. The things that belong to him — but if he isn’t around anymore, they’re Jake’s if he wants them.

*

“I want to write a will,” David says, after he thinks about it a few days, makes a preliminary appointment with an estate lawyer. He doesn’t think it’s a particularly inappropriate moment, sitting on the couch, half watching the news, waiting for the weather forecast, because Jake wants to go for a drive this week, maybe take a picnic basket along, but Jake turns the TV off, looking alarmed, so perhaps he didn’t choose the right one.

Or, well, David supposes he’d be alarmed if Jake suddenly announced that as well. Wonder if something had happened. If he had cancer, or—

“I don’t have cancer,” David says.

Jake looks, if anything, even more alarmed.

“Or anything else,” David says. “At least as far as I’m aware. I just — remember what Natalie said? About making a will?”

“Oh,” Jake says, and blows out a relieved breath so big it makes David startle.

“I haven’t made one myself,” David says. “Which was irresponsible of me.”

“I mean, I haven’t made one either,” Jake says.

“I’m not calling you irresponsible,” David says.

“No, I know,” Jake says. “Maybe I should, though.”

“I thought — if you were —“ David says. “If something happened, your family would get your money, right? And that’s how it should be.”

Jake’s frowning again, and David talks faster so he can hopefully explain himself before Jake misunderstands him again.

“If I didn’t have a will, my money would go to my parents,” David says, and the frown’s gone again, replaced by something closer to — it isn’t pity, David thinks. Hopes, at least. “Your family, they’ve been — supportive of you. Present. My parents — they don’t deserve anything of mine.”

“No,” Jake says. “They don’t.”

“So I think I’d like to make a will,” David says.

Jake reaches out, squeezes David’s hand. “Sounds like a good thing to have, just in case.”

“Yes,” David says. “Exactly. Did you want to — should we check the weather?”

“Okay,” Jake says, and when he turns the TV back on, the forecast sprawls across the screen, all sunshine.

“Good weather for a drive,” David says.

“Perfect weather,” Jake says, and squeezes his hand again.

[massivedrickhead]

Could you do something for “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”? Maybe as a follow-up or prequel or something to the prompt you did for “I’m not going to yell at you”? Thanks in advance! 🩵

First off, I'm so sorry this took so long! Usually when I go this long without posting any new fics it's because I'm working on something but I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've written anything in the last month.

I've had probably the worst writers' block I can ever remember having and I've just not felt any desire to write anything or work on any of my wips.

I don't even know if this is any good, but I'm hoping it'll pull me out of the slump.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Prompt taken from here

Trigger warning: physical domestic abuse

This is a prequel to this fic

Read on AO3

-

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Chloe didn’t believe him.

She swallowed, the pain radiating from her mouth as she forced a steadying breath through her nose. 

She knew her lip was bust. She could taste the blood in her mouth, could feel the sting when she swept her tongue across it.

“Chloe.”

Chicago knelt in front of her. His eyes were full of tears, one of his hands cradling the other as if he’d hurt it when it collided with her face. As if he was the one in pain right now.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off. “Are you okay?”

Chloe wanted to laugh, but instead tears stung her eyes. 

“Please don’t cry,” he said. “Please… Please just say something.”

“Can you get me some ice please?” Chloe asked, no longer recognising the sound of her own voice.

He seemed to deflate with relief, and Chloe felt her hatred for him grow. 

“Of course,” he said. “Let me help you up.”

Chloe couldn’t help but flinch away from him as he extended his hand towards her, and she saw the briefest flash of anger cross his eyes. 

She took his hand and he helped her up and onto her feet before he disappeared into the kitchen. 

Now alone, she gingerly touched the split in her lip and winced. It hurt more than she’d expected it to.

He’d never hit her before, and even though he was full of apologies and remorse now, Chloe already knew he would do it again. 

He came back with a bag of frozen peas. “We’re out of ice,” he said. 

Chloe nodded and took it from him, holding it against her rapidly swelling lip.

“I’m-”

“I know,” Chloe said, cutting him off. “I know you are.” She couldn’t bear to hear him say it again. “Let’s just… Let’s forget it.”

“Sure,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”

The rest of the evening passed in a tense silence until Chloe finally crawled into bed.

She feigned sleep long enough to hear the sound of Chicago’s snores fill the room, and then she eased herself out of bed.

Shoved in the back of her closet was a bag she’d begun prepping months ago. When the rose-tinted glasses had come off, she started to really see those red flags that she’d so often dismissed.

The bag contained some clothes, toiletries, a small amount of cash, and her important documents.

She grabbed it out of the closet and, still in her pyjamas, climbed into her car and drove. 

-

Beca had been fast asleep when the sound of her apartment buzzer cut through her dreams.

She groaned and fumbled for her phone, one eye closed as the bright screen lit up the room.

It was close to 2 am, and her stomach lurched as the noise continued.

She stumbled out of bed and hurried to the front door, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest as she did so. 

No one ever knocks at your door at 2 am with good news…

“Hello?” Beca asked into the intercom.

“Beca?”

If Beca’s heart had been beating hard before, it was doing something else entirely now.

“Chloe?”

“Please can I come up?”

Beca hit the button to unlock the door without a second of hesitation, and she waited anxiously for Chloe to reach her apartment.

Even though she’d been expecting it, Beca still jumped at the sound of the tentative knock at the door and she hurried to open it.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “I’m so sorry for just turning up like this.” Chloe’s hands were shaking as she adjusted the weight of the bag on her shoulder, and her eyes shining with tears. “Please can I stay? Chicago, he’s…”

Chloe trailed off, but she didn’t need to tell Beca what Chicago had done, because Beca could see it for herself.

Beca felt like she couldn’t speak, so she just stepped aside so Chloe could enter her apartment. She shut the door behind them and slid the chain lock across for good measure.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Chloe said. “I’m sorry.”

Beca shook her head and forced herself to find her voice. “Don’t be sorry,” she said. “Of course you can stay here.”

Chloe seemed to deflate with relief in front of her, and Beca hated that in Chloe’s mind, there might have been a chance she’d have turned her away.

“Stupid question, but are you okay?” Beca asked.

Chloe shrugged. “I don’t think so,” she said, tears filling her eyes faster than she could wipe them away. 

Beca wasted no time in closing the gap between them and wrapping Chloe up in a hug. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” she said. “How can I help? What can I do?”

“Can I go lay down?” Chloe asked, the adrenaline that had been keeping her going was now quickly fading away. “I’m really tired.”

“Of course,” Beca said, reluctantly ending their hug. “Take my bed until I can get the spare room set up. I can sleep on the couch.”

Chloe took hold of her hand. “Please come with me,” she said. “I don’t want to be by myself.”

Beca nodded and squeezed Chloe’s hand. Her throat felt tight. “Go ahead,” she said, the strain evident in her voice. “I’ll be right in.”

With Chloe out of the room, Beca’s hands closed into fists, and she clenched her jaw shut in order to hold back the scream that threatened to erupt. 

She’d never felt an anger quite like this before, and she needed it to go before she joined Chloe in the bedroom.

She closed her eyes and imagined herself pummeling every square inch of Chicago. Her jaw was clenched so tight she was amazed her teeth hadn’t shattered. 

She counted to ten in her head, and then forced a slow breath out through her mouth.

Her anger was no good to Chloe right now. Chloe needed her to be strong and stable, but not angry.

She could be angry later, but not now. Not tonight.

She filled a glass with water and returned to the bedroom. Chloe was curled up on her side, her face lit up by her phone screen.

“Here,” Beca said, placing the water on the nightstand.

“Thanks,” Chloe said, locking her phone and placing it on her nightstand.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Beca asked, climbing into the bed beside her.

“Not really,” Chloe said. “Not yet.”

“Okay,” Beca said. “That’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“I, um, I don’t really know what to do Bec,” Chloe said, her voice beginning to waver again. She let out a small sob, that was quickly followed by another. “I’m sorry,” she said, quickly wiping her eyes.

“Don’t,” Beca said. “Don’t be sorry, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” She lifted her arm so Chloe could cuddle into her side, which she eagerly did. 

“What’s going to happen when he figures out where I am?”

Beca felt that anger pulse in her again, but she pushed it away. “I don’t know,” Beca answered honestly. “But we’ll figure it out. I do know one thing though, and that’s that he won’t put his hands on you again.”

Chloe knew it wasn’t as simple as that but she allowed herself, for that moment, to feel safe. To feel protected. She decided to believe her. 

“All you need to worry about now is getting some rest,” Beca said. “We can deal with everything else tomorrow.”

[ashoss]

stephanie & bruce fic recs

for @peachie-wren13 :DD

Permutations & Hinterlands - cabezas_de_vaca

steph & bruce

7.5k words, 1 chapter

summary:

She and Bruce are complicated (not bad complicated, not wrong complicated, just complicated, because he isn’t her father and will never be her father and yet he sort of also is) but he cares. It gets lost sometimes, under the demands of Gotham, but it’s there.

And so, she just asks him. “Do you want to go to Colorado with me?”

Or: Bruce, Steph, and a road trip

* heed the tags !! angsty

dont wanna long post this so more under the cut :)

sweet child o’ mine - Nokomis

steph & bruce, steph & alfred

4,4k words, 1 chapter

Summary:

Steph said cheerfully, “Bruce, from now on, consider yourself in possession of one Steph-mom.”

“Absolutely not,” Bruce said.

Steph took a bite of her cake, undeterred.

A Softer Gotham - Hinn_Raven (series)

steph & bruce, time travel

12.2k words, 3 works

summary: One night makes all the difference. Especially a night when Stephanie Brown, in the wrong dimension, interferes in a mugging.

though your eyes will need some time to adjust - popsunner

steph & bruce

4.4k words, 1 chapter

summary:

“I think…” Stephanie takes a deep breath, “I think I’m bad.”

“I don’t.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to believe you?”

“I am Batman.”

Stephanie snorts, “Yeah, you are… but what if I’m still bad?”

“Then I forgive you.” _______

Or: Stephanie and Bruce, figuring it out

Tuck Me In - OberonBronze

bruce & his kids (big on jason, but it does have cute scene w the other ones esp steph)

14.1k words, 1 chapter

summary:

Bruce Wayne and his long-standing habit of tucking his kids into bed.

Galas Suck - dottie_dc (dottie_wan_kenobi)

steph & bruce

1.9k words, 1 chapter

summary:

When she doesn’t respond, he looks down to her face, finding her staring in the direction of the doors they came in through. “Something on your mind?”

He’s really asking, why did you come and get me? If it’s just nerves, she would’ve been better off with one of the others. No, it must be something else.

Steph blinks, turning her gaze upwards. Never one to back down, she meets his eyes long enough for him to see she’s not in any distress, at least. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Everything. Nothing.”

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

Written for the Gen Batfam Christmas Stocking 2019, for the prompt "Wayne Gala"

the early robin gets the worm - deargalileo

bruce & his kids

7k words, 1 chapter

summary:

bruce loves all of his children equally. its just when he has to wake them up, that there's an issue.

aka; the five times bruce tries to wake up his kids, and the one time that he doesn't.

DON’T YOU CRY, DRY YOUR EYES. - orpheusaki

steph & bruce

4.8k words, 1 chapter

summary:

After inhaling her food before Bruce's even halfway through his vanilla milkshake, Stephanie seems to have sobered up a little. She's looking less green, and more like she's trying to develop x-ray vision and look into Bruce's soul.

Or maybe she's still drunk, because she very suddenly and very bluntly tells him, "I used to wish you were my dad," drowning her chips into a little pot of ketchup.

Bruce pauses. He slowly drops the chicken nugget he was about to put in his mouth — since now is probably not the time to complain about how the nuggets are a little dry today.

(Bruce Wayne is not Stephanie Brown's father, not at all.)

*tbh anything by orpheusaki is gonna be an amazing read, ive loved all the fics ive read by them <333

Have I Told You About Minnie? - Hinn_Raven

steph & bruce, bruce & his kids

4.6k words, 1 chapter

summary:

After you’ve known Matches Malone long enough, you get used to him telling you about his kids. Not that his kids know about it.

too young to be taken seriously, too old to believe all this hypocrisy - Hinn_Raven

steph & jason & bruce

5.7k words, 1 chapter

summary:

When Crystal Brown goes into rehab, leaving Stephanie in the sole custody of her father, Steph decides to run away from home, and meets Jason Todd, who decides that she is the best little sister ever.

or:

"the dark knight is beaten up by children on the anniversary of his parents death... tragic"

theres not a lot of steph and bruce fics and it makes me sad :((

btw i have a google doc with a shitttttt ton of fics lol. its some recs ive been asked for so hope yall enjoy :)